The Cameron Carrot
I don’t give a toss if he did or if he didn’t, although if he is now it might be interesting. But I do really care that the main thrust of his argument tonight on Question Time was that the question as to whether he puffed was not relevant as it was twenty years ago before he became a politician. You just can’t use distance of time to nulify your actions, first of all everything we do shapes us, and secondly twenty years ago was once ten years ago was once a year ago and was once yesterday, sorry it was a massive spliff tonight (as if).
The point is, the only people that can, with any justification, say that previous actions no longer count are those that have served time, as for the rest of us, it’s fine to change your mind, to regret what you’ve done, to change your life completely, but to deny your previous actions any relevance because decades have passed is not acceptable.
Also weren’t you fascinated by the skin tones of Fade to Grey Muriel, Dunkin David and the granite faced Bony Ben?
What Katie Did
Far be it for me to speak ill of the drugged up, but 200 quid a day doesn’t seem that much to me, and I hate to think of her not sharing – it would seem so…selfish.
Sue Thomas Fucking Boring Idea
That’s clearly what FBI stands for in her case. Oh my god, could she be more stupifying. Who cares if she shags her partner in mime, this is putrifying television, and Mr Elstein, I would respectfully request therefore, that you get rid of it. That is, of course if you are allowed.
Oh There I Am
I pressed the wrong button in my head and I disappeared.
A Terrible Sadness
My thoughts are with all of the poor people killed and injured in today’s attack.
A Kwik Kwestion
If I told you what was really bothering me then we’d all end up about as cheerful as Sir Bob after he checked his text figures, so instead I’ll run my next major query. In the Kwik Fit Ad, the woman says that she’s on her way to her sister’s wedding, she’s late and her mum and dad are in the back of the car.
Why isn’t her dad in the car with her sister? Shouldn’t he be giving her away? Have they had a row? Is he her step-dad and her real dad is giving her away? Also, if we accept that for some reason the sister has someone else giving her away, why are the sister, mum and dad travelling in their own car, surely as the next of kin they should be in the wedding cortege? Perhaps they’re too poor to afford one. Perhaps they’re too groovy to tip up to the wedding with a load of chauffeur driven wheels.
And another thing – what happened to Bev? (AA Car Insurance) Has she got a great part in an ITV Crime Drama and had a clash of dates? Did the ad company decide against her (wrong move if so, as she was fab). Did Kev divorce her and get another Bev? Enough.
Teenage Undertones
Billie is up in her room. She has her headphones on. She is listening to Avril Lavigne. She says she is tired. She has been crying. She thinks I don’t understand. She is five.
Friends Re-cycled
I’ve just watched the most amusin’ programme on the Modern Review, the denouement being a rapprochement betwix Julie and Toby, and I was reminded of all my lost loves friendship-wise. I know that I am to blame, having taken umpteen umbridges, distanced myself by miles and then filled the void with unexplained silences. And if the Grim Reaper came knocking I am sure that my regrets would mostly amount to not having rebuilt those bridges so soundly Dambusted by my hubris and huffiness.
But how do you go back? A mate of mine who is way too cult for my liking has allied herself to a group who believe there is great value in making contact with all of those people and telling them about all those grudges harboured for so long, with a view to moving forward with your soul and conscience all spring cleaned. But it rather begs the question of what you do next. Do you call your estranged mate, explain, apologise and make up and then never see them, or do you have to start seeing them again? And if you do re-kindle the association, who’s to say that your initial decision to give them the flick wasn’t the best one after all?
Maybe those Trisha moments full of tears and hugs just lead to lots more trouble afterwards and you realise that perhaps it’s better, Whistler-style, to acknowledge the shelf life of a friendship and accept it’s past its sell by date and vow that, next time, you’ll dispose of your pal in a responsible fashion, bunging her in the right waste container, rather than dumping her by the side of the road.
Hair today
Watching the ultra-magnificent The White Stripes – The Carpenters on Beer – it occured to me that one of the major obstacles to my achieving greatness has been my hair. Watching those two cats on stage tonight – whilst not detracting from their musical prowess – it has to be noted that neither seems to care much about their locks. Good job too, as a combination of damp and heat can lead to only one thing, that even John Frieda in his most dedicated moments could not ease: frizz. Yet this has not prevented them from being outstanding.
As for myself, many has been the time that I may have avoided greatness for fear of how my hair might look – clubs, holidays, stage appearances, lovemaking – all evaded for fear of 70’s hair re-appearing. And if I had not cared think how many more times the door of opportunity might have knocked. The free-est I have ever felt is dancing in the rain knowing it would ruin my locks but not caring a jot. Finally, as I realise that I’m too old now for my looks to matter, my hair care is fading and so today the storms came, and for some reason I didn’t shy away from the rain and I felt like a massive weight had been lifted from my shoulders. Yesterday, the same, at the swimming pool, I just thought ‘bugger it’ and let my hair get wet. Freedom.
Yet there they are up on the pyramid stage, hair all curly and bad, and playing like fucking demons. Wavy, kinky and fabulous.