Tuesday, 30 December 2008

A Cock-Up

I started the year as a kangaroo, and all was going well until my tail dropped off. Perhaps I should explain myself. I co-wrote a village Pantomime that was set in Australia and I the only way I could have a kangaroo in the script was if I volunteered myself for the part. So I did. I had no lines, but I had to jump around a lot; I am very bouncy, and I managed to have a costume malfunction, which caused much hilarity [and it’s on DVD]. Surprisingly, or unsurprisingly depending on your point of view, I have been asked if I would like to collaborate on their next production. It’s going to be set in space . . . well I suppose it will make an interesting setting for Puss in Boots . . . and the costume department will get merry with the kitchen foil . . . and they’re going to need a Puss . . .
Anyhow, that’s how I started 2008. I will end the year by making prawn cocktails for a party. I already have a poor record with tails . . . but I am at a loss; my friend has challenged me to make some party food, and silly me took up the challenge. He knows I’m rubbish in the kitchen. He knows that I’m capable of burning an egg. So how do you skin a prawn? And what do you do once they’re skinned? I know that prawns are pink and I know that a prawn cocktail is a collection of prawns covered in pink mayo and decorated with bits of lettuce. To hell with it; I will deliver a Scarlet special instead:- Mashed fish fingers with tartare sauce – and if I throw in some ketchup nobody will be any the wiser will they?
Or maybe I could peel some scampi . . .
I started with a cock-up . . . and, as they say, start as you mean to go on . . .

I will be preparing for the party tomorrow, so won't be around much . . . so I'd just like to say . . .

HAPPY NEW YEAR!

Monday, 29 December 2008

Jukebox Madness

I've been left to my own devices this morning and I couldn't make up my mind what to play. I was going to go with Squeeze and 'Up The Junction', but then I was swayed by a few Madness tunes. It's been a bit of a mad year after all . . . Anyhow, I'm fed up with being embarrassed, with people being mad at me, and quite frankly baggy trousers aren't a good look on me . . . so I chose these three tunes instead . . .







I have a blinding headache, so I'm off to suck on a metlet . . . or perhaps even a meltlet . . . it's going to be one of those days . . .

Saturday, 27 December 2008

Everything Must Go . . .

What shall we do between now and New Year? I know, why not spend some more money . . .
Some retailers are slashing prices by up to 70%. I kind of get the feeling that this is not a sign of a thriving economy, but a sign of desperation. I never go to the sales; I don't like being crushed and it's never good to look desperate . . . or crushed and crumpled . . .
My mantra for the coming New Year is to make do and mend.
Chin up, tits out . . . we will survive!

Wednesday, 24 December 2008

Happy Christmas!!!



Have a very Happy Christmas! And many thanks to all who've popped by to say hello since I started this little venture in June.
Tomorrow I will be mainly eating, drinking, playing chocolate monopoly, flashing my knickers at Santa and relieving him of his sack....
Hope you all have a good one!

Scarlet xxx

Sunday, 21 December 2008

Christmas Jukebox Monday

I think it's Christmas... HAPPY CHRISTMAS!



Thank you Kate for putting me on to this one....



...and thank you Mr Beastie for assistance with these two...



Saturday, 20 December 2008

Something for the weekend...

Stuck for present ideas? Left everything to the last minute again? Are your relatives arriving in just under an hour, but you still have a pile of washing up in the sink and a stinky duvet on the bed? Has the cat eaten the Christmas tree? Have you lost your baubles?
Well never mind... let's all have a look at this lovely chap instead...

Thursday, 18 December 2008

Perfect Day

Lizzie has reminded me of this video.



Think of this as the calm before the storm. This time next week will be Christmas Day, often not so perfect! I've had some real rotters.
Anyhow, if anyone can think of a way to make me feel more festive . . . well, suggestions are welcome . . .

*UPDATE* A suggestion from Dave . . .

Tuesday, 16 December 2008

Knobs and Knockers and a flash of Beaver . . .

My back door is being fitted tomorrow so I will be indisposed. This entrance area has been causing problems for some time now, [causing a bit of a draught] and now a very nice carpenter friend is finally coming to sort me out. He asked me earlier today whether I would like a handle or a ribbed knob. He recomended ribbed so that if my hands are slippery I'll still be able to get a good grip.
Anyhow he is a friendly cheerful chap who seems to know what he's doing and he enjoys dunking gingernuts. When he has finished in the back passage he has promised to work on my front door; he's going to stop it from sticking and he's going to polish my knockers.
Meanwhile, I am helping out with a project to reintroduce beavers into the English countryside. I heard about it on Jeremy Vine radio show yesterday afternoon and it caught my imagination . . .
Here is a short film clip to inform . . .

Monday, 15 December 2008

Jukebox Monday

It's been one of those days and blogger is throwing a wobbler on me... and won't allow comments on my fab jukebox . . . I'm too tired to sort it out so I'm just going to flounce out the door in a huff of scarlet . . . and a puff of smoke . . .

Sx

Sunday, 14 December 2008

Jukebox Monday

I've just realised that Jukebox Monday has a natural theme . . .



This is a bit of a cheat . . . but Pete will like it. I will play the original in a few weeks time.



And for everybody who's sick of Mondays . . . I used to be a Boomtown Rat fan; good excuse to stay in my pyjamas . . . For those who want to see the original video, click here.



Next week will be a Christmas special . . . cos it's Christmas soon.

Friday, 12 December 2008

The Fabric of Life part 2


Make Someone Happy with Bold 2 in 1




Yes, Wayne and Carol are still together but there have been several significant changes to their lifestyle. Despite his best efforts, Wayne couldn’t rid himself of sniffy Carol, his short-term shag, and she is now a permanent fixture in his life. Seven years on and two kids later and Wayne is no longer a Wigan billionaire. The credit crunch has hit him hard in the wallet. Gone is the fancy penthouse apartment; gone is the carefree laundry service; gone are the nights spent in ‘Sandy’s Plaice’ [now Cash-Converters], breathing in the heady ambiance of Tuna bake sandwiches, Scampi fritters and crab-sticks; gone are the shared Armani shirts and the Rolex watches. Gone is Carol’s catwalk prancing. To cut a long paragraph short: he’s lost everything. Carol’s expensive ‘habit’ has spun him dry.
Here we see Carol, in the final stages of washing detergent addiction, reclining on the sofa with a broken leg [she slipped on a lotus leaf]. Her family are doing their best to rally round; the children bring her flowers: she turns her nose up. They are not lime zest fresh. The children bring her chocolates: they scoff them all before Carol gets a look in. No, Carol wants one thing and one thing only; she wants a snort of Bold 2in1. Her addiction is now clearly out of control, she’s on twelve liquitabs a day and likes to top up on softener. And sadly it looks as though Wayne has also fallen foul of the same luxury scented addiction. We see him alone in the kitchen sticking his head in the spin drier and sniffing on his duvet before fluffing it up for Carol. Poor Wayne; he is on a slippery slope to laundry hell… He’s desperate for a pure sensory experience, so he’s hit the hard stuff, the ultra white brightening stuff; yes he’s concealing a stash of White Diamond Infusions.

Oh how I long for the good old days when couples in commercials used to shake coffee beans at one another whenever they were feeling a bit frisky or wanted to get high . . .

Tuesday, 9 December 2008

Oliver Postgate 12/04/1925 - 08/12/2008



I'm always dropping clangers...
Life is busy at the moment. I think it's something to do with trying to get everything done before Christmas. You'd have thought I'd be used to it by now. Anyhow I will be waffling on about adverts again very soon . . .

*Update* Oh sod it... I only have one fag left... how am I going to make it through the night? Anybody out there willing to drop off a packet of fags?? No I thought not. Sigh. I will cope.

Sunday, 7 December 2008

Jukebox Monday

First up, for Mr Beastie, because we . . . erm love his Love Action [?] and also for Daphne because she's back! This video is possibly another lost episode of Eastenders . . .



Second up is for Mr Coppens to wish him a speedy recovery from his recent operation . . .



And finally this is for all those suffering from seasonal bugs . . .

Saturday, 6 December 2008

Bug

It's December 6th. It's cold in England; some parts have already had snow. Lots of people have been complaining about all the nasty bugs that are doing the rounds, well it's that time of year isn't it? It's what we expect. And now I am a victim of a nasty bug . . . it woke me up in the night and this is what the bugger looks like . . .




