an advent request

if anyone has a larger version of viz's "map of the shittish isles", could they please blogpost it? i'd love to see the details.

annals of publishing

it's 20 years since the publication of australia's best-selling book "how to hypnotize chooks". pretty much sums up intellectual life in oz.

naming rights

when my nephew, zoom, was still unhatched—in the egg, as it were—i made a couple of helpful unsolicited suggestions about his future christian name. naturally my advice was disdained, as advice always is (no matter who offers it). nevermind. these were my suggestions:

"bort". my favourite. from "the simpsons". and the one i lobbied hardest for.

"tuk-tuk". pronounced took-took. the thai three-wheeled vehicle pictured. i like the sound of it. funny.

"theodore hypothalamus". again for the euphony. also i keep hearing the word hypothalamus on the show "house". i like it. it's better than "apple" anyway.

just picked up the latest copy

of my "pipe and slippers weekly" magazine. flicking through the "where's my dinner, love?" section, i noticed this advertisement featuring the happy couple. so helpful, ads.

excessive use of euphemism

one of the masters at geelong grammar school (for english readers the equivalent of rugby or harrow) has been sent down for, what lawyers style, "visual capture of the genital region". or, in literate english, upskirting one of the female students.

i recall something similar in evelyn waugh's "decline and fall". says the porter to a fellow delated for gross indecency: "i expect you'll be becoming a schoolmaster, sir. that's what most of the gentlemen does, sir, that gets sent down for indecent behaviour."

but in the case of the geelong grammarian, he's already a schoolteacher. is there any place lower for him to fall? advertising? the media?

bears in the 'burbs

read a hand-wringing article in the "new york times" magazine (is there any other kind?) concerning the problem of canadian bears straying into human habitats. as the article says, deterrence doesn't always work. hence the occasional need to shoot them. i disagree.

now i'm especially fond of some canadians, but facts are facts. there are quite a lot more canadians than bears. so if there's any shooting to be done, they should shoot the canadians and spare the bears. common sense, innit?

this one (pictured) is hiding from mormons buzzing his front doorbell. when the coast is clear he'll saunter back in and finish watching that episode of "futurama" he taped last night.

what could possibly be better?

christmas cherry tree

in a last-ditch attempt to deter ravenous parrots from eating all this year's cherries, i've decorated the tree with light-refracting cds. seems to be working. they're obviously not music lovers. not sure what to do about the possums, though. everyone, it seems, likes cherries. and nectarines.

"rancorous, coiffeured old sow"

is it only me? or do others notice an impressive likeness between hillary clinton and sybil fawlty? both demonstrate the same "governess" manner toward their errant husbands; the same frosty efficiency at work; the same excruciatingly banal private personalites. "oh, i know, i know". and the preposterous hair, of course. and yet who wouldn't relish seeing the dramatics of "fawlty towers" reprised for 4 years in the oval office, albeit with the "little pirhana fish" in charge this time? we'll know soon enough, i expect.

my advice today is

should you happen to see a "talking elmo", be sure to punch it in the head. (i'm sure the thing that does its voice is a castrato.) here endeth the lesson.

small kindnesses

one of the admirable things about people in oz is that they don't name their sons "geoffrey".

please please please

somebody rip out elmo's larynx.

clemency

following the american custom of the prez pardoning a turkey at thanksgiving, i'm likewise going to spare my egg (still uneaten since easter). rather a sporting gesture, i think. as it was the only egg i got. wonder if it will hatch?

through the looking-glass (we remain)

the other day "the times" reported that a quorum of britain's best bookworms (john carey, et al) had come to the naff decision that the book most expressive of britishness—by which i hope they mean englishness—is orwell's "nineteen eighty-four". among the others mentioned were freud's "civilization and its discontents" or "interpretation of dreams" (no.2), kafka's "the trial", and the ikea catalogue.* such idiocy.

yet another committee meeting gone awry. i love "1984", have read it half a dozen times, but it is not expressive of the quintessence of england. nor is freud. nor is kafka. all are expressions of the continental mind. totalitarianism (generally, and as described in "1984") is a european enjoyment—you can see a mild form of it in the operations of the european union today. england isn't like that. as dickens' mr podsnap says "centralisation? never! not english."

as to my own list, when rounding up the usual suspects, it's hard to limit oneself to five choices. nevertheless here are my five books which best evoke englishness:

