Salut Madames et Monsieurs,

       With berets firmly on our heads and hastily drawn on goatee beards we were in a creative frame of mind this weekend. We did the inevitable; we painted a sign.
   We started three months ago with simple crayola doddlings on paper that appealed to the DIY spirit of the Booth. Over the months they served us well but got scuffed, dirty and torn as if they were the beermat of a fidgety drinker. We've now retired them on a beautiful estate with lots of land and they will be propely looked after, alongside all their wilting papery brethern.
   The new sign, in the parlance of our times, looks 'hot'. Indeed it is so 'hot' that to even stand near it requires you to take your jacket off. My brother came up with the design. Being a graphic-designer he banded about descriptions like 'Snakeoilman aesthetic' with abandon. Then we consulted the ever lovely Edd at Paintworks who kitted us out with acrylic, canvas and a brush. Four hours work on a one hour job and we had a new, vastly-improved Advice Booth sign!
   We'll upload a picture shortly, but in the meantime imagine it for yourselves being as kind or cruel about our artistic abilities. Or alternatively you could see it in the flesh with your actual real human eyes this Sunday, the 15th.
        Have a banana! 

Hey Dukes and Duchesses,

   Take a deep breath and prepare yourself to scream 'ADVICE BOOTH ARE A PAIR OF SLACKERS!' This is because we are making our way over to Dublin and doing our bit for the environment by taking a low-cost flight(!) We are going to stay with the parents and then on to County Wicklow to swim in this http://upload.wikimedia.org/wikipedia/commons/thumb/6/6f/Glendalough.jpg/800px-Glendalough.jpg lake. It's called Glendalough and it's very lovely.
   As always when we leave we have a heavy heart about abandoning our advice service on Brick Lane. But fear not; we promise that next fortnight's advice will be extra special!
   In our absence I advise you to go jump in a lake. Seriously, it's amazing.
          Peace and chocolate biscuits,
                 Morgan

Hello Champs and Champesses,

    Such an auspicious day to have applied a Scorcesian reference; the sun shone down and baked the streets with sunlight making everyone appear visibly healthier and the local Stoke-Newington Fesitval was blissful by all accounts. It was not exactly the weather of pathetic fallacy, when the distressed advice-giver's feelings were appropriately represented by the miserablist rain.
   I exaggerate. Only that this Sunday we were approached by a rather nasty individual who took exception to the Booth. Even the most drunken of passerby, although initially critical, has left with a raised thumb and a 'you're crazy, you are! Good luck anyway'. It came as a big surprise that someone would get shirty with the idea, accuse us of being rich (believe me, if Lord Fauntleroy had checked his balance at an ATM and come across my current account instead of his own he would had screamed 'Penury! Penury! I'm destitute!') and generally ominous omens of the gentrified future of Hackney and the Tower Hamlets. Setting up on a busy street an Advice Booth opens oneself up to ridicule, and we know this, but at heart we remain kittens.
   If any morals can be reluctantly dragged from this episode it's that a) not everyone will find what we do whimsical, worth-while or appropriate, b) it's not cool to have an argument with people on the sreet who are trying to make the world a more bearable place and c) don't assume that you know more about someone then you actually do.
    Love and squalor,
              Morgan

Ominous weather- it keeps you on your toes.  Or, as so many an old man has said in so many a cliched screenplay, "There's a storm a brewin', I feel it in my bones."  I wonder if pathetic fallacy is a chicken and egg situation- am I down because it's raining, or is it raining because I'm down?  Surely King Lear may have saved himself a few acts of trouble had he simply paused to wonder if this whole stormy rage thing wasn't just a serious case of the blues mixed with some seasonal affective disorder.  But alas, the fool wasn't into that kind of advice giving.  He was more of a riddle-me-this kind of guy. Him and Nosferatu.

But as I was saying... the weather no be good today, and so it is doubtful that Morgan and I will make our weekly appearance.  Which has me sadly cooped up inside, staring at a jar of lollipops that won't find a home in the mouths of confused pilgrims seeking guidance.   Or in the mouths of you know, the kinds of people who come to see us.  Who are usually just having a laugh, to be fair.  

