A lighter look at Strictly Come Dancing

I can hardly believe that in a couple of hours, the Strictly Final will be upon us. It has gone in the blink of an eye or perhaps more aptly, in the  sweep of Bruno Tonioli's arm.

Who can forget (much as they'd like to) the tangoing tangerines that were Susannah and Anton. They gave Donald Trump a run for his money in the orange department.

When Anton appeared and disappeared from the folds of here huge frilly skirt, shaking his maracas like a demented cuckoo, we all knew that he'd been paired with a no-hoper and was, as usual, resorting to the comedic effect to keep them in.

My guess is that people are either tired of this ploy or that Suzzanna, not being Ann Widdecombe (thank heavens for small mercies), it misfired. Whatever the reason, they maraced their way out of SCD.

This is Strictly Come Dancing's 16th season and it has gone from strength to strength. I think it is because it follows a formula - the contestants appear to fall broadly into 2 categories - novices with no dance experience and singers or show biz luvvies, most of whom have had some sort of dance training.

Some of the novices find themselves part of a comedy duo, (particularly if they are partnered with Anton) and some discover that they have a bit of rhythm and dance ability, which sets them off on a 'journey'.

Those with dance training get better, with varying degrees of success.

Their success sometimes has very little to do with how well they perform but more to do with how the public perceive them.

For example, previously, contestant Jay was a trained dancer. But dee dums how the women loved him. He sailed into the finals and despite not having the guts to repeat his best dance (the iconic C'est la vie Jive) he won the glitter ball.

Fast forward to this series. Two of the four finalists are trained dancers. For some reason Faye has not received the harsh treatment meted out to poor Ashley.

She lost her father six months ago and has had a hard year, so she entered Strictly. 

Unfortunately, some of the 'public' have taken the opportunity to vent unbelievable hatred and vitriolic comments against her because she is a 'trained' dancer (I am willing to bet these include the same people who voted for Jay to win).

I do miss the first few seasons when Strictly was popular but not huge and social media was almost non-existent - it kept the acid finger tipped idiots from crawling out from under their rocks.

I know this part is not very 'light' but I can't stand the terrible comments and behaviour of some people.

Strictly is meant to be light entertainment and if every contestant was a novice, no matter how much glitter or how many sequins you threw at it, it would be beige and boring.

Another thing that gets on my wick (thank you Len) is when a novice does reasonably well and people call it a 'journey'.

A novice doing well deserves admiration, a round or two of applause or even the glitter ball (Ore, Chris Hollins...). It is however not a 'journey'.

Shaving your head and trekking the Himalayas to test your physical endurance, while searching for your soul, is a journey. Learning to dance on Strictly is not.

The four judges have also had their high (and low) lights this year. Shirley as usual has her favourites. This year she took a particular shine to Joe Sugg and invited him for a cuddle on a couple of occasions after his dance.

Not that I am cynical, but perhaps she is hoping that by embracing Joe, some of his 5 million followers will embrace her as well.

All I will say is, would Len have gotten away with targeting and hugging a young female contestant? I don't think so. 

As if that wasn't enough, she posted a video on Instagram, of her stepping out of a shower cubicle in a negligee and proceeding to do the cha cha cha with a rotisserie chicken from Tesco (I recognised the bag).

It's only a matter of time before Tesco approaches her with a lucrative advertising contract or perhaps she will become the face of Nandos (I am tempted to say KFC but no one can replace the Colonel).

True to form, Bruno has been exuberant and has been flinging '10's with gay abandon like a best man flinging confetti at his good friend's wedding.

Classy Darcey, as always, manages to stay neutral like all good judges should. 

Craig managed to p**s Kevin off, so  well done him. Kevin's diatribe against Craig on It Takes Two, was sulky, silly and entitled. He doesn't seem to complain when his fairy godmother Shirley favours him. 

I am now going to stop to watch the finals. I will be back with some final thoughts.

Well, what do you know, King Kev reigns!!!! Somehow, although he reiterated many times how he wanted to win it for Stacey, he completely abandoned her when the results were announced.

He melted into a puddle on the floor and then was carried aloft on the shoulders of his peers, while poor Stacey was lost somewhere in the crowd.

Fortunately, she had the glitter ball to keep her company.

I heard that Joe's fans/followers are in a state of shock and are having meltdowns on social media.

Well, they did forecast a sprinkling of snow(flakes) this evening, melting upon impact!

Lesson in life - just because you want it, doesn't mean that you get it.....unless you are Kevin Clifton 😏.

Until next September, try and keep it light and keeeeep dancing!

