I have begun to notice a new trend. Shop assistants talking to me when I am at the till making my purchase.
I don't mean the shop assistant handling the normal purchaser / vendor administration. I am not referring to the regular angry guy behind till at my local corner shop who talks to me and has called me by name ever since he read my name off my credit card. He is called Neil, and I can tell you this because he wears a name badge - so we are on an equal footing.
No - it is shop assistants in high street stores who I have not seen before and likely will not see again are taking an interest in my day and what I am buying.
"Have you found what you wanted?"
"Oh, that is a great purchase - I think that will look great on you"
Is this a thing now?
Surely my standing at the till with the product is tantamount proof of me finding at least something I want and, by simple deduction, I am willing to pay for it means I deem it likable enough to be also willingly seen in. Really, by this stage of my retail experience, I don't want your opinion. I don't mean to offend you, but I am not sure I should trust your view on my purchase - partly because you have vested interests in my making of the purchase and partly because your taste, ethics and morality - outwith this, you have to admit, slim scenario that's all I have to base your opinion on - may turn out to be something I do not want to associate my trust with.
It is not that I am not personable when paying. I'd choose an assistant to a self-service system any time. I am always sure to smile, say please and thank you and wish them a good day when I leave. I make sure I am pleasant and will try and talk about the weather or ask if they are having a busy day if I can. I certainly want to be a friendly, amicable and happy customer at all times.
But it is the specific questioning and commenting of the things I am buying that I find, well, off-putting.
For example:
I bought a music CD recently and the shop assistant behind the till asked if I had found everything I had been looking for. In order to not get into any philosophical debate about the individual human condition and our absolute need to never truly find what we are looking for being the main reason we can further ourselves and why some of us end up astronauts, I thought it best to say "yes, thanks".
"Oh, I love that album." he actually went on! "It is much more consistent than his debut and you can tell he has become more musically proficient in his melodies". Really? Well I enjoyed the rather more bedroom production of his.... This is isn't CD club! This isn't even that independent record shop in High Fidelity. This is a 25 second transaction of goods and profit at a chain store. I don't overly care about your validation of the music I am buying and, quite honestly, thanks to your review you have sucked the rock and roll thrill of it all. I pretty much hold you responsible for the death of the physical album.
Only this week I was in a high street brand clothes shop. The girl at the Pay counter said: "Did you find everything you wanted today?" and I was forced to admit it was. Yes thanks, what I have lain down before you and your bar code gun is "everything I had wanted today", I got out of my flat from the solitary motivation to buy 3 identical pairs of charcoal coloured trousers for work. That is the state of my life right now.
As she then continued! "I want to spend my money today on clothes once I finish my shift but with March coming up so quickly I shouldn't. It's hard not to buy something for the weekend though, but I have a lot of things going on in March, I probably should be good and save my wage. It's funny how birthdays and events all happen in one month like that, isn't it?"
Positively mind blowing. A real phenomenon of the cosmos.
It wasn't so much her conversation (I replied to her that she was right, it was a difficult situation) but that throughout it she was idly stroking and repeatedly smoothing out my work trousers laid out in front of her at the upper thigh. I couldn't get out my mind as I watched her hands that we were only a single quantum paradigm shift in the multi-verse from her sexually assaulting me.
I struggle to look at those trousers straight in the eye now. Knowing. She's been there.
Jeezus, don't these shop assistants think of the consequences?
Yesterday I was out in town to buy a birthday present for a baby. I went to the baby shop. I looked round for a bit and found exactly what I was after. A baby wetsuit.
At the pay counter the girl asked me if I had found everything I was after in the shop. Confidently I said: "Yes, thanks".
She kept talking! She was telling me how good the baby wetsuit was for babies.
I thought, I haven't a clue - I don't have a baby. I just picked up the same one from the photo I was given. But I thought, be polite and agree. It'll be quicker this way. Besides, it is probably better because I'll appear less weird if I pretend I have one. So I nodded and said this was what "we" thought.
Then she kept talking... "So is this for his first swimming class?" she asked through a sweet smile, looking at the baby wetsuit.
I hadn't been expecting this. I had not counted on it at all. A third question about what I was buying! I was plunged into unknown shop assistant small talk territory and at the worst moment: in a baby shop where I was pretending I had a baby.