. . . I mean . . . what the hell is this creature doing in my bedroom? Perhaps I have the central heating turned up too high . . .

Thursday, 4 December 2008

Teeth

Apparently this is the first ever advert to be broadcast on British TV . . .



I haven't been to the dentist in ages and I should go really because I have a compacted wisdom tooth that needs pulling out. It's been pushing through for the last nine years now. There is a flap of skin over it . . . I can feel it with my finger and when I run my tongue over it. Definitely hard. I don't like bits getting stuck under the flap so I mouthwash everyday to keep it clean. And I brush for tingles.

I've recently found this dentist online, but I think he's more interested in wonky teeth and mine are quite straight. I don't think he can help me with my protrusion.
Anyhow, if you have wonky teeth . . . maybe he can help you.

Tuesday, 2 December 2008

Aunt Bessie



This advert really really annoys me, simply because it rips off this . . .



I imagine this is how Beastie's kitchen is in the morning.

Sunday, 30 November 2008

Jukebox Monday

First off... this is for Pete who needs educating in all things Blondie...



...and this is for Mr Commons... My ex-boyfriend was a roadie with Tears for Fears... I'm going to having a Tears for Fears day now...



And this is for the rest of us...

Friday, 28 November 2008

Sax



I'm going to be having my connections fiddled with this weekend, so I don't know what will become of me. Hopefully I will be back - faster and looser...
Meanwhile, here is a musical interlude and a reminder to practice, practice, practice...

Wednesday, 26 November 2008

The Fabric of Life



This is an oldie. I loathe this advert so much that it almost gives me pleasure - kind of pervy I know. The central character in this ad is Carol and she’s an out of work dentist from Harrow who’s dumped herself on Wayne, a billionaire playboy from Wigan. Wayne pulled her at a hot nightspot called ‘Sandy’s Plaice’ in Wigan High Street, which is highly regarded for it’s sea-food platter and salty ambiance. Wayne, as we can see, is a little worried cos he only meant for her to stay for one night but now she’s moved in all her stuff and has turned his box room into her own personal closet. He’s kind of resigned himself to her presence; she’ll do for now and she has her uses, such as doing the laundry. Anyhow, in this scene we see Carol having a hissy fit because she can’t find anything nice to wear for a big night out with Wayne; she’s throwing all her designer clothes about and stamping on them, that is until she has a brilliant idea. She heads to the kitchen, and from the washing machine she pulls out Wayne’s best white shirt [Armani]. We know it’s been washed in Bold 2in1 because she comes close to orgasm when she sniffs it [we’ve all been there]. Wayne's been waiting for her for ages and keeps looking at his watch, but he’s too scared to say anything other than: ‘you look fine’ and ‘no, of course it doesn’t bother me that you’re nicking all my clothes’. What the hell, she’s a cheap date who gets off on washing powder.
Later we see the happy couple arriving at an exclusive Wigan restaurant. Carol chucks her coat at a nearby cloakroom attendant and struts her stuff as bold as brass; she’s definitely on the dazzle and has overdosed again. And Wayne? Wayne’s quite happy - he knows exactly what she’s gonna do for a smear of comfort and a dab of lemon fresh Persil.

Sunday, 23 November 2008

Lemonade Monday on Sunday

Blimey, I've been given a Lemonade Award from CyberPete . This is awarded to blogs with attitude and gratitude. I'm blushing. I think I probably have more gratitude than attitude. Anyhow, to celebrate, I'm going to combine my Lemonade award with Jukebox Monday! Yey! So thank you Pete, this one's for you . . .





For Kate . . .




And this is for Wendy . . .




. . . and for everyone on my blogrol, who also deserve this bright shiny fizzy Lemonade award . . .




. . . eclectic jukebox? . . . Where's my hankie? I'm doing a Gwynnie now . . .

Thursday, 20 November 2008

Bag

Mr Beasty and Mr Frobisher have shown me theirs . . . so I''m going to show them mine . . . my bag that is . . .





This is the functional bag that I sling over my shoulder on a daily basis. I apologise for my camera phone pictures. They're crap. Anyhow, the contents of the bag are as follows:-

Red Lipstick; Estee Lauder compact; a tenner; tampons; spare knickers, toothbrush and mini toothpaste [well you never know]; cigarette case and lighter [after three years I've started again]; tweezers; lots of keys - house and car; well tongued alto saxophone reeds [Vandoren 'Jazz' no.3]; vaseline [for emergency eye-lash conditioning]; book - '211 Things A Bright Girl Can Do' by Bunty Cutler [hints and tips on life and everything from 'how to make yoghurt in a thermos flask' to 'how to swing upside-down on a trapeze']

Bet you wished you hadn't asked now . . .

Monday, 17 November 2008

NEW! At Scarlet Blue - Jukebox Monday!

. . . As promised to Kev . . .

I will kick off Jukebox Monday, but as I have lousy/cheesy taste in music I'd rather play requests in future, so any suggestions are welcome for a regular Jukebox Monday slot.

Also, something to ponder on . . . a question was raised in my previous comments box, which was: Do lips deflate as they get older? Thanks to Kaz for making me ponder this . . .



Saturday, 15 November 2008

For Mrs P and Daphne Wayne-Bough

This is for Mrs P and Daphne Wayne Bough at Chocs Away
I for one will be very sad to see either of you go. Apologies for this God forsaken record... but you've both driven me to it... it's your own fault.

Tuesday, 11 November 2008

Here Come the Girls

‘Here come the girls...’ is the chant from the new Boots Christmas ad; it’s theme is to show how much better women are at organisation than men. And it looks like we’re back in the office again as we are shown a group of women in the advanced stages of ‘Secret Santa’; they’ve each pulled a colleague’s name out of a hat, and now they’re all stampeding, like a brightly coloured herd of cattle, to Boots to buy cheap and cheerful goodies for Christmas. One of the blokes in this ad is shown to be so incompetent and incapable that he is seen trying to wrap up his stapler as a gift. Part of me dislikes this ad because I think it encourages men to wallow in the myth that they are useless at choosing suitable gifts and therefore discourages them from putting any effort into doing any Christmas shopping. Basically women get lumbered with present finding. It’s not on. Being a man is not an excuse to be useless.
Anyhow, I like that this ad is set in an office, and I like the tune, but I think that Boots are missing out all the good bits that only happen at Christmas, so I suggest a ‘Here come the girls’ sequel. In the sequel, Boots join forces with the people who make the alcohol awareness information films, and together they show the true horrors that are unwrapped at the annual Christmas do.
Firstly there is always a weeping wailing woman who sobs into her soup for 3hrs, making horrible stains across the table cloth. In a drunken stupor she confesses, loudly, that she has been sleeping with the Group Operations Director for the last 3 months, but now he’s dumped her for the bright and shiny, brand new 18yr old receptionist . . .
Then there’s the couple who’ve been winding each other up into a sexual frenzy throughout the year with frustrated fumblings and seductive teasing. At the Christmas party they cross the line of no return resulting in ripped shirts, laddered tights and lost knickers. The next day he brags and she denies. It takes another 6 months of meaningful glances and breathy tension before they do the exact same thing at the company cheese and wine soiree. Eventually they get married. And buy a bungalow.
Finally there’s the drunken blonde floosey, whose party piece is to snog everyone under the mistletoe and declare undying love, forever and ever, to anyone who’ll listen. She then takes it upon herself to entertain her colleagues by scrambling, unassisted, onto the table to belt out a rousing chorus of ‘I Will Survive’, just before flashing her tits at her boss and throwing up into his lap . . .
Oops.

Monday, 10 November 2008

Embarrassing Records - My Final Word...

Okay, before I get on and write a proper post, this is my last word on embarrassing records . . .




Also, if anyone has any suggestions as to where Mrs P and I should go on Friday, then please let us know. I think there might be pictures and a slide show available for purchase after the event.

Thursday, 6 November 2008

I've been tagged . . .

Right, think I need to cheer things up a bit and Emma has helped because she has tagged me. This time I have to name my most embarrassing record. Unfortunately Youtube won't let me embed this particular link, so please click here
It's embarrassing because my boyfriend and I were both punks. And yes, we used to listen to it together, dressed in all our finery, and yes, we both knew all the words . . .

I'd like to tag Dr Maroon because he loves music; Inkspot because he will find it a challenge; MJ because she's Canadian; Kate because . . . well just because, and Boyo because it'll give him something to do . . . Oh, I would have tagged Gadjo as well but he hasn't got sound . . . Oh flipping 'eck can I just tag everyone?

