cheers!

according to my horoscope, this week i am due a bit of a break after the hectic, emotionally draining past few weeks. spooky, heh? particularly the bit about slowing things down. i am actually typing this incredibly slowly. can you tell?
i am indeed having a bit of a break, this week, which makes a change from a bit of a breakdown, i suppose.
yesterday i spent the entire day in my pjyamas and spex, doing a bit of wardrobe editing and watching five episodes of Madmen. I was shattered by the end of it! no wonder babies and old people sleep so much - doing nothing is exhausting!
actually i did also pick up some emails (i am a compuslive communicator). there was one from a mate who has some peeps over for Christmas and wondered if i could recommend a cheap hotel in London.
i ask ex boyf who is forever finding places to put his friends when they jet in – he's spanish and of the world-seeing age, so there is a pretty constant stream of visitors. his reply to me? 'Google it you lazy fxcker'!
Now, i could go into a put-upon-mum rant here about all the things i do for him (and, while I'm at it can i just remind everyone of that hilarious song from the 70s called No Charge, where a young girl compiles a list of all the chores she has done and how much she would like to be paid for them, prompting her ma to compile a list of all the loving things she has done for the girl over her lifetime, the cost of which, is a credit-crunch friendly no charge), so as i was saying before those brackets, i could gently remind him of all the things i do for him instead i took his email as an opportunity to use the much underrated 'Thank you for you unhelp!'
It's a classic and, once you get into the habit of using it, extremely versatile. Someone is rude to you on the phone, 'Thank you for your unhelp' is great, especially as it takes the other person a couple of seconds to register what you've said, by which time you've hung up and are gloating in your cleverness.
This tip was passed on to me by my mate Veronica, whose frend George (who is a dead-spit for Goldie Hawn) uses it all the time.

have you got it?

So, we’ve had X-factor, where ‘talented’ wannabes risk ritual humiliation in return for a grasp at potential world domination and we’ve variations on the theme: pet idol, celebrity pop idol, billy idol, etc etc so, what I thought the other day as I was laying in bed at 3am unable to get back to sleep (this is a regular occurrence at the moment due to imminent life changing changes and work rethinks) what about idol idol?

Simon Cowell (SC): Hello, what’s your name?
Contestant 1: Bhudda
SC: OK, Mr Bhudda, what are you going to do for us?
Con 1: I am going to teach you that life is suffering and the art of non-attachment.
SC: Distinctly average, i'm afraid you're not quite what we're looking for

Cheryl Cole wells up

Next a man on a cross is wheeled in
SC: Hello, and who might you be?
Contestant 2: I am Jesus
SC: OK, so, Mr Jesus, you think you’ve got the X factor? What are you going to do for us?
Contestant 2: I am going to die for your sins.
SC: You know what, this competition needs more people like you. Hungry, willing to go that extra mile…

And then it’s Ganesh, The Virgin Mary (doing a Madonna song natch) and on and on and on.
I'd watch!

tight fit

Actually, giving this a title made me remember that band from the 80s who did a hilarious version of The Lion Sleeps Tonight. the lead singer was a buff (and camp) geezer in a nappyish loin cloth i seem to remember. what i definitely haven't forgotten is that i was in Down Memory Lane, a junk shop in Harrow on the Hill, when i came across a box of white label 12 inches. they cost £1 each - exactly the amount of funds i had back in those pocket-money weary days but there was one i REALLY wanted. there was also a copy of that very same Tight Fit epic, which was my mum's favourite song at the time. so, i had to make a choice. be a nice son and brighten up my mum's saturday or buy the one i REALLY wanted. yep, i did the right thing. she was delighted. the one i left behind? Ghost Town by the Specials!
anyway. back to yesterday's tight fit. a pair of white canvas converse-lookie likeys. size 10 but beyond painful. i think they were designed for some kind of human frog - long and narrow. every step was agony (you know what i mean). to the point where i lost the sensation in my feet. they went straight in the charity shop pile. my feet are still not back to normal today - i have mild pins and needles in my left one!
which brings me nicely on to the fact that there seem to be a lot of men in this town who settle for ill-fitting clothes. have you noticed how many guys there are around with trousers that are patently too short for them (and not in a Tom Browne luxe way). lots of 'slacks' flapping wowfully around the upper ankle. it's just not right. maybe they have unexpected growth spurts on the tube on the way to work? and what is it about guys with square shoes? if you want square shoes why not just buy the boxes?

alarmingly i am in my kitchen drinking frozen margaritas. that's not alarming. what is distressing is that my sister and her boyfriend are trying to remember the dance that MC Hammer did to Can't Touch This, while requesting that i google it!

well, that's just great

my friend Maryanne (check out her Scot abroad blog at http://alifelessdamp.blogspot.com/) has just suggested I might have
BED!
no, not A bed, BED. Binge Eating Disorder. Apparently it's the latest must-have condition whereby sufferers overeat or drink for short periods of time and then feel terribly guilty afterwards.
i thought that was called LIFE!
so, that's something for me to fret about on the way home.
cheers, Maryanne.
now, where did i leave my peanut butter and ham bap?

off the rails

so, on Saturday I am on the Tube on my way to Liverpool Street to catch the 1pm to Ipswich (to give a bit of light and shade to the story). Tube is absolutely heaving. We are crammed in like cattle, like the rush hour never happened and I get a whiff of this really musty/charity shoppe smell. 'What the hell is that?' I wonder to myself. And suddenly I realise: IT'S ME! I'd taken an old coat out of a musty old chartiy shoppe-esque cupboard at home and not aired it. That'll learn me, as many people would incorrectly have it.
fortunately my journey was short and I soon had an experience at Liverpool Street that had me thinking nicer thoughts (even if my coat still hummed). Waiting for my train platform to be announced I caught sight of a doddery old granddad nearby (in a coat that was probably related to mine) obviously looking for someone. The I caught sight of another doddery old geezer, and suddenly they spotted each other and their faces totally lit up. The hobbled over to each other and gave each other a really big heartfelt hug before pottering off. It warmed, as the expression would have it, the cockles.
So lovely weekend in Ipswich. On Sunday morning, my mate Marta and I popped in to TX Maxx to see if we could find her a new coat. After several announcements that the store would be marking DDay by two minutes silence in remembrance of those who gave their lives in WW1 an eery hush descended upon the place as, indeed the music went off and myself and my fellow shoppers all stopped talking. It was a nice moment of solidarity and quiet until suddenly it was shattered by two oiks strolling into the store announcing 'I just want to look at the f-ing jeans', which they then did, commenting on each pair. 'Ninety quid!' gasped the girl. 'I ain't paying that!' replied the boy. 'What colour do you want?' she asked him. 'Yellow,' he replied. You couldn't make it up. Well, I could but you couldn't. But I didn't.
Anyway, I've got to go now as I've got a bogey stuck between my teeth. OK, I made that up!