Friday 31 December 2010

Goodbye 2010!


The talented Miss Clarkson: Seeing her play was one of my favourite moments of the year.
Incidentally, I once took this very photo to a hairdresser to show them what I 
wanted, but I somehow ended up with a mullet instead. Not that I'm bitter. 

So, it's the end of 2010...here are some of my personal highlights...

  • Getting into a sold-out gig (Imelda May) and then deciding afterwards that it wasn’t worth going home, especially when work had foolishly given me keys so I could open up in the morning. It seemed serendipitous that I had just bought a new dress, so after an uncomfortable night curled up under my desk, I was able to appear fresh-faced (thanks to makeup samples from the Boots on Carnaby street that opens at 8am) and in different clothes from the day before. The perfect crime. 
  • Dressing up as a schoolgirl for a School disco event and inadvertently popping my shirt buttons open within the first ten minutes.  When I expressed horror that I had been flashing my bra to all and sundry for the entire evening, my friend Alicia helpfully explained ”I thought you were just going for a slutty schoolgirl look!” So that's my official line, if anyone asks. 
  • Having a great time at a Kelly Clarkson concert and then going on holiday immediately afterwards (when your flight is a 6am, it’s hardly worth going to bed...) thus “enjoying” a 36 hour day. (Actually, I’ve done this before, and became so tired that even though my friends were speaking English, I couldn’t understand the words. Sad, really.)
  • Working at the Chelsea flower show, seeing the Queen, and discovering that Alan Titchmarsh is a very lovely person, and strangely sexy too.
  •  Accidentally drugging my family with homemade lavender ice cream. (I come from a long line of cooking rebels who rarely follow recipes to the letter, and may have overdone this soporific ingredient.) I thought “A quarter of a cup of lavender? That’s not very much! Five minutes to steep? That’s not very long!” After eating, we were all suddenly overtaken with fatigue... (Other kitchen mishaps involve setting off a small fire inside the microwave... when you’re trying to soften butter that you forgot to leave at room temperature, make sure you peel all the paper off first, that’s all I can say. Otherwise you will be eating smoky flavoured toast for weeks.) 
  • Camping for a wedding, which meant having to emerge from my tiny (2 midget) tent in full evening dress. After the reception ended at midnight, I got changed into my pyjamas before realising that actually, people weren’t going to bed yet. So I socialised with people who were still in their wedding outfits while I was in my pyjamas, an oddly liberating and dreamlike experience. 
  •  Possibly sounding a little bit like a paedophile to a roomful of fellow travellers in a hostel room. After spending a week house-sitting and sleeping in the youngest child’s room, I confessed to my friend “I‘m looking forward to sleeping in my own bed.. that little boy’s bed was uncomfortable...” and then laughing manically for a full two minutes as I realised the possible confusion this could cause. 
  • Actually, I’m sort of proud of this one.  I went down the red carpet at a film premiere in my jeans. (In fact, the outfit I’d worn all day for pottering around the house in.) When a friend asked if I wanted to go to a “screening”, I didn’t know it would be a glamorous, celebrity-ridden affair (actually, it was only Katherine Heigl and a couple of people from Hollyoaks). Surprisingly, no reporters cared to enquire who this bohemian, insouciant young starlet was. How odd. 
  • At a friend’s house, we heard an “Oy! You up there!” from a male voice below the window. A toy tiger sitting on the windowsill was volunteered to peer out inquisitively.... all fun and games until we realised that the voice belonged to a policeman, who had heard our music and thought we were squatters. (I don’t know why.)
  • I had a second winter holiday (I hadn’t actually been abroad since my year-long travelling escapades five years ago, so I felt justified) spending a week in Spain with my friend Jasmine. We may have been a little irresponsible letting the local stray cats into our apartment to sleep on our beds, but it’s hardly less hygienic than what some people do with stray people they find in the pub. Getting trapped at the airport all day because Gatwick was shut due to snow? All part of the fun. 
  • Working as a costume designer, I had my own assistant for the very first time – how exciting! She was a lovely girl, and kindly offered to give me a lift home. Unfortunately she drove like a freaking maniac. As the car filled with pounding bass and cigarette smoke, I realised this stomach-lurching feeling was oddly familiar. Lightheaded, I realised that it was uncannily like being on a fairground ride. But I survived and so did she; a highlight of the year, indeed. 
  • Other film shoots vivid in my memory: the occasion I was driving myself between various locations and got lost twice. When I did find the others an hour later, my first action was to blow up the kettle. Oops! Honourable mention must also go to the childrenswear ad which involved 8 children with 3 outfits each, in the space of one morning, with the only instruction from the director being  “Good luck”. 
  • Finally, I was an extra in a film I was costume designing. My tip for the day? Never believe a director who tells you “You won’t have any lines... well, if you do, it’ll be part of the crowd scene, nobody’s going to hear you.” Cue me and one other person, who happened to be the main actor, being the only ones talking while a roomful of crew watched.  Mortifying, and no actor’s fee either! 
I wonder what 2011 will bring...? Have a good one y'all! 

Friday 24 December 2010

I believe in magic....

Every time you say that Santa doesn't exist, a puppy dies. Fact.

