I DON’T normally follow hype and try to avoid anything that is labelled ‘must-see’, ‘must-read’ or ‘block-buster’.
I think I may be one of the only people in the civilised world who hasn’t even seen one of the Lord of the Rings trilogy and have no intentions of doing so, much to my friend’s lament.
Not even the newfound love of Orlando Bloom that I am experiencing since watching Elizabethtown can convince me to watch them, or the fact that they have just been on terrestrial TV, thus cutting out the effort needed to go and buy or rent them.
I have only seen the first Harry Potter film, and while I did enjoy it, after seeing recent interviews with the stars I’m boycotting the rest. I understand these youngsters have grown up in the spotlight, but don’t they just know it.
I don’t like watching or reading things that I can’t believe in, like schoolboy wizards, or aliens fighting intergalatic wars, or strange little things with giant feet traipsing about New Zealand looking for a ring (I presume).
The only time before now that I have become involved in the ‘hyping’ process was for Bridget Jones and her two diary instalments, making sure that all those within my reach were told to read the books and watch the films.
This time I have given in to the peer pressure, and can be found at most free points of the day with my nose in Dan Brown’s Da Vinci Code.
I’ve had it from all sides — ‘you’ll really enjoy it’, ‘what, you’ve not read it?!’, ‘you won’t be able to put it down.’
Every time I was on a train or a bus there would be at least three or four people with the tome. When my friend returned from a holiday earlier in the year she said there were at least two people in each row of the plane reading it.
I was determined that I would not follow the hype, but since hearing that it was going to be made into a film, which I would end up seeing, if only in a series of trailers, I decided I should at least try it. Now I literally can’t put it down.
I tried to get into it a few times, but I was too caught up in the terminology to concentrate and move forward through the story.
I started it from the beginning again on Friday. It’s now Monday and I am more than three quarters of the way through it. And that’s only been reading a few chapters in snatched minutes throughout the day and night.
Every time I think: “I’ll just read to the end of this chapter,” something else happens and I have to read on.
In this case I think the hype is well-deserved, and agree with narratives used on the dust jacket such as ‘breathless chase’, ‘exhilaratingly brainy thriller’, and yes even ‘the pulp must-read of the season’.
With music, it’s entirely different. My Favourite Ex is my ‘trendsetter’ in what I should and shouldn’t be listening to at the moment.
He gives me tips about what is going to be big, or just goes out and buys me it, which is nice. Already I’ve been able to get Jack Johnson, KT Tunstall, Stephen Fretwell and Jamie Lidell in my collection before the universal hype explodes.
I’ve been avoiding a bit of self-generated hype myself of late.
Although I’m still utterly confused about how I’m now feeling about him, I’ve continued to stay successful in ‘distancing’ myself from him in the last few weeks. Which is a joke considering we live more than a hundred miles away from each other.
I found out last weekend that he’d been out with his most recent (and probably favourite) ex on a date-ish night out.
The problem was, because the two incidents of my lack of communication and his reunion coincided, he put two and two together and got a jealous ex.
But I felt nothing — no jealousy, no hurt, no malice — just complete indifference.
Of course the Law of Sod came into play: the more I denied it, the more he believed it. But I just left him to it — I knew that I wasn’t jealous. It was a real turning point for me.
Which in turn worried me. I wasn’t about to fool myself that years of hype were only going to lead me to one day when I would just lose all feelings for him.
I do feel like I’m on the road to recovery. And I’ve got ‘the pulp must-read of the season’ to help me along.
Thursday, November 24, 2005
Tuesday, November 01, 2005
Friends indeed
BEING surrounded by friends and loved ones makes you realise how lucky you are just to be little old you.
Sitting at the top of the dinner table I felt like a proud Italian mother looking at her brood. With only a few exceptions outwith control, I had overcome the logistics of getting all of my friends in the same room at the same time; something that had never happened before, and probably will never happen again.
Before I could get to this content and nostalgic state I had to tackle a hung-over Glaswegian missing the bus; a settee not being delivered on time; a blocked drain and the inability to find something to wear, despite having spending power — it’s always the way isn’t it!
I’m usually a nightmare shopping anyway, but I usually give myself the best part of the day for shopping expeditions such as this. I must have put two of my friends, who actually managed to get the bus on time, through a living hell.
By the time I had met the suffering straggler I had my outfit sorted — all I had to do was get home to condense the long and stressful process of ensuring five women had suitable appliances, power points and mirror space to get showered, dried, straightened, made up and dressed into two hours.
As the birthday girl I was seated at the head of the table. It was quite fitting actually — after all they do say your friends are the family that you choose, and for the purposes of the evening I was the Mama.
I’m very lucky to be able to call these people my friends. They’ve been there through all the good times, and more importantly, the bad times.
You could almost make a dateline using them to chart different periods of my life.
Firstly you have my best friend, who out of all of my friends is the one who I’ve known longest. My favourite memory is seeing her walk down the street with a ‘for sale’ sign over her shoulder after a Hogmanay party.
Then you have my two flatmates from college, who I was thrown together with seven years ago when we were youngsters away from home for the first time. Our friendship continues to grow and grow and I know we will always be close, even if it’s not geographically.
