A Bad Dream

Ugh - I had a really bad dream last night.

I dreamt I stepped on the weighing scales in the bathroom and they fell apart.

And if that isn't bad enough - they were positioned next to the toilet and in order to stop myself falling and having a nasty injury I had to put one foot down the loo.

Even worse - the loo had not been flushed. You can guess the contents.

(Obviously the toilet seat was up. No surprise there.)

Frankly, I don't think you could get a worse dream than that. I think my sub-conscience is telling me I need to lose weight or something awful is going to happen.

Oh well, I suppose I'd better start another diet....

Oh hang on - I know why I dreamt this! It's because I watched the video below yesterday which if you are in any way squeamish I wouldn't advise watching because whilst most of it is funny the ending is very gruesome.

And don't ask why I was watching this video - let's just say I was having one of my "random" days.

I don't think I'm going to avert the diet though - just in case....

How stupid can you be?

I can't believe it! Have you heard the latest news?

Some idiot bailed Russell Brand. 

Hmm...I wonder if the New Orleans Police Dept would except a bribe to bang him up again?

Anyhow, as I've been fairly quiet this week, next week I shall be posting a review of The Iron Lady and a consumer piece on Midget Gems. And I don't mean this one:

Yes, I know you're wondering what on earth I've got to say about Midget Gems. The answer is plenty.


Ps: just in case you're not familiar with Midget Gems - they're little sweets similar to Wine Gums but about a third of the size. I believe they're called Midget Gems because Small Gems didn't have much market appeal. So I'm told anyway....

An Emergency Situation

Hoist the flags, man the bridges, I have an emergency situation...

I have run out of toilet roll.

Reading Underground: The Question of Male Reading Habits and the Rise of Illiteracy

Below is an article I wrote in late 2010 which was published in The View From Here Magazine in early 2011. As someone very concerned about schooling and the decline in literacy standards I think it warrants a second outing. 

_______________________________________________________________________________

I’m on the tube. I’ve only a few stops to travel so instead of reading I observe what’s going on around me. It’s almost 20 years since I stopped commuting and little seems to have changed on the London Underground. There might be digital advertisements, new escalators and cleaner upholstery but the fetid air that brushes your face as the trains arrive and depart, the metal tracks which hum and clink with monotonous rhythm and footsteps which echo down the winding tunnels are all unchanged. As I look around me I am reminded of those lines from The Wasteland; “A crowd flowed over London Bridge, so many, I had not thought death had undone so many.”

The tube is an unusual place. You don’t hear much conversation or laughter. Most people are absorbed in their own thoughts or reading. The woman across from me is reading The Thousand Autumns of Jacob de Zoet. I’m impressed. The novel, a weighty hardback of 469 pages, would take up a sizeable portion of any handbag. I look on glumly. Even though I’ve read David Mitchell’s bestseller I feel a pathetic failure with my copy of Damon Galgut’s The Good Doctor, a mere 213 pages, tucked discreetly in my bag.  Maybe I should take some protein powder and do some weight training?  I look more closely at the woman and decide that I’ll skip the weight training as she may have bigger muscles but I have a lot less wrinkles. And my hair is natural. And why on earth is she wearing that hideous skirt and even more hideous shoes? Promptly, the woman looks up, slams the book together and sneezes all over me. Two days later I come down with a stinking cold.

Women are often touted as the chief buyers and readers of books and particularly fiction.  Yet on the tube, according to my commuter friends, and my long ago experiences you’ll probably see roughly the same amount of men and women reading fiction and books in general. If this is true, I have some theories why these men might be challenging popular opinion;

a) Commuting is essentially tedious so although steaming up the window with his nose and writing I wuz here is an attractive proposition for your average male -  after about 20 times it loses its appeal. Therefore, men read to pass the time.

b)) Men like to look clever, especially in front of unknown (or in their minds “mysterious”) women. At home they may be content to wander around with their face glued to The Beano but in public they’d much rather been seen with Plato or Aristotle. Although, to be fair, if he’s a humorous kind of guy he’ll have a copy of Tony’s Blair’s A Journey or even Alan Titchmarsh’s Mr McGregor.