As I may have mentioned, at this time of year I love to waste hours watching dreadful cheesy Christmas movies. Seriously – quality is not an issue. I’ll watch them all.
Somehow it seems easier in December to suspend disbelief and get all sappy over the magic of flying reindeer and little bells you can only hear if you really and truly believe (Yep, Polar Express is one of my faves).
And it doesn’t take a Christmas pixie to spot the theme that emerges in these “Santa-in-peril-because-nobody-believes-except-one-small-child” tales. This benevolent, all-knowing father figure may hand out some gifts if we behave ourselves (he knows if you’ve been bad or good, so be good for goodness sake!) but in order to receive, we have to believe. A “Santa as God-lite” analogy, if you will. And if there’s one thing movies teach us (apart from the fact that New York is THE place to spend Christmas, not least because you can ice skate in central park with Cary Grant) it’s that faith is the cornerstone of the Santa religion. Kris Kringle is the real thing only because he is BELIEVED to be the real thing.
For some people, the idea of God is just as nonsensical as Père Noel; a fairy tale you outgrow. It’s easy to become disillusioned as you grow up – prayers and letters to Santa go unanswered, cracks appear in the stories, and magic is an illusion that only a fool would believe in.
Well, call me a fool, but I do believe in magic. It’s all around us. Take photographs, for instance. You can explain it to me in whatever scientific way you like, but the fact remains that the MAGIC BOX manages to suck in an image of whatever it is pointed at and record it forever. Likewise telephones – tell me about airwaves til the cows come home; the fact is, I can communicate with someone in another country via a tiny MAGIC TOOL. And don’t even get me started on CDs and the miracle that is music trapped in a tiny disc. It might just blow my mind.
 As Jostein Gaarder points out in his novel The Solitaire Mystery, “Nobody would believe this world if they hadn’t spent years getting used to it.”
The very fact that your mind controls your body is pretty stupendous when you think about it – not to mention the fact that your body can HEAL ITSELF of minor injuries. You cut your finger, a couple of days later there isn’t so much as a mark. You’re a freaking terminator!
I remember being astonished when I first realised that trees can heal themselves in a similar way – and it turns out they also talk to each other. Well, sort of – they can communicate via pheromones, managing to warn when a predatory insect is around so they can prepare themselves to make their leaves taste nasty. How clever is that! 
And those proponents of the Law of Attraction claim that every word we speak has a magical effect on our vibrations; anyone who’s ever read a self-help book will know the dangers of saying “I’m so sick and tired of x” until it becomes true, but who knew you could magically create your own reality by the power of your mind? (If you’re skeptical – well, just keep doing what you’re doing, if it’s working out for you...)
The Bard put it best; “There are more things in Heaven and earth, Horatio, than are dreamt of in your philosophy.”
As for Jesus, well, I think it was C.S. Lewis (and do correct me if I’m wrong, because I now can’t find the quote) who said “Don’t knock the immaculate conception, because the normal method is strange enough.”
May I quote Jostein Gaarder one more time?
 “I have been in outer space many times,” bragged the cosmonaut, “but I have never seen any angels.” The brain surgeon stared in amazement, but then he said “and I have operated on many intelligent brains, but I have never seen a single thought.”
So, I think we can conclude that the world is a pretty wacky place. And we human beings, in our infinite wisdom, have decided what is possible and what is not. As this is based merely on what we have so far seen to be possible, it seems we may not have the exhaustive list worked out just yet.
Of course, nobody REALLY believes in old Saint Nick. (Not even the adults in the movies who apparently don’t notice the strange gifts appearing in their houses every year.) I do fervently wish he was real, though. I’ve always wanted to have an interviewer ask me what my dream job would be, so I could answer honestly Being an elf in Santa’s workshop,” and I would sound far less bonkers if it was actually an option. 
Have yourself a merry little Christmas, y’all. xx

Thursday 23 December 2010

And WHAT, pray tell, ARE YOU?

"I'm here, I'm here! I've come back, it's all right!" Ah, Lucy, I can hear your little piping voice now.

I love all Christmas films, from schmaltzy Jimmy Stewart ones to the delights of Clark Griswold (I always identified with his urgent need to make the entire family take part in the Christmas of his dreams). But when the snow is thick and crunchy, there is only one movie for me. Forget big budget Hollywood; the original cartoon of The Lion, the Witch & the Wardrobe is the definitive version (and available on VHS!).

I have to warn you, this film is greater than the sum of its parts. At first glance it may seem to be a slightly ropey animation (with colours that do not always match) and features some fairly dreadful acting from the child actors, especially in crying scenes.

However, it does boast a cracking soundtrack and a high calibre of adult actors. Do make sure you watch the slightly lesser known English soundtrack version; Arthur Lowe and June Whitfield are the ultimate cosy couple as Mr and Mrs Beaver, and Sheila Hancock gives what is, in my opinion, her tour de force performance as the white witch. I would love to ask her if she remembers this film; what was probably a few days work in the voiceover booth for her ended up influencing my entire childhood.

Until seeing the fancy schmancy remake, I didn’t appreciate how cleverly this screenplay was streamlined; cutting out unnecessary details and pushing the story along in broad strokes. The script has a lyrical quality, to the point where I realise now that I didn’t even understand half of the words I heard as a child, I just enjoyed the poetic rhythms. Despite the dodgy animation, parts of the film are spellbinding especially the death and resurrection of Aslan.

My friend / virtual sister Anna and I would spend hours acting the movie out as we watched, pulling the curtains and walking along the windowsill to create a “tunnel” for the extending wardrobe. She was always Mr Tumnus (who, I realise as an adult, was as camp as Christmas) and Edmund, and I was always Lucy and the witch (they didn’t have any scenes together). In fact, after spending my childhood performing the witch’s lines, I have them memorised and still occasionally use them. “Are you my counsellor? Or my slave? Do as you're told!” is a pretty failsafe retort to anyone who is attempting to boss you about. And "Who has won? Fool!" (in ringing, jubilant tones) will ensure that you exit every argument with triumph.

Being a little obsessed with the series and CS Lewis himself (I was recently admiring an antique wardrobe in Oxfam and HAD to open it and check the back, JUST IN CASE) I have a somewhat vested interest in hoping that the latest adaptations will do justice to the books. (Although I am quite fond of the rubbish BBC version which had people wearing barrels to suggest animal-like bodies.) I’m still disappointed that nobody thus far has attempted to film the wonderful prequel, The Magician’s Nephew; it has some sequences that would lend themselves so well to the CGI that has now been developed. I think we can safely say that The Last Battle will never be made into a film, unless the principles of the story are butchered beyond recognition. Call it racist, call it prophetic – but a story about Aslan's end-of-the-world judgement, brought about because Narnians start to believe that his name is synonymous with that of the god of the "foreign" Calormenes, and you have a problem.

