odd sights

You must have noticed something rather odd about the Chancellor of the Exchequer, Alistair Darling. It’s not that he’s still in a job (which is inexplicable rather than odd), it’s his extraordinary eyebrows. How on earth does he end up with pure white hair and jet black bushy eyebrows? Just look at them; it’s like looking at Jimmy Saville after he’s received a face transplant from Grouch Marx. Very odd. And this got me thinking about  things that look decidedly strange, unbelievable or plain funny.

Take sport. Have you ever seen anything as ridiculous as the nonsense sport of competitive walking? It’s like watching a group of people who are attempting to run a race but they can’t get beyond a scuttling action because they’ve got a very large stick of cucumber  lodged up their bums. It just looks so unnatural. How can they describe this as sport and why do you they persist in allowing it as an Olympic event? Its world-wide popularity?  I don’t think so. Do you know anybody who does it or enjoys watching  it?  No, but some people with very odd habits must get tuned in and turned on by it.  On that basis morris dancing must be a shoe-in as the 2012 demonstration sport – and I bet we’d do no better than bronze even though we are the only country on earth which does it. 

But even in the world’s greatest game I still get amused by some of the things I see. Have you   
noticed the tendency, particularly amongst the Premiership centre back fraternity, to wear their socks completely unravelled so that they extend above the knee? This has the effect of making the socks look like stockings which are very fetching of course…on women. But on John Terry and Rio Ferdinand  it makes them look like the chorus line from Lady Boys of Bangkok. Bobby Moore must be turning in his grave at the sight of them. Sigh.

And have you ever noticed that strange warm-up routine that coaches get players to do in training sessions and on the touchline? I can’t find a vid to show you but they jog sideways and swivel at the waist with arms out swinging to the left then the right. I guess it’s intended to limber up the players’ upper bodies but get 3 or 4 subs doing it in sequence and it looks like the chorus line warming-up on the touchline. It’s about as camp a routine as you can get. And nobody seems to look or feel embarrassed, apart from me. Back in the day I had to endure squat thrusts from a rather sadistic footie coach. ….but that’s another story.

This seems to be turning into another camp rant because the next thing which has caught my attention a lot of late is the number of cars coloured pink. Pink! I know we spend most week-ends with the kids in Brighton, a town which has it’s bohemian side, and you  might expect to see a few cute-coloured Clios down there. But no it’s here in staid Staines that pink pops up on Puntos and Polos with alarming regularity. Why would you buy a car coloured candyfloss? Who do you think’s going to buy it from you when you’re fed up of people pointing at it? And why is Staines so shockingly pinkophile? It’s a complete mystery to me but if anyone can throw some light on it, I’d be interested to know. Pink Staines – sounds like something Blackpool hoteliers have to put up with when they change the sheets each morning. Nice. 

Staines is also famous for Ali G and his Massive (noun not adjective – though who knows for sure with Sasha BC?). And I’m pretty sure that a stylistic feature of the Massive is the jeans worn very low on the hips by fellas showing almost all their underpants. Now this makes the crotch of the jeans feature somewhere close to their knees and it makes them look and walk like they’ve truly cacked their pants. Who dictated that this was a look to be copied? I’ve worn some right fashion faux pas, as I’ve admitted to before on this site, but this has got to be the most unenviable and unfathomable style statement ever hasn’t it? Do young girls really find this fashion look attractive? Really? If so can somebody please explain its appeal? 

Finally a list of things that are very odd to look at but I can’t be bothered to expand upon them:

-  cravats, sovereign rings, facial tattooes, men wearing lurid-coloured crocs or flip-flops on the train to work;

-  that Shirley lass off Eastenders who’s at least 50 years of age but wears skirts so short they’re almost belts. Cover up love.

-  Newcastle Utd’s new away strip – lemon and custard coloured! It’s a trifle odd;

-  Real Madrid’s triumphalist public unveilings of their new signings. It’s a Real circus show and oddly amusing and how I pray that it all ends in tears;

-  the Marquess of Bath, owner of Longleat House and a complete wacko. He’s shrill-voice, rarely takes a bath (a little odd given his title) and has a wilder dress-sense than John McCririck. Somehow the extraordinarily rich aristocrat has managed to have a wife and more than 75 ‘wifelets’ in his time despite looking like this. If that’s not odd, I don’t know what is.

