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Showing posts from September, 2010

Thank you, advertising

For reviving me from the slough of meh I have been wandering aimlessly through of late, a smallish sign of life, but a significant one nonetheless. Why yes, dear reader, I was yelling at the telly! And the object of my ire? Well, an advert, obv. It was for some sort of yoghurt. The basic premise was two pretty-ish middle class sorts enjoying their yoghurts on a balcony, as that's what pretty-ish middle class sorts do, I am given to understand. Tra la la, they cried, fiddle de dee, when I'm done with this yoghurt I shall probably be off down some cobbled streets on me bike with a basket on the front, well nourished middle class hair streaming behind me, to meet my boyfriend, who is most probably called either Toby or Jamie; and then we'll toddle off to watch and fail to comprehend something by Fellini or Kurosawa, someone foreign anyway. Tra la la, how nice to be me. I may be extrapolating somewhat, but hey. Anyhow, one of these pretty-ish middle class sorts knocks a pot

The soothing dullness of the prosaic

First up thanks to all for kind thoughts, words and deeds. It's all much appreciated (though those words do the degree of a appreciation a gross injustice). It's impossible, I feel, to adequately convey a reaction or emotion under this sort of circumstance. One of the reasons I chose not to speak at the funeral is that every sentiment sounds like a Hallmark card, it sticks in my throat, it doesn't seem enough, somehow, and I loathe retreating into the prosaic, the rote, the truism. It seems like I'm doing him down by not coming up with something better. But hey, truism alert, life goes on. So it does, this is incontrovertible. Seasons turn yadda yadda yadda. Save it for the film of the book of the film if you please, doubtless the heroine will love again, her boyfriend from the first scene's still bleeding dead though, isn't he? So no "moving on" (appalling phrase) is something I don't see occuring any time soon. But, but, see above. Life goes o

Just stop for a fucking second, okay?

Hi I am in two minds about this post, well, three, possibly four. A couple of years ago I'd have dived (dove?) right in but I have, as I have alluded to below, become uncomfortable with getting into stuff on the internet to any great extent. There're manifold reasons for this unease; I am primarily a paper and pen man when all's said and done, simply as there's clearly more effort involved, writing someone a letter is invested with equal gravitas to clicking "like" on fucking facebook and that simply isn't right to my elderly mind, there's too much unseemly display on the net, too much assumption that the minutiae of one's existence matters beyond the breakfast bowl. Too much self, simply put. My brother's dead. You see? Now this is news. Certainly is to me and my grieving, thunderstruck family. Is it right to put this on the internet? It's highly possibly that you will tab away from the news of my beautiful brother's d