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An exclusive online diary from Nerina Pallot!
 When Slashmusic was first born, we asked singer-songwriter and veteran MySpace dweller Nerina Pallot to pen something witty for us. One whole year later, not only is she considerably more famous but she's finally got around to writing the damn thing. Better late than never, eh?
However we can't complain, as Nerina has agreed to blog her adventures in the music industry as she promotes her rather lovely new album 'Fires' and reflects on the career path that brought her here - possibly. We've actually told her she can write whatever she likes, which may be a decision we live to regret!
And if you want more, hop on over to her rather splendid official website where you can see her video diary - what kind of person keeps their hoover next to their guitar?! This kind of person...
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"I am also the daughter of a famous wrestler!"
02/06/2006
 So, this is very random and bizarre, but after banging on about how much I hate it when my phone rings in last week's blog, only hours after filing that episode my mobile phone disappeared into thin air! (Cue Twilight Zone theme music...) I turned my fridge upside down in an effort to locate the bloody thing, (after the time when I lost my specs, almost accused my very odd old landlady of nicking them, and then realized I had laid them to rest next to the broccoli), fished through dirty laundry while berating myself for my total inability to clean underneath furniture, and finally ended up being very starry and a whole hour late for some interviews with very nice German people. Still I could not find it. It is a week later now, and I am without a mobile phone for reasons that are depressingly representative of customer services in general. Why doesn't someone come up with a new form of Dirty Realist advertising, with the following slogan: "Give us your money, let us treat you like shit, and then charge you even more money! Hours of fun!!"
Less of my domestic problems. You, friends, want to know how my life has changed irrevocably since I made the transition from social pariah and exile of the charts to... er, social pariah but recent addition to the Top Twenty neighbourhood. It has been illuminating, to say the least. I went to bed on Sunday, woke up on Monday and found out that I had been in the army with James Blunt, was at one point an English teacher in Idaho, and then formed a band with Zane Lowe. Apparently, I am also the daughter of a famous wrestler (Mum, is there something we should know?), but, during what I can only imagine was a low point in my life, shagged Bergerac.
As well as colorful re-interpretations of my biography, the being-given-things-for-free malarkey has begun, in the form of a stuffed toy, called Alan, which was purloined from a chain store in Norwich. I tried it again in the supermarket only hours ago, but it didn't work, even when I held my CD up to my face to prove it was me, and especially not when I explained that I was wearing a lot of make-up the day the cover photo was taken. Oh the ignominy of being unknown on one's own manor! I shall call my record label forthwith and demand that they plaster one of the billboards near the aforementioned supermarket with the photo of me with make-up on.
Sadly, for you and I, this is my last exclusive Slashmusic blog, but it has been a pleasure regaling you with a very tarted-up version of what is my really quite boring life. In the brief time we have known one another, I have been branded a criminal, worn my Mum's gold disco shoes on national telly, been to Cardiff three times, eaten 143 fizzy cola bottles from various motorway service stations, sung Kylie Minogue's Confide in Me exactly twenty nine times, bought seventeen necklaces that probably won't last the next month, met Andy Abraham and found he is a sweetheart and then felt very bad about how much I hate reality TV, met Orson which was Awesome (ooh! been dying to write that!), and had my Mum tell me that I might like the Gnarls Barkley album. Yes, she may frequently be my CyberStooge(tm) but my Mum is, in truth, cool. She's even on MySpace! She does, however own many Celine Dion albums, and we as a family are trying to get her help for that.
Thank you for reading. If, since I appeared in your life like a mould in your shower that will not go away but of which you have now grown rather fond, you may find me yet on my official website, www.nerinapallot.com. And MySpace of course; but please, no pictures of your genitalia unless it is very, very, very impressive.
Love to you all, Nerina x
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"I now identify with a North Korean dictator!"
