Louis shmooey

I know I'm being manipulated into writing this particular blog entry but unfortunately I just can't bring myself not to.


It's this man's fault:

Gah. Louis Walsh. Once upon a time he was something of a pop svengali - not so much these days mind. But he's still got his judging role on a little known talent show called The X Factor. The mute button is my friend when Louis is on screen but sadly the mute button doesn't prevent the muppet from making absurd decisions when it comes to his acts.

These two scary looking boys are John and Edward.

On Sunday Louis put them through to the final 12 X-Factor acts and as such they will be performing this coming week in the first live show. Let us all hope that it is a one night only affair and that the twins will be unceremoniously disposed of before the competition has really got started.

They are genuinely awful. It is a mystery how they got past the initial auditions let alone into the prestigious final 12. By putting them through Walsh has managed to erase any modicum of credibility that the show may ever have had. But put them through he has. I can't believe that Louis actually thinks that they have any talent - last night he compared them to a pre-fame Boyzone (in fairness this could be accurate but the pop music industry has changed in the last 15 years and you can no longer get away with launching an unprofessional half-baked outfit - which is what Boyzone started out as - and some may argue also finished as!). So unless Mr Walsh has actually lost his mind what is the other option?

Publicity.

And he's got it. TV, radio, newspapers, blogs (ahem)... all decrying his choice and heaping insults upon him. But it's exactly what he wants. A large percentage of people tend to stop watching X-Factor after the initial auditions are over because their motivation for watching is the cringe worthiness of the no-talent contestants. In which case taking John and Edward through to the live shows is actually a master stroke by the annoying Irish one. The no-talent contestant appeal continues! And the public are well and truly aware of it thanks to all this publicity. To which I have now contributed. Sigh.

That Monday feeling... on a Friday...

You've got to hand it to some people; why stick to mediocrity when you have the chance to redefine the term 'dire'?

Today's guilty party? The Haunting in Connecticut.

I mean really, what kind of name is that for a film? It's the equivalent of a Brit making 'The Haunting in Worcestershire'.

Come to think of it, surely Worcestershire has far more fright potential than Connecticut?*

And whilst I'm having a rant, who do Heinz think they're kidding when they say that their 400g Tomato Soup cans contain 2 servings? Servings for small woodland creatures perhaps! Certainly not for grown adults. Wake up Heinz and smell the Trade Descriptions act!

Soup. For one.

* I should probably point out that I haven't actually seen said scary Connecticut film. Nor do I intend to. But that title is definitely enough to justify my 'dire' label.

#Your looks are laughable...#

People of the world - I hate to break it to you, but you're being duped. I ask you, is there anything less romantic than Valentine's Day? A day of mass manipulation by the confectionery, greeting cards, flowers, champagne and retail industries.

These are not the rantings and ravings of a bitter, single woman. Granted, they are the ramblings of a single woman but that is clearly beside the point. I just don't get the whole Valentine's Day hoopla. Surely romance is about spontaneity? Showing someone you love them when they least expect it. Actually it's probably more romantic to find a way to live that shows someone you love them each and everyday.

Do excuse me whilst I take a minute to go and throw up somewhere. (Oh dear, that might just be some bitterness being vomited into the bathroom sink).

Ahem.

My point is that Valentine's Day doesn't come close to meeting either of those criteria. It's not spontaneous and it's not long lasting. It's probably too late for a boycott this time around. But next year, when all those shops try to lure you in with their lovey-dovey window displays and bargain chocolate and wine combo offers, do as the Grange Hill kids once did - "Just say no!"

Snow fever

This time last week I was jumping up and down with joy at the sight of the lovely white flakes falling from the sky. I would have been aghast at the very idea that there could be such a thing as too much snow. Yet here I am a week later, fed up of this incessant wintry weather. It was great fun of course. For a while. The snow cat was built. A snow giraffe followed. Next up was a snow fort. And finally an igloo. But I've rather run out of steam and inspiration since then. I'm fed up of having to wear wellies every time I leave the house. I'm annoyed at being unable to drive wherever and whenever I want to. I just got back from a quick trip into town and my trainers appear to have acquired a permanent squelch. My feet are suitably wet and it's horrible and slushy out there. In some ways that's a good thing. Everything is thawing. But the weathermen inform me that a 'winter storm' is on the way. Oh goodie. Just what we need.