A lighter look at the news

You know the question, 'how do you know a person is vegan?' and the answer -  'they tell you five minutes after you meet them?' Well, I beg to differ.

I differ because it does not take me five minutes, and frankly, I am surprised that it takes anyone that long. Usually you can see them coming a mile away, head and shoulders above the rest of humanity, floating on their moral high ground, halos intact.

Now, I don't wish to stereotype any group of people but for some reason, I presumed that vegans would perhaps lack a sense of humour (or should I say, a funny bone).

Turns out, I was wrong. Recently, they petitioned a village in Dorset called 'Wool', to change the name of said village to 'Vegan Wool'. 

Now don't be embarrassed if you haven't heard of 'Vegan Wool' - not too many people have. 

However, because their cup runneth over with concern for all of God's creatures, big and small, they have also volunteered to give each household in the village a blanket made out of hemp, cotton or banana bark (bet you hadn't heard of that either).

I don't envy the Woolites (soon to be Vegan Woolites). However are they going to make their minds up with the choice on offer?

'Will hemp be a bit scratchy?' they might ask themselves. Or,  'Cotton may be smooth but will it be warm enough?' And, most importantly, 'what the hell is banana bark?' 

This could well be a slippery slope to further demands. They may well wish us to ask Baa Baa Black Sheep if it has any Vegan Wool.

As if Baa Baa and co. doing look confused enough most of the time, we are going to perplex them even further.

A few weeks back there appeared to be a chink of light at the end of the long, dark Brexit tunnel. It has taken such a long time for that chink to appear but tragically, it may or may not last - the operative word being 'May' - who like the light,  may or may not last.

Personally, I blame the whole sorry saga on the person who came up with the name Brexit. At the time, I said that it sounded like a remedy for constipation. I was wrong.

It turned out to be more like a cause for constipation - the longest and most painful one in history. And, we all know what prolonged constipation can result in - piles.

I am going to resist the temptation to name those piles after the sterling men and women involved in the Brexit talks. After all,  I am no Boris Johnson.

Mind you, if I was, he would have the honour of the first one being named after him (if one dishes it out, one has to be able to take it Mr. J).

Until next week, try and keep it light!

A lighter look at the news

Oh dear! It appears that Donald Trump is more unpredictable in victory than he is in defeat. In defeat, he usually shouts 'fake news, fake news', until he convinces himself that it is, indeed, fake news.

He then takes a breadth and continues shouting 'fake news' until he convinces himself, that he has convinced everybody else, that it is fake news.

He then moves on, usually to the next tweet.

That reaction is not a surprise to anyone. We all know that it would take an act of God (the real one, not Ye) for Trump to be gracious in defeat. But it appears, he can't bring himself to be gracious in victory either.

Recently, when the Judge dismissed the defamation case against him, brought by Stormy Daniels, he proceeded to call her 'horseface'.

It appears Ms Daniels is Stormy by name and Stormy by nature because she promptly retaliated by calling him 'Tiny'. Since we all know that she wasn't referring to his girth, that remark must have  cut to the bone.

Something tells me, Mr Trump must regret the animal he chose to draw an analogy to Ms Daniels' face. Horses, as we all know, are anything but 'tiny'.

Talking of which, Piers Morgan decided to mock Daniel Craig (Mr Bond himself) for carrying his baby daughter in a papoose.

'Emasculated' is how Piers Morgan put it. Well, he got pie shoved in his face for that remark. Thank you Harry Hill. 

All I will say is, Daniel Craig could carry his baby in a papoose, stop at a local 'Mother and Toddlers' group, feed his daughter through a man boob feeding bottle, while wearing a skirt and tights, and still look more masculine that Piers Morgan.

At least we now know how and why Piers Morgan is pals with the equally masculine Oompa Loompa across the pond.

Until next week, try and keep it light!

A lighter look at the news

Hear Ye! Hear Ye! I'm afraid no matter how much I try to hear Ye, he doesn't make any sense at all.

During his recent visit to the Oval Office, he said something to the effect that he feels like superman when he dons on his 'Make America grate again' (sorry for the typo) cap.

I thought it was meant to be a cape but who am I to argue with God.

Jokes aside, I thought it would take an act of God to make Donald Trump realise what it feels like to be at the receiving end of verbal diarrhoea and Kanye did just that.

So, I thank Ye but remember tomorrow is Sunday - your day of rest (and respite for the rest of the world).

I put on the news just in time to hear Melania Trump in an interview claim to be 'the most bullied person on the world'.

That didn't surprise me. In fact I had this mental image of her running away from her husband and sitting on top of the world to get away from him.

