Look at this amazing flamenco documentary I found. I don't know what any of the words are, but look at the pictures. It's so nice.
I love flamenco. Our friend Matt we went to Uni with plays flamenco guitar amazingly so the sound takes me back a bit to sitting on his bed in a tiny room in halls, generally being stinky asses.
We went to see him play at Kings Place last year and it blew my socks off. There was a dancer too, who came on stage wearing his cuban heels and his dangerously synthetic, proper fire hazard trousers all up high on his snakey hips. (I'm just not used to noticing mens hips so much, it's a strange feeling). Jack and I exchanged a sideways smirk because he to our uninitiated eyes he looked like a berk.
But when he danced it was just amazing! So frickin' hot - jeepers! Flamenco dancing is just awesome, I want to go see more.
I have a lot of Mother-of-millions plants. I love them. Because they're triffids: really aggressive growers that spill their babies into neighbouring pots which then grow and try to strangle smaller, more meek plants. Yeahh!
Jack hates them though. They are a little bit ugly I guess.
Well, anyway, the mother of all my mothers did a dirty great flower the other day which spat sticky powder all over the window. Then she curled over and her leaves got gnarled and she sent out hairy little roots all over her limbs, desperately searching for some more soil.
Jack gave me a sideways eyes look and suggested her time might be up. I was sad to admit it but he was right. So I put the monster in the bin. And as I pushed her down I snapped a woody stem and the resulting sharp edge was forced in to the palm of my hand. I got a proper cut of it, a big gash right in the middle of my hand.
It really hurt.
It's like a bloody Stephen King novel round my ends sometimes.