Irritating buzzwords, PC talk and platitudes

vibrant
(personal) journey
It’s OK to (cry / be angry)
(emotional) rollercoaster
funky
hip
milestone
inappropriate
stimulus
pub grub
gastropub
partying
pampering
living the dream
free-spirited
-tastic
(life’s) rich tapestry
songstress
eaterie
with a (contemporary / Italian) twist
diverse/diversity
bi-curious
jazzed up
(open-plan / continental / urban) living
(gay / wicca / goth / alternative) lifestyle
community
offbeat
(valid) lifestyle choices
error of judgement
empathise
policy
raise (disability / diversity) awareness
style icon
(have you never made a) mistake
judgmental
edgy
design-led
bang on trend
(moving on to the) next big thing
gifted and talented
multicultural

Surviving “Surviving Christmas”

Quick recap: Drew Latham, a wealthy advertising executive with matching lifestyle (that penthouse apartment!), gets dumped just before Christmas because he won’t introduce his girlfriend to the mysterious family he refuses to talk about. Terrified at the prospect of spending Christmas alone, he goes back to his childhood home and offers the complete strangers currently living there $250,000 to be his surrogate family over the holidays. Hilarity spectacularly fails to ensue.

I know how you feel

OK, first I would like to make something very clear: that was painful. Never in my life have I seen such a stupid story involving such unlikeable characters, and I’ve seen Juno!

This film utterly baffles me. None of the characters make any sense as human beings. They only do things because the script says so. I just don’t understand whose side we, the audience, are supposed to be on.

Why does Drew’s girlfriend start behaving like a total harpy only seconds after being introduced to the viewers (when we don’t care about her or her feelings yet, and now never will) right after discovering he wants to take her to Fiji for Christmas instead of spending it with his family? One minute they’re a loving couple, the next he’s dumped, just like that? What exactly is wrong with Fiji anyway? Can I have her unwanted plane ticket?

Also, they’ve obviously been together for a while but she’s never asked about his family before? And now she’s suddenly telling him he “needs serious help” because they’ve never talked about them?… Why did they not make plans earlier, or even discussed what they both wanted to do over Christmas? Did the sudden, unexpected arrival of December 25th take them by surprise?

By the way, it looks like not spending Christmas with your family is a huge deal here, yet I thought the ultimate US family holiday was Thanksgiving (or so they keep telling us). What did Drew and Harpy do for Thanksgiving then, and why didn’t she ask about his family at the time?

The lame scene where he tries to crash his friends’ family Christmases and they all turn him down is just bizarre. True friends would say yes, unless he himself has not been a good friend to them in the past. Also, why does he care so much and why is spending Christmas alone only a problem this year?

What’s the deal with the scene at the airport with Harpy’s shrink? I cannot even begin to comprehend the point of this. All Drew says to him is “I’m spending Christmas alone and having a bad time”, and the shrink gives him advice on how to deal with “grievances” about his family and how to “forgive” them? When he knows NOTHING about Drew’s family or why he’s alone in the first place? That’s some assumption.

Oh, and while I’m at it: out of control brats in public places are not cute.

Another stinking scene: Drew gets violently hit over the head with a shovel, when he’s not actually being a threat to anyone. Oh my sides, they’re splitting.

You can't deny Affleck deserves it though

Speaking of which, why is everyone’s default setting ‘hostile and rude’ even before they know what Drew is like? The daughter’s introduction comes to mind. Is it supposed to be funny to Americans, in a ‘refreshing alternative to the standard diabetes-inducing Christmas comedy’ kind of way? Hollywood unfortunately cannot stomach true cynicism so even these refreshing alternatives MUST have a happy ending. How cowardly and disappointing.

Drew is absolutely obnoxious to the poor family he takes hostage. The sudden switches from self-consciously childlike goon to cold, hard-nosed businessman are actually rather scary. This man has mental health issues. He knows perfectly well he’s turned these people’s life into a nightmare (they’re not exactly hiding their feelings) but doesn’t seem to care one bit. It’s like Funny Games remade by Walt Disney.

The mother’s makeover and photoshoot story could have been nice but ends up being grotesque and tasteless. How did her pictures end up on a porn site in the first place (was she supposed to be naked in those pics? Unlikely) and what are the chances that her porn-addicted teenage son (PATS) should instantly come across them? That sound you just heard was my disbelief crashing through the floor, take no notice.

