Below is a list of men I think I'm developing a crush on and feel I really shouldn't:
- Christopher Eccleston
- David Walliams
- Derren Brown
It's wrong. It's just wrong, wrong, wrong. I think it's to do with the chemicals in my tap water.
Sunday, May 29, 2005
Friday, May 27, 2005
Meg. You have been evicted. Please leave the Big Brother house.
I always feel somewhat torn at this time of year. On the one hand, I want to take the piss out of Big Brother, saying that the contestants are pathetic wannabes and that it's only people without real friends who watch it.
On the other hand, Big Brother is the Best Thing Ever.
I find myself getting so involved in it. The format is so simple. Put people in a house and watch them like they're animals. Fantastic.
My favourite programme is the one they usually show on a Sunday night where psychologists analyse the contestants' body language, telling us interesting little titbits like how to see in someone's eyes if their smile is fake, and how men compete to be the alpha male.
Every time I see the adverts for auditions for Big Brother, there's always a tiny part of me that desperately wants to take part. Of course, in reality, the thought of rationed food, no sex for weeks (unless it's under a table as in the last series) and a million strangers watching me in the shower, really isn't that appealing. I would also hate being famous. I had enough trouble when I lived in China, where being white automatically made you a local celebrity. People would approach me in the street wanting a photo of me holding their baby or a lock of my hair. If I had that level of attention back in Britain I would almost certainly leave and go and live in an igloo or something.
I suppose what it comes down to is that we all have a desperate urge to be liked, and to know what people think of us. I heard about a website where you post a photo of yourself and complete strangers give you marks out of ten. In a drunken haze, my friends and I vowed to post our photos there, and I'm thoroughly relieved to say that once we sobered up we realised what a truly awful idea that is. Some things you're better off not knowing...
On the other hand, Big Brother is the Best Thing Ever.
I find myself getting so involved in it. The format is so simple. Put people in a house and watch them like they're animals. Fantastic.
My favourite programme is the one they usually show on a Sunday night where psychologists analyse the contestants' body language, telling us interesting little titbits like how to see in someone's eyes if their smile is fake, and how men compete to be the alpha male.
Every time I see the adverts for auditions for Big Brother, there's always a tiny part of me that desperately wants to take part. Of course, in reality, the thought of rationed food, no sex for weeks (unless it's under a table as in the last series) and a million strangers watching me in the shower, really isn't that appealing. I would also hate being famous. I had enough trouble when I lived in China, where being white automatically made you a local celebrity. People would approach me in the street wanting a photo of me holding their baby or a lock of my hair. If I had that level of attention back in Britain I would almost certainly leave and go and live in an igloo or something.
I suppose what it comes down to is that we all have a desperate urge to be liked, and to know what people think of us. I heard about a website where you post a photo of yourself and complete strangers give you marks out of ten. In a drunken haze, my friends and I vowed to post our photos there, and I'm thoroughly relieved to say that once we sobered up we realised what a truly awful idea that is. Some things you're better off not knowing...
Friday, May 20, 2005
I love Terry Wogan
There's just one day to go. I've printed off the scorecards. My Union Jack bunting is at the ready.
It's that time of year when we once again say "Hello Kiev. We are very much enjoying the lovely show tonight. Here are the scores from our beautiful country of..."
I love Eurovision. There's nothing like a bit of solidarity and campness to see you through the weekend.
Cry "God for Javine, England and Saint George"!
It's that time of year when we once again say "Hello Kiev. We are very much enjoying the lovely show tonight. Here are the scores from our beautiful country of..."
I love Eurovision. There's nothing like a bit of solidarity and campness to see you through the weekend.
Cry "God for Javine, England and Saint George"!
Friday, May 13, 2005
All Men Are Bastards
I'm getting tired of hearing that phrase. I've heard so many women say it (including, on occasion, myself) and it's so unfair.
I understand that men as a group of people have done some pretty shitty stuff to women over the last few millenia. I'm not denying that for a second. I also understand that there are plenty of men out there who ARE bastards. But it's not all of them.
It's desperatly sad that the actions of few complete arseholes could make it difficult for some women to ever trust men again. It's sad that there are still men in the world who think it's appropriate to have a wife AND a girlfriend, with neither knowing about the other's existence. Just to be clear, I'm not talking about someone who makes one big mistake, or someone who has a small crossover between two relationships. The sort of men I'm talking about are those who deliberately and systematically live their life with one woman for cooking and cleaning, and another for shagging. They think they deserve two women. And they think that a woman who has two men is a slut.
That kind of person makes me really, really angry. But women who treat men in that way make me angry aswell.
I think it's really important to remember that these men are a dying breed. In their heads they're still living in the fifties, wearing a trilby and saying "Hi Honey, I'm home!" Decent men will thrive as the other sort are Bobbited out of existence. They won't last long. We won't let them.
I understand that men as a group of people have done some pretty shitty stuff to women over the last few millenia. I'm not denying that for a second. I also understand that there are plenty of men out there who ARE bastards. But it's not all of them.