26/05/2006
 Now I feel really pop star like, it’s so very exciting and if I say something is exciting, believe me, it is. I have made it my life’s mission to remain wholly unmoved by any event that gets thrown at me, so to be sitting on my sofa, scribbling my latest missive before jumping in the bath and going off to do press for Europe (dahling!) while I have a car waiting, on the day of my sold out London show, the morning after my sold out Milton Keynes show, on the same day as I went to the Ivor Novello Awards: Well, I have arrived. I have twenty minutes to write this, which means I am proper busy. Admittedly, it’s likely to be complete pants, so if it is, read one of my earlier, more erudite epistles, and be astonished at my coruscating wit and dazzling intellect.
My phone has started to ring now. It never used to do that before, and if it did, it tended to be someone calling a wrong number. I dislike the phone, it frightens me, and I wonder if this is because I spent a childhood having to lie to people on a daily basis because my father never wanted to speak to anyone. I didn’t have time to do homework. I spent my afternoons coming home from school with my Dad making me answer the phone while whispering some new lie about why he was incapacitated and hadn’t yet put the cheque in the post. So, I have been scarred, and now when phone starts I immediately get flustered, and then very cross. I have to put my hand over my mouth while I kill the urge to answer with “Not now Hans Blix, I’m rarey facking busee light now”. (This will be lost on you if you have not seen Team America.)
Charlotte, my lovely fellow band member, indulged me in the pub last night by calling my mobile so I could pick up and yell this back at her, both on the phone and across the table. She thought it was funny. So did I. True, my humour is not for everyone, and the fact that I now identify with a North Korean dictator is reason alone for concern.
I am too pushed for syntax today. So briefly, here is a little itinerary of what I have done this last week:
1. Met Liz McLarnon twice. Felt very unglamorous and unlovely on both occasions. She is sparkly and lovely and I forgive her for that 'Whole Again' fiasco because of her sparkliness and general nice-ness.
2. Went to Birmingham and – shock! horror! – had a great time.
3. My feet got hot and so I walked up a country lane with no shoes on. It was lovely. Like that moment in 'Pretty Woman' when Richard Gere takes his shoes off. (Except that I don’t pay for ladies, if you get my meaning.)
4. Bought a lilac kilt.
5. Got a new book of poetry from Mr. King, this time, it’s all about shagging, not being depressed, Good times!!
Have not as yet managed to watch any of the new series of 'Big Brother'. This is because I am so facking busee light now and so I have my boyfriend watch it for me. Here is what he had to say: "Yeah, I tried to watch that, but I’m not sure. Every time I tuned it, it was a bunch of babbling idiots wearing berets." Good times indeed.
Well, I must take my bath now (drawn from goats milk and Eskimo snot) and attend to my toilette.
Love to you all, as ever,
Nerina xxx
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"Dark erotic thoughts about Jeremy Paxman!"
19/05/2006
 Believe it or not, I was admonished the other evening by my former employer for being 'too nice'. Yes! Extraordinary, I know. Apparently, my talking about shoes and chocolate does nothing for my mystique or exotic charisma, neither of which qualities I knew I possessed: I love 'The Archers', for fucks' sake. I even have a picture of the doorbells they use in the show on my phone. You can't love the Archers and have mystique. You can only own wellies and have dark erotic thoughts about Jeremy Paxman, and I tick both boxes. Exotic charisma, my arse.
Look, I'm sorry everyone. I am a crap pop star. Really rubbish. I went on a TV show last night with a bloke who uses more hairspray than I do, and soon realised I was the evening's Token Bird(tm), and all I wanted to say was: "Now look here, geezer, I thought you were going to be Russell Grant, but you're quite clearly not going to give me my horoscope and tell me everything will be fine, in fact, you are going to accuse me of being a Tory and owning a Shayne Ward record just cause I am a girl and I'm not in the habit of butchering the English language either."
Obviously, I didn't say that. Instead, I died inside, spouted an inordinate amount of verbal detritus and hoped Arsenal would still be leading 1 - 0 when I came off set. They weren't. I got home and read a message from my cousin telling me to stop slouching on TV and being so self-deprecating, and another one from my Mum reminding me that, in her own words, 'life should be fun'.