Sadly not. She was talking about cyber bullying. I am sure all those miserable, lonely teenage victims of cyber bullying are feeling so affiliated with the First Lady.

Awwww dee dums. Poor Melania. Actually, I am a bit chilly as I have been sitting down for quite awhile, so excuse me for a minute while I put on my jacket.



If you have been reading my blog for a while (thank you), you may remember that I suggested that Theresa May should invite Taylor Swift over to 10 Downing Street.

I suggested that Tay May and Tay Tay sharing afternoon tea would be good for her image.

Instead, she called for an election, lost her majority and ended up with that handsome DUP woman as a partner. 

Never mind, I don't hold a grudge, so I will offer my advice again. Only this time, instead of afternoon tea, I suggest a dance mash up between Tay May and Tay Tay.

They both appear to have scarily similar dance moves and the world could do with some levity at the moment.

Who better that Britain's Dancing Queen and America's Pop Princess to provide it?

Taylor Swift Dancing to Cruise at CMT Awards


Theresa May dances on to the stage at the Tory party conference

Until next week, try and keep it light!

A lighter look at the news

Theresa May seems to have developed a rather close relationship with her alter ego, Tay May.

She and Tay May had a blast in Africa, busting some dance moves hitherto not witnessed by anyone, other than the African ants that appeared to be inhabiting her pants.

Undeterred by all the hilarity that accompanied her foray into the political dance world, Mrs. May bravely invited her alter ego to the Conservative Party Conference this week.

For some reason, the backing dancers (the ants) were not invited, so Tay May gave a less robotic, much more confident, enthusiastic boogie, to Abba's Dancing Queen - no less cringey though. 

I rewound the six o'clock news three times and each time I fell about on the sofa, laughing like a three year old being entertained by a clown.

After I managed to compose myself, I  will confess that I was a tad concerned. I wondered if the pressure of Brexit had gotten to Mrs May and if she was doing her version of re-enacting Nero and his fiddle. 

Apparently not. It appears that she was just being self-deprecatingly light hearted about her dancing. Aawwwwww!

I have a sneaky suspicion (ahem) that she is reading my blog. If Tay May accompanies Theresa May to her next Brexit talks and starts twerking........all I will say (to Messrs Juncker, Tusk, Barnier and the Nation) is 'you are most welcome'.

Although, one can only hope that the proceedings are private and that there is no opportunity for filming.

After all, we may want the best deal for Britain but no one has to be visually scarred in the process! 


Talking of alter egos, Kanye West and his alter ego - otherwise known as 'God', are back in the news.

Kanye claims that he is off his Meds and is feeling great. Apparently, he is breathing fresh air, thinking, doing and being himself.

Reassuringly, he says, 'when I say I'm being myself, that doesn't mean I'm being Donald Trump. It means I'm being me "cause I am God" (and just like that, the reassurance evaporates).

Well, all I can say to that is thank God he is not under the illusion that he is Donald Trump (one Donald Trump in the World, is one too many) or some might say, 'thank Ye God'.

Until next time, try and keep it light!

A lighter look at the news

This week Theresa May visited the continent of Africa and took her alter ego 'Tay May' with her. Unfortunately, she also took her dancing shoes along.

When she was greeted with enthusiastic dancing from some youngsters, Tay May got quite enthusiastic herself and broke out some dance moves of her own.

Actually, they were not her own. She was trying to mirror the youngsters' moves but whereas they looked rhythmic and cool, Tay May looked like she was trying to relocate some ants from her pants.

She did appear to have successfully relocated them to her shoulders because she then started some jerky shoulder moves with periodic arm extensions.

Well, to be fair, at least she tried. If she hadn't tried, I would not be inspired to come up with this brainwave of a suggestion (if I do say so myself). 

At the next Brexit talks, Tay May could try twerking. All she'll have to do is make one promise - to stop - and I bet we'll get the best deal ever. 

It might even go down in history as 'Twexit'.

Just one precaution - someone will have to monitor Messrs Banier's and Juncker's pulse rates to make sure they don't hyperventilate.

If you remember last week, Labour MP Dawn Butler (of Jamaican heritage) was very vexed with Jamie Oliver for Jerking rice and selling it in packets in supermarkets. 

Apparently, one should only jerk meat, or perhaps fish, if one is  feeling adventurous. But never rice. That is sacrilege.

St Jamie of Oliver did not get the memo, and not only did he jerk rice, he committed further sacrilege by not including a single jerk ingredient in said rice. Not a scotch bonnet was to be had in the entire packet of rice that he claimed to have jerked.

Ms Butler called it appropriation and suggested that he contact Levi Roots (Mr Jamaica himself) to help him.

