This Week I Have Mostly Been:

watching Wimbledon and playing a drinking game that involves taking a swig of beer every time a commentator mentions the new roof, sitting in the garden, sweltering in my suit at a job interview, staring at my feet while wearing my lovely new red wedge sandals, intervening in a series of cat-fights only to be looked at like I'm a massive party pooper, writing, playing Michael Jackson songs, drinking Rose's Lime Cordial, feeling very pink and freckled, watching Weeds and True Blood.

The Way You Make Me Feel

I remember first discovering Michael Jackson's music in my best friend Emma's bedroom, dancing to ABC and I Want You Back and talking about marrying him when we grew up.

I remember buying the album Bad, listening to it over and over and practicing the 'moonwalk' in front of my bedroom mirror.

I remember going to see the film Moonwalker with friends, excited and enthralled, and falling in love with his Smooth Criminal character.

I remember wearing a long trench coat and trilby hat, hoping I looked like Michael Jackson in Smooth Criminal. (I stopped short of the white socks and slip on shoes).

I remember after buying Bad that I bought Thriller and Off The Wall, delighted to discover his back catalogue.

I remember making Michael Jackson mixtapes. They never included 'Ben' because it was about a rat and I hated rats. My favourite songs were Don't Stop 'Til You Get Enough, Rock With You, Billie Jean, Beat It, Dirty Diana and Smooth Criminal.

I remember doing all the dance moves to Blame It On The Boogie at a 70s themed club. It was always the song we most looked forward to hearing.

I remember watching the Martin Bashir interview with Michael Jackson and feeling incredibly sorry that he never knew a normal life.

I remember avoiding a lot of the bad things written about him, clinging to my happy memories of his music.

R.I.P, Michael Jackson. I will always remember you...

Beer Monster

Last night, I went out and drank five pints of beer which was at least two pints more than I planned to have; three is usually my limit. I don't remember going to sleep but when I woke up this morning with a stonking hangover, I was also clutching a melted bar of chocolate.



Thankfully, it had not leaked and I didn't end up looking like Alan Partridge in one of my favourite scenes.

Damn Pineapples

Pineapples, pineapples, pineapples. I was quite surprised to discover that if you google 'pineapple trees' my blog is the first result. Actually, the majority of people arriving at my blog are here from pineapple related searches:

where do pineapples come from?
is there such a thing as a pineapple tree?
tree that looks like it grows pineapples
pineapples, where do they grow?
do pineapples come out of the ground?
how to grow pineapple trees?
what do pineapple trees look like?
i want to see pineapple tree
where do damn pineapples come from?
do pineapples grow in trees or on the ground?
do pineapples come out of the ground?

So many questions! So much confusion! For the record, pineapples come from the pineapple plant which grows 2-5 feet high and is the only bromeliad to produce edible fruit. There is no pineapple tree, people.

I am considering a new career as a Pineapple Consultant, where I will make it my life's work to clear up the confusion surrounding the origins of this most delicious fruit. I will leave you with my Pineapple Trivia of the Day: "seafaring captains used to impale fresh pineapples--souvenirs of their lengthy travels to tropical ports--atop the porch railings of their homes when they returned. It was a symbol then that the man of the house was home--albeit briefly--and receiving visitors" taken from Symbolism Of The Pineapple.

All my life, I have wanted to be an expert on something, anything. Could I have found my calling?

Blog Dog

I wanna dog.

I've wanted my own dog for as long as I can remember, even when I was really small and we actually had a dog. Scooby was the dog my parents bought after getting married, and hated children. He tolerated my arrival but left after my brother rocked up. I wanted a dog so much more than I wanted a brother.

My cat knows that I want a dog. He is nearly twenty years old and sometimes I think that not wanting to be replaced by a dog is the reason he has lived so long.

I might invent a Blog Dog. We can be imaginary companions, have imaginary adventures and solve imaginary crimes together. I can't decide whether he should be really cute:

Woof!

Or really scary:

Grrr!

Blog Dog will never leave, die, shit in my house or stop me going away for the weekend. He might even like my brother.

