I don't mean to sound a bit morbid, or a bit worn out, a bit 'oh no, not another one' but there seem to be a lot of bucket lists out at the moment. I have a list of things I want to do before I'm 30. I did generally assume I'd be dead before then - and let's face it, there is still time - but as 29 is about to punch me squarely in the face, then clearly I need to sort myself out.
So in no particular order, here is my List Of Things I Want To Do Before I'm 30 (Although I'm Sure I Can Do Some Once I Am 30, Unless There Is Some Kind Of 'Logan's Run' Age Limit. Ageist Bastards).
1 - Start a business.
2 - Go to Scandinavia. Pref. Iceland or Norway, but I'm not overly fussed.
3 - Get a tattoo.
4 - Finish writing my BLOODY BOOK.
5 - Get a BLOODY AGENT (related to the above).
6 - Join a band, one that actually plays. I'm a drummer. Come play with me.
DONE: Search for Dead Rabbits Southampton. I play with them. Huzzah!
7 - Have some sort of beauty treatment. Facial? Nails??
DONE: I joined the gym and got a free back massage. It was awesome, though a bit painful because I'm a sensitive little sausage
8 - Visit more of the places where I recently moved to (Southsea) - I'm talking restaurants, charity shops, the little vintage clothes shops and antiquey furnitures - rather than going to Tesco or Ikea. Though I am fond of Tesco and Ikea. And Waitrose. Ahh, Waitrose.
9 - Put all my bills and statements in little folders, more importantly in date order.
DONE...ish
10 - Learn to swim.
Er... I asked at the gym, and a swimming lesson is the same amount as I pay for drums. Cannot afford to do both :(
11 - CBT (as in riding a bike, not as in psychotherapy).
12 - See my favourite band in concert.
DONE: I bought my first Pulp cassette the day after my 13th birthday. I was in the fan club and used to write little questionnaires and ask them to sign things. However I was either too young or not independent enough to see them. After over 15 years, I finally saw them at Wireless in July 2011, and it was beautiful. I love the songs, I love the live show, I am immensely fond of them all. Sorted...
13 - I started a sitcom and a screenplay (former five years ago, latter one year ago). Should probably revisit these.
DOING: On it!
So if I'm not out much over the next 12 months, this will be why...
Wednesday, 8 June 2011
Monday, 6 June 2011
RIP Kaiser Chiefs Forum...
The Kaiser Chiefs forum has closed! I haven't been there for a couple of years, but when I first started looking for a chatty message board, this is where I ended up. It started feeling like everyone was talking over your head, but after you have posted for a while you get people laughing at your jokes, sending PMs, exchanging MySpace addresses and arranging to meet at gigs and festivals. After a while my browsing became infrequent and I felt I was no longer part of the community and the 'glory days'. I had moved on, and by the looks of it so has everyone else.
Here is a story I wrote for the Kaiser Chiefs forum some time ago... I'm guessing 2007 ish? It contains many forum injokes, some that I can't remember. Anyway, I won a competition and a signed setlist for my efforts. Yaaay. Here's to sitting up at 3am, pressing F5 repeatedly, fighting off trolls from The Kooks forum (yes really), and downloading lengthy live bootlegs.
Reading it back reminds me that I really should stick to writing non-fiction.
Words (c) Suzy Sims
Originally published as a three-parter on the Kaiser Chiefs forum
Holidays, Yes
Yes, it was a good holiday, thought Whitey to himself as he stretched out on the sand and wiggled his toes. His traditional beanie had been swapped for a rather fetching straw hat and there was a warm can of beer half buried next to his sun towel. The sky was grey, the air was humid (well, they were in England after all) and there were seagulls swooping down to pick at the leftovers of chips at various points along the beach wall.
Nick was sunbathing comfortably nearby, although being British he was still wearing trousers and several jumpers. Simon was wearing a bathing cap and was splashing about in the rock pools looking for crabs to taunt.
Ricky had been buried in the sand up to his neck and had a bucket over his head, which was frankly necessary to stop the fan girls seeing him and wrecking the band's holiday.
Whitey still couldn't understand why when he had requested an ice cream, Simon had skipped off giggling at him.
But there was someone missing, and Whitey couldn't work out who.
