I t was Oscar Wilde who wrote “the only thing worse than being talked about is not being talked about”. I have nothing more to add other than to share the following, posted on Tabloid Watch - the website which purports to blog about “bad journalism”. It is in response to Friday's report in the Express putting our money where our mouths are when it comes to reporting the weather. Predictably it follows their usual style of pointless drivel. Point the critical finger guys, be my guest, it does make me chuckle - but while you are doing so, be very careful someone doesn’t have cause to point it firmly back at you.
I know that hair, I thought to myself as I passed London’s Monument on the way home from work. Those ridiculously elongated, spiky locks, wacky costumes and irritating voices were an immediate giveaway. And of course it only took me a second to recognise Jedward – the X-Factor twins whose ludicrous image and inability to hold a note have propelled them to (semi) fame. I have nothing against them, I am only being mean, and credit where it’s due, they are fiercely determined, and have built up a pretty unique act for themselves. So well done brothers Grimes. But it has to be said, the act is based around being cringe-worthingly bad at everything they try. They only made it through on the X-Factor because Simon Cowell was won over by their determination and self-belief – and let’s face it, that is really all it takes. At one point during the sing off with another band, they barged their way to the front and took over, throwing the other (better) act into the...
It’s been three weeks since Boris unshackled most of the UK from a year and a half of Covid incarceration. We are now ‘free’, whatever that means, because it feels anything but. What was I expecting? Street parties, jubilant crowds running the streets, mask-burnings, a national celebration with Gary Barlow freedom anthem live from Hyde Park? I’m not sure. But certainly not this. I’ve emerged into a strange new world I must navigate with unremitting caution, one eye trained sniper-like on a microbial menace muscling in on my every move. I can go out and do things but must be ‘sensible’; I can meet friends, but even when we’re off the isolation hook, will spend days waiting for ‘the ping’; and while I’m no longer obliged to mask-up, only piggishly selfish and inconsiderate bottom-holes parade supermarket aisles shamelessly flaunting unguarded, disease-spewing cavities. (pic: Matt Seymour. C/o Unsplash) We’re trapped in a not-really-post-apocalyptic limbo. Everything we do comes wit...
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