I have always been a lover of 70's/80's drama. I find modern day television utterly abhorrent. Reality TV does not appeal and I find myself going back to the 70's and 80's as a source of entertainment. Here are some of the shows that I have been watching over the last couple of months.
'Hattie' - one-off drama about Hattie Jacques, everyone's favourite matron from the 'Carry On' films. This focuses upon Jacques' affair with her driver, John Schofield and her marriage (at the same time) to Dad's Army actor, John Le Mesurier. I had no idea (until I had viewed this drama) that both Jacques and Le Mesurier embarked upon extra-marital affairs during their time together. Hattie moved her young man into the master bedroom, and Le Mesurier moved into the spare room. They both kept up the facade for the public of a happy marriage. At the end of the marriage, Le Mesurier agreed that he would take the blame as the unfaithful party in their divorce case. This was a gripping drama, and made me think lots about the normal, day-to-day things that went on in the lives of these celebrities. Of course, there was no happy ending. Schofield left Jacques for a younger model after several years, and Le Mesurier married again, but he and Jacques still remained friends until her death. Weird chain of events, I think.
'Sun, Sex & Suspicious Parents' - this is pure 'car crash' TV from BBC Three. The basic gist is that it follows a group of young 'uns on their first foreign holiday without mum and dad. What the kids don't know is that the parents are also in the same resort, watching everything that they get up to. It's messy, make no mistake. Why are the young people of today obsessed with drinking 'shots' and drinking until they soil themselves out of every orifice? Utter madness. I think that I only watch it so that I can feel superior. I never went abroad as a teenager with my mates. I never wanted to. I think that I am most definitely in the minority on this one. Most of the kids on this show make me wonder why they were not flushed out as foetuses. Seriously.
'The Good Life' - this was a birthday present. To my shame, I had never watched this series, although I was totally aware of it. I have to confess to being more on the side of the snobbish Leadbitters, rather than the 'holier-than-thou' Goods. Felicity Kendal's Barbara deserved so much more than welly-wearing Richard Briers' Tom. I really rather wanted her to say, 'Fuck your self-sufficiency, I haven't had any new clothes in months and I'm off...goodbye'. Of course, she didn't. Fool.
Monday 12 November 2012
Lifeguard sleeping, girl drowning **
No real reason for the title of this entry. I just rather liked it. Sums up the general incompetence of people in life, I think.
Life has been good since leaving the hell hole that was the ***. I have finished all assignments for my qualification. This will, hopefully, see me completely change career and do something that I want for a change.
Health issues haven't been terribly good recently, and it seems likely that I will need to start taking medication which I will 'self-inject' on a daily basis. I think that, when this happens, I should perhaps wave goodbye to my love affair with wine of all varieties. Sad, but true.
I have had such a wrangle with myself lately, in terms of not feeling as though I have any real direction or purpose, in a work sense. My personal life is fantastic, couldn't be better. But my professional life is at a grinding halt at the moment. I am doing some voluntary work, to gain experience in the career that I want to have for the rest of my working life. This is good, and makes me feel that I have done completely the right thing. I am filled with regret that I delayed this, and did not do it sooner. Hindsight is a wonderful thing. What is sad is that it often comes too late.
Anyway, in other news, my dad's sixty-odd year old mechanic friend continues to talk to me about his lack of a sex life. I assume that this is because he wants to come across as some trendy bloke that wants to recapture his youth. However, this will not happen whilst he openly admits to me that he 'masturbates, but nothing comes out'. I suggested that he go to the doctor about this, or stop participating in this past-time. I quite simply shudder at the thought of him 'whacking away' of an evening. Having said that, he does service my car for free, so I guess that a bit of 'way too much information' chit-chat has to be endured. Does this make me a bad person?