This week, by sheer coincidence, someone sent me a box of Ainsley Harriott's Goan Spiced Chicken Soup.

Now,  I have lived in Goa for 30 odd years. In all those odd years, I have never come across any soup like the one described by Ainsley (coincidentally, of Jamaican heritage).

Nevertheless, since I said in my blog last week, If it looks good and it tastes good, keep calm and eat it, I decided to put my food where my mouth is ....and I wish I hadn't. 

It did not look good, it tasted even worse, and subsequently, I did not feel the need to keep calm. In fact, I flipped ...... the box to check the ingredients.

Mixed spice powder (coriander, cumin, chilli, paprika and turmeric), garlic and coconut cream along with  1% chicken powder. In other words, curry masquerading as soup.

On an aside, what the hell is chicken powder? I have gory visions of someone hanging a slaughtered chicken out in the sun to dry (we've had the summer for it), then pounding it and grinding it and taking a pinch of it to add to Ainsley's Goan chicken soup.

Also, since when does 1% of anything, allow it to pose as the  main ingredient?

I remember the most popular soup I consumed as a child, growing up in Goa. It had onions, tomatoes, stock and rice or pasta in the shape of tiny alphabets.

Not the biggest culinary delight I'll admit, but if Ainsley Harriott had flogged the real thing, I would have polished it off, along with a ladleful of nostalgia.

Until next week, try and keep it light!









  

A lighter look at the news

Recently, a Goan politician (an ex-Chief Minister, no less) appeared to suffer from 'Foot in Mouth' disease, when he had a dig in the Legislative Assembly at Goans who work abroad, particularly those who have used Portuguese passports to come to Europe.

'Toilet cleaners in Heathrow' he labelled them disparagingly. (I am paraphrasing). Did anyone present correct him? Well apparently not. They found it hugely funny and even thumped tables in accompaniment to their laughter. 

Unfortunately for Pratapsingh Rane, what gets said in the Legislative Assembly, does not stay in the Legislative Assembly, so he found himself walking into a s***storm of his own making.

Sadly, all the toilet cleaners have left Goa, so he is left to clean up after himself.

You don't have to look any further than the first four letters of his name, to define this man and his behaviour.

Usually, it is Jamie Oliver who takes the moral high ground on all things culinary but this time, he was at the receiving end as  Dawn Butler tweeted this in response to his packets of 'Jerk Rice'.

(((Dawn Butler MP)))

✔@DawnButlerBrent

#jamieoliver @jamieoliver #jerk I'm just wondering do you know what #Jamaican #jerk actually is? It's not just a word you put before stuff to sell products. @levirootsmusic should do a masterclass. Your jerk Rice is not ok. This appropriation from Jamaica needs to stop.

10:02 AM - Aug 1

Takes me back to when I first came to Britain many years ago and was truly puzzled that Indian Cuisine was reduced to one word: 'Curry'. 

When I lived in Goa, curry was either fish, prawn or chicken curry in a coconut base. Every other dish had its own name. However, I soon got used to it and confess to going down the 'curry' route myself.

I genuinely don't care. Food should be joyous and shared and not a bone of contention between cultures, although I quite understand Dawn Butler's irritation with the ever sanctimonious Mr. Oliver.

If it looks good and it tastes good, I would say, Keep Calm and Carry on Eating.

Until next week, try and keep it light!

A lighter look at the news

You may or may not have noticed that I haven't done the 'lighter news' for a few weeks. Fortunately, it is the summer and it is 'silly news' season, so most of the news has been light anyway.

I did watch with interest the run up to the meeting between the President across the Pond and everyone's friend, Jean Claude Juncker.

Trump had previously labelled the  European Union a 'foe of the US' and the day before Juncker's visit he also tweeted this :

Not to be outdone, Juncker retaliated with 'we can also do stupid'.

It was like watching a sequel to Dumb and Dumber.

Both men have egos the size of the continents they come from and being the best, is all that matters - even if it means being the best at being stupid!

Talking of stupid, Boris Johnson decided to propel himself into the news yet again. Having resigned as Foreign Secretary, he found that the only basking he could do in pastures new, was in natural light, otherwise known as the Sun.

There was not even a glimmer of limelight to be had, so he put pen to paper (or digits to keys) and had a go at burka clad women.

The best punishment for him would be total indifference. Not giving him the oxygen of publicity would be devastating to him. Unfortunately, that did not happen.

Theresa May was the first to be outraged and demand an apology, conveniently forgetting that she appointed him as her Foreign Secretary despite  his previous racist comments.

