Wednesday, December 10, 2008
THE END OF THE WORLD
Demis Roussos sang with Nana Mouskouri on the show that was on BBC4. Mercifully, the bloody King's Singers were kept at bay for a couple of minutes.
Nana told Demis that he was piling on the pounds, which was a bit tactless. Gok Wan would not have approved. "You shouldn't be hiding your voluptuousness behind that shapeless kaftan, Demis!" he would have exclaimed. "Get a corset on and get yer bangers out!"
Demis was the subject of a discussion during a family gathering in my parents' house in the 1970's. Present were my gran, my auntie and my mum.
He was caterwauling his way through When Forever Has Gone on TOTP.
My gran - a woman who made it her life's work to balance at least five illnesses at once, informed us that this was a beautiful song.
"HAH!" my auntie retorted. "It's complete rubbish and he can't sing!"
My auntie was the nearest thing to a modern woman in my mum's huge family. She actually had opinions and stuff, a job outside the home, was quite young looking and hadn't just "given up" on life when she reached thirty.
You know the way that some people always stick with the look they had when they were in their late teens? Well, that's the way my auntie looked - as if it was 1960. She used to be rake thin, have short bouffant mousy hair, bad skin and a wardrobe compiled of car coats, cropped trousers and turtle neck jumpers. A lot of Crimplene and pastel colours were involved. She looked like a Smiths cover star, in other words.
Actually, her husband used to complement her in this respect. Those bum freezer jackets and boots with the elastic in the side, and a big ash blond quiff. Wide screen features and very pale blue eyes ... ahem ... is it a bit off to say that your uncle was quite fanciable really? He used to manage a car showroom in Walsall. Very glamorous.
Theirs was an aspirational family (by 1976 standards) and they were the envy of all my other relatives because they had an oil lamp, a bricked up chimney style fireplace and one of those long, snaking sofa/chair things with the units in between! The upholstery was chocolate coloured velour!
My mother said nothing (as was usually the case in any social gatherings, unless she'd laid into the Cherry B).
My gran got very emotional.
"It's a lovely song. It makes me want to cry."
"HAH!" my auntie once again retorted. "He's making IDIOTS out of people like you, all he's doing is raking in the cash from people who don't know any better like YOU". She made some theatrical gestures of an EVIL person (presumably Demis) counting cash in their EVIL castle, grinning fiendishly and rubbing their hands together in an EVIL way.
"I don't care, people of your age don't understand. One day you will. I like this and I like Slim Whitman" my gran whined. It's one of the few times I ever heard her express an opinion on anything, or, indeed, talk about anything apart from her illnesses.
I was hoping that this would, for once, lead to a huge family feud, or at least a heated debate. It didn't. Nothing ever did in my family. People used to talk about each other behind their backs though. This is part of the reason that I think families are shit.
My auntie, who was young and healthy and lively, died of a stroke at forty four. Yikes! I've outlived her!
My gran, who was always claiming that she would be dead soon, lived to the ripe old age of eighty nine.
Anyway, this has rambled off into a blind alley, and is completely pointless, which is the way I like it. There's nothing worse than a well written blog post, is there?
Um, Demis. Here's Demis with the awesome Aphrodite's Child.
Labels: Aphrodite's Child, Demis Roussos, my crayzee family, not post of the week, Smiths cover stars
Sunday, December 02, 2007
BRIDAL PATH
In a state of complete indifference, I can announce that plans are in the pipeline to sell off the Register Office that I got married in. I don't have any sentimental reasons to object to it being sold off, and merely think that it's a sign of the capitalist times. These things happen nowadays.
You may well ask why someone who still admits to having unfashionable feminist beliefs would get married at all. Er, you may well ask.
Hmm ... I was certainly not a prime candidate for sitting around believing that a knight in shining armour would sweep me off my feet. I've always hated weddings, brides, hats, crying mothers, plans for weddings, having to socialise with relatives and *friends* that I haven't seen for twenty years, engagement rings and all that crap.