I have given up on Facebook and Twitter after years of checking on the status updates of people with whom I have little in common. I was becoming a bit obsessed with checking Facebook daily, only to find that the people that I have as 'friends' are not really so. What do I actually have in common with most of them? Some I have not spoken to since school, and even then, they didn't actually speak to me. Why, suddenly, when we reach mid-life, do these people think that you have any similarities? Quite bizarre. I feel much better for freeing myself from the daily checking of updates and tweets. To be honest, I still don't really understand how Twitter works. I thought that I had deactivated my account, and on Saturday, received an email to advise that an 'ex' of mine was following me on Twitter. I found this incredible, as I was on there under an 'alias' with no picture. So, I hastily deactivated my account. I think that, as I get older, I don't want people to know much about me. I would rather be anonymous. Ah, but what of my blog? Well, this is about as anonymous as one can get online, I think.
** Morrissey album track, taken from 'Vauxhall & I' (1994)
Life has been good since leaving the hell hole that was the ***. I have finished all assignments for my qualification. This will, hopefully, see me completely change career and do something that I want for a change.
Health issues haven't been terribly good recently, and it seems likely that I will need to start taking medication which I will 'self-inject' on a daily basis. I think that, when this happens, I should perhaps wave goodbye to my love affair with wine of all varieties. Sad, but true.
I have had such a wrangle with myself lately, in terms of not feeling as though I have any real direction or purpose, in a work sense. My personal life is fantastic, couldn't be better. But my professional life is at a grinding halt at the moment. I am doing some voluntary work, to gain experience in the career that I want to have for the rest of my working life. This is good, and makes me feel that I have done completely the right thing. I am filled with regret that I delayed this, and did not do it sooner. Hindsight is a wonderful thing. What is sad is that it often comes too late.
Anyway, in other news, my dad's sixty-odd year old mechanic friend continues to talk to me about his lack of a sex life. I assume that this is because he wants to come across as some trendy bloke that wants to recapture his youth. However, this will not happen whilst he openly admits to me that he 'masturbates, but nothing comes out'. I suggested that he go to the doctor about this, or stop participating in this past-time. I quite simply shudder at the thought of him 'whacking away' of an evening. Having said that, he does service my car for free, so I guess that a bit of 'way too much information' chit-chat has to be endured. Does this make me a bad person?
I have given up on Facebook and Twitter after years of checking on the status updates of people with whom I have little in common. I was becoming a bit obsessed with checking Facebook daily, only to find that the people that I have as 'friends' are not really so. What do I actually have in common with most of them? Some I have not spoken to since school, and even then, they didn't actually speak to me. Why, suddenly, when we reach mid-life, do these people think that you have any similarities? Quite bizarre. I feel much better for freeing myself from the daily checking of updates and tweets. To be honest, I still don't really understand how Twitter works. I thought that I had deactivated my account, and on Saturday, received an email to advise that an 'ex' of mine was following me on Twitter. I found this incredible, as I was on there under an 'alias' with no picture. So, I hastily deactivated my account. I think that, as I get older, I don't want people to know much about me. I would rather be anonymous. Ah, but what of my blog? Well, this is about as anonymous as one can get online, I think.
** Morrissey album track, taken from 'Vauxhall & I' (1994)
Friday 20 July 2012
I'm Tired Of Getting Pushed Around.......
**The title of each blog entry will now be something appropriate to the author's mood. There is one rule, however. It must be the title of a song. Artists name at foot of blog entry**
After an obscene hiatus from blogging, our protagonist, Madam Noir begins to mull over what she can possibly say that is of the slightest interest to her two (yes, that's right - two) followers. It's true, these last 6 months have not been the best, career-wise.
January - got a job temping in recruitment. Was forever referred to as' the temp' or 'our temp'. This was only supposed to be a 12-week thing, something to see her through financially as she reluctantly made some improvements to the rented accommodation that her 'piece of shit' relations had trashed over a prolonged period of time. More fool her for letting them do it.
