A girl like I has not posted for a while, indeed I am sure it is all my followers can think about. This is because I was either thinking or drinking. May I recommend M and S mulled cider as 'tis very weak but you can feel festive while stringing together a few words coherently. More than can be said for some at my xmas do the other night. There was proper bad behaviour; groping, propositioning, telling management what you really thought of them , although most of this was unintentional-just bawling opinions across the dinner table with no regard for earshot. One guy was 'spoken to'( infer horrid meaning) by the boss, someone else was sent home, there were ejections from the bar we ended up in and no doubt many erections from all the flirting going on. Marvellous evening. Really makes Christmas and will keep us all in gossip until half-term.
Just as it's impossible to have a successful xmas do without scandal, it's impossible to have a xmas without kitsch. I found myself reflecting on this in a grotto in school the other day. Grotto-case in point. One believes that one can achieve a tasteful display of decks all in white and silver (my own fond vision) such as is regularly pored over by myself and Enid in the White Company catalogue. Or is it the The White Company catalogue? But no, naffness just creeps in, a knitted reindeer here, a speaking santa model there, next thing your ma turns up with her musical pie server set to 'Jingle Bells' and you haven't a hope. The image of oneself wafting around a palely shimmering home, in nobbut Jo Malone and cashmere, forever recedes.
Speaking of my mum, there has been a great deal of baffled scoffing at people being impeded by the weather. She's a warchild and spirit of the blitz has never left her. 'Old before their time!' is the cry, upon hearing of some fellow septuagenarian who won't go out in the snow. Now that Older Sister has bought her some sort of elastic treads for her trainers, she's quite frankly unstoppable.
I like snow because it is like living within a film. I have even been known to wear heels in snow like Cameron Diaz in The Holiday. Picturing myself in a movie just about makes up for the weather being all anyone can talk about and as Michael McIntyre pointed out, it makes the TV news, travel, sport and weather all the same. Even better, I feel and have always felt, would be to live in a Musical. Wouldn't it be great to sing a good 'aul belting tune several times daily, to express yoursel and vent your emotions? And you could liven up banalities such as queueing or traffic jams with a big, you know, 'number', chorus, dancing, jumping on cars, sliding on your knees, high kicking as you descend stairs. How has this not happened already?
I saw Wicked in London last weekend and rare as this is, it far surpassed my already overblown expectations. I was awash with emotion from my lofty position, i.e cheap seat, forced to peer furiously through opera glasses, lowering them only to mop up tears of mirth or sympathy for the girl born green and persecuted. I was so starstuck, I went to the stage door afterwards for a bit of stalking, like those peculiar fans who spent thousands going all around the world in pursuit of their idols. I wonder how I have never met any of these people but I'm told they exist. Anyway, I realised that my preferred person was in full bright green make up from our Matinee so probably wouldn't be nipping out the stage door to Subway. What a shame-we could have done a 'number' together in Victoria station...
Tuesday, 21 December 2010
Saturday, 4 December 2010
The life of an assassin is not for I
Yes, I have had to abandon all thoughts of becoming a hired killer. It looked all very jolly in Mr. and Mrs. Smith and I considered a career change but I 've just seen The American and realise it wouldn't do.
I am positive I could very easily pull off the amount the of frowning required for the job though. Tom Cruise was extremely irritable in Collateral. George Clooney was awfully cross throughout The American and spoke more or less continuously through gritted teeth, in a monotone. Small wonder, the poor man never got a wink; he was forever sitting bolt upright in bed with gun at the ready , at the merest gust of wind in the night. I would be hysterical by lunchtime on day two.
Only there wouldn't be any lunch. George only had one meal the whole time . This was of course with a kindly priest, due to the Italian setting, and accompanied by Madame Butterfly as background music. He went on a picnic, in fact, with his bird ( this is meant to indicate a yearning for a normal life in Holywood) and there wasn't a Scotch egg or even a limp sandwich in sight. George failed to crack a smile even when the girlfriend stripped off and bathed in the lake. My companion and I were amazed that this actress had required a 'stunt double' - presumably she had agreed not to wear a bra in any scene but the nipples had consequently drooped for the nudey swimming part and someone else's were wheeled in.
This girlfriend had been acquired in the local brothel, naturally. This is what assassins have to resort to; otherwise, sexual partners must be bumped off immediately before the afterglow. Edward Fox started all this in The Day of The Jackal, though judging by his facial expression, it's entirely possible he was merely trying to rid the world of a terrible smell. George was living in a village with a population of 50 or so it seemed , but there was a thriving harem of doe-eyed slappers. At least George got his kit off too. But it matters not a bit how many fake tattoos he got for this role; he is and always will be as suave as Cary Grant and less poncy.