Aaaargh. Where is my exotic charisma? Where is my mystique? Why do I sound either retarded or like a Home Counties librarian when I'm on the telly? Why do I even care?
But just when I was wondering why men with such small genitalia think it's amusing to send me pictures of their apologetic appendages, and fearing that any day now I will find myself on a sofa with Faye from Steps, I get this in my inbox:
'We tend to think we can control our own lives when we are younger. The older we get, we realise we are just along for the ride. So if there is anything I wish to pass onto you it's this: Just enjoy the show.'
MySpace friend, wherever you are, thank you, and I shall try.
Love to you all,
Nerina x
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"It really is time to start teacher training college!"
12/05/2006
 And so the roads continue to love or not love me, to misquote the wonderful Gemma Hayes song, depending upon which motorway we have been travelling on. Of course, now that I have been relieved of my car keys and relegated to the passenger seat, it has fallen to Bob, the King of Regional Radioland, to ferry me from one station to another. To be honest, it's all a bit bewildering, and for the first time in my life I am showing up to radio stations which seem to actually want me to be there. Weird. It's so weird it's almost terrifying. I keep thinking someone from the government is going to come along and tell me my song being on heavy rotation is a particularly elaborate practical joke, and now it really is time to start teacher training college and get a real job.
I am presently on a train home to London from Bristol. It was sunny, now it is raining. I am wearing a new vintage purchase from one of those shops I mention all the time and I hope will give me some free clothes - it's a shop and it's top - but no polka dot hairband.
I say new vintage, because vintage is the new new, if you get my meaning, and I'm up on all that is hip and trendy - um, well, in my world at least. I am near brain dead from going up and down the country, but last night I got to eat in a very swanky restaurant in Cardiff frequented by the likes of Charlotte Church, and in that moment I felt I had arrived. I say this, because only a few days ago while in a radio interview, a DJ was talking to me about how I felt about being compared to other female artists and asked me: 'Nerina, do you think now is a good time for female singer songwriters, what with yourself and other girls like Joss Stone, Jamelia and Charlotte Church around?' Should I take this as a compliment? Have I been labouring under the illusion that I am a singer songwriter when in fact I am a soul/cod-soul/crazy chick (delete as appropriate) artist? Have I been eating too many pies? And did Char also go for the hot shrimp starter at 'Le Monde' in Cardiff? I wonder.
Before I go to bed in my blue dog pyjamas (I'm not on the train anymore, and I am drinking a glass of rosé), I want to draw your attention to something that strikes me as an accidental off-the-back-of-a-lorry moment on iTunes. Imagine my surprise when I discovered the entire works of Steely Dan, the definitive 'Citizen Dan' opus, online for the grand sum of £7.90. Please, if you have hitherto been afraid of their amazingness, might I suggest that now is the time to conquer that fear? Go bravely, and while you're at it, pick up Mara Carlyle's deliciously wonderful 'The Lovely', and your life will be infinitely improved forever after.
I am too good to you. But I am tired, and so must iron my leggings, arrange my bangles and then retire for the evening.
Until something else exciting happens to me (don't hold your breath),
Love 'n' hugs and soppy shit,
Nerina xxx
More next week!
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"Felt up by the long arm of the law!"
05/05/2006
 I am writing this week's instalment from a hotel bar in Annan, Dumfries & Galloway (also known as the Twin Peaks of Southern Scotland). Personally, I think being in a bar at 10.30am is entirely appropriate behaviour now that I am officially a crim. For the last 6 months, my tour manager has reminded me of what has come to pass, before it came to pass, by singing, in his own inimitable fashion, 'Smooth Criminal', and repeating the new Nerina touring mantra: 'I was born to be chauffeured'.