Remember his comment that Tony Blair would be met in the Congo with 'water melon smiles'? Not to forget the other chestnut, and I quote, 'The Queen has come to love the commonwealth because it provides her with a regular supply of flag waving picaninnies'.

So it's a tad hypocritical for her to now be jumping up and down on her designer clad feet, shouting protestations. 

Besides, I think his comment is pretty idiotic anyway. He compared a burka clad woman to a bank robber and a letter box. 

One would deduce that if a burka clad woman looks like both, a letter box and a bank robber, then a letter box and a bank robber would look similar. But they don't.

Mind you, I think a bank robber would rather like to resemble a letter box. It would make escaping so much easier. All he would have to do is run around a corner and stand still.

Now I know why Mr Johnson's hair looks the way it does. It probably is in a permanent state of shock at what goes on beneath.

We've done stupid and we've done dumb and dumber. Now we'll move on to the dumbest of them all.

A woman decided to breastfeed her child while eating her lunch at a Subway restaurant in a Walmart store, somewhere in the USA.

This did not please the man in charge, so he asked her to cover up or move somewhere to the back. She objected. This pleased him even less. 

So, the Einstein of fast food chains, then came up with what he probably thought was the perfect analogy to draw, in order to help this uncooperative mother, who was hell bent on nourishing her child, understand where he was coming from.

He asked her how she would feel if he whipped out his Boris Johnson (he may have used another word) and peed everywhere.

I'll wait for a minute for you to pick up your jaw and for your eyebrows to descend.

In my opinion, three things need to happen. First, the 'Manager' needs to go back to education and attend all those Biology classes he skipped, paying particular attention to the human anatomy of both genders.

Next, someone needs to confiscate his passport. Can you imagine him visiting countries where women, and society, have the audacity to think that breast feeding is natural, and therefore, do not feel the need to slink off somewhere to feed their babies. 

He may feel compelled to let his good old BJ make an appearance every time, with the threat to pee all over the place. Not a good look at all.

Finally, he should be forced to look for a change in employment. Somewhere, where there is absolutely no chance of him encountering lactating mothers, with the inconvenient desire to feed their children.

A coal mine seems ideal. And with Trump planning to revive the coal mining industry, his future certainly looks good, in fact I would go as far as to say that his future looks orange.

Until next time, try and keep it light!

A fly in the ointment

I don't know about you, but I am a 'shower in the evening' kind of person. I don't see the point in sliding out of clean sheets in the morning and jumping into the shower, only to collect dust and grime through the day, not to mention taking said dust and grime to bed at the end of the day.

Not that I am judging....just expressing my opinion. Anyway, I was getting ready for my shower a few evenings ago, when lo and behold, there appeared a house fly.

I opened the bathroom windows in an attempt to encourage it to leave. I waited patiently, as it messed with me, appearing to head towards the open window, only to swerve like a Red Devil at the last minute and do a somersault above my head, buzzing all the time.

At some point I must've blinked because it disappeared. Being the optimist that I am, I concluded that it must've forgotten to swerve and ended up flying out of the window.

Before it could fly back in, I hastily closed the windows. I got into the shower feeling quite pleased with myself but as I pulled the shower curtain, guess who joined me in the shower?

Having craftily hidden in the folds of the shower curtain,  Gertie was now in full volume. Yes, I named it. I couldn't possibly share a shower with a stranger.

Not sure why I chose the name 'Gertie'; possibly because it rhymes with 'dirty'. Apologies to anyone called Gertie who may be reading this. But don't complain to me, talk to your Parents.

I ended up having the most frazzled shower of my life. My attempts at aiming the shower nozzle at Gertie only resulted in water ending up on the bathroom walls and ceiling. In fact, everywhere except on the damn fly.

After the quickest shower known to mankind, I got out of the bathroom, shut the door and decided to be the 'bigger' person. Feeling like a Zen master in training, I channelled my inner Buddhist and decided to let Gertie live out its 24 hours on this planet.

I decided to use another bathroom. Fast forward 24 hours, and I got ready to have my shower. I looked for Gertie and alas!(hypocritical, I know, but I was still channelling my inner Buddhist) I saw its lifeless body on the window sill.

I went to pick it up, when it did a Lazarus on me, buzzing in delighted anticipation.Why the 'anticipation' you might ask? 

Well, I realised that between the heat and the tepid water, I was creating a tropical paradise for Gertie.

It was having the best of both worlds. Had it lived in a tropical country, it would have had to face the inevitable danger of its arch enemy, the fly swat.

I broke my own record for the quickest shower known to mankind, and got the hell out of the bathroom.