Even from an early age I didn't believe that would make me happy. What's the point of thinking your life is only valid if a mayy-ernn gets down on one knee and proposes, you have a big tacky wedding, and the only things you have to look forward to in life are squeezing out babies, baking, pretending you have a mental age of 8 and, eventually, babysitting your grandchildren. Yeuch!
Even from an early age I didn't believe that would make me happy. What's the point of thinking your life is only valid if a mayy-ernn gets down on one knee and proposes, you have a big tacky wedding, and the only things you have to look forward to in life are squeezing out babies, baking, pretending you have a mental age of 8 and, eventually, babysitting your grandchildren. Yeuch!
Still, I got married after living in sin (which still sounds sooo much more appealing) for four years.
The decision came about NOT because of a tacky romantic proposal over a tacky romantic meal involving a couple of starry eyed twentysomethings who would no doubt be going through a long and painful divorce a decade later. It was a mutual decision made by a clapped out, been around the block couple in their mid thirties who wanted to put their financial matters in order.
The year before, my dad had died. Despite his telling me at regular intervals that YOU HAVE TO MAKE A WILL AND GET EVERYTHING SORTED OUT FOR THOSE YOU LEAVE BEHIND, in the last months of his life he went a bit loop-de-loop and mislaid the will in his house. When he died, it was nowhere to be found. Months of stressful dealings with solicitors later, we managed to find the will by chance, nowhere near where it was originally supposed to have been.
Nope, I didn't care about getting my hands on his money (well, aside from paying for funeral expenses and the other gubbins that gets tied up with someone's death). It's just that, at the point when all I wanted to do was mourn someone, I was having to deal with all that hassle, which could've been avoided with a few simple procedures beforehand.
Nope, I didn't care about getting my hands on his money (well, aside from paying for funeral expenses and the other gubbins that gets tied up with someone's death). It's just that, at the point when all I wanted to do was mourn someone, I was having to deal with all that hassle, which could've been avoided with a few simple procedures beforehand.
I swore after that that I'd make my own will, keep it at a solicitor's office and for things to be very cut and dried. Getting married made things easier.
So married we were, on a Monday morning, with four guests, no rings and the most basic ceremony on offer. My dress cost a fiver from a second hand shop (all part of my principle to go completely against the idea of a silly over the top wedding). We only had a handful of pictures taken, and there was no official photographer.
Rather predictably, A LOT OF PEOPLE DIDN'T APPROVE. Disappointingly, this included some people who I thought would have been more, shall we say, enlightened.
Surely this was a lot less bother than forcing people to attend a long, drawn out boring ceremony and reception, pay out for a present, have to travel long distances and take time out of their annual leave? What did anyone have to grumble about exactly?
I'm still married, I still don't have a wedding ring, and I still use my maiden name. I rather hoped that I wouldn't have to explain why this is the case in the year 2007, but I still frequently do.
Still, when I get all those Christmas cards addressed to Mr and Mrs (Contains Mild Peril) in a week or two, I'll just shrug my shoulders. It's all you can do.
Labels: boring weddings, feminism, my crayzee family, over the top weddings, showing off, silly women, tacky weddings, wills
Thursday, November 22, 2007
GRIM
It has been suggested on several occasions here that I am a frightening woman, so here is pictorial evidence to suggest that this is a longstanding condition, and one that has run in my family for several generations. It ain't my fault guv. It's genetic.
Here I am on a joyful family holiday in 1967, the summer of love. At the time, the likes of Tom 909 were *getting it together* with some *chick* in a field while tripping out to the sounds of Big Brother And The Holding Company. Some of us were having to endure a damp and overcast week in North Wales with seriously annoyed parents who were dressed as if they were twenty years older.
I am the miserable shortarse in the ridiculous bonnet which I DIDN'T CHOOSE TO WEAR MYSELF, my dad is Grandpa Munster and my mother is the one that has a face like thunder.