I didn't really want to get into the whole buying a birthday present for someone else's baby at this point in case she felt I had initially led her to believe otherwise. Which I sort of had. Changing my story would not be good. It would make me seem almost certainly suspicious. And so I figured I would simply tell her the facts without mentioning they were about my friend's young son.
I explained he had been swimming for a few months. He enjoyed it. He is getting into all sorts of things at home, too. He has been getting a little help onto his feet, but is quite capable once up of getting to places he wants to and really he shouldn't. Why do little ones, do that? Go towards the most dangerous things in any room. It's a wonder we have survived as a species.
She giggled.
"So what's his name?"
When would this chip and PIN interrogation stop?? I told her his name. No last name. If angry Neil has taught me anything, it is my name can be seen on my credit card.
"They are great when they are this age, aren't they? Trying out the swimming and things. It is good for them to start early."
Right I thought, I am in deep cover. Maybe too deep. If I slip up and she finds out I don't have a baby, not only will this appear now extremely suspicious that I am buying a baby wetsuit, but I bet she won't believe the birthday present reason now either. And then I am basically back where I started: I am a man buying a baby wetsuit when I don't have a baby. Only now with added "pretended he had a baby" blown cover story baggage.
I concurred. Yes. I... erm... suppose it is.
This was tense. More tense than shopping ought to be.
Thankfully, the girl didn't expose my rouse and I left the shop dignity intact. And on his birthday, the little guy got his wetsuit with a cartoon whale on it.
In hindsight I should have just told her the truth from the moment I walked in. I have no baby. I want a baby wetsuit. It is a birthday present. In fact, it would be much easier if we all did this going into every high street shop.
As soon as we walk into a shop go to the pay counter and tell them what we want, why we want it and tell them we are delighted they approve of what we want and where we would like the receipt once we come back to them in 10 minutes to buy it.
Yes, it would be much easier all round.
Sunday, 24 February 2013
Sunday, 13 January 2013
This call may be recorded for training purposes
My phone rang on my desk. My phone never rings on my desk. This is the genuine [aside from the anonymity I am granting] conversation I had when I picked it up.
GT: Hello, Greville Tombs, Open Plan Office?
PH: Hello? This is TexisMexis Publishing House. Can I speak to Greville Tombs?
GT: Yes, I am Greville Tombs. Can I help?
PH: You are Greville Tombs?
GT: Yes.
PH: I have your letter here regarding your request to cancel your subscription to the Series Title.
GT: No you don’t.
PH: Yes, Mr. Tombs, you wrote us a letter dated 13th December.
GT: No I didn’t.
PH: You have a subscription with us for the Series Title, Mr. Tombs.
GT: No I don’t.
PH: I have your letter dated 13th December. But you say you didn’t send it to us?
GT: I didn’t send any letter to you. I don’t believe I am the person you want. Can I just check your contact details for me and how you came to be phoning me?
PH: You are Greville Tombs?
GT: Yes.
PH: Your address is Open Plan Office, Building, Town?
GT: Yes.
PH: Your subscription reference is DX-34-45-67-RTY?
GT: No.
PH: But you are Greville Tombs?
GT: Yes. And I am talking to you from the Open Plan Office.
PH: This is TexisMexis Publishing House.
GT: I know.
PH: This is strange. I have your letter here. It is dated 13th December. I have your details on my screen of your subscription with us at TexisMexis Publishing House. I just need to confirm I am talking to you in order to proceed with your cancellation request.
GT: But you can’t confirm it, because it isn’t me. You are talking to someone else.
PH: This is strange.
GT: I didn’t send you a letter, but I am Greville Tombs.
PH: Will I continue your subscription?
Me: I don’t have a subscription. Never have. What I am more concerned about is how you got my number. Was it on the letter?
GT: Let me check. You have signed the letter “Greville Tombs”.
Me: I can’t have.
PH: Let me look again at the subscription details on my screen.
GT: Good idea. Is there anything in them which might suggest a different contact name, as I am the only Greville Tombs at this address?
PH: OK. Can you now confirm your name is Greville Turns?
GT: No.
PH: You are not Greville Turns?
GT: No. I am Greville Tombs.
PH: But why have I got your address and phone number?
GT: What is the phone number? The phone number you dialled to get me today?
PH: 1111 222 3333
GT: That’s not my phone number.
PH: This is very strange.
GT: You have dialled the Open Plan Office switchboard number and you asked for Greville Tombs and have been put through to me.
