Apparently the Prime Minister is away enjoying his Christmas with one of the Bee Gees. I know this because the Daily Mail has been getting itself into one of its regular lathers about the lavish decadence of the Blairs. The Blairs had the good fortune to be at a party where there were in attendance, not just ordinary common or garden decent, everyday, upstanding, ordinary British, decent lesbians, but "leather-clad lipstick lesbians". Along with glamorous sapphists, there were also drag queens and a druid priestess ! Wow... Now that to me sounds like a fantastic evening, but to the Mail the presence of the PM and his missus at such a fabulous gathering is "mind-boggling." I'm sure I can't be the only dull thirtysomething from the provinces who has in his time been at parties with all the above. Admittedly probably never all that same time, but then I'm not a friend of the Gibb brothers. I do know a bisexual Witch. That's not a value judgement on the woman's character, it's just her religion.
I know as a Guardian reader, (and therefore responsible for the downfall of western civilisation as we know it- ooh it's like Caligula round our way let me tell you) I'm meant to despise the Mail and all its works but I just can't bring myself to. It's just too hilarious to be truly hateful. As the house journal of the Muggles Union it does give me an insight into the psyche of your average cave dwelling little Englander and it's a dark and grim old continent. I pity them more than hate them, they seem to have this deep thread of inner sadness running through their existence, and are overflowing with bitterness about just about everything interesting. That can't be healthy can it? Yorkshire Post and Northern Echo readers in these parts I think must inhabit a similar world. What you can't take away from the Mail is the fact it knows its audience and gives them what they want. It's also very well written. Good luck to them. It gives me a regular chuckle and lets me realise that there are a minority of people in this country with whom I have no more in common with than the fact we appear to have heads. As long as they don't bug me I'm happy for them to lead their lives as they see fit. Anyway, Rach and I made a unilateral declaration of independence earlier in the year so we are in fact a sovereign nation in our own right. It's a right old Shangri-La as well. You're welcome to visit as long as all your papers are in order and have nothing to declare except your fabulousness. All that aside, I hope the Blairs are enjoying their break at their mates house. That's what you do at Christmas isn't it ? Go stay with the friends and family. It's not their fault that their friends are richer and have better parties than those of your average Daily Mail reader. Surely being jealous of that fact smacks of the "politics of envy". This as the Daily Mail and the Tories repeatedly told us throughout the 80s and 90s is a BAD THING. Get over yourself, have a Quality Street. Nip out to the garden centre and get your dinner. There must be an offer on.
Speaking of chocolate I seem to be existing on a diet of Toblerone and coffee at present. What's more I appear to have actually lost weight over Christmas. This I put down to the gastric flu and my insistence on not having a third portion on Christmas day. The energy expended on the swings must have burnt off a couple of calories as well.
There have been some splendid adverts on the TV of late. Rach and I are particularly fond of a low budget number for something called "Mandles Candles ". Just how good is that ? When Mr Mandle was thinking of going into business he must have run through a number of products he could have manufactured.
"How about curtain swags ? Nah, Mandles Swags, just doesn't scan... or we could do occassional tables ? Mandles Occassionals...better but just not right... wait a minute... I've got it !"
And thus, Mandles Candles were born. Not sure how they differ from the all the usual candlles we seem to have filled our glamorous hovel with but they sound fantastic. Rach and I wondered if you could buy handles for your mandles candles or whether or not you should wear sandals whilst lighting your mandles candles (I never take mine off, what with reading the Guardian and everything...mind you they are Birkenstock ;-) )
The other advert we really enjoy is that one for Ernest Jones the jeweller where a glamorous lady is trying on her little black dress whilst her fresh faced open-necked(hey he's smart, but he's not stuffy ) yet suited partner looks at his watch and wonders just how long his lovely lady is going to take. To really increase the pressure the taxi driver has arrived outside their refined town house and is impatient for his fare. The guy say's they'll be five minutes, the woman rushes to the window and shouts down that they'll be ten. Bloody hell, women eh ? Then at just the wrong moment, the fella, being a generous and classy catch, hands his lady a box from Ernest Jones. Woohooo...the lady is shouting internally, yet outside she still looks demure, unflustered and alluring. Cut to the shot where the couple are having a smooch in the window and the guy shouts down they'll be another ten minutes, whilst the honest to goodness, decent, hardworking, British, decent, overweight taxi driver rolls his eyes indulgently. The implication here of course is that the couple are about to have glamourous, decent, British loving whilst the cabbie waits outside. So there you go. Buy your lady something expensive from Ernest Jones you unimaginative fool and you too can have hardworking, decent, British, glamorous open-necked sex with a lady who takes for ever to get ready. Nice one.