This post comes to you courtesy of Photo Scanning At Boots Week. Further results can be seen here.
Here I am on a joyful family holiday in 1967, the summer of love. At the time, the likes of Tom 909 were *getting it together* with some *chick* in a field while tripping out to the sounds of Big Brother And The Holding Company. Some of us were having to endure a damp and overcast week in North Wales with seriously annoyed parents who were dressed as if they were twenty years older.
I am the miserable shortarse in the ridiculous bonnet which I DIDN'T CHOOSE TO WEAR MYSELF, my dad is Grandpa Munster and my mother is the one that has a face like thunder.
This post comes to you courtesy of Photo Scanning At Boots Week. Further results can be seen here.
Labels: family holiday, grimness, I DIDN'T CHOOSE THAT BONNET, moody bastards, my crayzee family
Saturday, November 17, 2007
THE ADDAMS FAMILY
You may have gathered by now that I managed to avoid any of the horrendous operations that were described on the internet, and was sent away with a cast on my arm which will be removed in five weeks.
The cast was put on by a young bloke who had a wonderfully delicate and precise touch. All the grains of the bandage seem to be aligned to one another! What an artist!
Then he ruined the effect by saying "two fings you need to know: DO NOT get the cast wet and DO NOT put nuffin daaaaahnn it".
When I escaped from the hospital, I was deliriously happy. Of course, this didn't last long.
I returned home to find that the Ongoing Problems with the elderly and ailing relative in the Midlands were getting more complicated.
I don't want to turn this into one of those Boo Hoo, Pity More Me blogs, particularly as most other people have horrible things to deal with themselves, but it really would be nice to get through a few years without having to deal with family illness, hospital visits, a responsibility to everyone in the S*rbian community to look after *family*, oncology units, phoning social services, people going a bit loopy, emotional blackmail, people who refuse to have medical treatment, weird Orthodox funerals, missing wills, solicitors and every kind of hassle you can think of.
Still, hey! That's my crayzee family for you. Anyone who wants to house and look after the ones that are left is quite welcome to them. The further away you live the better.
If anyone wants to leave a comment advising me that I should have a more positive outlook on life, and that worrying about things is a waste of time, perhaps they should consider putting their fingers into a paper shredder instead.
Grr.
Rant over. I will leave you with a test card. A test card for monochrome TV sets, no less. Keep raising money for Pudsey Bear, you lovely people, and have a nice weekend.
The cast was put on by a young bloke who had a wonderfully delicate and precise touch. All the grains of the bandage seem to be aligned to one another! What an artist!
Then he ruined the effect by saying "two fings you need to know: DO NOT get the cast wet and DO NOT put nuffin daaaaahnn it".
When I escaped from the hospital, I was deliriously happy. Of course, this didn't last long.
I returned home to find that the Ongoing Problems with the elderly and ailing relative in the Midlands were getting more complicated.
I don't want to turn this into one of those Boo Hoo, Pity More Me blogs, particularly as most other people have horrible things to deal with themselves, but it really would be nice to get through a few years without having to deal with family illness, hospital visits, a responsibility to everyone in the S*rbian community to look after *family*, oncology units, phoning social services, people going a bit loopy, emotional blackmail, people who refuse to have medical treatment, weird Orthodox funerals, missing wills, solicitors and every kind of hassle you can think of.
Still, hey! That's my crayzee family for you. Anyone who wants to house and look after the ones that are left is quite welcome to them. The further away you live the better.
If anyone wants to leave a comment advising me that I should have a more positive outlook on life, and that worrying about things is a waste of time, perhaps they should consider putting their fingers into a paper shredder instead.
Grr.
Rant over. I will leave you with a test card. A test card for monochrome TV sets, no less. Keep raising money for Pudsey Bear, you lovely people, and have a nice weekend.
Labels: Children In Need, fractured wrist, Monochrome Set, my crayzee family, ranting
