Tuesday, 31 March 2009
Thursday, 26 March 2009
- For the first time, I know someone called Spike (great name), courtesy of my lovely friends A and B, who have disappointed me somewhat by not having a baby whose name starts with 'C', so that I could have referred to them as A, B and C (but hey-ho)
- I had my first ever 'grown up' birthday, with lunch, dinner and friends (actually strike that, it was not grown up at all, watching Match of Day at midnight whilst having had fourteen glasses of wine too many and rewinding the bit where Rooney gets sent off too many times just because it was so funny) probably isn't very grown up at all
- Learning for the first time that there might just be different lyrics to Itsy Bitsy Spider (Incey Wincey apparently) despite betting the mortgage that I was right, and losing face quite badly over the whole incident
- Eating 'dappled dandies' for the first time - yes, apparently they are plums, I'd never even heard of them before, but they're yum.
Until the next time, first-timers!
Wednesday, 18 March 2009
Monday, 16 March 2009
- I bought a dark green crochet-ed (spelling?) frog pouch to hold my camera in (and I know this says nothing good about me at all).
- I have become obsessed, for the first time, with 'statement belts'. I bought my first one yesterday at Spitalfields. It's blue and sparkly and has a gold clasp. It's the kind of thing you'd find in your mother's closet and weep (and not in a good way) but I love it.
- I went to Hounslow for the first time. For fear of offending anyone, I'd better not report on this.
- I started reading a new author for the first time (Stieg Larsson) but given that he's from Scandinavia and definitely modern, this has done nothing whatsoever to challenge my prejudices in favour of novels which are both modern and European (see one of my very first posts).
So in desperation today for the first time I made a list about things I am deeply cynical about but would like to be less cynical about. Now I know what you're thinking: I am deeply cynical about most things, so how could I choose? But here's the best I could do:
- Modern indie music. Are you having a laugh? 'Indie'? It's about as independent (which is what indie stands for, but this has been lost in the mists of time) as David Cameron and Michael Winner's love child. Or turkeys voting for Christmas to be cancelled, take your pick of the analogies. Er, a big A+R outfit discovering you playing in your local pub and then three months later you're playing Wembley (and it sold out in three minutes) is not independent, it's slick marketing rubbish and you've sold out and no-one thinks you're cool. Not even your mates.
- People who write articles in newspapers taking some outlandish stance on something: you know, "Pregnant women are killing their children if they have one glass of wine in 9 months" type efforts. You're just doing it to sell newspapers and anyway who cares about your opinion anyway.
- People who read and get upset by the articles (set out above). Who cares? Just do what's right for you. Stop writing in to the paper, getting upset. It's bad for the blood pressure and gives more publicity to a subject that everyone else finds dull anyway.
- SuperMums. Don't even get me started. The truth must be that you silently weep into your hot drink at night and you haven't had sex since the birth of your fifth baby.
- Rugby. Do I need to say anything more?
Thursday, 12 March 2009
Tuesday, 10 March 2009
Anyway, on to lists. Yesterday for the first time I made a list of things I like which are deeply uncool but which make me who I am:
- Francis Cabrel (see photo): wrinkly old French folk-rocker who sings songs about women's eyes, the beauty of children, ladies who live in wooden chalets in the Alps and always appreciating what you have. Subjects so uncool that they're almost cool again. Desperately uncool, but strangely brilliant.
- Cheryl Cole. Now I know that this one divides the nation. How can any woman like someone who was once convicted of assault on a nightclub attendant (although cleared of racist charges), is a UK size 4 (size zero, US-dwellers) and is married to Ashley Cole, the most stupid footballer of all time? But there's something about her, isn't there?
- Eating peanut butter out of the jar with a teaspoon. Preferably whilst watching 'Coleen's Real Women'. And only the crunchy variety works here.
- 'Coleen's Real Women'. For those of you who have not sampled this work of genius, the premise for this TV show is that Coleen (married to Wayne Rooney, a footballer of uncertain physical attractiveness) finds 'real women' to star in ad campaigns, often 'beating real models' to the job. I love it for the simple fact that models around the UK probably detest her - "Hey Coleen, rack off! How are we going to get jobs if real women are taking them over!" (see also American's Next Top Model, Stylista and so on).
- Bed socks. Cashmere. But I never wear them in bed, as surely this is the end of marriage?
Anyway, see you soon. x