And then Harpy the whiny bitch who dumped Drew for no reason whatsoever earlier in the film suddenly comes back into his life, all smiles, because she likes the Cartier bracelet he gave her… nice. Her parents are gratuitously and unbelievably rude to the other family (“Your Christmas tree is so bright and vulgar!”) who for all they know are Drew’s real family. Why is that again? And are we supposed to be amused that they’re having a couple crisis and taking it out on everyone else?

The daughter hates Drew’s guts for three-quarters of the film then all of a sudden is in love with him?! I’ve heard of Stockholm Syndrome but this is ridiculous.

Nothing says true love like a stare off in the snow

What the HELL was that baby penis joke about? Only Larry David can get away with joking about children’s genitalia. Take note, screenwriters.

And then they add an incest joke, in case we weren’t vomiting just yet (Harpy and parents witnessing Drew snogging his supposed sister). My, this is Oscar material, isn’t it?

Oh, and is the aforementioned PATS that nobody in the family cares about supposed to be funny too? I keep missing those memos, dammit!

The big reveal is neither big nor revealing: we are told Drew actually had no dad and no family Christmases as a child, so why the whole “I’m home!” happy moment at the beginning when he got to spend the night in his old room? And why not tell anyone about it? It’s not like he came from a family of serial killers. What exactly was the point of hiding his past? Unfortunately for him, by the time we find out about his childhood trauma, we’re too sick to our stomachs to care.

But never mind all that! The only thing that matters now is that everyone loves each other, no matter how contrived it looks! Even the PATS manages to get himself a last-minute girlfriend, yay him!

Let it snow, let it snow, let it snow, THE END. And not a minute too soon.

Yes dear, we all have our cross to bear

Entitled Teenager vs. Real World

Teenage boy is turned away from Girl Guide meeting and predictably cries sex discrimination

He “assumed” he would be welcome, did he? Well he obviously assumed wrong! I used to be a Girl Guide (albeit in France, in a very conservative Catholic movement with strict no-boys rules) and I would have resented it greatly if a fellow member’s friend had been allowed to crash a meeting. The key word here is ‘member’. You don’t just wander in, it’s not the local library! The only non-members who were allowed to take part in meetings were people who were considering joining and wanted to see what it was like. This obviously cannot apply to him; what part of ‘girl guide’ does he not understand? What on earth possessed his friends to invite him without checking it was all right anyway? They at least should have known better. Oh wait, I know, they must have “assumed” it would be fine. Silly me.

Plus, that boy is an idiot; if he wanted to visit a convent and the nuns didn’t let him in, would he be making such a fuss? Actually, he probably would… In this world of rights without responsibilities, God forbid that anyone should be barred from doing exactly what they want.

“Guiding bosses have fiercely defended their stance, saying it was ‘vital’ in today’s society for a girls-only group to be available.”

Couldn’t agree more. I asked to go to an all-girls school at the age of 12 after being badly bullied by boys at my previous school, and it was like a breath of fresh air. I loved the Guides but would never have joined in the first place if boys had been allowed, which would have been such a shame as I would have missed out on a wonderful experience. OK, I’m an extreme case as I totally hated boys as a teenager and never wanted to come into contact with one ever again (I got better) but I do think it’s healthy for boys and girls to do some activities separately.

My old school started accepting boys the year I left, which made me feel sad and was against their principles (the school was originally founded by nuns and there were still a few teaching there), but they were probably not getting enough girl pupils and losing too much money. Nowadays boys and girls are used to being together all the time and probably see it as cruel and unfair to be separated, but that’s because they can’t see past their hormones.

Apparently boys do better at co-ed schools (probably due to the girls’ ‘civilising’ influence, ha ha) but girls do better at single-sex schools, and I can see why. Girls behave very differently when boys are around. They’re suddenly in competition with each other for the boys’ attention, which is not conducive to a good atmosphere; I saw it with my own eyes in my last year at school, when the new boy in my class acquired a groupie following on the first day! Before the male invasion, no one cared what you looked like and there was no stigma against being academic. A breath of fresh air, I tell you. And contrary to the stereotype, the girls were not bitchy at all.

