there is a woman on the radio talking about a bag of hair.
she apparently used to cut her ex boyfriends hair and, unbeknown to him, used to keep all the cuttings.
she now keeps the cutting in a bag and can't throw them away.
not because she still holds a flame for the ex but because she can't bear to touch the bag as it feels like a human head.
she sounds vaguely deranged.
i got a press release today about a new restaurant that is not only going to be 'huge'! but it's also going to serve 'imaginary eastern food'. I LOVE THAT. imaginary food!
i was so inspired, in fact, that i have just opened an imaginary restaurant. it's already a big hit among foodies. drop my name when you call and they might be able to fit you in some time in September. 2009.
i'm also in the middle of writing 'the imaginary food diet', which is guaranteed to be a 'huge' success and should see the skinny trend elevated to new heights!
i personally recruited all the imaginary staff for my imaginary restaurant (they are all gorgeous, natch and think i'm a really 'amazing' boss)but i have forbidden them from using the word 'enjoy'.
don't you hate it when you go to a restaurant and, upon bringing you your dishes, your waiter/ess puts down the plate and says 'enjoy'. like it's some kind of order.
well, i do. anyway.
Tuesday, April 29, 2008
Thursday, April 24, 2008
so many irritations, so little time...
today's niggles. in no particular order.
minty mist - my mum put 20 packets (that's the real figure by the way, not a gross exaggeration) of extra strong mints in my goodie bag for the train journey on Sunday. i brought them into work and have been unable to stop consuming them. i now feel like i have swallowed a cloud something similarly airy and nebulous, hence minty mist. i feel full of it.
(while on the subject of goodie bags, why is it that even though i will only go to my mum's for one night she will still buy me four muller light yoghurts! and why is it that i have breakfast before i go, the minute i get on the train my sandwiches start going 'cooey, we're here!' until i can't stop thinking about them and so consequently end up eating my lunch approximately 9 minutes after leaving Norwich.)
people who don't use toilet brushes. i'm not going to get vulgar - i'm sure you can imagine - but there is someone on my floor who doesn't seem to be able to work out what they are for. (clue: toilet. brush.) alternatively there might be a bear on the loose.
people who don't say thank you when you hold the door open for them (I know I've said that before but what is it about people? do i look like a bouncer?)
forever carrying an umbrella around and ALWAYS leaving it back in the office when it actually rains.
my dad asking me once again to be his facebook friend! what is it they say about being able to choose your friends but not your family?
Anyway, turned out nice again, hasn't it?
minty mist - my mum put 20 packets (that's the real figure by the way, not a gross exaggeration) of extra strong mints in my goodie bag for the train journey on Sunday. i brought them into work and have been unable to stop consuming them. i now feel like i have swallowed a cloud something similarly airy and nebulous, hence minty mist. i feel full of it.
(while on the subject of goodie bags, why is it that even though i will only go to my mum's for one night she will still buy me four muller light yoghurts! and why is it that i have breakfast before i go, the minute i get on the train my sandwiches start going 'cooey, we're here!' until i can't stop thinking about them and so consequently end up eating my lunch approximately 9 minutes after leaving Norwich.)
people who don't use toilet brushes. i'm not going to get vulgar - i'm sure you can imagine - but there is someone on my floor who doesn't seem to be able to work out what they are for. (clue: toilet. brush.) alternatively there might be a bear on the loose.
people who don't say thank you when you hold the door open for them (I know I've said that before but what is it about people? do i look like a bouncer?)
forever carrying an umbrella around and ALWAYS leaving it back in the office when it actually rains.
my dad asking me once again to be his facebook friend! what is it they say about being able to choose your friends but not your family?
Anyway, turned out nice again, hasn't it?
