25 Gobbledygook

According to newspapers, there is a school in England that has banned pupils from sending Valentine cards, as they don't think children are 'emotionally mature' enough to cope with romance.

One of my former classmates may very well have wished that particular rule was in place when we were at school.

Little Bobby Walker. The object of my affection when I was the grand old age of 11.

He wore a really nice anorak and was good at playing football so I decided I was going to ask him to be my boyfriend. Not only that, but I was going to do something quite unheard of. Instead of sending a friend on my behalf, to tell Bobby that I fancied him, I decided to cut out the middle man and speak to him myself. Face to face. Man to man.

This was my first mistake. The second was telling my friends about my plan. Word got around, so it meant that when the bell rang at the end of the day, quite a crowd had gathered at the school gate. Standing in the centre of the group was Bobby Walker.

'I hear you have something to ask me. What is it?'

My third mistake was forgetting that boys mature slower than girls. I paid no heed to the fact that Bobby was surrounded by his friends and would want to impress them. I stupidly went ahead and asked him loudly and clearly if he would be mine.

'No. Eff off.'

He actually said the proper profanity, I just can't bring myself to type it. I can still distinctly remember how I felt standing in front of everyone with my cheeks smarting while his grubby friends laughed.

What I don't remember is what I did after. That is until a few months ago when my older cousin gave me a load of letters I'd written to her as a wee lassie growing up in Scotland.

One particular letter mentioned that I'd sent a Valentine's card to Bobby Walker.

It all suddenly came back to me. Don't worry it wasn't a mushy one. Obviously he didn't deserve that. No, I remembered that what I'd done was made him a card with the inscription 'You and your mouth are fowl' and being the clever girl I was, I'd drawn a picture of a hen to accompany my words. I know, I know, witty eh?!

I'm just glad that this memory came back to me because I hadn't explained all this in my letter. In actual fact I could have been really concerned about the young me, because all I had written to my cousin, in my big childish scrawl was...

'Did you send any Valentine cards this year? I did. I sent one to Bobby Walker. I drew a cock on it.'

Ah, the innocence of youth.

The card clearly worked a treat because it was no time at all before Bobby said he'd changed his mind and wanted me to be his girlfriend. Or rather he got his twin brother Billy to tell me that. I just wish I could have seen his face when Billy went back and told him that I'd also changed my mind and now liked him instead and we'd become a couple...

70 Blog Off

BLOG OFF
Starring: Rapunzel and Fishy
Casting: Bamberio
Certificate: PG (some obscene language, some talk about nipples, but no actual sex scenes)


Hollywood has been rocked by the release of Blog Off. It is the film everyone is talking about. Never before has there been a movie like this.

Termed as a romantic comedy, it's actually so much more. It breaks all the rules by mixing lots of genres. Part comedy, part thriller, part adventure movie, part buddy film, part horror and part musical.

Think of Indiana Jones mixed with Mrs Doubtfire. When Harry Met Sally crossed with Airplane.

Ironically, the only genre really missing is the 'rom' to go with the 'com'.

Newcomers Fishy and Rapunzel are well cast as a couple thrown together in dramatic circumstances. Fishy is the likeable lad looking for love in Liverpool, while Rapunzel is the girl living in the Tower and waiting for her hair to grow. (Special mention must go to Rapunzel for her accurate attempt at a Scottish accent.)

From the outset, the viewers doubt this relationship will work out, but as we follow them on their journey, sharing the first phone call, the first date and witness Fishy becoming a man by losing his Skype virginity, we can't help but root for them.

We empathise when a spillage makes Rapunzel look like she has nipple leakage. We cringe when Fishy starts serenading her with Lionel songs. We feel the tension as they both log on to see what the other has written in their respective blogs. We share Fishy's almost palpable joy when he discovers that Rapunzel also loves The Office. We delight in the fact that they wear nearly matching outfits on their first date and we are reminded of Britney and Justin wearing denim. We pray that Fishy and Rapunzel are the new them (prior to the break-up and break-down).

All too soon the cracks start to appear and there is a particularly dramatic scene where they argue about Rapunzel liking tuna and Fishy not. Emotions run high. Theirs and ours.

