Bridget's Cousin

I’ve titled this post “Bridget’s cousin” because I identify so much with the great Bridget Jones. I’m like Bridget Jones…only with less than half the success rate in everything I do. Maybe it’s down to my flirting…allow me to elaborate. I'm not good at flirting. I'm not a 'flirt'. I've never, ever purred seductively or whispered huskily. I've read a ton of trashy novels which have only helped to cement this opinion. Whilst fictional India may well be able to seduce fictional Ivan in a vowel like heaven with a bat of her eyelids, I cannot. Believe me, I've tried. I've tried...and I've failed.

Such is the extent of my inability to flirt that it reaches past the usual median of face to face conversation and wrecks my chances even when attempts are made through indirect communication. I am of course referring to texting and text flirting.

I've recently been engaging (or attempting to engage is probably a more accurate description) in some light-hearted “text flirting”. I'm officially crap at it, it's really not one of my talents and I'll be the first to admit it. I've recently looked back through some of my past outpourings and can't think of an occasion where I've cringed more. 

Yes, I know, everyone is terrible when they booze and text. No one is safe from humiliating themselves when alcohol is involved. I just seem to take it to a whole new level. Whilst recently engaging with some mild flirtation I somehow managed to deftly move the conversation away from anything remotely promising...and focus it upon politics. Then in a typically cack-handed attempt to bring it back around to something slightly more promising...ended a text with something along the lines of "anyway, I'm going to be voting Green next time! I like Green! My eyes are green...haha!"

I’m just going to allow this to sink in before I say…

WHAT. WHAT. WHAT THE FUCK. WHAT? WHAT? WHAT? WHAT IS WRONG WITH ME???? That's just a statement of FACT. It's like I'm filling in a driving license or applying for an identity card. That's the best I can do? How was the poor bastard even supposed to respond to that? "Green eyes turn me on etc etc" No. Because I'd think he was a freak and would never text him again. He clearly thought I was borderline insane as well, as wisely he didn't reply. Another one bites the dust. 

A friend of mine recently told me that when she was once engaging in the dizzy all consuming passion of romance, it was before mobile phones had yet to be invented...so her and her boyfriend were reduced to sending impassioned and seductive messages to each ones respective pager.

Does anyone remember pagers? I had one for a while, fuck knows why. The only messages I'd ever get were from my mum saying things like "You left your pencil case at home. LOL". (NB LOL in this instance I interpreted as "Lots of love" rather than, "you left your pencil case at home, lol fool." At least I hope my mother wasn't laughing at me, I'm not sure how savvy she is when it comes to "TXT SPK".

Anyway with pagers, you had to call up an operator, aka another human being and effectively dictate your message to them. They would then read it back to you, you'd grunt and it would be off into the electronic ether. CAN YOU IMAGINE, effectively calling up a total stranger and having to be all "Hello, yes, I'd like to send a page please...Ummm, I totally love you babez and wish you were here lol" or whatever the usual drivel is. Jesus I'm so glad I never endured anything like that. I hardly ever used my pager, I used to get my kicks from calling up the speaking clock and swearing at it before hanging up as fast as I could. They were pretty crazy days, I'll tell you. Maybe I should stick to communicating with the talking clock in future. At least there are limited chances of me humiliating myself? I can just foresee the chat:

"So whatcha up to tonight..?"

"The time now is 14:00 hours"

"Filthy"

Time to buy a cat. 

Seriously though...

So I rarely blog about anything serious, or venture any form of opinion which veers too far away from vague enough to go unnoticed (on this blog).

However, today I am making an exception to the rule.

My motivations for venturing into such wild and unchartered territory have been prompted because of a significant shift in my political standpoint. I recently tore up and defiled my membership card to the Tory party and have written a letter in response to their request for renewal expressing my opinions, and I wanted to share them on this blog.

This will be frustratingly inarticualte, confused and reassuringly vague. If you don't like it, I suggest clicking on your back browser. VIVA FREE SPEECH.