c) Men are essentially devious. (I know - I married a man who said he had a manor. Eventually, I realised he meant he had a manner.) So you see, whilst it looks like he’s reading Tom Clancy or James Patterson he’s probably got  Me and My Hard Drive or 50 Ways to Rewire Your House hidden between the pages.

d) Women, more often than not, buy their partner’s books. So it doesn’t actually follow that men are reading less, they just buy less. I know this as I purchase all my husband’s books, as well as his underpants and socks. One day, I hope we will have an intellectual conversation about a book- in the meantime he likes looking at the pictures in his Top Gear annual. To be fair, my husband did once buy me a book.  About cats. I haven’t read the captions yet – but the pictures were lovely.

Perhaps men who read on the tube are an anomaly? Do men in general really read fewer books than women? According to a survey conducted by Associated Press and IPSOS, a research firm, that assumption is correct. Their report concluded that in 2007 American women read an average of 9 books but men only 5.  Perhaps, even more worryingly, was that 27% of the respondents (¼ of all women and a ⅓ of all men) had read nothing at all within the preceding year.

But anyone who has ever participated in a survey will know how subjective they can be, particularly when memory is called into question. Probably results based on one survey aren’t enough to draw any firm conclusions. However, interestingly, a 2007 American report by The National Endowment for the Arts entitled To Read or not to Read coordinated the results of a number of reports, studies and surveys across the US and concluded that reading and the level of reading skills is on a rapid downward curve. It also illustrated, beyond doubt, that the biggest downtrend in reading and literacy skills was amongst young adults. Indeed, nearly half of all 18-24 year olds read no books at all for pleasure and of those 15-24 who did read for pleasure it was a paltry daily average of 7-10 minutes, 60% less than the average American.

But here’s where the report gets really interesting. Whilst literacy is rising amongst small children in the US by the time they’re leaving school in the 12^th grade their literacy skills are on the wane. Between 1992 and 2005 there was an overall 13% reduction in the reading proficiency of American children. In fact, the reading scores of 12th grade males showed a 13% decrease and 12th grade girls a 10% decrease and whilst the reading proficiency of American women in general remained static, overall male reading proficiency dropped a massive 19% over the period 1992-2003.

So perhaps there is more than a little truth in the theory that women read more books than men. If we accept American habits as an indicator of trends in the western world then men are indeed reading less, and reading less well than women.

American best-selling author Jason Pinter responded to an article on the American National Radio website which had reported on both the AP/IPSOS and NEA findings. He argued that the theory that men are reading less than women is a self-fulfilling prophecy put about by a publishing industry, dominated by women, which is failing to cater to men’s reading habits. Pinter, a former editor, may well have some anecdotal evidence to support his convictions but I believe his article and indeed others that reported on both these surveys have steered away from looking at the hard facts of declining male literacy. They have concentrated on gender comparisons - because that’s what creates interest and sells papers. And whilst it may be true, to some degree, that women read more books because the publishing industry caters better for them, or because women exhibit more empathy, or even because women have more time, these are just mere surface details.  In my opinion, and which the NEA report confirms, what is really causing this dearth in male reading, is an underlying decline in literacy.

The last twenty years, have brought about huge societal changes as we connect through the World Wide Web. The ability to communicate has grown with phenomenal speed and has brought with it the power to inform, to educate, to entertain and to enrich but it has also brought with it the power to destroy. Electronic games, the internet and social networking sites can be as addictive as any drug and whilst mature people can harness and balance these developments in a positive way young adults are not always so discerning. The NEA report points out that the decline in reading literature coincides with a massive rise in internet use: between 1997 and 2003 home internet usage rose by 53% in the 18-24 age group. Moreover, the survey found that when reading occurs it is often whilst multitasking with other media. It’s now generally acknowledged that reading on the web results in less focused reading skills and shorter attention spans. Throw into the equation texting, emailing and updating their Facebook status and not only are young adults not focussing on their reading but they’re also communicating in a language, which although universal, is not so accomplished.

