Friday 30 March 2007

On why we are a nation of criminals

They say that in order for a person to be trustworthy they must be trusted. There is a whole issue here about who this ‘they’ are but, putting that aside for the moment, the fact is that on a personal and national level people are simply not trusted with the little things in life. It stands to reason then that inevitably we are not trustworthy, and thus begins our lives of petty misdemeanour.
A few glaring examples of this lack of trust glared at me today. The first one was painkillers. We all need painkillers. Me especially as all this reckless dancing has led to a recklessly painful shoulder injury. Yet, on strolling into my local supermarket I am only offered a pack of 16 painkillers (ibuprofen being my drug of choice). Why? Because we might take it into our heads to consume more than 16 and therefore do ourselves irreparable damage. The powers that be (akin to the aforementioned ‘they’) do not trust us. The immediate reaction of anyone suffering pain, or even someone who thinks that one day they may suffer, is to try and buy more than 16 pills. I, like any sane person begin to visit every local and not so local emporium in the search of drugs. Only after having driven many miles (thus contributing in no uncertain way to global warming; another petty crime) and buying the full allowance from the Coop, Asda, Tesco, Waitrose, M&S and any other multinational that fell into my path am I satisfied. Now, should I so desire I could take a serious overdose of ibuprofen and thus top myself should the pain become unbearable. This, you understand is most likely illegal. Sadly it transpires that it is also impossible as an overdose of anti-inflammatories will only leave one extremely uninflamed. Tomorrow I’m going for the paracetamol.
Another glaring example is showers. Showers in public places. Or in my case expensive private gyms. They have a button. You can’t just turn them on and off. No, they believe that once you have turned them on you will never turn them off. Thus you will use all their hot water, all their water, all the nation’s water, all the world’s water and we will all die from lack of water. So they turn off by themselves. Not randomly. They wait until you have shampoo in your eyes and then turn off. This shows a striking lack of trust and many a gym goer has been seen pressing the button just as they leave the shower, or simply pressing the button and running away shrieking ‘te he!’ Or spending vast resources inventing robots that will go into gym showers and turn them on and then run away shrieking ‘te he!’
Please Mr/Ms They, we are mostly grown-ups, (and those of us who are not sometimes aspire to be) let us wash and kill ourselves in peace.

Thursday 29 March 2007

How to tell what a man is like in bed without sleeping with him

How to tell what a man is like in bed without sleeping with him or removing any clothing or even knowing his name.

The answer is fairly simple – dance with them. Having experienced three tango lessons now I can say with confidence that I have learnt a lot. And not just about taking long slow steps that hesitate slightly in the middle. Nor just about following the sway of my partners’ body. Nor just about trying to stay upright whilst wearing high-heeled slippery-soled shoes. Nor even the location of the village hall where all this happens.
Here’s how it works – in the class we have to practice whatever complex, confusing and frightening steps we are being taught. Not only that but we are supposed to do it in time to the music. Well that is obvious I suppose. But after each bit we have to swap partners. This is where it gets interesting (and confusing). The steps are supposed to be the same but the execution is extraordinarily different. For those who have never tangoed (and I know there are a lot of you out there) let me just emphasise the crux, nub and very essential thing about tango – the man leads and the woman follows. This is the key to what I’m saying re bed-style.
Each leader (man, or actually in some cases woman, but that’s another story) has a very individual technique:
There are those who control their partners in a vice-like grip as if they are driving a wayward JCB, intent on simply getting to the other side of the room. Ladies, I think we have all been there.
Then there are the loose, lax types, floopping across the dance floor in a languid fashion with scant attention to either beat or rhythm, whose embrace resembles flobbling jellyfish. Sadly the dance equivalent of Viagra is yet to be invented
Another might appear to be leading with finesse but then spoil the whole effect by painful foot stomping, muttered curses and blaming the partner for a lack of experience, trying to lead herself and being too controlling. Again the equivalent of marriage guidance appears unavailable to the amateur artiste.
At this point any follower may be tempted to pack up her twinkley shoes and depart post-haste, but we don’t want to look impolite. But ladies, do not despair! In amongst the JCB drivers the flobbelers and the stompers there are some guys who know stuff that is only imaginable by those of excellent imagination.
Yes, he may look slightly tired and not a little greying but lo! He takes your hand with the gentleness of a saint, wraps his arm around your back with the confidence of a Greek God. Without you having to even breathe you have been propelled across the worn wooden planks with breathtaking ease and precision. Steps you haven’t even been taught suddenly come as easily as falling asleep whilst listening to the Archers. He moves you slowly, then quickly then, just when you weren’t expecting it…stops, leaving you balanced in mid-step aching for the next move. Just when you can take no more he thrusts forward leaving you swirling in a way you wish all swirling were. When he leaves you at the other end of the hall with a polite smile you are left only to wonder what the hell happened there. And what his name is. And where he lives. And how the hell he learnt to do that.

Wednesday 28 March 2007

The First 19

50 Things To Do Before I’m 50

Apropos a conversation in work with my colleague I have decided that it would be a good idea to have some ambition in life. He was collating a list of things he should do before he was 30 (or before sometime or another). His list included getting arrested and taking hallucinogenic drugs. Since I’ve already done these things my list is going to have to be more ambitious. Haven’t thought of the full 50 yet, but here are some –

  • Do a press-up without collapsing in an undignified heap
    Bake a cake without forgetting it’s in the oven and burning it
    Play the chord of F (F is for fuck-this-is-a-difficult-chord)
    ‘The Head of the Cow’ (obscure yoga pose)
    Get married
    Learn to Salsa Dance
    Drive all the way around Coryton roundabout without stopping for a red light
    Learn to Dance (heavily influenced by watching ‘Shall We Dance’ last night)
    Finish my novel
    Walk into a room and remember why I’m there
    Get my novels published
    Understand what a comma splice is
    Be a famous and rich novelist
    Empathise with slugs
    Make love in a swimming pool/lake/body of water that isn’t the bath
    Ski
    Like olives
    Remember where I have put the car keys
    Write a blog (yay- started that)

    Anyone got any more suggestions for the really important things in life that shouldn’t be missed out on?