So, my motivations for this shift are as follows:

Well the straw(s) which broke the camels back were the proposed charity tax (see http://giveitbackgeorge.org/) and that the government is threatening to read our e-mails. That really pissed me off. Freedom of speech and the right to privacy are incredibly important to me (stemmed from my time spent working at a freedom of expression organisation Index on Censorship). And these basic principles and freedoms are also core ideologies of Liberalism and Conservatism. I always think of myself as more of a Libertarian than a Conservative, so this threat to freedom did not sit well to me. It's also a case of barefaced hypocrisy on behalf of the Coalition, going against both of their ideologies.


The Charity Tax is just another example of a poor budget. A budget which hasn't been thought through and has shown not a glimmer of consideration for actual people living in Britain. I find the so-called 'Granny Tax' a shameful scapegoating of older generations and the charity tax is just unbelievable.What's even more frustrating is just the arrogance to totally ignore the outcrys of so many organisations and philanthropists. Speaking of badly thought though and terribly executed brings me onto the cuts.

Now, initially I didn't overly disagree with the cuts, I agreed that they needed to happen and that it was going to be brutal. What I don't agree with is how quickly and deeply they have been made. I have witnessed the charity sector be frankly savaged by the cuts, and I can't support that. Don't talk to me about Big Society when the government is evidently doing everything it can to leave this Big Society wheezing, crippled, in a field facing the wrong direction.

My ranting has predominantly been inspired by the backlash from the terrible results in the local election. I doubt anyone was particularly surprised, apart from maybe the Penguin in Scotland to have received more votes than the Lib Dem candidate. But what I've been left feeling, surprising though it may be is thank god for the Lib Dems. Yes, they have been repeatedly publicly humiliated and personally I wonder if they'll even get enough votes to warrant being a party when the next election comes...BUT the thought of them not being there, frankly, terrifies me. I don't think they're given enough credit for what they're doing behind the scenes, ie hauling the Tories back to somewhere vaguely respectable this side of being "downright fascist". As an (ex) card carrying member of the Tory party, I shouldn't be left feeling so deeply concerned by the prospect of a single-party governemnt. But the damage which has already been done, not to mention the backbench backlash following the local elections has only confirmed my fears.

I genuinely despise the fact that the first thing the backbenchers call upon Cameron to start backing down upon is gay rights and gay marriage. It's just beyond my comprehension. Britain should be leading the way in terms of equal rights - given how appalling some of the oppressions in other parts of Europe are, the back benchers shouldn't have the clout to beat progress back with a (literal and metaphorical) right hook.

Finally, the sleaze. The sleaze and u-turns have plagued this government from the very beginning. Andy Coulson, Jeremy Hunt, cosy dinners with the Murdochs and Rebecca Brooks...it just goes on and on. The results of the Leveson enquiry will make more gripping reading. Maybe Cameron will eventually get around to having a "little chat" with Jeremy Hunt. Something along the lines of "Sorry Jerrers, times up old boy". I'm keeping my fingers firmly crossed on this one.

So, there you have it. I know I haven't comprehensively explained myself but I hope that it resonates that there have just been too many issues for me to deal with. Next blog will be cheerier, I hope.

Signing off,
H

Tube life

A very good friend of mine is totally unabashed regarding whatever she's reading at the moment and where she's reading it. Such as the tube for example. She has even been known to read what has been described (in her own words) as "vampire porn". From what I've gathered about this so called, "vampire porn", you don't have to be glancing over her shoulder to gather that it's of an erotic nature...apparently the cover makes that pretty clear from the off.

I have a deep respect for this type of brazen tube reading. I've recently been reading 'The Story of O', which I've heard mutterings about for years and yet had no real idea of what it was about (I'd guessed, sex, from the ways people would get a look and would then shuffle slightly at the mention). I hadn't anticipated quite how kinky it would be though. It was however, written and published in the 1950s, so has that slightly dated feel to it and although the content is, filthy, it is also slightly clouded in woolly language. I was battling through it the other day and using my Sherlock-like mind had deduced that O was up to something...but it took me until about a 25 lines later to realise what exactly she was doing. There's no such thing as "cutting to the chase" in this story.