Unfortunately movies like this are often ruined by the child actors; I’m a firm believer that generally, children cannot act. This is why you only ever see the same kids over and over again (Shirley Temple, Dakota Fanning, Haley Joel Osment) because once you find that quirk of nature who is able to sound natural rather than stagey, you're going to use them until the uppers and downers and coke and prescription nerve tonic have rendered them useless. The Golden Compass, despite its stellar cast and CGI polar bears, was ruined for me by the frankly appalling performance of Dakota Blue Richards in the leading role of Lyra. Poor kid, it wasn’t her fault – it was down to the person who cast her and the director who let them print the godawful takes.

Back to Narnia; in my humble opinion, the 1979 cartoon wipes the floor with the new offering. Aslan (voiced by Stephen Thorne) is an imposing presence, with a voice that is deep and rich – as per the original description in the book – and creates the truest interpretation of the character that I've seen. To me, Liam Neeson sounds far too friendly – although the current Oxford / Regent Street displays have Aslan looking like a yellow-eyed vampire lion. I know he isn’t tame, but I don’t think he should be scaring small children.

Tilda Swinton may look ridiculously evil in most of her film roles, but I felt that her turn as Jadis was hampered by her apparent reluctance to ham it up. She ended up going too far in the opposite direction and underplayed the whole thing to the point where lines such as “Despair... and die!” came out as a feeble suggestion rather than a strident command.

So for the ultimate in "always winter and never Christmas" fun, curl up with a pint of hot ribena (best drink evah!) and enjoy the sight of those saucer-eyed, bell-bottom-wearing kids, the snuggly atmosphere of the Beaver's underground hideout, and the uplifting music. You might even want to indulge in a box of Turkish delight. As a child, I'd never seen the real stuff and used to cut a Fry's chocolate-covered Turkish delight into miniscule cubes to better resemble the witch's confection. We made our own fun in the 80s.

Monday 20 December 2010

I love Lucy. And Calamity Jane.


Of course, the flipside to the ladylike dignity of an Audrey Hepburn (see earlier post) is the kooky gaucheness of a Lucille Ball. It’s said that Lucy was the first woman to make it acceptable to be attractive AND funny; a prototype which has become familiar. These days our heroines are women such as Bridget Jones and Carrie Bradshaw, who seem to fall over a lot and always get introduced to an attractive man when they’ve just stuffed a whole vol au vent into their mouths. 

All this, combined with Stephenie Meyer making clumsiness endearing, makes me feel slightly better about having some experience with being the “kooky” girl, as evidenced by various “would be embarrassing if I cared” events. My oldest school pal is of a similar ilk; she recently met an online date at a train station with the bumbling words “I’m so glad with myself that I could find you here!” (My usual MO, at least when outdoors, is to find wind blowing my hair into my mouth, choking me midsentence.) 

Similarly my mother (who is really worthy of a blog of her own) had an incident recently when my dad went out without his keys and asked her to let him in. Hearing a knock at the door, she decided it would be funny to crouch by the door and demand “Who goes there?” Hearing a mumble in reply, she demanded (in a tone both aggressive and squeaky) “WHAT?” Needless to say, the delivery man was not amused.

There is also a slight tendency to absent mindedness – I was recently most indignant at the pair of new boots I had bought – one seemed to be crumbling after only a day’s wear. Luckily I noticed, before I stormed into the shop, receipt in hand, that I had actually put on one old boot and one new one. As you were, Mr Shopkeeper.

One memorable occasion was when I went to let my (slightly intimidating) boss know that I was leaving, at the end of my first day on the job. He asked “Are you enjoying it?” and I replied with a vehement “Yes!” and fell over a chair. I also said long goodbyes to everyone and then had to come back in to retrieve my bag.

Being a fan of Seinfeld’s Kramer, I have now come to terms with my ability to trip over a hair on the ground. After several mishaps involving flipflops and rain (they have NO traction on wet pavement), a friend advised me that the only acceptable recovery is to jump up, arms in the air, and shout “Ta daaaaa!” 

At least my whimsy is self-inflicted, unlike the chap I saw recently with a luminous ghost sticker in the folds in his briefcase, evidently donated by a child and invisible to all but those walking behind him on the escalator. Perhaps the best thing to do is to surround ourselves with the equally daffy; I once had a long conversation with a friend about the practice of “sprinkling” ashes before one of us realised “that doesn’t sound right....” (If your mind has now gone blank, the word we were looking for was “scattering.”) 

So if you’re not as poised as Audrey or Grace, at least you’re in good company. Meg Ryan, Sandra Bullock and Jennifer Aniston have made careers out of being lovably goofy; the lesson here is that you can get away with anything, as long as your hair looks good. But they owe it all to the originals – Katharine Hepburn, Lucille Ball and Doris Day paved the way for screwball fun; long may it continue.

Saturday 18 December 2010

May I quote Andre 3000? Behold, a lady.

She was channeling Audrey from her first audition; no wonder she beat Cheryl's piranha.

I confess, I was rather disappointed that Rebecca lost X factor – Matt started out well, but on the weekend of the final he was...well, rubbish. I know he was ill (the usual... doctors say his throat will explode if he sings, but he’s so determined...blah blah blah....) but I do find it extraordinary how the judges try to brainwash us into thinking that performances were “amazing!” when they were decidedly not. (Does anyone else remember Cheryl’s jedi mind tricks last year?  She kept repeating that Danyl Johnson was “arrogant,” as he trembled before her, eyes wide as a baby seal.)

What was refreshing about Rebecca was that she had the dignity of Grace Kelly, in a world of snarling, leatherclad starlets. Much as I love Christina Aguilera, it was painfully obvious that she and Rebecca had never met before their performance, let alone rehearsed. As she rose from the stage like a peroxide Venus, she managed to inject new waves of vibrato into every word. Rebecca’s Roisin Murphy-esue vocals didn’t stand a chance; she was clearly terrified and not even sure if she was allowed to sing at the same time as Xtina. 

