ode to a plate of chips.

my friend wears glasses.  

they are children's glasses even though he is not a child. 

they are also a bit blue in certain lights.

little things.

I was, being extremely bored [& procrastinator extraordinaire], going to write a blog on the subject of APATHY. 

But then I did a stop.

And I thought: God, what a miserable fucking read that would be.

So instead, I managed to persuade my blind to return to its open position & let the remainder of the daylight enter my hovel of a bedroom. It's a little bit nice to be able to see things rather than flailing about in the half dark like a pissed ice skater.

My daytime pattern has recently become thus: somewhere in between indulging my [un]questionable facebook addiction & skipping song after song that simply doesn't suit the mood on the old itunes library, I wind up time & again thinking of all the big plans I have for the summer, most of which will undoubtedly never materialise.

So after musing with a friend the other day on our ideal cotched-summer-and-a-half, I narrowed my summer vision a little, down to a few key components, going with the view that anything else occurrin' would be a win. Sod it, I'm only young. Years to spend the summer saving the world...[Next year, charity work, yes yes yess.]

Here is my self indulgent visual post of what I hope my unashamedly student summer will consist of:

    

    

    

  

 

Think I might go for a walk in the forest with the sunshine...On second thoughts I just opened the window & it's more nippy than I anticipated. Summer shall have to wait.

dressing for the occasion.

It's not often these days that something on the tellybox makes me recoil in abject fear or confusion. But today, it happened.

Over the years I've watched some crap television, don't get me wrong. My viewing record reads like a 'top 100 things not to bother watching before you die' list. [Which ironically, I'm pretty sure was a rerun on late night channel 4 a couple of weeks ago]. I watched Jade Goody's wedding to the Right Honourable Jack Tweed - pretty sure he's been knighted by now, actually? The Man Who Ate His Lover looked like quite a friendly chap, and the ever brilliant minds at channel five airing 'World's Fattest Man Gets Married' or something equally vulgar, had my vote from the get go.

    

[Jade Goody's Wedding; The Man Who Ate His Lover (happy bugger); The World's Fattest Man - can't even make it out of bed for his wedding day, lazy sod.]  

But the thing that REALLY pissed me off was the ITV lunchtime weather report. Or rather ITV lunchtime weather report's hip & trendy yummy-mummy make-me-a-supermodel ITV weather lady.

Let's be honest, ITV has always strived to be the coolest of the terrestrial channels, at least when it comes down to their age-old battle with BBC 1. I've often thought of the BBC as the more conservative of the two; more middle of the road, bookish & knowledgeable, likes the odd bit of sci-fi, trousers inevitably slightly too short - that sort of thing. ITV however, despite it's best efforts, tends only to respond by overcompensating. The powers that be at ITV seem to be forever trying to get one up on the BBC. 'LET'S MAKE EVERYTHING MORE LOUD & MORE SHINY & MORE NOWWW!! KRAYZEEE!!' Essentially ITV is aspiring to be the tellybox equivalent of a Romford Market gold watch or a pimped-up maxed-out smack-ma-bitch-up VW Golf on Loughton Highstreet of a weekend.

       

         [BBC]                                       [ITV]

I can only assume it is for these reasons that ITV deemed it appropriate that their aforementioned ITV weather lady do her thing in a black t-shirt complete with gold sparkle inducing bow & coordinating black waistcoat. I don't want to watch fucking CABARET I want to know if it's safe to leave the washing out. I do realise it shouldn't matter. As far as I'm aware her dress down Friday approach has not made her any less of an ITV weather lady. At least I sincerely hope that this change of attire does not mark her secret rebellion against the weather-forecast viewing population of Great Britain, and that she is now not in fact telling horrible lies when she says it will rain until the end of the week JUST TO GET HER KICKS.

[Chrissie Reidy aka ITV Weather Lady, back in the day. Oh, Chrissie.]

It is a concern, though. A tiny, niggling, unreasonable idea that for some reason, ITV weather lady donning a sharp suit & heels should know a great deal more about the oncoming weather fronts than just some woman that looks a bit like ITV weather lady in your average Topshop wares.  There are many parallel examples. In the extreme, if Jonathan Ross switches uniforms with a Playboy model, what've you got? ANARCHY. Viewers switching off from all sides & 4 undoubtedly gleeful puffs with a piano that'll never be quite the same again.

[4 Poofs & A Piano. Minus Piano.]

Either way, the sooner nameless ITV weather lady return to her suit wearing heyday, the better. It hasn't rained all day, for the record. >.>