Entertainment in Questionable Taste

In an eventful 3 weeks, I have been mostly concerning myself with:

1.Glasses. I have availed myself of a new pair of thick black framed media spectacles. Varifocals, if you please, and a snip (read: 'absolutely not a snip at all') at £425. The optician assured me I'd get used to them 'in no time', adding as an afterthought 'but I wouldn't be wearing them on the escalator if I were you- in fact, just wait until you get home', which of course absolutely filled me with confidence. I was too impatient to be seen out and about in my new face furniture however, so completely ignored this sage advice, not only immediately dicing with death on the perilous travelling staircases of the Arndale but also venturing into your actual Market Street, where I took my chances with drizzle-drenched bank holiday shoppers, international mobile phone hawkers, and Victoria-bound Metrolink trams. I emerged unscathed, and today took the spectacles to work with me on one of those very same trams. It was the Media City line, but I must have got in the carriage without the BBC executives in, because none of the besuited commuters in the adjoining seats seemed interested in interrupting their perusal of the Metro News to make me a verbal offer of a five-figure Prime Time script-writing/ presenting deal, No Questions Asked and Hours to Suit. It's only a matter of time, I'm sure (and in any case the optician also said I could take the Media specs back within 30 days if not completely satisfied, and if 'they haven't got me on the telly' isn't valid grounds for not being satisfied with your new varifocals, then quite frankly I don't know what is.

2. Bow Ties. While whiling away the 9-5 hours in anticipation of being accosted on the Metrolink by a sharp-suited media mogul, I've made slightly too good a job of writing some submissions, with the result that tomorrow night a delegation of approximately 20 of us are being wined and dined at a 'Glittering Awards Ceremony' at a well-known Mancunian sports venue. In what I think may be fairly described as an esoteric programme, we are promised stand up repartee from an alternative comedian who was briefly slightly famous in the mid 1980s, a Disco Dance performance, and a motivational speech by one of the only two British swimmers you have heard of (no not that one, the other one). Which is all very well, except that it is 'strictly black tie only', which translates, according to people who know about these things, that you only get in if you are actually dressed as Mr James Bond himself. Consequently I left work early this afternoon for an appointment in the backstreets of Stockport with a taciturn man brandishing a tape measure, and am now the proud owner (at least until Friday, when I have to take it back) of a full dinner ensemble, complete with bow tie and implausiby shiny shoes. All of which is going to look marvellous on the Metrolink at 7 o'clock tomorrow night and not attract the attention of any Stretford Scallywags at all,oh no. The beef wellington at this so-called Glittering Awards Ceremony better be very succulent indeed or I'm stopping writing award submissions forthwith, sine die, and heretofuckingfore, let me tell you, my friends.

3. Snooker. In some other entertainment in questionable taste involving men in bow ties the World Championship snooker has been on the telly, meaning that for days at a time I have been transfixed by the click of balls on green baize. Perhaps worryingly, Frankie (who, until recently, displayed a complete indifference to any televised sport not immediately recognisable as football, referring to all of it as 'that golf') seems also to have inherited a weakness for televised cue action, and was one day last week seduced into a short mid-afternoon slumber by an intricate bout of safety play between Williams and Maguire.

4. Frogs. The windowsill remains adorned with massive and actually quite frightening lettuces, which are due to be transported to the allotment just as soon as we have finished implementing a comprehensive anti-bird-and-slug strategy incorporating the purchase of environmentally-friendly slug pellets, the construction of nets on poles, the laying of beer-traps, and, most excitingly of all, the digging of an actual pond, if you don't mind. Somehow tearing ourselves away from the snooker, me and Frankie spent a happy two hours yesterday opening a four foot square crater in our little corner of Levenshulme- all that is needed now to complete the job is rain, and an army of ravenous frogs.

So- to conclude: if you know of an army of ravenous frogs looking for a home in tastefully-appointed suburban surroundings (close to Levenshulme District Centre and its diverse array of leisure/ retail amenities)- do put them in touch. And if you see a short-sighted man dressed as a snooker player being chased through the streets of Stretford by feral boys- stop laughing, do the decent thing, and raise a hue and cry. Thank you and goodnight.

Comments

[looby]

Maybe take a snooker cue with you on the way to the glittering awards ceremony (is there any more deathly a phrase?) -- its faint area of menace might be enough to dissuade the southside scallies.

I've seen bits of the snooker whilst I've been in pubs. I want to like it, but it has a similar effect on me as it does on Frankie. I'm quite happy sitting watching day four of a midtable county cricket game torpor to an inevitable draw, but there's something too repetitive about snooker (and tennis) for me. One action, over and over again.

We must resurrect the minor league football idea J -- probably next season now as I'm off on me hols soon and then it's all over.

[abby]

Eeeee, this is the funniest thing ever and has greatly enhanced my procrastination before picking up our boy from school. I am delighted to hear about the snooker even if it they don't have Hurricane Higgins and his ilk any more. In our house it's dominoes at the minute, all the time, so perhaps snooker is a natural next move.

I can't wait to see the media glasses!