Fast forward yet another 24 hours. I stepped into the bathroom and the Methuselah of the fly kingdom rose to greet me. I did not care. I was as smug as Gertie's close cousin, the bug. I had invested in a pair of water proof ear plugs.

Not sure if I imagined it but I thought I saw Gertie's wings droop a little with disappointment. It did not last long because my shower did and Gertie deliriously basked in the tropical paradise I'd once again created for her.

After my shower, I was subjected to Gertie's 'gratitude' dance. Ear plugs still in place, I was able to ignore it. Next, Gertie got flirty as it buzzed sweet nothings in my ear. Still no reaction from me.

Not used to this lack of attention, Gertie decided to take it one step further and perched between my eyes. 

Now, we are all told that when one sense is disabled, the other senses are sharpened. That goes for reflexes too, I guess.

Before I could stop myself, my hand slapped my forehead and just like that, Gertie was gone  (along with my aspirations to be a Zen Master).

I consoled myself that in house fly years, Gertie was probably 300 years old.

I stuck my face out of the window to respectfully scrape off what was left of Gertie. As I did so, Gertie no.2 and her friend Bertie flew in. Talk about instant Karma....

A lighter look at the news

He came (unfortunately), he didn't see (the protesters probably looked like so many ants from his helicopter) and he certainly did not conquer (unless one counts Piers Morgan, but one wishes not to). 

From Britain, Donald Trump proceeded to Helsinki, to meet Putin and to attempt to make Russia great again. Unfortunately for him, the proverbial hit the fan.

Now, I don't know if his advisers are getting tired of cleaning said fan, but they came up with an excuse so lame, it came with its own crutch and knocked 'the dog ate my homework' right off the top of the list of 'all time crappy excuses'.

Apparently, Trump says that he 'misspoke' and said 'would' instead of  'wouldn't'. Yes I know - crutch time! 

It is scary the difference omitting two letters with an apostrophe in the middle, can make. I can see a scenario where DT apologises to the world - 'Sorry folks, I misspoke, I said, 'do push the button' when I meant 'don't push the button'. Sorry folks.'

How did his pal Vlad say thank you? He gave him a football. Trump proceeded to throw the football to Melania. 

Now, I am not stereotyping but Melania looks like she has played a game or two of volleyball in her time. Shame she didn't smash the ball right back.

Missed your opportunity to become a living legend, Mel.

In the meanwhile, Susanna Reid has said that a whole lot of people - left wingers, right wingers and male feminists - are putting pressure on her to quit her job on Good Morning Britain. (The irony of male feminists telling a woman what to do. Old habits die hard, I guess.)

The reason for their demand, is the person who sits next to her - her co-presenter Piers Morgan. There is a furore over his contrasting interviewing methods with Ash Sarkar and Trump's former adviser, Steve Bannon. 

He brayed like a demented donkey at Ms Sarkar and played all nicey, nice with Mr Bannon.

Which begs the question - why demand that Ms Reid lose her livelihood on account of his actions? Why not demand that ITV sack Piers instead? 

Or, here is a radical idea - just don't watch the show. There is one thing every TV presenter and his/her show depend on for their survival - Ratings.

But then, where is the fun in common sense, as opposed to self righteous indignation, protestations, not to mention  attacking the wrong person. 

Burberry have apparently burnt excess stock (bags, clothes, etc) worth 28 million pounds. A strange phenomenon occurred when I read that. 

As I picked my jaw off the floor, the biblical proverb, 'it is easier for a camel to pass through the eye of a needle........ 'crossed my mind simultaneously. Such a peculiar coincidence.

Nevertheless, I have a suggestion for Burberry. I understand (somewhat) that you don't want to sell your precious stock at  reduced rates, lest your customers decide to play the waiting game.

So, to start with, why not sell goods at their original, eye watering, exorbitant rates and with the left over stock, have a badge sewn on, that says something like, 'second time round' and give the proceeds to a charity of your choice. 

Children affected by war, Women who are victims of domestic violence, Malaria, Abused children, Cancer research, Feeding the hungry..... you are spoilt for choice.

Fashion is creative. Creativity and imagination go together, like a hand and a bag, so stop showing such embarrassing lack of imagination and get creative with your left over stock.

No thanks necessary, although I am open to offers for the post of 'Adviser'. My fee would be less than 1/50th of the value of your burnt up stock and I may even consent to an interview with Piers Morgan.

Until next week, try and keep it light!

A lighter look at the news

Last Thursday, a circus came to town but has now, thankfully departed, taking its ringleader with it. The ringleader, typically, caused jaws to drop with astonishment at his antics, but in this case, not in a good way.