1. morrissey, lyrics and interviews (there never has been anything or anyone more intensely english, more often, than mozz).
2. alan bennett, "talking heads" (the first six episodes)
3. kenneth grahame "the wind in the willows" (the trial scene is perfect)
4. the collected poems of larkin or betjeman (according to taste)
5. frank richards "greyfriars" sagas starring billy bunter

honourable mentions to: p. g. wodehouse, graham greene's "brighton rock", jane austen, the foreign office stories of laurence durrell, orwell's "collected essays", "the book of common prayer", delaney's "a taste of honey", waugh's "decline and fall", dickens (especially the "pickwick papers" which wanders all over the high and low of english society), and many more besides.

*special note for hannah: katie price's "being jordan" also made the official list. priceless. that's real reading, that is. what an impressive woman she is.

what would pingu do?

when cable (or pay) tv arrived in oz the government regulatory authority passed what it called "anti-siphoning laws", intended to protect programmes of mass interest (like the cricket) from being inveigled away to cable-only stations. well, the safeguards aren't working. my 1 year old nephew, zoom, keeps ringing me up and telling me about a show called "pingu" which, alas, isn't on free-to-air television. so i can't see it. this aint right. it's also not right that a 1 year old has cable and i don't. next year he'll probably be earning more than me, too. memo to the minister for communications: free pingu.

yummers

cumquat marmalade. tangy fun.

fun is better than chic

though not a fan of the french-cuffed shirt, i think i could hop into one more often if i had a set of kombi cuff-links such as these. unless i can find some with the radioactive or bio-hazard symbol?

feathered menace

there's a juvenile magpie outside my window doing r2d2 impersonations. why me?

good plan, but needs more work

forget carbon capture and storage—the process whereby greenhouse gases are harvested and buried hundreds of metres under the sea-bed. they should be capturing 4 wheel-drives and their owners and shoving them deep under the earth's mantle. especially urban cowboys and posh yoga mums freighting junior to and from school. maybe one day?

life imitates incredibles

if you recall in the movie "the incredibles", the malevolent "syndrome" systematically kills off all the superheroes. his motive is envy. now doctors in india are doing the same thing. eight-limbed octopus-girl, lakshmi tatma, has just had 6 of her tentacles lopped off by curmudgeonly doctors; no doubt jealous of the girl's ability to play beethoven's 5th symphony all by herself. now we'll never know if tatma would have gone on to squirt ink or spin webs, catching supervillains in her spare time. the forces of crime-fighting have been dealt a serious blow. boo.

time to melt*

summer hurries on with indecent haste. pushy. the forecast for the next five days: 30°, 31°, 32°, 35°, 38°. i say again: who swiped melbourne's spring?

*title pinched from jello biafra's "lard".

anything but that

the annoying thing about the spring carnival is the endless iteration of racehorses' names on the news. such daft, grating names they give them. they aren't funny or felicitous or in any way well-constructed. they just irk.

whereas if i was filling out a birth certificate for a racehorse (unlikely), i'd choose one of these:

"strange lumps"
"tinkety-tonk"
"sunday tabloid slapper"
"glitterbug"
"stinky cheese"
"not tonight, dear"
"welly top"
"ooh, matron"
"please sir, i feel sick"
"gammon and spinach"
"eurotrash"

nice try

much public relations hoopla this week as the first commercial flight of the the airbus a380 superjumbo arrived in oz. the first class accommodation looks more like a railway berth: it features a separate fold-out bed for two. and, so, it is with the best intentions that singapore airlines has instituted a no-porking policy.

i sympathise. but i'm afraid these well-mannered orientals are in for a shock. most of the people i've talked to have scoffed at the ban. they regard it as a challenge. to see who can be first and possibly get their name in wikipedia. (it wouldn't surprise me if the occasion was webcast, or cheered on by the other passengers.) the singaporeans should know better. western notions of propriety were wiped out in the 1960s.

it's only a matter of time.

yes, there's something distinctly

scaly and cold-blooded about hillary clinton. reminds me of that sci-fi mini-series "the visitors". featured aliens which disguised their reptilian nature beneath a humanoid appearance. wouldn't surprise me if she was one of them. or if bill came out and said being with his wife was like sleeping with a lizard. that hospital bleach voice doesn't help matters much either. and, yet, she looks a shoo-in for president. hmm. i hope she doesn't try to harvest us for food.

