As someone with a much younger siblings, an uncle and a friend of parents (not a friend of my own parents I should clarify) I am not a stranger to repeating a basic act to make babies/small children laugh. I also try to make adults laugh – I generally fail, admittedly (which is always the others’ fault for being thick and definitely not my fault for being unfunny). Maybe I should try some of the stuff that works on babies, my fork-towel-napkin ‘trick’ get a laugh every time from 1-year-olds, with adults. By the pool this morning a couple – both early 20s – laughed incessantly for a good 20 minutes at the girl trying to sit on a lilo. OK, the lilo was in the shape of a dolphin but still it wasn’t THAT funny. It was worthy of laughter once, maybe twice.
I had a quick read of Louise Wener’s Just for One Day this morning. If you’re wondering what a quick read entails then it entails skipping all the shit at the beginning of an autobiography about the person’s childhood and formative years and just cutting to the bit where they talk about being famous and reveal some stuff about themselves and other famous people. It’s not that I think Wener’s early life is any more or less worth reading about than the lives of the many people’s lives I have read about it’s just that, well, I’m not getting any younger. Feeling I am being rude to people who have written an autobiography by not reading the first chapter of their book about where their grandparents met is something I am just going to have to live with.
I read enough to know that before the start of her music career Wener was a middle-class girl who loved pop music and had some dreams of being a pop star but wasn’t some music savant with an obsessive and encyclopaedic knowledge of German elektro-rock from the late 1960s. So I had cut to the chase – if by ‘the chase’ I mean the halycon days known in popular parlance as ‘Britpop’. It was an OK read. Nothing bad nothing too interesting – Blur were initially cuntish to her but then were alright with her but still likely to be a cunt at any moment because they all seemed, as people, well, cunts – cunts who believed their own press (it should be pointed out that their press – i.e. that Blur were fucking good – was true and they were right to believe it, just not very dignified with their behaviour).
The overriding – and unsurprising – theme is that the male dominated music press were not exactly respectful of Ms Wener, often choosing to conduct band interviews by directing questions at the male members of the group rather than the singer and co-songwriter (Wener). It is not surprising because whenever you read stuff in the NME and the like you do get a sense that they are written by inadequate men who have channelled their inability to talk to girls into pretending to like music that actively tries to be bad. Wener had the misfortune of being an attractive woman who didn’t want to play ball by giggling at their jokes or pandering to the other kinds of pressures put on her, i.e. to pose in her underpants for FHM. That said it sounds like she had a fucking good time and never misrepresented herself: she’s alright by me.
In many ways today was what the holiday was all about: watching United in a pub. I’m sure some people would say that was sad and small-minded of me but I could answer simply, explaining it thusly: fuck off you bastard and get off my case. Perversely, the thought of watching United in a pub at home makes me feel a bit ill (the whole hating people debacle). Go figure. I watched United, they won, I got drunk on Mythos – and that’s no lie..haha!