"I think I need a pee," said a muffled voice from under the bucket.
"There's sunburn on your nut, mate," said Nick as he threw over the Ambre Solaire (only £8 for Factor 15, available in all good shops).
Simon was walking around with a small bag in his hand. "Who wants a peanut?" he shouted.
That was it! Whitey sat up. He looked around.
"Where the f**k is Dave Grohl?" he said. "He said he was bringing a barbeque."
"I'll go and look for him," said Nick and the bucket simultaneously.
So off they went, padding across the sand dunes with their bare hobbit feet. Ricky kept the bucket on his head, and Nick thought it would be funny to balance things on the top without him noticing. It started with a handful of sand, then a shell, a bottle of Ambre Solaire, a pair of flip-flops, a small child and a deckchair.
Nick was struggling to lift a lifebuoy onto the top when Ricky pulled the bucket off, saying: "What the blooming 'eck are you doing?" (For that is how people from Leeds talk).
As soon as the bucket was taken off, hundreds of bikini-clad babes (and one or two heifers) made a beeline for Ricky. He looked scared and put it back on his head, and the girls became disinterested and drifted away.
"Phew, that was close," he said quietly.
And up popped Dave Grohl, who'd been hiding underneath a small dinghy.
"Hello boys, what are you up to?"
"We're looking for a plot," said Ricky-Bucket. Nick hit him over the head with a drumstick until he reverberated and wobbled into the sea.
"We were looking for you," he said. "Where's this barbeque then?"
"I was bringing it over to you. I was walking along here next to Peanut, who was carrying the food. And then it happened...
"Peanut was kidnapped by a seagull."
Meanwhile a few feet away, Simon had discovered a message floating in a glass bottle. By 'discovered', he actually trod on it and was undergoing immediate surgery to sew his foot back on.
Whitey unravelled the small square of paper. It read:
'I AM BEING HELD CAPTIVE ON BIRD ISLAND. PLEASE HELP'.
"Oh, bugger," he said.
More to follow...
Peanut was lying on the shore. He was staring out across the murky brown waters, which were hiding all sorts of horrors, but not the various condoms and shopping trolleys which would occasionally bob in his line of vision.
He was on Bird Island, home to the enormous seagull which had mistaken him for a large chip and had swooped down, grabbed him by the pants and flown him off. The mainland was a fair distance away and poor Peanut had no idea how to get back. Currently he was lying in a star-shape, his reasoning being that seagulls don't eat starfish because you can't nibble on one leg while the other four are punching you in the beak.
Luckily for the 'nut, Whitey had recognised the handwriting on the note. He'd also reasoned that Peanut wasn't in any immediate danger or he wouldn't have been able to sign it 'Love and hugs, your mate P. Hope to see you soon xx'. Whitey adjusted his straw hat and stood up as Nick, Dave and a damp bucket approached.
"We need to find some way of getting over there," Nick said, flinging himself down onto the sand and taking off one of his jumpers. There was a small piece of seaweed caught in his hair which he flicked onto the towel.
"Could we not just ask the bird to bring him home?" suggested Dave, not very helpfully.
"I think this situation calls for a bit of a sacrifice from Mr Wilson," said Whitey quietly.
"What do you mean exactly?" said the bucket apprehensively, hands on hips.
Whitey paced up and down on his towel, which didn't take long as it wasn't really that big. "There aren't many of us and we need some help. Nick can't row the dinghy because he insists on using his drumsticks for oars." Nick nodded and smiled. "Dave isn't in the band, and his ideas are frankly rubbish."
"OK," said Dave brightly. "I'll try and light the barbeque. I forgot the firelighters so I'm going to eat a pack of chillis and breathe on the coals really hard."
"I want to help," said Simon bravely.
"Your foot is still loose and you're in danger of leaving it behind by accident. Can you help Dave instead?" said Nick.
Simon grumbled into his bathing cap and followed Dave along the beach, but returned a second later.
"Forgot my foot," he said sheepishly.
"Didn't someone say my name?" the Ricky Bucket asked. Whitey put his arm across Ricky's sandy shoulders.
"I think," he said, "it's about time you took that thing off."
Ricky's face paled so much it could be seen glowing white under the plastic cover.