Despite this, who came across as more professional and polished? Christina has been blasted for her “risqué” performance (BTW, the trailer for Burlesque looks incredibly hokey – I wouldn’t have bought Aguilera as a naive ingénue when she was twelve – but I may well go to see it, because I ADORE cheese.)

Meanwhile Rihanna screeched her way through a duet with Matt (ok, I’ll say it. They were BOTH rubbish). Miss Nasally Challenged writhes and strips with such aplomb, it’s hard to say where she can go from here. I was once discussing this with a friend who said “She might as well just sing “Come and have sex with me-eee...” She accompanied this with a little bended knee dance, which made me actually fall over laughing in the middle of the street. You should have been there. It was really funny.) 

So, is the tide turning? Leona Lewis, the original demure X Factor gal, has been constantly criticised for being “boring”. Well, maybe compared with Lindsay Lohan and Peaches Geldof... but whose life would you prefer?

Although it seems unlikely, being “ladylike” is gaining ground – there are a number of blogs about dressing nicely, revelling in being feminine and rising above the idea that we should be like men. 

It can be fun, when surrounded by ladettes slurping beer, to be the only one in a pencil skirt, sipping delicately at a pina colada. Also, while I spent my teens telling men “Don’t worry, I swear all the time” when they apologised for dropping an f-bomb, now I think “Damn right, you shouldn’t be using language like that in front of me, I’m a lady!” Of course, this effect is ruined when I enter into lively debates regarding the use of the c-word as a negative profanity, arguing that men should “have some f-ing respect” for the orifice from whence we all came. 

Meanwhile, queen of the Southern belles is Beyoncé; who could forget the way she graciously invited little Taylor Swift onstage after Kanyewestgate? You just know her momma raised her to match her nail polish to her shoes and handwrite her Thank-you notes.   

Let’s hope that the pop world will be gently inundated with women who combine talent and business brains with elegance and grace. Slappers are so over.

Friday 17 December 2010

I only like ones with bunnies on them.

If I did send cards, they'd probably be like this ultra-cute vintage one.

I’m in an ethical pickle. Here we are in the most festive of all seasons, and I feel like a Grinch. Why? (Apart from the fact that I like to shove little old ladies aside when spotting the last pack of chocolate reindeer?) Well, I don’t “do” Christmas cards. It’s partly to be green (waste of trees) partly laziness (haven’t I got enough to do?) and partly a scroogey tightness (pay for postage?).

But now I’m wavering. My parents have got to grips with email (dad) and texting (mum) but they are still of the generation which indulges in the “yearly catch-up” through cards. They get millions, each with little story attached (“This is from Elsie, she’s your second cousin once removed, who lives in Canada.... ooh, here’s one from Stinker, our old pal from the International Voluntary Service....”) 

But of course with the advent (geddit?) of Facebook, our generation doesn’t need a once-a-year communication with old school pals and long lost colleagues. Every day we can get a little update on what they’re up to, how extraordinarily intelligent their children are, and if we’re really unlucky, what they ate for breakfast and how long they spent on the M25. 

I think the last time I was actively excited about sending and receiving cards was at school, where there was a little red postbox, and deliveries at the beginning of lessons. I would spend hours writing alternately in red and green pen, and for my very best friends I would make cards, artfully strewn with glitter and symbols of the Christian faith, such as robins and donkeys. 

So maybe one day I will indulge in a little Christmas spirit and start sending cards again. But don’t worry if you don’t get one; It doesn’t mean that I don’t regularly browse through your holiday photos and google your boyfriend. 

Happy Holidays!

Saturday 11 December 2010

And this is why I don't listen to the radio....

No wonder kids are turning to drink. May I also suggest ear plugs?

Ooh, aren’t children growing up fast? 

Yep, and in ways too numerous to mention here. I recently found myself sitting next to a very sophisticated young lady at a family event; I guessed “So are you studying?” as I didn’t want to insult her if she was 20 and had been working for the last 2 – 4 years. Um, no, she was 12. And perhaps this reflects badly on my mental age, but I found her by far the most entertaining person there and we discussed The X Factor and Edward Cullen at length. 

As we chatted about alcohol (she had been strictly instructed to drink only one glass of champagne) she informed me thoughtfully “I probably won’t start drinking heavily until I’m... sixteen.” Well, that’s a relief. I did my best to persuade her that actually, hanging around outside the offy with a can of cider is not the most fun way to spend an evening in your teens. I may find myself in the minority for suggesting an evening of drinking shots til you puke actually isn’t the most fun you can have as an adult, either. 

In a desperate attempt to dissuade youngsters from drinking to excess is a new programme What Did I Do Last Night? – apparently actually seeing footage of yourself in all your “crawling around on the toilet floor in your underwear and then punching your best friend,” glory actually does shame people into changing their habits. Unlike the ill-advised anti-drinking campaign from a year or so back, which attempted to chastise us with the legend “You wouldn’t start a night like this. So why end it that way?” It simply illustrated that the campaigners had no understanding whatsoever of their subjects; if they had, they would have known that falling down the stairs, getting sick in your hair and makeup smeared everywhere is actually a badge of honour; proof  that you had a good time, and a story to be told and re-told until it has passed into legend. 

Coming back for a moment to precocious kids, the airwaves are full of Willow Smith and the amazingness of her performances at the age of ten. (Slightly creepy and “Hollywood family” it may be but at least she wasn’t, to my knowledge, sporting Suri Cruise-style stilettos aged three.) This is all very well, but am I the only one who can actually HEAR the song? It is mind-numbingly awful. And I mean actually, seriously, you might have to be a little bit brain damaged to be able to listen to it all the way through without wanting to rip off your ears. Almost 2 minutes of the 3m 24 sec running time is taken up by the imaginative line “I whip my hair back and forth”. (And just remember, somebody got paid for writing this. Somebody who is clearly from the Natasha “I’m in a big big big big ocean” Bedingfield school of lyric writing.)

