In Which YorubaGirl Flies With Angels

My sainted mother, YorubaMum, is a hardcore bargain hunter. You know what I mean; like John Lewis, she too has a slogan: Never knowingly overpaid. One of the recurring memories of my child- and teen-hood involves her returning from some sale somewhere and asking YorubaDad to “go on, guess how much it cost? Go on, guess!” Poor YorubaDad would sit there, miserably throwing out prices, with my mother delightedly shaking her head when it was too high or giving a scornful look when it got too low. In summary, my ma loves a bargain. Which is why I’m pretty sure she would’ve been proud of my performance at the recent sale at Angels Costumiers. You see, I was on fire.

Why I Love… Dresses

Like many children of the 80s and 90s, I grew up in hardy denim and flannel, saving dresses (usually in too-warm velvet, rustly tafetta and itchy chiffon) for family weddings, birthdays, engagements, naming ceremonies, pretty much any gathering of more than 4 people… (ah, Nigerians!). So of course, I hated dresses, and all that they stood for. But now? Now, in a predictable Hollywood-style twist, I LOVE DRESSES. 

Dramatic Lifting

You know how certain storytelling devices make their way into your favorite books, films, advertisements and let’s face it, daydreams? You know what I’m talking about? Let’s see; the strangers on the train/romance of the railways scenario seen in Brief Encounter, Before Sunrise and that too beautiful for words Chanel No 5 ad with Audrey Tatou? Or maybe the “opposites attract” meme? Sample: You’ve Got Mail, When Harry Met Sally and sigh, The Way We Were (see the heartbreaking moment at 3:09; “Your girl is lovely, Hubble.”) Well, I got the chance to live out another Hollywood fave: I was trapped in a lift. With A Dude!

Cath & Me

This week, I have mostly been smelling fragrantly of jasmine & vanilla, as well as being in possession of the snuggest, warmest fingers in London. How? Well, remember my recent birthday? Well my friend KD of Glorious South London™ gifted me with some vouchers; but not just any vouchers, oh no. Gift vouchers from Cath Kidston! Unfamiliar with her work? I bet you’re not, not really. Look around at any Glastonbury footage on the Beeb, and there you’ll see her – or her isignia at least – on pretty floral tents, pretty floral canvas bags and pretty floral Wellington boots. Cath K does pretty and floral very, very well.

Kicking Ass, Taking Name(s). And Number.

Woohoo!

110%!

Burn baby, BURN!

What? Sorry, I can’t hear you over the glorious rush of technicolour endorphins I’m experiencing! I’ve got a shine, and I’m feelin’ fine! I’m well and feelin’ swell! I’m ace and I’ve got a face! That last one didn’t make any sense, but you know what? It doesn’t matter. Because I did something I haven’t done in nearly 4 years; I JOINED A GYM. Isn’t that enough for a “Woop Woop”!? After much hemming and hawing, scornfully dismissing the hard abs of celebrities as plastic surgery while mainlining lardy snacks, and increasingly whiny body misery, I decided once and for all; put up or shut up. With leaden feet, I found my way, alongside my friend J, to the gym.

Clueless & Cupcakes

The recent demise of Hollywood actress Brittany Murphy left many people shocked and sympathetic. It also had them reaching for their Clueless DVDs, by far the pinnacle (for me, at least) of Ms Murphy’s all too brief cinematic career. This weekend, we paid homage to the shining light that was Brittany, by watching Clueless as it was meant to be watched; in the company of many, many women each eating their individual body weight in baked goods. Blogger, bonne vivante and self-confessed tea savant, Oddnumbereven formulated and hosted the (hopefully) inaugural Clueless & Cupackes party in south London, and oh my goodness, it was way existential. 

It’s Funny Cos It’s (Probably) True

Last week, I mentioned that my current temp job allows me to listen to the radio as I work. I tend to favour comedy and music shows in my earphones, which often results in smothered giggles and untoward snorts. The fabulous BBC iPlayer - which along with anything Sir David Attenborough presents is worth my license fee – means I get to listen to programmes I’ve never even heard of on channels I’ve never listened to. As well as favourites like Adam & Joe (when will they return?!), Lauren Laverne and The News Quiz, I’ve managed to listen again to one-off episodes of series like The Boosh and Bleak Expectations. Then there is the entirely new category of New Favourites – typefied by the marvellous Newsjack.