February - continued in dead-end role. Spent what seemed like 3 weeks waiting for the 'powers that be' to allow her access to company email and t'internet. Colleagues were nice enough, apart from one girl who viewed her as a threat. She was a guppy-eyed, bleached blonde lass from Peterlee (the colleague, not Madam Noir). She naturally felt threatened, given her lot in life. Madam Noir tried her best to be 'nice' (god, how she hates that word ' 'nice'.......so insipid) and chatted to her when she could. You see, Madam N was very much a believer in the school of thought that says if someone is gives off signals that they don't like you...then you are duty bound to be as 'over-the-top', sickly nice to them. This confuses the shit out of them, obviously. One girl was canny - she had red hair and yellow teeth. Nice girl, friendly, hadn't been on the team long, was also a 'temp' prior to her permanent appointment. See, the underdogs must stick together. The meek shall inherit, and all that...
March - as February, but now blonde, guppy-faced Peterlee lass now 'warming' to Madam Noir slightly. Perhaps because Madam N single-handedly did enough of her scanning to last her to the menopause. Possibly. Madam N realised at this point that she should probably be looking for another job. By the very nature of the word, 'temp' means just that. As in, short life-span. Whatever.
April - as Feb/March........tick, tock, tick, tock (boring myself now by just thinking about the banality of it all).
May - May 5th was Madam N's last day there. They bought her wine (she drank it), flowers (they went straight in the bin.....she couldn't be bothered to fanny on looking for a vase) and chocolates ('Dairy Box' - unpleasant in the extreme). Still, it's the thought that counts, eh? She signed on at the jobcentre and they took a whole month to work out that she was owed some money. No wonder this country is going to the dogs.
June - period of 'resting'. Then was summoned for interview by an agency. They had secured an interview for Madam N at a well known public sector company. She attended the 'interview'. It was the most bizarre experience - not one question asked about her ability to do the role that they were offering. No mention of her previous experience. She left feeling utterly confused. As she drove home, the agency called. They wanted to offer her the job, loved her, thought that she would fit in really well (as they apparently 'recruit for personality'). She accepted, but was left feeling totally amazed at the decision.
She eventually lasted 3 weeks in the role. They didn't provide any training, when she asked questions, she wasn't given a decent explanation, they were all very 'clique-y'. And to make things worse, they all banged on about that bloody 'Fifty Shades of Grey' book. She should have taken that as a sign....
she went out for lunch one day and received a call from the agency. The company had called them to say that 'things weren't working out' (no kidding!?) and that she could leave at the end of the day or at the end of the week. She returned to the office, collected her belongings and left, feeling such sweet relief as she sashayed out of the building.
And so, onto July. After much thought, Madam N has decided to have a period where she does not work. She will study during this time, and may get some part time work. But, why does a job have to define who you are? Surely Madam Noir is no less a person because, almost 40 years into her life, she has realised that she doesn't want to do what she has always done. Some go their whole lives, fooling themselves that they love their job. Not her.
So.....we shall see.
Two Men, A Drum Machine and A Trumpet.
After an obscene hiatus from blogging, our protagonist, Madam Noir begins to mull over what she can possibly say that is of the slightest interest to her two (yes, that's right - two) followers. It's true, these last 6 months have not been the best, career-wise.
January - got a job temping in recruitment. Was forever referred to as' the temp' or 'our temp'. This was only supposed to be a 12-week thing, something to see her through financially as she reluctantly made some improvements to the rented accommodation that her 'piece of shit' relations had trashed over a prolonged period of time. More fool her for letting them do it.
February - continued in dead-end role. Spent what seemed like 3 weeks waiting for the 'powers that be' to allow her access to company email and t'internet. Colleagues were nice enough, apart from one girl who viewed her as a threat. She was a guppy-eyed, bleached blonde lass from Peterlee (the colleague, not Madam Noir). She naturally felt threatened, given her lot in life. Madam Noir tried her best to be 'nice' (god, how she hates that word ' 'nice'.......so insipid) and chatted to her when she could. You see, Madam N was very much a believer in the school of thought that says if someone is gives off signals that they don't like you...then you are duty bound to be as 'over-the-top', sickly nice to them. This confuses the shit out of them, obviously. One girl was canny - she had red hair and yellow teeth. Nice girl, friendly, hadn't been on the team long, was also a 'temp' prior to her permanent appointment. See, the underdogs must stick together. The meek shall inherit, and all that...
