Archive for April, 2008

I love Lily Allen

April 15, 2008

Now this may be controversial, but I Love Lily Allen. Not her music, or maybe not even her personality – I can’t really say having never met her. But I do love her general appearance. She is the exact epitome of a celebrity who I think is quite fit but not hot enough to be totally inaccessible. That’s not to say I think I could necessarily dampen a digit backstage at Lily Allen and Friends, but she has a definite tawdry edge. On top of that, I think she may embody the safe middle-class version of my mild fetish for sluts with lots of gold jewellery – like the girl who used to deliver papers on my street in Air Max 90s, a ton of gold, and a boob tube. But (I hope) without the chronic syphilis and gonorrhea that I am sure she had.

I love instant coffee

April 14, 2008

I can’t believe there are people out there who turn their noses up at instant coffee. It’s so much more satisfying and less bitter than filter coffee and loads cheaper too. In fact, I find the cheaper the instant coffee, the better a lot of the time. I hate people who refuse to touch instant and look at you like you are a hideous, festering, rat piss-drinking pauper when you offer them some. These are the people who have a ridiculously expensive coffee machine at home, which they spend an hour every morning fiddling with and shovelling what looks like finely powdered faeces into until they end up with an egg cup full of something that tastes like soot. Caustic, gritty, inedible soot. I’m guessing people only make such a pitiful amount of the stuff because that is all they can stomach. In the past, I would naively and politely accept the offer of a cup of this black bile, but not any more. Now, whenever someone offers me some kind of fancy filter coffee, I smugly reply, “Sorry, dear, I only drink instant.”

I love Sharpe

April 3, 2008

SharpeI love Sharpe. We all know The Sopranos, The Wire, 24 and so on are the inanely hip, gripping series for our generation. But I really must say that nothing in my world beats a night in watching Sean Bean rage through the arid fields of Portugal or France in his beautiful emerald green uniform slaying the rotten Frenchies. Every episode there is a new wench, her milky white bosom surging out of her corset, her delicate curls framing her so very English face. Then there is the never-ending thrill of class related conflicts. Sharpe, being raised from the ranks is an officer – but not a gentleman. This leads to many a duel with snotty officers who haven’t even had a whiff of the black powder upon the field of battle or so much glanced a French eagle standard, let alone capture one at the battle of Talevera like Sharpe did. I have sadly finished my Sharpe box set and am now battling through the lonely evenings without the company of that swarthy Yorkshire man and his chosen men. Woe is indeed me.