But luckily Morgan has already put on his gear for next weeks' anti-rain dance.  (I think he has, though those may just be his jogging shorts.)  So come along next week for some fun in the sun-  If you bring the dacquiris, we'll bring the sympathy, and it'll be loving advice, all round!

And hey, if you don't trust me, take pop music's advice:  You're never going to stop the rain by complaining.  So be free, nothing should be worrying... um... you.

Love and squallor (we miss you dearly, come quickly and bring movies),

xx Deborah.

PS:  I'm still a little nervous about this whole blog thing.  So Mr. P Fallacy, if I offended you, just know that I love your work.  Please don't stop the sun from shining when I'm in a good mood.  You have a real way with... appropriate.  x.

   Oscar Wilde once said 'The only thing to do with good advice is to pass it on. It is never of any use to oneself' A quote that is both archly ironic and true. Taking Wilde's tutelage to heart I would advise you all to take some exercise.
  Now I know that isn't what you want to hear (advice is so often like the brussel sprout to the cake of indiscipline) but this week I've changed my bad habits and have taken up running. I used to run but laziness took root and held me in a vice-like headlock, leaving me to struggle my arms about inatheletically. When I began to feel I had the energy of a ninety year old man, yawning his way from one unfocussed day to the next I decided that it must change. So I've slipped on my old running shoes, taken a pair of suspiciously feminine running shorts that were left in our wash from the laundry shop and taken to the streets in the morning. It's done absolute wonders for my energy levels already.
  As an added bonus I've claimed an hour of living that had previously been self-denied in sleep. Life is fascinating at half-seven.Yesterday morning I was running in London Fields when in the opposite direction this man  http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=d-MYVv4tgQc was walking his ridiculously small dog. I stared at him, his beard and his dog. I recognised him from that song. He stared at my ridiculous running pants (frankly they are women's running pants, though they do have the benefit of making me so ass-kickable that I run like a mechanised rabbit from greyhounds) and he gave me the same pathetic expression I gave him. A dream I could have had at the same hour in bed couldn't have been so strange.
   But don't just take it from me; http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=L84dSVDg5XU Go walking!

     Morgan

Ladies!  We thought you were great and only afterwards did I awkwardly realize that perhaps you'd like to go for a drink any time and not specifically today... so I am posting a blog to encourage you to message us, because we would love to see both of you again!  You are lovely ladies, and giving you advice made our day....

Deborah,

Advice Booth

(PS:  Morgan shares my sentiments on this one.)

Salut!

   Well we're back in London from our overseas adventures and we're looking forward to getting back to the Booth. We should be set up by 3pm and, now the days are nice and long, we'll be out until 7.
   I would say that I am now marginally more qualified giving advice having recently undertaken fire safety training as part of work. After watching two horrific videos were lots of people burned, having to navigate a smoke-filled room (with scary simulated sound effects) and using a variety of extinguishers lets just say my mind was 'focussed'. So any questions such as 'What is the Fire Pyramid?' or 'How long does a carbon dioxide extinguisher last?' will be answered with ease.
   In other news; we were recently interviewed by the Londonist website http://www.londonist.com/archives/2007/05/londonist_inter_13.php . This now means that if you google us you'll find dozens of sites that have reproduced that interview. Hopefully it shouldn't mean that we will be inundated with a crowd; we want to keep this nice and cosy!
     Until tomorrow, champs.
              Morgan

Hey Sweeties,
   Unfortunately this coming Sunday both Deborah and I will be abroad. Deborah will be flying (in an airplane, not unaided) to Canada to see her family, friends and the wonderful folk of Toronto. I will be travelling to Dublin to see my equally marvellous family and friends, particularly to celebrate my mother's birthday.
   We are both genuinely disappointed that our favourite Sunday activity will have to wait another week. However we're sure to have gained some tidbits of wisdom and experience to impart from our international adventures. By way of advice in our absence; this week's adivce is to write a letter to someone you are close to. Don't announce what you are doing and put effort into making it great. Letter-writing is an activity/art that has been largely waylaid by the arrival of e-mail and so it would be very thoughtful and charming to receive a letter. Suggestions including adding artwork to the envelope like what you used to get at birthday parties when you were young, including a favourite poem/lyric or enclosing a mix-cd.

