I was thinking yesterday, over my Costa coffee, which, incidentally, did not smell of fish - this makes me all the more concerned as to why it did that one time. Ah but if I could ease my troubled mind just once. Anyway, I digress. I was thinking that we're all a bit messed up really, aren't we? You might be a bit of a stalker. You might wash your hands a few too many times, or feel the need to take a right turn after every three left. Or, much like my sister, scope every millimetre of the house for a slightly ajar door or drawer and obsessively open and close it. Many a night did I rue the fact that I hadn't quite shut my wardrobe properly, "Oh for GOD'S SAKE Nat, BUGGER OFF! I was asleep then, you BITCH!"
Personally, I sniff a bit too much. And sometimes when I cough I have to count myself in. Wikipedia informed me it's a mild form of Tourettes. And there was you thinking that it's merely swearing far too loudly at inappropriate moments! Pah! Come bathe your brain in my font of wisdom and knowledge.
Where was I going with this? OH YES. Mayday. Greeks. Spending Mayday Bank Holiday with the Greeks is much like visiting a Cash & Carry of prospective partners. No, wait. I'm wrong. It's like visiting a local Co-op of prospective parents-in-laws. Cash & Carry gives the impression that there is much to 'choose' from. The men spend the day playing football and eating. The women spend the day presumably looking at the men. And I spent my day eating, and jotting down hilarious anecdotes about women in huge, orange earrings and ridiculously tight, brightly coloured tracksuits and wondering if, perhaps, this was some kind of mating call, much like the attraction plumage employed by such birds as the peacock. According to Wikipedia (they will never know how many degrees they helped to pass,) during mating season, a peacock “will often emit a very loud high pitched cry.” There was a lot of this going on as well. I’m starting to ponder the thought that perhaps we Greeks aren’t human but, in fact, of the bird kind. After all, as was pointed out on twitter, there must be a reason why I quite like goji berries, actually, and what? I might suggest to some of the ladies, though, that they would do well to adopt the peacock’s choice of colour scheme, if only to make things easier on the eyes. I was almost blinded by fluorescents.
Another big event occurred in my life yesterday, aside from thinking. I bought Grazia magazine so it could tell me about the best pretty dresses under £50, and something highly disinteresting about Horseface Jessica Parker having twins via a surrogate mother. This information turned out to be utter balls – the dresses, not the surrogacy. Some woman, desperate to become a ‘writer’, got whatever job she could at Grazia by feigning an expertise in fashion and the ability to actually care about it. She had very clearly just google-imaged ‘dresses’. Then it was a quick copy and paste job and off she went to let her hair down and her skirt up in South Ken.
As for HJP, I don’t know what’s going on; I didn’t read it. Now, where’s that Orange magazine….