There were several unintentionally funny conversations with George's boss displaying the utter lack of need for greetings and niceties in Holywood. They would start their conversations with a some frowning and breathing and just jump straight in with something like ' How did they find me?' The boss seemed to spend his entire life sitting in a sort of 60's kitchen waiting for the calls. He was never seen contorted, with the phone under his chin, finishing a spot of grouting. Kitty and I started to heckle from our illegal position in the V.I.P seats 'Cheerio now!' 'Toodleoo!'-that sort of thing.
Poor George was desperately trying to retire from being a mercenary and this turns out to be disapproved of to the extent that a very sexy, equally sulky female is dispatched forthwith to murder you. Now we know that we are expected to work these days until we are, what is it, 93? But at least you can expect to leave full time employment without concrete boots on, to sleep with the fishes etc. etc. So I must continue with my present employment-the sex, even with George, would simply not be worth it.
I am positive I could very easily pull off the amount the of frowning required for the job though. Tom Cruise was extremely irritable in Collateral. George Clooney was awfully cross throughout The American and spoke more or less continuously through gritted teeth, in a monotone. Small wonder, the poor man never got a wink; he was forever sitting bolt upright in bed with gun at the ready , at the merest gust of wind in the night. I would be hysterical by lunchtime on day two.
Only there wouldn't be any lunch. George only had one meal the whole time . This was of course with a kindly priest, due to the Italian setting, and accompanied by Madame Butterfly as background music. He went on a picnic, in fact, with his bird ( this is meant to indicate a yearning for a normal life in Holywood) and there wasn't a Scotch egg or even a limp sandwich in sight. George failed to crack a smile even when the girlfriend stripped off and bathed in the lake. My companion and I were amazed that this actress had required a 'stunt double' - presumably she had agreed not to wear a bra in any scene but the nipples had consequently drooped for the nudey swimming part and someone else's were wheeled in.
This girlfriend had been acquired in the local brothel, naturally. This is what assassins have to resort to; otherwise, sexual partners must be bumped off immediately before the afterglow. Edward Fox started all this in The Day of The Jackal, though judging by his facial expression, it's entirely possible he was merely trying to rid the world of a terrible smell. George was living in a village with a population of 50 or so it seemed , but there was a thriving harem of doe-eyed slappers. At least George got his kit off too. But it matters not a bit how many fake tattoos he got for this role; he is and always will be as suave as Cary Grant and less poncy.
There were several unintentionally funny conversations with George's boss displaying the utter lack of need for greetings and niceties in Holywood. They would start their conversations with a some frowning and breathing and just jump straight in with something like ' How did they find me?' The boss seemed to spend his entire life sitting in a sort of 60's kitchen waiting for the calls. He was never seen contorted, with the phone under his chin, finishing a spot of grouting. Kitty and I started to heckle from our illegal position in the V.I.P seats 'Cheerio now!' 'Toodleoo!'-that sort of thing.
Poor George was desperately trying to retire from being a mercenary and this turns out to be disapproved of to the extent that a very sexy, equally sulky female is dispatched forthwith to murder you. Now we know that we are expected to work these days until we are, what is it, 93? But at least you can expect to leave full time employment without concrete boots on, to sleep with the fishes etc. etc. So I must continue with my present employment-the sex, even with George, would simply not be worth it.
Thursday, 2 December 2010
Persisting with the listing
It has been enjoyable receiving feedback on 'One's Fashion Firing Squad'; some of it quite defensive, you know, people committed to their fleeces and whatnot. Probably because they're having to wear them in the bath at the moment, as if being filmed in a sort of arctic Big Brother. People dear to me have removed their polo necks before our meetings. Then there are the ones who made welcome suggestions for shooting, as it were. My colleague feels strongly about too short trousers,others felt it criminal to wear heels with combat trousers or clothes with any writing on them. If you could all figure out how to become a follower (I am not sure mesel-but it involves opening a Google account),we could build our list into a FORUM, I tell you. I will return to the clothes, bound to , I feel but I have a new list in mind. It's been bothering me for years.
Things Which Happen in Films and on Telly but Never in Real Life
1. Cooking with a teatowel over your shoulder. Neither I nor the Redhead, who suggested this one, have ever seen this in real life, though Jamie Oliver has one in his jeans' pocket these days. I accumulate at least five sodden, grimy examples when cooking for any more than three but they lurk, reproachfully balled-up, blocking my view of the ingredients and the recipe.