         Morgan

  On Brick Lane there are more certainties than just death and taxes. You're certain to see all genus of Hipsterum Ironicini; from the faux-nerd with his deceptive lenseless glasses to the hime haircut of somone who looks like a living anime character. If you're with more than one person you're certain to be rudely (and illegally) interrupted by a Indian restuarant owner who tries to shepherd you into his premises. And it's a certainity that some ne'er do well will be selling a dodgy bike that is so hot that your eyes burn just to look at it. Recently Advice Booth has been discussing the morality of buying a stolen bike and, coincidentally, Ed Coleman has just poised this question to us. So without further ado, we'll travese that modern moral minefield. Well there is a little bit more 'ado' to get through. Let me tell you a short story.

    I was bright-eyed and bushy-tailed, just twelve years young and I had received a bicycle so beautiful that I still wistfully recall it's charms when in my more maudlin drunken moments. Twelve gears, good traction tyres, fine grips and the frame was a shade of purple so deep that it would make Prince blush. I rode this mountain bike so much about Portmarnock I could have been in training for the Tour de France. I took it on the road down to the beach, off road on the playing fields, I even mastered the secretive BMX course that was dug into the woods behind the sports centre. In short, I loved my bike.

   One day I took it and my pocket-money to the local cornershop. I dismounted and let it rest against the wall just by the frontdoor. I didn't bother to lock it; I could see it clearly from the queue and I planned to buy my sweets so swiftly that the shopkeeper would mistake me for a relay racer. No sooner had my eyes lifted from my bike than it was snatched away. A van had pulled up when I was buying my Curly Whirly and a man ran from the back, took my bike, and the vechicle began to drive away. I stepped outside to see my bike being loaded into the back with a collection of other stolen bicycles. I chased after the van, trying to get just close enough that I could read the licence plate with my poor eyesight...but to no avail. It had escaped. My bike was stolen. I was devestated.

   The bicycle-less months that followed passed joylessly. I/my parents couldn't afford another bike and even if I could I would have forsaken the imposter. My bike had been passed into the hands of someone else on the black-market. I resigned myself to a bi-pedial existence. Then, one day in Dublin city, I came across a man on the street whispering if I wanted to buy a bike. I looked down at the bike he held, and lo and behold, it was my very bike! I shouted in the most indignant voice I had ever summoned 'THAT'S MY BIKE!' The ferocity of my pre-pubescent scream panicked the man who dropped it to the ground and just ran away. My Bike and I were reunited.

   It had suffered scratches and rusted during it's limbo on the black-market but I lovingly restored it best I could. I spent weeks of pocket-money fixing the brakes and tyres. I tried to convince myself that it could be the bicycle it once was, but after a few weeks I realised it was never going to be the same. It didn't and wouldn't ever feel 'right' again. Then when the grip slid off in my right hand it dawned on me; the name scrawled beneath the grip was not mine and had been there for a very long time. It was not my bike at all. It had belonged to someone else. It was just another stolen bike.

  Now the morals of this story are very simple. First; It's pretty pathetic to write in such detail about a bike that was stolen eleven years ago. I should get over it. Secondly; Always lock your bike no matter what, doofus! and thirdly and most saliently; your bike isn't the only bike that has been stolen. It isn't the first and it won't be the last. There is a culture of stealing bikes and selling them on.

   Now morally I would have to say buying a bike you know to be stolen is relative. If you're strapped for cash and want to save on the exorbitant fares you have to endure on the London underground, then I say go ahead. However you have to be prepared to deal with your bike being stolen. Consider it fair game. You're buying into the culture of the the black-market. Live by the sword...etc.