Fittingly for a child’s song, it is simplistic, repetitive and will stick in your brain like chewing gum. The verses (during which Miss Smith sounds like a carbon copy of Rihanna) are slightly better, even if one does include the line “None of them whip it like I do.” Good to know that the next generation of girls are aspiring to... well, whip their hair, better than anyone else. Who said feminism was dead? 

Frankly, I may have to avoid any venue in which dance music is played – the thought of a roomful of adults miming along to whipping their hair back and forth is too tragic to contemplate. 

Tuesday 30 November 2010

Strictly X factor...

Stop being such spoilsports, you mean old judges! She's having fun, and he deserves a medal.

Generally, people are either fans of The X Factor OR Strictly Come Dancing – and you can usually hazard a guess at which way the cookie crumbles, just the way you could pretty much tell which girls in your class would have Barbies and which would be Sindy fans. Much as I hate to say this, as I am firmly in The X Factor camp, this is the slightly chavvier option. While we guffaw at mentally ill people trying to sing, the swankier folk have switched channels, where "Strictly" as we must call it, epitomises the Beeb's very own brand of light entertainment.

X Factor does have more star power – compare Katy Perry, The Black Eyed Peas and Nicole Scherzinger with "Hello" regulars such as Gavin Henson and Patsy Kensit. There were some genuine big names (not least Michelle Williams, one third of Destiny's child) but for some reason the tabloids preferred to concentrate on the C-listers.

As I write, the nation is gripped by controversy as both shows feature a "joke" contestant who just won't go away.....Ann Widdecombe is having the time of her life tangoing with Anton du Beke, while Wagner is butchering lyrics in between sleazing all over the makeup artists (yes, showbiz is a small world... I hear things). Oddly, I have disparate views on the two anti-heroes. While people are calling for Widdy to back down, she is refusing and I say, good for her! This is democracy in action – and if the BBC don't want un-co-ordinated frumps to win, they shouldn't have them in the show. The viewing public will vote how they like and all the judges' snidey put-downs will not change that.

However, over in the X Factor world, I feel affronted that Wagner has managed to cling on for so long; the situation is now teetering between "Well, it was funny for a while," and "Let's bring in a sniper". Perhaps it is a fix (it's hard to imagine anyone repeating the success of Jedward if Louis Walsh wasn't involved somewhere). But here is the thing; Ann Widdecome is in a silly, fun contest which is designed to find out which celebrity can prance about in the way that is most surprising and impressive to the general public. Wagner is actually preventing more talented singers from getting further in a competition which could transform their lives.

We all benefit when unknowns make it – instead of relying wholly on record execs, we get a say in who rises to the top. Carrie Underwood, Jordin Sparks, our own Leona Lewis and Alexandra Burke, Amanda Jensen (super talented Swede) and my fave, Kelly Clarkson,  all emerged from Idol shows. And this is why I've always been a sucker for a talent contest. They make perfect fodder for water cooler conversation and can change somebody's life. It's what television is FOR.

Sunday 21 November 2010

Tis more blessed to give than to receive....

Feel the burn, Arnie style. Or just reward yourself after a
 hard day's shopping with a pleasingly rubbish film. 

It may feel early to be talking about Christmas – I hate those reminders that it's only x days to go (34 today!) but as I am the most organisationally challenged person in the world, I thought I could help my similarly time / motivation-poor brethren with a timely reminder that actually, 34 days isn't very long....

That's the trouble, isn't it? We're so used to being bombarded with tinsel and Rudolf deelyboppers from September onwards that we get lulled into a false sense of "Christmas is ages away!" security until it's suddenly December 20th and the shops are like a glimpse into the seventh circle of hell.

I am lucky in that my family has adopted a foolproof scheme – we all buy our own presents. This may be unsentimental, but it does mean that we all get what we want. (I've taken the attitude that commercialisation is part of Christmas, so we might as well make it work for us.)

Assuming that your family takes a less mercenary view of presents, the next best thing is the wishlist. (I have about ten on Amazon, all carefully categorised. Nerdy, but necessary.)

Where to Go:

For stress free shopping, Amazon is always my first port of call – it's generally the cheapest choice for music, books and DVDs (although it's worth checking out play.com, greenmetropolis.com, and Asda and Tesco's websites for a price comparison). It also sells pretty much everything else, including jewellery, toys, gardening equipment, furniture, food and clothes. (They are taking over the world, I tell you!) The joy of doing all your Christmas shopping with a few clicks of the mouse (either lounging about in your pyjamas, or sneakily, in quiet moments at work) is enjoyably smug-making. And there is no lugging heavy bags all the way home, overheating in shops or being stuck in car park traffic.

My second favourite website to shop at is etsy.com. This fantastic site (better known in the US although it's gaining ground rapidly on this side of the pond) features goodies made by individuals; meaning you can magnanimously contribute to someone's kitchen business – how's that for seasonal cheer? You can choose from jewellery, clothes, furnishings, and paintings, among many others. The variety and homemade-ness guarantees you'll find something a little bit different from the norm.

Magazines always urge you to make your own presents, because apparently people love them so much. Which is all very nice, but in the past when I've had lofty ambitions to make gorgeous boxes of homemade fudge wrapped in satin ribbons, or sequin-encrusted accessories, I have ended up stressed, and with a tighter schedule, messier house and lighter purse than I would have if I'd just bunged a CD in a bag. Plus, I don't think people are generally as appreciative of homemade presents as you might expect. I'm sure they realise the effort you've put into it, but who wants a bag of reindeer biscuits when they were expecting a Spooks box set?

(Having said that, for the last two years I've make my mum and dad a calendar each – with pictures from icanhascheezburger.com as they are both suckers for a cute furry face. However, the making of these calendars has largely taken place late on Christmas Eve / the early hours of Christmas morning. One year, they were allowed to admire their gifts but not touch them, as the glue was still drying. Of course, this year will be different...)