Wednesday, 5 November 2008

My Dog

Buzz 30/10/96 - 04/11/08

Monday, 3 November 2008

Interlude

I was looking for BBC Potter's Wheel Interlude, but then I found this . . . Things were much scarier in the past . . .

Friday, 31 October 2008

AAARRRRGGGGGGGHHHHHHHH . . . .

Just a quick post to counter scurrilous rumours being circulated around the blogosphere by Clara Pouncer, Gadj and Kevin Musgrove.

I AM NOT GINGER.

Thank you.
Sx

P.S Happy Halloween etc, etc . . . don't step in a pumpkin and all that.

Tuesday, 28 October 2008

Dyson Does Dallas



I’ve thought of a way for credit crunched advertisers to save money. Instead of fifty or sixty 30sec. ads between programmes; what if the advertisers all club together to make a commercial mini movie? Picture the scene: three exquisitely beautiful young executives [Molly, Mindy and Duncan] are chauffeur driven to their place of work in a Vauxhall Zafira. Before the working day begins in earnest, Molly and Mindy head off to the Ladies for a spot of gossip and to exchange tips on L’Oreal haircare and sanitary products.
“Have a happy period,” shouts Molly at the top of her voice, as she presses a gift wrapped ‘Always’ sanitary towel into Mindy’s sweaty palm. Mindy smiles and accepts the gift in a slightly overexcited manner.
By about 11am both women are sitting at their desks in their open plan office. Mindy is feeling a tad peckish but is fighting the temptation of a suggestive digestive.
“Here try these,” says Molly as she tosses a bag of Special K Mini Breaks over to Mindy.
“At only 100 calories a bag you can enjoy snacking,” she says helpfully.
Mindy scoffs the lot, leaving crumbs and bits of chewed up old oats all over the carpet. Meanwhile, Molly, the feistier of the two, is munching her way through a bag of Maltesers; at less than 190 calories they don’t leave her feeling naughty enough, so she turns to colleague Duncan and flashes her tits. Not to be outdone, Duncan discards all his clothes, drapes himself across Molly’s desk and makes her watch his Aero melt and bubble. Mindy tries not to notice, and pretends to get on with her work. She’s not really bothered because she’s enjoying the sensation of bumper cars buffeting in her S&M knickers.
At 4pm they all put their clothes back on and bugger off up the pub, leaving poor old Mr Dyson to clear up the chocolaty, biscuity mashed up mucky mess. Thankfully he is blessed with a long hosed flexi-crevice multi-purpose ‘suck-it-and-see’ attachment . . . and just as the last crumb shoots up his nozzle, the sensual voice-over finally whispers the all important strap-line, which is of course: ‘Sex Sells’.

Friday, 24 October 2008

Six Random Things

I have been tagged by Kate! To join in the fun I must reveal 6 random things about myself. Okay then. Will do.

1) According to my Mum, the first word I said was ‘Batman’.

2) This is the ringtone on my mobile phone:



3) This is one of my favourite pieces of art. ‘Can’t Play, Won’t play’ by Lucy Wood. It is a full sized trampoline, but made with glass instead of canvas.



4) People have referred to me as: ‘The Bouncing Bomb’; ‘Radar’ and ‘Duracell’

5) At present I am beside myself with excitement because the new zombie series ‘Dead Set’ begins on Monday on E4. This is Charlie Brooker’s first TV drama. He’s better known for his satirical show ‘Screenwipe’ [BBC3] and as a columnist in the Guardian. I love his writing. I love zombie films. I sometimes watch Big Brother. Even better, is that Davina McCall gets made into a zombie.

6) In damp conditions my hair goes a bit kinky. I am not a natural blonde.

Tag rules: Link to the person who tagged you. Post the rules on your blog. Write 6 random things about yourself. Tag 6 people at the end of your post and link to them. Let each person you have tagged know by leaving a comment on their blog. Let the tagger know when your entry is posted...

So I’d like to tag: Mrs P, Beasty, Wendy, Kevin, Ms Cakes, and Mr Gyppo

Thursday, 23 October 2008

This is not just food . . . (Part II)

Before I do the scary tag thingy, I must post this. Kate reckons that this is the ultimate food/sex moment. I reckon that I agree and that those marketing bods at M&S have missed a trick. Piers Morgan? . . . What were they thinking . . . ?

Monday, 20 October 2008

This is not just food . . .

Piers Morgan on M&S Steak




This is Marks and Spencer trying to go down market in an effort to entice credit crunched consumers back into their food halls. I think they're shooting themselves in the foot - especially by asking Piers Morgan to do the voice over; like he's popular. When I first heard this advert I wasn't looking at the screen, so I thought it was an ad for Morrisons - what with Piers waxing lyrical about his wants and must haves: "I want my steak hot, red and raw and slapped across a sizzling griddle." He rasps - okay he doesn't quite say that, but I wish he would. Oh come on Marks and Sparks, what are you playing at? Where's the orgasmic fizz and the warm chocolate sauce being drizzled over steaming chocolate pudding (800 calories a shot). You're losing your appeal; too little S&M is making you look like Lidl . . . .
Anyhow, this is how it should be . . .





Wednesday, 15 October 2008

Beauty is now and forever . . .

Personal Lift Expert from Nivea Visage




So here we have Betty and Lil. Betty, the 50yr old mother of three meets Lil for a pot of tea and a macaroon in a trendy new high rise bar somewhere near Haywards Heath. They grab a seat by the window and not before too long conversation inevitably turns to how wonderful Betty is looking. Lil rudely wonders aloud if Betty has had a ‘pull-back’.
“Are you kidding, at 50 I have my own lift expert.” Exclaims Betty, and she’s not talking ‘Stannah’. Apparently it’s all down to an anti-sagging system that involves hydraulic engineering, a bit of elastic, and a roll of sellotape. To be honest I think if you told Betty and Lil that the secret of eternal youth is to massage a mixture of boiled rabbit urine and toad faeces into their skin twice daily whilst holding their noses and gargling with putrid cockle juice . . . then they probably would.
Who am I kidding, I do use anti-aging products . . . I’m just trying to shore up any further slippage . . . I know I’m a mug for buying them . . . but . . . well, I’m vain . . . I know they don’t work really. In some ways I’m looking forward to getting older . . . I see it as a good excuse to develop my budding eccentricity; I’m planning to max out as many credit cards as I can, go on a World Cruise where I will dine with the Captain every night before playing Bingo; steal sweets from Woolworths, and buy even more hats and shoes. It’s going to be fun . . . and just imagine all those men in uniform chasing after me . . .
I must admit though, that Betty is looking rather good for her age . . . maybe it’s because she’s played by an actress who’s only 32 . . .

Saturday, 11 October 2008

Tuesday, 7 October 2008

Break the Mould



The VO5 ‘Break the Mould’ campaign has been running for some time now. The latest ad in this series is set in an army camp where new recruits are having their heads shaved . . . . that is until the barber, Terry, is surreptitiously passed a pot of VO5 extreme styling crème. Terry studied ‘Directional Hair Design’ and ‘Pubic Topiary’ at Southend Tech; he had dreams of opening his own salon, until an unpleasant accident involving perming fluid, straightening irons and his Mum’s best friend, Pam, scuppered his plans. Pam still walks with a limp and can no longer wear shorts. To escape the ensuing controversy, Terry fled Southend to make a fresh start at the army recruitment centre in Mid-Glamorgan.
Terry, skilled in all things ‘hair’, realises that his job will be done much quicker, and he can be off up the pub much sooner, if he ditches the clippers and uses the styling crème instead. So now we are looking at a group of attractive young models with shaved heads, who are feeling a draught round their ears, and a group of attractive young models who’ve had their hair slightly ruffled. According to VO5, who know nothing of Terry’s tragic past, this vaguely ruffled look is called ‘extreme styling’ and it will set you apart from your peers because you have ‘broken the mould’ through its usage.
This is not ‘extreme styling’. Those of us who can remember ‘Hard as Rock’ hairspray know all there is to know about ‘extreme styling’. We used to impale pigeons and other small mammals on our spikes. It is worth mentioning, in these credit crunching times, that all you need for ‘extreme styling’ can be found in and around the home; avoid perming fluid and straightening irons, but try getting creative with food colouring, sugar water, egg white or that perennial favourite: spunk . . . . just don’t get caught in the rain . . . . and remember, true individuals wear hats.