  

I could add to this list a lot and will do so over the next few days but happy for you to suggest over oddities!

pp

michael jackson memorial

Because we’ve been so busy recently I’ve been distracted from writing many blogs, even though there’s been so much rich and wonderful material to write about. And I guess the biggest story of the last week or so has been about death, sadly; Farrah FM, Man U’s credibility in the transfer market, British tennis hopes in the Wimbledon semis (yet again) and the unique Michael Jackson. Sorry to be a bit flip but I’ve just been watching the MJ tribute concert and I’m struggling with this portrayal of him as someone ‘pure’ as Brooke Shields described him, incredibly.

friendship

Here’s the thing; I’ve had cause recently to wonder about the nature of friendship. I thought we were  rock-solid in this regard with a decent number of truly great friends. I wouldn’t say we were the sort of people to collect a huge circle of mates but over 30+years we had formed some very strong relationships, some very deep and loving. But stuff happens and sometimes things get loose-wired or even disconnected. It can cause a lot of hurt but things also work in the opposite direction. 

long sporting weekend

Well it’s one of those top weekends and a bit for sport; the kind to drive wives and girlfriends nuts. First up we’ve got the first test between the Lions and the dirty cheating Springboks. Could be a bruising encounter. Then it’s the final of the T20 competitions with the England women’s team shaming their male peers by actually making the final. Think I’ll be rooting for Sri Lanka in the men’s final v Pakistan because of that dreadful attack on their team bus just a few weeks ago. Royal Ascot comes to a conclusion, not that I have much interest. Then it’s the British Grand Prix tomorrow, possibly the last to be held at Silverstone.  Win this one and Britain’s Jenson Button’s would probably have the world title sown up. There’s also the US Open which is being played out in a weather system not untypical of one that settles over Manchester from April to March. That probably means a win for some obscure American therefore. And finally it’s the start of Wimbledon on Monday with the not very likeable Andrew Murray probably having his best shot at winning the elusive men’s title  for we Brits, following Nadal’s withdrawal. A good chance then for home favourites to do well – which probably means I’ve put a hex on them all now. But even though we’re spending hours on the road this week-end travelling up to N Wales to see old friends A&M, I’ll still be intrigued by all the action. Come on you Brits (and Sri Lankans).

pp

ps Well as British success goes that was a pretty rubbish weekend. Only the fantastic women’s cricket team managed to salvage some pride for the home nation. And somehow Man Utd also managed to lose another world class scorer over the weekend  despite offering a 5 year deal at £120k pw and meeting the transfer asking price of £25.5m. Apparently it was ‘too little, too late’. Sigh. It sort of makes me wish that  I supported teams and individuals with absolutely no hope of international sporting success (eg Wales and Craig Bellamy) just to keep expectations in check……. only joking Snowdonians.

so it’s adios manchester, hola madrid and last night in paris

I’ve mentioned my grandson S’s passion for all things football. He’s only 7 but simply loves the game; he plays whenever he can, reads every footie magazine he can get his hands on, listens to footie song CD’s in the car on the way to and from school, collects Match Attak footballer cards and can tell you any fact from them , watches any match he’s allowed to on Sky tv (including classics) and he talks about the game with such insight that he makes Mottie look like a rookie. He’s constantly posing me questions like who was better and why, Zidane, George Best or Cantona? And he expects a well-argued response.

just a minute, mary love

What links Gordon the Moron (no not the one who lost 8 Ministers, got annihilated in the  local and European elections and messed up his own Cabinet  re-shuffle all inside 3 days), cups of tea, washing lines and simple Yorkshire folk? Intrigued? Well the answer’s Graham Fellows, the guy behind one of the best one-hit wonders Jilted John and who went on some 30 years later to create the comic character John Shuttleworth, the aspiring singer-songwriter from Sheffield, South Yorkshire. 

oh I like it when they respond

Regular readers will know that from time to time I’ll write something complimentary about people in the media spotlight. And sometimes I might write something which is a little less flattering about celebrity A or politician B or desperate wannabee/has been C (surely not, I hear you cry). And just occasionally the targets of my acidic little critiques will stumble across my posting as they Google their name, no doubt in the vain search for public adoration. And a few are confident enough to come back and give as much as they get via the comments box. I love that.

effortlessly cool

I have to admit to a high regard for those guys whose dress sense looks so effortless but oh so cool. Especially if the blokes are of a certain age, you know middle-aged and greying a little or, heaven forbid, carrying a little less on top. But certainly carrying a few more pounds than they did in their 20’s. I’m  going to exclude from my list of the best dressers, guys like David Beckham and Frank Lampard because they are young, fit and way too good-looking for their own good (as my nan used to say) and, since they are also richer than Croessus, can employ stylists to help them pick their daily head-to-toe Armani ensembles. No I’m talking about the guys who seemingly throw on some regular casual togs and just end up creating a distinctive almost iconic look. Almost as if they weren’t trying. If I didn’t admire them so much, I’d have to hate them.