What the glitterati of mid-Somerset are wearing this season
Met my old friend Shelley for lunch on Friday at the Sheep and Penguin - I wore my finest pant and my Hong Kong Phooey T-shirt.
I dress to impress.
It's rather akin to Vogue cover photos, where on the inside cover of the magazine they even tell you what perfume the model is wearing. ('Model' is a word that never looks right to me on the page - how about 'Moddle'?)
Hence knowing I have the McLaren of pants on and a highly sexy T-shirt - whilst never revealing said garments - is like wearing under armour before a rugby match.
Like Clark Kent wearing his Superman outfit underneath his corporate suit.
I felt invincible!
These most fragrant of pants are my under armour, my scent, my most gussetted treasure.
My special occasion pant.
|I can feel you gloating.
Damn I wish I'd bought more of the same.
I am also using beard oil to curl my magnificent whiskers (for I am the most pubic man in Wells).
I can't wait for my whiskers to turn white as this will make me (even) more sexy.
I get the eye from the old ladies these days you see. My key demographic has changed.
Maybe we are all demented here. Dad forgot the surname (that's 'Last Name' to Millennials) of the guy opposite who's lived there for 50 years, and then forgot to put the carrots on.
It may just be tiredness.
I've often said I have dementia in a 10' radius. Come within my aura and you too will see; you will forget things which remained hitherto unforgettable.
But, if we all have it (or early signs of it) where is this going and at what rate?
It could be like The League of Gentlemen, or The Texas Chainsaw Massacre. Although I see the latter Leatherface family walking their horrible dogs on The Bishop's Fields now and then, so they're already taken.
Like all these bridges, I shall cross them when they arrive 'neath my feet.
Food for thought though.
What I'm watching
The Masked Arsehole - filmed in RetardoVision for the freshly lobotomised. 80s one-hit wonders and drug-addled soapstars who no one can remember and when unmasked everyone goes "Oh no - it's them!" but actually they don't have a clue who it is, because they've long been erased from everyone's' collective brainage for evolutionary purposes.
You can tell the budget goes on the panel 'talent' rather than the singers.
Utter, utter, utter shite.
"Take it off! Take it off!" chant the masses: the type of people who clap and miss.
And then on BBC breakfast they're interviewing Tiffany. Now if you don't know who Tiffany is, she was a teen popstar in the 80s who performed at shopping malls (those large derelict structures in middle America) and drew huge crowds, and had a hit with "I think we're alone now." It turned out her mother had forced her to perform and in an act of rebellion she posed nude for Playboy.
Now why did I remember that?
Anyway, there she was on The Masked Anus - 40 years on from her fame - and everyone is acting surprised to see her. The reason they're surprised is because they haven't a clue who she is. And then - THEN - she is being interviewed on BBC Breakfast on Saturday morning.
No one bloody cares!
It all goes to prove my theory that the human species has peaked a few generations ago and we are now on a fast rewind back to our primal bollock stage.
2 teacher friends have recently told me of separate incidents.
One, where at the end of a long term they called a pupil by their previous female name - cue sharp intakes of breath from the rest of the class. Having known this pupil by this previous name for 3 years and then having to adopt their new chosen name, it was an understandable brain slip. I mean anyone who knows teachers appreciates how exhausted they are at the end of a term, right?
The second was in D&D and one child called a biological female 'her'. Cue more sharp intakes of breath. Bear in mind that last year 'she' was a 'they', and now wishes to be referred to as a 'he'. It's very difficult to keep up with all this and for most part take it seriously. Most of us don't want to offend and are happy to go along with it, but we all secretly know that he is blatantly a she.
My solution to teachers when they are trying to avoid splitting the class up into boys and girls and avoiding modern sensitivities is this:
"Vaginas to the left - penises to the right."
And no one will get offended at that!
I have already invoiced the Department of Education 30 guineas for my consultation services.