Friday, 3 October 2008

Dr Maroon and Mrs Pouncer?

. . . . and a good excuse to show some classic adverts . . .

Thursday, 2 October 2008

Always . . . . [Update]




Always have a happy period . . . . stick a bumper car in your pants . . . .

Sunday, 28 September 2008

Kate Moss

Blimey, Kate Moss is at it now. Her self-portrait, drawn in lipstick, has just sold for £33,600. This portrait was originally a gift to Pete Doherty but he sold it. See BBC News for more information.
New ad for Rimmel, perhaps?

Where Has He Gone . . . ?

I'm looking for the blogger 'John Prescott' . . . I wonder where he could be. I'm sure this picture will lure him back . . .
Pork Pies on special offer . . .

Thursday, 25 September 2008

Gucci by Gucci

I’m bothered by the Gucci perfume ad directed by David Lynch. It features a tall willowy blonde who wobbles and waves her way across the screen to the sound of ‘Heart of Glass’ by Blondie, which is a shame because her name is Beverly and she prefers Demis Roussos. Beverly is looking ever so slightly pissed and is finding it difficult to keep in time with the music, this may be because she is concerned about crushing cheese straws into her cream shag pile carpet, or perhaps somebody mean has spiked her Cinzano. There’s something very trippy-drippy-dreamy about this ad that sends me on a colour co-ordinated commercial trip of my own.
Firstly it reminds me of the old Terry’s All Gold ad, which not only lights up Beverly’s face but also her living room and possibly the whole of Greater Manchester. Terry’s All Gold blends into the Egyptian pyramids of Benson and Hedges, from here a Camel leads me to the secret of the Black Magic box, which transforms itself into a glossy jet black pack of JPS. Back at Beverly’s soiree, an SAS man arrives in a silver Lotus Élan; James Bond style, he scales the walls of Beverly’s bungalow because he’s heard that Beverly loves Milk Tray, especially the coffee creams. He spies Beverly standing by her window wearing nothing more than a negligee of purple silk, cut to perfection. He waits in eager anticipation as he’s hoping to strike lucky by snatching a glimpse of her Toblerone honeycombed triangle . . .

Tuesday, 23 September 2008

Who Knows the Secret . . .




Well, loads of other bloggers seem to have black boxes . . . I thought I'd get my own . . .

Saturday, 20 September 2008

No More Awkward Moves

I don’t like vacuuming and anything that’s going to make it quicker and less of a chore is alright by me, so I was interested to see what the new Dyson vacuum cleaner had to offer now that the nice Mr Dyson has corrected the obvious design flaw. Apparently the new Dyson has been fitted with a big ball for easy handling; where previously it could only go backwards and forwards, straight up and down, thumping against the walls and getting nowhere fast, it can now be easily manoeuvred into any tight little nook or cranny. Sounds like a godsend.
According to Jennifer Whitehead at Brand Republic, the Dyson company are: ‘banking on research that the new ball design will make men 45% more likely to do the housework, a fact that, in turn, will make women want to buy the cleaner’. I’m confused because the Dyson ad blatantly only shows women using the vacuum. Maybe they realised the dubious quality of their research. Perhaps we women, when viewing the ad, are supposed to chuckle to ourselves in the knowledge that the obvious design flaw is that men are incapable of using a vacuum cleaner. But men are incapable of using a vacuum cleaner. Without supervision, a man may start innocently enough by vacuuming the carpets and the kitchen worktop, but inevitably he will discover the delights to be had from the wide range of assorted vacuum accessories and not before too long he will be sucking up spilt drinks with the mini turbine head, grooming the cat with the soft dusting brush, removing earwax with the ‘up-top’ tool and sticking the long hosed flexi-crevice nozzle down his trousers . . . .

Wednesday, 17 September 2008

Beautiful Inside My Head Forever

I think I've had a brainwave . . . going back to the Damien Hirst auction . . . the 'art' was the auction itself . . . not the stuffed animals and bits of bling that were being sold. It may have been performance art after all . . . ?

Well, there are worse ways of making £100m, Damien's way was artful. Just wish I'd thought of it first.

Monday, 15 September 2008

Fighting Temptation?

I've not tried the new Special K Mini-Breaks, but how can a bag of wheaty, oatie, low-cal, low sugar, lumps of nothing, really compete with an extra large packet of full frontal chocolate digestive biscuits? This ad is set in an office environment and we are shown a group of attractive working women sitting at their desks looking professional and well manicured. Unfortunately they are being distracted from their work by saucers of chocolate biscuits and bags of sweets. We see one of these distressed women gently caressing a chocolate biscuit with her finger; her resistance is palpable as she frowns and bites her bottom lip almost drawing blood. None of these women look as though the odd suck on a dunked digestive would do them any harm . . . so why the traumatised torture brought on by the presence of all this sugary snackery? And why are these Mini-Breaks specifically targeting women? Are men impervious to a snack attack during the working day? Do men coyly avoid biscuit temptation whilst being busy and business-like? Do they heck as like . . .

I've never eaten a packet of biscuits or a box of chocolates in one sitting, not ever. I don't have a sweet tooth; too much sugar makes me sick and hyperactive . . . . and I know what's perfect for nibbling on, so I'm much more likely to be found filling myself up on savoury nibbles and salty snacks . . . but not so much that I gag.

Sunday, 14 September 2008

Sale Now On - Everything Must Go!


Damien Hirst is having a massive sale of all his work at Sotheby's on Monday and Tuesday. He's cutting out the gallery dealer and keeping all the dosh himself. The title of the sale is: "Beautiful Inside My Head Forever" . . . . shouldn't that be "Beautiful Inside My Wallet Forever" . . . ?

Saturday, 13 September 2008

Something for the Weekend

Flash Fiction is growing in popularity . . . so I thought I'd have another go . . . . this one is called Beryl.

Beryl is a scrubber. For Beryl there is no greater pleasure than to be elbow deep in a bucket full of soapy suds and on her knees scrubbing every inch of dirt from the cracked linoleum that is Mr Baxter's kitchen floor. Her fingers are scrubbed red raw; the detergent stings, but Beryl refuses to wear gloves, professing to dislike the smell of rubber and, she explains, they make her hands hot.
Mr Baxter, in his big black policeman boots, treads slow deliberate footprints across the kitchen floor. Muddy and thick. They lead to a stool from where Mr Baxter sits to watch Beryl work; from where he watches her wobbling bare buttocks sway rhythmically in time with the scrubbing. Later, Mr Baxter will make Beryl a nice cup of tea and pay her handsomely for her trouble.

Wednesday, 10 September 2008

Rain

So we're all going to be sucked up into a black hole today; more likely that we're all going to be washed away and sucked down a plug-hole . . .

Monday, 8 September 2008

Let It Shine

I may have found myself a potential new career and a way of earning some extra cash to fight off the credit crunch blues. I have been offered the position of 'Product Placement Operative' at my local Morrisons store. My first shift starts tonight at 6pm and as you can imagine, I'm quite excited.
The Global Ambassador for Morrisons is Essex girl Denise Van Outen, so I will be in good company then. In the Ads Denise leads an army of 'Z' list celebrities, and Lulu, in a trolley trundle up stream, down dale and across valley in search for something fresh to eat. You may have better luck at a supermarket Denise, and you won't get your shoes wet. Denise tells us that she wants it fast and she wants it fresh and she wants it straight from the farmer and she's willing to parachute into a field to get it. She's probably breaking some kind of countryside code by worrying the sheep and scaring the crows, but what the hell, she's got her mitts on a train load of freshly picked apples and she's now on her way to gather plums.
So who will be the next celeb to succumb to signing a contract with Morrisons? My money's on Dame Helen Mirren. Still clad in her bikini she'll emerge from the surf, the spitting image of Honey Ryder in Dr No, and with regal poise and determination she'll trundle with her trolley over sand dune and through rock pool, stopping every now and then to seek out cockles and muscles, several crab sticks and a fresh fish finger for her tea.

Thursday, 4 September 2008

Always


It sounds as if Sanitary wear manufacturers 'Always' are diversifying by moving into the greeting card industry, their snappy new strap-line being: ' Have a Happy Period'. Well it makes good financial sense; Christmas and birthdays are but once a year, but a period (fingers crossed - should've been legs) happens once a month. I actually think this gimmick could catch on; 'Always' could give away a set of 'Happy Period' cards, depicting calming pictures of flowers or kittens or any other suitably girly image, with every pack of pads they sell. I, in turn, could send them to my girl-pals, wishing them well whilst they're cramping up in agony and hugging hot water bottles. I'd probably get a slap.

