August 14-18th, 1997
Well, here we are again, and with much less of a gap than before. Which can only prove one thing... I have more time on my hands than I should have.
I read on Ceefax - surely one of the last vestiges of impartiality in written news reporting - that a young student of Feminist History at Leeds University, Sue Wilkes, is taking legal advice because she doesn't want to be a Master of Arts, she wants to be a Mistress of Arts.
Does this mean that because 'Master' refers to the male head of a household, she wishes to be known by the name for the female head of a household? Or, does it mean that she doesn't want to be referred to as an 'acknowledged expert' in the field of arts, but as a 'adulteress' of the arts? Answers on the back of a saucy postcard to the usual address.
Actually, I'll not let it stay there, I do actually have a point, rather than to take the Mickey out of some poor misguided student. And that point is that when you have a phrase with a gender-specific term in it, changing the gender of that term does not necessarily change the gender of the phrase. More often than not, it changes the meaning entirely. Some examples:
Old Master... Old Mistress.
Man of the Night... Woman of the Night.
Lord of Darkness... Lady of Darkness.
Raving King... Raving Queen.
Hot Dog... Hot Bitch.
I know that many of these have come about because of differing attitudes between the sexes, and that in an ideal world the underworld would be ruled by the terrible, powerful, dominating Lady of Darkness. In fact in my fantasies, it already is.
I have noticed that just down the road from me they are building a branch of Subway. Which is a bit like taking tea to India. This is the first one in the UK as far as I am aware.
Subway, for those of you who don't know, is a fast-food chain that specialises in subs. These are sandwiches made with dwarf baguettes and filled with any combination from the limited choice of fillings. It has an interesting logo with an arrow at each end. A concept they even managed to carry across into the Hebrew version of the name.
What is interesting is, they are building it in an area already choc-a-block full of sandwich shops, many of whom offer a large and changing range of interesting fillings. But it is also a tourist area, and there is nothing like a fast-food chain for clearing the streets of a small percentage of the hordes of the yellow-rucksack brigade.
I have become a miserable old git haven't I.
The last Oasis single, which was hyped and hyped so very much, went to number one and stayed there for as far as I can tell, one week only. Is the world losing its love for those mischievous Gallagher brothers? I even over-heard someone say that they had 'lost it.' I had no idea that in the months since they last released a single, they had 'found it'. Just goes to show you how crap I am when it comes to pop news.
Next week: Chicago - latest supergroup or what?
Ecstasy is old hat, last year's drug. Not news at all. The latest drug craze to hit the streets is available over the counter and is advertised in magazines and tube trains. It is called Pro Plus, and its usage strikes me as alarming. It seems a significant number of people, as soon as they feel a little bit tired and are afraid they may have to go home early and miss the obvious excitement that is due at any moment, will take some of this new wonder drug. I think it is scary and I wholeheartedly disapprove. Now excuse me while I make myself a very strong coffee.
Those car stickers advertising the fact people listen to Virgin FM or believe in the existence of God. Do they make them out of a newly-discovered, super-dense metal, because they certainly seem to slow the car down.
And gravy patches on the road, what is the point of them?
Washing up: theory and practice.
A person's theory on life is closely related to their attitude towards washing up, sources close to Number 10 can reveal. Mrs Bilgewade, at Number 12, Buldwhark Avenue has listed ten major attitudes to washing up and the sort of people who hold them:
* - delete as applicable.
I sat through a sitcom last night. A sitcom that was even more dire than usual. And yet, it was on BBC 1 at prime time. I don't remember the name, but it was based in a road-side café and it starred the father from "2.4 chuckles per episode". The characters predictable, the jokes were obvious and the plot very frayed at the edges. The brother and sister at odds surrounded by ineffectual policemen and other slightly off-beat characters doesn't bear up well whilst Sykes is being repeated.
The producers realise they have a shoddy sitcom on their hands, and are trying a reasonably new idea in British sitcoms to help keep the ratings, etc. up. The go-between character who stops the place falling apart and keeps the siblings from rightfully killing each other is a young lady from the Earls Court region of Australia. Her actual raison d'être is to have perky nipples and to bend over in front of the camera in a low-cut top at every given opportunity.
Maybe 'Allo 'Allo wasn't so bad after all. Mind you, it could get good. So maybe I will watch this new sitcom again, just to be sure.
Maybe with the sound down.
And the picture off.
This week's top five is a list of one-hit wonders whom I hated so much, I wanted to kill at the time. And strangely enough they've never been heard of since - so let that be a warning to all you pop tartlettes out there waiting in the wings for your one single hit record... There is a price to fame.
I should go now, I hear the loud stomp of Nurse Agutter on the stairs. Oh boy, am I ready for my medication.
(c) August 1997 Peter R. More.