Sunday 30 September 2012

Not on my (search) terms #2


Search Keywords

EntryPageviews
development of vulva in girls
2
kate massey chase
2
vagina waistcoat
2


My name I can understand, but the other two??? What?!  And most importantly: WHY DOES THIS TAKE YOU TO MY BLOG???????????

Friday 28 September 2012

Networking or Not Working

It's very un-British to be proud of and share your achievements, but in the para-phrased words of Charlotte Bronte's preface to the second edition of Jane Eyre: fuck convention.

One thing I'm particularly good at is networking. Now, I know that conjures up an image of shiny suits and phrases like 'blue sky thinking', 'USP' and 'maximise potential', but I promise you I don't mean or do it in a wanky way. Or in a sycophantic, obnoxious, flirting, touting for work by laughing at your racist jokes and offering my boobs on a plate kind of way. My sort of networking is basically built on the fact that I'm very friendly, like talking to strangers, and I'm passionate enough about my field of work to want to talk about it to anyone who'll listen. So there. One of my male friends also told me I have a way of looking at you like you're the only one in the room (feel free to swallow the vom in your mouth, I won't take offence). I am the polar opposite to the guy Lisa Mitchell sings about in her delightfully whimsical video for Neopolitan Dreams - I AM IN THE ROOM (OK, she's not to everyone's taste -  and my sister's boyfriend would probably call it whiny white girl music - but check out her song Coin Laundry below if, like me, you like Edwardian nighties, bird cages and girls who steal buttons. And she's talking about meeting someone in the coin laundry - a fabulous example of networking in unusual places!!).

So, many people - hundreds, thousands, maybe - have asked me: 'But, Kate, how do you network so awfully well?' They say: 'I'm shy', 'I don't know how', 'I can't talk to adults' ('But you are an adult', I reply. 'I know, but I can't talk to them!' they reply, 'Not real ones!'). Now, as a freelancer, networking is fundamental to my acquisition of work (networking or not working - punalicious!), and at this fucking horrible economic time, it's becoming an increasingly intrinsic part of securing work. So, to be blessed with this talent is a very useful tool. And - because sharing is caring - I'm going to give out some much coveted advice on how to do it.

NETWORKING FOR PLEBS (as Andrew Mitchell might say):

Firstly, do you own a cute thing? Babies and puppies work best, as do kittens and bunny-rabbits, although these are less easy to transport.

If yes, this is your conversation hook. Spend a day on public transport, in a doctor's waiting room, or in a department store like Debenhams. Use your cute thing to ensnare passers-by. Baby twins are clearly a big win, but are obviously rarer and harder to find, steal or produce. Although their rarity does contribute to their awwwhhh-quota (although please do not dress them identically, even if this might make your task easier, as this may psychologically damage them and suppress the development of their distinct identities; not even a job with Clean Break or Safe Ground is worth that. And please don't dress up puppies either; that could alienate a number of potential networkees, and embarrass other dogs). Wave your cute things at passers by. Drop a cute little sock. Obviously struggle to get through doors. Be creative. Use any means legal and ethical to start a conversation. The cuter the baby/puppy, the easier this will be.

If no, have a little cry about the lack of cute things in your life. Have a little look at pictures of the Cutest Little Kitten in the World to cheer yourself up. Oh dear god, just look at it:
And again:
HOW ADORABLE IS THAT??? THE CAT IS IN THE JEANS! IN THEM!

Still, if you owned something that cute, you wouldn't want to go to work, would you?

Anyway, once you've got over the lack of puppies and kittens in your life, it's time to re-group and re-focus on how to NETWORK LIKE A PRO. So, you've got no baby to steal. Fine, you'll just have to strike up conversations with people who do. When getting onto a carriage on the underground, have a quick scour of the existing passengers. Does anyone have a baby? If not, Plan B: is anyone reading a book you've read? Or is there an old lady who's gagging for a chat about her grandchildren? You never know - one of them might be a passionate philanthropist looking for young people who need a cash-injection to their arts projects. Or a policy-maker who'd love to read your MA thesis. YOU JUST DON'T KNOW 'til you ask them what they're knitting. Go on, bite the bullet!

So, you've gone for Plan A and you're sitting next to a baby. Where do you go next? Try something like, 'I wish the kids I teach were this well-behaved'. Or: 'I know this is a bit of a random question, but do you know a good children's toy shop where they sell cheap juggling balls?' Filled with curiosity they'll then ask why, and you can explain, 'Well, in my last Drama workshop with drug addicts in Hammersmith, someone threw mine a bit hard and they burst'. And Bob is your proverbial uncle. Bish bash bosh. Conversation OPENED. And if they look at you like you're crazy, rather than putting you in touch with all their friends and relatives who would be really interested in what you do and pocketing your business card, get off at the next stop. And go looking for the next puppy you can stroke (that is in no way a euphemism).  


DISCLAIMER: If you are the lovely man I met in Debenhams yesterday, with the baby with the big blue eyes, to whom I gave my business card and am genuinely interested in your work, I promise it was not all part of my plan for world domination. You were my muse, not a pawn in my great big networking chess game. I genuinely thought your baby was cute! I promise! 

