Saturday, 16 June 2007

Variety is the spice of life

Round at Blodwen's the other night, I was watching a bit of ITV (she has a satelite dish!) while sampling some of her excellent wine and TV snackettes and we happened upon a programme that purported to showcase "Britain's Talent". Neither Blodwyn nor I will pass up a chance to view some 'talent' so we decided to give it a gander.

It turned out to be one of those reality shows like "Pop Idol" where Simon Cowell and a couple of other minor celebrities watch and criticise so-called variety acts from the cream of Britain's performers in order to choose a selection to take part in the Royal Variety Performance in front of the Queen.

Well...we chatted our way through a series of dreadful 'acts' including a 76 year old tap dancer, a group of horendous Lena Zavaroni look-alikes and a 10 year old comedian. Think "Phoenix Nights".....NEXT!!

However, our attention was grabbed and we sat transfixed as a 'young man' in a sequined costume came onto the stage. The compere told us that his was a very sad story as his parents were completely unaware of his talent (apparently he was afraid to tell them and had to practice in secret). His aged grandmother helped him with his application for the show and he explained, through a torrent of tears, how he was so happy to get through to this round of the show and now his secret was out and his parents were in the audience and were about to find out what he did in his spare time.

I turned to Blodders and we wordlessly asked each other what on earth he was going to do?

The music started and he twirl his baton, throwing it up into the air with great aplomb and some skill. Pllleeeeeeeease!!

Oh - not another 'closet baton-twirler'! we thought and turned back to our smoked salmon.

He didn't get through but his parents said that they were very proud of him! and both he and his grandmother cried.

Chewing the fat

I was pottering around trying to get ready for work the other morning when I heard the newsreader on Breakfast TV say something about 75% of DNA samples held on file by the police were from young fat men and they were kept whether they had been charged with an offence or not.

I did a double take and walked outraged into the living room to hear the rest of the story. Why on earth would fat men be more likely to commit crimes and therefore need their DNA kept for future comparison than men of other proportions?

It soon became clear that they were talking about young black men (must book a hearing test soon). Oh! I thought, and wandered back to the bedroom to continue my toilette. Whilst blow drying the old 'coiffeur' I got to analysing my response to the episode.

I switched off (brain that is, not TV) when I realised it was black people they were talking about, not fat people, because it didn't surprise me. I don't believe that black youths are more likely to commit crime than any other colour of youth but I am used to hearing about the vagaries of the police in their selection and treatment of suspects.

Whilst applying the final flourish of makeup and grabbing my keys, it struck me that I should have been outraged anyway - what is the difference between discriminating against the fat, and discriminating against the black?!?

Tuesday, 5 June 2007

Escape from Big Blogger

Last night the Aunt and I were sitting outside the Hairy Canary - she on the phone to her mother and me trying not to worry about the fact that we had to have full fat tonic with our gins. I always request slimline and they never have it and obviously don't see any point in getting any in. Anyway, I was sitting there minding my own business when I saw a vision. The Spanish Goth was legging it across the zebra crossing!

Now - I happen to know that he is currently incarcerated in the Big Blogger house so the only way I can explain what I saw is to summise that he has perfected the art of astral projection. Something that I have been trying to do deliberately since, at the age of fourteen, I had a very nasty root canal filling and was given laughing gas of some kind in order to keep me in the chair. The gas had the effect, not only of taking away the pain, but allowing me to leave my body and come and stand behind the dentist to watch while he continued with the torture. At the time it seemed perfectly natural and I watched him drilling and filling and when I was sure that he had finished I slipped back into my body and giggled my way home.I have since tried to do this at will but even with the aid of certain mind altering substances have never been able to repeat the experience.

Or is there another explanation for this goth sighting?