I Knew There Was a Reason Why I Don’t Normally Watch Much TV …

Hello there, so it’s been … 3 months, exactly, since my last post and I thought it was about time I did my blogging duty, i.e dust off my laptop, attempt to ramble on about something inconsequential, try to be vaguely witty whilst rambling and then wait to see whether I’m, yet again, warmly accepted back into the loving fold of my blog family or shunned, like a schlep eating a sausage roll at a Bar Mitzvah.

 

Actually, that’s a bit of a fib, I was just kinda bored, kinda fed up and kinda in need of distraction. So, here I am.

 

Where have I been?

 

Ok, brief update: I did some stuff. Then I got sick and spent 3 weeks in hospital. Then I came home and started the process of recovery. Now I’m fed up and bored.

 

I told you it was brief.

 

Anyway, it turns out that not going to work and not having much to do except lie in bed and sleep, feel sorry for one’s self and read/watch DVD's/sink slowly into the abyss of insanity is not as much fun as you might think.

 

It actually sucks.

 

But I’m not going to discuss the events of the last 3 months. Because I don’t want to. Maybe I will one day, but not right now. You understand.

 

What I DO want to discuss is a not very interesting little fact I have come to realise about myself these last few weeks … that I have APPALLING taste in televisual (is that a real word?) viewing habits.

 

Talk about your enlightenment!

 

Of course, I blame the daytime TV scheduling … mostly because that’s when I tend to watch TV most. And obviously I’m sick and confined to my bed a lot, so I blame that fact too. I would now remind you that you are therefore obliged to be lenient, to humour me, not judge me, nor mock what I am about to disclose to you, in ANY way.

 

Well ok, you can mock … but just a little bit.

 

Here we go:

 

*stands up slowly, gives a sheepish look around the room, clears throat nervously and fixes stare on a dust bunny on the floor that has coyly nestled up to a table leg*

 

My name is Kate  … *deep breath* … and I’m addicted to the Gilmore Girls.

 

Is that deathly silence? You’re judging me, aren’t you?

 

I can’t help it! I know it puts the “wee” in twee and is ridiculously unrealistic, but it’s easy to watch, distracts me from my life and makes me chuckle.

 

And I might want to be Lorelei Gilmore (but without the annoying, pokey-faced daughter).

 

Well, I couldn’t be Buffy the Vampire Slayer once I reached 30!!!! That’s just delusional.

 

(Side thought: How cool would it be if Lorelei found out SHE was actually the “Chosen One” and got given her very own Mr Pointy to go out and kick some vampire butt with? They could get the West Wing guy to write it! No? Humph! Well I think it’s a cool idea, and worthy of at LEAST five seasons. Philistines.) 

 

And speaking of vampires and dodgy viewing material …

 

I might have finally watched Twilight.

 

*hangs head in shame*

 

And Twilight: New Moon.

 

*self-consciously scuffs toe on floor and avoids eye contact*

 

You see, I was curious, I wanted to know what all the fuss was about and then my Mum happened to buy them and I was sick and bored … did I mention I was sick? I was reeeeeally sick, and not in my right mind at all, quite deranged in fact and not at all answerable for my own actions. Which is obviously why I’ve watched them twice.

 

*nervous cough*

 

Ok, so I enjoyed them a little bit. But I can’t truly enjoy them until I’ve shared a few observations and questions with you …

 

Firstly, why have they messed with the vampire legend? Vampires don’t go to High School! They are notoriously creatures of the night; if a vampire moves into the sunlight he doesn’t go all pretty and sparkly and become a walking shampoo ad, he goes up in a screaming ball of flame. Everybody knows that! Yes, it’s all fantasy and legend and therefore open to interpretation to a certain degree, and I’m the biggest sucker for anything fantastical, I’ve always loved fairytales and the whole vampire thing is a big fairytale for adults as far as I’m concerned; but like they say, if it ain’t broke, don’t fix it! For goodness sake, it’s like making a film about Big Foot and having a midget play the lead. Just not cricket.

 

And how come nobody notices that little Eddie Munster and his family are really, really pale and weird and not put two and two together? The father is a frigging doctor, so they can’t even blame it on a nasty case of undiagnosed anaemia. And why have they made them all trendy looking except for poor Jasper, who looks like he wandered out of an 80’s music video by mistake and couldn’t find his way back?

 

Now then, let’s talk R-Patz … what the heck is all the girly adoration about? I honestly don’t understand it. Where did he get his bone structure from? A Neanderthal? He seriously needs to get his eyebrows waxed and isn’t he a bit scrawny and pasty? He looks like the sort of guy who would invite you round to his place on a first date, where you’d discover that he still lives with his mother, has the bedroom of a 14 year old and that his idea of a fun night is playing World of Warcraft whilst eating Pot Noodle and drinking flat Tizer. 