what's going on

no golf (good)
no "new yorkers" since september (bad)
bodyclock at war with daylight savings (bad)
just bought lime tree (good)
parrot pooed on my face last night (bad)
watching "extras 2" (good)
hearing hillary's scaly voice (bad)
blueberries half price (good)

strange creature, boycott

"the times" this morning has republished an astonishing 1987 interview between boycs (geoffrey boycott) and psychiatrist dr (ha!) anthony clare. shades of "fawlty towers" where the major tells fawlty "strange creatures, women—i knew one once". don't you think?

clare: in late adolescence, did you think about girls?

boycs: no, who are they? what are they?

clare: what happened to them for you? i mean, did your mother say to you: "geoffrey, stay away from the women?"

boycs: "stay away from the girls," she said. 'they get you in the woods, they get you into trouble."

to be sure, to be sure.

all hallows eve

the conversation went something like this:

relation: "want to go trick-or-treating?"
me: "nope. don't believe in it."
(some further pressure is applied)
me: "do i have to dress up scary-wise?"
relation: "yes."
me: "ok. but only if i can go as midge ure or simon le bon."
relation: "the offer has been rescinded."

one terabyte of ram, please

i don't like waiting.

organic

usually means the leftovers that monkeys won't eat.

going off script

brother has a mini whiteboard in his garage which functions like a "to do" list. his wife constantly adds chores to the list, while he tries to cross them off. it's a like a magic pudding which, no matter how much you eat, never runs out. somehow there's always more things to do.

impressed with the functionality of the whiteboard concept, he gave me one. he was less impressed when he saw how i was using it. mine just reads "al gore is a nob".

it isn't everyday

you get the opportunity to name-check the abysmal 80s horror film "blood beach". but as i spent most of saturday laying drainage pipe, up to my neck in a trench, coping with repeated cave-ins, it seemed silly to pass up the opportunity.

apparently the creature sucking girls under the sand and devouring them (why is it always a female being terrorized? eg. "king kong", "forbidden planet", et al) is a giant carnivorous sandworm.

at the bottom of the poster—isn't that the most inept movie teaser ever?

scientists should think for a minute

before they publish their "speculations"; consider the wider ramifications, the social implications and whatnot. the beeb is reporting that some poindexter has posited that red hair comes from neanderthals. even a bear of little brain can see where this airy conjecture is going to lead. in schoolyards all over the world kids are going to whale on every hapless redhead they can find, all the while chanting "ne-an-der-thal! ne-an-der-thal! get back to the stone age!" yes, yes, a lot of fun for those doing the whaling. not so much for those being whaled upon. how much trauma is that going to cause? who's going to pay the medical bills? it's time for science to be more responsible.

a measure of justice

one amusing consequence of the "dumbledore is queer" revelation is that prat paul croft, of notts, and father of 5 if you don't mind, is rather regretting getting the dumbledore tattoo which covers his back. ha ha ha. (click on pix to see. i'm not making it any larger. he's hideous.) well, serves him right. tattoos are for oiks. england could halve its chav problem by imposing custodial sentences on anyone with a tattoo. though i'd also offer free laser removal. but, yes, it would be off to the scrubs for the incorrigibles. sounds too good to be true.

boo

i've just found out icelanders are eating my favourite bird: the puffin. this is an outrage. i hope monsters devour the icelanders' young.

about the author: evidence lots 24-56

hmm. this is a bit like being subjected to a sigmoidoscope (i'm guessing—i've never had it, never will).

24. i listen to karl pilkington every day.

25. 80% of the text messages i send and receive involve the exchange of "pilk facts" to and from other pilkington fans. it is, probably, the funniest show ever made.

26. as a kid i never won anything in a jew jump. they were still lots of fun.

27. i'm the only person of my type (wasp, tertiary educated) i know who is well-disposed towards israel. you go, israel! it just goes to show that anti-semitism, let's calls it, has nowt to do with christianity or a want of education. indeed, the more educated a person is, the more hostile to the jewish state they invariably are. something for social engineers to think about.

28. my favourite pre-exercise snack is grapefruit. though i suspect a conspiracy among citrus growers to artificially sweeten their crops in order to make them palatable to the moronic, obese pepsi generation. grapefruit just don't seem as pleasingly bitter as they used to be. frowns.