PH: Yes.
GT: Only you wanted Greville Turns not Greville Tombs.
PH: OK. I have your email address on the subscription screen.
GT: What is it?
PH: Greville dot Turns at Faceless dot org dot uk
GT: That’s not my email address. I am Greville Tombs. But I think I know what has happened. I am checking to see if we have a staff member named Greville Turns.
PH: Hmmm, it is very important I talk with you about your subscription – there are big changes to come in the New Year and I need to confirm them with you.
GT: I don’t have a subscription with you and I am Greville Tombs, not Greville Turns.
PH: This is funny.
GT: It is a little confusing.
PH: I will email instead, I think that this is the better idea, bye!
GT: I think so too. Bye, now!
It was the girl’s steadfast refusal to accept it wasn’t me, when her sole reason for calling was to securely confirm she was talking to the right person, which left me laughing!
She was her own paradox.
Which, incidentally, is the name of Greville and the Tombstone's touring support band next year, I am led to believe.
2 weeks later, I only go and get another phone call. I know!:
“Hello I am calling from Different Publishing House my name is Echo, Victor, Alpha,
November, November, India, Alpha. Am I speaking to your company’s payment
account department?”
Whoa, Love! I need a pencil. OK Bravo Two Zero!
"No, I am not in this department. I don't think we even have this department."
"Oh! Do you know about payment accounts in your company?"
"No. Can I take your details and get someone to call you back?"
"Can I call this number again and leave a voice mail instead?"
"SIGH!"
I mean, what is going on these days with publication house telephonists? Clearly these people are sat at a computer screen with one of those headsets which Rachel Stevens used to wear on stage and, like Rachel Stevens, totally unable to think sideways or deviate from the prescribed question/response they are trained for our gentle entertainment for.
All this made me think quite hard as I sat tugging the cable out the back of my phone.
What happened to Rachel Stevens? Is she still recording? Tell me she is still putting out calenders, at least.
GT: Hello, Greville Tombs, Open Plan Office?
PH: Hello? This is TexisMexis Publishing House. Can I speak to Greville Tombs?
GT: Yes, I am Greville Tombs. Can I help?
PH: You are Greville Tombs?
GT: Yes.
PH: I have your letter here regarding your request to cancel your subscription to the Series Title.
GT: No you don’t.
PH: Yes, Mr. Tombs, you wrote us a letter dated 13th December.
GT: No I didn’t.
PH: You have a subscription with us for the Series Title, Mr. Tombs.
GT: No I don’t.
PH: I have your letter dated 13th December. But you say you didn’t send it to us?
GT: I didn’t send any letter to you. I don’t believe I am the person you want. Can I just check your contact details for me and how you came to be phoning me?
PH: You are Greville Tombs?
GT: Yes.
PH: Your address is Open Plan Office, Building, Town?
GT: Yes.
PH: Your subscription reference is DX-34-45-67-RTY?
GT: No.
PH: But you are Greville Tombs?
GT: Yes. And I am talking to you from the Open Plan Office.
PH: This is TexisMexis Publishing House.
GT: I know.
PH: This is strange. I have your letter here. It is dated 13th December. I have your details on my screen of your subscription with us at TexisMexis Publishing House. I just need to confirm I am talking to you in order to proceed with your cancellation request.
GT: But you can’t confirm it, because it isn’t me. You are talking to someone else.
PH: This is strange.
GT: I didn’t send you a letter, but I am Greville Tombs.
PH: Will I continue your subscription?
Me: I don’t have a subscription. Never have. What I am more concerned about is how you got my number. Was it on the letter?
GT: Let me check. You have signed the letter “Greville Tombs”.
Me: I can’t have.
PH: Let me look again at the subscription details on my screen.
GT: Good idea. Is there anything in them which might suggest a different contact name, as I am the only Greville Tombs at this address?
PH: OK. Can you now confirm your name is Greville Turns?
GT: No.
PH: You are not Greville Turns?
GT: No. I am Greville Tombs.
PH: But why have I got your address and phone number?
GT: What is the phone number? The phone number you dialled to get me today?
PH: 1111 222 3333
GT: That’s not my phone number.
PH: This is very strange.
GT: You have dialled the Open Plan Office switchboard number and you asked for Greville Tombs and have been put through to me.
PH: Yes.
GT: Only you wanted Greville Turns not Greville Tombs.
