Snozcumber.

It has come to my attention, since the demise of thelondonpaper, and my subsequent move to the world of cyber-journalism, that there is a small percentage of the lesbian population who are gravely misinformed about the sort of person Katherine Richardson is. So, herein lies a revelation. Sort of.

Last week, I received a lovely message from a lady (a fan lady) on The Book of Faces (referring to Facebook this way brings me everso slightly closer to my dream of one day being Macaulay Culkin in The Pagemaster).

Anyway, she wants to go on a date. Great, I say. Fellow journalists have told me to stay away from dating 'fans', but, truthfully, I needs to be taking whatever I can get. I assure her that I am much more cool/attractive /funny than my column suggests, and that they edit that out so I don't intimidate my readers.

So, in response, I get a list of possible events we could attend. Film night at Nottinghill Arts Club, that painfully trendy night Mannequin in Shoreditch. Cocktails in some undergournd bar of Great Eastern Street. I'm kind of nonplused by all this. Most of them require me to have a shower, which is always a drawback. I suggest to my date that maybe we should just 'hang out'.

This doesn't go down too well. Don't I want to do something totally awesome? Don't I want to go to this gallery off Brick Lane where this videoartist has been filming himself eating crayons for 24 hours? Amelia's Magazine gave it, like, 8 out of 10. And they are such bitches.

Then it dawns on me. My date is misinformed. My date thinks I'm 'cool'.



This has actually happend to me before, this mistaken identity. 3 weeks ago, I was at the Abbey pub in Camden, celebrating my friend's final music night. A pretty girl came up to me and asked me if I was "that girl from the paper". I confirmed this. And then she said, "Oh, right. Wouldn't have expected to see you somewhere like this!"

Assumedly, our friend thought that I spent my spare time in Hoxton, attending live art performances with titles like "Fuck Your Mum, Yeah?", and trying to avoid anything touching my hair. Not standing on a table, at a folk night, with the half-swallowed contents of a party popper hanging out of my mouth.


Unfortunately, I am a disappointment. No matter how interesting my hair, I will always be, fundamentally, a bit of a loser.

I know what you're thinking. I'm in denial. I am actually a fucking superstar with a talent for self-depreciation. Well, in response to those critics amongst you, I have decided to create a definite list of ten reasons why I am not cool, aptly titled 'Ten Reasons Why Katherine Richardson Is Not Cool'.

1) Although I like the song 'How Soon Is Now?' by the Smiths, I genuinely prefer t.A.T.u's cover version.

2) I know how to capitalise t.A.T.u properly.

3) The other day I went to Other People's Property in Dalston. The photographer there was taking pictures of all the attractive people in the venue, and all the less attractive but well-dressed people too. After 2 hours of not being papped, I approached said photographer and asked if he could take a picture of me and my friends. He obiliged.

There are around 100 pictures of that event on the OPP's Book of Faces page. I am not in any of them. I'm pretty sure they just edited us out in favour of some hipster in a lycra jumpsuit.

4) I haven't had sex for over 5 months.

5) On Tuesday, I avoided a social event to stay at home and watch the 1989 cartoon adaptation of The B.F.G. On my own.

6) The first time I met Noel Fielding, I didn't know who he was. The first time I met Lorraine Kelly, I hyperventilated.

7) I was a teenage goth.

8) I downloaded a DOS simulator for my computer so I could spend my spare time playing King's Quest IV: Heir Today, Gone Tomorrow. My favourite kinds of games are games that come on 12 floppy discs and have characters like 'Ali the Pawshop Owner' and 'Billy the Boisterous Bookworm'.

9) I own every record Mark Knofler has ever made.

10) Girls don't like me.

Put that in your cool pipes and smoke them. I should get a badge or something.

I am considering sending this list to said pending date, together with a request that she come round to my flat for piela and Paul Simon. However, I feel once the illusion as has faded, and she realises I'm basically a mildly-autistic teenage boy in a lady suit, she will run for the hills.


Rice and peace,

Kat xxxxxx