It's A Common Expression!

Back-story: My father had a hernia operation that was complicated by the hernia being so close to his groin. The fear was that he might lose a testicle, but he didn't, the operation was a success and he has fully recovered. (This is probably too much information even for an over-sharer such as myself but I'm only mentioning it because of the conversation I had with my mother, Madame Tarina. It's too good not to share).

Madame Tarina: You've heard of the expression 'dining out' on something? Like 'dining out' on a story?

Me: Yes, I have.

Madame Tarina: Well, after your dad's operation, one of the nurses came to see how he was doing, and said it was good news about him not losing a testicle. And I said "Yes, otherwise we would have been dining out on it for months". She looked really surprised and said "What? A testicle?"

Me:..........

Madame Tarina: It's a common expression!

Me: Did she think you were going to eat it?

Madame Tarina: I don't know. But it's a common expression, right?

Whenever I am feeling a bit low, I think of this conversation and it always cheers me up. I imagine the nurse's face, recoiling in fear and horror, as she says "What? A testicle?"

Between Me And Insanity Stand My Friends

Last Thursday morning I had a bad case of The Sads: sobbing and panicking with frustration and anger at how my life had turned out. I could see the day ahead being lost to raking over the past and hating on myself: a positivity munching bleakness enveloping everything. Then there was a knock at the door and I was presented with a parcel sent across an ocean from the wonderful Miss Devylish: my very own box of sunshine and sparkles! Inside was an array of pampering and inspiring delights, including bath treats, nail polish, chocolate, popping candy, an awesome warrior woman key chain, a fabulous diva ring and a big sparkly P. It made me laugh and cry (but in a good way) and was a reminder of the great people in my life and that kind people reach out to others even when they are going through hard times. I took a yummy smelling bath, painted my nails, ate chocolate, banished the Bad Thoughts and focused on the good things in my life.

The next day, I went to visit my friend Kim for the weekend. Her company was exactly what I needed; just getting a hug from her made me feel so much better. She bought us delicious beer and food and we soaked up the sun; drinking, chatting, catching up on each other's lives, watching films and eating chocolate. She coped with my little bouts of sadness: listening, cheering me up, plying me with more food and drink. It was such a tonic and another reminder of the support and love that surrounds me. When I got back on Monday, there was a letter waiting for me from an old friend from university. Before the advent of t'internet and email we always wrote to each other but it was something we got out of the habit of doing over the last few years. Emails can never compare to a proper handwritten letter, and I was touched that she had taken the time to sit down and write to me.

Although I'm quite a solitary person, it is not always good for me to isolate myself and think I can cope with everything on my own. I need people. I need my friends.

One Star

Cynical-C Blog has a great series called You Can't Please Everyone that highlights the one star reviews on Amazon of classic films, literature and music. This is one of the reviews of Citizen Kane:

Citizen Kane was a real disappointment. Totally unoriginal plot, bad lighting, cheesy sets. Boring too. And gosh, what is with that Rose Bud thing? That was freaky!!! Woah dude!!! Anyway this movie was whack & mad boring cause you don’t even see the dude porkin’ the girl, and she isn’t even really hot anyway. It was a bummer too that it was in black and white and all the guys looked the same cause they all wore suits. The music was all weird and whack, yo. I didn’t like it. It didn’t have a good beat or dance rhythm section. But it was mad sweet, the dude’s crib, but he just be pacing around like, whassup? He should have had a mad party and had mad homies and sum real ladies up in that piece. I thought to my self how could u be so rich & be so messed up, yo?

Hmm...I suspect the reviewer isn't actually a rapper. I have seen Citizen Kane and thought it was fantastic but I was also very stoned at the time and can't remember anything about it. The Godfather, one of my favourite films, received an especially damning review:

This is a boy movie and I ain’t a boy.

I wonder how much Amazon reviews influence purchasing decisions. Would you think twice about buying The Odyssey after reading the following?

