September 22nd 2003 - September 28th 2003
Sunday Buffed up
Saturday Faliraki Hazza
Friday Exfoliate
Thursday McCredney
Wednesday Bonkers
Tuesday Yawn
Monday Trousered
Sunday 28th September 2003
Buffy
The show is more addictive than crack cocaine, and one of its chief virtues is that the characters, despite being winningly fresh and generally well turned out, talk to each other as if every drug in the universe was presently doing the conga through their bloodstreams...
Buffy people have it by heart, a way of speaking that seems designed to make people over the age of 25 feel as if they were born in the age of the diplodocus, but the lexicon is super-thievy, stealing references from literature and pop culture as if - duh! - that was what culture existed for.
Among my favourites...are 'Jimmy Hoffa, v.: to disappear', as in: 'And the vampires who hit on Xander and me have Jimmy Hoffa'd.' I also like 'Christian-Baleage, n.: lust for Christian Bale'... When the Buffsters are feeling non-specific, they might speak of the existence of the 'cuddle-monkey, n.: male-lover', as in: 'Every woman in Sunnydale wants to make me her cuddle-monkey.'
As the eagle-eyed will already have noticed, much of the language in Buffy adheres to the notion that the only real subject of conversation in life is copping off. Sparkage, for instance, describes the levels of romantic possibility. You will also get to know about the delights of the 'dump-o-gram, n.: statement that a romantic relationship is over'.
- extracted from an Andrew O'Hagan review of "Slayer Slang: A 'Buffy the Vampire Slayer' Lexicon" in a recent edition of the London Review of Books
Saturday 27th September 2003
Some Australians are incensed to find themselves footing a big bill for security during Prince Harry's stay in their country; should we point out that keeping his DNA well away from public analysis doesn't come cheap?
The story reminds me that one of the burning topics I missed during Blogadoon's sabbatical was the question of where Prince Harry should spend his gap year. The answer seemed obvious at the time: Faliraki.
Friday 26th September 2003
A predictable fuss in the papers about the decision to make a new series of Doctor Who written by Russell Davies, the man who gave us Queer As Folk. You think the Daleks will trundle around exclaiming EX-FOLI-ATE!?
Thursday 25th September 2003
I vowed not to mention David Blaine's sad-assed stunt but a recent article shocked me by suggesting that Paul McCartney's recent fracas with a photographer during a late-night visit to the banks of the Thames "lent credibility" to the illusionist's slow fast.
Since when, pray, has Paul McCartney lent credibility to anything?
Wednesday 24th September 2003
You'd have to be blind and deaf not to have heard about it, but given our pre-occupation with headlines here at Blogadoon, we can't not mention the Sun's sudden volte-face on the Frank Bruno story,from Bonkers Bruno locked up in the first and second editions to, after much protest, the not much kinder Sad Bruno in mental home in the third and fourth.
The (so-called) newspaper attempts to make amends today by launching its own "Bruno fund" with an initial donation of £10,000; this is not the first such fund the Sun has launched.
Earlier this year it launched a charity drive for a Cameroon football school after a deluge of complaints over a photograph of the footballer Marc-Vivien Foe being taken off the pitch moments after he died.
Any chance of a Michael Barrymore Running Away Fund?
Tuesday 23rd September 2003
I mentioned a news photo that demanded a certain caption the other day; for those of you who didn't see the photo, here it is:
Cherie Blair fails to hide her lack of enthusiasm for another round of "Who Farted?"
Monday 22nd September 2003
David, Andy, Kevin and I bestirred ourselves to poke our noses into various hitherto hidden corners of London on Saturday, all newly revealed as part of the Open House weekend.
Our first stop was City Hall (fastidiously ignoring the cunt in the box outside): fine views over the city, and a tramp on the ramp. spiralling down to the basement level to pore over the aerial map of Greater London laid out across the floor, crawling on hands and knees to compare and contrast where we each lived. (I dropped a mobile phone on Hounslow, sorry Hounslow.)
After some discussion, our next port of call was Victoria House on Bloomsbury Square. At one time a contestant to house the Greater London Assembly, this Edwardian office building has been comprehensively gutted and revamped, to no great effect. (A friend of ours spent a night in police custody after having sex in this building whilst it was being converted - but we'll name no names.)
After a lengthy detour past the John Soane Museum in search of a swift pint, we eventually ended up at Hercules Pillars on Great Queen Street, an address that moved me to predictable speculation as to the noticeable dearth of light-loafered types in the places we'd seen so far - to no one's great surprise, Open House day usually brings out queens in droves. It soon became clear - they'd all opted to visit our next destination, just across the road: Freemason's Hall.
I can't say I'd thought about it before, but of course Gays and Masons are a natural match: I couldn't help looking at a couple of the friends we bumped into and noticing that they had their trousers, if not rolled up to the knee, at least severed at the calves. (Given our company, we got a low laugh out of the concept of a Worshipful Master, too.)
And, my dear, the decor! Like the ultimate Odeon, with not a surface undecorated; my favourite artefact was the casket under a window, housing the list of Lodges - like a prop from Dr Phibes, an imposing brass bibelot festooned with kneeling knights.
Things went downhill pretty rapidly after that: we aimed to get into the newish annex to the Opera House but settled for the Design Council offices opposite, which were quite nice if you like plywood.
And then onto Hoxton and a brief (but not brief enough) visit to the new Damien Hirst exhibition at the White Cube after which we almost literally fell into the sofas at the nearby Bluu and proceeded to get drunk.
Top day.
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