Incidentally I also saw a mad woman in town. She was wearing the tiniest denim shorts possible. Yes, she had tights on underneath but they were hardly woolly ones. What's wrong with these people?!

Wet feet make me grumpy. Can you tell?

When I grow up...

What happened to kids wanting to be firemen and astronauts? These days if you ask a child what they want to be when they grow up then you're likely to get the answer; "Famous". Even in my day the answer would be more along the lines of, "a pop star" or "an actress". Now it's simply fame that they're after, no matter where that fame comes from.

It's a sad world. Even sadder when people start singing songs about it. Yes, Pussycat Dolls, I'm talking to you. Now don't you go trying to hide behind all that make-up, I can still see you. Quite frankly I can see far too much of you.

"Now I've got a confession

When I was young I wanted attention

And I promised myself that I’d do anything

Anything at all for the boys to notice me"

Well that's just a lovely example to set for young girls isn't it? If you want attention, then get it from boys - by any means necessary.

"But I ain't complaining

We all wanna be famous"

Er, I hate to rain on your parade but no we don't. In fact I often find myself wondering who in their right mind would want all the baggage that fame brings. Your every move followed, analysed and critiqued by utter strangers; your dirty laundry aired on 24-hour news channels; betrayal by people you once considered friends; oh yes, we all want that don't we?

"When I grow up

I wanna see the world

Drive nice cars

I wanna have groupies"

OK, so I'll give you travelling the world and driving nice cars, but groupies? Seriously? Deranged, sycophantic would-be stalkers obsessed with your every word and action? Right.

"But be careful what you wish for

'Cause you just might get it

But you just might get it

But you just might get it"

Ah, a disclaimer. Hello young impressionable children, you want all this exciting fame stuff don't you... oh yes... it's wonderful... oh and just so that you can't blame us when your life starts falling to pieces in your pursuit of fame, you can't say we didn't warn you. Remember the hook in When I Grow Up? No? Oh silly you... must have been blinded by all those cars, the glitz and glamour.

In conclusion: Kids, astronauts are way cool.

Boo Tyra Boo!

I'm pretty sure that each and every one of us has their own trashy TV secret. You know, a show that is low on quality but high on addiction factor? Mine is America's Next Top Model. Currently showing in the UK on Living, (at 9am and 6pm) ANTM as it's known, has been threatening to take over my life. It's on everyday. There have been at least 9 series. I keep getting to the end of a series and thinking, "Surely that must be the most recent one". But no, the next day they start all over again! I'm stuck in a cycle of trashy TV hell. Or should that be heaven?

Well today I wasn't quite so happy as I indulged in my now not-so-secret guilty pastime. Let's get something straight - I can deal with the skinny model thing. I may not be happy about it but it's pretty much a fact of life. The cool thing is that recently there has been greater move towards plus-sized models. ANTM has reflected that (although there is an argument that it has merely added a token plus-sized model to each series). But token or not, at least they're there. The series I'm currently watching (that's series 9, fact fans) is no exception. It features a lovely girl called Sarah. Now it just so happens that Sarah started losing some weight once she moved into the model house. She wasn't intending to, it just happened. This is where it gets ridiculous. The judges expressed their concern that she was now not big enough to work as a plus-sized model but nor was she skinny enough to be an average skinny model. What the heck?

So now size-ism has taken a new and twisted direction... if you're skinnier than the average woman then you can model; if you're bigger than the average woman then you can model; if you fall somewhere between the two and are in fact the size of an average woman then au revoir, arrivederci and goodbye! Bonkers.

"So what do you do?"