Having a bearable period is about how fast the painkillers work, how quickly the killer rage subsides and whether or not the skinny jeans will still do up over the water inflated bloat . . . it has very little to do with the pads I stick in my pants . . . just make sure the bloody things don't leak . . . or make me look like I'm wearing a nappy . . . perhaps 'Always' could think about giving away a free Smirnoff Moscow Mule with every pack . . . now this would make me happy . . .

Tuesday, 2 September 2008

Avon U by Ungaro: Addendum

So Reese Witherspoon is not just 'The Face' of Avon - she is instead their 'Global Ambassador'. I suppose this is in the same way that Gary Lineker is the 'Global Ambassador' for Walkers crisps and the cute Labrador puppy is the 'Global Ambassador' for rolls of Andrex . . .

Anyhow, I must make amends . . . I wasn't paying attention when I first watched the Avon ad . . . I'd just painted a wall in the kitchen . . . and I think Reese was wearing pink . . . an important detail . . . also I completely missed the 'story'; she does not travel up to the roof-top in the elevator; it is the handsomely dishevelled gentlemen who is in the elevator and she is racing him to the top. They've probably got a bet on who can get there first . . . we've all done it . . . thing is Reese . . . if a Global, National, International, Worldwide cosmetic giant have made you climb the stairs, making you all puffed out and sweaty, then they're just not worth it. As I said before, you should have gone to L'Oreal . . . like everyone else . . .

Friday, 29 August 2008

Avon U by Ungaro

I've been quite taken with the new perfume ad from Avon - Avon U by Ungaro. It features Avon Global Ambassador, Reese Witherspoon, looking stunning in a sheath of peach satin. She takes an old fashioned elevator (like the one in Fatal Attraction - where Glenn Close has her way with Micheal Douglas) up to the roof-top of a very tall building. It's dark and a little too breezy because her hair is getting all messed up (she should have gone to L'Oreal). Here she is joined by a tall dark attractive man in a dinner jacket, looking nonchalantly shaken but not too stirred. Perhaps he has lost a mint in the neighbouring Casino because his bow tie is hanging loosely around his collar; or perhaps he has a box of Milk Tray stuffed down his trousers, he is that type of guy. As the couple look longingly at each other a voice over cuts across the scene and says: 'What happens next is up to U to decide' . . . . Well obviously the Cactus Kid turns up with his underage pregnant girlfriend and he shares out bottles of 'Oasis' before they all fly off in a passing helicopter. Several years later they crash land into the penultimate episode of 'Lost' where they swap partners at least four times, have six children, one porcupine and an African Violet between them. On day 3,046 they are all evicted but still manage to live happily ever after, thanks to the exclusive magazine deals with 'Hello', 'OK', 'Gardener's World' and 'The People's Friend'. Then a nice Avon lady rings my doorbell, I let her in and she sells me a pink heart shaped 'Soap-on-a-Rope' . . .

I need to get out more.

Thursday, 28 August 2008

Teach Me to be a Lady Mrs Pouncer

There's a lady in the Blog World called Mrs Pouncer, she's extremely charming and erudite and puts me to shame. I'm hoping that she'll teach me how to be a lady - just like what she is. I know I have vulgar ways and that I'm not much more than a gutteral peroxide blonde in need of a good scrubbing, inside and out; and that I'm no better than I ought to be (so my Mum's always saying) . . . but this is why I need you Mrs Pouncer . . . I think my vulgar ways are putting the gentlemen off . . . I'm fun for a frolic . . . a bag of pork scratchings and a Moscow Mule, but that's about it.
I know that Mrs Pouncer won't come here to give me instruction, it's far too grubby, but I'm hoping she'll sort me out over at hers . . . she's about the poshest person I've ever met . . . so I've linked her as 'HRH'. And she seems to know so much about flattering underwear, which is always a plus.

A Flash of Fiction

Flash fiction has been growing in popularity, so I've decided to have a go . . .

"So what happened to you last night?"

"I'm really sorry . . . blah, blah, blah . . . went for a drink after work . . . blah, blah, blah . . . tried to ring, but I couldn't get a signal . . . blah, blah, blah . . . out of credit . . . blah, blah, blah . . . missed the last train home . . . blah, blah, blah . . . but then I ran into Steve . . . blah, blah, blah . . . he'd had a row with Sally . . . yeah, I know . . . blah, blah, blah . . . shoulder to cry on . . . couldn't leave him like that . . . blah, blah, blah . . . went back to his place . . . blah, blah, blah . . . finished off a bottle of wine . . . blah, blah, blah . . . then all my clothes fell off . . . blah, blah, blah . . . . and I slept with your best mate . . . blah, blah, blah . . ."

The Prisoner's Dilemma

Sarah and Lisa played out a version of 'The Prisoner's Dilemma' on last night's Big Brother and decided to trust each other. Good for them! The theory goes that it's rational to betray - being that self interest is rational. If they'd both decided to take the money they would have ended up with nothing. Well, they chose to share and now both walk out of the house £25k better off. It's a good job that we women are irrational. It might have been interesting to see the game played out between Rex and Lisa . . . would he have tried to take the whole £50k?
I can't say that I've really warmed to this year's bunch of housemates. And the continual bullying of Sarah over the last week by both Darnell and Rex has made unpleasant viewing. I'm glad she got the dosh. There is still no obvious winner, but I guess it's between Lisa, Mikey and Rachel . . . as somebody said weeks and weeks ago when all this nonsense started, 'the blind bloke will win it . . . those are the rules.'

Tuesday, 26 August 2008

Scarlet's Credit Crunching Tip of the Day . . .

. . . Growing a long fringe will save money on Botox . . . . and possibly on eye-shadow, mascara and even lipstick . . .

Thursday, 21 August 2008

Coke/Oasis: Addendum

I was thinking of a new ad campaign for Oasis . . . something irreverent that would appeal to its demographic . . . how about a thumping close up of the product with the unforgettable tagline: 'Oasis - Fruit Flavoured Water - Fucking Buy it.' Well it would save all the fuss of a storyboard and some poor chap being humiliated by having to dress up as a potted plant . . . after all . . . advertisers want one thing . . . they want people to buy their stuff.

Wednesday, 20 August 2008

Coke/Oasis

I like the new series of 'blink and you'll miss 'em' Coca-Cola ads. The first few I saw were almost subliminal . . . barely much more than the effervescent fizz-fizz fizzle of coke being poured over chinking cubes of ice. The plain white background gives these ads a picture poster effect and doesn't detract from the product. Very clean. These are clever ads dependent on a well established brand identity. Contrast these Coke ads with the new ad for soft drink 'Oasis' - 'For people who don't like water'. A catchy tagline if ever I heard one. I loathe this advert. It features a character called 'The Cactus Kid' who, I guess, doesn't drink water . . . . but cacti do drink water, they're renowned for conserving it. I suppose some creative marketing bod thought, 'Oasis = Desert = Cactus', and in a nano-second 'The Cactus Kid' became a disturbing reality. The Cactus Kid is horrible, he reminds me of a character from 'The Twilight Zone' . . . or was it 'Creepshow'? . . . Where the guy picks up meteor rocks which in turn infected him with a space virus, and made grass grow all over his skin . . . Eeurgh . . .
Apparently "Oasis is being transformed from a product to a brand with an irreverent and engaging personality via a powerful core creative idea." So says Kate Bourne of Coca-Cola Enterprises Limited . . . . how can they get one ad so right and the other so mind numbingly wrong? Well, Oasis isn't aimed at me, is it? But, if The Cactus Kid is a good example of a 'powerful core creative idea', then I'm a 16 year old cheerleader from Amsterdam with tulips sticking out me arse.

Side Splitting

I must mention that John Crace nearly killed me on Saturday. I do not have the lungs for laughter. He writes 'Digested Classics' in The Guardian on Tuesday/Saturday. His potted version of Daphne du Maurier's 'Rebecca' was spot on, and Saturday's version of 'Of Mice and Men' by John Steinbeck literally split my sides.
http://www.guardian.co.uk/books/2008/aug/16/fiction2

Laughter is not a recommended remedy for pleurisy. This is why I'm stuck with Adverts and Big Brother. I saw 'Mamma-mia!' last night. Flotsam and jetsam, but very funny. A genuine 'feel good' film, but unfortunately it did nothing but harm to my lungs.