And so, friends, it has happened. In the last 24 hours, I have paid the best part of £250 to find myself in the middle of nowhere, being wolf whistled at in the Witness Room of a district court (they were mingers, so I ain't flattered), having my solicitor point out (much to my chagrin) that "it would have been just as well had Miss Pallot stayed at home for one week in April 2005," getting a 6 month driving ban for various speeding offences, and, worst of all, realizing that my preferred listening channel on Virgin Trains is the one named Guilty Pleasures.
Thus, I am reduced to sitting in a bar in the morning, watching the Pussycat Dolls on satellite TV, waiting for Bob, my regional radio man, to fetch me for my imminent appearance on various Scottish radio stations. (Note to self: I understand that radio, being only a sonic medium, prevents what one might term an 'appearance' and yet, how else can I describe it? A 'hearing'? Will everything be touched with legal terminology from here on in, now that I have been felt up by the long arm of the law?)
I should say I am also somewhat disgruntled that while I spent quite some time putting together the right outfit for this morning, my fellow occupants of the Witness Room were not so bothered with sartorial matters. I wasn't too sure whether the three aforementioned Chavesties(tm) keeping me company were up for crimes against fashion, namely white trainers with blue jeans and someone under the age of 40 wearing a shell-suit, but a five year stretch wouldn't be too harsh. I subsequently found out, along with the whole room, that they were all up for drug charges. This would explain their strange wardrobe choices and the fact that one of them said I had nice tits. Which is a bit like the sort of warning you get in rear view mirrors: "Objects are much, much smaller than they appear and thank God for padding."
(Before I go, I should just mention that I wore a black polka dot hairband yesterday in an effort to look suitably contrite in the courtroom, and when I looked in the mirror later I realised I just looked like one of Prince Harry's Sloaney girlfriends and IT WILL NEVER HAPPEN AGAIN.)
Lots of love and until next time
Nerina xxxx
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"I'm still a social pariah!"
28/04/2006
 When the nice people from Slashmusic asked me to provide a weekly blog for the site, my 'people' were anxious that I wouldn't bite off more than I can chew during what is supposedly an incredibly busy time for me, darling. Truth is, I am very bloody lazy, and suffer from such a serious form of internet addiction, that I can actually write this blog while waiting for the new Will Young video to download, with my mate babbling away on the phone to me about how she has just given away my ticket for the Kaiser Chiefs this weekend to her new bloke because I should be able to get on the guest list now (no, actually dear, I'm still a social pariah and proud of it), and while I paint my toenails with the other hand.
My life is so glamorous that this morning I was woken up by Ne-Yo. In my bedroom. He was singing to me. It was really fucking horrible, and so I went and shouted at my neighbours at 7am and told them that very soon I will be saying "Do you know who I am?!" To which they replied, "Yeah love, we already know who you are. We see you on The Box all the time at that moment, and the very second you come on, we change the channel so we can watch Mariah Carey instead. Then we remind ourselves to wake you up with her tomorrow morning at high volume. And when our Rottweiler, Prince Naseem, shat on the kitchen floor, we used the page from the Sun with your face on to clear it up."
The nice people at Slashmusic also suggested I might compare my current experience of promoting a new album with the album I released a few years ago. It's quite simple really. Five years ago I didn't have a broadband internet connection or a big limit on my credit card. Now I have both, I don't need a hit record to feed my ego and my shoe fetish. I just read all my MySpace messages where people tell me how wonderful I am, and keep hitting the refresh button. When it dawns on me that this is in fact the behaviour of a very, very sad person, only buying yet more useless crap online can numb the pain.
On those rare occasions when I do actually leave the house, there has to be some kind of retail incentive or I really can't see the point. To this end, as well as appearing in slightly more salubrious establishments than I have previously been seen in, I shall be spending the latter half of May frequenting as many branches of H&M as my touring schedule permits. Note to my people: Why must the gigs be in music venues? Can't I do the first ever tour of Top Shops of this nation? You know it makes sense...
Nx
Read the regular Slashmusic blog!
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