    However if you feel kind of slimey handing over forty quid for someone else's stolen property or get pissed off when your friend's bike gets stolen; don't even think about it. But if you opt out of the black-market it needn't be the end of your dreams of owning a bike! There is an excellent bike-seller who operates on the Bethnal Green road half of Brick Lane. He buys all his bikes from police auction which is about as ethical as you'll get with stolen property. If you avoid the more ridiculous 'chopper' style bicycles you can pick up a decent bike for £70. Alternatively you can get shiny, serviced bikes from the Brick Lane Bicycle Shop for about £70-120.

    Once you have your bike you can take some practical steps to avoid losing it if it gets stolen. Take a picture of it and store it on your computer, perhaps noting a distinguishing feature or blemish; this will help you to identify it should it be handed into the Fuzz. Similarly, and more effectively, the police service will 'tag' your bike with UV lacquer spray. They will spray an invisible number that will become recognisable under black light, which is an excellent way to trace stolen bikes. Ask your local police station and they'll do it free of charge.

   Hope this helps you with your moral dilemma!

Hey there Cheerios...

We should be on Brick Lane from about 2pm onwards.  Possibly 12, if we're feeling saucy.

This is my first blog entry.  (It's Deborah.)  I feel a strange sense of power as the internet publishes my every word... Wow.  What a rush.

Lots of lurve, (and see you tomorrow, if you're in the neighbourhood!)

-Deborah x

PS:  Today's advice:  Go to a park.  It is virtually impossible to have a bad conversation at the park.  Even with yourself.  Which is weird, but sunny.

   He has it all. The rugged, fifty-something good looks of a model who might be advertising an Omega watch or perhaps a Landrover. The sagely expression of a scholar (who admittedly has trouble putting together two very large puzzle pieces). The hint of flair in his gold and royal blue tie.

   But he doesn't exist. Or more accurately- he does but he's just a model.

   I say this because we received a friend request from a lady (who'll remain nameless) who may or may not have thought he was real. It was a bit confused. But to think that someone might think that this ironic avatar is a real, singing and dancing human being with feelings and a sexual appetite is kind of depressing.

   So to all the ladies and gentlemen who feel that the 'Advice Booth Guy' might be the one; stop. There are plenty of beautiful people in the world to haplessly fall in love with. You don't need to pine for this android.

    During the course of every day at work I make a virtual pilgrimage through cyberspace. I usually stop by IMDB to geek out over film, asking myself such probing questions as 'What film is Bruce Campbell working on?' (Bubba Nosferatu and the Curse of the She-Vampires, to field that one) It is a usually a pleasant diversion. Which is why today shocked me. A link( http://tv.msn.com/dearcorey) on the bottom of the page; 'Need Advice? The Coreys are back and here to help'.

    Now I am for one glad to welcome these refugees of the eighties into the 21st century. They've been scarred; the world is no longer their oyster, times were tough but things might be looking up for them again. They might have another career. But forsaking the obvious route and making an inferior 'Lost Boys' sequel they've remodelled themselves as...advice givers!

    Now before you all abandon our humble booth for the glitz and glamour of Haim and Feldman; ask yourself a few questions. Sure, they've had successful Hollywood careers, yes, they've got sexy stories about snorting cocaine off the bonnet of a pimp's ferrari, I'm certain they could tell you a thing or two about the human condition. But 'woah!' there kids. Ask yourself if they really care about your problems. Picture it; they've just received your question (that you've pitched at a suitably ironic level so you can tell your friends about it later) Will they honestly answer it with the degree of humour, warmth and humanity that you deserve? Or are they angrily shouting at their agent to negotiate a cameo in 'Ski School 2' while bullying a harried intern wooed by the promise of working in the 'Film Industry' to copy and paste a response to your question?

    Who knows they might be inspired, prodigal advisors. In fact I'm curious; anyone who sends a question and recieves a reply will receive a prize! Not only will you be made a permanent Hero on our profile homepage but I'll personally make you something!

     Morgan