The Week That Was ...

Seeing as I have been posted missing (see what I did there?) from this blog for the last week I thought I’d give you a sneak peek into where my head has been at over the last few days...

Diary w/b Mon 21Feb

The media determination to drive us into a perpetual state of fear and worry continued today with the much reported story that parents are limiting the size of their family because of the fear and worry about the state of the economy. Parent’s fret (apparently) that more children will mean existing loin-fruit won’t be able to get designer gear and exotic holidays.

One “expert” posited the view that children are much more brand aware than they have ever been. It (whatever “it” might be) simply won’t do if Tarquin or Emilia are not clothed in designer labels from head to foot. Parents are therefore limiting the number of babies they have so the ones who have already crawled into this mortal coil can get the best of possible starts. One woman said she was desperate (her voice went all plead-y) for a 3^rd wean but holidays and brand clothing were just getting too expensive. Which prompted me to roar at the radio – getafeckingrip, missus.

Not that I’m an advocate of violence but some people need slapped till their lobes swell to the size of a melon.

Tuesday 22 Feb

Thing that amused me most today was an article about job applications mess-ups. They included CVs that were accompanied by a photo of someone else – caused all sorts of confusion at the interview. Someone else said in their CV that they were direct descendants of the Vikings (this is the UK - aren’t we all?) Another fave was the eejit who claimed God as his reference, but apologised for failing to provide contact details.

Brings to mind an interview I had a few years back. I got the job and a mate didn’t. My new boss, not realising I knew who she was talking about mentioned a few weeks later that a guy she interviewed the same afternoon as me, when asked why he wanted the job replied – “for the money and anyone who tells you differently is a fucking liar.”

Not quite sure whether to admire the man’s honesty or award him the Numpty Knobhead of the Decade.

Wednesday 23 Feb

I was at the launch of J.David Simon’s book, The Liberation of Celia Khan. David is a thoroughly nice chap and I hope lots of people buy his book. I’ll be reviewing it shortly on this very i-space.

My publisher, Ross was also at the event, cos David is one of his – and I got to meet him for the first time. Again, thoroughly nice fella. Looking forward to working with him.

David’s book is set in 1915 Glasgow and is about a young Jewish girl in a city that is in turmoil over the threat of socialism and feminism while trying to deal with the ongoing effects of The Great War. I’ve only dipped in so far but I am happy to report that David appears to be one of those writers who marry a fine literary style with an ability to tell a damn good story. Really looking forward to getting the time to dive in.

Thursday 24 Feb

Much laughter today at work. Which is nice.

Story in the news that piqued my interest was a shooting incident at a nearby school. Sky News had a good go at exaggerating the whole shebang. But further investigation detailed that it happened round the corner from the school, not at the gates and the weapon involved was an airgun. A pellet from one of these mutha’s is still going to hurt – but a massacre it wasn’t. Thankfully. Just a marriage of colossal stupidity and a slow news day.

Fri 25^th feb

While waiting for Treme to come on TV (10:15 Sky Atlantic) I allowed the wee fella control of the remote. (Makes it sound like I ever have control of the remote.) Anywho, he was channel surfing.

First some music channels –  ‘Madonna is so OLD why is she still trying to make music?’

Then it was Jersey Shore – ‘Why do people watch this? They’re stupid.’

Some trailers for an English programme – ‘I find strong English accents annoying.’

Then he hit on a new low in TV scheduling – Bridalplasty. I think I’ve got this right, but it appears that women who are about to be married compete in a variety of tasks to win a plastic surgery procedure of their choice. So they can look their very, very best on their big day. 

How fucked up is this? Let me count the ways.