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Jaw-dropping Brixton description in blog

I'm still having fun anagramming her name. I've saved the best one till last
so hire our map
Is Armour hope?
I'm our ear shop
O! Superior ham
Oh, more air pus
Hi, armour pose
our armies hop
pie or sour ham
Ho I pour smear
oi, sour hamper
hoarser opium
pus hair romeo

Oh! I'm so up rear
 
Come on, own up now :)

whistling.gif
 
No, they would just help them (it seems to be a collective blog). In fact threads like this help tbh. It's all about being a bit edgy a bit controversial ooh.
 
She probably thought people who shop in Iceland can't read. She can dish it out, but gets frit and spineless when someone answers back.
 
I don't think posterity will ever be a feature of her writing. I hope she spends a sleepless night cringing about her sneering juvenile outpourings and reflects on the fact that when you put things on the internet they might be read by people outside her tiny little circle of aquaintances.
 
I'm so glad her picture's still on Facebook. Shall be keeping an eye out for her on the Hill now :D

I reckon she'll be like that Liz Jones in The Daily Mail when she gets older
 
She's clearly aware of this thread, it would be interesting to see if she has anything she wants to say.

As Mrs Magpie says:

"She'll never make it in journalism if she can't stand by what she's written."
 
HDIF is still there

How Does It Feel To Be Loved?, Canterbury Arms, 4 March 2011
In Clubs on March 5, 2011 at 3:26 pm

We’ve been to How Does It Feel’s Cavendish Square edition before, so there are certain things we know to expect tonight. The Cavendish Square venue (The Phoenix) is an elegant basement with textured wallpaper, a decent-sized dancefloor and a well-stocked, if slightly expensive, bar. How Does It Feel’s DJs play “indie pop, northern soul, Tamla Motown, girl groups, and sixties heartbreak”, which all adds up to a night of retro fun.

The Canterbury Arms, behind the police station in Brixton, is rather different. We pay £6 to get into the back room of an old man’s pub. The walls are yellowish, half the lights are on, and there are rainbow-coloured ‘DISCO FEVER’ posters on the walls. The place has the vibe of a village hall, and brings back bad memories of those eighteenth birthday parties that are unexpectedly attended by the host’s entire family. It’s almost strange there isn’t an Iceland finger food buffet.

The venue might have seemed a good idea in theory: it certainly carries on the retro theme. But, it practice, it doesn’t quite come together. There is something awkward about dancing with too many lights on.

On the plus side, the drinks are reasonably priced and the music is still excellent. They play the classics: Baby Love, All Day And All Of The Night, Mrs Robinson – but they mix it up with lesser-known retro tracks. At times not having an encyclopaedic knowledge of underground 60s music means you don’t know what you’re dancing to half the time, but they’re all quality pop tunes.

The clientele tonight seem never to have looked beyond the 60s. Most of them are about 32, and dress like toned-down versions of Austin Powers characters – quite different from the young and trendy crowd that turn up at The Phoenix.

By about half one the crowd is coupling off, and numbers are already beginning to dwindle – meaning we, as under-25s, are starting to stand out like children at a wedding. The retro hits are now few and far between, and our enthusiasm is waning.

In future, we’ll make the effort to mission into central London, where the lights are low and it’s ok to be young.
 
I think she should see it as a free tutorial from the people of Brixton. Hopefully she's learned that a good journalist has to understand that their readers won't all share their background and prejudices. My two penn'orth is to note that Stanislavski credited the strength of German theatre in the time of Piscator and co, on the fact that reviewers weren't allowed to have anything published in the most popular newspaper until they had shown to the editor's satisfaction that they could write a good positive review. Sneering is easy and destructive. Telling people what they got right is constructive but bloody difficult. It's worth learning to do.
 
Stereotypes are the tools of the dangerous but are only believed by the foolish.
Sadly there are a lot of foolish people around and journalists know this.
 
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