Same thing with the Guides. The uniform may have been just a little bit on the unflattering side but there was no one to laugh at us, make us feel self-conscious or label us “fit” or “minging” (see below – pic from the web, don’t try looking for me!).

Ahhh, bliss.

Now imagine wearing this in front of boys

Give them 2.5 centimetres…

I just felt like wasting some of my time on this little tantrum by Peter “I hate metric” Hitchens.

I am shocked when I hear people of my generation, raised to speak English and the direct inheritors of 20 generations of free men and women, thoughtlessly giving measurements in totalitarian metres and litres.

Well, let’s not get too carried away there Peter. Just because you happen to be used to a particular system doesn’t make it any more natural or intuitive or less totalitarian than another. It just makes it something you’re used to. As for it being totalitarian, it’s a legacy of the French Revolution! I’d love to hear your definition of ‘totalitarian’.

Would you still hate it so much if it wasn’t a French invention? Hmm? Be honest.

Recipe books and celebrity chefs likewise drivel about grams of butter and flour.

That’s because metric is much more precise and universally understood, especially when baking. Americans (who don’t like metric either) use cups, good luck cooking with those instead.

The fanatically metric BBC is dedicated to giving rainfall and snowfall in centimetres and millimetres

They’re not so fanatical when it comes to giving high temperatures in Fahrenheit for that extra heat factor!

Though it is always noticeable that the weights of newborn babies are invariably given in pounds and ounces. As Steve Thoburn’s friend Neil Herron remarked, if babies’ weights were given in kilos, most people would not know if the child involved was the size of a baby elephant or a small tomato.

If babies’ weights were given in kilos, “most people” would soon learn! Try telling a French mother her baby weighs 7 pounds and 3 ounces and watch her panic. Not so intuitive now, huh?

Kilos, metres and litres sound – and always will sound – cold, ugly, alien and oppressive to me

And imperial measures sound archaic, unnecessarily complicated and just plain bizarre to me. Tit for tat.

No wonder the metric system appeals to communists and similar fanatics. It satisfies their craving for neatness and regularity

Yes, God forbid that measurements should be regular! It makes so much more sense to have UK and US gallons, doesn’t it?

Mind you, in France I have bought butter from farmers by the ‘livre’ (pound) and eggs by the ‘douzaine’ (dozen), two centuries after revolutionary law abolished such things.

Actually, a French livre is exactly half a kilo. It’s a metric measure that still uses an old, pre-metric name. Sorry to disappoint. As for the eggs, this is true but there is obviously a demand for other quantities as you can now buy boxes of ten eggs in British supermarkets. Condolences.

Hell according to Peter Hitchens

I cannot imagine a kilogram, let alone a gram, or a metre or a litre or a hectare. I work out what they mean by converting them into the proper measures that have their roots and origins in the land, as I do – an acre is a day’s work at the plough, a fathom the width of a man’s outstretched arms.

When was the last time you ploughed a field then, Peter? As for metric measures being unnatural, they only are if you want them to be: 10cm is the length of the palm of my hand. One metre is the longest step I can take without falling over. One kilo is four butter sticks or one litre of water. One litre is a juice carton. One kilometre is the distance I can walk in 15 minutes. And so on and so forth.

Meanwhile, the mere mention of a ‘fl oz’ has me running for the hills!

These measures are rooted in daily life, are human, and honest, because they are polished in use, sound like what they are (can’t you hear a gallon sloshing in its bucket?)…

The metric system is rooted in daily life in every country that uses it every day. As for “human” and “honest”, these are totally subjective assessments based on familiarity. You can hear a gallon sloshing in its bucket? Good for you, so can I; I’m just not too sure about the size of the bucket… is it a British bucket or an American bucket?

… and because you can use them in poetry.

Do farmers care about poetry that much? I obviously go to the wrong markets.

There are miles, inches and fathoms in the Bible and Shakespeare, and if you converted them it would sound ludicrous.

This is from the “If English was good enough for Jesus Christ, it’s good enough for me” school of thought. Why not take back one kadam to honour the Hebrew God while we’re at it?

Indy doing his bit against metric

And how about Shylock demanding his half-kilogram (or 454 grams, given his precise inflexibility) of flesh? Or let us see what the BBC would make of Robert Frost’s beautiful poem Stopping By Woods On A Snowy Evening.

