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. 

Another lighter look at this week's news

Raheem Sterling came under fire this week for having a tattoo on his leg. Now, you may not think that it is unusual for a footballer to have a tat, but  Raheem's tat is of a gun. Little wonder everyone is up in arms about it (no pun intended).

He has tried to explain the reason for his choice. Apparently, it is in honour of his father, who was gunned down when he was just 2 years old.

Strange reason, but it's his life, his choice, his tat and his leg. Unfortunately for him, his reason did not appease the hard core objectors.

They appear to have offered him two choices - have it removed or, failing that, have him removed from the England team.

Now, as I said, his reason may appear strange but let's face it, he is a footballer, not a rocket scientist. 

Perhaps he thinks, unlike real guns, instead of shooting bullets,  his gun will shoot goals for England at the World Cup. (It was scarily easy for me to get into the mind of a footballer).

Nevertheless, I have two counter suggestions for Mr. Sterling. First would be to pull his socks up to his knees and keep them there at all times (double sided tape should do the trick).

Second suggestion, tattoo some roses around the gun and claim to be a Guns and Roses fan. If you are reading this Raheem (all footballers, particularly the Beckhams, love my blog!) -  you are most welcome.

I feel sorry for Roseanne Barr, I really do. She had the misfortune of having a sleepless night (one presumes), so she gulped a couple of Ambiens (just discovered they are sleeping pills) and unbeknownst to her, she and her tweeting thumbs turned racist.

In the throes of her Ambiens induced trance, she appears to have discovered the antithesis to Einstein's theory of relativity - in other words, she has discovered the theory of unrelativity.

Einstein's equation: E (Energy)=mc2 (mass x speed of light squared).

Roseanne's equation: MB (Muslim Brotherhood) + PoTA(Planet of The Apes) = VJ (Valerie Jarrett). 

Now, she really should have stopped there. But she didn't. 

Apparently, she claims that she did not know that Ms Jarrett was Black. She commented to a fan, 'I really thought she (VJ) was Persian and Jewish'.

The last time I checked, being a bigot is just as bad as being a racist. ABC has now cancelled her show.

Oh dear, what a way to lower the Barr.

Talking of people who should know when to stop talking, Germaine Greer, who should have stopped talking after the sixties were over, has come up with yet another infuriating 'opinion'.

Rape, she says, is just 'bad sex' and victims of rape do not suffer from trauma.

Now, I am not sure if the cause of this vitriol are the fumes she inhaled from all those burning bras (and their underwires) or if she was, indeed, never a feminist in the first place.

Perhaps, she happened to be in the right place, at the right time, saw a niche and, putting her disdain for her own gender to one side, jumped right in.

There is a suggestion that she is trying to get publicity to flog her soon to be released book. I'd rather eat the raw eye of a fish, than disclose the name of said book (if I knew it).

Anyway, when her book does get published, I am sure it will fly off the shelves, if her demographic readership is misogynistic, violent men.

Most women, and right thinking men, wouldn't touch it with a barge pole.

Until next week, try and keep it light!

Teeing off .....Another lighter look at the weekly news!

The Royal Wedding has come and gone. Everyone and their Uncle, Aunt and distant cousin has had their say. Even yours truly gave her two cents worth in her previous blog (under valuing, she knows - what can she say? She's modest).

You'll be relieved to know, that I am now going to stop speaking/writing in the third person.

Moving on, however, seems to be difficult for a certain sister of the bride. The Markle who doesn't sparkle appears to have shifted her attention from Meghan to Meghan's mother.

Samantha Markle has had the gall to suggest that Doria Ragland is cashing in on her daughter, by agreeing to an interview with Oprah Winfrey.

First of all, I think someone is suffering from an acute case of sour grapes, as Ms Winfrey hasn't asked her for an interview (as if she would). 

Second of all, someone needs to tell Ms Sour Grapes that Ms Winfrey hardly needs to pay people to interview them. Being interviewed by her is reward enough.

I am quite sure, if and when, this interview takes place, Doria Ragland will conduct herself with the same dignity she did at her daughter's wedding.

In the meanwhile, the paparazzi and tabloid press appear to, once again, suffer from a conscience by pass, as they continue to pursue Thomas Markle.

