Archive | April, 2010

Where’s My Goddamn Plaque?

27 Apr

Foreword: Apparently there is not enough room for two blogs in my life. This is what I have been doing in the mean time and yes, it goes against all my morals.

Well done to my amazing friend Pickle who completed the London marathon along with golf ball sized blood blisters, in a matter of hours on Sunday. Considering she smokes like an 18th century locomotive and had her last cigarette at 6pm the night before, I’d say that finishing the race in less than 10 hours was a straight up miracle.

Of course I am jesting Luce. You are the greatest.

After caressing her quads of steel, I have pretty much decided that I will run the thing myself next year, and in the last 24 hours have made a binding verbal contract with my brother who has vowed to do it with me. This is good, because a bit of sibling rivalry goes a long way these days and at last we’ll be competing for a place in the fastboat rather than the failboat. Amazing.

I’m not going to lie, in my youth I was a first-rate athlete. Not many folk can say they won the national indoor speed bounce championship aged 11. Nor, could they say they broke the Wessex record for 70 metre hurdles aged 15. Is Wessex even a place? I don’t know and nor do I care with a goddamn achievement like that. My face nearly got put on the school crest. I am a champion, someone mentally high-five me right now.

But my friends, I have a problem. I moved to London nearly 3 years ago and have been sitting in a grey chair ever since. I am reluctant to admit this, but I’m going to estimate that my metabolism rate has halved since getting here. This means, I am no longer officially classed as an athlete, apart from in my own head. Although I know this is the place where it matters most, it has begun to cause me a few problems and recently I’ve found I’ve had to lie quite a lot when talking about things like PB’s (if you know what this is, high-five. If you don’t, it means Personal Best’s) and stamina, to make me sound like I’m still in decent shape.

My friend’s boyfriend asked me the other day; in how many minutes can I run a mile? First off, who the hell counts Dave?? Secondly, I had to approximate and if there’s one thing in the world I hate, it’s approximating. Someone clearly got bored with trying to find out the actual answer one day and so invented the word approximate. Well done them. But that’s not important right now. The athlete ego-maniac in me told Dave I could run a mile in 5 minutes. This, I have since found out, is 1 minute more than record breaker Roger Bannister, who did it in 4 minutes in 1954 and then nearly died. Anyway, Dave obviously felt a bit competitive after hearing this and being a pentathlete himself, suggested we go running together. There aren’t enough excuses in the world for this kind of thing! So, I have had to put him off for a few weeks while I devise a training programme for myself that will allow me to casually beat him.

I had a bad start on Saturday because I was overtaken by someone running in jeans. Luckily, I rectified this and managed 3 laps round Clissold Park which felt like Christmas. Christmas in my face.

Anyway my point is this: I could let loose a whole load of adjectives about how great I used to be at sport but I guess I know I’m really growing up, now that pace only counts when I’m drinking.


A Damn Fine Cup of Coffee

5 Apr

This weekend has been a strange one.  I’m not going to lie, the standards at home have slipped since the last time in was here.  Home cooked food? The only thing I have eaten that has come out of the oven is two watery baked potatoes and a chicken kiev with a hellish bone in it. The rest of the time I’ve been living off mini-eggs and now I feel like I want to brush my teeth all the time and then die.  Also, my brother is playing some sick mind game with my parents by moving out, but then accidentally spending more time at home than he has ever done before. Right now he is microwaving sausages and watching Deadly North Sea in the kitchen.  This is probably because he got pissed last night and tried to cook a rabbit in his own microwave or something. I don’t know. Remember that time when I wrote about Aggie the dog consuming the whole interior of the house? Well it’s been exactly a year since she ate my leather boots and it’s like bloody ground hog day. Easter day 2009, I spent the day clearing up her vomit. Easter day 2010 I spent the day clearing up her vomit.  Things are getting out of control and thus far, I can see that the problem is this: My parents have become obsessed with Mad Men.

