Lightening the Mood with Urinary Tract Infections

I'm bored and a bit sad, so am going to liveblog 'Embarrassing Illnesses' to make myself feel better.

Although one of my best friends is moving abroad, I have a fat arse and am squandering my precious holiday sitting alone on the sofa (last two fact quite probably related) at least I am not Christian Jessen, Channel 4's very own Clap Doctor.
Cripes! 20.05 and we're already getting closeups of him fingering some teenager's spotty penis.

Pop quiz! If someone said you could be famous and on telly, but only if you checked people for STD's and so would be irrecoverably linked in the public's mind with, well, pubis, would you do it?

Good news. The teenager does not have gonorrhea.

A group of BMX-ers are now having their sperm counted. Obviously smoking 20 a day will make you less fertile, but wanking a lot? I'm sure that's something they tell you in Catholic school. I'm not sure I would want to be told I was firing duds on tv. This programme is not so much 'airing your dirty knickers in public' as literally 'flashing your flaps on the box'. Maybe that's just how the 21st Century rolls.

Oh MAN, how can they get away with showing a 50 year old woman's leaky vag before 9pm watershed? Ha, watershed! Weak bladder! My incontinence fuelled humour knows no bounds.

A woman has lipo on her aesymmetrical breasts, so now she just has equally horrible saggy tits.

One of the BMX-ers has a low sperm count. We are not told which one it is, but the numerous camera pans gives us a pretty good idea.

FIN.

Pop Fact! - When not fingering diseased genitals, Dr Jessen is an 'accomplished oboist'. He also rides horses. Here is a photo of him looking smug because he has finished a sudoku.

Abercrombie and Fuck You

When I heard that Abercrombie and Fitch had opened a store in London, I put it in the same 'huh' news catagory as 'the A1 past Hanger Lane is a bit sluggish today' and Jessica's status is '...' according to Facebook.

I vaguely knew A&F to be a Gap-ish like clothes shop in America that people seem to love, even though as far as I could work out it sold either bland as fuck clothes or highly branded bland as fuck clothes.

Yesterday however, I happened to be in the area, so decided to visit the London A&F store. Within two seconds of entering it shot up from being a thing I had sort-of-heard-of-kind-of to being my official Worst Shop in London and Possibly Ever. - a title snatched away from Halfords in Friern Barnet Retail Park with considerable aplomb.

Where to start? Oh, well as you enter, you can queue to have your photo taken with a shirtless male hunk and keep the polaroid to show all your friends back home. Why? So you can tell them you shagged him? So they can be impressed that you stood next to someone with a six pack? Because some of his fitness might rub off on you and make you look less like a fat tourist in a straining pair of chinos and sweat drenched 'I heart London t-shirt'? *shudder*

This isn't apparently just a random act of whoring: A&F is known for it's good looking staff and presumerbly being pimped out to hormonal girls is part of the job description. I did wonder about this alleged hiring policy, as it appeared to be very much in action in the London shop and surely smacks of discrimination if true. Is anyone who reads this really fat/hairy/muslim/tattooed/all of the above? Please apply and let me know how you get on.

Anyway, inside. You know what I hate more than bland as fuck branded clothing in a million different pastel colours? I hate being lost in dark crowded nightclubs while shit trance music thumps so loud I can't hear my own angry thoughts.
Random? No, no, no, THIS is Abercrombie and Fitch, London. Confusing, as A&F is what one is supposed to wear to a chase a labrador across a beach in the Hamptons with your wholesome looking boyfriend, so the Ministry of Sound get up is beyond infuriating.
They even have two of their Stepford employees dancing on a balcony as if to say 'Hey, this is really fun! I always like to rave it up in the middle of the day wearing stonewashed bootleg jeans and a cornflower blue vest top!'.

It's a wonder the staff get time to actually fold jeans in between being groped and pretending to be 'aving it large', but I gather it's actually an honour to work in A&F as it means you are 'fit'. Fit and presumerbly also as thick as two short planks to allow yourself to be exploited in such a manner for £6.50 an hour.

Shops like A&F with concieted good looking staff (Urban Outfitters is another prime example) also irk me, as until a few years ago, I would be seriously intimidated about going in them, actually being worried about what the staff would think of me. Fortunately, now I am not just confident enough in myself to know I am as 'fit' as them, I also don't fold t shirts for living and could buy that whole pile of muthafuckin' folded Micky Mouse stencilled abomonations if I wanted to.

edit: Ooh I just found THIS article by someone at the Daily Mail *hock, spit* who went undercover at A&F. He said what I said but in a more boring way.

edit: while looking for a suitable image for this entry, I came across their website description - 'The highest quality, All-American lifestyle clothing for aspirational men and women'.
I think I just vommed in my mouth and waged war on the West.

Sartorial 100m Hurdles

Oh God how I wish I had thought of this...

Vice style 'Do's and Don't' from the Olympic opening ceremony.


It fair made me snort into my cornflakes.

Incidentally, I'm off work this week, hence the prolific blogging; it also means I am sampling the 'wonder' that is daytime TV for the first time in about a year. How vile is Jeremy Kyle? Really, who the hell is this perma-angry man who shouts over undereducated poor people as they attempt to defend their poxy lives on national television? I can't believe I ironically dug him at Uni, he is the 21st Century version of the Witchfinder General.

next week on SOB, Biche wonders why aeroplane food tastes so bad, comments that Gordon Brown is a big boring and cocks her hammer in the direction of more sealife held in wooden containers

Thoughts on Kate Moss's New Perfume Ad

The bottle looks a bit like a giant butt plug, which is unfortunate, given it's location and Kate's posture.