29. whatever the weather i only wear boxer shorts to bed.

30. i miss guy fawkes night (it's fallen into obsolescence). i also miss readily purchasable fireworks (also proscribed by the nanny state).

31. i always panicked when my pacman went off the screen.

32. i don't believe in the existence of god. as i've never seen the slightest evidence of a benign providence apparent in the world. if anything, the opposite is true. i am, however, respectful of catholicism and high anglicanism. but not the rest.

33. i have better taste in everything (except clothes) than anyone i know.

34. i forget a new name the instant it's conveyed to me. i have to write it down.

35. to avoid confusion, and in conscious imitation of english public school practice, i address everyone (including girls) by their surnames. unless threatened by human resources.

36. my greatest talent is thinking up, on the spot, funny-derisory nicknames for others.

37. i have no interest in gossip. i don't want to know it. i never pass it on.

38. i don't facebook. i opened an account to see what all the fuss was about, but i've barely used it. i decline all "friends" invitations. my status says "…is busy jellying some eels".

39. i've never sent a shabby card. if i can't find one that's in good taste i fabricate my own.

40. my mousepad is a laminated poster of "a bout de souffle".

41. my favourite drink is fresh lime juice and sparkling mineral water.

42. i did most of my drinking between 16 and 19, and then more or less stopped altogether.

43. my preferred racquet sport is squash (easy on the skill, high fitness demands). everyone else prefers tennis (high skill requirement, easy on the fitness).

44. i've shot one hole-in-one. you'll have to take my word for it. there were no witnesses.

45. "withnail and i" is the film i've watched more often than any other.

46. growing up i competed in gymnastics, athletics, football, tennis, baseball and cricket.

47. i'm anglophile. though that doesn't stop me bellyaching about, or ridiculing, poms.

48. i never accept food or drink when it's offered. don't know why.

49. i got on board with u2 at "october" and disembarked with "the joshua tree". "the unforgettable fire" is their apogee.

50. i don't do memes. ha.

51. my favourite piece of music which i unconsciously hum all the time is elgar's "e minor cello concerto, op. 85".

52. my least favourite piece of music which i unconsciously hum all the time is the oscar peterson and gerry mulligan interpretation of "the surrey with the fringe on top".

53. the thing i hate most in the world is rogers and hammerstein's "oklahoma". closely followed by yum-cha.

54. favourite asian cuisine: thai, japanese and mongolian.

55. least favourite asian cuisine: chinese and indian.

56. i managed to meet jonathan harris (dr zachary smith from "lost in space") before he died. incidentally, i've just seen a website which boasts "why people hate dr smith". why would anyone, in any condition of mental health, hate dr smith? that's mental. he's fantastic. that show is nothing without him.

about the author: evidence lots 1-23

when you've got absolutely nowt to say there's only one recourse left: talk about yourself.

1. i always keep a tin of vichy mints on my desk. partly for the peppermint spritz. but also as a visible reminder of french disgrace and what a laissez-faire foreign policy can lead to.

2. i try to eat all my meals with a soup spoon.

3. i've never been flexi enough to touch my toes.

4. i can't float.

5. i've met morrissey (he signed a rare copy of "education in reverse" but wouldn't sign "james dean is not dead"—so capricious!). i'd never sell it on ebay. so don't make me an offer.

6. i dislike all opera except "tristan und isolde".

7. i still have the yo-yo (a coca-cola fibreglass super-russell) from my first yo-yo season in 1980. the twirl kings put on a demonstration at my school.

8. my favourite shirt collar is the "grandpa" style, though i don't own any. (it's an anomaly.) mostly i stick to button-down oxfords.

9. if i didn't have to vote i wouldn't.

10. i never solved the cube unaided (reading the book is cheating, folks).

11. i gave away or sold almost all my pop music when i was 23. i found i had outgrown it (though i did manage to see "the ramones" before they died).

12. i've lived in the far east. i wouldn't recommend it. the west is much better.

13. politically i am disengaged; not a partisan. but if i had to define myself politically my slogan would be "pro dreyfus, contre dreyfusard". details on request.

14. my favourite book is "franny and zooey".

15. mr burns is my favourite "simpsons" character.

16. i like to get my shirts sewn up the front so they can't be unbuttoned—you slip them over your head. i lost so many buttons brawling in high school i decided to do away with them.