Anyway so I was blushing my way through this on the tube which is where I predominantly do all my reading, and was suddenly gripped by one of those painfully clear moments of self-awareness. I could practically -hear- the drunk old man sitting next to me starting to breathe more heavily as he took in the content from over my tensed up shoulder. What does one do in these sorts of situations? I suppose, a normal person would just carry on as if nothing was happening. I think this blog has done enough to destroy my reputation as a normal person (please see my post about classical themed tourettes if in any doubt) so naturally I reacted in my usual way. I.e I tensed up so much that if the train had suddenly come to stop there is a good risk that I would have shattered; I also pretended that I had randomly become partially sighted, so had to hold the book as close to my face without simultaneously drawing attention to the front cover (whihc is black apart from the text: The Story of O, the erotic cult classic). It wasn't comfortable and I ended up getting off a stop early and walking home in the rain.

However, on the other end of the spectrum, the tube is also a fantastic way to show off to total strangers who you will never see again that you read really clever books. This leads me onto the kindle. Now, I really like my kindle. I spilt an entire and I mean entire cup of tea on it the other day and it's fine! Impressive! However, to me, the kindle is a double edged sword. I read an article the other day about how women (predominantly) are loving Kindles as behind it they can hide their modesty as they read twilight based porn in public places etc etc. Super. But what if you're reading War and Peace and you want everyone to know? I've read War and Peace. IT'S REALLY LONG. I want some credit for that.

Anyway, a slightly disjointed post. Maybe don't read it on the tube? I've written the word "porn" at least 4 times. Just a suggestion.

Signing off,
H

A day in the life of the Daily Mail

Yesterday I started thinking about the Daily Mail. It came up in conversation with a friend - we were talking about the so-called "3am girls". From what I can gather, they are essentially journalists/reporters who trail around after celebrities getting wasted and eavesdropping on the sort of drivel which celebrities talk about, and the masses (myself included) devour their outpourings with our dead, dead eyes. Then I started thinking about Liz Jones. Fucking hell. Liz Jones + The Daily Fail.

In case you're unfamiliar with Liz Jones.Here's an introduction: Read this.

To summarise: the woman is BAT. SHIT. CRAZY. She has accused women, the female species, of stealing sperm and impregnating themselves in the dead of night.

...

Sorry, I just had to take a minute there. Although, you know I think, almost what concerns me more, is that at some point, I presume, the editor had a look at that article and was all "good work LIZZZZZZZZZZZZ!! Let's GO WITH IT, YEAHHHHHH"

Another thing about The Daily Fail, is that evidently, it's a newspaper in which, a grasp of the English language is apparently not even remotely necessary.

Example a (this is a direct quote): "Prince Harry one a trophy." I'm not joking.

On some levels, I cannot imagine what it must be like working at the Daily Mail...but on others...well there must be a sense of freedom which you just don't get at the other newspapers. I mean, you can basically say whatever you like. For example:

D'you know...I'm kind of jealous.

Tales of the mothership (part 7,564)

This is an accurate, unedited version of events:

Anna: I'm thinking of coming back to the shire next weekend.

Mothership: That's fine darling, but the house will be very cold and unwelcoming...no one will be here.

A: That's cool, I'm actually going out in Northampton on the Friday night.

MS: *Pause.* You know...Northampton is very dangerous, Anna.

A: Not it's not.

MS: It's very rough.

A: Mum, can I just point out that I'm nearly 25, I've been out in Northampton hundreds of times and...I LIVE IN LONDON.

MS: Anna, the streets of Damascus are safer than the streets of Northampton!

A: Really, Mum? Syria? That's what your comparing Northampton to?

MS: I just worry about you.

Troilus and Cresuda...strike back.

Hello internet!

It's time for another little self-deprecating update from the "series of awkward moments" which constitutes my life. Can I hear a hurrah?! Oh it sounds so sad when it's just me cheering.

ANYWAY - let's try and avoid that gaping pit of sad ramblings and cut to the (dubious) humour.