Friday, April 18, 2008
a tale of two dressing gowns
did i ever tell you that in a previous existence i lived in Spain? of course i did.
we had a massive leaving do - i made the invitations out of my MA1 flying jacket, which i was very rarely without. it was symbolic maaaan...
as a leaving present my parents gave me Terry.
actually they gave me a towelling dressing gown, which boyfriend and I christened Terry (as in terry towelling). it was, quite simply, the 80s made garment.
an extravaganza of grey towelling with red and black go faster stripes.
Terry met with an unfortunate end – flushed down the toilet of a hellhole, i mean flat, that i was renting. don't ask me why, it just seemed like a good idea at the time.
I remembered Terry recently when at work, my publisher told a dressing-gown related anecdote.
publisher has an older brother, who, judging by some of the stories publisher tells about him, has always been a bit, erm, unstable.
one of his tricks when they were growing up involved spraying himself with hair lacquer and setting fire to himself.
he would only do this, for some reason, when he was wearing his dressing gown.
apparently publisher and family would be sitting on the sofa watching tv and he would come screaming down the stairs and into the living room wearing a flaming dressing gown.
it got to the point, she says, that they almost stopped noticing him!
my current dressing gown, thank you for asking, is navy cashmere. it has only two moth holes!
we had a massive leaving do - i made the invitations out of my MA1 flying jacket, which i was very rarely without. it was symbolic maaaan...
as a leaving present my parents gave me Terry.
actually they gave me a towelling dressing gown, which boyfriend and I christened Terry (as in terry towelling). it was, quite simply, the 80s made garment.
an extravaganza of grey towelling with red and black go faster stripes.
Terry met with an unfortunate end – flushed down the toilet of a hellhole, i mean flat, that i was renting. don't ask me why, it just seemed like a good idea at the time.
I remembered Terry recently when at work, my publisher told a dressing-gown related anecdote.
publisher has an older brother, who, judging by some of the stories publisher tells about him, has always been a bit, erm, unstable.
one of his tricks when they were growing up involved spraying himself with hair lacquer and setting fire to himself.
he would only do this, for some reason, when he was wearing his dressing gown.
apparently publisher and family would be sitting on the sofa watching tv and he would come screaming down the stairs and into the living room wearing a flaming dressing gown.
it got to the point, she says, that they almost stopped noticing him!
my current dressing gown, thank you for asking, is navy cashmere. it has only two moth holes!
Wednesday, April 9, 2008
more tea vicar
i know it's immature but it makes me laugh. i have the annoying habit of spraying perfume (yes, i know i mean after shave) into my hair when i feel in need of an uplifting burst of this week's favourite fragrance. i've done it a few of times today and each time, the team at the next bank of desks have all gone 'oh wow, what a lovely smell, what is it?' to each other.
the first time one of them said it might be her new perfume, but that she hadn't put it on for ages. the next time it was credited to someone who had recently walked past.
i've just done it again (i'm a heavy sprayer – you wouldn't want me as a cat!) and one of them has announced. 'i've worked it out, it's my herbal tea'.
you had to be there....
and isn't it weird how instead of say, we use go. so i go 'shut up' and she goes 'make me' and i go 'i don't make onions, i just pickle them' or whatever (sorry, i mean wtvr)
the first time one of them said it might be her new perfume, but that she hadn't put it on for ages. the next time it was credited to someone who had recently walked past.
i've just done it again (i'm a heavy sprayer – you wouldn't want me as a cat!) and one of them has announced. 'i've worked it out, it's my herbal tea'.
you had to be there....
and isn't it weird how instead of say, we use go. so i go 'shut up' and she goes 'make me' and i go 'i don't make onions, i just pickle them' or whatever (sorry, i mean wtvr)
sock it to me
i’m slightly concerned that i am the only person left on earth who is still on facebook (I feel like I am Legend with a laptop). i’ve had no new friends for ages and the old lot seem to have migrated to goodness only knows where without inviting me along. the only notifications i get these days are asking me to check out the ‘are you interested’ application, but frankly, i’m not. or not enough to try and install it. any application i’ve tried in the past has usually resulted in posting some random message or photo of myself as a fat child to everyone of my facebook friends, so i’ve given up trying.