I hate that question. It's the king of small talk questions. It's quite a strange one really. The vast majority of people don't seem to enjoy their work and yet it's the topic that always seems to end up being discussed. Society defines people by their jobs. I suppose it's because we spend so much of our lives working.

Whatever the reasons for the popularity of the question, I still hate it. I know exactly why I have such a problem with it. It's because I don't have a job! There's no easy answer available to me. Just saying, "I'm unemployed" doesn't cover it but giving a decent explanation takes far more time than the questioner really wants to spend on the topic!

For some reason I always begin my answer with, "Well, it's a bit complicated I'm afraid...". I'm pretty much apologising for the awkwardness of my answer from the get go! On the upside it has become a little easier over the last few years as far more people are aware of M.E. as a real illness. Whereas 5 years ago I used to get vacant looks from small talk perpetrators, at least nowadays I get an, "oh yes, my brother's wife's second cousin has that". Although that can actually cause more problems in itself. At least the ignorant usually knew they were ignorant. These days everyone is an expert.

Following on from the apology, my well-rehearsed answer to the evil question usually takes the road of ill 10 years-dropped out of school-no uni-can't work-do voluntary stuff when I can. I'm not one to brag but I like to think that I've refined it to a near perfect answer after all this time! I do the 'I'm struggling on through head-nod' - copyright G.Licious - and smile understandingly to let the question poser know that they don't have to be embarrassed. But let me make it clear (at least in this blog, if not to the big wide world); just because I can answer the question, doesn't mean I have to like doing it!

Slopes and SATs

I hate hills. Or to be more specific; I hate slopes. Hills I just don't bother with. There's no point in trying. Slopes are deceptive. They don't look all that different from friendly flat ground. They lie! The difference they make is ridiculous. I genuinely think that it is at least 10 times more difficult for me to walk a slope than a stretch of bog standard, lovingly tarmacked pavement. I went to the library today; parked me car; walked down the small slope; did my library thang and walked back up said slope. Gah. It's hardly a steep incline but it was enough for my legs to scream and the rest of my body to give up on me for a few minutes. When I rule the world, I shall make everything flat. Well, maybe we can keep some pretty mountains but I'll need to get escalators installed. Although thinking about it, standing up for a long time will still be a problem. Darn it! My amazing plan has failed at the first hurdle.

No matter, I have a new project: the abolition of Sats. For any Americans reading I should clarify that British SATs are not the same as US SATs. I'm not entirely sure what American SATs are (I only have TV and films to go by - they seem to be some sort of test taken before you go to college or university) but they are most definitely different from the British version. SATs are tests taken by kids in England and Wales at the ages of 7, 11 and 14. They are taken in Science, Maths and English and are in theory designed to assess the level of attainment that each child has reached. In practice SATs have become less and less about the children and more and more about each school's position in the national league tables.

I agree that children should be continually assessed and tested up to a point. However, I don't believe that SATs are the way to do that and I certainly have problems with the pressure that schools put on pupils in order to reach their targets. My biggest quibble is with the Key Stage 3 exams taken at the age of 14. They appear to be utterly pointless. Once a child gets to secondary school he or she is given exams in almost every subject at the end of every single year. That is important and necessary; examinations from within the school help teachers to identify problem areas and individuals that are struggling. SATs are useless for this. The teachers don't set the questions nor do they mark the papers. I do not know if the papers are made available to teachers after marking but either way the SATs tests do nothing to improve the teachers' awareness of each child's standard of work.

The SATs system does also include teacher assessments. That's great, but it still doesn't give a real argument for the tests. GCSE and A level results can be used to distinguish the good schools from the bad. SATs results are unnecessary. Teachers end up teaching their pupils how to do well in the exams rather than using that time to inspire young minds. Children are given the impression that these exams are incredibly important when in actual fact they are insanely trivial.

This has all been brought to my mind by the reports in the media that MPs from the Commons School Select Committee are calling for the tests for 11 and 14 year-olds to be scrapped. Hurrah! Sad to say it will probably be a long time before anything is actually done about it, but at least someone has started to take notice. SATs are a waste of time, money and teachers.