PH: OK. I have your email address on the subscription screen.
GT: What is it?
PH: Greville dot Turns at Faceless dot org dot uk
GT: That’s not my email address. I am Greville Tombs. But I think I know what has happened. I am checking to see if we have a staff member named Greville Turns.
PH: Hmmm, it is very important I talk with you about your subscription – there are big changes to come in the New Year and I need to confirm them with you.
GT: I don’t have a subscription with you and I am Greville Tombs, not Greville Turns.
PH: This is funny.
GT: It is a little confusing.
PH: I will email instead, I think that this is the better idea, bye!
GT: I think so too. Bye, now!
It was the girl’s steadfast refusal to accept it wasn’t me, when her sole reason for calling was to securely confirm she was talking to the right person, which left me laughing!
She was her own paradox.
Which, incidentally, is the name of Greville and the Tombstone's touring support band next year, I am led to believe.
2 weeks later, I only go and get another phone call. I know!:
“Hello I am calling from Different Publishing House my name is Echo, Victor, Alpha,
November, November, India, Alpha. Am I speaking to your company’s payment
account department?”
Whoa, Love! I need a pencil. OK Bravo Two Zero!
"No, I am not in this department. I don't think we even have this department."
"Oh! Do you know about payment accounts in your company?"
"No. Can I take your details and get someone to call you back?"
"Can I call this number again and leave a voice mail instead?"
"SIGH!"
I mean, what is going on these days with publication house telephonists? Clearly these people are sat at a computer screen with one of those headsets which Rachel Stevens used to wear on stage and, like Rachel Stevens, totally unable to think sideways or deviate from the prescribed question/response they are trained for our gentle entertainment for.
All this made me think quite hard as I sat tugging the cable out the back of my phone.
What happened to Rachel Stevens? Is she still recording? Tell me she is still putting out calenders, at least.
 |
| Why, oh why does February have the fewest days in? |
Saturday, 12 January 2013
2012 - you ended but we are still here
So here is my brief word stream review of 2012 and feel free to fit them into any categories you might have written down:
Olympics, John Terry, Savile, Mr Wig - Wiggo - Wiggins, Greville and the Tombstones, Mayans, films, gangnam style.
There! Are you happy now? Are you not entertained?
I have had literally no tweets asking why I haven't blogged a year review like I did in 2011 and 2010.
The reason is almost certainly the same as why I didn't write one - because people are tired of 2012 reviews. There seemed to be a never ending myriad of reviews of 2012. It was exhausting living through it all again before it was even over.
But I hear what you are saying. It is 2013 now.
Ok, you have twisted my arm.
Here are just a couple of things which I thought were stand outs of the 2012 and deserve a mention in an end of year summary, which many reviews may have missed.
Best TV of 2012
Sport this year dominated the TV. But sport is not really proper television. Sport on TV is a seat in the stadium or visual radio show. Although sport did produce some wonderful jaw dropping and unimaginable moments in 2012's 12 months it did not produce the most jaw dropping or the most unimaginable.
That went to a programme called 15 Stone Babies (C4).
15 Stone Babies was astonishing. It basically showed what will happen if you keep your Cabbage Patch doll for 40 years. Grown men and women wanting to be fully cared for as infants and the wives, girlfriends, boyfriends and businesses facilitating this want.
The only show which equalled my state of mesmerised horror was a programme from a few years back which I think was called, Guys and Dolls.
Guys and Dolls told the stories of 4 men who purchased, used and cared for "realdolls". For those who don't know, Realdolls are a mad scientist's experiment gone wrong of splicing Barbie DNA with that of 5 blow up sex dolls. Life sized anatomically correct latex dolls, glass eyes, tongues like stress balls and featuring spring loaded hips.
3 scenes from Guys and Dolls remain with me.
1. The chap who needed to return his doll to the factory to be chemically cleaned BY HAND [if I cleaned men's sex dolls for a job I would lie if someone asked why my hands are so soft and say I smother piglets for a living] and have its VAGINAL WALLS replaced [shudder]. He was brushing it's hair and stuff as he packaged it up back in it's tea crate to be sent away.
