I’ve gone really low-brow
I’ve swapped The Guardian for Grazia, chevre for chips, foreign films for trash TV.
It all started when my friend at work gave me a pile of gossip mags. It was a Friday night and I ran a hot bath and lay in it, reading them from cover to cover, finding out what Colleen’s been up to, how Amanda Holden lost her baby weight and what Kerry Mc Fadden thinks about the burning issues of the week (she hopes that Ewan McGregor hasn’t adopted a baby just to copy Brad and Ang).
I’ve also read an awful lot of chick lit lately. I shouldn’t feel guilty about this. Some of them – like Jane Green and Lisa Jewell – are really good writers. But when I find myself with a copy of a Louise Bagshaw (given to me by a friend and not consciously bought, I must stress), realising it is so clichéd, really badly written (upper middle class English people studying at Oxford do not say things like “That guy is a jerk”) but still enjoying it anyway, it is all wrong, wrong, wrong.
Listening to Radio 2 in the car last night, I found myself singing along to… oo, I can hardly bring myself to say it… the new Ronan Keeting song.
I blame Mr Meep. Working two nights a week is fine. I can do my weekly face mask/toe nail painting/eyebrow plucking/general defuzzing session one night, then go on a night out with one of my girl friends the other.
Two nights in a row though, and I get a bit bored. Two nights in a row followed by a night out with friends, and I start to get a teeny bit lonely and just a tad bored.
I’ve done some gardening, been for a run, made some nice food, phoned a friend, read my book, had a bath… then I don’t know what to do next. I find my hand drawn to the remote control. I press the red button that switches the TV on. Blimey, it’s been a while. I skip through the channels and find myself on Channel Four, a ‘10 Years Younger Bikini Special’, where they give a woman that’s lost lots of weight… loads of plastic surgery! She’s been a heavy smoker since she was 16, so they rewarded her with a bit of a face lift to get rid of her cat’s bum smoker mouth.
What a great message for young women – don’t worry girls, eat loads of crap, crash diet and don’t exercise so your skin is all flappy, smoke loads of fags so you look about a hundred. Then, just go on a TV show where they’ll fix it all for you.
Euw. I feel dirty. I’m going to listen to Radio 4, while reading Salman Rushdie and nibbling on marinated olives.