thank goodness for button-them-together double quilts, i say. take an autumn weight 9 tog, button on a summery 4 tog and you get a very warming 13 togger to keep these winter chills at bay. does anyone actually know, or indeed care, what tog means?
and so, this is Christmas. and what have you done?
well, thank you for asking. i've been to visit the mum, adding an extra twist to proceedings by taking the ex boyfriend along. needless to say both mum and nan seemed to prefer him to me. is it just in our family that our relatives always seem to prefer our friends to us, their next of kin? i sometimes think they probably don't like us very much. they love us to bits, of course, after all we are their flesh and blood, but i don't think they'd want to sit next to us (sisters and I) on a long train journey, or be stranded with us on a desert island.
thank goodness for therapy (lots of goodness to thank today!).
and while we're not on the subject of dancing, may i just ask why is it that some girls seem incapable of going onto a dancefloor without waving their arms around in the air. it's like an epidemic. pingyarmup syndrome. there you are, having a little bop when suddenly, seemingly without your consent, first your hands, then your elbows begin to creep up to the side of your head and before you know it you are swaying around looking like Jodie Foster in Nell. did someone once tell someone that this was 'sexeh!', because if so, i'd like to set the record straight that it isn't.
and if you've got long hair, that somehow gets tangled up in an acute attack of pingyarmup it's most definitely not 'hawt'! i recommend dancing with a pair of 8KG dumbbells in your hands. this should help keep them out of harms way.
Sunday, December 28, 2008
Wednesday, December 17, 2008
follow the thread
On my way back from Pret (mayonaisse with that? How about some extra mayonaisse?) I cleverly managed to get the strap of the belt of my coat stuck in the buckle (how much or a trannie or weirdo does that make me sound? Like I’m wearing a safari suit in December, which btw, I’m not. I’m wearing a belstaff ripoff: black, greased-ish, with said buckle). Anyway, don’t ask me how as I don’t know how I managed but got the strap stuck and was forced to yank it out. This, somehow, pulled a bit of thread out so that it was wrapped round the buckle*. The only way to sort it out was to cut myself out of my belt. As I did this, I held one end of the string in my hand which caused my belt to bob around mid-air as if it had a life of it’s own. This reminded me (finally, I get to the point) of those funny toys you got in the 70s that were like overly fluffy pipe cleaners attached to lengths of invisible thread that you would pull around your person making it look like there was a flourescent caterpillar wriggling all over you. Crazy. And slightly disturbing as they used to whizz around quite quickly.
*talking of getting things caught, I once went ‘up west’ with my mum and sisters one Christmas and we went to The Oxford Walk. Younger readers will know this retail hotspot as The Plaza on Oxford Street but back in the day, it (thought it) gave Brent Cross a run for its money. Upstairs was one of those photographic studios where you could get sepia-tinted pictures of yourself in olde-worlde costumes (remember The Good Old Days on TV?), which sisters and I duly did. My nan still has one on one of her units.
Anyway, back in the 20th century we headed down the escalator back down to Oxford Street and somehow I managed to get my brand new black and white mohair jumper caught in the side of the moving staircase, causing a thread to pull and causing me to be sucked into the side of the escalator. I remember that horrible feeling of rising panic as I realised I was trapped. Only a quick thinking passer by saved the day by pulling my jumper and me out of the metal jaws of impending death or at the very least disfigurement. The jumper was ruined.
Another jumper that I lost in an unfortunate manner was the first I ever knitted. Yes, I knitted! And this was long before it was a trendy pursuit. I knitted myself a fluffy grey number with a low neck (OK, my nan had to help me sew it up) and I loved it. I was about 14 at the time and Skinderella-style skinny having started to shed the puppy fat that had helped make my life miserable for the previous decade and a half. I also made the fatal mistake of lending the jumper to my mate Geraldine who had (and indeed continues to have) rather large breasts. When I got my jumper back it was stretched beyond wearability around the chest area and fit only to be gifted to someone with huge breasts.
I still love my knitwear.
*talking of getting things caught, I once went ‘up west’ with my mum and sisters one Christmas and we went to The Oxford Walk. Younger readers will know this retail hotspot as The Plaza on Oxford Street but back in the day, it (thought it) gave Brent Cross a run for its money. Upstairs was one of those photographic studios where you could get sepia-tinted pictures of yourself in olde-worlde costumes (remember The Good Old Days on TV?), which sisters and I duly did. My nan still has one on one of her units.
Anyway, back in the 20th century we headed down the escalator back down to Oxford Street and somehow I managed to get my brand new black and white mohair jumper caught in the side of the moving staircase, causing a thread to pull and causing me to be sucked into the side of the escalator. I remember that horrible feeling of rising panic as I realised I was trapped. Only a quick thinking passer by saved the day by pulling my jumper and me out of the metal jaws of impending death or at the very least disfigurement. The jumper was ruined.
Another jumper that I lost in an unfortunate manner was the first I ever knitted. Yes, I knitted! And this was long before it was a trendy pursuit. I knitted myself a fluffy grey number with a low neck (OK, my nan had to help me sew it up) and I loved it. I was about 14 at the time and Skinderella-style skinny having started to shed the puppy fat that had helped make my life miserable for the previous decade and a half. I also made the fatal mistake of lending the jumper to my mate Geraldine who had (and indeed continues to have) rather large breasts. When I got my jumper back it was stretched beyond wearability around the chest area and fit only to be gifted to someone with huge breasts.
I still love my knitwear.
Monday, December 8, 2008
mary poppins!
I was, in my younger days, something of ‘a goer’. Now there’s a word that you don’t hear very often. Definitely one due for a revival, along with referring to someone as a bike. In fact, I think I’m going to start referring to myself as the office bike and see if there’s any improvement in my love life (and another one due for rediscovery).
Anyway, in my younger days I used to like to party. Hard. No pill, powder, paper and paste was safe if I was around.
One evening, getting ready to go out with mates one of them announces: ‘you must try this’ before putting something round and white in my mouth.
20 minutes later and I suddenly feel like an elephant with 10 tonne eyelids.
How hilarious – my friends had given me a sleeping pill. I was furious as I really wanted to go out that evening but had to go to bed, where I slept until the next morning and woke up feeling seriously groggy.
I’d completely forgotten about that until reading the story of the young girl who had been kidnapped by her own mum but who had, for a couple of years before then, been regularly drugged with valium. Not only was she doped, she was then sent to school. Now that’s unkind.
Anyway, in my younger days I used to like to party. Hard. No pill, powder, paper and paste was safe if I was around.
One evening, getting ready to go out with mates one of them announces: ‘you must try this’ before putting something round and white in my mouth.
20 minutes later and I suddenly feel like an elephant with 10 tonne eyelids.
How hilarious – my friends had given me a sleeping pill. I was furious as I really wanted to go out that evening but had to go to bed, where I slept until the next morning and woke up feeling seriously groggy.
I’d completely forgotten about that until reading the story of the young girl who had been kidnapped by her own mum but who had, for a couple of years before then, been regularly drugged with valium. Not only was she doped, she was then sent to school. Now that’s unkind.
Friday, December 5, 2008
school dinners
slow Friday. alone in the office but let's not get too existential, eh? whatever happened to chocolate custard? everyone, at some point during their school days, ate chocolate sponge with chocolate custard. these days you never see it on menus anywhere!
Sunday, November 30, 2008
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.
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.
Tuesday, November 25, 2008
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!
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!
Thursday, November 20, 2008
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?
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?
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