"But... the fan girls!" he stammered.
"We want them to follow you. If enough of them do that, you could swim over to Bird Island, pick up Peanut and get him to walk across the ladies. He'd get back without getting his feet wet," said Whitey.
Ricky wasn't happy with this, but Nick tickled him with a Pro-Mark stick until he started rolling on the floor spluttering: "Stop! I'll do your stupid idea!"
Peanut squinted across the water to try and see if the other Chiefs had received his SOS. He thought he could see his friends rolling on the floor and giggling, with the occasional clash of drumstick on bucket. "Take your time, boys," he thought.
Then suddenly there was a terrifying squawk which echoed around the cliff tops. Peanut froze and slowly turned his head to see an enormous seagull with roaring wings and beady eyes looking at him menacingly. Uh oh...
More to follow...
Ricky was stood at the water's edge nervously. He lifted the bucket off his head slightly to see Whitey and Simon grinning and giving him the thumbs-up sign.
"Come on mate. You can do it!"
"Kaiser! Chiefs! Kaiser! Chiefs!"
Looking to the left, he saw Nick had both drumsticks up his nose and was pulling a silly face and doing a little dance.
He looked down and flexed his furry little toes, then did an enormous jump into the surprisingly chilly water.
"Ouch!"
"Tide's out," called Simon. "You might have to go a bit further out than that."
Ricky rubbed his hands together and took another step into the water. A few paces later and it was swishing around his ankles pleasantly. A couple of minutes more and the waves were buffeting against his knees.
"Bit further," said a voice next to the bucket. "We'll tell you when, don't you worry."
Ricky took a deep breath and kept inching out until the water was lapping around his waist.
"Ready?" yelled Whitey.
"I think so," said Ricky, gripping the bucket firmly.
"1... 2... 3... NOW!"
And the bucket was off and drifting away. Ricky blinked in the sudden sunlight. He shook his head and stared around blearily to get his bearings. Behind him was the shore, with Simon clapping and whooping at the water's edge. Whitey was holding his straw hat and beer can aloft. Straight in front was an island in the distance, which had something enormous moving on it - wait, was that a seagull? Bloody hell. Poor Peanut. And to the right of him - oh dear God.
Ricky could see a line of girls advancing through the water like some aquatic zombie flick. They all had their hands outstretched and wild stares. On the breeze he could hear a demented call of "Rickeeeee!"
After saying several rude words in a variety of languages, the Kaiser Chiefs frontman ducked under the waves and began splashing his way to the island.
Meanwhile, Peanut wasn't having a particularly good day. He was feeling a bit ill after eating much of the food intended for the barbeque. He had been mistaken for a giant chip by a seagull the size of a house, which had just torn the hat from his head and was tussling with it. He was currently edging behind a large rock for safety. The water looked a bit scary to swim in and he didn't dare to venture further along the island because his mum had always told him to stay still if he was lost. And he was lost.
Ricky also wasn't finding the water much fun to swim through. Several times he'd spectacularly collided with shopping trolleys. He also had a carrier bag wrapped around his left leg and a surprised limpet clinging to his stomach. But it wouldn't be long until he reached the island. He could now see Peanut hiding behind a rock and staring at him all puzzled-like.
After a few more minutes, Ricky realised the water was shallow enough to stand in and he waded onto the pebbles and hissed at Peanut.
"Oi! You all right?"
"I think so," Peanut whispered. "But it's got my hat!"
"Don't worry about that. We're getting out of here."
Ricky looked back towards the shore - and his heart skipped a beat. There was a break in the chain of people. Someone had distracted his girls and there weren't enough! They had no way of getting back across the water... and that seagull looked hungry.
Back on the mainland, Nick had chosen an inopportune moment to rip off his jumpers and was parading his torso around, striking manly poses and saying 'Heeeey'. Several girls had stopped following Ricky and were instead gazing this way and dribbling ever so slightly
"I'm not sure this is a good time," Whitey muttered.
"Oh, very well," said Nick. He was about to get dressed when there was a thundering explosion. Dave Grohl had set light to the barbeque, a nearby beach hut, his eyebrows and Simon's stray foot. The fearful noise made Nick's fan girls jump into the sea in shock, and Ricky seized the chance.