So, today's humiliation was thankfully, narrowly avoided. But by god it was close. Basically, I very nearly made a Classics joke to a complete stranger. Now, I freaking love Classics jokes. They are hilarious. Many a happy hour was spent at university playing variations of the classic (ha!) 'shag, travel, marry' game with different Roman Emperors. (All time favourite = Caligula/Nero/Domitian. BUURRRRN). Or there was the worrying phase I went through of going out, getting on it, and randomly texting people I didn't know particularly well from my course asking them "WHO IS YOUR FAVOURITE ROMAN EMPEROR!!!!!!1".

So today was basically the result of the classicist in me having been pent up for too long. ERROR. Lesson learnt. I'll give y'all a brief run down of what happened:

So I was outside my work having a smoke, and my building is behind a gate. On the other side of the gate there is an alley way with a pub and another office building. So this bloke came out of the office also to have a smoke. So I'm standing there, glancing across at this other human being and the thought popped into my head that this gate was acting as a kind of barrier between us. We could still communicate through it and all - just between the bars. What does this prompt me to want to say?

"Hey! I just thought of something...WE'RE LIKE TROILUS AND CRESUDA!!!!!!!

Oh Christ, no. Just, no.

For those of you who have no freaking idea who Troilus and or Cresuda were, they were basically a pair of lovers who communicated with each other through a hole in a wall. It's knock-out stuff. Actually I'm fairly sure they end up dying somehow, horribly but frankly that's irrelevent. For the meantime, lets just focus - in fact CLING ON to the fact that by the thinnest glimmer of self control, I managed to restrain myself from shouting the following words at a total stranger:

"TROILUS!

CRESUDA!

WALL

LOVERS

DEATH

CLASSICS!!!!!!!"

Thank fuck for that.

A brief history of mobile phones

I can count the number of mobile phones I have had on one hand. I'm no Anne Boleyn, I've just only ever had 5. I'm really not fussed by phones which will tell you your hair looks nice or remind you what you did the night before. I just need one which can send a text message either saying: "Where are you?" or "Just coming, G&T, thanks" or which can handle me making a phone call to say "Sorry, I'm late". This is predominantly what I need and use my phone for.

I'm currently experiencing some mild phone trauma, in that mine has broken and so I've been forced to take a walk down memory lane with the replacements and it's jogged my memory as to the various phones I've had in the past 10 years. Hold onto your hats people, this is going to be a nail biting ride.

I want to make reference to my first one, purely because it secured my place in the hall of "people certain never to be famous, cool or respected". Please see below:

Please don't be distracted or impressed by the dazzling selection of colours. It was a rubbish phone. That aerial may look sturdy but it will snap like a twig. Believe me. I will never forget the time my brother and I were wandering around one of those giant supermarkets in France where you meet 90 year olds who came in for some fromage and never found their way out and saw MY phone, my pride and joy on sale for less than a fucking euro. Shame.

Anyway, I think I actually used this humiliation to my advantage as it meant I actually motivated myself into buying a better one, and so I did what the craze was at the time, and bought a yo-yo. I mean a Nokia. And to be fair, Nokia's have never let me down. When my crackberry broke and I had to revert to an old model, I had a fun week typing-out-every-single-letter-in-a-text on this bad boy:

What a fucking classic. I'll tell you, I actually was pretty proud of this. I got looks of admiration on the tube when I first pulled it out and they swiftly changed to looks of seething envy as I'd happily while away the tedium of the tube with a quick game of Snake 2. Oh yes. Someone even told me they are going for upwards of £300 on ebay, so I have a back up plan in case the whole "career" thing falls through too - win!

However, sadly, I have also abandoned this one. Frankly, it was just bloody knackering. I felt like I'd dived into a pool, rescued a brick, and was now carrying this brick around in my pocket ALL THE TIME. So I've opted for the next best thing. My most recent, old phone. This is a classic. It's still a Nokia, but it's very much an upgrade-downgrade situation I've gone for.

You see, it's an upgrade, in the sense that it's a better phone (colour, camera, can connect to the internet if it really tries but can't actually display a webpage, bless it) but downgrade in the sense that it's not really in a condition to still qualify as a phone. I'd say it's approximately 75% electrical tape and 15% phone. You can see most of the screen but typing is a bit of a nightmare. I'll upload a photo at some point for the full effect, but right now, it texts, it rings (quietly, the tape has muted it quite a lot) and I love it.