It's desperatly sad that the actions of few complete arseholes could make it difficult for some women to ever trust men again. It's sad that there are still men in the world who think it's appropriate to have a wife AND a girlfriend, with neither knowing about the other's existence. Just to be clear, I'm not talking about someone who makes one big mistake, or someone who has a small crossover between two relationships. The sort of men I'm talking about are those who deliberately and systematically live their life with one woman for cooking and cleaning, and another for shagging. They think they deserve two women. And they think that a woman who has two men is a slut.
That kind of person makes me really, really angry. But women who treat men in that way make me angry aswell.
I think it's really important to remember that these men are a dying breed. In their heads they're still living in the fifties, wearing a trilby and saying "Hi Honey, I'm home!" Decent men will thrive as the other sort are Bobbited out of existence. They won't last long. We won't let them.
Wednesday, May 04, 2005
Salsasize
So. Monday was a bank holiday. It was a nice day. And I decided to do what any self-respecting human being does on a bank holiday: I went jogging.
The experience was humiliating to say the least. As my boyfriend sprinted past me with a cheery grin on his face and a spring in his step, I shuffled, panted and sweated my way along the shortest jogging route known to man. When I was overtaken by an old lady walking her dog, I knew it was time to stop.
What's sad is that I actually ENJOY doing sport. I like that feeling of pushing yourself really hard and being able to collapse in a contented heap at the end.
Maybe I could take up swimming again. I used to swim all the time when I was a student, but my last experience in a public pool ended with me standing shivering in the changing rooms while a burly lifeguard prised open my locker with a crowbar. Another problem with swimming is that I can't wear glasses or contact lenses, which makes me assume (somewhat unfairly) that all the people whose heads are blurs are actually laughing at the image of me in a swimming costume. Strangely, I have no problem sunbathing in a bikini on a Mediterranean beach, but as soon as I'm back in Britain, wearing a swimming costume suddenly seems somewhat indecent.
My old friend of the exercising world over the last few years has been the exercise video. I have grown to love Rosemary Conley and her lycra-clad possee of old ladies, particularly when she says things like "...and if you have bad knees, sit out of this one". I've tried salsasize, danceasize, boxing and yoga. I have danced with Lucy Benjamin and nearly had a heart attack with Nell McAndrew. It's all quite good fun really. I recently found an old Jane Fonda workout video that my sister and I used to do. It's one of the funniest things ever, particularly when she suddenly claims "now Lesley's gonna sing!" to which Lesley (whoever the hell that is) bursts into:
"There's so much!
More!
To you than meets the eye,
There's so much!
More!
To you - you've gotta try"
It's pure class.
So, I think I shall be sticking to my exercise videos for now. I'm spared the humiliation of other forms of exercise because nobody except my long-suffering boyfriend and a tigerskin rug can see me. I can do the videos when I want, I can wear what I want (you can't exactly wear pyjamas to the gym, can you?) and I can join in the songs without being escorted from the building. Now, please excuse me, I have some exercising to do...
The experience was humiliating to say the least. As my boyfriend sprinted past me with a cheery grin on his face and a spring in his step, I shuffled, panted and sweated my way along the shortest jogging route known to man. When I was overtaken by an old lady walking her dog, I knew it was time to stop.
What's sad is that I actually ENJOY doing sport. I like that feeling of pushing yourself really hard and being able to collapse in a contented heap at the end.
Maybe I could take up swimming again. I used to swim all the time when I was a student, but my last experience in a public pool ended with me standing shivering in the changing rooms while a burly lifeguard prised open my locker with a crowbar. Another problem with swimming is that I can't wear glasses or contact lenses, which makes me assume (somewhat unfairly) that all the people whose heads are blurs are actually laughing at the image of me in a swimming costume. Strangely, I have no problem sunbathing in a bikini on a Mediterranean beach, but as soon as I'm back in Britain, wearing a swimming costume suddenly seems somewhat indecent.
My old friend of the exercising world over the last few years has been the exercise video. I have grown to love Rosemary Conley and her lycra-clad possee of old ladies, particularly when she says things like "...and if you have bad knees, sit out of this one". I've tried salsasize, danceasize, boxing and yoga. I have danced with Lucy Benjamin and nearly had a heart attack with Nell McAndrew. It's all quite good fun really. I recently found an old Jane Fonda workout video that my sister and I used to do. It's one of the funniest things ever, particularly when she suddenly claims "now Lesley's gonna sing!" to which Lesley (whoever the hell that is) bursts into:
"There's so much!
More!
To you than meets the eye,
There's so much!
More!
To you - you've gotta try"
It's pure class.
So, I think I shall be sticking to my exercise videos for now. I'm spared the humiliation of other forms of exercise because nobody except my long-suffering boyfriend and a tigerskin rug can see me. I can do the videos when I want, I can wear what I want (you can't exactly wear pyjamas to the gym, can you?) and I can join in the songs without being escorted from the building. Now, please excuse me, I have some exercising to do...
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