It's bad enough that the poor man ended in hospital just before his daughter's wedding, they continue to come up with photos and headlines such as 'Meghan's Dad goes to Starbucks for a Coffee after heart op.', (conveniently ignoring their role in the said 'heart op').

Besides, in what universe is a man going to Starbucks (or any other Coffee house) for a coffee (there's a surprise) pass for 'news'?

When my husband asked if I'd like to go to Wentworth to watch the PGA Championship, I politely declined. Serves me right for being polite, because he went ahead and bought the tickets anyway. (I'm sure I'm not the first woman who's husband suffers from selective deafness).

Up until now, I have not been a fan of golf. The only experience I have had of golf, is playing it on the Nintendo Wee, although, I am pretty good at it there, if I do say so myself.

So, yesterday, while I did not kick and scream, I exuded a 'slightly inconvenienced' air, as we drove to the train station, took the train and then a bus - my inconvenienced air going from 'slightly' to 'highly' with every mode of transport.

Turns out, I quite enjoyed myself. There was a lot of walking to do, a lot of looking at men pondering small white balls and gauging distances from the balls to the holes.

The distances can be short, medium or long, my husband pointed out helpfully. Just like everything in life then, including the height and girth of the human race.

One golfer (I'll spare his blushes and not name him) had the misfortune of hitting the ball onto the public path. Very quickly a crowd gathered in anticipation of seeing him hit it back to where it was supposed to go.

He was cool and even joked that he had done it deliberately. Everyone was rooting for him except for five teetering, sniggering,  young men (I am being polite)

Anyway, he swung his club and beautifully whacked the ball - and the smiles off the faces of the jackasses - (to hell with being polite). The Italian lady next to me put it best in one word - 'bello!'

She also used her arm to replay the trajectory of the ball, which I found very helpful, as when that small white ball is airborne, it turns invisible to my eye.

Notice, I haven't tried to use any golfing terms - I don't want to embarrass myself - I'll leave that to sniggering idiots (I am on an impolite roll now).

Highlight of the day? Catching a glimpse of Rory McIlroy.



Just before I finish, did you know that Doria Ragland's life is back to normal? She even took her dogs for a walk the other day.....I truly despair!

Until next week, try and keep it light!

A lighter look at the news - 19/5/18

As if it wasn't bad enough that Meghan Markle had to go through the stress of her father's ill health and last minute inability to attend her wedding, guess who piped up to give her two bit worth (and I am being generous).

It was, of course, estranged half-sister Samantha, mastermind behind the staged photos of their Dad and 'author' of Diary of Princess Pushy's Sister, who insinuated that either her Sister (Princess Pushy) or Kensington Palace, have been putting pressure on her not to talk to the media.

Such a shame that they haven't succeeded so far. 

Since I have the time, but certainly not the inclination, this is a condensed version of her diatribe. 'This is not Great Britain. I am a US Citizen. In this Country we have Freedom of Speech'.

All I would say to that is, 'This is Great Britain and in this Country we have Freedom of turning a Deaf Ear to Freedom of Speech, when 'speech'  is merely words-strung-together-with-intent-to-malign'.

Paradoxically, she claims to have bought a wedding present for her sister. I wish she had consulted me first. I would've suggested a present that would be priceless, yet not cost a dime. Her Silence. 

Said silence would be golden to the Royal couple (and the rest of the world).

Actually, I am being rather harsh. She does seem concerned about their father, Thomas Markle. 'He is all on his own', she laments. 

Well, here's another suggestion Samantha (I am on a roll) - hop across the border and keep him company, like the dutiful daughter you claim to be.That way you may also avoid getting hurt in paparazzi chases (real and imagined). 

Another way to avoid getting hurt of course, is to stop chasing them.

Meanwhile, the other sterling sibling, Tom Markle Jnr. is in Britain. Apparently, he hasn't thought twice about putting a border and an ocean, between their convalescing father and himself.

'Open letters' Tom has, unashamedly, gone from being scathing to grovelling. Something tells me a reality show on the Malevolent Markles is not too far off.

Talking of families and reality shows, Kim Kardashian got into a spot of trouble for sucking a lollipop, albeit, a lollipop of the appetite suppressant kind.