This book sucks. I dont care if Homer was blind or not this book is like 900 pages too long. I could tell this story in about 10 pages. Homer taking all long to say stupid stuff. Teens if you are reading this all I have to say is CLIFF NOTES CLIFF NOTES you will pass the test, unless you are in AP classes. The teachers expect kids to read cliff notes trust me my moms a teacher. P.S this book SUCKS.

I actually have some sympathy, although I'm a book worm, I was also one of those students who hated reading set texts and spent as much time cursing An Inspector Calls and Cider With Rosie (and the sadistic teachers who made me read them) as I did writing essays about them. Perhaps one of the problems with 'classic' books, films and music is that people come to them with very high expectations and are inevitably disappointed. Calling something a 'classic' will also guarantee some people wanting to knock it down a peg or two.

I just bought this CD [Sgt Peppers Lonely Hearts Club Band] and I dont’ see what all the hype is about. My teacher always talks about the Beatles but they have no lyrical skills, my cousin Rodney is a better song writer than these clowns. I think they should remix these songs with 50 Cent or Snoop, then they’d really get some fans behind them.

Opinions: every fecker has them.

Credit Crunchy

I recently read an article, 12 Fab Foodie Experiences, that included eating a whole roasted turbot on the Basque coast of Spain, dining on the finest Parisian truffles, and throwing a party where all the food is grown within a 100 mile radius of San Francisco. It was one of those articles that fill me with a combination of dislike and envy towards 'foodies'. Or 'gourmets' as they probably prefer to be called.

Here are my alternative fab food experiences, for the more budget conscious:

• Wrap a Ginsters pasty in multiple layers of paper and invite your friends over to play Pass The Pasty Parcel
• Visit Melton Mowbray and suck the jelly from a pork pie
• Buy a burger from your nearest McDonald's, remove the pickles and throw them at the window as you are leaving
• Find a chip shop that will deep fry a variety of chocolate and not just the traditional Mars bar
• Visit an all-you-can-eat restaurant with a big plate, Alan Partridge style
• Stick a wedge of lemon over your front teeth, pretend it's a mouth guard and try talking like Rocky Balboa

Enjoy!

1989

I was thirteen years old and had recently started to wear a bra, something I hated and tried to avoid for as long as possible. My friends strutted around with their new pointy boobs, giggling when boys pinged their bra straps but I tried my best to disguise the changes to my body by wearing baggy clothes and walking with my shoulders hunched over, my face hidden behind a froth of curls, staring at the ground. I craved stability but everything seemed to be changing: my father's recent redundancy had resulted in a new job that he hated and my move to High School in the autumn and the impending separation from my best friend, who was going to another school, were constantly on my mind.

After discovering 'grown-up' books, I exchanged the comforting familiarity of Judy Bloom, Paula Danziger and Sweet Valley High for Jane Austen, DH Lawrence and Ian McEwan; entranced but confused by a new world of ideas, sex and uncertainties. It was the last year of my infatuation with Madonna, soon I would discover Bob Dylan, Lou Reed and David Bowie but I did not know this at the time. Along with my friends, I was super excited about the release of Like A Prayer and the rumour that it would smell of patchouli oil. The first friend to buy a copy brought it to school and we passed it around, eagerly sniffing the odd scent.

But my over-riding memory of that year was an event that took place thousands of miles away, and which I watched on the old black and white portable TV in my bedroom: tanks rolling into Tiananmen Square and crushing the biggest pro-democracy demonstration in history. Twenty years later, I remember so clearly the feelings of shock, awe and fear watching a solitary man stand before a line of tanks on Beijing's ironically named Avenue of Eternal Peace.


They were young people, dealing with issues that I would never face, demanding a democracy that I took for granted. It seems naive now, but I was stunned: the world was not a fair place, lives and principles could simply be crushed by people who thought differently and had more power. It was an event and year that changed me: I became political. It was the first time I really looked at the world beyond the narrow confines of home and school, friends and family. I started obsessively watching the news, buying newspapers, reading political magazines, greedy for knowledge. It stimulated an interest in history and politics, which I would later study at university.

Mostly, I still walked with my head down but I also began looking out at the world, at first with sneaking glances but later with a bolder stare.