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Work sucks, I've got raging PMT and excema, I'm skint and bored...and my room is so damp I have slugs. (Yes, really - I've had to put lines of salt all along the carpet edges.)
So what was the one thing which made me smile - yea, even laugh out loud gleefully this weekend? Bob the Builder's Mambo No.5 (or Mambo No.6 and 7/8). When I hear the music I just can't keep still...
'I was walking across a bridge one day, and I saw a man standing on the edge, about to jump off. so I ran over and said "Stop! don't do it!"
"Why shouldn't I?" he said.
I said, "Well, there's so much to live for!"
He said, "Like what?"
I said, "Well...are you religious or atheist?"
He said, "Religious."
I said, "Me too! Are you christian or buddhist?"
He said, "Christian."
I said, "Me too! Are you catholic or protestant?"
He said, "Protestant."
I said, "Me too! Are you episcopalian or baptist?"
He said, "Baptist!"
I said, "Wow! Me too! Are you baptist church of god or baptist church of the lord?"
He said, "Baptist church of god!"
I said, "Me too! Are you original baptist church of god, or are you reformed baptist church of god?"
He said, "Reformed baptist church of god!"
I said, "Me too! Are you reformed baptist church of god, reformation of 1879, or reformed baptist church of god, reformation of 1915?"
He said, "Reformed baptist church of reformation of 1915!"
I said, "Die, heretic scum", and pushed him off.'
Emo Philips
I am so into The Good Life at the moment. They've been re-running it on BBC2, and I've never watched it as a adult - I'd never realised how brilliant it is. When it was just something my parents watched, I was of course duty-bound to find it 'booooring!'.
It's so well-written, very funny and with a fantastic cast of characters. Just flick through some of these stills. Paul Eddington as the hen-pecked Jerry with his filthy laugh. Felicity Kendal (Barbara), who, back in 1976, was the Kylie of the buttocks world, and definitely the thinking man's (ie. my Dad's) crumpet. Strangely enough Richard Briers (Tom) always reminds me of Dad - even looks rather like Dad did in '76...
Star performance, however, must be Penelope Keith as redoubtable snob Margot, swooshing in and out of rooms in double-layered chiffon and a selection of bejewelled turbans, intimidating members of the Music Society and patronising tradesmen: "I sellotaped it to the handle of your pickaxe!"
Amazon: The Good Life - Complete (DVD)
British Sitcom Guide: The Good Life
Very little this week has raised a smile - thank goodness, then, for Minipops. While you're there, visit the MiniMOMA too, for a (tiny) bit of high art.
Went to see one of my comic heroes - Victoria Wood - at the Albert Hall. She excels herself everytime. Who else could get an hour of organ-rupturing comedy out of having an emergency hysterectomy? Like all great comedians, her comedy comes the hard way - she's frank about eating disorders and depression, honest about her marriage and family life.
After taking the mickey out of Paul Daniels, she adds, 'Poor Debbie McGee - everyone has a go at her, when all she did was fall in love with a bald magician - and we all do that...' We got to meet glamourous cruise singer Stacy-Leanne; recently discovered when a camera crew arrived on her ship The Watery Queen, to film a docu-soap for the BBC. I don't think I've ever been in the same room as my dad when someone used (no, sang) the word 'clitoris'. '...You didn't say, "Hey, what's this?"...' Fantastic.
Victoria's promo for this tour had included appearing on Parkinson with her béte noire Anne 'Widdy' Widdicombe, and guesting in the wonderful SMTV's Friends spoof Chums. Hey, you should make up your own Chums storyline.
And so to Sunday, and something completely different. Bjork was, as expected, stunning. Accompanied by Matmos, a Canadian throat singer called Tagaq, a full orchestra, electronic harpist Zeena Parkins and a 14-piece choir from Greenland; it was, as a live show should be, a wonderful assault on the senses. White feathers falling through a beam of light over Bjork's seated silouhette, as she cranked the handle of a music box. Scary guttural belches and shrieks emanating from Tagaq's svelte, satin-clad, gyrating form. The giggles of the Inuit choirgirls as they bobbed and swayed along with the dance beats so unfamiliar to this grand venue. Vast video screens of epic icescapes and microscopic organisms. The huge swelling sound from the orchestra vibrating through our seats, the pure power of Bjork's voice slicing through the air. The rattle of the bells hidden beneath her red feathered skirt, each time she jumped forward and back, like a child trying to stamp on their own shadow. So inspiring. So what have I done lately that is in anyway this creative? As a wise man once said, Do Something Pretty While You Can.
Email: busstopgirl(at)googlemail(dot)com
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