Happy Barf-day?

It's my birthday soon and I'm starting my celebrations tomorrow. It's always good to bring friends together principally for an ego boost and a shed load of presents.

Sorry, my fingers went silly there. It should have read it's always good to bring friends together to understand how important they are to us, and that our friends are the fabric of our very existence. We're off to the Ukulele Orchestra of Great Britain gig, a group I have seen several times before and who I rate very highly. As befits everyone these days, they have a website - http://www.ukuleleorchestra.com/main/home.aspx - with audio clips and all sorts to get an idea of what they're like.

Then comes the ubiquitous curry and the chance to test out how good the new binge drinking laws are. It's daft because we have neither the culture, nor the transport system in the UK to make it realistically viable, much less the fact that there are far too many imbeciles who will drink themselves to death in one night as a result. Naturally, it is the individual's choice, but go to the other extreme of having the pubs shut all day and the amount of drinking becomes theoretically nil. Extend the hours, and people will drink more, and given that a quiet drink appears to be a thing of the past, we are in trouble. The days when pints were de rigeur and a glass of wine was practically the only drink for the lady (and that when the man was ready for his next beer) are gone. It is now a mission to get as drunk as quickly and as cheaply as possible. Antisocial behaviour is now considered commonplace with no real mechanism to control it.

I'm sounding very old.

Another thing, George Best is on his last legs, which is a shame, but he didn't seem to care that he was drinking himself to death. Ultimately his choice, but a stunning display of what drink can do to an otherwise healthy man.

Saying all that and with the whiff of hyprocrisy hanging in the air like Gary Glitter, I intend to enjoy myself to the full tomorrow night until closing time, which will be... erm...

Love me or hate me

Advertisers are very clever, especially in my opinion the ones for Marmite, the yeast-based salt-laden spread. As all Brits know, we are told that we have to love it or hate it - there is no middle ground. Unfortunately, the majority of people take this to heart and are often heard to say, "oh that is sooooo right, I really hate it, but my boyfriend loves it. Isn't that strange?! Right, let's have another Bacardi Breezer. Will that be our 14th or 15th of the afternoon?..."

Essentially, the advertisers have created product loyalty for something which some people don't even use, but who enjoy the subsequent banter it creates. Forget the fact that there are probably as many who are indifferent to the delights of Marmite as there are lovers or haters. There are many other products which can be said to apparently divide opinion in a similar vein, but you don't hear, "I tell you what, isn't it funny how you either love or hate butter/horses/ankle injuries..."

As for me, I love Marmite. You don't, you say? Isn't that weird...

Another friend has decided to expose herself in public. Her blog: http://sazzles.blogspot.com/

A stage I'm going through

As of last night and until Saturday, I am "performing" in an amateur production of Willy Russell's Stags & Hens. At one point during the opening performance last night, I dried, forgetting my next line, but was fortunate enough to be rescued by someone who evidently knows the script better than I do. I jumped on my saviour's gift with aplomb, but it also gave me the chance to do what everyone aspires to in every sphere of life - make it look like it's someone else's fault! If I had come in late with my line, everyone would have known the blame was at my door. Letting someone else do my dirty work allows me to metaphorically walk away whistling, hands in pockets, looking skyward.

We're sold out for every night and only have a handful of tickets left for our matinee which is great. Apparently, Swan Lake (being performed by professionals upstairs in the main theatre) went so horribly wrong that they had to bring the curtain down early, and even then, managed to knock a pillar over in the process. I'm not saying we're any better, it's just that we don't have a curtain to bring down when things look bad...

Here are a couple of photos from the play courtesy of the Wannabe Scriptwriter (http://wannabescriptwriter.blogspot.com/)

THE GIRLS, AGOG

THE BOYS AND A VERY DRUNK STAG

"AND DON'T COME BACK, YOU POOFTER!"

I spent Sunday on my own and ended up with blisters on my right hand. The boring cause was a shoe rack which literally (more of "literally" in a moment) involves inserting 47 screws into high quality pine effect timber. My hand finally gave up the ghost when the pain more than outweighed my need for bedroom tidiness, to which end I have now borrowed an electric screwdriver to finish off the job. Or at the very least, attach a drill bit and finish of the designer of my shoe rack.

Now - "literally"...

lit·er·al·ly adv.
In a literal manner; Really; actually: e.g. “There are people in the world who literally do not know how to boil water” (Craig Claiborne).

As the dictionary definition suggests, nay commands, the word describes something which is real and which is based wholly in fact. However, this isn't how some folk would choose to use the word. "I went to the theatre and was literally blown away". No you weren't. "That film was so scary, I was literally petrified". Erm, no... "You should have seen the weather; it was literally raining cats and dogs". Again, non...

This incorrect and extremely shoddy use of the word makes me literally tear my hair out.