Ain't that just the way

I've been rather absent from my blog recently. I think it's due to a combination of illness and a lack of inspiration. I've been rather up and down health wise in the last couple of weeks. Things were looking really good for a bit; I was operating at a fairly steady level of activity. It was then that I made my mistake. I started to plan stuff. Why, oh why, oh why (hello Points of View correspondent) is it that as soon as I start to make plans my health goes down the pan? I'm not talking huge, global domination-esque schemes - just a weekend away; a rugby match; a trip to see a comedian; a wedding. All of which were organised sensibly with time in between for recovery. Bah. Well watch me spit in your face M.E., because I've managed the rugby match - 1 down, 3 to go. It does mean that I'm Resty Resterson as at the moment. Resting at 12 Resting Lane, Resttown, Restingshire, RE5 TIN.

I'm blaming Scotland for a lot of stuff at the moment. I'm seriously unimpressed with those north of the border. No tuition fees; free prescriptions; better funding for people in education and on benefits; and yet they're still unhappy enough to go on strike and mess up the already pretty dire fuel situation.

Blimey, I sound grumpy today! I don't know what's got into me. I had better go and watch some soporific snooker (a great idea in theory but I do have a frustrating tendency to open my eyes to see every shot - doh!).

Darling schmarling

I'm not a happy bunny. Or a happy car owner for that matter. Let me make one thing clear before I start: I have no problem with the government wanting to cut CO2 emissions. In fact I'd go so far as to say that I am positively pro the idea. It is right that those buying new, emission heavy vehicles should pay for the right to pollute. Such taxes are a necessary evil in my mind. It is important to encourage people when buying a new car, to buy the more eco-friendly option.

My unhappy bunny status comes from Alastair Darling's plan for cars registered before 2001. These are the cars that didn't have their carbon emissions tested. Up until this week's budget they were taxed according to engine size: £120 a year for cars under 1549cc and £185 a year for cars over that level. Fine. I drive a 2000 Skoda Fabia 1.4 - off goes £120 each year to the Treasury. I can deal with that. However, following Mr Darling's budget I will now have to pay a flat rate of £200 a year for the privilege of having my car on the road. Now it's quite possible that this is in fact the right level of tax for my car if it's carbon emissions were measured. I have no idea. My problem is that the government is clearly discriminating against those of us who cannot afford to buy a new car. The only way to reduce the amount of road tax we pay is to buy a new (or at the most 7 year old) car with a low emission output. I have no doubt that that option is sadly out of reach for many, including myself. Why he couldn't just leave the current pre-2001 system in place is beyond me. Of course, it's a nice little earner for the Treasury isn't it? I'm growing cynical in my old age. But I blame that on the government too. Cynicism is born of dashed hopes, something that Gordon Brown and his friends seem to do a nice line in.

N.B. (added 17/03) It would appear that I have been misinformed by The Daily Telegraph. That'll teach me for believing everything I read! According to the official budget report on the Downing Street website, pre-2001 cars will continue to be taxed according to engine size. That is £120 for under 1549 ccs and £185 for cars over 1549ccs. In 2009/2010 the upper rate will increase to £200 whilst the lower will remain at £120. Hurrah! Perhaps I was a little harsh on Mr Darling.

My funny Valentine

Valentine's Day tomorrow. Woop-de-doo. Can you tell that I'm single?

To be honest I take issue with the whole thing anyway but I promise that what follows is not some sort of bitter rant! No doubt I could deliver one if I so desired but I think it important that I do not indulge that side of myself!

Valentine's Day is the day when we are all told to be romantic. If we're told to be romantic, doesn't that rather negate the romance? Surely the romance of something is largely in the spontaneity of it? Who feels truly special when their other half buys them flowers or chocolates on Valentine's Day? It would be much better were they to choose some other day to express their love. Romance just isn't the same if it's been instigated by Clinton's Cards.

Of course I speak from vast experience. Ahem.

