Time is against me now
Aye, it’s been a while, but I thought it best to avoid blogging for a few months, since it would have made such depressing reading that even the greatest Scottish Literature aficionado, and maybe even the makers of The Haar, would have found it too bleak.
At 04:34 this morning, I officially passed into what Jean Brodie would have described as ‘my prime’, and bloody grumpy I am about it too. Still, I suppose, given my misspent youth in Simpsons bar in Schoolhill, I should really give myself a pat on the back for getting to this (st)age at all.
Since it’s the New Year in addition to this milestone as far as aging is concerned, I have been mulling over the potential benefits of trying to become a bit healthier. Weighing up the situation carefully, I’ve made a resolution to increase my daily cigarette consumption by approximately 15%. This will have the well-known health benefit of making me less stressed and miserable, and is significantly more cost-effective than acupuncture sessions for stress and depression, which I will cut back on from once a week, to once a month. In addition, I will invest some resources in creating custom-made CDs to play in the car while commuting. I’ve found recently that I experience up to 75% less road rage during the playing of selected tracks by Goldie Lookin Chain, because it’s somewhat difficult to get uptight at the idiocy of other drivers while hooting with laughter at magical lines like ‘I wanna buy you chips down the Mecca bingo’.
I have also decided not to make any more appointments with the GP, simply on the grounds that she keeps trying to sign me off work and prescribe anti-depressants. I firmly believe that when I see her, I probably do exhibit symptoms requiring such treatment, but this is merely due to my exposure to the array of women’s magazines in the waiting room, with their (inevitably) terracotta or fuchsia fonts advertising such illuminating articles within as ‘Lose two stone in 6 weeks’ or ‘Drop a dress size in a month’. The last time I was there, I thought they actually had four identical copies of one magazine, given the colour scheme and exhortations to lose two inches off your arse in half an hour, until I realised to my horror, on slightly closer inspection (but still at least a good arm's length away), they were in fact completely separate titles of Bella, Chat, Woman, and Best. Who consumes this tat? Jesus wept! Could they be any more vacuous?
Clearly I am not a ‘proper woman’, since the very sight of terracotta and fuchsia brings on acute nausea, and I have absolutely no desire to spend any of my limited leisure time mindlessly consuming moronic nonsense about slimming. (The newspapers are currently full of this crap as well; from the Sunday Telegraph to the News of the Screws, they’re all desperately trying to increase circulation by dishing out Free G I Diet colour supplements). No wonder women haven’t broken through the glass ceiling. They’re all too busy buying Glade air-fresheners incase their dog farts, and reading how-to-drop-a-dress-size-in-four-weeks by simply sitting on their DFS sofa watching Judge John Deed, while munching a packet of Snack-a-Jacks and a Limited Edition Kit Kat.
At 04:34 this morning, I officially passed into what Jean Brodie would have described as ‘my prime’, and bloody grumpy I am about it too. Still, I suppose, given my misspent youth in Simpsons bar in Schoolhill, I should really give myself a pat on the back for getting to this (st)age at all.
Since it’s the New Year in addition to this milestone as far as aging is concerned, I have been mulling over the potential benefits of trying to become a bit healthier. Weighing up the situation carefully, I’ve made a resolution to increase my daily cigarette consumption by approximately 15%. This will have the well-known health benefit of making me less stressed and miserable, and is significantly more cost-effective than acupuncture sessions for stress and depression, which I will cut back on from once a week, to once a month. In addition, I will invest some resources in creating custom-made CDs to play in the car while commuting. I’ve found recently that I experience up to 75% less road rage during the playing of selected tracks by Goldie Lookin Chain, because it’s somewhat difficult to get uptight at the idiocy of other drivers while hooting with laughter at magical lines like ‘I wanna buy you chips down the Mecca bingo’.
I have also decided not to make any more appointments with the GP, simply on the grounds that she keeps trying to sign me off work and prescribe anti-depressants. I firmly believe that when I see her, I probably do exhibit symptoms requiring such treatment, but this is merely due to my exposure to the array of women’s magazines in the waiting room, with their (inevitably) terracotta or fuchsia fonts advertising such illuminating articles within as ‘Lose two stone in 6 weeks’ or ‘Drop a dress size in a month’. The last time I was there, I thought they actually had four identical copies of one magazine, given the colour scheme and exhortations to lose two inches off your arse in half an hour, until I realised to my horror, on slightly closer inspection (but still at least a good arm's length away), they were in fact completely separate titles of Bella, Chat, Woman, and Best. Who consumes this tat? Jesus wept! Could they be any more vacuous?
Clearly I am not a ‘proper woman’, since the very sight of terracotta and fuchsia brings on acute nausea, and I have absolutely no desire to spend any of my limited leisure time mindlessly consuming moronic nonsense about slimming. (The newspapers are currently full of this crap as well; from the Sunday Telegraph to the News of the Screws, they’re all desperately trying to increase circulation by dishing out Free G I Diet colour supplements). No wonder women haven’t broken through the glass ceiling. They’re all too busy buying Glade air-fresheners incase their dog farts, and reading how-to-drop-a-dress-size-in-four-weeks by simply sitting on their DFS sofa watching Judge John Deed, while munching a packet of Snack-a-Jacks and a Limited Edition Kit Kat.
posted by Cattie, Severin Books at 5:42 pm
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