Monthly Archives: September 2011

No.74: Put Off Doing Something Until It Becomes A Crisis

From calling off a wedding to having a poo, there’s nothing like a brazen IGNORE to allow initially insignificant business to escalate into full blown nightmare, just to give your day (by which of course we mean life) purpose.

Deadline of three months? Drink coffee and watch Only Connect until you suddenly realise you have 37 minutes in which to research, interview for and write up a 2800 piece on the history of the Lathe for Machine Tool Weekly (and if you’re wondering why you’re doing this in the first place, see post No.31). There is no better way to imbue your extraordinarily dull commission with all the immediate magnitude of a haemorrhaging eyeball.  Every PR you frantically telephone will hear the rabid urgency in your voice and the assumed significance of What’s Going Down Here will blow up like ankles on a long-haul flight.

Because urgency is acutely catching, people. Others want in on the sense-of-purpose gig.  Lathe-experts are literally being physically hefted out of their beds by ruffians employed by PRs for specific from-bed haulage purposes and onto the phone to offer last-minute Lathery comment because this situation is now SERIOUS. An APB goes out on all (three) Lathe-operator organisation websites. Emergency Lathe-spokespeople are mustered. Families of Lathe-operatives risk starvation as machinery lies abandoned, such is the stampede to contribute before time is up! Soon, forty-six people are swept up in your shit storm. And loving every moment of it.

At pains to further labour this point, which of these conversations is more interesting?

(a) I switched the iron off and went to Tesco

Or

(b) I thought I’d leave the iron on until I’d returned from Tesco. And unpacked the shopping. And written a sonnet. I  burnt the house down and am now as homeless as …well, the two people who live with me, actually. Except the one that died of his injuries.

Ladies, isn’t it just vastly more satisfying to shave your legs when they look like something pulled from Mumford and Sons’ plughole? Leg shaving is a faff and doesn’t feel necessary until it starts feeling *medical*. 

On a daily basis, leg shaving can never be classed a bona fide crisis situ until you are in a taxi with a recently-met Handsome Young Man  you spontaneously decided it would be ace to have sex with. You’ll suddenly remember that bristling beneath your 40 denier is the sort of thatch that would give Richard Keyes’ forearms an inferiority complex. At this point plotting how to discreetly dehair or incorporate keeping your tights on into some hot sex stops being vanity and starts being a character-building situation to be passed onto the grandchildren. Anyway, your soon-to-be-naked comrade probably isn’t noticing that behind your pouty, sexy exterior the words: ‘fuckfuckfuck I seriously hope he’s got a Bic lying on the sink or his ex left some Immac knocking about’ are going on, as he at this moment is urgently planning how to hide the Nicklebackrecords he left on the side before going out this evening.

Nickelback: crisising all over your record player

People in soap operas have long understood the power of the last-minute, crisis-engendering reveal. If you can avoid sharing the fact that you used to be a man from your 19-stone, balding mechanic, Australian fiance until, say, the honeymoon night, things prove way more invigorating than if, at the end of date two, you decide to divulge the  information that a Serbian doctor rather than your DNA provided you with your vagina .

Important information. This practice of crisis-generating avoidance is not ever applicable to: administering mouth to mouth, injecting Insulin, addressing your financial situation if you are the country of Greece and turning off Robbie Williams.

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No.73: Feel Big love For Gary Barlow

Gary Rachid. Hang on. No... Ah whatever. He's LOVELY.

Most of us vagina-ry masses (and quite a few of the penis-toters too for that matter) are spending quite a lot of time currently doing this. It’s excellent, that’s why.  He’s not Simon Cowell for a start which basically makes anyone brilliant. And if your criteria for fancying someone is also ‘they’re not Simon cowell’, then you’ve probably been single for about as long as this blogger.

FFS, who cares that GB once took drugs?  Kelly Rowland once shat herself you know. Ok, so she was 5 days old, but the press* don’t seem to be able to stop themselves from separating a past event from its present relevance by means of a rational criteria based on time, age, common sense or plain human decency. Probably because it’s more fun their way.

‘Everyone with a fanny and some people with a penis love Gary Barlow!’

‘Ohdearmeno. We can’t have that.’

‘Why’

‘…Because…look over there! An albatross with a vicar in its mouth!’

‘wha – ?…Oh it must have gone. What were we saying?

‘Dunno. Slice of toast?

‘Ooh – lovely!’

So what does this mean, besides that fact that you can distract anyone living and breathing with the promise of toast? What this means is that the minute a human sets foot on English entertainment soil, success stops inspiring praise and starts being considered a good time to start psychologically beasting them.

The English seem to have the social group mentality of Ted’s father, police captain Logan,  in Bill and Ted’s Excellent Adventure and praise means you get SLACK and TOO BIG FOR YOUR BOOTS and YOU MUST  be destroyed within 3.5 weeks for your own good because do you know what success means in this country?! It means you’ve FAILED. So give it up, loser! Or go to America immediately (except to Ted’s dad’s house) where they like success and that sort of caper. The poofs.

The rise and rise of Barlow Hotness (do not use this phrase out of context in case someone thinks you mean Ken or HEAVENS FORFEND, Deirdre) has brought with it a parallel experience for many women. And that is the experience of fancying someone that your mum and your grandmother fancy as well at the same time.  Thanks to Gary, women of 16 and women of 79 have a shared love that isn’t (a) being grumpy, (b) being selectively deaf and (c)  screaming at figures of authority whilst covered in food.

Gary also eats food, has some transferable skills, has a fluctuating metabolism, doesn’t seem mental at all and you know he secretly hates Robbie. He’s a normal human being on all the 5 Internationally recognised counts.

It’s hard to work out why Gary is suddenly so very lovely. True, he’s nicer than an X-factor beanbag camply repeating the same sentence until you want to scoop your eye out with a melon baller (Walsh), a person that just tucks their hair behind their ear whilst holding a pen (Minogue), another person made of card (Cole) or someone so smug that if you licked them they would even taste of smug (Cowell).  But then again, maybe he bought a bag of handsome at Lidl and ate all of it. Which is my favourite answer.

TODAY’S FOOTNOTES

*Not all press. Lots of them are lovely. Like CC, WR, CM, ME, HB and the like.

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