17. apart from fruit, food bores me.

18. i read "doonesbury" every day. i have almost 8000 of them saved on hard disc. funny stuff.

19. having used apples for the last 10 years, i'd never go back to a wintel contraption. to paraphrase hobbes: pcs are nasty, brutish, ugly and slow.

20. bauhaus is the grammar of fascism.

21. my favourite monarch is edward the first.

22. my favourite motivational, kick-up-the-pants book is st. augustine's "confessions". the e. b. pusey translation only.

23. i've been bitten by cats, dogs, ants, spiders, swans, possums and girls.

now that it has been explained to me

what, precisely, a turkey twizzler is, "turkey twizzler" has become my favourite term of abuse and disapprobation. it sounds funny and no one in oz quite knows what they are (you can see the nasty things pictured).

daylight savings is daft

sometimes an assertion is enough.

so it's come to this?

to see who can wear the skinniest-leg jeans?

the good oafs at maxim magazine

have just announced their list of "unsexiest" women with dress-up-barbie sarah jessica parker topping the list. yes. yawn. but some of the anonymous slagging off is quite amusing, e.g. "sjp is a stickperson who looks vaguely like an emu. she is gross."

trudeau is best when

he concentrates on funny, not polemics.

you little thief*

voles have a pretty dismal reputation. mostly for their involvement with the weasels and stoats in the insurgency against toad hall (at least until badger lead a coalition of the willing which routed them). but as this picture (snipped from "the sun") shows, voles also have their humorous side. of course, there's always the possibility that he nicked it.

*recaptioned this post in honour of 80s two-hit wonder feargal sharkey. everyone remembers "a good heart". but no one seems to spare a thought for "you little thief". for good reason, i expect.

impudence

wears a coat of many colours.

my first experience of stingy gender politics

occurred in music class when the slacking teacher, bless her, decided to let us listen to some recorded music of our choice. naturally there was no consensus choice. no one could agree. soon enough though the girls coalesced around duran duran. and by staking out such an extremist position they showed they had no interest in compromise. this naturally radicalised the boys into a solid voting bloc—the boys weren't going to listen to music performed by boys who looked like girls—who sought something equally offensive to the other side. so we pushed for iron maiden. not many of us liked iron maiden, but we felt we had to meet extreme provocation in kind. i forget how the thing ended up. but the experience was instructive. salient lessons struck home. the unbridgeable gap which often separates the sexes. and, ominously, how ruthless girls can be in negotiations.

well, quite

without wishing to lower the tone

i think the producers of "bionic woman" missed an opportunity by not giving her bionic reproductive organs. i'm sure that would have excited some viewer interest and done great box office.

northern hemispherians

who are easily distressed might prefer to stop here.

though we're only mid-way into spring, it was 34 degrees today; the neighbour was splashing in his (un-heated) pool, and the local beach was the most crowded i'd ever seen it. i think someone stole my spring. this feels like a premature summer.

a couple of doozies from "the news of the world"

regarding the rugger world cup final:—

on percy montgomery: "you've got to be some rugby player to wear a new romantic hairstyle—and percy montgomery is some player."

on mark cueto's dis-allowed try: "an agonizing three-minute wait for the video ref ended with stuart dickinson sending a no-try verdict over the airwaves. (stuart dickinson is an aussie, by the way."

extraordinary stuff that.

it's the first time i've read "news of the world". easily the most infantile journalism—certainly the yellowest—i've ever seen. amazingly puerile. it's probably the closest thing extant to "the daily beast" from the evelyn waugh novel "scoop".* who, i wonder, reads this muck?

*a caveat. though i do love that paper's stated editorial policy: "the best stands for strong mutually antagonistic governments everywhere; self-sufficiency at home, self-assertion abroad". very funny.

general election time (again)

the more humdrum an election seems the more mature a nation's politics are. the less excitement the better. governance is a staid business requiring nice judgment. it's not the place for inflamed passions or rabble-rousing. thankfully oz has no populist crackpots like howard dean or pat buchanan or hugo chavez.

both the parties standing are centrist and competent, so the country will be well governed whoever wins the election. as the incumbent government (centre-right) has been in power for 11 years i'm disposed toward a change (centre-left). it's never a good thing in a two-party system for one party to be frozen out of government for long periods. (that happened in 1972 and disaster ensued.) it's important both parties have some adminstrative experience at cabinet level.

my only qualm about a labour victory concerns the sticky business of racism. the labour party is forever trying to endow aborigines with rights (prerogatives, to be exact), peculiar to them, and denied to all other australians. this won't do. let's have no apartheid here, please.

meanwhile the attack ads have been fun. though they're still a long way short of lee attwater's standard of excellence. has any campaign been as much fun as the 1988 u.s. presidential race? not in my memory.

replies

to comments previously left pending.

