Wednesday, 30 May 2007
She looked incredibly young until she was about 33/34. The above trademark pose looked cute then. Sure chemotherapy is ageing, sure you feel like crap when you've had parts of you removed, masses of chemicals pumped into your body and then your bit of French does a runner. But, steady on with the botox woman.
Nobody looks younger after botox or a facelift. They just look weird. Not smooth as in a 14 year old but as in a wax work dummy. She's 39 going on 50. Now that pose looks like an evil pixie.
Nothing to do with getting vast amounts of grey hair, no connection to realising that you fall into the category of "if you've worn it the first time around, you are too old for it second time around" (being as someone who has worn leggings three times around!) Not related to hang overs that last all day and induce tears and five weeks of alcohol abstination (cough cough). Rule out: yawning at10:30pm; inability to function on less than seven hours of sleep; lack of excitement over 10 hour bus journies (what, only me?) Having students who were not even born when I graduated from University; only one year until I tick the "35-50" box; realising that my mother was right; lack of inclination to have sex and not being able to contemplate a one night stand when I used to be a slag.......(ok time to stop with that list, it's abnormalities in the production of luteinising hormone or latent lesbianism I tell ya!)
1) Listening to Radio 4
Ah the joys of Received Pronunciation! The back-log of "Listen Again" I am currently ravishing on an almost daily basis; the familiarity of "that" tune from "that" cheesy drama that my mum used to listen to; the fact that I eagerly click on "Woman's Hour" without a second thought to the embarrassment factor ("What embarrassment factor? It's not about knitting patterns and menstruation you know! Men even listen to it. They sometimes discuss men's issues. Well, OK, that bit's a bit crap...")
2) Actually really believing that "your" music was better
Well, I guess knowing, rather than believing. Checking old old videos on You Tube (gawd bless it!) Searching for info on old bands who once had a top 75 hit and then promptly disappeared (well, at least they didn't sell out!) Getting all misty eyed about festivals in the early 90's and scoffing at the current array, multiplying like Legionnaires' in a shower, headlined by the likes of Lilly Allen and the Williams. Being somewhat miffed to discover that Dickon from the Tindersticks now looks like a Hovis loaf whereas Katy Jane Garside now looks normal and is almost 40! Coming across bands that you used to love and can't believe you had forgotten about (well, there was that period in the late 90's where Dance seemed to be the way to go, Indie was a bit sad, that and the fact that your records are 5814.60 miles across the ocean!)
3) Myspace, Bebo, Facebook etc
This is the ulimate: why would anyone want to? I mean, why establish "networks" with random strangers just because you both love the work of an unknown Mongolian toilet brush sculptor? Why post a message to your friends when you could pick up the 'phone or send a normal email or text? Why allow random weirdos and stalkers to be able to find out about your life, loves and friends? Why feel the need to advertise your likes/dislikes and favourites to the world? Especially if you are over 15!
Imagine my despair to find today that a forum I sometimes read and occasionally post on announcing their revamp "It looks a lot like profiles you would get on social networking sites....we are moving towards a more interactive experience soon." No! Leave me alone! I don't want to social network. I don't want cyber friends. Why are they doing this?
I have no idea why.
I guess I'm just too old to understand or to care to understand.
Thursday, 17 May 2007
Scary things happen when young, blonde, white girls go missing: tabloids demand the whereabouts of known sex offenders be made aware to the public, vigilante groups start beating up pediatricians and relatives carrying on abusing, safe in the knowledge that it is only ever "Stranger Danger" that we are paranoid about.
Taking race out of the equation, why is it that an abduction of a beautiful, privileged child is more heartbreaking than that of, say, fat, ginger, tendency to nose pick in public, retarded offspring of a dustman and his wife who works at the local chippy?
Monday, 14 May 2007
Sunday, 13 May 2007
Fine if it's only been a three week break up after a silly fight, but it's a no go if it has been a substantial period of separation, especially over six months. As a dumpee, you should be aware that, despite protestations of regret and lingering feelings, the dumper is only considering you again as s/he hasn't managed to get any body else. By now, the dumper is lacking in self esteem and also sporting those rosy shades and feels that being with you again is a far better option than being alone.
After the dumpee's initial joy at being reunited with his/her lost love, s/he will realise that what has in fact been regained is a sulky partner resentful that s/he been made to accept the romantic scraps. The dumpee will compare this new reality with what s/he knew before, wonder what made s/he go back over old ground just when s/he was starting to get on with things alone and thinking about possibly dating someone else.
Finally, the dumpee, still bitter that s/he was dumped in the first, will wonder why s/he is putting up with this shit in the first place and will dump the dumper and relegate her/him to postion of dumpee.
What a waste of time. Everyone's a loser.
2) Use s/he for extended periods in a text.
Yes, it's grammatically correct, but bloody annoying to read. From now on it's "they" all the way!
3) Ask a vegetarian if they wear leather.
Oh, the originality of it. Yes we do. Got a problem with that. Oh you have. Well, actually I was just going to the bar......Oh right we are all hypocrites are we? Fine. No, I don't wish to debate the merits of flesh. Well, if your body needs meat, then so be it. Are you a practising Christian? Thought not, neither am I so I don't concern myself with what the bible says. Speak for yourself: I don't consider my canines to be all that prominent actually! I was never all that into bacon sandwiches, so not really. What, are you actually asking me of I would starve to death or eat a rabbit? Are you for real? Er....Jesus....I don't know about your girlfriends, but I wasn't under the impression that fellatio actually involved eating a penis. I mean, that sounds painful. Into hard core are you? Well, not a lot of people care to know but there is a fair amount of protein in fruit and vegetables. Oh, right we are back to hypocrisy are we? So, how exactly does smoking dope make me a hypocrite? Do I look like the sort of person who goes around waving lettuce leaves under someone's nose? Well, if someone could've cured my Mum, then bring on the rats, guinea pigs and monkeys I say! See, the odd thing is, as a raving fundamental food terrorist I seem to be quite in control of my faculties whilst it's apparently you who is about to explode! Anyway, as I said, I was just about to get a drink. Oi! I heard that!