2. The man who wanted to have his realdoll lifestyle combined with a normal relationship so went on a dating site. Openly he explained to the girl he had a thing for realdolls. Fine, she said, everyone has something a little odd. Bet she wasn't expecting it to be a big but odd though and to walk into his house to see 8 realdolls sitting around his living room as best they could in their, what can only be described as, whoring postures. To his credit, the man had dressed them in demure conservative dresses, put make-up on them as if they were ginny-women of 1860's London. There was also the paper cone party hats on their heads and party blowers in their dirty mouths because it was Lucy realdoll's birthday.
If that lady didn't think: "Just eat a bit cake, drink a little tea, talk about the weather, pretend this is all normal and I might get out of here alive" then I don't know when she would ever think it, quite honestly.
[Anyway, forget the menagerie of life-sized, latex, love ladies, it's the teddy ruxpin on the shelf you need to worry about. There is a home recorded cassette up his ass of the guy talking dirty in a "lady voice". Probably]
3. The lad who tried to kick his realdoll addiction and shoved his collection into cardboard boxes in the garage, producing a scene resembling one of those suburban serial killers the cops occasionally stumble upon in Russia.
Anyway, I digress.
These adult babies enjoyed being tended to, changed and nursed. Both sides of the agreement suggested there was nothing sexual in the role-play but that "accidents happen" and are generally ignored.
The "babies" really wanted to remove all responsibility from their lives - to not have to worry about dressing, toileting or even, for some, understanding words. Those mothering (or fathering) them seemed to enjoy the caring, power and the nurturing aspects - saying the process fulfilled a need for them too.
Despite perceptions these people were in unhealthy relationships, and there was more to this fetish/lifestyle than simple enjoyment of role-playing it was something to realise these people were openly discussing this at all. Identities were not hidden.
Hi, this is me, this is the company I work for, this is my home and this is my man sized cot.
Perhaps 2012 was the point where people were becoming more aware and tolerant of what people like to innocently do without questioning any undercurrent of perversion?
One couple on the show at the end, explained it wasn't quite doing it for the husband anymore so he was busy building a sex-dungeon in the shed at the far side of their garden.
Ah.
So, to my winner!
New Girl.
Good Lord but I love New Girl - it is the perfect accompaniment to a hot chocolate served in a thick mug with Christmas designs printed on. Starring the leggy mermaid Zooey Deschanel and a cast of characters of which Schmidt is the stand out comedy conducting rod, it is simply a lovely piece of TV. How I truly feel about it, disappointingly for a blog, is something I struggle to put into words. Perhaps the best way to put it is I am following the entire cast of the show on Twitter on the off-chance they do a Twitter only episode and I don't want to miss it!
Weirdest moment of 2012
2012 did have it's fair share of weird moments. In 2010 the award went to Raoul Moat and 2011 the Krankies. So look away now if you don't want a little gentle controversy.
Up to the last moment of 2011 I was going to award this to the end of the world as predicted by old Religious fruit, Harold Camping, before the Krankies stole a march. Unfortunately for Earth, it has happened again.
According to some, that the Mayan calender ended on our modern 21st December 2012 was a sure sign of the end of the world. For me, I wondered if the Mayans wouldn't just have planned to hang up another one, like what I do every January 3rd. Of course, we will never know who was correct. Oh, no, that's right, we did, on 22nd December, it was me.
But let's cut to the chase!
For me, the weirdest thing came out of the hoax call made to the Private Hospital by a couple of OZ radio DJs gaining insight into the condition of the host to our future royal ruler parasite. [this isn't a treasonous sentence, but of high satire about modern monarchy and the female role within it. Honest]
Why these DJs wanted and were allowed to do this in the first place, given it was not a very funny "prank" - let's pretend we are the Royal Family and try and get confidential medical records is not funny, just a poor plot-line from a low budget ITV spy drama - will remain a mystery when studied in the cold light of day.
They said they never thought they would the information they were eventually privy to, that someone would have been sharp to their rouse. But this simply makes their motive even more blurred.
Then the UK media got involved. They blamed the DJs and they lambasted the Hospital Staff for a week. Then things took a tragic turn. One of the nurses hoodwinked took her own life.
The DJs now at the centre of this awful situation were distraught. Filmed broken, in tears, careers almost certainly over apologising into infinity. Their lives shattered after what they considered to be a bit of a laugh at someone's expense who they did not know or care about.
Once it became apparent a fortnight later that this was not a case of "pranking the pranksters" and the nurse was not just waiting to jump out of the wardrobe in the girl DJs bedroom in what surely be the ultimate prank of all time, it was time to reflect on what this all meant.
