Something for the Weekend, Madam?

Hey!  Here’s something I haven’t done in a long while which should keep you entertained over what remains of the weekend.  I was going to give you a story from Facebook about sexual interactions, but I’ve got bored with that (the story, not the sexual interactions) and so I’m going to do this.  Long-time readers of this blog will recall that when I started it was thanks to meeting Hanif Kureishi (‘Buddha of Suburbia’) who advised aspiring writers to start a blog.  So the very next day I did so, and on writing my first post I set out my stall, as they say; which was, that there will be no fancy gizmos or whizzy gadgets on this site because it’s all about THE WORD.

And so it has continued: you find the occasional pic or vid on here, but not many: and I have continued to place the emphasis on the written word in all its various forms.  Wordplay is one aspect of this which I enjoy greatly and so here, continuing a tradition I began about five years ago, is another installment of my Eccentrictionary, giving the true and unexpurgated definitions of words, some new and some familiar.

Eccentrictionary Vol. 2

remorse: (1) repeat of a detective series

remorse: (2) relaying a message in Morse code

bustier: a bus with seats at different heights

tofu: Japanese martial art performed using the feet

green tea: an unused golf course

credit crunch: discounted biscuits

body mass index: method of counting people at Communion

total detox: a powerful toilet cleaner

Weapons of Mass Destruction: atheism

weapons of mass distraction: Weapons of Mass Destruction (true definition)

Olympic legacy: limping after a sports injury

negative equity: a really grumpy mood

sleaze: lying on a slope in the sun

So there you go.

Whaddayamean, you demand to hear the sexual story?

All right, here it is then.  On facebook somebody posted a story about an immigrant in an airport.  He spied a woman sitting on her own and went over to chat her up: his chosen tactic was to pretend to be a famous film-star in his own country.  She, naturally, didn’t believe him; and so a passing indigenous male decided to pretend to recognise him and to ask for his autograph.  He left him surrounded by admiring women.

We are supposed to find this amusing or admirable in some way but I find it sad on so many levels.  Firstly, there may be women who enjoy being chatted up at airports, but I used to loathe the presumption that because I was a woman alone I was therefore ‘available’ and fair game to every passing male.  And secondly, I hate this whole superficial game whereby someone is automatically interesting because they are (or appear to be) a film star.  Most film stars I’ve ever read about seem to be unpleasant or emotionally stunted individuals whom I would not like to meet at all.

So there you go: that’s the story.  Happy now?

Kirk out

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Filed under friends and family, poems, politics

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