Air Force 1 crossed the Atlantic and landed on British soil and the President of the free world prepared to descend the stairs. Next to him was the First Lady. He tentatively grazed the knuckles of his small hand against hers.

I held my breath in  anticipation of a Wimbledon inspired whack of the little hand. Unfortunately, on this occasion, the First Lady capitulated and let her hand be grasped and together they descended the stairs.

There were between 50,000 to 100,000 people demonstrating on the streets of London but Donald Trump and his sensitive ego were shielded from them, as he was transported from one venue to the next, by helicopter. 

Not that they should have bothered. Even if he was driven through the thick of it, I suspect his response would be the same, as the one he gave the journalist who asked him for his reaction to the thousands of protesters - 'the British people love me'.

That evening, Theresa May hosted a red carpet dinner at Blenheim Palace. She arrived with her husband, resplendent in red (Tay may not her husband) followed by the arrival of America's First couple.

Melania glided along, looking like a daffodil with wings, alongside her husband, looking like an orange moth clad in black, with no wings.

The military band started to play and I half expected them to strike an impromptu version of 'Lady in Red' in honour of our Tay May (or 'Tie a Yellow Ribbon' in honour of Melania). Unfortunately, they stuck to protocol and it all went smoothly.

The next day, Trump and Melania met the Queen. Don donned on the same dopey grin he'd donned on when he met the Pope. Queen Elizabeth II has probably played host to a few misogynistic narcissists in her time, so for her, it was just another day at the office.

There was a news conference that beggared belief. At one point, DT refused to listen to, much less answer, a question posed by a CNN reporter. 'You're CNN - Fake news' he said dismissively, turning away. 

Can you imagine what would happen if Theresa May refused to answer a question from a BBC or Channel 4 reporter?

How does a democratically elected President of a free country, get away with that sort of behaviour?

After a couple of golfing days in Scotland, he is now on his way to Helsinki, to meet his good friend Putin. Perhaps Putin will show Trump how to twerk his man boobs while fishing bare chested. It doesn't get more manly than that.

One can only hope Putin will have dried off, after the downpour at the trophy giving ceremony at the end of the World Cup Finals.

Come to think of it, that should not be a problem, considering at the first hint of a raindrop, a massive umbrella covered Mr. P, while his guests, the Presidents of France and Croatia, got soaked to the skin in the heavy downpour that followed. 

Tsk, tsk, such bad manners with the whole world watching.

Btw, Congratulations France and well done Croatia.

At another great sporting event, the Wimbledon Ladies' Final, two sisters-in-law sat next to each other. Because of their privileged status, they occupied front row seats in the royal box.

Kate and Meghan looked lovely and relaxed, chatting to others and each other, with the occasional smile. Nothing out of the ordinary. But, according to Meghan's father, Thomas Markle, he can see the pain and sadness behind his daughter's smiles.

I agree. I too saw sadness behind her smiles. I actually detected some misting of the eyes as well. Only natural, considering her good friend Serena, failed to win her 24th grand slam title. Not, I suspect, as her father claims, because she is unhappy being a royal and misses her acting career.

One would choose to offer the same advise to Mr. Markle as one has already offered his motor mouth daughter Samantha - stop talking. 

Stop making public, unsubstantiated comments and start building trust. Not pontificating, just offering some friendly advice. Take it or leave it.

I suspect  if a tick box appeared next to each option, 'leave it' would probably get ticked before you could say 'sparkle markle' (sigh) One can only try.

Until next week, try and keep it light.

It's not Coming Home

I have never been less enthused about a World Cup Football Tournament, than I have been this  time round. For some reason, the whole World Cup Football hype escaped me.

Was it because it was held in Russia? Quite likely. I am not a fan of homophobia or (alleged) Novichok on British soil.

Apologies, if I am tarring everyone with the same brush, but that is how I felt and is possibly, the reason for my unusual indifference.

But then, Gareth Southgate and his merry band of  English footballers started playing and I, along with the rest of the country, got sucked into the heady euphoria of possibility, and dared to hope, one game at a time.

There was cautious optimism but, unfortunately this evening, not enough nerve and conviction. But who can blame them? They brought us further than any one predicted and made the World Cup so much more exciting for English football fans.

Well done England!

To the ardent English football fan(atic) who had 'England, World Cup Winners, 2018' tattooed on his thigh, my suggestion would be to go back to the tattoo parlour and have a fresh tattoo below it, saying, 'fake news, fake news'.

Finally, am I the only one who thinks the football song/chant, 'It's Coming Home', is jinxed? It hasn't come home since 1966 and no amount of singing/chanting appears to encourage it to come home.