 

As for Bella? Annoying much. I remember once reading one of OtherWorldlyOne’s superb posts where I think she made mention of the heroine’s slack-jawed expression (or something along those lines); I hadn’t watched Twilight at the time so you can imagine my delight when I straight away recognised said slack-jaw and could finally appreciate her accurate description. Plus, any girl who could pass up the buff, brooding Jacob for a spangley, tree hugging, deer muncher is clearly demented. I know Jacob is probably young enough to be my son (and if I actually WAS Lorelei Gilmore he probably would be) and a werewolf, but sheesh! Look at the shameless excuse to show off a buff bloke evidence …

 

 

 

Ignore the snarly critter on the left (what a slightly miffed racoon has to do with Jacob Black is a bit of a mystery to me) and look how pretty he is! How nice does he look with no shirt on? And I bet he hardly ever gets fleas or humps your leg at family gatherings. Wake up and smell the testosterone, Bella!

 

But for all that, I did enjoy the films in a slightly brain-dead, pure escapism kinda way and no doubt I’ll watch any that follow in the saga. I haven’t read the books, nor do I intend to, but I’m really hoping that the Wolfy Gang eat Bella, that the wan and not so interesting vampire family take Edward off to make pouty TV ads for hair gel or the Hitler Youth or something and that the cool, if somewhat psychotic, red haired, vamp chick comes and shows young Jacob what a real woman’s made of.

 

I realise that some of my comments will probably make me unpopular with a small percentage of the female population and I’ll be making sure to steer clear from all strip clubs (see prunella de ville’s hilarious post for explanation), just in case. But I find that I enjoy most things a whole lot more if I can discover something about them that makes me laugh, and I don’t necessarily have to be laughing WITH them. Plus, it’s not quite so embarrassing that I’ve watched the Twilight films if I then go on to mock them.

 

Anyway, I might as well make a full confession whilst I’m at it … I’ve also been watching Veronica Mars, Scrubs, Glee (does anybody else think those kids sound like the chipmunks when they sing?) and How I Met Your Mother (which I no longer watch, on principal, since I found out that the really annoying, arrogant character is played by the bloke who once played DOOGIE HOWSER!!!!!!).

 

That’s all. You can go ahead and snigger now. I’m off to … er, read a book.

 

Have a lovely weekend x

All the nice girls love a sailor? … Er, really?

Ahoy there, me hearties!

 

 

I was in the kitchen this morning getting some breakfast, when my Grandfather started singing that song (he is a one-man cabaret act whilst preparing his breakfast – post coming soon) and I found myself pondering, not only the merits of Marmite as opposed to black cherry jam … but also, DO all the nice girls love a sailor?

 

 

Not one to toot my own horn, but I like to think that I’m a reasonably nice girl, and I have to say I don’t recall ever having warm and fuzzy feelings for a salty ol’ sea dog or anyone of a similarly nautical persuasion.

 

 

Actually, the very fact that they’re referred to as “salty ol’ sea dog’s” makes it a virtual impossibility. That and being attributed with saying things like “Yo ho ho & a bottle of rum!” and “Heave ho, me hearties!” Enough with the “ho” obsession, already!

 

 

But let’s not make hasty judgements without considering some of the evidence, let’s take a look at some well known, jolly old Jack Tar’s (Jack Tar’s? See what I mean? They really don’t help themselves, do they!):

 

 

 

Sir Walter “Ooh! What a big ship I’ve got!” Raleigh   

 

“Bloody explorers, ponce off to mumbo-jumbo-land, come home with a tropical disease, a suntan and a bag of brown lumpy things, and, Bob's your uncle, everyone's got a picture of them in the lavatory. To you it's a potato, to me it's a potato. But to Sir Walter Bloody Raleigh it's country estates, fine carriages, and as many girls as his tongue can cope with” ~ Lord Edmund Blackadder.

 

 

Blackadder was wrong about his role in bringing the potato to England, but pretty much right about the rest. Raleigh was a bit of an ugly customer by all accounts; his idea of fun seems to have been massacring Irish people, sucking up to the Queen and being rather liberal with the truth, all whilst wearing a ridiculously ornate doily round his neck.

 

 

He looks like a bit of a sod, which does have its sexy element, but his character (and dubious fashion statement) makes it difficult to feel entirely sorry for the fact that he ended by having his head lopped off.

 

 

 

Sir Francis Drake 

 

HE introduced the potato to England … for which he should be, quite rightly, revered and worshipped forever (him and whichever blessed souls gave us cheese and chocolate).

 

 

NOT much of a hottie though, is he girls?

 

 

There’s still way too much doily action going on, and … *SCARY TOOP ALERT!!* I don’t know about you, but I personally don’t trust any man whose facial hair is ten times lighter in shade than the hair on his head!