Monday 24 September 2012

Koestler Trust exhibition: BoJo gets Massey-Chased

So, as promised:

I'd been out for dinner with the Massey-Chi (still working on the spelling of that; it rhymes with 'hi', not 'he', and is the plural of Massey-Chase. Obvs.), and was walking home via the Southbank. I was just cutting down the side of the BFI to get to Waterloo, and I spotted a funny blonde man. You know the sort, scruffy hair, looking like a blow-dried dandelion (I passionately hate Frankie Boyle, but this is a good description); you know: portly, posh, would look at home in a straining waistcoat with Daffy Ducks holding hunting rifles on; you know: the sort of gent who falls in rivers, gets stuck on zip-wires - possibly intentionally, to cultivate a loveable buffoon persona, wants to be PM*.... You know: BoJo.

 So, I spot Mr Mayor, and think hmmmm... Boris. There's lot's I'd like to chat to you about. There's lots on my mind. There's lots I want you to know, to understand, to appreciate. So, I walk up to him, all cajh (HOW DO YOU SPELL THIS? Casual, abbreviated). 'Hey Boris', I say. No, I don't. It went a bit like this:

Me: Hi, excuse me, good evening.

BJ: Hello (the story's loads better when you get to hear me do my best Boris voice; you'll jut have to imagine it)

Me: Have you just been to the Koestler Trust exhibition at the Southbank Centre? (of course he hadn't been; this was my well-planned/spontaneous opener - I'm a girl who thinks on her feet)

BJ: Pfhf, no, no, I've just been opening a library or something. Pfhf.

Me: Oh, well you really must go. It's an exhibition of art by offenders, and it's really fantastic. It was supposed to opened by Ken Clarke yesterday, but of course he couldn't...

BJ: Oh was it the other bloke?

Me: No, Chris Grayling didn't come (raising a pointed eye-brow). It was the minister...

BJ: For beatings and hangings?! Pfhfh.

Me: The Chief Inspector for Prisons, yes. But, yeah, it's really impressive.

BJ: Do you work in the industry then?

Me: Yes, yeah, prison arts, yeah.

BJ: Do you know Rachel Billington? (I think that's who he said)

Me: Ummmm.

BJ: Editor of Inside Time.

Me: Oh, yes, of course (I don't). I, ummm, I was asked to write for them once.

BJ: Or Danny.

Me: ?

BJ: Danny Kruger.

Me: The name rings a bell....

BJ: Chap always putting plays on in prisons and that.

Me: (nod, nod - later discover he's the Only Connect guy).

BJ: Anyhow, better get going.

Climbs on bike.

Me: Bye. Nice to talk to you. Good to see you wearing a helmet.**

He cycles off. I feel weirdly elated and chuckle to myself all the way home. I M-C'ed the BoJo. Politely and about prison arts. That's how the KMC rolls.  



*Check out the Daily Mash on BJ as PM. It's funny (forward slash terrifying) cos it's true: Britain demands amusing prime minister 

**Btw, that last comment was influenced by the knowledge that last time my girlfriend saw him cycling down the Grays Inn Rd, she thought, 'Who's that knob-end in a Travel For London bobble hat? Oh. Of course.'



Thursday 20 September 2012

Not on my (search) terms

Gosh, I haven't been on here in a while. We have lots of catching up to do, my friends. It's been a busy couple of months.

Although I haven't written any posts since early August, this has not had the usual impact on my number of page views. Normally, I obsessively check the number of views my blog receives, like a small child checking presents under the tree. Click on me! Validate me! Prove I exist! (as Miss Fox would imitate in a whining voice that sounds in no way like my own: 'Pay me attention!') It probably sounds remarkably tragic (on a par with my weekly enjoyment of Holby City - don't judge!), but now that I'm not in full-time education, I don't get grades to measure my self-worth, sorry - academic attainment, by. Blog stats are thus a meagre attempt to self-assess. AND YET all this has now been SPOILT. Because, despite not posting anything for weeks, I'm still getting regular views. Why? Because of people google-imaging those fucking VAGINA CUPCAKES! Now when I look at the traffic sources and how people have bumped into my blog, I repeatedly discover it's from googling 'cunt cakes', 'hymen pussy', 'lesbian vaginas' and 'kate is so gay'.

Search Keywords
Entry
Pageviews
cunt cakes
4
cupcakes clitoris
3
hymen pussy
2
vag cupcake
2
vaginal cupcakes
2
lesbian and my beautiful girlfriend scenes
1

This does not make me happy. Not only do I feel quite sad, and weirdly unclean through association, but I also now can't know how many people are reading my blog for the content, rather than just scouring the web for jammy cunts (as it were). The only small thing that can assuage these frustrated and vaguely voyeuristic feelings (almost like hearing someone wanking in a public toilet) is that they might accidentally read the content while they're unbuttoning their trousers, or the type-face might flicker in the corner of their eyes as they glaze over, and they'll accidentally catch some lefty feminist rhetoric which might slip through the cracks in their hypothalamus, lodge itself somewhere, and spread like a lovely bacteria. WOMEN ARE NOT OBJECTS. ART IS POWER. CREATIVITY IS GOLDEN. KATE MAKES LEARNING FUN.

Hmmmm. I haven't actually written about any of the things I meant to. And I'm too tired now. Bollocks. (Please don't let that mean I'll get search terms of people looking for testicles now; there's only so much genitalia I can take!). I'll have to leave all my other musings and updates for another time. Including my bumping-into-Boris-Johnson-this-evening story. I bet you can hardly wait.