In a 2008 survey of men aged 18-34 conducted for Break Media, an online entertainment community for men, 69% said they “could not live without the internet” and over 50% spent over 22 hours a week online. In addition, other surveys have reported that boys above the age of 9 in the US are playing an average of 13 hours a week of video gaming – that’s the age that literacy skills start to falter according to the NEA. Those are shocking statistics and, if true, confirm the theory that over exposure to the internet is undermining literacy development.  Dr Leonard Sax in his book Boys Adrift; The Five Factors driving the growing epidemic of unmotivated boys and underachieving young men suggests  that not only is excessive  video gaming  damaging educational performance but ultimately demotivating young men and breeding a generation of lazy, self-absorbed adults;

The destructive effects of video games are not on boys’ cognitive abilities…but on their motivation and their connectedness with the real world. These boys may be highly motivated, but their motivation has been derailed… (they) care much more about their success at Halo than about their grade in Spanish…they’ve become disconnected from the real world.”

Dr Sax’s conclusions about video gaming make interesting reading as do his conclusions about education. He suggests that in America the school state system, in particular, is failing to accommodate the needs of male pupils both physically and mentally.  As the mother of 3 boys aged 9, 12 and 18 I can see direct comparisons with state education here in the UK and the increasing underachievement of our young males. It’s my belief, and has been for many years, that young boys are floundering in our political correct schooling system which favours non-competitive sports and teaching methods and exams which inadvertently discriminate against males.

I would suggest that in the UK there are not just problems with teaching methods but, very possibly, a problem with the curriculum. The English literature syllabus is antiquated beyond belief and when new themes are introduced they have little point of reference to young males who spend their spare time playing the Xbox. My eldest son, by any measure, an intelligent, well read and literate young man got a D for his English literature; his lowest grade at GCSE. I was, frankly, appalled. How much of it was too much time spent on his Xbox I cannot say,  but when he said “sticking me a class with a bunch of losers to study Caribbean poetry wasn’t going to work” I could at least go some way to understanding his feelings.

Don’t get me wrong. I’m all in favour of studying the classics but my belief is young males need a curriculum and schooling which has more relevance to them.  Year after year we expect our children to read classics which now have little or no bearing on young lives. They are too far distant. Seriously, does anyone believe Pride and Prejudice is of any interest to your average 15 year old boy who might spend several hours gaming every night? Wouldn’t we be better of trying to inspire and educate our young men with contemporary texts?  Why must the educational foundation of GCSEs start with the past and not the present? Surely we need our young men to engage with literature if we are to halt the decline in literacy skills?

Last year The View From Here conducted an experiment in conjunction with Random House and Clarks retailers. We put 50 copies of Fighting Reuben Wolfe by Markus Zusak, a novel aimed at young adults, but which we thought would also engage older males, in Clarks in Luton. We placed an insert in the book asking readers to keep the copy and requesting feedback. Clarks reported that many men sat and read the novel and after one month 30 of the 50 copies had disappeared. But, disappointingly, no one responded to our request for feedback.

I’m inclined to think that the lack of response is not a reflection on the book, as people are often more vocal on their dislikes than their likes. However, it is curious that no one made the effort to respond. Did they take the book because it was free without any intention of finishing it? Without any answers there’s too much room for conjecture but I am now wondering whether there are simply too many distractions in life and that the appeal of other forms of entertainment is too strong. Perhaps books are simply the last in a long queue. After all, it’s probably easier for an older man to flop down in front of the telly after a hard day’s work or more exciting for a young man to enter a virtual world. Maybe those men who walked away with Fighting Reuben Wolfe only read it in the shop because it was a quiet environment where the only other activity was watching their partners parade shoes.

There are a huge amount of questions to be asked about why literacy and reading in young males is declining. Video gaming, the advent of the internet and changes in education are perhaps the most visible culprits but there is so much more to be considered; the breakdown of families and male role models, declining law and order, general wealth and the culture of entitlement, drugs…. the list goes on and on.

