|
>>djpaulette [back to postcard archive menu] Postcards about letting it snow, letting it snow and letting it snow! There must be angels, cherubim, seraphim and all manner of heavenly creatures talking seven shades of s*** with God, in Heaven right now. I mean, what is it with this white powder business? It's falling from the sky in such copious amounts that there are mountains of it in every country: it's on the roofs, on the roads, on top of cars, in fact, every where there's a flat surface there's a pile just waiting to be scooped up and dealt with. Seriously, people are throwing it around like it could all disappear at any minute! Well, it would be rude not to partake, wouldn't it? And yet, despite being a Capricorn and a proud December twin at that, I am convinced that I must have been child-swapped before I was conceived. You see, I'm quite sure that I was meant to be a summer baby: I don't like the cold, I hate wearing condensated glasses, have never appreciated feeling that constant, early menopausal hot flush feeling that accompanies being so wrapped up that no-one recognises you and I really have a problem with the concept of frozen water that falls from the sky and limits your footwear choice to Wellington boots (not even Prada, Burberry, Thomas Pink or Miu Miu make them look like anything other than Wellingtons)! or snowshoes (and no, your old school tennis racquets are not a cheap or good substitute for these either). Don't get me wrong, I'm not all bah humbug about snow scenes: I loved Dr Zhivago, I collect snow globes and was thoroughly (ok momentarily) warmed when my dental nurse told me that she had never seen snow before (she's from Durban). I even laughed out loud when the lovely Jodie returned my early morning snow-warning call right in the middle of my root canal treatment to tell me that it was -7 degrees in Paris, that they'd got snow too and that she now wanted to move back to LA! Even Simon 'Sherpa Tensing' Patterson commented that despite never previously having had a problem with snow falling in his lap that even he can't quite get his head around it! Friends, you're not alone! No one can deal with snow without moaning about it. But remember our seasons only have a one-day life span, so what's here today, is gone tomorrow. Just like the Sun in summer. Anyway, HAPPY NEW YEAR, folks! May your resolutions be easily kept and your guilt complex become an auld acquaintance that's been conveniently forgotten if they aren't! Despite my opting for the one size fits all, plant or money 'presents to' options (next year I promise to be far more or iginal), my Christmas, New Year and all my presents were so fierce and I feel so loved that I'm black and blue from pinching myself to check if it's real. Huge thanks are due to my whole family of course — but especially to Elicia and Martin for the car and for providing my Mancunian home from home; to Mum for the Millionaire answers and the tea swap, to Paula for the twin-ship and for teaching Hannah to say 'Burberry', to Liz for the 'over-scenting' moment, the baddest taxi number and of course for Saskia, to Georgina for the Lancôme Lychee Juicy Tube, to Audrey for the open ticket back to Kansas a.k.a Manchester and to Adrian for the cavalry rescue. My friends are equally deserving of special mention too: so thanks go to Gill 'King Gillston' Kingston for the girly clip-clop around town and for the Saturday night shenanigans, to Ashley Beedle for 'Electric Chair', to Kitty Kendrick for the Hogmanay malarkey, to Claudia and Tracy for the Palm Springs vibes, to Jodie and Rego for the French kiss and to Alex and David for the long distance love-in from San Diego. You all rock! And you know you do. Before I turn into Gwyneth Paltrow let me tell you that, despite coming at the end of the year, November and December 2002 were well worth the wait, not least because Consuela and Didi took a six day sabbatical from building their cleaning empire to fly their tired asses over from Montreal to shoplift from Liz II's bathroom at Buckingham Palace. I had to show them where it was of course: they couldn't find anything here because England is just too 'small.' Names have been changed to protect the guilty. The Barrio party at Cargo was cute, even if my friend Jo-Ann's driving was two up from dodgems and four down from white knuckle ride: mind you points were scored for getting us there on time through the most hideous traffic, for parking right in front of the door and for doing it all without the use of a map. As for the Nervous Records Tenth Anniversary party at the Ministry of Sound, it was an honour to spin in the company of Tony Humphries (thanks for the personal compliment, Tony)! and The Pound Boys. The DJ Magazine party at Traffik was rather a boozy but funny affair that was all too swiftly followed by my outrageously dazzling attire (wide brimmed hat and rollerblades included) and behaviour at Wall of Sound's Studio 54 party at Fabric. Le Queen was mine and Alan Thompson's Christmas present to Paris: suffice it to say that my champagne worked its ritual magic once more and a good time was had by all. This was then repeated at, at Discotec's Christmas party at The End, at Take 5 in Biel and polished off at Sundaysonic's End of Year review at Notting Hill Arts Club (apologies to Ola for the over-exuberance — but your watch really is ten minutes fast, mate)! Eventually, I was so ready for New Year's Eve and Coco latté / Atelier at Universe that I felt I would pop and not just because of the endless permutations of turkey meals that I'd eaten. After starting with the Deep Dish remix of Justin Timberlake's 'Like I Love You' and following with a salvo of white hot new records I felt unstoppable but then the power tripped midway through my set — no lights, no sound, NOTHING - I was immediately humbled and I've never been more thankful for having a percussionist on stage (thanks Nakissa) in my life! Mind you, I had to laugh when the power finally came back on and I hit 'play', as the record ran 'Rise, rise, rise, keep on rising'! - I couldn't have planned it better if I'd tried and it really was the most perfect and positive message to take into 2003. By the end of the first week of the year I was back in Switzerland, watching frozen water falling from the sky and raising hell. Thanks to everyone who brought in the New Year with me, Mr Mike and Radio Couleur 3 at the Madd Club in Lausanne. That last, extra hour playing Technics tag with Mr. Mike will secure that event a place in my WMB for good (I promise to tell you what that abbreviation means when you're older and not before). Of course Christmas is never all about work, work, work or snow, snow, snow. The Selfridges Sale in Manchester yielded unto me the sexiest pair of Alexander McQueen jeans, whilst my Top Shop trawl uncovered a divine Zandra Rhodes blouse - I've not paid for them yet and I've already worn them both to death! My pioneering spirit saw me totally enjoying getting lost not only in Manchester's super-shopping experience but also in driving to Hale from Prestwich and back with directions but without a map and having to be rescued in Didsbury by the gallant Adrian and in Bury by Elicia. And what's my excuse for having the sense of direction of a beheaded pigeon? Put simply, I leave Manchester for eight years and nothing is where I left it. I just don't recognise any of it any more! What a head f***. Anyway, I don't know about you but I'm confident that I ended the year as I meant to end it and started the year as I mean to go on, with my priorities in the right order and my sense of humour to the fore. And that can only be a good thing. oh and whilst we're talking about good things you can catch me at: Jan 11 Traffik @ Carey's, Coventry If you're snowed in or snowed under, feel free to let me
know how your year is shaping up by mailing me at mail@djpaulette.com
- I'll be happy to bring the antifreeze. Otherwise, I'm out of
here like I stole something. See you next month with Miami in mind! [click here] for the Postcard archives
|