I'm in that strange position at the moment of not wanting to be in a relationship (too much hassle, demands on my time etc.) but wanting to know that there is one waiting somewhere around the corner for me. I have this recurring nightmare that I'm going to end up in a nursing home at 50 years old because my parents have kicked the bucket and I'm still not well enough to look after myself. A husband would solve that particular worry. From what I can gather, good husbands are pretty thin on the ground these days anyway and my (not self-imposed) stringent criteria aren't going to make finding one any easier.

Firstly, I'm a Christian and and the Bible tells me that I should only be going out with a guy that shares my beliefs. Wow - that pool of potential hubbys just shrunk quickly! Secondly, the chap needs to be able to deal with my illness (a lot easier said that done). Thirdly, somehow I'm going to have to come into contact with him (not easy when I generally travel the same distance from home as a particularly lazy tortoise travels in 24 hours). Once all those criteria are fulfilled we get down to the less important things - personality, sense of humour, the ability to actually get along with me...

Gah. Love, schmove. As a wise woman once said: "Love? I'd rather fall in chocolate."

Tory-graph thieves!

The cheek of it! I open up my newspaper today and what do I find? An article telling me all about the 'there weren't three kings' issue. The Daily Telegraph have evidently been reading my blog! They claim it is written in response to the Archbishop of Canterbury's comments on the subject, so maybe it's Dr Williams who is a Giraffe-a-licious fan! I'll have to see about getting myself invited to the Lambeth conference this year. I'll sort them all out!

It's only words...

SKY NEWS: Teenage girls around the world are celebrating following the news that Boyzone are getting back together...will reunite to perform a medley of hits on the Children In Need telethon later this month. Ronan Keating, 30, said: "After all the speculation, we are getting back together and we are very excited. "We have been talking about it for a while now and decided to go out there on our own and have a go at it."

No, no, no, no. A thousand times no. Ronan, Stephen, Shane, Keith, Mikey - this is a terrible idea. It can only end badly.

I was a huge Boyzone fan between the ages of eleven and fourteen. I was madly in love with Ronan. I barely listened to any other type of music (save the odd misguided foray into 911) and wouldn't hear a word said against them. Ah, the folly of youth.

Boyzone were a product of the time. Clean-cut and non-threatening, with nice songs that appealed to teenage girls and their mums alike; accomplished performers in the field of miming but with just about enough talent to pull off a live performance every so often. It's a different world these days. Looking pretty and singing nicely just isn't enough. Pop bands need to play their own instruments, write their own songs or at the very least have a bit of personality.

Take That were the first British boyband (I know that Boyzone are Irish but their primary market was the UK) and as such have a place in the heart of the country that Boyzone just do not have. Take That sang and danced. Boyzone sang and sat on stools. Take That's successful regeneration was down to their touring during last year. They were able to demonstrate such enthusiasm and energy that they gained enough momentum to carry themselves towards a new album. Boyzone have no chance of following suit. Nostalgic as it might be to watch them croon their way through the old hits, I highly doubt that it will create an appetite for new music amongst the general population.

It's a nice idea for them to reform for Children in Need. I have no qualms with that. But guys please leave it there. Take That's comeback has succeeded against the odds. What are the chances of that happening a second time?

P.S. Note to the Spice Girls - I'm not even going to begin listing my grievances against you and your second roll of the dice. Give it up and go home.

Remember, remember...

It's a strange time of year; Halloween tonight and Firework Night on Monday. As a Christian I'm not a fan of Halloween. Despite the fact that these days it is mostly just kids dressing up and asking for sweets, I'm still uneasy about the message it sends. No doubt most of them will turn out fine but it worries me that introducing children to the idea of spirits, witches and other dark stuff at such a young age, sets a dangerous precedent. I worry that once some of these kids reach their teenage years, they'll be so desensitised about this sort of thing that it will only be a small step to ouija boards and other dodgy stuff. Besides who needs two holidays in such close proximity to each other? Firework night is much more fun.

