Wednesday, January 28, 2009

Nuts vs The Economist

I sat on the tube today next to an oversized, odorous man reading a copy of Nuts magazine. What exactly is the point of Nuts? The editors would no doubt say it's a one-size-fits-all mag with everything in it a bloke wants; cars, football and boobs. But really, it's about the boobs, isn't it? If a bloke wanted to know more about cars and football, he'd buy GQ or Exchange & Mart or Goal! (is there a magazine called Goal! - ? There should be). So who it's for is men who want to look at boobs while sitting next to repulsed women on the tube. Or for men who can't reach the top shelf. Whateva, girlfriend. I was suitably repulsed. And here's the thing. On my right was a man reading the Economist. He didn't smell but was also grey-haired and wearing specs. But guys - if I had to choose, it would be the Economist reader every time. Ditch the Nuts.

Monday, January 26, 2009

Monday morning

Right. I'm pledging to myself that I will write and update this blog regularly, using the same discipline employed when i was doing my Country Life 'Town Mouse' column. Eg, under duress and on a Monday morning. Hah.

This weekend, I learned that Cockneys call a prostitute a 'tom' (thanks to Eastenders) and that we should always look on the bright side of life (thanks to Eric Idle). Aside from watching the telly box, I managed to get outside too. Got up close and personal with Prince Albert - his blingtastic memorial to be exact. I'd never noticed before that the four corner pillars which each represent a continent (Europe, Asia, Americas and Africa) all have beautiful, big-bosomed women as the main characters. Wifey Victoria clearly knew what her man liked.

Then walked to the Serpentine Gallery, which has a pretty terrible exhibition on - Indian Highway - bar one exhibit in a tiny room with lots of battered tiffin cans hanging from the straps in a train carriage, some of which have little tv screens in them showing interviews with people on the streets and headphones hanging everywhere at full volume. A brilliant image of India combining the old and new and masses of noise with it. But even better was the bookshop, an afterthought at the side of the building and crammed with beautiful books. I bought my favourite book ever: a colouring-in book for grown-ups with drawings by Marc Quinn, Damien Hirst and the like.

Yesterday - a walk on Wormwood Scrubs (which feels like being in a film written by Rachel Johnson but directed by Mike Leigh - the vast prison on one side, a Cash 'n' Carry on the other and posh women in Hunter wellies and fur hats walking their terriers in-between) and the rest a haze of newspapers, roast chicken and Rummikub. Great.