Kate Moss has been interrupted midway through farting a plume of smoke and isn't pleased about it.

Isn't there some phrase about 'shooting smoke up your arse'?

Is this what 'embracing the night' looks like? I would say this is what 'embracing the staircase after drunkenly tripping over your own feet in Mo*vida' looks like

Velvet Hour sounds like a cheap range of chocolates from the 1980's.

Or some niche evening show at the Four Floors of Whores.

Who the hell would buy this perfume anyway? Even impressionable young women who worship la Moss would know that she wouldn't wear something you could buy in Superdrug next to Charli, Angel and Stunning by Katie Price.

I like her hair.

Out In De Streets Dey Call it Muuuurdah

Aah so I have just returned from the chicken bone strewn circle of hell also known as the Notting Hill Carnival.

I suppose it was okaaay, I mean, I used to think I was the whitest girl alive and so looked about as 'in place' at Carnival as Cher would on a pilgramage to Mecca, but that was before I went to Carnival with A and E who take being 'whitey' to a loud shrieky level not seen since Julia Stiles in Save the Last Dance. (or maybe those Step Up films but I haven't seen them) But Y to the T anyway.

Although I drew the line at drinking rose from a cup and bogling to reggae in the middle of Porterbello Road with several other rah-sterfarian* friends of A, after a while (and several drinks) it felt less like a poultry stinking pressure cooker of barely repressed anarchy and violence and more like a noisy dirty festival in the middle of London.

After a while (and some more drinks) we had a dance and a drum n bass stage, which is where I got a pondering on precisely how bizarre drum n bass dancing is. I mean, I think I have thought this before - and by thought I mean druggily ranted at someone in the toilet queue at Fabric - but never have I put finger to keyboard about it.

But yeah, so for one, dancing to DnB you basically dance by yourself. This in itself is quite weird if you think of the great grand history of Dance, which is basically an inclusive group activity. But in DnB you barely touch, unless your gun fingers (pow! pow!) accidentally go on the opposite trajectory as the person next to you's eyeball socket.

Secondly, you don't really move from the same spot. Unless you are a bit of a fancy dick with your leg work or are off your face and flail about like a psychotic spider, you generally bop about from foot to foot as if you are standing on rather hot sand.

Thirdly, one of the most common moves is to slump your shoulders forwards and sway from either them if you are male, or from your waist if you are female. This is not terrible attractive, again, unusual for a Dance, traditionally a roundabout way of attracting people.

Remember those plastic anthropomorphic flowers you could buy that danced when you played them music? I imagine from the stage we must have all looked like that, albeit bedecked in Jamaica whistles, soaked in Red Stripe and with poor posture.

But anyway, Carnival. It's over for another year and maybe in 2009, unlike the last two years, I won't be saddled with a friend who is all 'omg but I've never beeeeen and you have to go to Carnivaaaaal'.

Honestly, I'm such a whore for London knowledge based flattery - tell me you've never been to Brick Lane and we'll be sitting there having overpriced shitty curry made with 40% water injected chicken breast before you can say 'oh cool was this like, where that book was set?'

*rah like 'awful privately educated braying Henrys and Camillas who gad about Carnival in their multicoloured Ray Bans going 'oh yah, I rahly love that Leathal Bizzle, his shit is like, totally street? yeah?' I just thought of that phrase and although it undoubtly exists already, I am quite proud of myself.

Photo of the Day - Dare ye Undertake this Epic Quest?

Many a valiant hero has fallen and great warriors lost their lives...by bumping into their reflection in the hall of mirrors in Longleat Safari Park. Other baser mortals such as myself just wasted a lot of time preening and seeing what the back of their heads looked like after two hours looking at monkeys in the pouring rain.

Hello? Remember Me?

Tsk, this 'real job' malarkay really gets in the way of posting silly pictures and generally being interesting and creative.
Honestly, if you bumped into me today I would probably regail you with fascinating anecdotes about 'this client meeting I had to set up for Mel with like two hours notice *outraged look*, but like, then Rich had a clash with the HPI debrief *exaggerated wince* so I had to beg to Lou...'

Yeah, I'm a boring git.

BUT, it won't be forever I swear...an excess of holiday and a lack of friends with funds mean I will probably spend a jolly week in the luxury holiday chalet otherwise known as 'my flat with in-date food in the fridge', so then I will blog, oh god I will blog!

In the meantime, my good friend who I have never actually met, Dom, has started a new blog - Ich Luge Bullets - so go read that, or check out onedatatime.com or fourfour - the blogs by Rich and Tracie who do Pot Psychology on Jezebel.com. Honestly, I'm such a geek, I have huge 'friend crushes' on them - I haven't wished some perfect strangers were my friends more since I first watched Wayne's World...
I guess the only redeeming features this time are that a) they are real people and b) it won't result in me wearing baseball caps, tucking my hair behind my ears and going 'shhhha!'. That shit really does not fly when you are a 10 year old girl who lives in North London. Even if you do have the same hair.


p.s How shit is Mike Myers these days? Shhhhhha!