Sunday, 13 January 2013

"My Father Was Stabbed to Death by the Owner of a Bichon Frise!" "We've All Been There... I'm Sending You My Leaflet."

It is almost two weeks into the New Year and I cannot be the only person who feels that it is too far in for it to still be appropriate to say, 'happy new year' to everyone you see, but customers at work are still firing it at me every opportunity they get in an obvious attempt to hang on to some of the festive cheer, so I suppose I'll jump on the bandwagon, too. Happy New Year to you, my loyal readership! Especially to you, Russia, as I can see from my blog statistics that I have been very popular over there recently for reasons I cannot fathom. Maybe I am extra witty and entertaining in Russia? Or maybe I have a group of Russian stalkers who sit obsessively at their computer and refresh my blog? Or maybe it's just one Russian blogger, inside a Russian blogger, inside a Russian blogger... Either way, I am definitely feeling and appreciating the love from you guys, Russia, so keep it up. I can only hope that you all didn't let your overdrafts rage out of control thinking that the world was going to to end like I did and are now spending the first month of 2013 paying off all the cider you drank over Christmas, staying in on a Saturday night and watching the Top 20 Amazing Power Ballads of All Time instead of going to the pub. (Celine Dion came in at number one, naturally, as she is the queen of power ballads, but Bohemian Rhapsody came in at number ten! Since when was Bohemian Rhapsody a power ballad?! Someone, somewhere, is being paid to do a job that I was made for and they are not doing it well.)

I have decided against making any New Year's resolutions this year as my past efforts have been perfunctory at best and instead of setting myself goals that I will either a) forget, b) immediately break, or c) are so obscure that there is no chance of them being broken, I am going to set myself some realistic challenges. They are as follows:

  •  limit the amount of inappropriate jokes I make at work to two an hour
  • when someone says, "would you like to see a picture of my new grandson?" I will either politely decline or look at the photo and feign happiness. I will not respond with, "oh, golly gosh! Please! There is just nothing that enthrals me more than seeing pictures of babies I don't know!"
  • I will not spend Saturday nights watching Top 20 Amazing Power Ballads of All Time, and especially will not justify it by telling myself, "I'm just waiting until Celine makes an appearance, and then it's going straight off", because I know that I will either a) watch the entire thing regardless of where abouts Celine appears, or b) turn it off after Celine has appeared and spend the rest of the evening listening to her chart topping album Let's Talk About Love. (Obviously, this is just guesswork, as I have never actually sat in at the weekend and listened to Celine Dion's albums... consecutively... in English and in French...).
Anyway. Forget that.

Along with the sudden surge of Russian fans, my blog statistics have also informed me this week that someone searched 'I feel stupid because I can't write' into Google and it took them to my blog... I was initially offended, but when I searched it myself, it wasn't my blog that came up but instead a variety of different articles about how to improve ones self-esteem. (I read them anyway - you can never feel too good about yourself, can you?). It reminded me of the sort of thing someone would write into the Dear Deidre problem pages in The Sun - a paper I would never actually spend my money on but always read anyway because it is always on the table in the canteen at work. Reading The Sun is usually my favourite part of the working day, the main reason being there is a story about murderer on at least every third page and it has some of the greatest front page headlines I have ever seen. Friday's was a particularly good one - a massive, bright red headline reading: 'Sicko Shaved My Shih-Tzu!', underneath which was a photograph of said Shih-Tzu (a before and after photo, showing with and without fur) with its eyes blacked out. Really. The paper had blacked out the dog's eyes, just in case someone recognised it and started hounding it for autographs in the street. I'm excited for Monday's headlines already - it will probably be about a woman stabbing a man to death after he attacked her Bichon Frise or something. And then there will be a letter in the Dear Deidre section from the daughter of the victim telling the tale of how traumatised she is because her father has been stabbed to death by the owner of a Bichon Frise, a scenario for which Deirdre will naturally have a leaflet for, as she has for everything. Honestly, I'm not joking, if you've ever read Dear Deidre (and I'm not saying you have to stand up and admit it - you can just nod silently to yourself if you prefer), then you will know what I'm talking about. Someone will write in with some obscure problem (say, for example, their father has been attacked by the owner of a Bichon Frise), and Deidre will write back, "I know this is a very difficult time for you, we've all been there, and you are obviously feeling sad, alone and angry. Maybe you could talk to a counsellor? I'm sending you my leaflet on People Whose Relatives Have Been Attacked By Owners of Bichon Frises, do let me know how you get on!" The amount of times I have been tempted to write in just for the privilege of receiving a leaflet is verging on ridiculous. I think the only thing to do now is actually write in, so if anyone has any suggestions of hypothetical problems I could have, then feel free to e-mail in your ideas. (Don't use the Bichon Frise idea - not only is it now on the internet for everyone to see, but I also already sent it in and Deidre didn't rise to it. Bitch.).

1 comment:

Alun said...

I can think of a suitably traumatic experience, but I don't want to spoil your next blog