Monday, 29 July 2013

More Bits and Pieces

I turned 30 this year, which – touch wood – should mean I'm well under halfway through my life. So here’s my question – why does it feel as if the extended warranty on my body ran out a couple of years ago and since then everything has started to fall apart?

If you think it’s hard to find spare parts for a second hand European car, try sourcing them for a broken down body.

I first started noticing it when something as simple as moving came with it’s own soundtrack.  Five years ago, when I got out of bed in the morning, it was done silently.  These days it’s accompanied by a groan akin to a Hungarian weightlifter completing the clean and jerk, crossed with the type of phone call that’s charged at $4.95 per minute.

OK. I was out with my radio jock friend recently and he seemed a little too happy, so I asked him what the problem was. Seems his brother is getting married and he was asked if he’d be best man.  He loves him and all of that, and is privileged to be part of his brother’s special day, but secretly, I think he’s so pleased because he get’s a title – Best Man!!

I really don’t think he’s ever been referred to as ‘best’ of anything  To be honest, as the sort of bloke who calls ‘Hire a Hubby’ when something goes wrong at his house, he’s just pleased to be called a ‘man’.

It has to be said, though, that the title of ‘best man’ at a wedding is a little overstated.  For starters, your presence there is a certainly less important than, say, the groom, which immediately relegates you to ‘second best man’.

Of course, the priest is usually male, and if you believe in that sort of thing, he has a direct line to God, so that knocks you down the order again.  Then more often than not, there’s a father of the bride, which means you’re now not even on the podium, coming in as ‘fourth best man’.

I seriously can’t begin to imagine how it works at a gay wedding where there are two of everything.

This is how the conversation went – He said he was excited but also nervous about his duties.  He only has one brother so even if he’s the fourth best man, he still wants to make sure he does a good job.

He said he can handle the speech bit, but he’s not got any idea of the rest.  Does he book a stripper?  (For the buck’s party, of course as – he says – even he knows that it would be in bad taste at the church)
Needing help, we took out the iPad, looked online and after spending a few minutes on sites that seemed to skip the ceremony and concentrate on the wedding night, we found that he needed a “Dummy’s Guide To Being Best Man”.

I told him he would have to dance with the bridesmaids.  Not a problem there, he said.  As long as they know the steps to the Macarena, the Time Warp and YMCA.  He is also happy to organise the tossing of the garter.  However he’s not sure if he can find enough single men, because, let’s face it, at our age ………… so would it be wrong to invite those whose relationships are a bit rocky?

Oh, don’t worry.  It’ll be OK on the night.  After all, you’re the fourth best man!!

Part of friend's column in the paper recently (which needed to be repeated) –   He's talking about Australia Making the World Cup:-

"It is sometimes said, and said quite insistently, that football is actually better than sex. At first glance. this seems a strange and highly debatable statement.  The two activities are so utterly different.  One involves sensuality, passion, emotion, commitment, selflessness, the speechless admiration of sheer heart-stopping beauty, rushes of breathtaking, ecstatic excitement, followed by shattering toe-curling, orgasmic pleasure.  
The other is sex.  Certain women  who are not football fans - I am reliably informed that there are one or two such creatures left in this world - sometimes fail to understand the subtleties of this connection.  They simply do not relate emotionally to the blissful anticipation of the game, the sacred ritual of preparation, the joyful build-up to the main event, the veritable foreplay that is the brisk booing and tribal barracking of the opposing team and it's supporters, the plateau phase of the contest itself, as it thrusts first this way, then that, the feverish mounting excitement building up to ..... YES HE SCORES!!!"                                                      

I was listening to the radio recently, and they were interviewing Steve Waugh and it really made me laugh.  They were actually talking about ‘sledging’ on the field.  They said to him “So, Steve, if you were batting in a game of backyard cricket and your mum was bowling, and you got a little nick through to the keeper, and nobody heard it …. Would you walk?”    There was a bit of silence and then Steve said “You never walk, fellas.  Makes up for that time she gave me LBW last Christmas when it was clearly going down legside”.  Apparently one of the world cricketers accused the Aussies of being the best sledgers in the world   Although, I guess, I can understand why sledging by the Aussies puts batsmen off, after all when most cricketers tell you they groped your wife in a spa filled with jelly, you know it’s just mental warfare, but if Shane Warne says it, you might want to call home to check.