Internet shopping has many advantages (not least generally lower prices) but there are drawbacks. One major problem is the time it takes to be delivered – sometimes you need something RIGHT NOW. Here are a few of my favourite shops:

* If you can face the likes of Oxford Street (sometimes I like to test myself, just to see if I really do have the necessary nerves of steel) Paperchase on Tottenham Court road will be full of inspiring ideas.

* Vinmag.com is a shop in Soho which sells fantastic movie posters, t-shirts, and all manner of things you never knew you needed, such as a "Bates motel" soap dish or a Wizard of Oz tea towel. The website has a limited selection of stock, so shopping for a movie buff may require a trip to the Big Smoke.

* Heals – hideously expensive, but you can check it out then steal their ideas. One of my favourites was a transparent plastic case, filled with lots of different sweeties in compartments. It cost about £30. The same effect could be achieved a Hobbycraft storage box and penny sweets.

What to Get:

You know all this already – but if you're in panic mode and your mind has gone blank:

* DVD Box sets: A series of must have TV (True Blood, 24, Dexter, etc) or movies. Would anyone in their right mind be disappointed in a lovely set of classic Hepburn / Bogart / Cagney films? Or you could also get the latest, "re-mastered, commentary and documentary with knobs on" DVD of a favourite film they've seen lots of times...

* CDs: Taste in music is a very personal thing, but here is where an Amazon wishlist is invaluable.

* If a member of the family is a big fan of any particular film or TV show – from Dora the Explorer to The Godfather – there will be plenty of accessories to be found – Ebay is my favourite place to find bargains.

* Experiences: OK, so it's less exciting to unwrap, but you could get a voucher for something lovely like a day at a spa, or even a zoo experience (being a keeper for a day or hanging out with the elephants). A word of caution: make sure the recipient actually wants the experience you're offering them (ie don't use this as a means of manipulating your family members; your mum is not going to want to go skydiving just because you've bought her a voucher for it).

* That old cliché, bath products, is a mixed bag. If your loved one is a fan of Lush – well, a gift box or personalised bag of favourites is a sure winner. Likewise, if Lush is a bit full-on for their tastes, there are plenty of ethically minded, goats milk and oatmeal type soapy products (see etsy!). But those generic, bubble bath and body lotion sets you see in Boots? Nope. They are suitable only as joke gifts, as in "See how much thought I *snigger* put into your gift this year."

* You have to be pretty confident that you know someone's taste before you buy them items of clothing or jewellery. (In fact, being confident doesn't necessarily mean you are right – several times my family / friends have proclaimed "I had to get this! It's SO YOU!" while presenting me with something extremely pink and sparkly. Which I would have LOVED... when I was 12.) But you could try something like gloves, a scarf, or the classic: socks. (Hey, we always need more of them!) Last year I got some fluffy slipper boots. They may be chavtasitic, but they have kept my tootsies warm all year and have been brilliantly useful.

* Cath Kidston (online and in stores nationwide) is full of lovely, vintage style fabrics, purses, towels, etc. (Warning: if you like the sound of this, only look if you have cash to splash.... you'll only be torturing yourself otherwise.)

* If all else fails, wine and chocolates. It's so trendy to be vegan / gluten intolerant / fairtrade these days, that you should be able to find something to please everybody.

Buying for Children:

No doubt advertising will have got to them and there will be a "must have" toy this year, hyped up solely to manipulate those unfortunate parents who will end up weeping at the empty shelves of Toys R Us. Or perhaps you have been nagged for a wii / wii accessories for the last 6 months? Here are a few other ideas:

* Books books books! No matter what age group you are buying for, books are such a wonderful investment; I cannot recommend them enough. Even if they are disdainfully tossed aside on Christmas morning, there may be a rainy Sunday a few months later when that paperback suddenly becomes riveting. And I sometimes want to buy young children's books purely for the beautiful illustrations.

* www.insectlore.com sells eco-aquariums; you can learn about frogs, breed butterflies and hatch your own praying mantis. (Only give these if mum and dad are happy for creepy crawlies to join the family...)

* When shopping for small girls, Claire's accessories is a veritable orgy of pink, glittery, Hello Kitty goodness.

* Hawkins bazaar (www.hawkin.com) sells a fantastic range of stocking fillers for children and adults. It is really quite brilliant, with all those classic toys you had forgotten about – rubiks cubes, slinkies, and etcha sketch. (Am I taking you back to your childhood yet?)

* Again, chocolate (especially in Christmassy shapes like Santas and reindeer) will always be a winner.

The Shopping Itself

* They may seem hellish but malls are the best way to go. For one thing, you won't have to take an umbrella or keep taking your coat off. In fact, my No. 1 TOP TIP is to go without a coat; wear just a thin t-shirt. (I'm assuming you can actually drive and park at said mall.) Getting overheated and panicky in stuffy, packed shops is what makes the whole experience uncomfortable; being cool and calm and not having to carry a bulky jacket will make the day so much more palatable.

* Within an hour of the shops opening or closing are the best times to shop without crowds (with the notable exception of 5pm on Christmas eve).

* Wear comfortable shoes – duh.

* Use the lightest handbag you can manage.

* Shop on a full stomach. Hunger pangs and the subsequent headache make me *Very. Irritable. Indeed.* Queues and braindead shop assistants will only exacerbate the situation.

* Little and often may be more convenient, (especially if you live or work nears a good set of shops) or you might prefer to just get it over with in one long, tiring day (although you may find you quite enjoy it once you get going).

One last tip: See as many family members AFTER Christmas as you can, that way you can delay shopping for them. The shops may be heaving again in January but at least you might get some bargains. Good luck!

Sunday 31 October 2010

This one's for the labbies....

I'm not scared of skeletons, because I have one inside me :-)

Happy Halloween everyone!

It seems appropriate today to pay homage to my favourite company in the world – Black Phoenix Alchemy Lab. For the uninitiated, they are an independent perfume company based in LA. How could a mere perfume company invade my life so? Let me explain...