Suddenly the dangers of prank calls, hidden camera jokes and constructed situations to cause elevated reactions were laid bare. The risks and post-trauma potential risks are astronomical when considering the permutations of how people will react.
Those Mayans stopping their calendar short as a jape - someone died falling off a mountain in France which some (I believe the term is) loon dictated to be the only safe place on Earth on 21st December.
You've Been Framed - you are watching potential injury and death and serious mental health issues happening as you sit with your tea tray on your knees eating your fish fingers and sweet corn on a Saturday early evening, before your eyes.
If you thought the investigation to Savile was in depth, wait until someone sends the police the box set of Beadle's About.
Hopefully this terriable incident will mean the end to all these contrived and recorded set-ups which simply feasts on people's genuine humiliation and are always cruel.
There are better things to laugh at - and one of the best of them is New Girl.
So here is to a slightly less filled year in 2013, and one with fewer slo-mo montages of sporting emotion.
Now time to party 2013 music style!!
Sheesh, Roll on 2014 or to when the chronological rolls over to 0000 and we get to 1985 again.
And that's why I didn't do an annual review this time.
Olympics, John Terry, Savile, Mr Wig - Wiggo - Wiggins, Greville and the Tombstones, Mayans, films, gangnam style.
There! Are you happy now? Are you not entertained?
I have had literally no tweets asking why I haven't blogged a year review like I did in 2011 and 2010.
The reason is almost certainly the same as why I didn't write one - because people are tired of 2012 reviews. There seemed to be a never ending myriad of reviews of 2012. It was exhausting living through it all again before it was even over.
But I hear what you are saying. It is 2013 now.
Ok, you have twisted my arm.
Here are just a couple of things which I thought were stand outs of the 2012 and deserve a mention in an end of year summary, which many reviews may have missed.
Best TV of 2012
Sport this year dominated the TV. But sport is not really proper television. Sport on TV is a seat in the stadium or visual radio show. Although sport did produce some wonderful jaw dropping and unimaginable moments in 2012's 12 months it did not produce the most jaw dropping or the most unimaginable.
That went to a programme called 15 Stone Babies (C4).
15 Stone Babies was astonishing. It basically showed what will happen if you keep your Cabbage Patch doll for 40 years. Grown men and women wanting to be fully cared for as infants and the wives, girlfriends, boyfriends and businesses facilitating this want.
The only show which equalled my state of mesmerised horror was a programme from a few years back which I think was called, Guys and Dolls.
Guys and Dolls told the stories of 4 men who purchased, used and cared for "realdolls". For those who don't know, Realdolls are a mad scientist's experiment gone wrong of splicing Barbie DNA with that of 5 blow up sex dolls. Life sized anatomically correct latex dolls, glass eyes, tongues like stress balls and featuring spring loaded hips.
3 scenes from Guys and Dolls remain with me.
1. The chap who needed to return his doll to the factory to be chemically cleaned BY HAND [if I cleaned men's sex dolls for a job I would lie if someone asked why my hands are so soft and say I smother piglets for a living] and have its VAGINAL WALLS replaced [shudder]. He was brushing it's hair and stuff as he packaged it up back in it's tea crate to be sent away.
2. The man who wanted to have his realdoll lifestyle combined with a normal relationship so went on a dating site. Openly he explained to the girl he had a thing for realdolls. Fine, she said, everyone has something a little odd. Bet she wasn't expecting it to be a big but odd though and to walk into his house to see 8 realdolls sitting around his living room as best they could in their, what can only be described as, whoring postures. To his credit, the man had dressed them in demure conservative dresses, put make-up on them as if they were ginny-women of 1860's London. There was also the paper cone party hats on their heads and party blowers in their dirty mouths because it was Lucy realdoll's birthday.
If that lady didn't think: "Just eat a bit cake, drink a little tea, talk about the weather, pretend this is all normal and I might get out of here alive" then I don't know when she would ever think it, quite honestly.
[Anyway, forget the menagerie of life-sized, latex, love ladies, it's the teddy ruxpin on the shelf you need to worry about. There is a home recorded cassette up his ass of the guy talking dirty in a "lady voice". Probably]
3. The lad who tried to kick his realdoll addiction and shoved his collection into cardboard boxes in the garage, producing a scene resembling one of those suburban serial killers the cops occasionally stumble upon in Russia.