I suggest a new battle cry. Something with no tune and no words. Just positive, good vibrations. I am sure Gareth Southgate would approve. 

Next time, it might actually come Ommmmm.......

A lighter look at the news

You may or may not wonder why Brexit has not figured in  my blog posts recently. I have a confession to make - a guilty (albeit innocent) secret.

The topic of Brexit puts me to sleep. Literally. Such good news for an insomniac like me. I tuck myself in bed, think of Brexit and before you can say 'Jean Claude Juncker', I am in the Land of Nod.

Who said nothing good would come out of Brexit?

Meanwhile, I am not sure if Melania Trump has resigned herself to join them because she can't beat them (them being her husband and his cronies).

Why else would she decide to visit the children separated from their families at the borders and held in 'tender age' camps,(a good decision - her visit, not the camps), and then proceed to wear what appears to be a bespoke jacket that reads, 'I really don't care, Do U?' (a very bad decision).

For someone who got an 'Einstein' visa to the US, that was a rather dumb thing to do. 

I have a suggestion that might help Melania, if the backlash gets too much. Do what her husband's good friend Roseanne Barr did, to recover from her own b(l)acklash: start planting, digging the earth and singing.

And while digging, make sure she buries that awful jacket.

While on the topic of insensitive behaviour, on Fox news, a Democratic Strategist, asked a former Trump Campaign manager, Corey Lewandowski, his opinion on a 10 year old Down's Syndrome girl being separated from her mother on the Mexican border.

Mr Lewandowski's dignified response? 'Womp, womp'.  

In the meanwhile, poor Sarah Huckabee Sanders, the White House Press Secretary, booked a table for eight, in her husband's name, at a restaurant called 'The Red Hen' in Virginia.

When the staff realised who was dining at their restaurant, they called the owner, who immediately made her way to the restaurant.

Apparently, she took a vote with the staff (a few of whom were gay and most of whom were not happy with the immigration debacle) and based on their wishes, she took Ms Sanders to the patio and requested that she leave.

Ms. Sanders said fine and left with her party. She later tweeted this:

Awwwwwww!! Such a delightful and confident insight into her own psyche and personality. 

I have two words to say to Ms Saunders, and considering the company she keeps and the administration she works for, it should make sense to her, 'Womp, womp!' 

Apparently, Trump supporters are set to protest in front of the restaurant. In other words, they are going to show their support for the Orange Rooster, in front of the Red Hen. 

Until next time, try and keep it light!

A lighter look at the news

Did you watch the new, revised (can't say improved) Teletubbies' show, which was aired on Tuesday? I found it surreal, fascinating and oddly entertaining in equal measure.

There was an orange teletubby who we shall call OTT and a beige one who we shall refer to as BO. The orange one was delirious with excitement and looked like he'd just been dropped in 'Laa Laa' Land (on his head) while the beige one remained 'Po' faced.

The only time the beige one's expression changed was when the orange one asked the photographers to make them look handsome and thin. He cast him a disgusted 'speak for yourself' look. Someone should have told OTT  that they are photographers, not miracle workers.

Through the whole thing, OTT behaved like a five year old who'd just discovered that Santa was not from the North Pole but from North Korea and could possibly be responsible for him receiving his most desired gift - a Nobel Peace Prize.

Hands were enthusiastically pumped, important documents were signed, self praises were sung and declarations were made as to the enormity of the success of said meeting.

If they could've sealed the deal with a teletubby body bump, they probably would, but mercifully they didn't. 

I say mercifully, because the height difference would probably result in the shorter one being whacked in the face with belly flab (and goodness knows what part of the taller one's anatomy the shorter one's belly would be whacking). 

Now that it's over, I wonder how long before one of them goes 'uh-oh' and starts tearing up the documents, leaving poor Noo-noo to clean up the mess.

Before leaving for Singapore, Donald Trump attended the G7 meeting in Quebec. At some point, he decided to 'score' his opponents.....oops, I mean, allies.

His man crush, Emmanuel Macron got a passionate '10' (of course),

Ange Merkle got a '10' as well (he wouldn't dare give her anything less) and Justin Trudeau got a '10'  (which may have since been revoked).

What did our Tay May get, you might ask? Well, she got nothing. Zilch, nada..... the same result as her Brexit talks, thus far.

A few days ago, Roseanne Barr tweeted this:

Unfortunately, she has kept her promise and has been 'speaking for herself in media' way too soon. If only she had carried on planting digging in the earth and singing, she would not be the only one feeling a great deal of relief.

Until next week, try and keep it light and if lightness eludes you,  try planting trees, digging in the earth and singing.