I first came across the website in the year of its birth, 2004, and was overwhelmed by the range of scents (which has now surely quadrupled in volume). It may seem odd – who buys PERFUME on the internet, without sniffing it first? Crazy people, that’s who. But my fellow Bpallers (aka the forumites) have turned out to be the most interesting, intelligent, knowledgeable, quirky bunch I have ever come across in one (virtual) place. We are also very spoilt, in that Elizabeth Barrial, the genius behind the olfactory creations, takes an active part in conversations.

Before discovering BPAL, I barely knew the names of any flowers, and I don't think I'd even heard of ambergris (much less where it came from). I was scent illiterate. Being into perfume seems to “trained” my nose to be more sensitive, which can have its downside, (especially on public transport); unless others around you have some nose skills, your perfume may be underappreciated. It’s a running joke on the forums that the most complex, evocative, and sophisticated scents will inevitably draw compliments likening them to either baby powder or incense.

Of course, everyone’s noses – and chemistries – are different. To me, saffron smells like wee, booze turns rancid and several scents which seem universally popular with other Bpallers smell like nail varnish or old glue on me. Equally there are some scents which I may only indulge in when in the privacy of my own home; I love the delicious, warm, rum-and-lime-cookies scent of Mr Nancy – an oil inspired by the character from Neil Gaiman‘s Anansi Boys. However, being able to pick out the subtleties of the notes is no consolation when you are doomed to smell like curry to the uneducated noses of your colleagues.

The company also exudes a generosity of spirit; ok, so they tempt us with “limited editions” which we will hoard (the alternative is haunting Ebay for that must-have bottle) but they also send a generous amount of freebies out with each order – not only “imps” of the perfume, but pens and postcards too. As a business model, I must admit I admire the “free sample” option as opposed to the tired old “3 for 2” you get at your local department store. It suggests that the proprietor actually has faith in their products – try it once, and you’ll love it forever.

And love them you will... All other perfumes seem chemically and tinny in comparison. There is a massive variety, not only scent-wise (from delightfully dark, gloopy, foody concoctions to the lightest of Carribean breezes) but in terms of the concepts involved. I have learned about lady pirates, the book of Revelation, a million myths and legends, fairy tales I had long forgotten, and literature I had never heard of, thanks to the ever-changing inspirations behind the company. BPAL makes me realise how under-educated I am, while inspiring me to learn more. (Not to mention feeling more intelligent just for knowing that Dana O'Shee isn't a person...) I could browse the site for hours, reading poems, trying to commit every Greek legend to memory and wishing I had read more of Shakespeare.

The current Halloweenie scents are available until late November, and the Yules have just been released – comprising some old favourites as well as those based upon this year's themes; A Christmas Carol and The Nutcracker. Have moicy! My credit card gently weeps...

Thursday 28 October 2010

Candy and costumes? My kind of festival....


I grew up in a Christian family in the 1980s, a time when aromatherapy was feared, Child's Play was considered a video nasty, and acupuncture was the work of the devil. (Actually if you ask a Baptist, they would probably confirm that these are indeed gateways to hell.) Naturally, Halloween was deemed the very height of this worldly love of all things occult. (Of course, these days we also have Harry Potter.) 

I think many Christians have by now accepted the festival as a necessary “evil”. (In the US it has long been considered a harmless staple of the season by even the most God-fearin' folks.) But there's still a tendency among churches to throw “anti-Halloween” parties (with the enticing essentials of every Christian party: quiche and orange squash).

Is this really necessary? I find it kind of sad that so many Christians are so scared of everything. Yes, you should be on your guard against being be sucked into a non-Christian way of life. However, I don’t see Christians having "anti-porn parties," or publicly boycotting unethical companies – arguably far more harmful lures to the easily led. So why the obsession that we are all going to be converted over to the dark side?

Wiccans celebrate Samhain, which is considered to be the time of year when “the veil thins” between this world and the supernatural. As a festival of “darkness”, it’s balanced at the opposite point of the wheel by the spring festival of Beltane (a celebration of light and fertility).

The following day is considered by the church to be the Day of All Souls – in which we can pray for those who have departed, and who knows, maybe they'll pray for us too. In a similar vein, Mexican Catholics celebrate Día de los Muertos (Day of the Dead). This involves making altars to honour dead relatives, with offerings of candy, flowers and their favourite foods. Maybe I’m turning into an emo in my old age, but this seems to me rather sweet. 

Halloween isn’t going to go away – in fact, its presence in the UK is increasing every year. So why don’t we just embrace it? In fact, if we take control now we can totally hijack it. Everyone complains that Christians nicked Yule, so we might as well just go for the full monty of pagan festivals – it’s already been commercialised beyond all recognition. Nobody said it has to be dark and disturbing. We can either use it to actually honour the dead – and our spirituality – or we can just eschew any spiritual aspect and turn it into the festival of dressing up and eating sweets. (In the US it's long been the tradition that the costume you wear can be anything that takes your fancy – while we're still lagging behind with rubber scream masks and severed hands.) In years to come, historians might be saying “Halloween was once considered to be a celebration of all that was occult and evil, then in the eary 21st century some Christians stole it..."

Sunday 17 October 2010

I Heart Music

Even cats like playing the piano. If you don't believe me, check out Youtube...

Louis Walsh, that expert of the backhanded compliment (“You are a Soulful. Little. Man.”) has perfectly encapsulated the attitude to music that I find the most foolish and pretentious. 

“Music was my big thing, my escape. It’s my passion. Simon’s not a music man like I am. He probably never listens to Bruce Springsteen . . . probably thinks he’s a painter. I love everything from Bruce to Elvis Costello, and Tammy Wynette to Dusty Springfield. I love Dusty. I’ve got 22,000 songs on my iPod.”

Wow. That is some crazy mixture, Louis. I mean, your taste ranges from, well, one incredibly famous singer to another, doesn’t it? You big doofus.