Time For A Younger Brother…

Growing up with a Yoruba Nigerian mother means I’ve been privy to a great number of awesome axioms, mad metaphors and splendid sayings. There are a few greats – I was startled when I first heard someone say: “The thing that killed your brother is warning you” a not-so-veiled plea to someone to curb their excesses. For the over-the-top trend-crazy, my mother would mutter, “Fashion has slapped him on the back”. For tactless people, or those who always fail to grasp the significance of an occasion, there’s “We’re all genuflecting and yet you say you don’t know who’s died; if you don’t know who’s dead, can’t you see a corpse?” and my all time favourite, which is handy for situations where the riduculous segues neatly into farce, there’s “Just because I want to eat meat doesn’t mean I have to call a cow ‘uncle’.” Quite.

Lyrics For The Scorned

The office where I’m temping at is pretty cool considering that it’s another manifestation of you know, The Man Inc.. While the work isn’t the most stimulating I’ve ever done (no offence to the HR specialists, but it is HR), it’s diverting enough. The team I work with is lovely and best of all, I get to listen to music while I work. This often means something intelligent & worthy on NPR or comedy & music on BBC iPlayer. The superlative Adam & Joe are on indefinite hiatus (boo!) and were replaced by Danny Wallace, who will be covering for as long as it takes Joe to curb his Hollywood-lust (sorry, still a bit bitter…). Mr Wallace used to annoy me so much my teeth would itch, but maybe I’ve mellowed, or he has, because I’ve found that I’ve warmed to him over the years. He was an engaging host, with a fine line in banter and musical choices. Last week, he played the hauntingly beautiful Elephant Gun by Beirut (seek it out), and introduced me to another song that’s stuck with me since I heard it. Sung by a young French singer-songwriter-actress called Soko, it’s called, quite simply and brilliantly, I’ll Kill Her.

Back To Black

I like to keep an eye on the US. Like it or not, a lot of our cultural cues are taken from either its actions, or the consequences of its actions. While we may not like it, exactly, it is what it is. As such, I follow a load of Americans on Twitter, read a lot of American news sites and blogs, and pretty much try to keep tabs on our cousins across the pond. This last week, I watched with interest a story as it unfolded. Harry Reid, Senate Majority Leader, White man and Democrat, apologised for some comments which feature in a new book, Game Change. The book, written by two campaign reporters, is an account of the 2008 presidential race, and features interviews and accounts from the people who were involved – directly and indirectly. But enough about the book – what’s this oh-so-inflammable passage? See here [via Jezebel]:

He was wowed by Obama’s oratorical gifts and believed that the country was ready to embrace a black presidential candidate, especially one such as Obama — a “light-skinned” African American “with no Negro dialect, unless he wanted to have one,” as he said privately. Reid was convinced, in fact, that Obama’s race would help him more than hurt him in a bid for the Democratic nomination. 

The ‘Special’ Relationship

I was home from work yesterday, thanks to the overzealous actions of a dicky tummy. The blanket of snow outside did not exactly inspire a stiff upper lip either, so there I was, hot water bottle clutched to my belly and BBC News on the the idiot box. Predictably, the news channels were all in a froth over the “ADVERSE WEATHER CONDITIONS”, which, these days, has lost its power somewhat, seeing as it’s now attached to a ‘little too much’ of any weather - rain, sleet, sun, hail and snow. But there, peeking out from under the cloak of blinding white precipitation was another story, spearheaded by ex-Cabinet dunderheads Geoff Hoon and Patricia Hewitt. The “treacherous coup” to oust Gordon Brown as leader of the Labour party was receiving a fair share of screen time. And then, unbidden, Foreign Secretary David Milliband turned up to put in his two cents, and well, I’m ashamed to say I brightened. A lot. Goddamn inappropriate crushes! 

Quizzee Rascals

Quizz Akabussi. Quiztina Aguilera. Quzzimodo. Let’s Get Quizzical. All awful, awful puns that represent that bastion of ‘Englishness’, the Pub Quiz Team Name. By the way, that last one, that homage to a be-spandexed and weighed-down-by-layers-of-shiny-lycra Olivia Newton-John and her mid ’80s hit, Physical, that one has been ours for many a quiz night. We mean to change it every time, but it’s been nigh on 2½ years , and we’ve never been quite witty enough to have one of those clever, zeitgeisty, current issue-of-the-week ones. Pah.