It’s easy to make jokes about the gender divide in reading and get drawn into superficial gender based arguments. But seriously, we now need do all that we can to ensure our young men, and indeed our young women, are as best equipped as they can be for the challenges that lie ahead in this ever changing world. What we do know is is that literacy and education go hand in hand with progressive and prosperous societies. They are the cornerstone of democracy. We really need to act to stop this decline in literacy standards and we need to act fast. I really don’t want the world to be a place where you’re embarrassed to be seen with a book, where reading is driven underground in favour of video games, films and obtuse text messaging.

There’s a campaign afoot in London to have Wi-Fi installed on the tube by 2012. I’m not so sure that’s a good thing. I rather like that peculiarly British habit of staring into space or, quite simply, reading a newspaper or book. Maybe we need more quiet spaces like Clarks in Luton. Who knows?  All I can say is sometimes silence is golden.

Since I wrote this article the campaign to install Wi-Fi on the tube has ended

Me and Mr Pooh.

Am I the only 47 year old woman who can make herself cry writing a story about Winnie the Pooh?

What's even more incredible is that it is a science fiction story. Go figure.

I probably need my head seeing to.

In the meantime, I'm gonna send my story in for a competition. Which, going by my track record, means you may yet see the new adventures of Winnie the Pooh on this blog.

Still, as they say, "variety is the spice of life."

Right, you can take me away now, Doctor....

Dance? Not Likely.

I like dancing, and most women I know enjoy a quick turn around their handbags. Men are a bit different though - especially after some alcohol. And teenage boys? Unless they come from a culture of dancing generally they hate it with a vengeance.

I know my boys dislike dancing at school and I have to admit that beyond the age of about nine I don't see much point of it either. My boys' dislike of dancing seems to be a concept which, rightly or wrongly, they seem to have picked up from me. I know this from the following conversation...

Tuesday Morning;

Master Jacob: Do I have to go to school today?

Mrs T: Yes... Why don't you want to go to school?

Master Jacob. It's dancing. I hate dancing.

Mrs T: Oh (sympathetic smile) I'm afraid though, Master Jacob, you still have to go to school.

Master Jacob; ( Emits long tortured groan)

Several hours later on the way to tennis with Master Jacob and Master Ben

Master Jacob: Our dance teacher got really angry today

Mrs T: Why's that?

Master Jacob: She said we weren't trying hard enough. Then she got so mad she shouted "What would your parents say if I rang them up and said you weren't trying?" So I said "My Mum said would say "It's bollocks." "

Mrs T; Oh cripes. Did she hear you?

Master Jacob: No, but my friend did and he said "Would your mum really say that?" and I said "Yes - and that's not all she would say."

Mrs T: (Contemplating her bad influence) What type of dancing were you doing? Running around twirling  by any chance?

Master Jacob:  Yep, pretty much. It's called Running Free Dance.

Mrs T ( Contemplating her influence again.) Soooo...not break dancing or anything like that then?

Master Jacob: No. We might doing something like that next week.

Master Ben: So you're going to grab your balls and go "Oooh, Oooh, Oooh", Like Michael Jackson?

(Subsequent numerous impressions of Michael Jackson from Master Ben. This is very difficult when strapped in a car with your seat belt but let me tell you he makes a darn good attempt.)

So anyway cue another rant..

Master Jacob is thirteen, five foot ten and an athlete. Now I know some of his contemporaries aren't so sporty but NONE of them want to dance. Now dancing may be relevant in some suburban areas where breaking dancing and such like might be a cultural thing etc etc (and I am in favour of exposing children to cultural forms of art and exercise) but (and it's a BIG but) for the main-part most teenage boys would rather take a gun and blow their brains out instead of dancing. They need to be engaged if they're to be productive. And what the hell is wrong with rugby, football, cricket, cross country running, basketball etc?All I ever hear about at school is dance, dance, dance. Master Ben is currently "Dancing" too. Look, if the girls want to play at being Pan's People let them. Personally, I just wish the education authorities and teachers would stop trying to feminise our schools. Boys should be boys. Let them play with their balls.

Rant over. And yes Master Jacob is right I would have said "Bollocks." And a whole lot more.

