I'm blind!

No, you mucky pups, not because of that (and it doesn't actually make you go blind, or there would be FAR more guide dogs around). I've been blinded by science. Or so the marketeers would like to believe. (Marketeers; like musketeers, but their weapon of choice is not the mighty sword, but magnificent swathes of bullshite).

I give you - bifidus actiregularis. Seriously?! 'Ooooh!' we all exclaim, 'that yogurt will have my bifidus digestivum all regularis in no time…' Or not. Because it is made up.

The beauty industry is even better. Our dedication to harnessing the secret weapon of the bold and the beautiful ('luminosity') knows no bounds, and the spin goes right down to the list of ingredients. The main ingredient in most shampoos, moisturisers, lotions and potions is 'aqua'. Also known as 'water'. They even highlight their bastardisation of chemistry in ads, with their oh-so-patronising 'here comes the science bit... Concentrate!' Makes me want to concentrate the attentions of my foot on their posteriors.

Doesn't stop me buying said lotions and potions of course, as my hundreds of Boots advantage card points will attest. I am a slave to product (I need all the help I can get to look vaguely presentable). But I do get tired of the tomfoolery.

I like a bit of honesty or, better still, a smidgen of humour. The marketing minds at Soap & Glory do a good job of sticking a tongue in the rouged cheek of the beauty industry and gently sticking two fingers up at ridiculous litigation gone mad, from their product titles ('Glow Job' …titter) to their disclaimers ('Soap & Glory formula's are not tested on animals, only very picky people.’) On 'The Breakfast Scrub' they proclaim; ‘We are legally obliged to tell you that THIS IS NOT FOOD.’

Let's face it; the beauty bods don't really need to try very hard to peddle their wares. There is a lot of competition, but they have a vast army of devotees, ready and willing, credit cards aloft, to buy and try the next 'amazing' 'miracle' solution to all their problems. For some, sadly, looking good is all that matters and there are no limits. Prime example: Botox. People are injecting poison into their faces. Actual, honest-to-god, poison. And to what end? A fixed expression, ever ready if a surprise party should be thrown at them, but sadly unable to show any other emotion; positive or negative. You might was well just hang a 'vacant' sign around your neck.

Because you're worth it.

Just look at those luscious locks...

Desperately seeking inspiration

I’ve been playing hide-and-seek with inspiration, my fair-weather friend, for a couple of days now. I can’t find the little bugger anywhere.
I’m working on an assignment that demands ideas on ‘widely different subjects’. I’ve already covered my mainstay, travel, and I’m guessing booze and food, my other major ‘areas of focus’ are not going to cut it in the differentiation stakes.

My new muse?

Perhaps I need to get myself a muse? M-cat is currently in repose beside me, legs akimbo, and I think she may be auditioning for the part – she’s giving me a very sultry upside-down look. Hmmm… upside-down… maybe a different perspective…

Nope. Looking at the world upside down has done nothing but give me a slight headache (and increased my risk of throwing a hip). And no – the headache is nothing to do with my booze-based buddies thank you. My body is a temple and no drink has been taken for three whole days(!) Although maybe that’s the problem, maybe the creative and grape juices need to mingle. They do play very nicely together - and have spawned manys the (a)musing…

Positively glowing with inspiration...

Alas I can’t pop my cork just yet. Aside from the fact that drinking alone on a Thursday afternoon for the purposes of creativity may have those unidentified imbibers knocking at my door, I have to go for a run later. In the rain. Deep joy. My dedication knows no bounds and my body is indeed a temple …of doom.


Apparently Jack London said;
'You can't wait for inspiration. You have to go after it with a club.'
And so I shall. I think running with a club in hand might raise a few too many suspicious glances, so hopefully tracking down my stimuli and force-feeding them endorphins will do the trick. Right you slippery little suckers – I coming to get you!

Adventures in cat cuisine

Today I learned that the French for Pollock is ‘Colin’, so if you are named Colin (bless you) and are planning on travelling to France - tread carefully. I wholeheartedly encourage parléying une petit pue de français (when in Rome/Paris and all that) but beware the danger of your new French chums hearing ‘Hi – my name’s Pollock’ when you introduce yourself.

This useful (?!) little titbit came courtesy of a packet of Felix ‘As good as it looks’ - a title that has always struck me as an interesting branding decision. Our cats have yet to master the monetary system (the lack of opposable thumbs and pockets makes carrying small change a nightmare, so they tell me) and to us humans, the ones generally making the purchase, it looks, quite frankly, revolting. Now Whiskas ‘Oh so fishy’ on the other hand – they have hit the nail right on the head. What a stench. I’ve learned to avoid serving it before having people over, otherwise it leaves the floor wide open for the cheeky buggers I hang around with. ‘It’s the cat food’ ... ‘umm-hmmmmm, of course it is’.

The bosses keeping an eye on operations.

While carrying out my shopping duties for the furry feline bosses (dogs have owners, cats have staff) I also noticed that they are now, at the ripe old age of eight, ‘seniors’. Before we know it they’ll be going off to college…*sniff*

*ahem* Anyhooo... I then did a little mental calculation (which, granted, is probably wrong – sums are below if you’d like to check my homework) and I concluded that by comparison, and by cat food standards, I too am a ‘senior’. You could have knocked me down with a pack werther’s originals. If I hadn’t already eaten them.

Cat/Human seniority calculation

Ripe old age for cat = 18

Ripe old age for human = 72 (…ish!)

72 ÷ 18 = 4

Cat ‘senior’ = >8

Human ‘senior’ = >32 (!!!)

You know you're getting older when...

...the random topics of drunken conversations start to include knitting, dry rot and the bridges of the Firth of Forth. And this, my friends, was amongst a bunch of ‘ladies’ (I use the term loosely…) Of course our conversation was not devoid of the standard girl-chat - shoes, shopping, weddings, proposals and babies all made an appearance alongside these fascinating new subjects. Heading home before midnight was another sign but, in defence of our street-cred, we had been out since lunchtime and we'd discussed former drunken escapades, and hangovers we've known and loved, at length, so perhaps that helped spark a sense of self-preservation.

As I stare down the barrel of another birthday (I like diamonds and ponies by the way - just saying...), it's only natural to take stock and do a little mental MOT. What's changed? Am I growing old (dis)gracefully as I've always intended? I'm not the type to mourn the passing of another year. I've taken each phase of my life as it's come - they all have their pros and cons after all. I like being in my thirties, for instance, because I'm more comfortable in my own skin - even if it is starting to wrinkle (and sag) a little - but obviously, on the flip-side, I do have to be more careful to avoid throwing a hip. 

There are various indications that I've gained a little more sense recently. I've started drinking decaf tea in the evening (rock n' roll!) and have been keeping a much better handle on my finances (note the ‘better’ - there's still room for improvement). But, just as I'm starting to bore myself, there are encouraging signs that a fun-loving eejit is still alive and well in me, like;

• drinking canned cocktails in the park on a Tuesday afternoon (I blame the unseasonal sunshine that has now abandoned us once more – was it a mojito-induced mirage?),
•  watching far too much mind-numbing TV (curse you Tyra!), and
• impulse-buying on eBay (but a Mulberry is an investment – see earlier note re finances).

I'm getting older much faster than I'm getting any wiser, but it's generally heading in the right direction (ish) and I don't see the point in putting too much pressure on myself to get overly sensible - it's dull and life's too short.