"Let's go Peanut!"
The two jumped along, from fan girl to fan girl. It was a very wobbly bridge and in places it screamed and grabbed at Peanut and Ricky, who was now starting to weep openly as well as wave his arms melodramatically. The two reached the other side and fled along the beach, yelling as the massive weight of fan girls started to sweep closer towards them.
Suddenly Whitey, cool as a cornet of Premium Soft ice cream, grabbed a bucket from a sandcastle-making child and rammed it onto Ricky's head. The fan girls blinked. They looked around aimlessly, glanced once or twice at a jumper clad Nick, then headed off. Whitey then put his straw hat back on and settled down onto his beach towel, stretching out and finding another warm can of beer.
Nick followed his lead and lay flat out on the sand, making sure to put on another jumper to avoid sunburn. Peanut felt his head - so this is what it feels like without a hat! Sort of soft and a bit hairy. He decided not to bother wearing his spare hat, but every time someone make a squawking noise he flinched and dived under the nearest rock. Simon sat in a rock pool, tossing his foot from hand to hand and occasionally making bird noises at Peanut.
"Could someone please bury me in the sand?" asked Ricky politely. Nick obliged and soon the two were playing in a big happy sandcastle, both with drumsticks up their nose.
Yes, thought Whitey as he put his hat over his face and sighed. It was a good holiday.
In the distance, a seagull swooped down and took off with a man who looked remarkably like Dave Grohl.
Here is a story I wrote for the Kaiser Chiefs forum some time ago... I'm guessing 2007 ish? It contains many forum injokes, some that I can't remember. Anyway, I won a competition and a signed setlist for my efforts. Yaaay. Here's to sitting up at 3am, pressing F5 repeatedly, fighting off trolls from The Kooks forum (yes really), and downloading lengthy live bootlegs.
Reading it back reminds me that I really should stick to writing non-fiction.
Words (c) Suzy Sims
Originally published as a three-parter on the Kaiser Chiefs forum
Holidays, Yes
Yes, it was a good holiday, thought Whitey to himself as he stretched out on the sand and wiggled his toes. His traditional beanie had been swapped for a rather fetching straw hat and there was a warm can of beer half buried next to his sun towel. The sky was grey, the air was humid (well, they were in England after all) and there were seagulls swooping down to pick at the leftovers of chips at various points along the beach wall.
Nick was sunbathing comfortably nearby, although being British he was still wearing trousers and several jumpers. Simon was wearing a bathing cap and was splashing about in the rock pools looking for crabs to taunt.
Ricky had been buried in the sand up to his neck and had a bucket over his head, which was frankly necessary to stop the fan girls seeing him and wrecking the band's holiday.
Whitey still couldn't understand why when he had requested an ice cream, Simon had skipped off giggling at him.
But there was someone missing, and Whitey couldn't work out who.
"I think I need a pee," said a muffled voice from under the bucket.
"There's sunburn on your nut, mate," said Nick as he threw over the Ambre Solaire (only £8 for Factor 15, available in all good shops).
Simon was walking around with a small bag in his hand. "Who wants a peanut?" he shouted.
That was it! Whitey sat up. He looked around.
"Where the f**k is Dave Grohl?" he said. "He said he was bringing a barbeque."
"I'll go and look for him," said Nick and the bucket simultaneously.
So off they went, padding across the sand dunes with their bare hobbit feet. Ricky kept the bucket on his head, and Nick thought it would be funny to balance things on the top without him noticing. It started with a handful of sand, then a shell, a bottle of Ambre Solaire, a pair of flip-flops, a small child and a deckchair.
Nick was struggling to lift a lifebuoy onto the top when Ricky pulled the bucket off, saying: "What the blooming 'eck are you doing?" (For that is how people from Leeds talk).
As soon as the bucket was taken off, hundreds of bikini-clad babes (and one or two heifers) made a beeline for Ricky. He looked scared and put it back on his head, and the girls became disinterested and drifted away.
"Phew, that was close," he said quietly.
And up popped Dave Grohl, who'd been hiding underneath a small dinghy.
"Hello boys, what are you up to?"
"We're looking for a plot," said Ricky-Bucket. Nick hit him over the head with a drumstick until he reverberated and wobbled into the sea.