24 hour party people

did us all a favour, i think, by de-mythologizing the suicide of ian curtis. his death, as rendered in the film, wasn't a consequence of profound melancholia. it was mean, dimwitted and shabby. but the myth rolls on. now anton corbijn (who i only knew as the photogragher who took the covershots for "picadilly palare" and "november spawned a monster") has re-mythologized curtis in the film "control". but is there anything to really eulogize—besides the early death and the nazi embellishments?

there has been some toing-and-froing in these pages about the lines of demarcation separating "new wave" from "new romantic". well joy division and siouxsie and the banshees are new wave. duran duran and spandau ballet are new romantic. you wouldn't confuse them in a police line-up.

this pix also by anton corbijn.

disgusting

the louvre is going to permanently loan part of its collection to a new branch office in, of all places, abu dhabi. why? for money. naturally. so as to fund "new acquisitions" (don't laugh). they say.

this is crazy. those works of art are the patrimony of western civilization. they have no business being on saracen territory.

art is a fixed commodity. the real thing stopped being produced long ago. art is finite and precious. it's not to be given away.

where is french cultural chauvanism when you really need it?

when less(ing) isn't more

doris lessing is this year's nobel laureate. ho-hum. i'm happy to say i've never read one of her 39 books, or even peeked inside. it's very pleasing. you know, i may just inscribe that achievement on my curriculum vitae: "no lessing here".

the nobel prize for literature is a queer thing. in 1970 the prize went to alexandr solzhenitsyn for detailing the horrors of communism. the very next year they gave the prize to pablo neruda who did his utmost to establish the very communism solzhenitsyn had previously described. strange, don't you think?

the prize itself is generally supposed to recognise literary excellence. but that's a misapprehension. the actual remit for the award specifies someone "who shall have produced in the field of literature the most outstanding work of an idealistic tendency". there's the troub. under that criteria t. s. eliot—the outstanding literary talent of the 20th century—is ineligible. but he got it anyway. in 1948. he was too good to ignore.

anyway, why lessing? for perseverance, perhaps? or, more likely, because there's no real brilliance around anymore.

m

are you the person i call if i want a murder?

he's called spiderman

because he can grope 8 women simultaneously.

now that's a real superhero.

another question for hannah

i'm curious to know why advertisers and media buyers are so concerned to attract the attention of 15-25 year olds when, strictly speaking, these are the most penurious people in society (after pensioners). yes, yes. 15-25s are selfish; in that they spend every new pee they come by on themselves. but it's still a paltry amount. compared to a middle-aged man spending his way out of a mid-life crisis, or the shock-and-awe shopping habits of a woman married to chap who "has a good job in the city".

any thoughts?

straight up?

the gentle, misunderstood (according to anti-war democrats, anyway) president of iran, ahmadinjasomething, wowed the crowd in new york by declaring iran had no homosexuals. none. at all. (presumably they've all been executed.) does that mean there's no disco either?

the house that junk built

how apt. the extension to the tate modern is as daft as the stuff housed inside. looks to me like a cheap frank gehry knock off. though i do feel a teaspoonful of sympathy for the helpless londoners forced to foot the bill.

graffiti addendum

there's one i forgot to include. this forlorn scribble was on the temporary fence surrounding the national gallery of victoria during its recent renovation:

"1871
1917
1968
now!"

obviously an undergraduate (sans boyfriend or girlfriend) idling away the spare hours.

i wonder how many passers by would know anything about the paris commune? and would they even care to know? this being oz, my guess is not many.

she knows

i dropped into a chav pub on the weekend—public houses aren't such a chore now that smoking has been proscribed—to watch the jermain taylor-kelly pavlik middleweight fight, and was entertained throughout by a lady chav giving her boyfriend a faultless technical analysis of the strengths and weaknesses of taylor's style.

it's funny because it actually happened.