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.
Friday, April 4, 2008
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.
Sunday, March 30, 2008
reunited and it feels so good...
if your typing skills are as hit and miss as mine, you could discover that it's very easy to type reuntidied instead of reunited. i quite like the idea of being 'reuntidied' - it sounds a bit like letting your hair down or going crazy. this weekend i am going to be totally reuntidied!
anyway, just picked up my work emails (as you do at 8.17 on a Sunday morning, even when the clocks have gone forward so it's actually only 7.15!) and i've been sent a note from Friends Reunited informing me that there are new classmates of mine on the site.
i duly log on to have a look at who they might be, and i've never heard of any of them. then i go through the list of people who left in 1983 (how old am i!) and come across my own name.
next to it is written 'became a great grandparent'.
now, security issues apart (i certainly didn't update it!) that's pretty hilarious and would make me at least 46!
anyway, just picked up my work emails (as you do at 8.17 on a Sunday morning, even when the clocks have gone forward so it's actually only 7.15!) and i've been sent a note from Friends Reunited informing me that there are new classmates of mine on the site.
i duly log on to have a look at who they might be, and i've never heard of any of them. then i go through the list of people who left in 1983 (how old am i!) and come across my own name.
next to it is written 'became a great grandparent'.
now, security issues apart (i certainly didn't update it!) that's pretty hilarious and would make me at least 46!
Thursday, March 27, 2008
no, not that one!
when i moved back from a year out in Spain (it actually ended up being almost a decade), i was amazed to read in the paper that a certain Jonathan Woss was interviewing a certain Jordan on TV that evening (I'm going back a while).
'gosh,' i wondered to myself, as i am wont to do, being an inquisitive type 'i wonder what she is doing now, and why on earth is the spiky-haired one now on a mainstream chat show?'
of course, for me (and you, i suspect, for none of us are getting any younger) Jordan was (along with Cat Woman Sue) one of the original punks and wused to work at Sex, Vivienne Westwood's achingly anarchic King's Road shop back in the day (aka 1976/1977).
Googling Jordan I noticed that she is now actually cat woman and looks after a whole bunch of them in Streatham.
As to catwoman Sue, who knows?
i can't help but think though, that she might have made a more interesting interviewee than old Katie P.
'gosh,' i wondered to myself, as i am wont to do, being an inquisitive type 'i wonder what she is doing now, and why on earth is the spiky-haired one now on a mainstream chat show?'
of course, for me (and you, i suspect, for none of us are getting any younger) Jordan was (along with Cat Woman Sue) one of the original punks and wused to work at Sex, Vivienne Westwood's achingly anarchic King's Road shop back in the day (aka 1976/1977).
Googling Jordan I noticed that she is now actually cat woman and looks after a whole bunch of them in Streatham.
As to catwoman Sue, who knows?
i can't help but think though, that she might have made a more interesting interviewee than old Katie P.
Friday, March 14, 2008
hole in the wall
today i took £100 out at the cashpoint.
'would you like an advice slip?' the cashpoint asked before it dispensed my money.
i normally turn down its kind offer but today, feeling a little lost and fuzzy (read hangover) i thought a bit of friendly advice might be just the thing. So, out pops my 'advice' slip. I was hoping for something useful or inspirational along the lines of:
'Get your haircut'
'Be nicer to your boyfriend'
'Always stay two drinks behind your client'
'Don't wear those jeans with that cardie'
instead i got a piece of paper saying 'withdrawal £100'.
now, is it just me, or is that definitely not advice!
'would you like an advice slip?' the cashpoint asked before it dispensed my money.
i normally turn down its kind offer but today, feeling a little lost and fuzzy (read hangover) i thought a bit of friendly advice might be just the thing. So, out pops my 'advice' slip. I was hoping for something useful or inspirational along the lines of:
'Get your haircut'
'Be nicer to your boyfriend'
'Always stay two drinks behind your client'
'Don't wear those jeans with that cardie'
instead i got a piece of paper saying 'withdrawal £100'.
now, is it just me, or is that definitely not advice!