Apart from the chaos, this is ok because Mad Men is like the coolest programme on T.V right now.  I am also glad because my convert mission is beginning to work.  Too many of my friends and family don’t watch Mad Men and it’s a bloody tragedy.  So ignore all that crap about the Easter failings in my family home, because the real reason I am staying in on a bank holiday to update my blog is to educate the world on Mad Men.

Don Draper. I so would.

Let’s just get one thing straight, Don is unfaithful to his wife and he likes to establish this about 4 times per episode.  He is junior partner at Sterling-Cooper ad agency and soon to be partner depending on where you’re at with this thing.  He is responsible for coming up with slogans such as ‘A damn fine cup of coffee’ for a diner that sells, well coffee.  Don is a great father.  He is slowly killing his children by breathing alcohol fumes all over their bed sheets as he kisses them goodnight, and sometimes jokes about his daughter Sally being a lesbian.  He is slowly going from hero to zero in his wife’s eyes since she found out about his secret past, the one where his father was a hillbilly and his family poorer than a coop of chickens.

Peggy Olson has gone down in my opinion since she shagged that knob-end Duck Phillips.  She is Copywriter at Sterling-Cooper and has had an unknown pregnancy, mental breakdown and a whole bunch of other drama to deal with since series 1.  Her taste in men is atrocious but I am hoping that some hot old dude is going to come and whisk her away to a farm upstate, next door to J. D Salinger, where she becomes the subject of his next novel. (He would have been alive in those days you see and probably would have taken a likening to Peggy’s weird lego fringe)

Betty Draper is Don’s estranged wife.  One of Betty’s hero moments was early on when she took out a shot gun and fired a round of bullets at her neighbour’s pigeons.  This was when she wasn’t a demon so it was quite unexpected.  She ignores her kids like, all the time and in this one episode I watched yesterday, fed them 3 fish fingers and half a can of tinned peas each, which is pretty much the worst dinner in human history.  Certainly her mothering techniques should be commended. As I said before, she has just found out about Don’s pauper past and now thinks he, “doesn’t really understand money” so is probably going to bugger off with someone who does.  Family literally hasn’t been this dreadful since I came home for Easter.

Goddamit I love Roger Sterling! Look at that silver fox.

Roger treats all girls, apart from his ex-wife and his daughter, real nice.  He is senior partner at Sterling-Cooper and has a strange relationship with Bert Cooper that I don’t really get, so won’t go into.  He had an ongoing affair with Joan until his excessive smoking, drinking and shagging gave him two heart attacks which frightened him to death (not literally, thank god), so he put an end to it.  They are pretty much meant for each other though and I wish Jane would fuck off.  I’d love to work with Roger.  I imagine he’d tell me I’d done a great job and then give me a little pat on the butt cheek which would totally be ok.

Joan Holloway has the best figure in the entire world and could make cupro look sexy.  She is actually Joan Harris in season 3, but that’s not important right now because her new husband is a douche and I’m holding out for a Roger-Joanie reunion.  She used to be the fairy-godmother at Sterling-Cooper and is so intelligent and witty, she should be a regular participant on Q.I because she would know all the answers.  If I have to stay in my current role at work for much longer, I am going to turn myself into Joan and see what happens.

He actually looks pretty happy here but Pete Campbell sure cries a lot.  Pete, amongst other things is: a blackmailer, a snob, an adulterer, an almost rapist, a liar, a thief, a racist, a cry baby and always makes a massive tit of himself which is great.  Basically, he’s a prick.  His wife Trudy is also a bit of a wet blanket and gets all pissy when Pete can’t give her a child.  Funny that he can give Peggy one though? Anyway, my point is that Mad Men is Pete’s show and the other characters are just there to humour him.  One day, Pete will take over the world and by 1993 he’ll be transported around in a magnetic levitation train stroking a white cat. This is why he is my favourite character.

Catch Mad Men on BBC4, Wednesday @ 10pm. But actually, probably buy series 1 and 2 on DVD and watch them first.