 

 

Here he is again … still using ye olde Grecian 2000, and what’s up with his right eye?? Not to mention he looks like he’s had a large stick shoved up his hornpipe.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Vice Admiral Horatio Nelson 

 

One eye

 

 

One arm

 

 

Silly hat

 

 

Liked to kiss a chap called Hardy

 

 

 

Next!

 

 

 

 

Vice Admiral William Bligh

 

Possibly the most unfairly maligned man ever to sail the high seas; Hollywood portrayed him as a sadistic tyrant when in fact, evidence suggests, he was much more lenient and concerned with his crew’s welfare than most of his contemporaries. But sadly, a sharp tongue, combined with a crew who had just spent several pleasurable months swanning around Tahiti and who were loathe to leave the exotic climate (and the even more exotic local ladies) behind, led to the pesky mutiny which would taint his image forever.

 

 

I definitely feel sorry for him, but he’s a bit pasty and has an unusually large forehead … so he’s not shivering me timbers.

 

 

As for the other protagonist of the mutiny, Fletcher Christian … well, he wasn’t all that either! Apparently there aren’t any existing portraits of the scallywag, but aside from the fact that he was a lily-livered trouble maker, he doesn’t sound that appealing; this is how Captain Bligh described him:

 

 

5 ft. 9 in. high (Ok, not a bad height!). Dark, swarthy complexion (Now we’re talking!). Hair - blackish or very dark brown (Could be yum!). Make – strong (Yep, we like that!). A star tattooed on his left breast (Moobs?!), and tattooed on the backside (Er, maybe a bit kinky – but ok!). His knees stand a little out and he may be called a little bowlegged (Starting to lose me here). He is subject to violent perspiration (And – you’ve lost me), particularly in his hand, so that he soils anything he handles (Ew! Ew! Ew!)

 

 

 

 

Captain James Cook 

 

He looks like the grumpy type. More likely to tell me to sit down and eat my peas, than say something romantic.

 

 

He wasn’t very diplomatic either. I mean, it takes some doing to wind up the laid-back Hawaiians, so much so that they hit you on the head and then stab you to death … and apparently they LIKED him! 

 

 

Maybe he forgot to take his shoes off? Or really dissed Elvis.

 

 

 

 

Captain Pugwash

 

A cowardly, braggart of a pirate captain … I’m only including him because I used to like watching the programme when I was little, it had a very jolly, jaunty theme tune which made me smile and want to do a jig.

 

 

Also, because I get to mention the ridiculous urban legend that built up around the programme, with people being convinced that there had been characters called “Seaman Staines”, “Master Bates” and “Roger the cabin boy”. There WAS a character called “Willy” though, which was enough to provoke childish giggling in our sitting room.

 

 

Whilst not cherishing feelings of a squishier nature for him, one of the things that I did love about Captain Pugwash was his habit of liberally peppering his dialogue with the most wonderful exclamations, these gems included:

 

 

“Lolloping landlubbers!”

 

“Blistering barnacles!”

 

“Suffering seagulls!”

 

And my personal favourite … “Kipper me capstans!”

Popeye 

 

I actually loathe Popeye, but I have to grudgingly accept that he probably is the most famous sailor of them all, and therefore warrants a mention.

 

 

I never liked the cartoon, I’ve never made it beyond 10 minutes of the ghastly film (Why, Robin Williams?? WHY???) … and I suspect I never will.

 

 

He’s grotesque! He clearly laces his spinach with illegal steroids, smokes a pipe, permanently squints and laughs like a dork! His taste in women seems to run to the tall, gangling type with huge feet, who I suspect may even be a female impersonator.

 

 

Oh … and he has four identical nephews called Pipeye, Pupeye, Poopeye, Peepeye.

 

 

Freak!

 

 

 

And talking of freaks, check out this bunch of gimps, (that’s them in the pic at the top too) apparently they’re British and have had a frankly astonishing 32 albums!!!!  Although only a rather telling 11 singles … which explains the fact why the majority of the albums are “Greatest Hit(s)” and “Very Best of …” jobs. I’ve never heard of them and I hope that I will speedily be able to wipe them from my memory. Watching them, especially the smug, blonde lunatic (and by lunatic I actually mean twat) in glasses, left me feeling strangely irate and violent. Clearly the Germans liked them enough to invite them over … but then look at the audience members. That’s taking being underwhelmed to a whole new level.

 

 

 

 

 

So basically, the answer to my original question is a most resounding NO! Not all the nice girls love a sailor.

 

 

But feel free to contradict me.

