Musings of a 30th something

OK OK so I confess, after holding out I finally watched a bit of Big Brother this week...

We seem to have the usual lot of pre-celebs yes, those people of zero repute or fame who nevertheless command acres of newsprint by virtue of the fact that they are about to appear on a reality show and will therefore become fodder for red-top newspapers and Heat magazine for a few months before being spewed back into the oblivion where they belong.

Having watched the horrific episode which was at its essence somewhat like Lord of the Flies when the housemates ganged up on an already fragile extremely camp asian housemate I can't see how the show is termed a 'sociological experiment' - it is an experiment that no university ethics committee would countenance -a twisted case of social darwinism meets a popularity contest ....Would I be wrong it commenting on the dehumanising effects of the house?

That Big Brother has continually found an audience is a wonder to me. Then again we live in a generally conformist climate, which routinely chloroforms people with the minutiae of celebrities' lives. Does the success of this sort of rubbish point point to the emptiness that lies at the heart of the success of the plethora of reality shows — the voyeuristic fascination with the antics of a bunch of wannabe celebrities resulting from people trying to escape their own largely unfulfilling lives.

More than this, though, is the increasing debasement and exhaustion of this genre. Think back to 2000, when Big Brother picked relatively straightforward contestants and the show seemed fresh and compelling and like most I did watch and enjoy the show. Some of the later BBs caught the imagination through genuinely appealing characters such as Helen, Jade and Nadia who all shared with us their endearing naivete and won the hearts of the nation.

Having watched it this week, it seems to be an increasingly dispiriting exercise whose only point seemed to be incubating the non-careers of a bunch of mainly idiotic, self-obsessed and incredibly unattractive (personality and physically!) desperados who all want to cop off with each other on national television in the hope it will lead to party invites, porn careers or wonder of wonders, a celebridee column in one of the various magazines, who make their money out of stories like " Jade puts out the rubbish in piank sweats"...

I do wonder how much longer the BB format will last... for me... its going to be a long summer...

Cxx

So time for me to have another general rant about work and working culture... still building up to the love life one - on the plus side I did receive a rather nice bunch of flowers at work today.....from a secret admirer... should I be pleased or worried... that blog to follow...!

Whoever thought up the blackberry was surely an expert in getting the most out of your employees. If, like me, you are equipped with one of these, you will know that it is simply a corporate hotline designed to enable "access" to your mind during evenings, weekends, holidays, basically any time of relaxation.
Companies know that no one really wants to carry around two mobile phones. So, on receipt of a company mobile/blackberry, most employees ditch their own phone in favour of merging all contact to one single number.

After doing so, you fast realise that if you want to meet your friend tonight for last orders at a location unknown you need to have the hotline switched on until 10.30 ... and they can see you, they know when you've just started to unwind, perhaps the tie has come off, you're imagining that you have a life, you're the master of your own time, and then ... bam! "I'm sorry to disturb you, we were just here in the office, working late, and were wondering if you could help us with a little problem" or the red light starts flashing and you know you have an email that reads..."I'm sorry to disturb you, we were just here in the office, working late, and were wondering if you could help us with a little problem"

They are always very apologetic and it is usually without doubt a "small problem", but still I believe it's wrong, because we all know that as soon as that phone is answered our evening will be spoilt. For even if by chance you happen to be able to solve this problem there will be a small part of your brain wondering what other problems there are, who else is still in the office. This is wrong and these people should be stopped.

Companies have no right to eat into your time like this, it causes additional stress and can make people feel uncomfortable. After years of experiencing these types of scenarios I have a new approach to dealing with the problem. Honesty. I favour: "I'm sorry I am too drunk to talk" for when I am in a bar, and "I can't talk right now, I am ironing while watching the OC" when at home.

The latter is good as it demonstrates that you care both about the way you look and matters of world importance. And what can the person on the other end really say when met with such a demonstration of reality; I mean, of course, I don't care about the profit forecast for 2008 when I have a snoked salmon canape to eat instead.

OK, perhaps this is not the best approach for high flyers, new starters or anyone wishing to be truly successful in their career, but perhaps for those of us stuck in the middle, those who stayed late, but still couldn't find the solution, perhaps it is our way of having a bit of fun. And, after all, there is nothing more rewarding than baffling a young upstart - those keen people who cannot understand why everyone is not craving success for the company at all costs, who are genuinely perplexed by any signs of "slacking off", albeit in your own time.

When you work the hours I do and then adopt flexible working ie working some days at home, some weekends and time off in lieu others presume you are always available, because they never actually see you. It does not occur to them that you might take leave. So when I was phoned several times during my holiday in Morocco last month you can imagine I was quite annoyed. I was busy lying by a pool with a martini in hand and, so, it was not a particularly convenient time to talk to anyone.

I answered and was immediately confronted with a very trying counterpart complaining about a meeting that had been cancelled, to which I was not even scheduled to attend. At which point I responded with an "OK, what would you like me to do? Oh, hold on a minute, I'm about to drink my martini" and put the phone down.

A bit childish perhaps, but hey, whats life without a bit of rebellion!

Cx

ps you'll be pleased to know I am still gainfully employed - though why is anyones guess!

Hello all

So back after bit of a break and have spent a happy hour ot two catching up on all your news...now some of you have been busy haven't you?