4) List yourself on Friendsreunited and its ilk
Especially if all you write under the "What X is doing now" section is "Ahhhhhhhh......that would be telling!" You won't fool anyone. You won't be thought of as an international person of mystery, just someone who is clearly embarrassed by the way their life has turned out.
Especially if you don't want someone who you haven't spoken to for 20 years sending you emails.
5) Don't send someone you haven't spoken to for 20 years emails
If you haven't stayed in touch, then clearly, you didn't like each other enough to stay in touch.
6) Tick "unsure" in the "Orientation" box if you are over 30
Exactly how many more years of sex is it going to take before you know? Or are you regularly lacking it so all offers are welcome?
Friday, 11 May 2007
In the UK I have to practically set my head on fire to get them to either deign or be bothered to notice my irksome presence and some have mastered the art of serving me and giving me change without interrupting their conversation with their colleague ("You aren't blind are you? So you are, in that case, able to figure out the total or read the till by yourself.")
In Japan, the moment a finger barely touches a garment, the assistant rushes over to tell me that I can try it on if I so wish. Slide another hanger and, yes, that garment is also available for a trip to the changing room. Pause for five seconds to look at something and I will be given the run down on how I could wear it and how good it would look on me. If, against my better judgement, I get carried along with the clerk's enthusiasm(i.e. glimmer of commission on the horizon) and head for the changing room I will be given a large white hood to cover my face to prevent make up getting on the clothes (even if I'm not wearing any as they don't believe me!) Then, after approximately twenty seconds, I will panic as an alarmingly close voice is asking me how I am getting on and I'm unsure how to reply as I currently resemble naked bee-keeper.
If I can stand it thus far and make a purchase I will be guided through the transaction in great detail and grand manner "That comes to 6995 yen. You've given me 7000 yen and your points card. Here is your 5 yen change but please wait a moment while I add your points. Thank you for waiting. Here is your points card. Please wait again while I wrap your purchases. Here is your purchase which I will hand over after I have accompanied you to the shop entrance. Here is your purchase. Thank you for your custom and do come again"
In the Philippines, despite my protestations, they make me try on a child's T shirt as they are quite sure that they don't have any larger sizes and they are know it will fit. Obviously, it barely covers my chest as hooting with laughter, they suddenly find my size. LL. Munter size. I make a joke that I've become fat as I've gone from M in the UK to L in Japan to LL in the Philippines. They say "You're not fat, M'aam. You're chubby."
Thursday, 3 May 2007
I couldn't resist Liz Jones attacking Kate's new range for TopShop though.
Kate Moss inspiring a range for TopShop; a wank on a hanger for me and apparently hundreds of thousands of British women who thronged to Oxford Street and queued for hours only to be granted 20 minutes of coloured wristband enforced shopping frenzy. Those few precious minutes included trying on time as well. Other rules were that you couldn't try on more than eight outfits, could only make five purchases in total and couldn't buy one outfit in more than one size.
According to Jones, these draconian rules led to some sort of sartorial hysteria and resulted in the panic buying of sub-standard, over-priced tat which had been Sir Philip Green's plan all along.
God how annoying is Liz Jones. She is best known in the UK for a column in the Sunday Times that chronicled her miserable life as a single girl and then her relationship with "the boyfriend" who then became "the husband." As I have no time for women who whine about being single I found her column strangely addictive in the same way that a crowd watches a man on a window ledge and secretly hopes he will jump. She was known for revealing all, but I don't see that my life was enriched by the knowledge that, whilst in the bath, her boyfriend's penis resembles a brown periscope. She was at some point editor of Marie Claire and now has been reduced to a fashion column in the Daily Tory and the salivating hordes who lap up its bigotry.
I myself checked the TopShop website and was a tad disappointed and thought some of the clothes weren't much, but that could never dim my view of the great Kate. Liz Jones and the moaners in her article, however, seem to have been shocked that on trying on her items they themselves bore no resemblance to a supermodel and, still being fat and/or ugly, felt a tad sheepish for falling for the hype, queueing for hours and then buying clothes that they were unhappy with. Even Jones said she wasn't sure about four of the five items she paid for them, which begs the question "Why did you buy them then, Dumbarse?" Googling a picture of Jones will tell you that barring cloning, there is no way she could even pass for a Freeman's catalogue woman let alone a Moss-a-like
Cheap quality? It's TopShop for gawd's sake not Kate for Fendi or Kate does D&G! Oh so your red halterneck looks a bit naff does it Miss Bennett from reading? Could that be because you are pictured in the Daily Racist and haven't been styled for Vogue and, well, are not a model.
Enforced panic buying or that TopShop correctly anticipted and prevented changing room brawls and catfights over hotpants?
It could be thought of a sell out, after all Kate's thing has been that she is the only individual in the fashion world and she is always ahead of the game. But seeing as all of the high street stores as well as brand names have been ripping off her look for years, its probably a smart idea to get paid 3,000,000 quid for the pleasure. She's still very much in demand as a model but at 33 she knows she has a limited shelf-life and is securing a footing in the field after retirement.
It was all a con was it Jones? Or was it sour grapes that whilst a selected "coterie" of "cocaine" Kate's friends and significant fashion people were enjoying a private party inside the shop you were locked out on the streets with the 13-year-olds and their mothers. Bah Humbug or just Baaaaaaaaaaaaa?