She enthused how amazing they were, on Instagram, with a pic of her sucking on one. She urged her followers to hurry up and buy them, as the first 500 were up for a 15% discount.

Not free - just 15%. Perhaps that was all the company could afford,  after paying Kim her touting fee. Nevertheless, the we-are-not-amused brigade came out in full force.

The most vociferous among them was actress Jameela Jamil, who, besides calling Kim a toxic influence on young girls, proceeded to say, 'Maybe don't take appetite suppressants, and eat enough, to fuel your brain.'

That is rather harsh, considering Kim does look like she eats enough. It's not her fault that it goes in the opposite direction to her brain.

A few thoughts on the Wedding of the Year (don't want to hurt Will and Kate's feelings by calling it the Wedding of the Decade).

Meghan looked stunning in her dress, which was classically beautiful. Someone on social media criticised it for not being Royal enough, due to the lack of frills.

Here's a news flash - Meghan is a modern woman, who doesn't need frills to look or feel like a Princess. Having said that, I think the 15 foot veil was a brave choice, considering one of her page boys was Prince George.

Did she not hear of his attempts to gleefully jump on the train of his Auntie Pippa's wedding dress, when he was her page boy?

Perhaps she did, which is why she chose two older (and, more importantly, bigger) page boys to help manage it (and George).

In my opinion, one of the stars today, was the Very Reverend Bishop Michael Curry, who delivered an animated, yet significant, sermon, not just to the Couple, but to the world at large.

However, the real star to me, was the Mother of the Bride, Doria Ragland - the only family representing Meghan.

She was dignified, calm, graceful and ever so slightly emotional - not an easy job to pull off in normal circumstances, much less, when the eyes of almost 2 billion people are upon you.

I think I will take up Yoga again. 

Alas! I do have a rant. Nothing to do with the Wedding per se but everything to do with its coverage.

The constant zooming in on James Corden and the Beckhams, got on my last nerve. In fact, my last nerve doesn't exist any longer - it gave up after the 105th zooming in on the Beckhams.

David Beckham looked like he couldn't see the wood from the tattoos and Victoria appeared to be sucking on a sour version of Kim Kardashian's appetite suppressing lollipop.

Nevertheless, an amazing celebration of a lovely couple's wedding,  with glorious weather to match.

Good luck to Meghan and Harry, the spanking new Duke and Duchess of Sussex


Until next week, try and keep it light!

A lighter look at the news

No sooner had the two Korean leaders clasped hands (no ordinary clasping of hands but full on entwined fingers) and had given each other coy sideways glances, then some deluded people started whispering the 'N' word and Donald Trump in the same breadth.

Yes, there were suggestions that Trump could possibly be bestowed with the Nobel Peace prize. I am sure he blushed a deeper shade of orange when he heard that.

However, Trump being Trump, he couldn't help himself. He withdrew the USA from the hard fought Iran Nuclear Deal and has, I am assuming, put paid to his chances of getting the Nobel Peace Prize (if he had a chance in the first place).

However, all is not lost. In view of the Golden Shower rumours, he could still get the not-so-Noble Piss Prize.

Back in April, Tom Markle Jnr., Meghan's big brother, was so incensed at not receiving an invite to the Royal Wedding, he dipped his pen in poisoned ink, and fired off a spiteful little open letter to Prince Harry. 

He said some pretty awful things about his sister and proceeded to urge Harry to call off the wedding as it would be 'the biggest mistake in Royal Wedding History'.

That letter achieved a few things but calling off the wedding wasn't one of them. It did achieve an understanding as to why she did not invite her siblings in the first place.

Mission unaccomplished, Tom Markle Jnr. decided to change tack. This time, the pen was dipped into ink overflowing with remorse and sycophancy, not to mention pleading.

Pleeeeease, pleeeeease Meghan, may we come to your wedding? Pleeeeeease, we're the only family you have. (You may have guessed that I am para phrasing).

Well, you may be the only family she has, but a family with no loyalty is worse than no family at all. Besides, she has Harry now.
Good luck to them next Saturday.

Until next week, try and keep it light!