Am struggling a bit with trying to post regularly as life is just too busy - and hence a dilemma, as blogging is strangely addictive. Is it a case of good old fashioned voyuerism and our general fascination with other peoples lives or some form of cathartic psycho analysis? And with either of these, comes the fear of rejection as well as a feeling of being part of a community.

I have posted before, the reason why I started blogging - partial boredom and partial desire to start writing again - but have I stayed true to my promise of writing? Sure I am posting, but not sure my words would ever be considered journalism or anything close to being publishable. There is a real appeal in being able to say what you want, with little fear of reprisal - would I be right in saying that the real appeal of a blog, is not the content but the ability to remain anonymous, yet connect with a range of people who also remain anonymous. Its a haven for those who's opinions are maginalised by the established media - Blogging represents the embodiment of the uniquely human desire to make a difference, to leave a stamp on the world.

To me, the overriding rhetorical appeal of blogging is the possibility or actuality of COMMENTS I write in fear, in dread, in hope of generating comments - and thus meeting you, my blog friends. I wrote each post with the desire to be honest, however, there was a little voice in my head as I typed saying, "What will happen when they read this? Will they like it? Will they agree?

Then I get comments and I love the back and forth, because the informal nature just begs people to lower their guard and turn off their filter. You know how we are in cars? When someone cuts us off, we curse, we honk, we give them the finger ( well I don't, but other do)And yet, from the protective bubble of our cars, we lose all our inhibitions and our manners. That's how I see blogging. We speak from the protective comfort of our chairs through a key board. We get to be free because no one can see us, no one can challenge us in person, and we don't have to watch the recipient react to our words. So we're more angry, more passionate, more loving, more emotive, more everything on a blog. So I brace myself for comments, but I'm delighted when they come. I'm not afraid of a challenge. I don't want to hurt anyone's feelings, but I like enlightened discourse. With comments, we can let 'em rip. So we go at it, usually with civility, but not with the usual discussion group disclaimers: "Don't take this personally, but..." "I hear you, and you make some good points, but..."

Once again we come back to the constraints of conversation and the joy of uninhibited writing. Somehow the blogdom has created a unique forum for communication because we have nearly instantaneous dialogue in a stream-of-consciousness format. It's compelling. It draws you in.

Not everyone may feel the pull of comments. But for me, and for many of us, I think the comments are the unique feature, because of the way they foster the one-of-a-kind blog rhetoric, its unique pathos appeal. Without comments, I'm just another faceless voice- But then someone answers, and I answer back, and then we're talking about my stuff and your stuff. And because of the way it all unfolds, in a less filtered, less edited, less defensive way (write-click-send-read-respond), I realize we're mostly alike in so many ways. Thanks for letting me in.

hello folks - soz about the silence again - got a bit hacked off with life and so disappeared off to marrakesh for a holiday- just got back so will post shortly... xx

help my blog friends.. I have a dilemma (as commented upon in sleepers blog). This weekend I am off to see a band, who of late are being hailed as the next ( well one of) big thing. What makes this interesting is that they are friends of a friend of mine, so not only are we guestlisted for the gig, but also for the after show party....

Now while some of you may scoff, to me this is a big deal - a far cry from my usual london lifestyle and while I may consider myself reasonably stylish, I hesitate to describe myself as Hip and Cool... infact the mere fact I use the works Hip and Cool probably gave that away!

Needless to say, I may be moments away from living my very own celebridee dream....my dilemma is (and no apologies for me, for once for being unashamedly girlie) - what is one meant to wear? The after show party is at a club which is " kool" and from the photos on the website, all I think is that they all need to iron their clothes, cut their hair and shave!

Having spent the evening persusing my wardrobe, my conclusion is there comes a time in life when wearing full-on fashion - the kind of entertaining kit you find in the pages of the glossies, worn by teenage Russian models with complicated names and no breasts - starts to look ridiculous if you attempt the look on your own. Pinafores, say. Or culottes. Berets. Braces. Bubble skirts. To make my point, almost as a eulogy for my lost youth, I tried on a rock chick outfit that has been in my closert since University - as I looked at myself in the mirror, it dawned on me that I am getting too old for clothes.

Not all clothes, of course. But the silly, trendee stuff which has been the lifeblood of my wardrobe for nearly three decades. At the age of 30, certain trends are beginning to look wrong. It's a realisation which creeps up slowly, like hair loss or weight gain, until one day the mirror shows you a stranger. I never want to be called mutton dressed as goat!

While fashion pundits are terribly gung-ho these days about the agelessness of clothes, about how the taboos of dress have been broken, and how mother and daughter can now wear the same jeans to the same party where they'll dance to the same tune around the same handbag... the bottom line is that there are still boundaries. Not, perhaps, enforced by a society of strictures and codes, but by the fact that a 30-year-old woman wearing a pork-pie hat in homage to Pete Doherty looks daft. There is, and I say this with a sigh, undoubtedly a time to put away childish things.

But what to wear instead? Turn 30 and you're supposed to instinctively know how to dress your age, just as you're expected to know how to file a tax return and how to produce a tasty coq au vin - and no one, least of all the media, the mags, the designers, the retailers, the icons, is giving much away on the matter.

Perhaps Quentin Crisp was right when he remarked, 'fashion is what you adopt when you don't know who you are.' Once you're old enough to know thyself, you simply have to stop hiding, to start letting go, just as you have already forsaken your intimate knowledge of chart tunes, dance moves (I stopped at the Macarena) street vernacular and who's snogging who in Hollyoaks.

xx

ps: any tips on rock and roll etiquette??