Tuesday, 19 August 2008

Gloomy Weather

Think I ought to take a leaf out of Patsy's book. She's flown off half way across the world because she has a swanky new job. It involves flying around the world and being swanky . . . I guess at some point she'll have to take her clothes off. She's good at that.

Me? Well, I collapsed last Thursday because of this pleurisy thingy, so I'm not feeling brilliant but a lot better than I was. It doesn't help that it's so disgustingly damp. However, it's given me loads of time to stay in and watch adverts . . . and sadly, also Big Brother: Rex and Nicole - what's that all about?

There is an advert that has been bothering me, it's the one for the Nokia 6220. I think they're trying to flog it on the basis that it has some kind of GPS system; this is illustrated by a colourful massive map being drawn with felt-tip pens. Nothing wrong with this . . . other than it reminds me of when I was a kid and my Dad used to buy me great long packs of felt-tip pens with every colour imaginable. The most popular girl at school was the one with the longest pen pack . . . so much fun sniffing the tips . . . My point is that this ad makes we want to rush out to buy felt-tips, regress to the age of six and doodle all over a white-washed wall . . . it doesn't make me want to buy a phone . . .

Monday, 18 August 2008

Time Warp

"Moscow threatens to launch nuclear strike against Poland, if it allows US missile defences on its soil" - Did I really read that right?

So bully-boy Russia is invading Georgia . . . . and threatening Poland; UK house prices are falling through the floor; repossessions and unemployment are on the up; a major recession is imminent . . . some people are really taking this eighties revival trip too far . . . next thing will be Rick Astley releasing his Ultimate Collection, and we can't be having that. At least we are good at water sports and cycling: not surprising really, what with all this flipping rain and the price of petrol . . . .

Monday, 11 August 2008

All Is Calm

I seem to have been a little 'rabid' of late . . . I will go off somewhere and . . . quietly deflate . . .

Friday, 8 August 2008

Credit Crunch

I'm getting tired of the phrase 'Credit Crunch', it's baby language for the word 'recession' and it's getting on my wick. It's being bandied about everywhere, all over the Internet, in newspapers and magazines. I was in the newsagents yesterday and I noticed several magazines had feature headers such as 'Beat the Credit Crunch', and I thought, yes I will . . . I won't buy your poxy magazine. It's as though it's something jolly . . . it isn't. A genuine downturn in the economy is never pretty and people get hurt. It's not entertainment. It's not being taken seriously because it hasn't really hit yet. Think of this period as 'The Phony Recession' . . . see what happens in Winter when the fuel bills start coming in . . . and lots of old people drop dead because they won't turn on their central heating . . .

. . . and if that pigeon starts staring at me again he'll find himself being bashed over the head and made into a filling for a very tasty pie . . .

Someone's not in a good mood then . . . .

Thursday, 7 August 2008

Bleurgh

I had some exceptionally good news on Monday. I should've been jumping for joy, cracking open the champagne like any normal person would. But was I? Was I 'eck as like. Nope, success makes me moody and introspective - hence all the nostalgic stuff about my Auntie Pam. The future that never was etc, etc . . . for all my success I am still a juvenile doughnut brain. Even though I am pushing 40 I still do stupid things.

I'm sure I will be back on form tomorrow. I think I've got some notes about an advert that I really like . . . so that'll make a change then . . .

Wednesday, 6 August 2008

Big Brother

Before I stuff my face with sausage . . . I thought I'd confess that I'm developing a bit of a 'thing' for Mohamed in Big Brother. I don't know why . . . it's totally irrational. Maybe it's because he's a toy demonstrator. I'm sure I'll get over it. He's just totally without guile and I find that rather sweet and appealing . . . all he does is eat and sleep . . . HELP . . .

D.I.Y For Multi-Millionaire Movie Stars

I didn't follow my Auntie Pam into advertising. I was never destined to live out a life of glamour in revolving restaurants. I loved hearing her stories about going out to dinner at the Post Office Tower restaurant, the ever changing view of London and eating prawn cocktails. My Dad promised to take me, but he never did. And then it got blown up by the IRA in the seventies and the restaurant closed in 1980.
I have too much personal integrity to be able to sell/market something that I don't believe in . . . that, and my Auntie Pam being against nepotism . . . damn her to this day . . .

Today I have a bone to pick with L'oreal: As if Eva Longoria, Penelope Cruz, Linda Evangelista and Andie McDowell use home hair dye kits. I can just see Eva on her own, in her bathroom, struggling to cover every strand of hair with stinky gloop and dripping it all over her cream shag pile carpet. Honestly, does L'oreal seriously believe that women are gullible enough to believe this crap? Yeah, right, I'm sure Eva always nips into Boots during her lunch hour to buy a £12.99 box of hair dye whenever she needs to liven up her locks . . .

And another thing . . . if all these anti-aging creams do what they say they do, with their pumperpeptides - or whatever - then surely the need for botox, acid peels and major pull-back surgery should be diminishing . . . shouldn't it? And what is a flipping peptide? Scientific gobbledygook . . . or gobbledygloop.

Right, I'm off to the greasy cafe on the corner for breakfast then . . .

Tuesday, 5 August 2008

I Don't Have an Issue with Vauxhall!

It has be suggested that I have an issue with Vauxhall. No I don't! I just think their ads are crap! To put the record straight: my Uncle Bill used to work at Vauxhall, my Grandad used to drive a green Vauxhall Viva, and my second car was a silver Vauxhall Nova GTE. It kept getting nicked though.

To add a bit more personal padding: I grew up in a male dominated household; the most glamorous woman in my life was my Auntie Pam. On the rare occasion that I remember seeing her, she would be wearing the slinkiest of black evening dresses topped off with a feather boa, a sophisticated Sobranie cigarette would hang loosely from her lips and she would then swan off somewhere a lot more exciting, leaving me in front of the telly with my Dad and my brothers. I thought she was the epitome of style and glamour. I wanted to grow up to be just like her. She owned an Advertising Agency.

Friday, 1 August 2008

So Now It All Makes Sense

I've been puzzled by the Vauxhall Corsa Ad for some time now. I mean, what's it all about? A very attractive woman hangs around with a collection of nicely knitted willy warmers, which have all been given hideously deformed faces. She's not allowed to drive the Corsa, but the collection of willy warmers are? Why don't they let her drive the car? Why doesn't she just stamp on them and grind them into the pavement with her stiletto heels? And why do they all intermittantly shout 'C'mon' . . . why do they do this? What does it all mean? Well, I thought I'd try to find out . . . and guess what . . . the willy warmers are the persona's of a band called The C'mons, a band formed in the late 1990's in Barcelona and made popular on MTV. Well there you go, that's cleared that up then . . . it all makes perfect sense now. I apologise for being culturally ignorant. Still a crap ad though . . .

I don't know who's going to win Big Brother . . . I usually do by this stage in the game. I haven't watched it avidly, not like I used to in the good old days, but if I was putting a bet on; it'd be Lisa, Stuart or Sara. I would have put my money on Darnell, but he blew it when he was leader of the house.

Haven't been well this week. I had pleurisy at the end of last year and have been suffering on and off from a post viral infection; I get washed out and house bound. The heat hasn't helped. I'm cranky because I'm waiting for rejection slips from publishers.

The pigeon is no longer staring at me.

Tuesday, 29 July 2008

A Proper Miss Smarty-Pants

I thought I was dead clever on Friday morning with the word 'Preserve': so perfectly relevant for the subject matter. I was hung over and originally I couldn't remember the phrase . . . I started off with: 'Beauty counters are no longer the prevalence . . . ', I realised this wasn't quite right and flicked through the dictionary. I thought it was 'reserve' and then of course 'preserve' popped into my head. I looked it up and because I was still so pissed I became overawed by its meaning within the context that I was using it. Dozy cow. Someone slap me . . . or better still . . . give me a puncture . . .

I think I love Kevin Bishop.
Right now, a pigeon is staring at me.

Friday, 25 July 2008

Afterthought

Of course it's a huge marketing ploy - telling women that they can still look 30 even though they're pushing 60. The beauty industry is big business . . . they don't want us to zip up our purses just because we've got 40 candles on the birthday cake . . . I know this, but I still buy into it. The beauty counter is no longer the *preserve of the very young.
Changing the subject slightly: Apparently I should be deeply ashamed of myself and I was old enough to be his mother. All I can say in my defence is that perhaps all these lotions and potions work after all! Sorry.

