Friday, 23 October 2009

On resisting temptation.

Like you, I watched tonight's 'Question Time', and I'm sure that you, like me, were particularly struck by what a singularly weird f

Nah, better not. Not twice in the one week.

Friday, 16 October 2009

Why There Is Nothing 'Natural' About Jan Moir's Weird Face

“The sight of Jan Moir’s weird face in today’s Daily Mail was deeply shocking. It wasn’t just that another hate-filled, frothing journobot was as ugly outside as in.

Through the recent travails and sad deaths of Michael Jackson, Heath Ledger and others, fans know to expect the expected of low-rank journalists- that the moment someone a bit famous drops off the twig, a weird face like Jan’s will start flapping on about how there’s more to it than meets the eye and making prurient , twitchy, offensive speculations dressed up as moral weariness.

Now look- don’t get me wrong. I have nothing against Jan Moir’s weird face. Some of my best friends are Jan Moir’s weird face, although I wouldn’t let it adopt children as they might be bullied. But let us be absolutely clear about this. Normal faces don’t wake up in the morning looking like that. Whatever happened between Jan Moir and her weird face is anyone’s guess. But it strikes a blow against the happy-ever-after myth of loathsome gutter journalism spewed by people with weird faces.”

Bit of a low blow on my part, huh? After all, the poor woman can’t help the way she looks (which, by the way, is HORRIBLE). But if the horrible, upsetting death of a 33 year old man can be poked and pried into in order to further a slimy, bigoted agenda, I don’t see why I shouldn’t point out that the person doing the sliming has a horrible, upsetting face. Moir and her like argue that celebrities forfeit some of their right to privacy when, through their courting of publicity, they ask for our attention. Well, by the same token, Moir has forfeited her right to me not commenting on her weird face by putting a picture of it on the internet. Oh, and by indulging in net-curtain gossiping about someone who never did her (or, so far as we know, anyone) a moment’s harm, before his young body is even cold.

And in many ways, she got off lightly. I could have concentrated on the even more spectacular ugliness of her soul.

Sunday, 11 October 2009

A shaming, but honest, admission.

A wonderful Hamlet. A Zerbinetta absolutely nailing it. Bernadette Peters singing Sondheim. Pele passing to to Maradona who passes to George Best who volleys in from 40 yards to win the league for Fulham. A sketch written by Fry, Laurie, Peter Cook, the Pythons and Victoria Wood, and performed by Eric Morecambe and Ronnie Barker.

I have this evening realised- and this is speaking as someone who finds dance basically weird and pointless- that I'd trade any or all of the above for a really, really well-executed tap number.