Wednesday, August 13, 2008
WHIP IN MY VALISE
American swimmer Michael Phelps has won eleven gold medals - the greatest number amassed in the Olympic Games, apparently.
Phwoar! Despite the undoubted handicap of having to race with what is the equivalent of eight pounds attached to his upper lip, Mark Spitz still managed to win nine gold medals. None of that all over body shaving for Mark!
He had a good head of thick, bouncy, lively hair of the sort you'd love to run your hands through ... er, sorry, where was I? He even had hairy armpits (seen), and particularly hairy arse cheeks (unseen). Gentleman readers take note: no holiday wardrobe is complete without a pair of stars and stripes Speedoes that fit like a driving glove.
Shit. How did that picture of dreamy Opportunity Knocks winner Bernie Flint get in here?
Does this make him the greatest swimmer of all time? Does it sillybollocks.
Michael Phelps doesn't hold a candle to Mark Spitz, who won nine gold medals.
The reason for this is simple: it's down to aerodynamics.
Mark Spitz swam with a moustache.
This was the 1970's, and men were men were men, especially in San Francisco bath houses.
Phwoar! Despite the undoubted handicap of having to race with what is the equivalent of eight pounds attached to his upper lip, Mark Spitz still managed to win nine gold medals. None of that all over body shaving for Mark!
He had a good head of thick, bouncy, lively hair of the sort you'd love to run your hands through ... er, sorry, where was I? He even had hairy armpits (seen), and particularly hairy arse cheeks (unseen). Gentleman readers take note: no holiday wardrobe is complete without a pair of stars and stripes Speedoes that fit like a driving glove. No wonder he retired from swimming after the 1972 Olympics. Having to wear all those gold medals around his neck - even in the swimming pool - must have led to a lot of upper spinal problems and endless visits to the osteopath.
Well, that looks like a very spontaneous, unposed photograph doesn't it?
He was no doubt a source of inspiration for Scotland's own David Wilkie, who went on to win a paltry single gold medal at the 1976 Olympics ...
Well, that looks like a very spontaneous, unposed photograph doesn't it?Both men were, in their own way, representatives of the ideal 1970's man - at least according to girls of around my age at the time. If you asked any teenager who she'd like as a boyfriend, more likely than not she'd suggest that he should be "tall and dark, with a mussstosh".
Of course, the reality would be that she was actually seeing someone called Nige or Kev who smelt of week old socks, who had bum fluff and boils on his face the size of ten pence pieces. Still, nice to be aspirational, isn't it?
Shit. How did that picture of dreamy Opportunity Knocks winner Bernie Flint get in here?Labels: bum fluff, David Wilkie, Mark Spitz, moustaches, mussstoshes, San Francisco bath houses, upper spinal problems
Tuesday, February 20, 2007
SEVEN AND SEVEN IS
Anyone who has an RSS feed will probably have been thinking recently "oh no, SOMEBODY ELSE has done the Seven Things I Wanted To Be When I Was Young And The Seven Things That I Actually Became meme".
Never let it be said that I'm not the last person on the bandwagon. I've allowed time for the dust to settle. So long in fact that this may constitute a Seven Things I Wanted To Be When I Was Young And The Seven Things That I Actually Became revival.
SEVEN THINGS THAT I WANTED TO BE.
1. A teacher (aged 6). Hmm. Never likely to happen, was it?
2. A writer of adventure stories (aged 9). I spent the whole of the summer of 1972 scribbling them in an exercise book. The hero was tall, raven haired, and had the physique of a swimmer. At one point in the story he stripped down to his undies and jumped into a raging sea from a lighthouse to rescue some kid. Oh dear. Oh DEAR or dear.The exercise book was burnt in one of our bonfires, along with several volumes of teenage diaries, fortunately.
3. A photographer (aged 12). Not owning anything but a Kodak Instamatic wasn't going to help me get to where I wanted to go to with this.
4. A member of Abba (aged 14). I mean, living on an island, writing songs all day, becoming phenomenally wealthy but hardly ever touring. What's not to like?
5. An artist (aged 15). Spurred on by an art teacher who told me I had "a special talent". Told parents that I was going to art school. Told that I could forget that idea for a start by my parents, and I was going to carry on studying RSA Shorthand and Typing instead. Parents proved correct, as ever.
6. A librarian (aged 16). Reality and maturity were starting to kick in here, weren't they?
7. A hibernating grizzly bear. Still would do, actually. Unless you have nightmares about salmon that you've eaten ganging up on you to get revenge in the afterlife.
SEVEN THINGS I HAVE BEEN
1. Brunette.
2. Blonde.
3. Redhead.
4. You really
5. Don't want to read
6. My boring boring boring career trajectory.
7. Really - YOU DON'T.
Never let it be said that I'm not the last person on the bandwagon. I've allowed time for the dust to settle. So long in fact that this may constitute a Seven Things I Wanted To Be When I Was Young And The Seven Things That I Actually Became revival.
SEVEN THINGS THAT I WANTED TO BE.
1. A teacher (aged 6). Hmm. Never likely to happen, was it?
2. A writer of adventure stories (aged 9). I spent the whole of the summer of 1972 scribbling them in an exercise book. The hero was tall, raven haired, and had the physique of a swimmer. At one point in the story he stripped down to his undies and jumped into a raging sea from a lighthouse to rescue some kid. Oh dear. Oh DEAR or dear.The exercise book was burnt in one of our bonfires, along with several volumes of teenage diaries, fortunately.
3. A photographer (aged 12). Not owning anything but a Kodak Instamatic wasn't going to help me get to where I wanted to go to with this.
4. A member of Abba (aged 14). I mean, living on an island, writing songs all day, becoming phenomenally wealthy but hardly ever touring. What's not to like?
5. An artist (aged 15). Spurred on by an art teacher who told me I had "a special talent". Told parents that I was going to art school. Told that I could forget that idea for a start by my parents, and I was going to carry on studying RSA Shorthand and Typing instead. Parents proved correct, as ever.
6. A librarian (aged 16). Reality and maturity were starting to kick in here, weren't they?
7. A hibernating grizzly bear. Still would do, actually. Unless you have nightmares about salmon that you've eaten ganging up on you to get revenge in the afterlife.
SEVEN THINGS I HAVE BEEN
1. Brunette.
2. Blonde.
3. Redhead.
4. You really
5. Don't want to read
6. My boring boring boring career trajectory.
7. Really - YOU DON'T.
Labels: Agnetha Faltskog's weird stalker, art teachers, Clairol hair dye, hibernation, Mark Spitz, shorthand/typists