A lighter look at the news

Kanye West decided to do his bit for gun control. Like his alter ego, Jesus Christ, he decided to embrace humility and claim to have a 'hero' (other than Donald Trump).

To this end, he tweeted a picture of Emma Gonzalez with the caption: 'My hero, Emma Gonzalez'. 

He must've been so overcome with his grand gesture as he waited in anticipation, for an effusive and gushing thank you of simpering disbelief. He waited in vain.

Cue, grand gesture number two. Mr. West shaved his head to emulate his hero's shaved look. He tweeted a pic of  himself in all his shiny pate glory, with the caption,'inspired by Emma'. 

This time there was a response - Ms Gonzalez tweeted a similar 'My hero' captioned picture.

Alas! The pic was not of Kanye. It was, deservedly, of James Shaw Jr. the man who tackled and disarmed the  suspected mass shooter  in the Waffle House Restaurant in Tennessee, with his little daughter.

Awww, nothing worse than unrequited hero worship. Never mind Kanye, I am sure you and your  bruised ego will bounce right back, after you have dipped into that dragon energy you share with your 'brother' Donald.


Amber turned to red and the Cabinet is now Rudderless. I apologise, I can't help myself sometimes.

Sajid Javid has replaced Amber Rudd as Britain's Home Secretary. Sadiq Khan of course is London's Mayor. The two have similar sounding first names, similar Asian backgrounds and are close in age. Something tells me, they may well become the Ant and Dec of politics.

Bruno rocked up to the start of  Dancing with the Stars wearing a come hither look and an outfit that can only be described as mutton dressed as baby zebra. Oh dear! Someone give the man a cloak.


In the meanwhile Germaine Greer appeared on ITV's 'This Morning,' dressed age appropriately, in other words, mutton dressed as mutton.

She managed to annoy a lot of people with her opinion on the upcoming Royal Wedding. She said and I quote, 'I don't want to be the wicked witch. If I say that I think she will bolt, I'm probably saying I hope she will bolt.'

If you are not intellectually predicting it but emotionally willing it, that by definition makes you a wicked witch GG.

Also, she appears to be turning her coat on the Sisterhood, claiming that the #metoo and timesup movements are filled with whingeing band wagon jumpers.

I am sure that is true of some women (as there will always be, regardless of gender) but to tar everyone with the same brush is ridiculous and highly insensitive. 

To add insult to horrible injury, she holds the men who have been at the receiving end of sexual harassment, up as shining examples of non advantage takers.

What rock was she residing under  when Cliff Richard was falsely accused by a man? 

I wonder what item of clothing she'll chose to burn this time, to show her support for men - her Granny knickers perhaps? Mind you, they might serve as a blanket and put the fire out instead.

Until next week, try and keep it light.

A lighter look at this week's news

I was pleasantly surprised (and relieved) to see that Melania Trump can actually smile, albeit, it took a French Emmanuel to achieve this miracle.

In fact, she positively beamed on occasion during the Macrons' visit to the US and was ever so slightly coquettish, when the French President held her hand for a beat longer than necessary.

Unfortunately, also beaming and being quite coquettish with Macron, was her husband and it appeared to be reciprocated. But then again, you don't get to bear the name Emmanuel and not attempt to love everyone....saints, sinners, buffoons... the lot.

Talking of buffoons, Kanye West was probably including me as part of the 'mob', when he tweeted, 'The mob cannot make me not love him (Trump)'.

Now, this may come as a huge shock to you (and your ego) Mr. West, but I, for one, have no intention of stopping your love fest with Trump. In fact, I have a suggestion.

Since both of you are no strangers to reality shows, why not start one and call it 'Doh West', although, 'Carry on Trumping' would probably be a more apt title.

Pleasant surprise number two came when Melania smiled again! This time at Barbara Bush's funeral. Ironic, that most of the time she looks like she is  attending a funeral (or sucking a lemon or tangerine) but when she actually attends a funeral, she smiles!

I am being slightly disingenuous, it's not as if she was beaming through the whole service; it was when past Presidents and First Ladies (and a lady photo bomber) posed for a photograph.

I found that photograph fascinating - first of all, you had smiley Melania (possibly brought on by the absence of a certain President) with her arm around Michelle Obama's waist.