"We were looking for you," he said. "Where's this barbeque then?"
"I was bringing it over to you. I was walking along here next to Peanut, who was carrying the food. And then it happened...
"Peanut was kidnapped by a seagull."
Meanwhile a few feet away, Simon had discovered a message floating in a glass bottle. By 'discovered', he actually trod on it and was undergoing immediate surgery to sew his foot back on.
Whitey unravelled the small square of paper. It read:
'I AM BEING HELD CAPTIVE ON BIRD ISLAND. PLEASE HELP'.
"Oh, bugger," he said.
More to follow...
Peanut was lying on the shore. He was staring out across the murky brown waters, which were hiding all sorts of horrors, but not the various condoms and shopping trolleys which would occasionally bob in his line of vision.
He was on Bird Island, home to the enormous seagull which had mistaken him for a large chip and had swooped down, grabbed him by the pants and flown him off. The mainland was a fair distance away and poor Peanut had no idea how to get back. Currently he was lying in a star-shape, his reasoning being that seagulls don't eat starfish because you can't nibble on one leg while the other four are punching you in the beak.
Luckily for the 'nut, Whitey had recognised the handwriting on the note. He'd also reasoned that Peanut wasn't in any immediate danger or he wouldn't have been able to sign it 'Love and hugs, your mate P. Hope to see you soon xx'. Whitey adjusted his straw hat and stood up as Nick, Dave and a damp bucket approached.
"We need to find some way of getting over there," Nick said, flinging himself down onto the sand and taking off one of his jumpers. There was a small piece of seaweed caught in his hair which he flicked onto the towel.
"Could we not just ask the bird to bring him home?" suggested Dave, not very helpfully.
"I think this situation calls for a bit of a sacrifice from Mr Wilson," said Whitey quietly.
"What do you mean exactly?" said the bucket apprehensively, hands on hips.
Whitey paced up and down on his towel, which didn't take long as it wasn't really that big. "There aren't many of us and we need some help. Nick can't row the dinghy because he insists on using his drumsticks for oars." Nick nodded and smiled. "Dave isn't in the band, and his ideas are frankly rubbish."
"OK," said Dave brightly. "I'll try and light the barbeque. I forgot the firelighters so I'm going to eat a pack of chillis and breathe on the coals really hard."
"I want to help," said Simon bravely.
"Your foot is still loose and you're in danger of leaving it behind by accident. Can you help Dave instead?" said Nick.
Simon grumbled into his bathing cap and followed Dave along the beach, but returned a second later.
"Forgot my foot," he said sheepishly.
"Didn't someone say my name?" the Ricky Bucket asked. Whitey put his arm across Ricky's sandy shoulders.
"I think," he said, "it's about time you took that thing off."
Ricky's face paled so much it could be seen glowing white under the plastic cover.
"But... the fan girls!" he stammered.
"We want them to follow you. If enough of them do that, you could swim over to Bird Island, pick up Peanut and get him to walk across the ladies. He'd get back without getting his feet wet," said Whitey.
Ricky wasn't happy with this, but Nick tickled him with a Pro-Mark stick until he started rolling on the floor spluttering: "Stop! I'll do your stupid idea!"
Peanut squinted across the water to try and see if the other Chiefs had received his SOS. He thought he could see his friends rolling on the floor and giggling, with the occasional clash of drumstick on bucket. "Take your time, boys," he thought.
Then suddenly there was a terrifying squawk which echoed around the cliff tops. Peanut froze and slowly turned his head to see an enormous seagull with roaring wings and beady eyes looking at him menacingly. Uh oh...
More to follow...
Ricky was stood at the water's edge nervously. He lifted the bucket off his head slightly to see Whitey and Simon grinning and giving him the thumbs-up sign.
"Come on mate. You can do it!"
"Kaiser! Chiefs! Kaiser! Chiefs!"
Looking to the left, he saw Nick had both drumsticks up his nose and was pulling a silly face and doing a little dance.
He looked down and flexed his furry little toes, then did an enormous jump into the surprisingly chilly water.
"Ouch!"
"Tide's out," called Simon. "You might have to go a bit further out than that."
Ricky rubbed his hands together and took another step into the water. A few paces later and it was swishing around his ankles pleasantly. A couple of minutes more and the waves were buffeting against his knees.
