This week I was in London. As I recline in my Ikea Jerrik Swivel Chair and consider the events of the last few days, several in particular jump out at me and present themselves as Blog-worthy. None of them really are, I just don't have much else to say; it's been a lean week. Haha. You'll laugh later.
Katie Price to Quit Music
That's right folks - you heard it here first. Except you didn't, because we all knew it was definately going to happen when she announced her intentions about going into music in the first place. And what does that even mean anyway? At which point did her ever being 'in' allow her to qualify to 'quit' the music business? She was never 'in' music. Idiot. According to our friends at Marieclaire.co.uk, the star (again, negligible use of the word 'star') has decided to arrest her efforts at making music, after her single, Free to Love Again, flopped, reaching just #60 in the charts. Basically it was terribly and amazingly awful. Quelle surprise. No but really, I had thought, going on past occurences of similar nature, that a washed-up topless model (who are often renowned for their wide range of talents by the way) would be really good at singing! Whoever said that is a moron. Her agent probably. Having just listened to the song again, I'm frankly surprised it got as high as #60. The poor thing's probably got vertigo, given the lowly place it truly deserves. She attemps a kind of Madona/Gaga dance trip, but instead achieves a rather unimaginative computer-generated drone. The backing instrumentals aren't great either.
Also, 'Free to love again?' Not with that picture love. Looks like she's been taken for a joyride by Hector from the Illiad. If you didn't get that joke, then I apologise for all of the above. Because you're probably a Katie Price fan.
McDonald's, I'm NOT loving it
This week I have uncovered a fact about the world's best-known fast food chain that is more groundbreaking than Watchdog, You Are What You Eat and Supersize Me combined. Upon entering the aforementioned establishment on the 23rd of July last, I fixed my gaze on their oh-so-colourful electronic wall-mounted menus. Oh the modernity. My eyes came to rest upon one item in particular; the Quarter Pounder with Cheese. Now, I didn't have enough cash for a 'meal'*, so I thought I'd go for the staple QPwC. No problems you say, wap your quid on the counter and be done. No no, it costs £2.99. That's ALMOST THREE POUNDS! That, my friends, is a disgrace. Firstly, they never used to be so expensive. And secondly, the name suggests that the thing should cost a sixth of what I paid for it. In case McDonald's haven't noticed (and I'm so sure they haven't), a quarter of a pound is 25p. Maybe an extra 2p for the plastic masquerading as cheese, but essentially, a Quarter Pounder with Cheese should cost 25p. Plus cheese costs.
*Their use of the word 'meal' is so far from the truth here, it almost becomes 'meat'. Oh the irony.
Food vs Shoes
Forget bullfighting in Catalonia, the battle worth recapping this week is the one I had with the National Express bus driver, on my coach home from London. Contrary to what they said about doing their best to 'assure my comfort and safety', it turned out you can't have food on the coach. And I was Marvin, as they say down there.
"You can't take food on mate. Food smells, see? Drinks are alright though, they don't smell".
Now, I took issue with several things in the Driver's immaculately gramatically structured parlance. Firstly, food does not always smell. MY food smelled, but that was because it was a bit of dodgy cheese and a positively biohazardous megabag of roast beef flavoured Monster Munch (incidentally, have the people at Monster Munch ever even tasted roast beef?). However, you know what they say; same rules apply for all. So if little Jimmy No Mates in seat 47 is allowed a Taz bar, I should be allowed my pungent sarnies. Secondly, drink sometimes does smell. What if someone brought some milk on? It was 28 degrees in London that day...
So we cannot eat food on the coach, yet people are permitted to remove their shoes. Let me tell you, I'd rather choke down a load of ageing cheesey sandwhiches than have to sit in front of the bare-footed Miss Hot Dog Jamaica 1995 for 2 and a half hours. Trust me, I did both.
In summary then, this week I discovered, and have since proved, the following three things. Or facts, as they are now known:
1. Katie Price is, has been, and always will be, rubbish. In every sense of the word imaginable.
2. McDonald's are conniving little cheats, who employ false advertising as a building block upon which to murder the whole planet through cholesterol overdose and other heath-related complications.
3. National Express Group PLC employ fascist, illogical drivers with no common sense or rationale regarding odour prevention.
So, another positive week then. Here endeth the lesson.