Actually, I think we're living in a particularly interesting musical era right now. The internet has paved the way for anyone to get themselves heard, with or without a record contract. And who would take on the restrictive shackles offered by a cigar-chomping record company executive, if they can sell directly to their fans and have total artistic freedom? 

There is still a quality divide between the “commercial” crap which gets the most airplay and the “alternative” (eg, good quality) music which is rarely heard outside of BBC Radio 6 (my brother is also nagging me to listen to Craig Charles’ funk and soul show, insisting that the minute I do, I will be kicking myself for not doing it earlier.) However, I’ve been pleasantly surprised at what actually gets airplay these days – the delicate strains of Rumer alongside the folksy Mumford and sons. Quality IS coming back into fashion. 

Anyway, in praise of all the fantastic music that is available today, here is my list of “songs I listen to obsessively.” (And may I also offer a sincere prayer of thanks for Spotify? Best. Invention. Evah.)

  • Trespassers William: Lie in the Sound. Proof, if it were needed, that you don’t need to do any vocal gymnastics to produce a heart-achingly beautiful sound. This gentle song apparently featured in One Tree Hill – I don’t indulge, but maybe I should. (I also find a lot of the music I like appears on the soundtrack albums for Grey’s Anatomy, so maybe I should start watching that too...?)
  • Moxy Fruvous: My Baby Loves a Bunch of Authors. Like Vampire Weekend’s Oxford Comma, this song has the ability to make me smile and possibly jig about a little bit, space allowing. It’s irresistibly tuneful and fun and needs to be heard in full to be appreciated. Anyone who can work a lyric like “Who's a funny fella? – W.P. Kinsella!” into a song which is also musically satisfying is onto a winner.
  • Tuneyards: Lions. I have no idea why I love this song so much, but I do. There is something vaguely hypnotic about the slowly shuffling beat and the nonsensical lyrics. (The chorus is just a repetition of “When you tell the lions that you love them so, you love them so, you love them so ...” ) I also like the way the lyrics veer off course and flow into an entirely different rhythm – strangely, it works. I’m a bit of a sucker for songs which sounds as if they’re expressing something beautiful, but a closer listen to the lyrics reveals a darker heart. (I was once obsessed for a couple of months by the sinister lyrics on the sweetly sung If You Go Breaking My Heart  by the excellent Danish band Hush.
  • Roisin Murphy: Ruby Blue This catchy tune will get stuck in your head forever – so why have I never heard it on a dancefloor? Distorted guitars and handclaps sound simple, but combine to electrifying effect....OK, you just have to hear it for yourself.
  • Wallis Bird: The Sunshine Song – if you can avoid tapping your toes when listening to this, you may be made of stone. It is indeed full of the musical equivalent of sunshine, sparkles and rainbows.
  • She Keeps Bees are a band which sound like The Black Keys, but with a female vocalist who sounds a bit like Sia, if Sia had been raised in the deep South, pouring Bourbon over her cornflakes and spending all her time coming up with interesting  vocal arrangements. The 2009  album is consistently awesome, but I am particularly partial to Gimme.
  • I’m also a little bit obsessed by Sol Seppys entire The Bells of 1 2 album. For me it conjures up slightly spooky images of hillsides sparkling with snow, a starry sky and creatures of myth and fairytale. I also like the way you can hear her London accent in her singing, much like the wonderful, woefully under-publicised VV Brown.
  • Emiliana Torrini: Jungle Drum makes it onto my “obsessive” list – it’s an impossibly infectious, unique track which is guaranteed to lift your spirits. It’s not often somebody actually vocalises the sound of a drum. Listen and you’ll see what I mean... 

Ah, there are many more, and the list grows every day. And the next time an elderly member of your family insists that there is no current music to rival the 1950s/60s/70s, just smile and play them one of these.

Tuesday 12 October 2010

I'm strictly a female female....

Apparently being a feminist means being unattractive or aggressive, or possibly both.
I am in two minds today. The culprit? Jessie J, that lovechild of Lily Allen and Lady Gaga, who has been dominating the airwaves with Do it Like a Dude. My problem with this track is that to me, it smacks of the pseudo-feminism which appears to argue that men are superior beings and women must try to be just like them.

The young lady in question has stated that the lyrics are about "male egos in the music industry", explaining that it was "tongue-in-cheek but also a middle finger up. Women can do whatever the big men in suits do who take themselves so seriously. It's an empowerment song."

Actually, I feel pretty empowered already.  Of course women can do all the stuff men can do (duh). But why would we want to?

She isn't the first to suggest imitating men as a way of "becoming" their equals. P!nk has one of the best voices in the business and is incredibly talented – but she, er, dropped the ball when she ended her Stupid Girls video with a clear choice; Sindy dolls bad, playing sport good. Because, well, boys play a lot of sport. And as it's traditionally girls who play with dolls, naturally they must be scrapped immediately. (Was there also a little irony in the fact that to parody bimbos writhing around in their underwear, she had to writhe around in her underwear…?) Despite this, I do applaud her for ridiculing the lack of political ambition among girls who end up "dancing next to 50 cent," and for generally making promos with a sense of humour about herself as well as everything else.

Luckily I have no desire to start wearing my jeans halfway down my bum, or joining in rugby club initiations involving puke, or any other traditionally male pursuits,  in order to fulfil some sort of bizarre politically correct ideal. If you disagree, you may want to consider joining pinkstinks.co.uk. It is (don't laugh) a group which campaigns to stop girls buying pink toys. I am over-simplifying of course, but you get the gist. This is odd to me because a) surely it would be more "empowering" to allow your daughter to choose whatever colour she likes, b) pink has only been considered a "girl's" colour for about 70 years and c) I'd have thought that for those raising a daughter in 2010, her liking the colour pink would be the least of your problems.  Displacement activity, anyone?

However, in the research for this mini-rant I came across something which made me want to say "Please disregard every bad thing I ever said about Jessie J." Once I had heard the acoustic version I was floored. In comparison, the production of the radio release doesn't even begin to do justice to her vocal talent. The girl is freaking incredible. A star is born.