 

 

Have a great weekend xx

Let’s Not Make A Fuss About This …

Forgive me blogchums, for I have sinned; it’s been four months since my last post …

Ok, firstly, let me tell you what we’re NOT going to do. We’re not going to waste time by getting into a pitiful plethora of explanations, excuses and apologising. I had a tough couple of months and then just felt lazy and uninspired and pretty much wanted to spend my free time hanging out, watching films, reading books and generally lounging around in my pj’s a lot.

Deal with it :)

Ok, so maybe there was a little bit of an explanation there (dammit!) … but there’ll be no apologies!

Sorry. (GAH!)

Now then, what we ARE going to do is the “We’re such old friends, we can not see or speak to each other for MONTHS and it will still seem like we only just spoke yesterday” thing.

You know that "thing", right?

Good.

So, my Grandfather has onset dementia (cheery subject, no? Believe me, after the grotty few days I’m having, it seems like a veritable hoot), it’s not alzheimers, thankfully, and it doesn’t seem to be progressing particularly fast … which is why I feel comfortable talking about it in a semi-comical way in a blog post.

Sadly his personality has changed somewhat, and it has to be said, not really for the better. But he still functions at a reasonable level, he’s just extremely forgetful and very, very slow (he also gives a whole new meaning to the word “repetitive” … but that’s another post). It’s only very occasionally distressing (for us, never him, frankly, he hasn’t got a clue and blithely goes about his day), more often than not it’s just a bit frustrating, and at times can be rather amusing. (I know that may seem heartless to some people, but sometimes finding the funny side of things is the only way we can deal with it)

Oh … and he can’t always be bothered to get dressed, shave or brush his hair.

Yes, sometimes he can look a bit … out there.

Anyway, a couple of months ago I was at home, in the kitchen, making tea. It was late afternoon so we weren’t really expecting anybody to call round. I was therefore, mildly surprised to hear an imperative knock on the kitchen door.

I opened it, and there stood a little old lady. At least, as far as I could tell it was a little old lady, since she had a large woolly hat, practically pulled down past her eyebrows and the longest, thickest scarf wrapped several dozen times around her neck, so that all I could actually see was a small, pointed nose and a pair of beady, blue eyes.

By the way … the scarf is worth mentioning. I think Cruella De Vil finally got tired of chasing Dalmatian puppies and went for the easy kill, got the muppets from Sesame Street instead; apparently they are now keeping the noses of elderly women in Norfolk warm. I definitely saw a bit of Oscar the Grouch, Elmo and, if I’m not mistaken, Grover (what the heck was Grover, anyway?) in the woolly mix.

Now, I know what you’re thinking, I can see you rolling your eyes and muttering “here she goes again with one of her tales about loopy, old people”. But I promise you, the town I live in is just that kind of place. Basically, it’s where old people from London, who are affluent (but not affluent enough to buy somewhere really decent, like Cornwall or Devon) come to die.

Ergo, an awful lot of strange, elderly folk wandering around.

So, this little old lady is standing there, staring at me. I didn’t have a clue who she was:

Me: Hello! Can I help you?

Little Old Lady (LOL?): Is June there?

Me: Er, no, I’m sorry, I think you must have the wrong house

LOL: Are you sure? (said accompanied by a suspicious squint)

Me: Yes, I’m absolutely positive

LOL: Do you know June?

Me: No, I’m afraid I don’t, neither of the neighbours are called June either

LOL: No, that’s because she doesn’t live next door!

Me: Well, (getting ever so slightly defensive now) I can assure you that she doesn’t live here either

LOL: (hard, squinty-eyed look)

I was just about to indignantly offer to give her a guided search of the property and grounds when my Grandfather shuffled into the kitchen. It was one of his off days. He didn’t have a shirt on, just his vest, about 5 days growth of beard and a hairstyle that could only be generously described as “flyaway”.

Grandfather: Hello, I thought I heard voices

Me: Grandad, this lady is looking …

LOL: (cutting in) Is June here?

As I said, my Grandfather is very slow; he is the beloved, old Commodore 64 of the family, no intel Celeron for him; you could almost hear the squealing sound as the data loaded. Finally, after a good minute of painful silence …

Grandfather: No! There’s no June here!

At this point I was bracing myself for a full onslaught of incredulous and hostile interrogation, so imagine my surprise when instead she gave him a beaming smile … at least, her eyes looked as though she might be beaming under her woolly armour, and cheerily said,

LOL: Righty’oh! Sorry to have troubled you!

As my Grandfather shuffled his way back to his armchair, I stood on the doorstep, mystified and more than a little bit miffed that an elderly man, who looked like he’d recently jumped out of Bedlam’s comfiest crib and escaped, was clearly more credible than I was!!

Did I get an apology or a thank you? NO! I got a supercilious sniff and then a couple of mistrustful, backward glances!!

There’s no accounting for some folk!

Have a lovely weekend :) I’ll be back, I have all kinds of things to tell you …