Sunday, 29 June 2008

Stuck in the world wide web

August bank Holiday anxiety has set in. I'm trying to a) decide where to go and b) book it. Simple. Actually it's not.
I know that in the grand scheme of things it's only three days, it doesn't matter if it's not perfect and wherever we end up it will all work out fine in the end. But I can't help it - I'm convinced that whatever we decide to do we'll have missed out on something better.
I blame the internet. I'm not like this with other decisions, but try to book a holiday online and you suddenly get the world and his wife sticking their oar into what should be a perfectly straightforward decision. Every time I think I've cracked it trip advisor puts me off, or kayak seduces me with another option.
We want somewhere sunny, but not too hot, a short hop away on a cheap flight. So that's us off to the South of France then. Unless we go for Cinque Terre in Italy, or Sicily, or Corsica, or what about Montenegro...

Thursday, 26 June 2008

Them blues

Aren't these lovely? My grandma was stuck in bed today so I took this pic to cheer her up. I like to believe that they are really, truly, without genetic modification, THAT blue.

Sunday, 22 June 2008

A right royal knees up

Birthday celebrations, bubbly and betting at Royal Ascot this weekend. We learnt the hard way that the bookie always wins, but managed to stay dry and cheer the streaker on. Have an odd affection for the Racing Post now.

Thursday, 19 June 2008


I had a day of them today! The Wirral has been "invaded" by a sub-flock of five superlambanas and so I went out to see what the good folk of Birkenhead made of them.

Then I went to get my hair cut over in Liverpool and I just couldn't resist collecting some more.

Turned out my hairdresser was an old PR chum who escaped agency life and the god awful grad scheme we were both part of six months before I did. She's now working at her mum's swanky salon in Lime Street, great girly gossip from her - she put the wag in chinwag.

Then I went and ruined her work with a sweaty gym session - hair now back to it's usual haystack look.

Wednesday, 18 June 2008

Is it a lamb? Is it a banana? No, it's a Superlambanana!

So, until this week there were 120 Superlambananas in Liverpool, to celebrate '08.
And what better way for Liverpool to showcase its rich traditions, and time honoured customs than by nicking one of them?
Yep that's right there are now only 119:
He took the smallest Superlambanana of the flock. Bless, won't the little lamb be scared without Ma Baa?
Besides which, the Superlambanana rustler has only gone and handed an excuse to smug southerners to resurrect the old "theiving scouser" chesnut.
Today Radio City reckon they are hot on his trail.
Hopefully, as I type there's a swot team of SAS men encircling his Norris Green house, ready to storm the joint on the command: "Go Superlambananas!"

In the meanwhile there's still a flock of 119 on the city streets, so I snapped three today to cheer myself up in the rain.

Sunday, 15 June 2008

Bottling it

Summer seems to have arrived, and I'm off to Ascot next week.

These two facts combine to result in one terrifying prospect: I have to get my legs out.
Now, I've never been one for the fake tan - mostly because I'm a very pale red head. Previous ill-advised attempts have left me a Dickensian (daytime telly, not Victorian literature) hue.
And yet I'm back on the bottle once more. Why? Well, because "fakebake" have made fake tan for pale red heads. It is specially made for me, comes with its own pomegranate scrub, latex gloves and cost £22.

What can possibly go wrong? Tune in next time to find out...

Saturday, 14 June 2008

Slavish networking

Subject: tut tut
Have your little fingers been doing some naughty FB untagging? I think they have. Tsk. Photo was fine - you'll always be the most attractive in that line up.

Subject: RE: tut tut
of course i have - it's the only reason i go on facebook Jxx

This email exchange got me thinking - are we slaves to social networking? Have we got caught in a net we can't escape?
Already alarm bells have been rung about the phenomenon of the burnt out blogger:
Are blogs, webs, nets, flickrs, plurks and tweets the perfect zenith of narcissism and neuroticism?
I mean, do we really want to give *so* much away? Was my maths teacher right - do the emptiest cans make the most rattle?
Have I just turned into Carrie Bradshaw?

To put the above email into context: I had tagged an innocent facebook photo of three friends, J (one of the tagged) swiftly undid my work. J has a high powered important persons job. For her FB is something that she signed up to in her student days when it was all the rage, but now it's just a headache.
I should point out at that this stage that J is a clean living, respectable member of society who is a credit to her company.

But what if she secretly wasn't? Well, then she'd be held ransom by FB because at any minute someone could blow her cover with an ill advised pic, post or tag.
It's clearly a jungle. So, thank god that in times of such social crisis Debrett's comes to the rescue:

Then again, we journalists love it when anarchy reigns. Remember the Derek Conway expense scandal? Would have been a lot less fun without Henry's FB ramblings, and pics:

Sadly, it seems like the journo FB free for all might be soon to end. The party pooping PCC have realised that the minute someone dies, gets sacked, or wins the lottery the first thing the press does is log on and harvest their bebo, FB, Myspace, blog etc.

If the PCC get their way J will no longer need to babysit her FB profile - of course the new breed of Js will have been forced to make friends with prospective employers as part of selection. For those poor souls the spectre of social networking will haunt them after every drunken night out.

The day Heat magazine develops the "circle of shame" application for FB users, is the day I commit FB suicide.

Friday, 6 June 2008

Friday frazzle

Due to popular demand:

"Only Robinson Crusoe had everything done by Friday."
- Anonymous, Coles Quoteables

I'm off for a stiff drink now.