Sunday, 30 June 2013

In which I bemoan the nonsense of modern songsters.

It's been a couple of weeks since I've blogged, so you'd think that I'd at least have the decency to make this a good one, wouldn't you.  Well tough luck kids, because I don't really have much to say.  But you've got to learn at some point, it's a tough world out there and you can't always get what you want.  Which reminds me of something that has been playing on my mind a bit recently, in a round about sort of way.

Have you heard that new song by The Wanted?  I didn't really know who they were, so I looked them up. As it turns out, they are a fairly generic British boy band. Not really my thing, but actually not too terrible. Until they recently released a monstrosity of a song called "Walks Like Rihanna".  It seems to be based around the concept that you can be quite generally shit at everything, but it'll be ok if you walk like Rihanna. Riiiiiiiiight.  Does this mean I need to start striding around the place, punctuating my strut with the occasional slut drop on my way over to the office printer?  It's inadvisable.  I suggested it last week on Facebook, my friend gave it a go, and HR are now involved.  I think I'll carry on with my usual plodding gait and be done with it.

This is not the first time that songsters have advised us to do this sort of thing.  Remember when Maroon 5 tried to suggest that it would be a good thing if we all had Moves Like Jagger?  Good lord. The man's about 203 years old. And he moved like he didn't have full control of his limbs when he was in his prime.  Yesterday, a friend of mine commented that he looked like a giant twiglet. This is true.  A twiglet that doesn't have full control of his limbs. And probably tastes considerably less Marmitey, so WHAT'S THE POINT.

And where will this nonsense end?  Will we at some point in the near future be urged to have Hair Like Donald Trump? Toes Like Megan Fox's Thumbs?! (seriously she has toe thumbs, Google it).  Call me old fashioned, but for now I'm going to stick to having Naps Like Your Nana.

Wednesday, 12 June 2013


Memory is a funny thing, isn't it? I have a terrible memory and remember very little of my childhood. I only really recall stories that have been told and retold so many times that the original event is almost meaningless, because the memory lies in the story telling.  But I do remember some really stupid stuff.

It occurred to me today that I cannot recall a single birthday party that I had as a child (unless you count being taken on a plane for the first time on my eleventh birthday, to Paris and my dad MORTIFYING me by speaking to the pilot and getting the entire plane to sing happy birthday to me. Very sweet now, but at the time ground-swallowingly MORTIFYING).

But I vividly remember the vague feeling of surprise that I felt the first time that I saw a picture of Pat Sharp after he'd had his mullet cut off.  I've looked it up. That happened in 1992, so I would have been 14.

I can't remember the names of most of my teachers, even the ones that I liked.  I can't recall the plotlines of books that I have read and sometimes get halfway through a film before faintly realising that I've already seen it.  But I remember very clearly having a dream featuring an evil cartoon milkman who was delivering poisoned milk to everyone.  It was so vivid that for years I was convinced that I'd seen it on TV, but I've never been able to find a reference to it.

I had a dog called Lizzie when I was little, right up until I was nineteen. I struggle to remember her face (mainly because I get Murdoch's furry little mooey superimposed on it whenever I try to conjure it up), or how soft to the touch her fur was.  But if I know a song, I can name it within the first few notes that I hear.

What weird memories do you have?  Or not have? Is your brain as weird as mine?