January 2012
26 posts
The Dictionary according to Channel 5.
Celebrity: Vacuous human being, self-obsessed yet devoid of any obvious talent or personality - despite, in a contradictory fashion, often citing their chosen profession as ‘TV personality’.
Flu v cold.
Why are people so obsessed with putting a label on what’s making someone cough and splutter and sneeze?
I’m ill. I have a temperature, sore head, bunged up nose, sore throat, horrifically bad cough (seriously - I coughed so much I actually threw up. I was just relieved not to see a lung.) and my muscles hurt so bad that I feel like I’ve been given a kicking.
Everyone wants to know if it’s flu or ‘just a cold’. Just a cold? Have you seen the state of me?
I don’t care if it’s bloody bubonic plague. I feel like shit. What you call it isn’t going to change that. Nor will it change what I should be doing.
Oh, it’s a cold – get some rest, drink plenty of fluids, get medicated lozenges for your throat, try a decongestant …
Oh, it’s flu – get some rest, drink plenty of fluids and yada, yada, yada.
As far as I can see, the only impact the cold or flu label has is on the level of sympathy you get.
So I’ve got flu. Definitely. It might even be swine flu …
starry starry night.
“You didn’t need to do this.”
“Probably not. Might not again if that’s the thanks I get.”
But she knew by the twinkle in his eye that he was only joking. It didn’t stop her going to him though. Or taking his hands and standing on tiptoe to kiss the corner of his mouth softly.
“Thank you.” Her voice low and the words sincere, saying so much more. Then she was pulling back just a little, tugging her sleeves over her hands and feeling strangely self-conscious. “I must look a mess,” she said, managing a little almost-laugh as she ran a hand through long dark locks.
“But you’re my mess,” he shrugged, offering her the ghost of a grin as he sat down on the top porch step and pulled her with him. His demeanour softening and the fingers of one hand lacing through hers. “How is she?”
The answer was a long time coming.
Looking out over the yard, lit against the growing dusk as it was with what seemed like a million tiny lights, she turned her gaze back to the dark house behind them. Her eyes naturally drifting to soft glow of the upstairs window – the only sign of life.
“Dying.” It was barely a whisper and she couldn’t look at him. “She’s dying and there’s nothing I can do.”
And then she simply leaned in against him, her head on his shoulder as they watched the darkness fall.
Productivity’s over-rated.
Starting the New Year with a cold that convinces you coughing up a lung is not only possible but imminent is not exactly conducive to getting a whole lot of anything done.
So it’s a good job I’m not the type to indulge in an arm-length list of well-intentioned to-dos.
Some might say that’s lazy – I prefer realistically practical. And hey, who’s the one who spent the time they could have used being productive drawing up a list of how to be productive, instead of actually being productive?
Ha, joke’s on you!
Blurring boundaries.
More bad news related to those dreaded words: the economic downturn. Surely the economy has long-since turned down, but I digress.
A charity has claimed that UK families with children will be hardest hit by the latest government austerity measures, with a drop of £1,250 a year in affected household incomes.
The Beeb immediately reports said news – and illustrates it with a picture of Bianca from EastEnders (the redheaded rent-a-gob) and her brood of four stroppy children.
And they say the news isn’t dumbing down.
Or maybe in these cash-strapped times, even that bastion of public service broadcasting needs to resort to a little cross-promotion.
Because of course if you’re worried about how to put food on the table for your own little darlings, you’ll naturally be roused from your penny-counting with that all-important mantra in a time of fiscal crisis: “Ooh, I must remember EastEnders is on tonight …”
Still, if money worries are getting you down, it could always be worse. You could be married to Ricky Butcher.
My god, is nothing sacred?
Brace yourself, it turns out the Wendi Deng verified Twitter account is … fake!
So it turns out nothing on the interwebz can be taken as gospel - not even those little blue ticks. *gasp*
I just don’t know where we go from here.