Ps Apologies to anyone I've offended. I'm in an anti-establishment mood at the moment. Call me Mrs Awkward.

The Artist in Me

A while ago I reported that a piece of  art called "When it starts dripping from the ceiling" had been inadvertently destroyed by a cleaner who thought that the exhibit in a German museum was just a big mess. Today, I have even more depressing news - a Tracey Emin piece entitled "How I wish I slept" was broken by a teenage girl who, during a party at a gallery at which the piece was on display, got over-excited and knocked it to the floor.


Unluckily, only the plinth and glass surround was broken.


Anyway, the good news is that Tracey took it really well and said it was just an "accident". In fact Tracey said: “It's not like my tent which was burned to the ground along with other priceless works of art which was something to get upset about."


The tent was entitled "Everyone I ever slept with 1963-1995" and was a 10 x12 tent on which Tracy had sewed all the names of the people she had slept with.


It took her sixth months to complete.


Wow, that's amazing. Anyway, I thought it was such a great idea when I first heard about the tent back in 2004 that I got out the boys' 2 x 3 pop up tent and decided to give it a bash myself. Unfortunately, I ran out of names after I covered about a twentieth of the door flap. It took me about 10 minutes - even doing it in appliqué. 


Anyway, I'm not someone who gives up easily at things so when we upgraded to a family-sized tent which sleeps 12 (there's 5 of us but everyone's got big feet) I decided to have another bash at creating a Tracey Emin style piece of art. I started  my new piece back in 2008 on our infamous camping trip to the Isle of Wight which I mentioned here. As yet I have still not finished my masterpiece. I've tried to stamp my own mark on the piece though so instead of calling it  "All the people I've ever slept with 1965-2012" I've called it:


"All the things I've ever burnt 1965 - to date."


It's a work in progress obviously. I expect to finish it about 2032 - unless I win the lottery before then.
So far I've managed;


Lasagne
Curry
Spaghetti Bolognese
The Sofa
My hair
My red dress (aged 7)
My Blue dress (aged 2)
Cupcakes ( Approximately 20 times)
Pizza (Homemade)
Pizza (Shop bought)
Roast potatoes
Roast parsnips
Yorkshire pudding
My hand
My shoulder
My legs
My arm
Mr T's hand ( That one didn't go down too well.)
The family dog (cremated)
My old boyfriend's love letters
My old boyfriends photographs
My old boyfriend (metaphorically speaking)
The clutch on my car
The rubber on my tyres (Numerous times)
Toast ( Too many times to even attempt to calculate)
My ear (actually it was the hairdresser but I suppose that counts.)
My back
Several frying pans
Several more saucepans
The Devil Wears Prada (Paperback)
A pair of Master Sam's underpants circa 2006....


..... anyway the list is endless. But you get the idea. I'm bored now so I'm going off to find something new to burn.

Who's a Naughty Girl?

One day, a few years after my father died, my mother told me something that I never knew as a child. It quite shocked me for a while. However, as the years have passed I've come to see it as rather amusing.

Now that something was that all those years ago when my parents went off to the annual parents evening when I was between the ages of eleven and eighteen my father never actually went into the school. Instead, he sat outside in the car smoking his pipe whilst my mother faced the music alone.

And to think there I was sweating it out at home every year waiting for my father's brutal feedback! I say "brutal" not because father was physically brutal but because a thorough verbal whipping would have been well deserved. Now as far I remember, my mother would usually come in the door with a drawn look and say something like "Mr Gibson/Miller/Collins/Smith/Davies says you need to stop messing around and do some work and "Mrs Ticehurst says you've got to stop clowning around and pull your finger out." (Yes, all of my teachers pretty much said the same thing.) At this point my father would grunt, relight his pipe and then they would both pour a drink of whatever their favourite tipple was at the time. I seem to remember one year it was Advocat, another year it was Creme De Menthe. Although, to be honest, after most parents evenings I think they went straight for the hard stuff and got out the Malt.

And then I would think to myself; "How the hell did I get away with just that!"

