I sometimes wonder what goes through the minds of friends and family - that I haven’t really seen too much of since I moved to the better side of the border - when they read my blog (if they read my blog). At the risk of opening a HUGE can of worms, they will have memories of me racing around in my various Fiats/Fords/Mazdas, not entirely with due care and attention; they may have witnessed me ‘singing’ or ‘dancing’ in public (thankfully in the days before YouTube); and… they may recall me swimming across frozen lakes, failing to stay on a bicycle, crawling around a pub on my hands and knees, running down the middle of Wareham High Street in the style of Superman, or falling asleep for 29 hours………. All as a result of a little drink or two. Then again…. who hasn’t done those things? (anyone???)
The reason I write this is because it is Saturday night, there are several enticing pubs within three minutes walk of here (I am back in Ullapool), and yet, here I sit, with Strictly…./X-Factor/I’m a celebrity…./Match of the Day/The thick of it for my entertainment, and mugs of coffee as my drink of choice. I know I know…. I’m not 19 anymore (as Jane often reminds me) - at least, not physically. But it is a bit sad, isn’t it? I’m even missing (Inverness) BSM’s Xmas bash tonight. To further rub it in, the landlady of the B&B I am staying in says the earliest I can have breakfast tomorrow is half-past eight, ‘because she is going out for a drink tonight’.
But it’s not sad. Becoming a driving instructor was the best career decision I ever made, and that brings responsibilities. I had an hour’s gap before today’s last lesson, so I went to The Ceilidh Place for dinner. I would have loved a beer (even just a half-pint), but I’m NEVER going to turn up for a lesson with even the faintest whiff of alcohol on me, so it was mineral water for me. Equally, I have lessons in the morning, so I cannot afford to really have a drink tonight either. Face it, would you want your son/daughter’s instructor smelling of alcohol?
Consequently, where, once upon a time, a Saturday night blog might have looked like this,
“WOWW waht a great nigh thatwas………………… U sshuold have seeen it when squirty && i were danc ing on thetable !!!!!!!!!!!!!!”
You now have to endure my sober musings on the crap on telly.
Strictly….. I’m losing interest now. Despite the racism-row, the injuries, Arlene being sacked and, now, Ricky being arrested on suspicion of assault, it still seems to be getting a little….. dull. Actually, maybe I’m being unfair because Chris and Ola’s Charleston was definitely not dull. In fact, there were parts of it which wouldn’t have been out of place on the television stations favoured by MPs’ husbands. But, apart from that, it’s not the same now that Tuffers and the other, sweatier, Ricky have gone.
X Factor…… It’s rubbish, isn’t it. You can imagine the original pitch: “We are going to find someone different, someone who stands out, someone with that je ne sais quoi…… someone with….. THE X FACTOR.” Instead, we get a parade of variably talented people, who have any traces of originality squeezed out of them by the format and the ‘mentors’. You end up with a karaoke show which merely highlights why acts such as Queen, George Michael, Elton John and even Take That didn’t need any help from the likes of Cowell and co. You have to admit, despite the hairstyle, Simon Cowell is a clever man; but I can’t think of anyone I would be more embarrassed to have as my dad. The other week he actually used the word “chicks”, then, tonight, he prefaced his critique with lecherous comments about the “cute” girl in the audience (the camera didn’t show the girl failing to hold back the vomit).
I’m a celebrity get me out of here…….. Well, in my limited experience, it is certainly the best of all the reality TV shows; a much more interesting scenario than simply sticking people in a house. And Ant & Dec are more talented than I think they are generally given credit for. People moan about the Z-list celebrities, but would it really be that much better if it were Tom Cruise, Whitney Houston and Simon Cowell were in there instead of Joe Bugner, Gino Di Campo and Samantha Fox?
Having said that, I’ve had an idea: If the Government are serious about tackling ‘binge-drinking’ they should insist that Simon Cowell sits in the jungle, chewing Kangaroo anuses every Saturday night. Who would rather go out to the pub than watch that?
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