Anyway, I digress.
These adult babies enjoyed being tended to, changed and nursed. Both sides of the agreement suggested there was nothing sexual in the role-play but that "accidents happen" and are generally ignored.
The "babies" really wanted to remove all responsibility from their lives - to not have to worry about dressing, toileting or even, for some, understanding words. Those mothering (or fathering) them seemed to enjoy the caring, power and the nurturing aspects - saying the process fulfilled a need for them too.
Despite perceptions these people were in unhealthy relationships, and there was more to this fetish/lifestyle than simple enjoyment of role-playing it was something to realise these people were openly discussing this at all. Identities were not hidden.
Hi, this is me, this is the company I work for, this is my home and this is my man sized cot.
Perhaps 2012 was the point where people were becoming more aware and tolerant of what people like to innocently do without questioning any undercurrent of perversion?
One couple on the show at the end, explained it wasn't quite doing it for the husband anymore so he was busy building a sex-dungeon in the shed at the far side of their garden.
Ah.
So, to my winner!
New Girl.
Good Lord but I love New Girl - it is the perfect accompaniment to a hot chocolate served in a thick mug with Christmas designs printed on. Starring the leggy mermaid Zooey Deschanel and a cast of characters of which Schmidt is the stand out comedy conducting rod, it is simply a lovely piece of TV. How I truly feel about it, disappointingly for a blog, is something I struggle to put into words. Perhaps the best way to put it is I am following the entire cast of the show on Twitter on the off-chance they do a Twitter only episode and I don't want to miss it!
Weirdest moment of 2012
2012 did have it's fair share of weird moments. In 2010 the award went to Raoul Moat and 2011 the Krankies. So look away now if you don't want a little gentle controversy.
Up to the last moment of 2011 I was going to award this to the end of the world as predicted by old Religious fruit, Harold Camping, before the Krankies stole a march. Unfortunately for Earth, it has happened again.
According to some, that the Mayan calender ended on our modern 21st December 2012 was a sure sign of the end of the world. For me, I wondered if the Mayans wouldn't just have planned to hang up another one, like what I do every January 3rd. Of course, we will never know who was correct. Oh, no, that's right, we did, on 22nd December, it was me.
But let's cut to the chase!
For me, the weirdest thing came out of the hoax call made to the Private Hospital by a couple of OZ radio DJs gaining insight into the condition of the host to our future royal ruler parasite. [this isn't a treasonous sentence, but of high satire about modern monarchy and the female role within it. Honest]
Why these DJs wanted and were allowed to do this in the first place, given it was not a very funny "prank" - let's pretend we are the Royal Family and try and get confidential medical records is not funny, just a poor plot-line from a low budget ITV spy drama - will remain a mystery when studied in the cold light of day.
They said they never thought they would the information they were eventually privy to, that someone would have been sharp to their rouse. But this simply makes their motive even more blurred.
Then the UK media got involved. They blamed the DJs and they lambasted the Hospital Staff for a week. Then things took a tragic turn. One of the nurses hoodwinked took her own life.
The DJs now at the centre of this awful situation were distraught. Filmed broken, in tears, careers almost certainly over apologising into infinity. Their lives shattered after what they considered to be a bit of a laugh at someone's expense who they did not know or care about.
Once it became apparent a fortnight later that this was not a case of "pranking the pranksters" and the nurse was not just waiting to jump out of the wardrobe in the girl DJs bedroom in what surely be the ultimate prank of all time, it was time to reflect on what this all meant.
Suddenly the dangers of prank calls, hidden camera jokes and constructed situations to cause elevated reactions were laid bare. The risks and post-trauma potential risks are astronomical when considering the permutations of how people will react.
Those Mayans stopping their calendar short as a jape - someone died falling off a mountain in France which some (I believe the term is) loon dictated to be the only safe place on Earth on 21st December.
You've Been Framed - you are watching potential injury and death and serious mental health issues happening as you sit with your tea tray on your knees eating your fish fingers and sweet corn on a Saturday early evening, before your eyes.
If you thought the investigation to Savile was in depth, wait until someone sends the police the box set of Beadle's About.
Hopefully this terriable incident will mean the end to all these contrived and recorded set-ups which simply feasts on people's genuine humiliation and are always cruel.
There are better things to laugh at - and one of the best of them is New Girl.