Then there was George Bush, with one arm around his wife, Laura and the other around Hillary Clinton, who was smiling delightedly.

Never mind that her hubby appeared to be relegated to the background - he might as well have kept the photo bomber lady company (unless her name was Monica Lewinsky, of course).



DJ Chris Evans recently claimed that our Queen (Elizabeth II) loves ABBA and that her favourite song is 'Dancing Queen'. That is a relief. Being the cynic that I am, I had a sneaky suspicion that it might be 'God Save the Queen'.

I am talking about the official version of course, not the Johnny Rotten version. It would be of serious concern if that was her favourite.

Another titbit to appear is that she doesn't like garlic. Why is that a surprise to anyone? One would not want one's breath to smell while one meets and talks to important people.

Now, One, who blogs to important people (and can therefore love and eat garlic) has to bid one goodbye and implore one to try and keep it light until next week (but if one gets tempted, one should indulge in moderation).

A lighter look at the news

Queen Elizabeth II celebrated her 92nd Birthday and a grateful nation had a concert in her honour, to say thank you Ma'am. 

Somehow, while inviting artists to perform at the said concert, the organisers appeared to forget in whose honour it was supposed to be.

Now, I am not suggesting that we are the kind of family that sit together and watch programs like these, but it happened that we were at my Mother-in-Law's, sitting around the dining table, when the program came on.

Blissfully, it was something we could all watch and, my girls in particular, were relieved that they  did not have to squirm at the goings on, on the TV, whilst Grandma was in the room, as has happened on previous occasions.

At one point, the presenter, Zoe Ball, squealed and enthused with delight, 'the next artist has come all the way from Toronto, Canada (for those of us who don't know where Toronto is). Shawn Mendes!'

I wish he had stayed in Toronto, Canada. I almost fell asleep in my soup by the time he'd finished his song. Then there was Anne Marie (I am going to pretend that I knew who she was).

She was dressed in a green and white polka dot outfit, not unlike a  50's Stepford wife, ready for a day at the beach. I would like to say she was more entertaining that Mr Mendes, but I can't, because she wasn't.

Then, the unlikely alliance of Sting and Shaggy. At least Mr. Boombastic woke us up, although not in a good way where Elizabeth Regina is concerned, I fear.

Not sure the Birthday girl wanted to hear Mr. Lover, Lover inform her that he was smooth as silk and had great sexual physique and  was well built.

I held my breadth for his next song and was mightily relieved that he did not choose to let her Majesty know what he did on the bathroom floor with the girl next door. 

The Queen probably thought that was it, but little did she know that Craig David was about to pop up, telling her all about this 24 year old girl (rub it in with the 92 year old, why don't you) he met on Monday, who he took out for a drink on Tuesday and guess what they did on Wednesday, Thursday, Friday and Saturday.

Not something you should be bragging about to someone old enough to be your Grandma, Craig. It doesn't matter that you chilled on Sunday. I don't think she cares - she is still recovering from what you did on Wednesday, Thursday, Friday and Saturday.

No wonder she looked quite grim most of the time. She only appeared to crack a smile when Laura Mvula hit her high notes. And when Alfie Boe finished his song, I thought I lipread her saying something complimentary to the person sitting next to her. Can't remember who it was, someone Royal would be my guess.

Guess who Donald Trump's been tweeting against this week? I don't think you'll need more than one guess, but then again, we are talking Trump's tweets, so you might need some help.

It is the former FBI Chief, Mr Comey, who gave his first interview since leaving the White House and what he had to say (shock, horror) wasn't pleasant.

He alleged that Donald Trump treats women like pieces of meat (I never would have guessed) and that he lies consistently (knock me down with a feather why don't you).

Formidable linguist that he is, Trump dipped into his vast vocabulary, to come up with the most sophisticated  insult he could think of - 'Slimeball'!

Mr Comey is probably still reeling and doesn't know what hit him...but then again perhaps he does.... a slimeball!

Until next week, try and keep it light!

A lighter look at the news

Poor Mariah Carey experienced the fright of her life recently, when she was booked into a $30 a night hostel in Barcelona. Turns out, it was to do with some advert she was sponsoring.