My only criticism of the film would be that it ends too quickly leaving you feeling slightly short-changed. Don't worry though, this is a pairing that is already being mentioned in the same breath as both Cagney and Lacey and Turner and Hooch so expect to see more of this twosome.

There are already mutterings of a script being written for Blog Off Part 2 where we see our protagonists as friends working together to help each other find love. It will allegedly be set in a minefield. Sounds like one sequel that will be worth watching.

Regardless, Blog Off is going to be this year's Oscar success after being nominated in almost every category.

Expect to see it take the statuettes for Best Actress and Actor as well as Best Supporting Role for Rapunzel's bra. It also looks likely to scoop the prizes in Best Original Screenplay and Best Foreign Language Film. It will fall down in the music categories as Fishy's rendition of songs by Dire Straits just don't cut it, though Rapunzel may win in Sound Editing for pressing the mute button.

Verdict: An unmissable triumph.

22 Bye Dolly!

I have high hopes for 2010.

It has to be better than last year. I mean don't get me wrong, 2009 wasn't awful. I don't have any real complaints, but as I explained to my flatmate it was just a nothingy year.

"Nothingy?" He enquired.

"Yeah just nothing really happened. I won't really remember it for anything in particular. Bit boring actually."

Flatmate went back to watching his favourite programme Nothing to Declare while I mulled over what I'd done in 2009.

I'd shared my beautiful abode with three different people. A pilot from Ireland, an IT consultant from Mumbai and now current roomie from Oz, who does god knows what.

I did lots of different jobs. Some were emotional, like the documentary filming parents of disabled children. I had my eyes opened and met the most amazing people on that.

Some jobs were a bit more light-hearted, like the one where I was sent to Greece for three weeks with a cameraman I'd never met before. Luckily for me, he was one of the nicest guys ever and we had a ball. I just wasn't so keen on him when he filmed me jet-skiing. Or to be more specific, that he filmed the bit where I tried to get on the jet-ski. I've never looked so unladylike. And my ass looked huge. I'm sure that must have been the wide-angle lens.

There were jobs, that I'm not sure what possessed me to do them, like the night I spent working in a lap-dancing club. I could lie and pretend it was also for a documentary, but it wasn't. Just so you know, I worked behind the bar, not as a dancer. I made £32 in tips and trust me, I wouldn't have made anything close if I'd been dancing in my knickers!

I suppose I went to quite a few places last year. Taggart and I had a credit crunch holiday in Southampton and Brighton. I laughed at comedians at the Edinburgh Festival, I had a cream tea in Devon, I saw beautiful stars in Cornwall and in Cheltenham I...er...did some filming.

It was the year of catching up with friends I hadn't seen for eons. My friend that I met when I was 18 and worked in Portugal in an Indian restaurant, my friend that I met when I worked in Gran Canaria in er..an Indian restaurant and my friend that I lived with when I studied in Canada (was too busy being a student to work in a restaurant, Indian or otherwise!)

I also fell in love in 2009. A friend suggested I go to Barcelona with him when he read on Facebook that I'd bought a new bikini and had nowhere to wear it. So I did. That's when I fell in love. With Barcelona.

Of course it wasn't all good. There were a few terrible things that happened. Like when I was measured and I discovered I'm an inch shorter than I thought and I've been kidding myself for years.

And the time my dad's car was broken in to and I had two bags of clothes and nine pairs of shoes stolen. I was distraught. I even contemplated phoning Victim Support. My brother was as sympathetic as usual. He told me my clothes were shit anyway and the thieves had actually done me a favour.

That's about it. Nothing else happened in 2009.

Except I suppose for when I dressed as Dolly Parton and had a 'boob off ' with another Dolly.

And it was the year I dyed my hair blue.

It was also the year I had a wee in an £8million house that Robbie Williams considered buying.

And the year I 'performed' with a group of muscly, long-haired men wearing nothing but kilts and playing the bagpipes. I accompanied them on the maracas.

It was the year I was on TV in the audience of Don't Forget the Lyrics.

And it was the year an old man stopped me in Kwik Save because he thought I was Lisa Marie Presley.

It was also the year that a taxi driver in Greece wouldn't give me my change until I showed him my party piece (that's not a euphemism by the way, I do have a special trick I do with my double jointed arms..!)

So yeah, like I said. Not much happened.

2010 had better be better!