So here is to a slightly less filled year in 2013, and one with fewer slo-mo montages of sporting emotion.
Now time to party 2013 music style!!
Sheesh, Roll on 2014 or to when the chronological rolls over to 0000 and we get to 1985 again.
And that's why I didn't do an annual review this time.
Friday, 11 January 2013
Do you know the way to -.
After I wrote the pretend song, The Unicorn Song, and posted it onto my band blog I wasn't prepared for the response. People telling about unicorns, sending me pictures of unicorns, asking me why I like unicorns...
The following exchange of conversation has become part of my life now.
There is a street in Glenrothes, Scotland called Unicorn Way, maybe Greville needs to move to live there:
View Larger Map
You write one song about a vampire being into kinky unicorn sex...!
I now know how Wet Wet Wet felt.
I might need to delete all copies of my song and hope that heroin does the rest
in making me forget I ever mentioned the words “Unicorn” and “Song”.
I am haunted by unicorns. Their phosphorus, twisted horns glow out of the fog
of my middle conscience state. Their ribs hang with the strips of rotten white
skin and they brae out from the darkness welled in pools in my mind and I smell
their cured breath vapours from between their pointed cracked teeth as I drift
to sleep.
In saying that – travelling to Glenrothes to get a photo of me at the sign would make a cool roadtrip movie. Does anyone have a Video recorder these days?
That would be a short movie.
I wouldn’t look for a cinematic release.
Straight to the Poundland DVD section?
Yes.
“Greville Tombs goes the full distance to face his demons: Unicorns. “The Way to
Unicorn Way” is a cool road trip movie full of hip tunes and shows us the youth
of today as close-up, and as real… and as funky… as never before. You’ll laugh at
their jokes, be touched by their feelings and be shocked by the standards they
live by. “The Way to Unicorn Way” is not a movie the government wants you to
see, but then, if you go to Unicorn Way, you don’t play by legislation. “The
Way to Unicorn Way” where one man and his group of young, fresh ladies take on
unicorns their own way. Rated R: Contains scenes of nudity while driving and
prolonged Unicorns.”
How does a unicorn become prolonged?
You’ll see. Oh, you’ll see.
I am disturbed!
I thought the film sounded fun. Kind of thing I’d watch. But the point is, I created the band blog to get away from the madness of being in an imaginary band recording a make-believe album out of pretend songs - and now? Well now I am pitching straight-to-DVD movies about the single off it.
This is not going to plan.
The following exchange of conversation has become part of my life now.
There is a street in Glenrothes, Scotland called Unicorn Way, maybe Greville needs to move to live there:
View Larger Map
You write one song about a vampire being into kinky unicorn sex...!
I now know how Wet Wet Wet felt.
I might need to delete all copies of my song and hope that heroin does the rest
in making me forget I ever mentioned the words “Unicorn” and “Song”.
I am haunted by unicorns. Their phosphorus, twisted horns glow out of the fog
of my middle conscience state. Their ribs hang with the strips of rotten white
skin and they brae out from the darkness welled in pools in my mind and I smell
their cured breath vapours from between their pointed cracked teeth as I drift
to sleep.
In saying that – travelling to Glenrothes to get a photo of me at the sign would make a cool roadtrip movie. Does anyone have a Video recorder these days?
That would be a short movie.
I wouldn’t look for a cinematic release.
Straight to the Poundland DVD section?
Yes.
“Greville Tombs goes the full distance to face his demons: Unicorns. “The Way to
Unicorn Way” is a cool road trip movie full of hip tunes and shows us the youth
of today as close-up, and as real… and as funky… as never before. You’ll laugh at
their jokes, be touched by their feelings and be shocked by the standards they
live by. “The Way to Unicorn Way” is not a movie the government wants you to
see, but then, if you go to Unicorn Way, you don’t play by legislation. “The
Way to Unicorn Way” where one man and his group of young, fresh ladies take on
unicorns their own way. Rated R: Contains scenes of nudity while driving and
prolonged Unicorns.”
How does a unicorn become prolonged?
You’ll see. Oh, you’ll see.
I am disturbed!
I thought the film sounded fun. Kind of thing I’d watch. But the point is, I created the band blog to get away from the madness of being in an imaginary band recording a make-believe album out of pretend songs - and now? Well now I am pitching straight-to-DVD movies about the single off it.
This is not going to plan.
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