She was appeased to discover that the room had a specially fitted cocktail bar and an en-suite bathroom. Thanks heavens for that - I can imagine Mimi demanding a jewel encrusted, bespoke commode, if there wasn't one.

Anyway, Mariah was so taken by the novelty, she said, 'It was fabulous. Give Hostels a go!' 

Well, Mimsie dear, it may come as a surprise to you, but as it happens, most of us have experienced $30 hostels. However, really glad you enjoyed it so much. Btw, good plug - HostelWorld must be very pleased.

I am a little concerned that the longer Donald Trump is the President of the US, the more he is beginning to believe that he is the Country itself, rather than its top representative.

I am talking about his reaction to the FBI's search of the premises of the lawyer who allegedly paid Stormy Daniels.
Mr.Trump tweeted that it was a 'disaster' for the country.

To give him the benefit of the doubt, he may have meant that if incriminating evidence was found (it would be 'fake' obviously), he may have been forced to resign and that would be a disaster.

I agree, if that happened there is a possibility it may have been a disaster- America may have run out of Champagne!

As it happens, nothing was found and the 'disaster' was averted. The future is still Orange.

Another of my concerns is that Theresa May is stooping her shoulders more and more these days. You know me - I am all heart, so I have a suggestion.

Just like most athletes listen to their favourite inspirational song before an important match or track event, I suggest Tay May do the same. Once again, being generous of heart, I have done the research and have come up with the perfect song.

All she has to do is just fit in her earplugs before those pesky Brexit talks and feel the strength and stability return.

ps. If the 'English Man' is Tony Blair, do us all a favour Mrs. May and grant his request - just make sure you're wearing six inch Stilettos! 

We know that Jesus Christ forgave his enemies, even when experiencing the most excruciating pain while being crucified. Now, if you are a Labour supporter, you will be touched to learn that  Jeremy Corbyn is big on forgiveness too.

Our modern day JC has said, and I quote, 'I forgive them. It's ok, I've got over it.' What terrible suffering did they inflict on him, that warranted that grand gesture of forgiveness?

They are Camden Council who turned down his application to be a trainee Social Worker, way back in 1969! Well Mr Corbyn may have forgiven you, Camden Council, but I bet there are lots of others who haven't. 

Until next week, try and keep it light! 

A lighter look at Stating the Obvious

Have you ever wondered why we waste so much of our time, energy, and words on some of the things we say? Perhaps not, but, unfortunately,  I do. So, lucky you, I've decided to write about it.

Just in case you're wondering what on earth I am talking about, let me paint a scenario. You've returned from a holiday, very relaxed, possibly a little smug. You then bump into an acquaintance.

'You're back from your holiday?' they ask. 'No', you think sarcastically, 'didn't want to end the holiday, so I sent my double.'

Of course, to their face, you say 'Yes!' enthusiastically and proceed to give unasked for details, whilst your acquaintance's eyes glaze over and they wish you indeed had sent your double and were still in Hawaii or where ever else you'd been to.

Another example, is someone saying, 'Don't mean to stick my nose in'. Well, good old Pinocchio is definitely lying and has every intention of sticking their nose in.

I am sure most of us would love to say, 'Didn't think for a minute that you were going to. Thank you for your consideration'. 

Instead we suffer through some well intended but hardly original, advice.

Yet another one is, 'Don't take offence but...'. Loosely translated, that means 'Brace yourself because I am about to offend you'. Unfortunately, I can be at the receiving end of those words, particularly when my girls' are critiquing my outfit and/or make up.

So, sometimes, I guess, it can be genuine. Far be it for me to cause embarrassment by making the wrong choice of outfit or make up before I leave the house.

Mind you, talking about leaving the house, I was about to go shopping the other day, when my eldest requested that I buy a new drink - Mango flavoured Coke (I know).

Just as I was about to step out, I got another reminder. 'Please don't forget the Coke'. For her sake, I wish she'd stopped there. Unfortunately, she added, 'only if they've got it'.

Well, this is my daughter, so I replied, 'I will try my best to get it, even if they don't have it!' She harrumphed her displeasure but didn't say anything (must've really wanted to try that drink quite badly).