Tuesday, March 11, 2008
tubular hell
apparently, people who work on the Tube call the woman who does the announcements Sonia.
because she gets on ya nerves. geddit 's on ya' nerves.
pu huh (that was the noise my twin sister used to make when she laughed at a joke she didn't understand and has now become family parlance for funny. also for not funny, weirdly)
anyway, Sonya is this week's object of disaffection. you see, i get the Northern Line to work of a morning. it used to be called the misery line because it was so bad compared to all the others, but now that all the others are equally dreadful it has been robbed of than moniker.
so, each morning i get the Northern Line. 'The next train terminates at Morden via Bank' announces Sonya merrily, unaware of her dreadful grasp of English (there is no such place as Morden via Bank) before announcing 'The next train terminates at Paddington via Charing Cross'.
which is plain wrong not just on the grammatical construction but also because the Northern line goes nowhere near Paddington.
Poor old Sonya has got her Kennington mixed up with her Paddington.
I wonder if she has a little teddy bear at home that loves Marmalade and comes from Peru that she calls Kennington.
hey ho
because she gets on ya nerves. geddit 's on ya' nerves.
pu huh (that was the noise my twin sister used to make when she laughed at a joke she didn't understand and has now become family parlance for funny. also for not funny, weirdly)
anyway, Sonya is this week's object of disaffection. you see, i get the Northern Line to work of a morning. it used to be called the misery line because it was so bad compared to all the others, but now that all the others are equally dreadful it has been robbed of than moniker.
so, each morning i get the Northern Line. 'The next train terminates at Morden via Bank' announces Sonya merrily, unaware of her dreadful grasp of English (there is no such place as Morden via Bank) before announcing 'The next train terminates at Paddington via Charing Cross'.
which is plain wrong not just on the grammatical construction but also because the Northern line goes nowhere near Paddington.
Poor old Sonya has got her Kennington mixed up with her Paddington.
I wonder if she has a little teddy bear at home that loves Marmalade and comes from Peru that she calls Kennington.
hey ho
Thursday, March 6, 2008
book 'em Danno
viewers of a certain age (actually we're all 'viewers' now. according to the multimedia experts, 'readers' is v v v 20th century. that's not entirely true. my mate Damian Barr is still a reader. in fact he is set to become the world's first Reader in Residence at the Andaz hotel. 'book' him and he will come and read to you in your room! how amazing is that? i wonder if he will pat my bum too, like my nan used to. you can also reserve him for a literary lunch or supper or call him for book advice, which he calls bibliotherapy. he's even holding a 'book-in' at the gaff. find out all about it at guestservices.londonliv@andaz.com or call 020 7618 5061).
anyway, viewers of a certain age might remember Johnny Ball, father of wild child Zoe and erstwhile presenter of Think of a Number. i saw Johnny Ball on the Tube the other day. DOING A SUDOKO! which you just couldn't make up.
so, if you remember Johnny and Think of a Number you may remember a piece of wisdom he once imparted. it went: 'a man with a watch knows the time. a man with two is never sure.'
i was reminded of this yesterday as i made my way from deepest WC2 to bright and oh-so-gay W1. every clock had different variations on a theme. in fact most of them were right, give or take a month or two.
my watch read 6.20pm.
the clock on st martin's in the field read 3.20.
the clock on the swiss centre was stuck at 4.12.
i arrived at my date mystified. was i early? on time? a week and a half late…
anyway, viewers of a certain age might remember Johnny Ball, father of wild child Zoe and erstwhile presenter of Think of a Number. i saw Johnny Ball on the Tube the other day. DOING A SUDOKO! which you just couldn't make up.
so, if you remember Johnny and Think of a Number you may remember a piece of wisdom he once imparted. it went: 'a man with a watch knows the time. a man with two is never sure.'
i was reminded of this yesterday as i made my way from deepest WC2 to bright and oh-so-gay W1. every clock had different variations on a theme. in fact most of them were right, give or take a month or two.
my watch read 6.20pm.
the clock on st martin's in the field read 3.20.
the clock on the swiss centre was stuck at 4.12.
i arrived at my date mystified. was i early? on time? a week and a half late…
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