Thursday, 11 July 2013

Bits and Pieces 4

I have a confession to make. From the time I first sat down at my computer to write this to when I actually typed these words, I’ve checked my e-mail three times. Now admittedly, part of this problem is because I’m a natural procrastinator. In fact, if I were a superhero I think I’d be Procrastinator Girl. "What’s that? Someone’s in trouble? OK, I’ll be there as soon as I make myself a cup of tea, read the papers, sharpen pencils, have another cuppa, feed the dog, organize my CDs into alphabetical order, check my e-mail, type my name into Google and finally, have one more cup of tea. But mostly, I’m just addicted to turning on the computer and seeing "You have a new message".

The funny thing is, in my head, I’m not really sure what the appeal of e-mail is. After all, we have had a much superior invention around for decades. It’s called "the phone".

If e-mail had been around for 50 years, and we had just come up with the phone, then everyone would be like "Hey Katel, you’ve got to come and check out this new invention – it’s amazing. It’s just like e-mail, but you can actually talk to the person." Having said that, nowadays it seems that they’re inventing more and more phones you can type messages on, so what the hell do I know? I’m pretty sure if you give the latest mobile to 1000 monkeys they’d eventually SMS you the complete works of Shakespeare.

There are a couple of things that bother me with the World Wide Web. And not only that it’s abbreviation, www, has more syllables than just saying ‘world wide web’ (yes, I know, I should get out more). My first problem is the prevalence of adult content. Now I’m not Prudey McPrude, but it’s made it virtually impossible to look up anything without being redirected to a porn site. A while agor day my friend Keith was trying to build a shelf for the kitchen, to hold some cups, so he innocently (?) typed the keywords "wood", "screws" and "jugs" into Google. Suddenly he was directed to sites that were less hardware and more hardcore.

Another thing that annoys me is spam. I really don’t need any penis enlarging pills or generic impotence treating drugs. Don’t you just love the e-mails with subject headers like "A message from a friend you haven’t heard from in a while". Then you open it up and discover it’s not from a friend you haven’t heard from in a while, because if you had a friend who could do that, they would be hearing from you all the time.

Which reminds me, I should check my in-box.

I heard that a school in England has changed Baa Baa Black Sheep to Baa Baa Rainbow Sheep!!!! OK, the first question that needs to be asked is "What the hell are rainbow sheep? Are they the ones that Zhara Rhodes used to make her colourful outfits? This comes hot on the heels of a school in Aberdeen who changed it to Baa Baa Happy Sheep. I asked the guys here and apparently a happy sheep is one that has just found out that it’s owner is a vegetarian, or has just moved away from New Zealand.

Do you believe this???? Hey I’m all for teaching kids tolerance and acceptance, but this seems like political correctness gone mad. (Sorry, I’m probably not allowed to say ‘mad’ anymore because George Bush might take offence.) My brother was just looking over my shoulder and he said that there’s an upside – the New Zealand rugby team will be nowhere near as terrifying when they’re the All Rainbows!

It’s not going to stop there though is it? Soon we’ll have to ban Noddy’s pal Big Ears because it might offend Prince Chuck and we’ll have to change the words "There was a crooked man" because it might piss off members of the Australian Government. Then all we have to do is change ‘Three Blind Mice’ to ‘Three Visually Impaired Mice’ and we’ll all live happily ever after!

OK if you think about it, I’m pretty sure most people could identify the point in their lives where they stopped being eligible to be prime minister. In fact, if you really looked back, I bet you could pinpoint the exact moment when you took something or did something – or someone – that would be later used against you if you ever sought higher office. "You know, Giggsy, it’s lovely to be here in this spa with you and all your Manchester United team mates, but you know, if these pictures get out, I can never be Prime Minister."

What I'm talking about is we had a staff party in a hangar at London airport. I wasn’t going to go, but I decided "hey, what the heck, let's see how the other half live".  OK if I’m honest I certainly tried to make up for the raise I didn’t get by drinking the equivalent amount in free champagne – I may have even drunk my way into the next tax bracket! Qantas decided to have a party because it would be a good opportunity for staff to get together, learn from and inspire each other – OK, ok  and screw, bitch about and steal from each other!

Good night was had by all..