*Preserve noun 1 a preparation, e.g. a jam or jelly, consisting of fruit preserved by cooking whole or in pieces with sugar. 2 an area restricted for the preservation of natural resources, e.g. animals or trees, esp one used for regulated hunting or fishing. 3 something, e.g. a sphere of activity, reserved for certain people.

Thursday, 24 July 2008

She Looks Fab . . . But . . .

Helen Mirren, 62, has been caught on camera wearing nothing more than a bikini. She looks fab and probably has better muscle definition than many women half her age . . . but Helen . . . please put your clothes back on. I'm nearing 40 and as I get older I'm looking forward to letting go of my high maintenance lifestyle. By the time I hit 60 I want bikini's to be a distant, though happy memory. I want to be thinking about doughnuts, chocolate and cheesecake. Oh come on Helen, give a girl a break. When will I now be old enough not to look 'hot' in a bikini? When will I be old enough to eat again? I was looking forward to watching it all go south, perhaps take up smoking and indulge myself in lengthy knitting sessions whilst watching endless repeats of 'Frost' on UK Gold. I had it all worked out. But no, it's not to be, apparently at the age of 60 I'm still going to be expected to look 'hot' in a bikini. Bollocks.
I have chronic PMT and my tits hurt.

Well, that was all a bit girly . . . .

Friday, 18 July 2008

And . . .

Today's Independent asks: 'Is Google making us stupid? - As we surf, search and skim across the great databases of the internet, are we eroding our ability to concentrate and read deeply? In a polemic that has ignited fierce debate across the blogosphere, Nicholas Carr argues that the web is rewiring our neural circuitry - and not for the better.'

Think I'd better go and read this article then. From my own experience, I think the internet has made me more stupid. I'm very good at skim reading and pulling out relevant information, but I do worry about the time I spend reading junk . . . I worry about the time I spend writing junk . . . I suppose blogs are like fast food, they're instant fixes, but they're not wholesome or nourishing, not in the way that a good book is.

I only write short posts because I know that blog readers don't really concentrate.

Donkey Punch

In The Evening Standard 15/07/08, director of Donkey Punch, Olly Blackburn is quoted as saying: 'It is meant to be a provocative film, to deal with things you wouldn't talk about at a dinner party.' Mr Blackburn ought to be careful what he says. His Dad is a property lawyer and his Mum is an art curator. So Mr Blackburn is a middle Englander who goes to dinner parties with people he doesn't feel comfortable being himself with? Well, all this repression has driven him to make 'Donkey Punch'. It's described as being pretty nasty with unlikable characters. I wonder if it's going to live up to all the hype, or is Mr Blackburn going to turn out to be just another posh boy trying to be edgy and controversial?

And who goes to Dinner Parties? What is a Dinner Party? Tut.

Tuesday, 15 July 2008

Fortune Told

Well, that was an interesting weekend. I did my bit as 'Madam Ga-Ga' at Aunt Avril's village fete. Weather was a bit dull but it was still a large turn out . . . I did a roaring trade. I did specify that I knew bugger all about reading the Tarot cards; it was all for fun and entertainment, but my customers insisted on applying my readings to some very personal stories. I was quite touched that they were able to tell me their problems . . . and they wanted me to tell them what to do . . . I felt such a fraud . . . I had emphasised that I wasn't genuine. That's the cards though. They're designed in such a way that they're guarrenteed to fit with some burning life issue. They're clever like that. Most of my friends, I think, would fall about laughing at the idea of me giving advice about love, luck, money and work . . . considering my track record . . . but I guess I must be good at bullshit?!

Towards the end of the day it became more light hearted and I had a tent full of schoolboys. I wonder why?

Friday, 11 July 2008

Warning:

Not only is the house flying . . . but it's eating flesh as well . . . I had this stupid vision in my head all day yesterday. I wonder why?

I think I'm busy, so have a good day and beware low flying flesh eating bungalows . . .

Oh, I'm still on the look out for obscure quirky blogs, languishing undiscovered down the back of the internet. I still haven't found anything half as interesting as 'Tartania' though . . . but I am looking.

Wednesday, 9 July 2008

Warning: Flesh Eating House Flies

My mum recently complained of being bitten by a house fly. She's getting on a bit now so I didn't take much notice. I mean, house flies don't bite, do they? Well yes, the new improved house fly does bite. I got bitten on Saturday. It felt like a pin prick, barely perceptable, but it made me look down and I caught sight of a fly taking a lump out of my leg. They didn't used to bite, did they? When did they develop teeth and a liking for living flesh? Anyhow, I'd just seen 'Cloverfield' on DVD and I wondered if government scientists had failed miserably in their attempts to produce a mutant monster weapon of mass destruction, capable of ripping the seams out of cities, and had instead only managed to genetically alter a house fly into giving you a bit of a nip . . .

Well it's possible . . . probably cost millions . . . if anybody has had a strange experience with a house fly, then please let me know.

By the way: 'Cloverfield' - All style over substance.

I've got to practise the Tarot cards for Saturday. Will tell all on Monday.

Credit Crunch

Newspaper headlines warn of bleak times ahead: job losses, the price of food and fuel going up, house prices going down, knife crime, and it's not going to stop raining this summer. Crikey, I feel like I should be speaking in a clipped black n'white BBC accent and providing a list of money saving and mood lifting tips. Time to tighten belts; embrace charity shop chic and start sharing the bath water . . . . or shower with a friend. Time to get an allotment, grow your own spuds, rent out a room, and start shopping at Lidl. One thing I do know though, is how to make an attractive outfit from nothing more than a plain hessian sack [as opposed to a fancy one], shoe polish, a careful selection of perforated bottle tops and a ribbed condom. Who needs designer frocks? Eat your heart out Gok Wan; I am the mistress of thrift. Trust me . . . it'll look good . . .

Oh, what do I know? I'm a blow-up doll . . .

Tuesday, 8 July 2008

Well, Thanks for that . . .

Thanks Patsy, for pointing out that the photograph I'm using for the Scarlet Blue blogspot looks . . . . . well, it looks like the image of a permanently perplexed blow-up doll . . . deep in concentration . . . . cheers Pats for that witty observation . . .

Monday, 7 July 2008

Am I Really?

It has been suggested that I go on a 'How to be Nice' course if I'm ever to find a new boyfriend. Apparently I can no longer afford to rely on looks alone; I'm going to need an attractive personality now that I'm 'aging'. Thanks Mum. I'm not that horrible. Am I? If anybody knows of any 'How to be Nice' courses, then do please let me know.

Anyhow, changing the subject to something I posted about last week; I found this quote in The Independent:

'The reasonable man adapts himself to the world; the unreasonable one persists in trying to adapt the world to himself'' - George Bernard Shaw

See, someone should have pointed this out to the marketing folk at Vauxhall . .

And before I forget: No, I haven't been watching Big Brother; it's the biggest load of banal tosh on telly . . . but when I do vaguely catch a glimpse of it . . . that bloke Dale always looks like a perplexed blow-up doll deep in concentration . . .

I will be nice tomorrow.

Friday, 4 July 2008

Rotten Day

Had some bad news yesterday, so feeling pretty rotten.

However, I have been asked to 'mentor' a young writer. I was looking forward to this because he's very bright and very funny . . .

Right, to cut a long story short . . . I do not want to read about a character who is blessed with 'piercing blue eyes', who is constantly having his 'nostrils invaded' by terrible smells and lives in an 'ordinary pebble-dashed semi' . . . ever again.
I want a character with a lazy watery eye . . . whose nostrils are so frazzled from drug abuse that they've fallen off . . . and for the hell of it . . . lives secretly under the floorboards in Buckingham Palace eating scraps originally thrown down for the corgis. Perhaps I'm not serious, but you get my drift . . .

Writing sarcastic snippets like this cheers me up when life is being a shit.

Wednesday, 2 July 2008

Deodorant Bottles

I don't think I'm overly impressed with my new aerodynamic deodorant bottle. Unilever brands such as 'Sure' and 'Dove' [it's probably all the same pore clogging gloop], have been turned upside down [genius] in an effort to keep their balls rolling.
But my ball is still drying up. It still needs to be rolled with my fingers to get it going properly. And I don't like the way the bottle tapers and goes all thin. I want something bigger and thicker. Something I can get a firm grip of. There should be some kind of pump action delivery system . . . . I want bigger balls . .

Should I write to Unilever and complain?

