Like David says, our little Googlebombing experiment has worked. There have been side effects - notably the influx of people arriving here via searches for Shakira or Travis Fimmel naked (sorry to disappoint, guys and girls - though we suspect mostly guys...), but our respective aims have been achieved.
Which means - yes! - I am the number one Google search result for 'Ann Widdecombe naked'. If this isn't a proud moment I don't know what is.
Perhaps unsurprisingly, no-one has actually searched for said phrase as yet; with the closest so far being 'Ann Widdecombe 2002'. (now there's a pin-up calendar I never want to see...)
Now, if we could just think of a useful application for it all...
Wednesday, April 24, 2002
Well, in the words of the (fortunately) inimitable Adam Rickett: I breathe again.
The good news is I'm not being made redundant. The bad news is, er, that means I'm still working here.
Still, the CV is finally done, which is a step at least. Now I just have the simple task of deciding what I want to do with my life. Easy.
Except, of course, it isn't. I've never known. I have a mixture of admiration and envy for those people who knew, like when they were still at school, that they wanted to be an engineer, a lawyer, a journalist, an architect, a landscape gardener - and just worked towards that, doing the right courses at college, getting the right qualifications, and getting the career.
I'm one of the other group. Sure, I've studied and got the odd qualification, but not with any particular aim in mind, and largely just because I perceived it to be the easiest and most enjoyable option at the time. There's no career plan going on here. I'd hoped that by 28 I might have some idea - but I'm still waiting. Me and Diana Ross, baby.
So where once I might have headed down to the University Careers Service, now I'll more than likely find myself at a recruitment agency sometime soon. And one of the first questions will inevitably be:
'So, what kind of work do you want to do?'
Dammit, that's always the killer. I want to be a successful songwriter, a singer, an actor, a writer, a TV presenter, a DJ, and any number of creative, flaky things that I can pursue in my spare time but aren't going to pay my bar bill any time in the immediate future. What the question needs to be is:
'So, what kind of work are you prepared to do? What kind of soul-destroying, mind-numbing, corporate-tedium-hell can you convincingly pretend at an interview that you actually want to do?'
And on that one, the jury is still out.
The good news is I'm not being made redundant. The bad news is, er, that means I'm still working here.
Still, the CV is finally done, which is a step at least. Now I just have the simple task of deciding what I want to do with my life. Easy.
Except, of course, it isn't. I've never known. I have a mixture of admiration and envy for those people who knew, like when they were still at school, that they wanted to be an engineer, a lawyer, a journalist, an architect, a landscape gardener - and just worked towards that, doing the right courses at college, getting the right qualifications, and getting the career.
I'm one of the other group. Sure, I've studied and got the odd qualification, but not with any particular aim in mind, and largely just because I perceived it to be the easiest and most enjoyable option at the time. There's no career plan going on here. I'd hoped that by 28 I might have some idea - but I'm still waiting. Me and Diana Ross, baby.
So where once I might have headed down to the University Careers Service, now I'll more than likely find myself at a recruitment agency sometime soon. And one of the first questions will inevitably be:
'So, what kind of work do you want to do?'
Dammit, that's always the killer. I want to be a successful songwriter, a singer, an actor, a writer, a TV presenter, a DJ, and any number of creative, flaky things that I can pursue in my spare time but aren't going to pay my bar bill any time in the immediate future. What the question needs to be is:
'So, what kind of work are you prepared to do? What kind of soul-destroying, mind-numbing, corporate-tedium-hell can you convincingly pretend at an interview that you actually want to do?'
And on that one, the jury is still out.
Friday, April 19, 2002
I'm here, I'm just doing my CV
In case you were wondering. A few days ago we were told there are going to be (yet more) redundancies at work next week. Advertising isn't exactly a booming industry at the moment, and while I've escaped several previous swings of the axe, with the numbers they're talking about, this time I might not be so lucky.
Although, given that I'm more than somewhat keen to get out of there anyway, that might not be altogether a bad thing.
Either way, on those rare occasions I have a few spare moments, they're going to have to be dedicated, for the time being, to rearranging blatant lies like 'pro-active approach' and 'excellent sales skills' in an attractive manner on my CV, and finding, like, something to do with my life. Preferably involving chocolate.
So apologies for the forthcoming erratic transmissions, normal service will be resumed as soon as possible.
Meanwhile, anyone need some hired help?
In case you were wondering. A few days ago we were told there are going to be (yet more) redundancies at work next week. Advertising isn't exactly a booming industry at the moment, and while I've escaped several previous swings of the axe, with the numbers they're talking about, this time I might not be so lucky.
Although, given that I'm more than somewhat keen to get out of there anyway, that might not be altogether a bad thing.
Either way, on those rare occasions I have a few spare moments, they're going to have to be dedicated, for the time being, to rearranging blatant lies like 'pro-active approach' and 'excellent sales skills' in an attractive manner on my CV, and finding, like, something to do with my life. Preferably involving chocolate.
So apologies for the forthcoming erratic transmissions, normal service will be resumed as soon as possible.
Meanwhile, anyone need some hired help?
Friday, April 12, 2002
Meanwhile, back in Cape Town...