March - as February, but now blonde, guppy-faced Peterlee lass now 'warming' to Madam Noir slightly. Perhaps because Madam N single-handedly did enough of her scanning to last her to the menopause. Possibly. Madam N realised at this point that she should probably be looking for another job. By the very nature of the word, 'temp' means just that. As in, short life-span. Whatever.
April - as Feb/March........tick, tock, tick, tock (boring myself now by just thinking about the banality of it all).
May - May 5th was Madam N's last day there. They bought her wine (she drank it), flowers (they went straight in the bin.....she couldn't be bothered to fanny on looking for a vase) and chocolates ('Dairy Box' - unpleasant in the extreme). Still, it's the thought that counts, eh? She signed on at the jobcentre and they took a whole month to work out that she was owed some money. No wonder this country is going to the dogs.
June - period of 'resting'. Then was summoned for interview by an agency. They had secured an interview for Madam N at a well known public sector company. She attended the 'interview'. It was the most bizarre experience - not one question asked about her ability to do the role that they were offering. No mention of her previous experience. She left feeling utterly confused. As she drove home, the agency called. They wanted to offer her the job, loved her, thought that she would fit in really well (as they apparently 'recruit for personality'). She accepted, but was left feeling totally amazed at the decision.
She eventually lasted 3 weeks in the role. They didn't provide any training, when she asked questions, she wasn't given a decent explanation, they were all very 'clique-y'. And to make things worse, they all banged on about that bloody 'Fifty Shades of Grey' book. She should have taken that as a sign....
she went out for lunch one day and received a call from the agency. The company had called them to say that 'things weren't working out' (no kidding!?) and that she could leave at the end of the day or at the end of the week. She returned to the office, collected her belongings and left, feeling such sweet relief as she sashayed out of the building.
And so, onto July. After much thought, Madam N has decided to have a period where she does not work. She will study during this time, and may get some part time work. But, why does a job have to define who you are? Surely Madam Noir is no less a person because, almost 40 years into her life, she has realised that she doesn't want to do what she has always done. Some go their whole lives, fooling themselves that they love their job. Not her.
So.....we shall see.
Two Men, A Drum Machine and A Trumpet.
Tuesday 27 March 2012
A Bum Steer
I have been plagued for some time now by haemorrhoids (have I spelt that correctly? No...ok...PILES then). This has gone on since last year when I went through all of the stress of redundancy at Shitty Central. I had been to the doctor last year, a locum with a comedy face. Rather 'Bo Selecta', I thought. And Indian to boot. Tragic, really. Anyway, I have endured six months worth of Movicol and Anusol, etc, etc. Went back to quack this afternoon. He motioned to me - I understood his intentions - that I was to remove trousers and undercrackers immediately whilst he examined the offending pustule. The prescription? Fybogel. If that fails to work, then we will work our way through the various 'pensioner-tastic' remedies on the market until we find one that jolly well works. Oh joy!!!
Monday 26 March 2012
The Regina Monologues
Ah, it has been a funny old 3 months. Left my rather well-paid job at the end of December. Realised that I couldn't cope any longer with working alongside fuckwits. Took the money and ran like the wind. Had a lovely Christmas in Blackpool, and a couple of weeks off in January. Then into another job, similar to the one that I had but less well paid and with significantly fewer (i.e. no) fuckwits. Result.
Am sitting here sipping red wine and listening to ipod (current track - 'Puss in Boots' by Adam Ant.....
Have realised that, facially, I am turning into my mother. Approaching mid-life with a wry smile and plenty of Dermologica moisturiser.
When I think of something interesting to write, you'll be the first to know........watch this space. x
Am sitting here sipping red wine and listening to ipod (current track - 'Puss in Boots' by Adam Ant.....
Have realised that, facially, I am turning into my mother. Approaching mid-life with a wry smile and plenty of Dermologica moisturiser.
When I think of something interesting to write, you'll be the first to know........watch this space. x
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