Then there is the college classmate who lived on my bedroom floor for the majority of term time — the one who had earlier missed the bus; the one who once put dry pasta in my microwave and the one who has glitter ingrained into her skin.
Joining her at the other end of the table, and from that era of my life, is a friend who started as a friend of another college friend. She gives the best advice, regardless if you want it or not. Next to her was another college friend who I had lost touch with in recent times. She’s just such a nice person, and perhaps didn’t deserve being put through the said shopping trip from hell.
Since returning from college days I’ve been privileged to meet another group of fantastic people.
There’s my pre-engaged friend — waiting after six years for her boyfriend to give at least some indication of an impending marriage; MNBF (My new best friend) with whom I clicked in a major way after (and not because) I groped her live on stage;
My frustratingly single friend, and recent holiday companion, who makes a good impression on everyone she meets. It’s just a pity she can’t do a good impression, though I think her ‘Paul Daniels’ is magic; The friend who knew I would join her falling about the floor laughing at ‘golden parsnip’ crisps. She thinks she’s the last to know everything, when in fact she’d be one of the first people I’d tell anything;
Another friend who has embraced the love of beautiful shoes and haute handbags, but has never seen a complete series of Sex and the City; and finally the one who last weekend was faced with the dilemma of saving her hair or £60 handbag from the rain, and who led the way to the Manhattans and French Martinis of a bar Carrie and the girls would be proud of.
Excuse me for being poetic now, but I suppose the relationship I have with my friends can be summed up as being like a cocktail; the main ingredient being me, with all different flavours added for contrasting results.
I really hope that in years to come I can still count on these people as my friends. I would hate to look at pictures from the night years from now and say: “What was her name again?”
Regardless of where they are, or the length of time between our meetings I couldn’t imagine my life without any of them. Our friendships have remained strong and true in the face of adversity, some for as long as eight years, so I’m confident they will endure whatever comes in the future.
Sitting at the top of the dinner table I felt like a proud Italian mother looking at her brood. With only a few exceptions outwith control, I had overcome the logistics of getting all of my friends in the same room at the same time; something that had never happened before, and probably will never happen again.
Before I could get to this content and nostalgic state I had to tackle a hung-over Glaswegian missing the bus; a settee not being delivered on time; a blocked drain and the inability to find something to wear, despite having spending power — it’s always the way isn’t it!
I’m usually a nightmare shopping anyway, but I usually give myself the best part of the day for shopping expeditions such as this. I must have put two of my friends, who actually managed to get the bus on time, through a living hell.
By the time I had met the suffering straggler I had my outfit sorted — all I had to do was get home to condense the long and stressful process of ensuring five women had suitable appliances, power points and mirror space to get showered, dried, straightened, made up and dressed into two hours.
As the birthday girl I was seated at the head of the table. It was quite fitting actually — after all they do say your friends are the family that you choose, and for the purposes of the evening I was the Mama.
I’m very lucky to be able to call these people my friends. They’ve been there through all the good times, and more importantly, the bad times.
You could almost make a dateline using them to chart different periods of my life.
Firstly you have my best friend, who out of all of my friends is the one who I’ve known longest. My favourite memory is seeing her walk down the street with a ‘for sale’ sign over her shoulder after a Hogmanay party.
Then you have my two flatmates from college, who I was thrown together with seven years ago when we were youngsters away from home for the first time. Our friendship continues to grow and grow and I know we will always be close, even if it’s not geographically.
Then there is the college classmate who lived on my bedroom floor for the majority of term time — the one who had earlier missed the bus; the one who once put dry pasta in my microwave and the one who has glitter ingrained into her skin.
Joining her at the other end of the table, and from that era of my life, is a friend who started as a friend of another college friend. She gives the best advice, regardless if you want it or not. Next to her was another college friend who I had lost touch with in recent times. She’s just such a nice person, and perhaps didn’t deserve being put through the said shopping trip from hell.
Since returning from college days I’ve been privileged to meet another group of fantastic people.
There’s my pre-engaged friend — waiting after six years for her boyfriend to give at least some indication of an impending marriage; MNBF (My new best friend) with whom I clicked in a major way after (and not because) I groped her live on stage;
My frustratingly single friend, and recent holiday companion, who makes a good impression on everyone she meets. It’s just a pity she can’t do a good impression, though I think her ‘Paul Daniels’ is magic; The friend who knew I would join her falling about the floor laughing at ‘golden parsnip’ crisps. She thinks she’s the last to know everything, when in fact she’d be one of the first people I’d tell anything;
Another friend who has embraced the love of beautiful shoes and haute handbags, but has never seen a complete series of Sex and the City; and finally the one who last weekend was faced with the dilemma of saving her hair or £60 handbag from the rain, and who led the way to the Manhattans and French Martinis of a bar Carrie and the girls would be proud of.
Excuse me for being poetic now, but I suppose the relationship I have with my friends can be summed up as being like a cocktail; the main ingredient being me, with all different flavours added for contrasting results.
I really hope that in years to come I can still count on these people as my friends. I would hate to look at pictures from the night years from now and say: “What was her name again?”
Regardless of where they are, or the length of time between our meetings I couldn’t imagine my life without any of them. Our friendships have remained strong and true in the face of adversity, some for as long as eight years, so I’m confident they will endure whatever comes in the future.