"Bit further," said a voice next to the bucket. "We'll tell you when, don't you worry."
Ricky took a deep breath and kept inching out until the water was lapping around his waist.
"Ready?" yelled Whitey.
"I think so," said Ricky, gripping the bucket firmly.
"1... 2... 3... NOW!"
And the bucket was off and drifting away. Ricky blinked in the sudden sunlight. He shook his head and stared around blearily to get his bearings. Behind him was the shore, with Simon clapping and whooping at the water's edge. Whitey was holding his straw hat and beer can aloft. Straight in front was an island in the distance, which had something enormous moving on it - wait, was that a seagull? Bloody hell. Poor Peanut. And to the right of him - oh dear God.
Ricky could see a line of girls advancing through the water like some aquatic zombie flick. They all had their hands outstretched and wild stares. On the breeze he could hear a demented call of "Rickeeeee!"
After saying several rude words in a variety of languages, the Kaiser Chiefs frontman ducked under the waves and began splashing his way to the island.
Meanwhile, Peanut wasn't having a particularly good day. He was feeling a bit ill after eating much of the food intended for the barbeque. He had been mistaken for a giant chip by a seagull the size of a house, which had just torn the hat from his head and was tussling with it. He was currently edging behind a large rock for safety. The water looked a bit scary to swim in and he didn't dare to venture further along the island because his mum had always told him to stay still if he was lost. And he was lost.
Ricky also wasn't finding the water much fun to swim through. Several times he'd spectacularly collided with shopping trolleys. He also had a carrier bag wrapped around his left leg and a surprised limpet clinging to his stomach. But it wouldn't be long until he reached the island. He could now see Peanut hiding behind a rock and staring at him all puzzled-like.
After a few more minutes, Ricky realised the water was shallow enough to stand in and he waded onto the pebbles and hissed at Peanut.
"Oi! You all right?"
"I think so," Peanut whispered. "But it's got my hat!"
"Don't worry about that. We're getting out of here."
Ricky looked back towards the shore - and his heart skipped a beat. There was a break in the chain of people. Someone had distracted his girls and there weren't enough! They had no way of getting back across the water... and that seagull looked hungry.
Back on the mainland, Nick had chosen an inopportune moment to rip off his jumpers and was parading his torso around, striking manly poses and saying 'Heeeey'. Several girls had stopped following Ricky and were instead gazing this way and dribbling ever so slightly
"I'm not sure this is a good time," Whitey muttered.
"Oh, very well," said Nick. He was about to get dressed when there was a thundering explosion. Dave Grohl had set light to the barbeque, a nearby beach hut, his eyebrows and Simon's stray foot. The fearful noise made Nick's fan girls jump into the sea in shock, and Ricky seized the chance.
"Let's go Peanut!"
The two jumped along, from fan girl to fan girl. It was a very wobbly bridge and in places it screamed and grabbed at Peanut and Ricky, who was now starting to weep openly as well as wave his arms melodramatically. The two reached the other side and fled along the beach, yelling as the massive weight of fan girls started to sweep closer towards them.
Suddenly Whitey, cool as a cornet of Premium Soft ice cream, grabbed a bucket from a sandcastle-making child and rammed it onto Ricky's head. The fan girls blinked. They looked around aimlessly, glanced once or twice at a jumper clad Nick, then headed off. Whitey then put his straw hat back on and settled down onto his beach towel, stretching out and finding another warm can of beer.
Nick followed his lead and lay flat out on the sand, making sure to put on another jumper to avoid sunburn. Peanut felt his head - so this is what it feels like without a hat! Sort of soft and a bit hairy. He decided not to bother wearing his spare hat, but every time someone make a squawking noise he flinched and dived under the nearest rock. Simon sat in a rock pool, tossing his foot from hand to hand and occasionally making bird noises at Peanut.
"Could someone please bury me in the sand?" asked Ricky politely. Nick obliged and soon the two were playing in a big happy sandcastle, both with drumsticks up their nose.
Yes, thought Whitey as he put his hat over his face and sighed. It was a good holiday.
In the distance, a seagull swooped down and took off with a man who looked remarkably like Dave Grohl.
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