Although when one thinks about it more deeply, Firework night is pretty darn weird itself. If a terrorist plot to blow up the Houses of Parliament was thwarted today, can you imagine the country holding a festival to celebrate it 400 years later? Circumstances today are not so very far removed from back then. The terrorism in 1605 was a direct result of clashes between religions. Even so, I'm pretty sure there would just be a collective "Phew, that was close," and then we'd get on with life as normal. Would we be burning effigies of Osama Bin Laden on bonfires on the same day every year? I expect (and hope) not.

Incidentally do you think Robert Catesby would be a bit put out to know that Guy Fawkes got all the publicity? Catesby was the mastermind of the Gunpowder Plot but rarely gets a mention, save in history lessons at primary school. Fawkes was the man charged with setting the gunpowder alight so he got the spotlight. Even when it came to their executions Fawkes made the headlines. All were to be hung, drawn and quartered but Mr F managed to avoid the worst and most painful parts of the execution. Before being hung he jumped from the platform and broke his neck. Nice eh?

So I suppose what I'm saying is that we Brits are pretty weird with our celebrations. We really should come up with something to replace Halloween and Guy Fawkes Night. Suggestions on a postcard please. Anything involving cake will be very favourably looked upon.

To whom it may concern

Dear Kettering Borough Council

What the heck is wrong with you? A couple of days ago it was announced that you are commissioning a £48,000 piece of artwork for the town. Now I'm as much of an art fan as the next person (not too big a fan then obviously) but £48,000 worth of tax-payers' money going to create pieces of sculpture that would be called eye-sores if they weren't art, is absurd.

You have made a great deal of the fact that you're asking the members of the general public to vote and decide which of three designs we would most like to see. If you're going to that trouble could you not also have a 'no artwork' option? An opportunity for those of us who would like to see the money spent on maintaining roads, improving libraries or providing better school bus services, to make our feelings known.

Apparently artists were asked to design pieces that would 'create a link between three green spaces so visitors to Kettering could appreciate how the town fits together'. What utter claptrap. Firstly, visitors to Kettering? You're having a laugh right? I suppose it's conceivable that someone could get lost on the way to Cambridge or Birmingham and find themselves wandering the streets. Even if that were the case I'm not convinced that they are likely to be overcome with delight at the way that these three oddball sculptures reflect Kettering's togetherness.

It's not the first time that the council has done something like this. Back in 2005 you paid £10,000 for a monstrosity of a clock in the town centre. At least in this instance it was erected for a specific purpose - to celebrate 100 years of the Rotary Club - although how many of our town's residents actually know that is another matter.

I am fed up with local government complaining that it doesn't have enough money for vital services, upping the council tax and then spending out on such frivolous and pointless projects.

Yours grumpily
Giraffe-A-Licious

Words fail to describe just how horrific this clock is.

Old before my time

They say you’re as young as you feel. Well, that puts me at about 80 then. I get the feeling that there’s a spritely granny in Weston-super-Mare or some such seaside town running around with my youth. Not only do I creak when I bend down (or up if I get that far) but I have recently developed some other, distinctly pensioner like tendencies.

I hold forth on the state of society and bemoan the lack of respect present in young people today. I am constantly expressing my surprise at the youth of the weathermen. I lament the demise of the English language, its grammar and punctuation. I can’t understand why half the female population of Britain are content to show such quantities of flesh in summer, or these days even in winter! I despair at the amounts of money spent on weddings. I bewail the modern society’s reliance on technology and it’s idolisation of beauty and fashion. I hate the fact that it is no longer safe for children to play outside without constant supervision. I long for the days when you could ring your bank and speak to a real, living, breathing person from your local branch. I’m constantly frustrated by this generation’s ignorance of British history and the men and women who fought for our freedom. I fail to comprehend the appeal of so-called ‘celebrities’ and the national interest in every aspect of their lives.

And what’s more, I have this overwhelming desire to share my opinions with anyone unlucky enough to cross my path. Sorry.