Now as I said, I was a bit upset about this when I first heard this nugget of information and thought it was a tad unfair on my mother to have taken all the flack. However, I guess my father must have had his reasons, especially as he was a headmaster himself with an enviable reputation. It would have been excruciating to get an earful about his own daughter, especially after my very well behaved elder brother and sister had already passed through the school with a fistful of merit badges. And then of course, then along came me...somewhat nosier, not quite so diligent and um..um..a bit of a nuisance at times.

Now my father never said it to my knowledge - but if he had said my existence was a sound reason for not following the rhythm method I wouldn't haven't blamed him.

Hmm..maybe I shouldn't talk about the rhythm method - as a woman who accidentally succeeded in getting pregnant on her wedding night I can't really speak with any authority on contraception. Other than to say - it was a mistake! I didn't mean for it to happen! I was actually envisaging at least three or four years of decadent holidays, sunbathing nude in the back garden and generally annoying people at work. But no, lo and behold, shortly after those marriage vows I end up wiping bottoms and scrubbing baby bottles. And those were just Mr T's. Master Sam was a doddle in comparison...

Anyhow, what brought these reflections on was that I was tidying my study again (anything to avoid housework) and I found my old school reports. Oh, I thought, maybe I wasn't all that naughty at school. And then I read them...

No,  I'm not got post the really bad reports because if I ever get short-listed for the Nobel/Man Booker/Orange/ Most stupidest Person Prize they may come back to haunt me. However, here's a few that made me laugh....

Needlework 1978 (aged 13)

Jane has taken a slower approach to this subject during this term's course,when more aspects could have been attempted. A pleasing standard of work was finally achieved.

This is what I call a bland report which actually is a polite way of saying I did very little. I seem to recall we made a Hessian bag that year - the "slower approach" refers to the fact that I sewed the Hessian bag to my skirt by accident.

Home Economics 1978 ( aged 13)

Has worked well and shown a good deal of interest in her work.


Note that the teacher doesn't refer to me by name - which means she couldn't recall who I was - this stacks up because the only interest I had in Home Economics was eating the ingredients.

German 1979 (aged 14)


Jane is a very pleasant girl to teach. She works well, and if she continues to apply herself she should meet with success.

Ho, ho, ho,- what a creep I was in German!  But the truth was it was German - I was shit scared of the consequences of not doing my homework. Oh, and I actually ended up failing my O level with an ungraded. I know, it's hard to believe - but three choruses of  Stille Nacht and O Tannenbaum won't get you through an exam however hard you try.

Religious Education 1979 (aged 14)

Jane gained 81% in the summer examinations. Well done!


81%?  And I only got a "Well done" ? By modern standards 81% equivalent to an A++++++++ . I therefore pronounce myself a genius and await numerous scholarships, awards etc etc.


German 1980 (aged 15)


Jane has not an analytical mind and takes time to absorb German grammar.

Hmm. Maybe Dr Hammer was smarter than I thought? "Dr Hammer" was the teacher's real name by the way. He was a German teacher's equivalent to Simon Cowell. To which I reiterate - three choruses of Stille Nacht and O Tannebaum won't get you through German O Level.

Chemistry 1980 ( aged 15)


Test result 14%


It was a fix I swear. I loved Chemistry. Really I did.

English 1981 (aged 16)


I do not know if Jane can make sufficient improvement in her writing style to succeed in her examinations in June.


Written by the indomitable Mrs Ticehurst. Okay, so I didn't actually laugh at this one but I smiled with affection. Mrs Ticehurst (I wrote about her here) was the best teacher I ever had. She knew how to get the best out of me, even if that meant taking me down a peg or two and humiliating me in class. I proved her wrong - which was her intention. You don't get many teachers like her today because most of them are too afraid to operate outside of the box. She died about 4 years ago. I read her obituary and shed a tear or two.

So there you have it - more insight into my life. Cripes, it's pretty bad isn't it? And I didn't even mention Metalwork and Mathematics....

Anyway, I can sort of see why my father took the easy option. It was tough on my mother for sure - but hey at least they had some booze in the house!

What A Balls Up - Adele at the Brits

Oh my goodness - did you watch the Brit Awards, The UK music industry awards, last night?

