One day I am going to do it. One day I am going to throw vegetables at unsuspecting cyclists – cyclists without helmets. This is one of my all-time pet hates – #27 but who’s counting? – daily this spectacle fills me with rage, daily I am forced to endure it. And nowhere is this phenomenon more prevalent than Cambridge. Cambridge! Home to thousands of Really Smart People. And rowers. But it’s not the rowers, it’s the hipster cyclists ambling dreamily along in the glorious sunshine with a basket attached to the front of their old-fashioned bicycles with their long loose-flowing hair, floral print dresses, denim jackets, and sandals.[1]
STOP IT! YOU ARE NOT IN A FRENCH FILM. This is not Jour de Fête[2] and neither are you Amelie. I can tell this is not a French film because: 1) I am not in black and white 2) I am not smoking 3) I am not cheating on my husband. In fact, there’s no-one looking anything remotely like Romain Duris anywhere near here, and – if this is a French film – I will be writing a strongly worded letter to Studio Canal about the casting in this miserable production.
And it’s around about now that you are probably thinking, “This definitely is a French film because I have lost whatever semblance of a plot there was, and – once I have read the reviews to make sure that I am not missing out on anything really deep and meaningful – I am definitely giving this a 2 on Rotten Tomatoes.” But I promise I am getting to the point or at least that we are near the end credits.
Helmets may not look cool but they will probably stop you becoming a vegetable. They may not save your life but they may stop you suffering serious brain damage. It’s not glamourous but neither are the consequences of blunt force trauma to the head. Rant over. Now if you will excuse me I am off to buy some fruit…
[1] You may think this is an anti-woman rant and right now be deploring the state of female solidarity crying ‘Whatever happened to sisterhood?!’ But there’ll be no sisterhood with one of us six feet under.
[2] If anything Jour de Fête is a cautionary tale about road safety
I have a t-shirt with a rather dazed looking Snoopy on it beneath which is written ‘Allergic to mornings’. Wearing this t-shirt typically attracts some comment, usually from men who read the caption aloud, smile, and then say something along the lines of ‘But it’s afternoon’ in a slightly confused tone. Well I have to award you full marks for your observational skills, my friend, perhaps you are also aware of the fact THAT I AM NOT A CARTOON DOG! But presumably not aware of the fact that all not all t-shirts are necessarily factually accurate. Indeed men’s media seems to be so completely unable to cope with the fact that t-shirts may have slogans or logos printed on them that are not factually accurate that they appear to have dispensed with them entirely so as not to confuse their readership. So there shall be an advertising campaign of fully clothed models in a range of different t-shirt styles with different, not necessarily true, slogans etc to bring the issue of factually inaccurate t-shirts to national attention.
…And the seasons change and it is winter again; the time of freezing temperatures, baking hot shops, and insubstantial clothing. There’s an art to finding a good winter coat but the golden rule is my winter coat shall not be a duffel jacket and yet lo! I notice that this is exactly what is ‘in’ this season. But why? Who exactly looks good in a duffel? As the wardrobe department of Strictly Come Dancing in their dressing of Tess Daly have so consistently and adequately proven: even beautiful people can look awful in unflattering clothing. Never has the lie ‘She’d look good in sackcloth and ashes’ been so busted. And that is exactly the problem with a duffel: any shape looks like a sack of potatoes. ‘But they are so warm!’ I hear you cry. No. No, no, no, no, non and nein. Fastenings like that will not keep the heat in. The reason that you have such misplaced affection for the duffel is your childhood nostalgia for Paddington Bear who is probably the only person to have ever looked good in a duffel. And he’s fictional. And a bear. Last time I checked it wasn’t a good idea to go round imitating fictional characters (particularly not if you’ve been reading my most recent blog). So wear a duffel if you want to, it’s just that if you do I shall ensure duffel coats have mittens sewn in on a string and are accompanied by a massively unflattering bobble hat that your mum used to dress you in when you were too young to protest otherwise and no matter how much the knitting magazines tell you are fashionable are still unflattering even if you are wearing it in ironic style WHICH IT ISN’T EVEN POSSIBLE TO DO!
Women’s trousers shall have pockets. I’m not saying that there will be no women’s trousers without pockets but there will be a quota imposed to ensure that the majority do. The fact that I do actually have stuff that I like to keep in my pockets appears to be something that has escaped the fashion world. All I’m saying is it’s not appropriate for me to carry a bag around at work. I would rather not think about where the fashion industry would like me to keep my keys that I need to access the different parts of the building that it’s necessary for me to do, you know, my job. But no problem IT’S CLEARLY MY FAULT FOR BEING A WOMAN AND NOT HAVING YET DEVELOPED THE ABILITY TO WALK THROUGH DOORS AND WALLS. Yeah, my bad. I am so sorry that I am not a perfect superhuman being. Let me add that to my list of self-loathing you clearly want me to draw up and cry myself to sleep over on a nightly basis. F*ck off, I have things to achieve.
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