Just before shutting the door, I poked my head in and called out, 'no offence!'

A lighter look at the week

Apparently, Bake Off's 52 year old Paul Hollywood is dating a woman 30 years his junior. Just to confirm, in case your Maths is not up to scratch, he is dating a 22 year old woman. 

Apparently, Mr. Blue Eyes met her at a pub where she worked as a barmaid and where he'd gone to arrange a surprise party for his then wife. 

I'm sure that wasn't the kind of 'surprise' his wife was looking forward to.  Nevertheless, let it be a lesson to all of us. 

If you know that your husband is arranging a surprise party (and you will always know, there isn't a man alive who is canny enough to pull off a surprise party for his wife without her knowing) make sure it is at your home, where trust worthy family and friends are involved - not 22 year old barmaids.

An added bonus is that you will be clued in and can work on your Oscar winning 'very pleasantly surprised' facial expression and reaction.

But then again, not many husbands are millionaire celebrity bakers  with piercing blue eyes, that manage to hypnotise 22 year old women, so you are probably safe in a pub or restaurant. Less tidying and washing up to do.

The one that (almost) got away.....

Very occasionally, I get bitten by the 'clean up' bug. I cannot emphasise the 'very' that preceded the occasionally. However, I did get bitten, which proved very unfortunate timing for the little potato (Steve McQueen) pictured above.

From what I can gather, Mr McQueen wasn't keen on ending up in one of my curries, casseroles or as a perfectly crisped up roast potato. So he forged a plan.

He retreated to the further-est corner in my vegetable cupboard and cooked up his Great Escape.

He grew appendages, although I am unsure whether he intended to morph into a spider or an octopus. Possibly the former, as there would be better opportunity to crawl out of my cupboard rather than swim out of it.

To cut a short story even shorter, Stevie Mac (as I affectionately called him during our 10 minute acquaintance), is now happily rotting in peace in my compost bin.

Talking of potato heads, Greg Wallace  has managed to annoy a whole nation and no, it's not Britain, he has been doing that to us for years. It's Malaysia.

Greg was scathing on MasterChef, while critiquing a Rendang cooked by a lady of Malaysian origin.

On the off chance that you reside under a rock and only come out to read my blog (I flatter myself) and you haven't heard of 'MasterChef', it is a cooking program on  TV. 

Participants jump through culinary hoops in a bid to win the 'MasterChef' title.

In Britain, there are two 'Judges', one is a chef called John Torode and the other....how can I put this politely - I can't, so I won't - is a glorified greengrocer called Greg Wallace.

As the show has gone from strength to strength, so has Mr. Wallace's ego and facial contortions.

Coming back to the incident that sparked a nation's fury,  a contestant cooked a Rendang (chicken - or any other meat - stewed in coconut milk and spices). Mr W took one bite and declared that the skin wasn't 'crispy'. 

Unfortunately, he did not stop there (he rarely does). He proceeded to chide her over the fact that he would like to taste the sauce but he couldn't, as all the sauce was on the skin.

Now, I am not a bad cook (if I do say so myself) but when I cook a Goan chicken curry (coconut milk and spices), it would take a miracle for the chicken to have crispy skin.

This is what I shouted at Mr. Wallace via the medium of television. Apparently, I wasn't the only one. The entire global Malaysian population, including the Malaysian Prime Minister, erupted on social media.

Did Mr Wallace bother to whisper those two words - 'mea culpa' - that may have assuaged their anger? Of course not. Come to think of it, I am still recovering from his pronounciation of Bacalhau and Rendang, so perhaps 'I am sorry' would be preferable.

Anyway, instead of an apology, he chose to offer an 'explanation'. Apparently, what he meant was that the skin was not cooked. Which begs the question, why did he not use words like 'raw' or 'under cooked'? 

Brings to mind Mark Twain's quote, 'Better to remain silent and be thought a fool, than to speak and remove all doubt.'

In an attempt to play Dec to Greg's Ant, Jon Torode tweeted something about Indonesian food and ended it with a breezy 'namaste'... and Malaysia erupted again!

Should've gone with 'salamat datang' John, google is just a click away.

Until next week, try and keep it light.