In our house it's Rach who ends up waiting in the front room for me whilst I go through several outfit changes. We never have a taxi and I'd do owt for anyone if they bought me a Cornish pasty in a gift box. I'm easily pleased.
I know as a Guardian reader, (and therefore responsible for the downfall of western civilisation as we know it- ooh it's like Caligula round our way let me tell you) I'm meant to despise the Mail and all its works but I just can't bring myself to. It's just too hilarious to be truly hateful. As the house journal of the Muggles Union it does give me an insight into the psyche of your average cave dwelling little Englander and it's a dark and grim old continent. I pity them more than hate them, they seem to have this deep thread of inner sadness running through their existence, and are overflowing with bitterness about just about everything interesting. That can't be healthy can it? Yorkshire Post and Northern Echo readers in these parts I think must inhabit a similar world. What you can't take away from the Mail is the fact it knows its audience and gives them what they want. It's also very well written. Good luck to them. It gives me a regular chuckle and lets me realise that there are a minority of people in this country with whom I have no more in common with than the fact we appear to have heads. As long as they don't bug me I'm happy for them to lead their lives as they see fit. Anyway, Rach and I made a unilateral declaration of independence earlier in the year so we are in fact a sovereign nation in our own right. It's a right old Shangri-La as well. You're welcome to visit as long as all your papers are in order and have nothing to declare except your fabulousness. All that aside, I hope the Blairs are enjoying their break at their mates house. That's what you do at Christmas isn't it ? Go stay with the friends and family. It's not their fault that their friends are richer and have better parties than those of your average Daily Mail reader. Surely being jealous of that fact smacks of the "politics of envy". This as the Daily Mail and the Tories repeatedly told us throughout the 80s and 90s is a BAD THING. Get over yourself, have a Quality Street. Nip out to the garden centre and get your dinner. There must be an offer on.
Speaking of chocolate I seem to be existing on a diet of Toblerone and coffee at present. What's more I appear to have actually lost weight over Christmas. This I put down to the gastric flu and my insistence on not having a third portion on Christmas day. The energy expended on the swings must have burnt off a couple of calories as well.
There have been some splendid adverts on the TV of late. Rach and I are particularly fond of a low budget number for something called "Mandles Candles ". Just how good is that ? When Mr Mandle was thinking of going into business he must have run through a number of products he could have manufactured.
"How about curtain swags ? Nah, Mandles Swags, just doesn't scan... or we could do occassional tables ? Mandles Occassionals...better but just not right... wait a minute... I've got it !"
And thus, Mandles Candles were born. Not sure how they differ from the all the usual candlles we seem to have filled our glamorous hovel with but they sound fantastic. Rach and I wondered if you could buy handles for your mandles candles or whether or not you should wear sandals whilst lighting your mandles candles (I never take mine off, what with reading the Guardian and everything...mind you they are Birkenstock ;-) )
The other advert we really enjoy is that one for Ernest Jones the jeweller where a glamorous lady is trying on her little black dress whilst her fresh faced open-necked(hey he's smart, but he's not stuffy ) yet suited partner looks at his watch and wonders just how long his lovely lady is going to take. To really increase the pressure the taxi driver has arrived outside their refined town house and is impatient for his fare. The guy say's they'll be five minutes, the woman rushes to the window and shouts down that they'll be ten. Bloody hell, women eh ? Then at just the wrong moment, the fella, being a generous and classy catch, hands his lady a box from Ernest Jones. Woohooo...the lady is shouting internally, yet outside she still looks demure, unflustered and alluring. Cut to the shot where the couple are having a smooch in the window and the guy shouts down they'll be another ten minutes, whilst the honest to goodness, decent, hardworking, British, decent, overweight taxi driver rolls his eyes indulgently. The implication here of course is that the couple are about to have glamourous, decent, British loving whilst the cabbie waits outside. So there you go. Buy your lady something expensive from Ernest Jones you unimaginative fool and you too can have hardworking, decent, British, glamorous open-necked sex with a lady who takes for ever to get ready. Nice one.
In our house it's Rach who ends up waiting in the front room for me whilst I go through several outfit changes. We never have a taxi and I'd do owt for anyone if they bought me a Cornish pasty in a gift box. I'm easily pleased.
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