You see, using the lyric as a message only works if the person to whom it’s addressed recognises it as such and responds. Are you listening, Naomi Campbell?! (The featured artist, btw? The 1990s) And I just happen to think the start of Spring is the perfect time to buy Post-Its (and no other commercially available sticky notepads are anywhere near as good, so up yours Compliance!)
And to all those women out there who think I get people to do everything for me…….No. Not everything. Phwaor.
But there is a spliffing woman in a shop on the Maryhill Road that sews on buttons for me. On my blazer. She’s hot.
But, anyway, I never wanted to work for Sky Sports anyway. Anyway, big man, by the way, Kenny. Totally wizard.
To me, the original bandwagonjumping Sky thing was not about sexism, but minionism; being deliberately derogatory towards someone because they do something below your ‘exalted’ status, or you don’t understand their role in things. I wouldn’t be alive today if it weren’t for the porters, auxiliaries, para-medics and nurses of the drying out ward that is Gartnavel General Ward 8a; and that is before I encountered the others who helped me with my cancer.
Skippy, it’s okay. I can compensate for having too many of the yellow ones, by not having so many green ones. I’ll be fine. The rant is over.
No, it’s been a jilly interesting week.
Coffee with the Vampire Slayer, but what is said in the coffin stays in the coffin and your cool mum’s got some awfully interesting friends. And just the right height. And I’m often in that oil and vinegar shop. Have you ever tried to shoplift good virgin olive oil? It’s just so messy.
And Missie K, I often have that sinking feeling but you are my local hero cos you bring me comfort and joy. (Cheesy but good, eh?) And I’ve said this before but my fave bits in Gregory’s Girl apart from Clare Grogan, are the penguin, Chic Murray as the headmaster, Billy Greenlees (?) as the home economics student and Dave Anderson as Gregory’s dad who never sees his son except when he almost runs him down. Mr Anderson once called Son Brian ‘bambino’.
And to my ex-wife/son’s mum/accountant….yes, I do know there’s a difference between me slow cooking something and me accidentally switching the cooker off, but I admire your perspicacity when, on being told that a mutual friend (therainforestriverman) was a year or so younger than me, you replied; ‘What? He’s only 41? He looks so much older’.
No. No reason.
And in these non-sexist days can I re-assure e that, that afternoon in Hillhead Library, I did not go to the window with AJ and look at the nice ladies and say, ‘Six out of ten. Seven out of ten. I would. I have.’
And I just wonder what I would shout if it was a female assistant referee at Firhill one Saturday afternoon or might I get away with it because of the post-modernist irony involved? Or a man with a bald head.
And don’t ask me about Michelle Mone’s request to keep her private life well, private, in the five part story of her life in this week’s Times of Evening. Has she done Loose Women yet?
Sorry. I don’t know quite why I’m in a bit of a mood like this, cos it’s been a good week in many ways. I just don’t see sexism as ‘the last taboo’ but then maybe it’s because I, as an alcoholic, was called ‘scum’ to my face cos of that (but I think I’ve proved that person wrong as an individual) but I know how disparaging others are towards those of my ilk – have you ever described someone as ‘a bit of an alkie’? I know I used to. Then I became the full monty.
No. I don’t mean I dressed up as a fireman, Sam, and took all my clothes off to a crowd of baying women – and a very strange man standing on his own in the back row with his hands in his pockets.
And finally, I do not look like John Bishop. I am much better looking, amn’t I girls?
cya, keep(ing) it fun and still wearing that badge? Yes.
‘Sorry? What does the badge say?’ Sex God. And it was bought by a woman. A very intelligent woman. And fit. Very.
What?…… She runs. Okay? What did you think I meant? Jeeeez! But she is that as well.
Johnt850, with Jon Hamm’s jawline, Jude Law’s nose and the hair of George Clooney.
Y’see I saw a BBC 3 prog during the week about a twenty one year old woman described as ‘Britain’s biggest alcoholic’ – a title she received after being banned from every pub in England and Wales. It was about how she turned her life around with the help of a private clinic in Portugal and how she came out determined to stay sober for the rest of her life. For a twenty one year old, that’s one helluva big decision.
But I was saying to folk that what marked such an amazing feat for me was the difference to her skin and her hair when she came out of re-hab; she looked so much better. For me, it was my nails. On my hand.
No. Sexism is not the last taboo. Being judgemental without hearing the evidence is far worse. I’m not defending Keys and Gray. Far from it. I just wish I’d heard the Assistant Referees’ Association asking what TV commentators actually know about the offside rule. I think the right target was hit, but not for the right reason.
But in conclusion, and with absolutely no connection, really well done to the gorgeous Ms W, (and I would clean out the shed first. Honest. Or I could get a second shed. Or I could get a second opinion. The blogmeister’s. A pic of my shed will be winging its way to him soon time)
Anyway, W, I know that one of your, em, ensemble has not been well recently. This is for him. It’s hardcore; it’s heavy; it’s slammin’; it’s outrageoulsy sexist; it’s the original; but it’s still the best!