2. Shouting at and being cheeky to medical staff. This was exemplified magnificently by Shirley Maclaine in Terms of Endearment. Even in your average Soap, you get quite a bit of indignation or aggression in the ' I demand a second opinion' line. No-one I know has ever demanded a second opinion. Deference bordering upon creeping obsequiousness is the usual flavour. Very recently a doctor unceremoniously grabbed my injured calf and dug his sausage fingers in-I merely winced and managed a watery smile. (He was a specialist so I had to fight off the urge to address him pointedly as 'Mister'-of course I didn't dare.)
3. Becoming extremely delicate immediately upon the news of a positive pregnancy test. In films, there is always at this point, quite a bit of business with having to sit down and have cushions plumped around you. This is one of my favourite bits in The Way We Were. Real couples however, look at each other and go 'Oh Jesus' and then blame each other for the unprotected sex.
4.Waking up in a hospital bed from a coma or similar and saying 'Where am I ?' Much more likely to be 'You can have the bloody Lucozade but where's that Crunchie gone?
5. Having showers at odd times, such as during an argument, and always immediately putting your face right under the nozzle. If I were to attempt this, I would have a permanent windswept high colour provoking fears about my bloodpressure.
6.Staring at each other at length before first kissing. If you are Meryl Streep, you actually make contact then pull away more than once and come back for a bit of lip-nudging before the proper snog. Now I am not saying everyone always has to be drunk for this moment but there is definitely a sudden,clumsy launch of some sort from which you are lucky to emerge with your original teeth.
7. Worrying about 'appropriate' conduct around babies and toddlers for fear that they understand about sex and all. Sitcoms try to get laughs from this nonsense; people worrying that they cannot have sex while babysitting, for example, even when the kids are asleep. Were this an issue, many people would have remained virgins until their thirties.
8.Never saying Hello and Goodbye, particularly on the phone. This is considered essential in real life and unnecessary on screen. Dallas and Dynasty were the finest examples of the practice, Joan Collins its leading exponent. She was forever arching an eyebrow and slamming down the phone, by way of ending a conversation, before replacing her clip-on earring and lighting a More. Marvellous.
Things Which Happen in Films and on Telly but Never in Real Life
1. Cooking with a teatowel over your shoulder. Neither I nor the Redhead, who suggested this one, have ever seen this in real life, though Jamie Oliver has one in his jeans' pocket these days. I accumulate at least five sodden, grimy examples when cooking for any more than three but they lurk, reproachfully balled-up, blocking my view of the ingredients and the recipe.
2. Shouting at and being cheeky to medical staff. This was exemplified magnificently by Shirley Maclaine in Terms of Endearment. Even in your average Soap, you get quite a bit of indignation or aggression in the ' I demand a second opinion' line. No-one I know has ever demanded a second opinion. Deference bordering upon creeping obsequiousness is the usual flavour. Very recently a doctor unceremoniously grabbed my injured calf and dug his sausage fingers in-I merely winced and managed a watery smile. (He was a specialist so I had to fight off the urge to address him pointedly as 'Mister'-of course I didn't dare.)
3. Becoming extremely delicate immediately upon the news of a positive pregnancy test. In films, there is always at this point, quite a bit of business with having to sit down and have cushions plumped around you. This is one of my favourite bits in The Way We Were. Real couples however, look at each other and go 'Oh Jesus' and then blame each other for the unprotected sex.
4.Waking up in a hospital bed from a coma or similar and saying 'Where am I ?' Much more likely to be 'You can have the bloody Lucozade but where's that Crunchie gone?
5. Having showers at odd times, such as during an argument, and always immediately putting your face right under the nozzle. If I were to attempt this, I would have a permanent windswept high colour provoking fears about my bloodpressure.
6.Staring at each other at length before first kissing. If you are Meryl Streep, you actually make contact then pull away more than once and come back for a bit of lip-nudging before the proper snog. Now I am not saying everyone always has to be drunk for this moment but there is definitely a sudden,clumsy launch of some sort from which you are lucky to emerge with your original teeth.
7. Worrying about 'appropriate' conduct around babies and toddlers for fear that they understand about sex and all. Sitcoms try to get laughs from this nonsense; people worrying that they cannot have sex while babysitting, for example, even when the kids are asleep. Were this an issue, many people would have remained virgins until their thirties.
8.Never saying Hello and Goodbye, particularly on the phone. This is considered essential in real life and unnecessary on screen. Dallas and Dynasty were the finest examples of the practice, Joan Collins its leading exponent. She was forever arching an eyebrow and slamming down the phone, by way of ending a conversation, before replacing her clip-on earring and lighting a More. Marvellous.
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