Back in the real world, have you noticed how many pregnant women there are around at the moment? it’s like a plague. Attack of the unborn babies. there are bumps everywhere!
and, have you also noticed how many men there are around with baby bumps. Just kidding (topical, huh!). No, really, I mean with too-short trousers? it’s an epidemic. check it out. there are loads of guys, usually in the slack/suity style trouser, who are all to happy to have their trouser legs flap around their ankles (usually hovering over unattractive slip ons or cornish pastyesque footwear). now, unless there is also an outbreak of STLS (sudden telescopic leg syndrome), someone needs some lessons in pinning up trousers. whatever, it seems that recently, wherever i look there is too much sock on display.
Which reminds me (as many things seem to) of when i used to live in Spain and we would have ‘el dia del…’
one day it would be el dia del manco (‘day of the men with one arm’ - everywhere you turned would be a geezer with an empty jacket sleeve tucked into some or other pocket) or el dia del cojo (‘day of the limp’ where every second person would have an awkward gait) or, my favourite el dia del vizco (‘day of the squint’.) I’m a boss-eyed chap myself (without my contact lenses I have what is referred to in the trade as an ‘alternating squint’ which basically means that to focus on anything I have to strain my eyes so that one or other makes a mercy dash for my nose. And I actually get to choose which eye! lucky, eh.
Back in the real world, have you noticed how many pregnant women there are around at the moment? it’s like a plague. Attack of the unborn babies. there are bumps everywhere!
and, have you also noticed how many men there are around with baby bumps. Just kidding (topical, huh!). No, really, I mean with too-short trousers? it’s an epidemic. check it out. there are loads of guys, usually in the slack/suity style trouser, who are all to happy to have their trouser legs flap around their ankles (usually hovering over unattractive slip ons or cornish pastyesque footwear). now, unless there is also an outbreak of STLS (sudden telescopic leg syndrome), someone needs some lessons in pinning up trousers. whatever, it seems that recently, wherever i look there is too much sock on display.
Which reminds me (as many things seem to) of when i used to live in Spain and we would have ‘el dia del…’
one day it would be el dia del manco (‘day of the men with one arm’ - everywhere you turned would be a geezer with an empty jacket sleeve tucked into some or other pocket) or el dia del cojo (‘day of the limp’ where every second person would have an awkward gait) or, my favourite el dia del vizco (‘day of the squint’.) I’m a boss-eyed chap myself (without my contact lenses I have what is referred to in the trade as an ‘alternating squint’ which basically means that to focus on anything I have to strain my eyes so that one or other makes a mercy dash for my nose. And I actually get to choose which eye! lucky, eh.
Friday, April 4, 2008
progress?
as part of a literary drive to improve reading skills in my borough, every Thursday morning i go to a local school and hang out and read with a nine-year-old called Mustafa. we usually pick a book from the school library or we practise with the book he's been reading in class (he loves this as it makes him look really bright because he already knows what's going on). for a change, last week i took in a comic i picked up at the newsagents (i was mildly upset to see that Twinkle, my first experience of weeklies, is no longer published).
sitting down to read it yesterday i was horrified to see that it is all written in text speak.
they talk about things being really xtreme, and say c u l8er to each other, when they clearly mean 'tatty bye for now'.
i found myself getting outraged about how language is being corrupted, but then figured that if we had that attitude our lovely tongue would never evolve and we would still be saying things such as 'a pox on thine house' when we mean to say 'i'm gonna well skank you up down Talacre l8er, innit'.
progress, eh.
sitting down to read it yesterday i was horrified to see that it is all written in text speak.
they talk about things being really xtreme, and say c u l8er to each other, when they clearly mean 'tatty bye for now'.
i found myself getting outraged about how language is being corrupted, but then figured that if we had that attitude our lovely tongue would never evolve and we would still be saying things such as 'a pox on thine house' when we mean to say 'i'm gonna well skank you up down Talacre l8er, innit'.
progress, eh.