Absolutely hilarious. I cannot believe they cut Adele off at the beginning of her acceptance speech for Best Album to cut to pop/rock group Blur. Adele is the biggest thing in the music business at the moment - I'd hate to think of how much money our government has creamed off her in taxes - and the producers can't even give her five minutes of well deserved glory!

The irony of it is how many times I've listened to long winded, cringingly embarrassing acceptance speeches and Adele looked like she was just going to give what I would call just a " wholesome one."In other words - a speech where I don't have to do one of the following:

1.) Peep through my fingers as I do when I watch a horror movie when I am both appalled and yet strangely compelled to watch the gruesome events playing out in front of me.

2) Hide behind the sofa.

3) Throw up in a sick bucket.

4) Stick cotton wool in my ears

And

5) Emit various spontaneous phrases akin to;

 Oh dear God, I can't believe she/he/it said that!

 It's a good job her mother/father/entire family are dead because I don't think I can take anymore.

 I can't believe I am listening to this and (five minutes later) I can't believe I'm still listening to this and (five minutes later)  I can't believe I am still listening to this AND looking at that dress.

Remind me never to watch Titanic.

Somebody please, please, please tell her to STOP.

Do you think anyone's called the ambulance yet?

How do all those people sit there and NOT shove that Oscar up her arse?


I've finished War and Peace. Have you seen The Bible anywhere?


Shall we watch The Muppet Movie?


And this is just the Highlights? Oh dear God.


Pass me the double bore shotgun: I need to end it all.


Anyway, Adele was pretty annoyed and stuck her finger up which is not very lady-like. But, then again, that's what I do at most award ceremonies. So I kinda feel for her.

Bored, bored, bored

I'm bored. Can you tell? Well, what does one do in the early hours when everyone else is asleep and you don't want to do the ironing and your brain is kaput - but fiddle around with the template on one's blog.

Excellent therapy. Alcohol would be good therapy too but unfortunately I have to drive first thing tomorrow morning. Humph.

I'm not one for self pity (oh all right I am) but blimey the last couple of weeks have been some of my worst ever. Far too tedious to go into details - but let's just say I was contemplating throwing myself out of the window until I remembered we don't live in a high rise flat. Knowing my luck, if I had thrown myself out I'd have ended up being even more pissed off having to hobble around on crutches - cos that's the kind of thing that happens when you chuck yourself out the window in an impetuous fit and find yourself embedded two foot below the windowsill in the pot plants.

So when you're feeling down it's always good to think of positive things. So let's think.... um..um..um...

I am not dead. Yeah, that's a good one. I mean being dead could be a real pisser. Especially if there turns out to be no afterlife - well not that you'd know about it. Now that's a double whammy if you ask me.

I could have put on more weight. (Hmm... could be kidding myself there - there's only so much one can put on in two weeks without spontaneously combusting.)

I haven't reversed into any cars, people, cats, bins, lamp posts and gates for some considerable time. (That's as much as I'm prepared to qualify.)

I love listening to Rick laugh on Pawn Stars. He's great. Have you seen that show? It's like the UK Antiques Roadshow - only it's interesting. I'm not saying Antiques Roadshow isn't  interesting at all - but I've got to the point where I could spot a piece of Fabergé at hundred paces. Anyway, I'm bored watching skinny Fiona Bruce fawning over filigree china - even if there's no interesting stuff on Pawn Stars (and there usually is) I can spend the entire programme just trying to work out how many Big Macs Rick, Big Huss, Chumlee and The Old Man have eaten in the last week/month/year/eternity. And that isn't an easy job.

I have started writing a new novel. It's a comedy. I think it's gonna be good. I haven't quite figured how I write comedy when I feel crap. I must have a disorder. You're supposed to write poetry and literary masterpieces - and I write comedy. Life is so unfair. I am destined never to be a literary genius. Harlequin Mills and Boon here I come.

Right that's it. I got up at 1am and now it's nearly 4am. Crikey, I've spent all that time messing around on my blog when I could've watched six episodes of  Pawn Stars.