Imaginary Friends

Donnie had one.

Carl had one.

Elwood had one.

Hells, Big Bird even had one.

So why on earth don't we?

Imaginary friends are an excellent way to amuse yourself when bored. With an imaginary friend, you can fool yourself that you are not alone in the world, and that someone actually loves you. An imaginary friend is especially effective when infertile/homeless/husbandless.

And there's a whole range of activities you can do with them . You could play ball, go swimming, go to topshop, go on a bicycle ride, hire out that 80's comedy you always wanted to see, or skip around sand dunes shouting "I'm free, I'm free"

In fact I'm developing my very own imaginary friend right now....

Her names Trish. She comes from Barbados. She likes ice cream.

Good-oh.

Indie Wankers

So I just found out The Kooks may possibly be playing T in the Park.


As an attendee of the scottish festival, this poses some major problems:

- I may be forced to view them with my Kook-loving chum.
- Which means I will be travelling like 1 trillion miles and paying £200 (I blagged mine on ebay after discovering camping tickets have soldio outio) to participate in an audience which can only be described as mockney, middle class, archer-loving toff with absoloutley no taste in musique.
- They are supporting The Killers, which is a double-whammy of over-commercial and over- exposed-ness.
- If I do manage to drag my friend away to see someone faaaaar better like the manics, I'm sure the fake-northern drones will still follow me like an STI


argh so many dillemmas. So little time. Might have to abolish plans and resell tickets which would be an awful, awful shame.


Damn you Kooky-Kooks, always lurking around each corner ready to pounce and fuck up my festivalia plans. Gosh, so many potential fun times. Ruined by you pesky, pesky, skinny-jeaned Razorlight wannabees. You put shame on the good city of Brighton.


As for the friend, perhaps I should just kill her now before she influences me with her talk of Lurgey-Luke Pritchard and his enourmous Konk.

Anyone got any eloborate ways in which I could go to T, yet avoid The K's?

Stylissimo

So my social life is going through a dry spot as of late (pals either on french exchange or are totally skiing, dahling) , and this morning (easter hols, baby) I found myself googling whatever the hell came to mind (the history of marmite, Charles Manson, Lithuanian cinema) until finally I found lingering in the back of my mind the truly dire hit channel 4 show, 10 years younger.

10 years younger is a program shown at 8 o'clock each thursday on Channel 4. I hadn't seen it in about 2 years, so I was interested to see what was going down in Nicky Hambleton-Jones Town. But, to my horror, the presenter had been replaced with the nauseating Myleene Klass. At least NHJ had sass (even if she was a middle england headteacher in disguise). From what I know of her, MK's all afternoon tea and group breastfeeding sessions.

After having a bit of fun exploring the website, curiosity got the better of me, and before I knew it I was on 4od watching an episode from a few weeks ago.

In a nutshell, this was the contents of the program:
- Two women are humiliated by being placed in the town centre of some dead end town and are then scrutinised by chavvy passers by. Their average predicted age is calculated, usually something completley absurd like 95, even though they are in fact forty. They then cry.
- One chooses to undergo surgery, one doesn't.
- The surgery lady has her boobs jordanified and her face melted. The other gets her pubes waxed and her eyelashes permed.
- Syrupy MK makes the "problem cases" look freaking hawt, giving them a head to toe TU at sainsburys look after telling them that they have "such a shapely waist" and "such thin ankles".
- The plastic fantastic Lisa Eldridge attempts to make some she-man feel better by showering her with fake compliments ("You've got loveley, thick eyebrows") before caking their face with plastesine.
- Some northern geezer (who nobody's ever heard of, yet is still referred to as "britains no.1 hairdresser" at every oppurtunity) and his prostitute cut and colour the two women's hair.
- Their new looks are revealed to family and friends. Everyone cries, leading to some poor sod who's just started watching to ask "who's died?"
- The three women (MK and the losers) hit the town and do Sex and the City big time, by sipping rose-tinted champagne at some department store discount cafe. The winner of who looks younger is revealed, with the one who didn't go for surgery almost always winning (some policy to try and stop teenage girls from slitting their wrists, methinks)
- The credits roll along with the shexy ladies modelling their groovy new wardrobes. Et Voila. Beauty Personified. The End.

So, effectively, the aim of the prog is to make nice, harmless old women look like sex vixens for the incontenent blind. Brill.

But whatever. If that's what they want, fine. They look **great**.

And so, gals, lets get together and take our citreons to Matalan and shamelessly use our hubbies botched Northern Rock cards to buy purple blouses, calf-length skirts and espedrilles (Because they really accentuate that "hourglass" shape that all fat girls are told they have). And then we'll go to nandos and eat salads and drink diet pepsi to show we're well classy. And then we'll engage in some old-fashioned arse licking.

Too far? I think so.


Good day.