Tuesday, April 1, 2008
time is on my side, or is it?
my nan once told me: steve, the first 40 years of your life go really slowly, then the next 40 whizz by!
she is now 84 and says she can't quite believe it, and still feels 16 (which if you think about how 16 year olds behave today could have rather worrying implications). She has also turned into Queen Curtain Twitcher, and knows more about the comings and goings of her neighbours than is healthy.
i've been thinking a lot about time and age lately.
growing up, when asked who my ideal man was (no one ever asked about my ideal woman, bizarrely), i would always say Cary Grant. he was handsome and manly. a real gentleman and, at his peak, the ideal age for ideal man material.
it recently struck me that i am now roughly the age he was when he made Arsenic and Old Lace and perfectly embodied the older, wiser partner of my dreams.
and then on Sunday, to ease my aching heart I trundled off the the Wallace Collection. let's just say if Barbara Cartland has reincarnated as a house, she can currently be found in Manchester Square W1. the walls are all bright pink and flock, while hugely lavish chandeliers hang from the ceilings and there isn't one bit of furniture that some poor sod didn't go blind or at least lose a finger carving.
there are also two paintings there that i really wanted to see. The Swing, by Fragonard, which features a lovely young things swinging gaily in lavish gardens (beyond camp) and The Laughing Cavallier.
When we were young we used to play a board game called Masterpiece, which featured loads of paintings, some of which were genuine, some of which were fake. the point of the game was to get rid of the fakes while stockpiling the real thing.
one of the paintings we used to call 'The Old Man'. none of us ever wanted him.* that painting was actually The Laughing Cavalier.
I had a mental image of him being in his 50s. On Sunday I realised it was more like 25.
you know you are getting old when the masterpieces start looking young!
*the Old Man thing has just reminded me of colouring books. no matter where you bought your colouring books, you could guarantee that there would be a picture of a wizened old woman to complete. we always used to call her Granny Grunt.
she is now 84 and says she can't quite believe it, and still feels 16 (which if you think about how 16 year olds behave today could have rather worrying implications). She has also turned into Queen Curtain Twitcher, and knows more about the comings and goings of her neighbours than is healthy.
i've been thinking a lot about time and age lately.
growing up, when asked who my ideal man was (no one ever asked about my ideal woman, bizarrely), i would always say Cary Grant. he was handsome and manly. a real gentleman and, at his peak, the ideal age for ideal man material.
it recently struck me that i am now roughly the age he was when he made Arsenic and Old Lace and perfectly embodied the older, wiser partner of my dreams.
and then on Sunday, to ease my aching heart I trundled off the the Wallace Collection. let's just say if Barbara Cartland has reincarnated as a house, she can currently be found in Manchester Square W1. the walls are all bright pink and flock, while hugely lavish chandeliers hang from the ceilings and there isn't one bit of furniture that some poor sod didn't go blind or at least lose a finger carving.
there are also two paintings there that i really wanted to see. The Swing, by Fragonard, which features a lovely young things swinging gaily in lavish gardens (beyond camp) and The Laughing Cavallier.
When we were young we used to play a board game called Masterpiece, which featured loads of paintings, some of which were genuine, some of which were fake. the point of the game was to get rid of the fakes while stockpiling the real thing.
one of the paintings we used to call 'The Old Man'. none of us ever wanted him.* that painting was actually The Laughing Cavalier.
I had a mental image of him being in his 50s. On Sunday I realised it was more like 25.
you know you are getting old when the masterpieces start looking young!
*the Old Man thing has just reminded me of colouring books. no matter where you bought your colouring books, you could guarantee that there would be a picture of a wizened old woman to complete. we always used to call her Granny Grunt.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)