Tuesday, 1 July 2008

What was I saying?

Whatever it was, Peter York will always say it better.

http://www.independent.co.uk/news/media/comment/peter-york-on-ads-856427.html

He also wrote about 'anti-style' in Saturday's Independent. I think I've always been 'anti-style', but I just call it 'being poor'. I like Peter York. He has regular slots in The Independent and he always makes me smile.

Monday, 30 June 2008

Still Very Busy . . . BUT . . .

'Make the World adjust to you.' Reads the tagline on the new Vauxhall Meriva/Zafira ads . . . Well, Yep, drivers of these sort of vehicles do exactly that. They make the World adjust to them, meaning they drive the rest of us off the road onto the pavement, into lamp posts and down into ditches. They have no regard for other road users whatsoever and this stupid advertisement is only encouraging them to continue in the same selfish inconsiderate way. What a stupid advert.
I don't usually rant. But AAARGGGHHH!
I'm stressed. I am very busy. I only have a small car. It has lots of dents . . .
Whilst I'm banging on about adverts, before I get on with some real work, I like the 'Echo Falls' wine advert, only because it it uses the music "Moments in Love" by The Art of Noise. I had the album, "Who's Afraid of The Art of Noise". Thing is I swear this piece of music was also used in a black and white Brylcreem advert, several centuries ago . . . it was on a beach . . with rocks . . . and sand . . . WORK.

Wednesday, 25 June 2008

Very Busy!

Not much time to post on the blog this week, but many thanks to friends who suggested I use Tarot Cards and not a crystal ball for my fortune telling . . . so I now have to learn to read the cards . . . nothing difficult then, but Gold and Fish are saved!!! The big fortune telling event is on the 12th July . . . not telling you where though . . . I will be wearing a big red wig, Jackie O shades, hooped earrings and my gypsy shawl. I will be unrecognisable . . . Must dash . . .

Friday, 20 June 2008

My Personal Vision

I love my goldfish, I really do. One is called Gold, the other is called Fish. I keep them in a traditional glass goldfish bowl. It sits on my sideboard alongside Tom. Tom is a stuffed cat. When he was alive he belonged to my Aunt Avril, when he died she couldn't bear to bury him so she had him stuffed. Then she gave him to me for Christmas. She's generous like that. It was at Christmas that I promised my services to her local village fete. I was very drunk. She lives in a lovely chocolate box village in deepest darkest Kent, her cottage is thatched and roses grow around her door [honest]. I thought she'd get me to help out in the beer tent or put me in charge of the Tombola. I was wrong. She's got me down as the fortune teller. The poster describes me as 'The Legendary Zelda', as the 'Star Attraction'. I tried to tell her that I'd be a rubbish fortune teller, but then she did that manipulative mean thing that old people do so well. Apparently, during the family Christmas party, I was seen cavorting in my mum's utility room with my cousin Tony on top of the washing machine: legs akimbo and knickers round my ankles. Was this something that Sylvie, his wife, ought to hear about? . . . Well no . . . I'd rather she didn't.
I am now having a vision of myself making a pair of goldfish homeless . . . perhaps I will get them stuffed and wrapped for Christmas . . .

Tuesday, 17 June 2008

This Made Me Laugh

I've been told off for spending acres of time trawling through the internet, but I just can't help myself. I found this yesterday whilst clicking on the 'Next Blog' button. http://tartania.blogspot.com/ I'm not sure if it's very very funny or just plain pervy, but it's all about sex and money. The creator reckons she's female but I'm not so sure. It's the type of thing my old art lecturer would have come up with and he was kicked out of St. Martins for making mucky movies with his students and claiming they were art. If nothing else tartania's blogspot is a nice gallery of hairstyles . . . and now I know I'm normal . . . well actually that had been bothering me lately . . .

I may be reviewing other blogs in the future, seems like it could be a fun hobby and I love research.

Monday, 16 June 2008

The Pointless Platitude

My first job was with a large law firm in the city. At some point during my first day I was taken up to the top floor and introduced to the Chairman. I perched nervously on my chair, as he, from behind a large and expensive mahogany desk, expounded the philosophy of his organisation.
'Think of us as a large supportive extended family', he told me and warming to his theme, he finished with: 'If you ever need to talk, then my door is always open.'
The Chairman, fountain pen in hand, swiftly returned to his paperwork. I took this as my cue to leave. As I did so, he looked up briefly from his file and said,
'Oh, and Scarlet . . . close the door behind you on your way out.'
Realising his contradiction, he caught my eye and we laughed together; within this shared moment we both knew that the only time we would ever communicate again would be via a polite nod at the Christmas knees up and a limp handshake at the annual Cheese and Wine party.
Which brings me to the point of this post: Why do people use these meaningless platitudes? Is it to demonstrate that they are warm friendly individuals; compassionate souls who can empathise and feel your pain? Men use them to get into your knickers and not to your mind. Trust me on this. From experience I find that people seldom ever want to listen to your woes, they have far too many of their own. If you need to talk you are much better off finding a professional such a priest, shrink or passing pole dancer.
I never say it, not that I wouldn't listen, but hell, when you want to talk I could be on the loo having a crap . . . and I really don't like being interrupted whilst doing the important things in life . . .

Friday, 13 June 2008

An unhappy brother!

Nobody realises that some people expend enormous energy merely to be normal - Albert Camus

My brother has suggested that I give up my pretensions of being a tattooist. He's says I'm great for sorting out his accounts, tax and finances; looking after his kids etc, but I should stop deluding myself that I'm ever going to be any good with the ink. He's a cruel man.

It all came to a head yesterday when a friend of his came in asking for the name of his girlfriend to be tattooed across his lower back. I looked at him and I said, 'look, marry her, have a few kids, get a mortgage, but a tattoo . . . a tattoo is like . . . permanent . . . '

The upshot of this is that I'm no longer working in the parlours with my big designer brother. He said I was a liability . . . okay, so I pass out at the sight of needles. Another fulfilling career bites the dust!

I've been asked to look over a friend's manuscript. It's not bad, it'd work well as a film script or a TV drama, it's all cops and robbers. I've asked for a radical re-draft, but he hasn't come back to me. I'll let him lick his wounds for awhile. I hate my work being critiqued as well. I sulk for days. Truthfully? Months on end then!!! I must get on with my own 'work in progress' - leave Patsy to her pole and Polly to her lyrics. I don't have the stamina to keep up with either.

I'm tired.

Thursday, 12 June 2008

Something to think about . . .

. . . "No matter how great your triumphs or how tragic your defeats remember that approximately one billion Chinese people couldn't care less" - Abraham Lazlo

Wednesday, 11 June 2008

Now I've started something!

For the clever strumpet, Pete sent these the other day:-

This day
And age
For all
And not for one
All lies
And secrets
Put on
Put on and on

This is not something you'd know about Pats!!!

Song Lyrics?

Polly's husband, Pete, likes music trivia and likes to set Polly 'pop' questions. Sometimes he will text her song lyrics that he knows for sure she won't get. Then she texts them to me. Then I text them to everyone else. Yesterday she sent me:-

It's time we kissed the clouds goodbye
From now it's strictly blue sky
Come rain and shine
The outlook is still fine
I'm thinking of you

I asked Steve the chippy, he didn't know either. But he did ask me out for a drink!! He's coming round tonight to look at my woodwork!!! I think the slats under my mattress might need seeing to!

Tuesday, 10 June 2008

What day is it?

Skived off work yesterday and went to the coast instead. I'm lucky I have the luxury of being able to do this because I work for my brother!!! He wasn't happy but who else can he rely on to look after his kids at a moments notice?

I think I've found the best orange juice in the world in a pub looking out to sea. Fantastic. Didn't get home 'til really late last night. Knackered. Not going to do any work until it rains again!

Stuff Stuart. Stuff the world. Who cares, the sun is out! Got to sort out my brother's chippy for the new parlour in Catford though. Yawn. S'pose I ought to get up then!

Sunday, 8 June 2008

The Reason

The reason I started writing this blog was as a way of keeping in touch with an old friend. He's a bit down on his luck right now. We didn't part amicably. He drinks too much and takes too many drugs, but he kind of holds it together. I got too critical and had too many of my own problems to be understanding of his needs. That's about it really on that score. I hope he's okay and that this silly little blog with its silly little jokes will cheer him up and will remind him that someone cares about him, because we all need that to know that straight out of the blue sometimes, don't we?

Film was great!!! Loved it. But more about that next week!