‘The woods are lovely, dark and deep,

But I have promises to keep And kilometres to go before I sleep.’

Now you’re just being silly.

The metric system officially doesn’t have such a thing as a foot. It scorns this useful measure, going straight from the metre down to the centimetre.

Oops, the Daily Mail’s chronic lack of research rears its ugly head again. It actually goes metre -> decimetre -> centimetre, adding a zero each time. And a foot is only a “useful measure” within an imperial context. In metric, you just measure 30cm and Bob’s your uncle. Need a bit more? No probs, here’s 35.8cm for you. What’s that in imperial? One foot, one inch and, er… some bits. Thanks but no thanks.

See, that’s the beauty of the metric system: it’s easy. All you have to do is add or remove a zero here and there. No multiplying by 3 or 4, no dividing by 12. No need to learn your 11 or 12 times tables (eek). For those of us who are mathematically impaired, it’s a total gift!

Interestingly, Peter Hitchens doesn’t feel the need to complain about the decimalisation of the pound sterling. Could it be because – gasp! – he’s used to it? Does it ruin his enjoyment of Dickens to read about David Copperfield receiving two half-crowns from his mother before being sent off to boarding school?

Mum gave me two half-crowns! That's like one Galleon, seven Sickles and four Knuts! Yay!

Passport burning time

I was reading this blog written by a fellow French Anglophile listing cool things to do in London, and one of them was “Go and watch crazy Brits swim in the Serpentine on Christmas morning”. In the article she mentioned the brave spectators who “got up early even though they celebrated the réveillon the night before, and managed to make their way to Hyde Park with no public transport”. So I left a comment pointing out that British people actually celebrate Christmas on the day itself and there is no réveillon here, and since she seems so well-versed in British culture I was a bit surprised she wasn’t aware of that.

I got my head bitten off! “Such contempt, you just make me laugh, I welcome constructive criticism but not open contempt, you obviously know British customs much better than I do, I must work with the only British people who leave work at noon on the 24th then, why do you think they do that if they’re not having a réveillon, don’t bother coming back to this blog ever again”.

Well fuck you very much then. And people wonder why I’m not interested in spending time in France or having French friends.

I should have expected a negative reaction though, since in a previous post she got really irritated at another comment telling her she shouldn’t talk about “going to the Paki shop” for obvious reasons; she got into a huff about political correctness and it being a perfectly normal word like Indian or Arab and not seeing what the problem was. It was only the next day, after asking the aforementioned British colleagues and seeing the look of horror on their faces, that she admitted she didn’t actually know what she was talking about and wouldn’t use that word again. Twit.

All hands on deck

So, Elton John and David Furnish have revealed they don’t know which one of them is the biological father of their new baby, since the egg was fertilised by a mix of their semen specimens (thanks for that mental image, by the way).

When asked about it, Furnish said: “We both contributed. For the time being we don’t have a clue. We look at him every day and at the moment he has Elton’s nose and my hands.”

OK, three things:

a) talk about projecting! What part of “the baby will have the genes of only ONE of them” is he having trouble with?

b) all babies have Elton John’s nose. I mean look at it.

c) here’s a pic of Furnish’s hands

and a pic of the baby’s hands

Huh? Is it me?

I nearly forgot to mention the strange wording of “We look at him every day”, as if the baby were a recently bought painting instead of a live human being who needs constant care. I know you can’t expect Elton John to change nappies but still…

Happy-go-lucky scampi

I have been following Channel Four’s Fish Fight campaign, and last night I saw this programme: Dispatches – Fish Unwrapped about the shady goings-on within the fish industry.

One anecdote in particular caught my attention: we were shown a bag of “wholetails of scampi coated in crispy breadcrumbs” and then told not to expect the product to contain any whole scampi tails! Apparently, according to the law the bag would be labelled “single wholetails of scampi” if this were the case.

It may be legal and all but I find this practice massively disingenuous. After all, the words ‘whole’ and ‘tail’ are pretty self-explanatory. No one is psychic, and expecting the buying public to instinctively know that “wholetail” actually means “bits of tail that are above the minimum legal size” is asking an awful lot.

Whose side is the law on exactly? What is the point of having regulations if there is so much wiggle room with no obligation to inform buyers that they’re basically being misled?