Wednesday 20th March
It's a glorious day, so time to hit the beach and soak up some much needed sunshine. Clifton's third beach is the favoured gay destination (the majority of families and screaming children head for the more accessible fourth, leaving you to relax in peace), so it's there that we head, pull up some loungers, and spend a thoroughly relaxing day. The white sand is gorgeous, while the blue waters have barely warmed a fraction since dripping off an iceberg somewhere in the Antarctic. The word 'brrrr!' is used more than once. But hey, you can't have everything, and who cares when it looks like this?
After which, it's time to head up to the winelands for the Big Family Wedding. The setting, in the Delaire wine farm halfway up a mountainside, is pretty spectacular and the ceremony (for a cousin of Kelvin's) is held outside in the evening, with views right over the valleys. And of course I get to meet the entire family...
I was rather hoping for introductions along the lines of: "..and this is Dave, Kelvin's...(awkward pause)...friend." but again, it was all surprisingly easy. Oh well, maybe when they look at the photos.
Thursday 21st March onwards
We shop, we beach, we sightsee (hey, when you work with as many recruitment consultants as I do, everything's a verb, okay?) and in the evenings check out the nightlife, with guidance from Kelvin's ex-boyfriend. Which proves to be another Thing That Should Be Awkward But Isn't.
We start at Cafe Manhattan - very chilled-out, great food, and in a steep, pretty street that reminds me a lot of San Francisco. From there it's on to Bronx which seems to be pretty much the hub of the gay scene, and the most consistently busy of the bars we visit. And rightly so, it's a lot of fun - good atmosphere, bit of a dancefloor should the urge take you, decent music, and one of those crowds where everyone from the leather queens to the crop-topped twinkies is all thrown together in one big melting pot. Which is always entertaining. And needless to say, we end up here rather a lot.
Later, it's across the road to 55, which is a nice venue, though very mixed in terms of music, clientele, and numbers - sometimes good, sometimes just too quiet, although I'm sure it's a different matter in high season.
Highlight, in nightlife terms, proves to be Saturday night at S.K.Y. which, with reassuring familiarity, is the full-on booty-shaking, pill-popping, shirts off, hands-in-the-air experience (did I really just write that phrase?), musically veering between the dark'n'funky house of London's Crash and more commercial Fridge-like moments. It's the venue itself that makes it, though, being upstairs with a chillout lounge area and front balcony which are both outside, meaning you can relax on the rooftops in the warm(ish) night air when it all gets a bit too much. Luvverly.
We meet, among other people, a couple of friendly fellow Londoners - David and Pier - who we hang out with over the next couple of days, taking in a trip up Table Mountain (spectacular) and a meal at Blues in Camps Bay, by all accounts Cape Town's finest restaurant (equally spectacular). And while we never came across anywhere where the food wasn't outstandingly good and ludicrously reasonable (La Perla and Beluga also come highly recommended should you be heading there anytime) this was the best of the lot.
South African meals, by the way, are invariably HUGE. By the end of the holiday I had ballooned to a point where Greenpeace volunteers were gathering on the beach to try and push me back into the ocean. But I'm not complaining.
And as for the wine - I'm not much of a wine buff, but if you ever come across a bottle of Stony Brook 2000 Shiraz, I can only advise you to snap it up immediately, it's incredible. As luck would have it, we'd planned a trip to Franschhoek, in the heart of the winelands and home of Stony Brook, for two days later - and so it was that we found ourselves in Mrs Stony Brook's kitchen, merrily gulping down their latest creations, and departing with a caseful of the stuff.
Other highlights included the wild and weather-beaten Cape Point at the very southern tip, and Boulders Beach, where decidedly cute African penguins mingle amicably with the humans, although there's a clear pattern: beach one is mostly humans, beach two is very mixed, and beach three is clearly Penguins Only. I was distinctly taken with them, which has resulted in my holiday photos being something along the lines of:
"And here are the penguins at Boulders - aren't they cute?! And, er, here are some more penguins. And this is another penguin we saw on the way there. And here's a penguin coming out of the water!" Hmmm.
There's doubtless more I could mention, and stuff I've forgotten in the fortnight since we returned, but suffice to say the whole holiday was a fantastic experience in a truly beautiful place (and hey, the company wasn't bad either ;=)
I loved my first trip to Cape Town. And it will definitely not be the last.
Wednesday 20th March
It's a glorious day, so time to hit the beach and soak up some much needed sunshine. Clifton's third beach is the favoured gay destination (the majority of families and screaming children head for the more accessible fourth, leaving you to relax in peace), so it's there that we head, pull up some loungers, and spend a thoroughly relaxing day. The white sand is gorgeous, while the blue waters have barely warmed a fraction since dripping off an iceberg somewhere in the Antarctic. The word 'brrrr!' is used more than once. But hey, you can't have everything, and who cares when it looks like this?
After which, it's time to head up to the winelands for the Big Family Wedding. The setting, in the Delaire wine farm halfway up a mountainside, is pretty spectacular and the ceremony (for a cousin of Kelvin's) is held outside in the evening, with views right over the valleys. And of course I get to meet the entire family...
I was rather hoping for introductions along the lines of: "..and this is Dave, Kelvin's...(awkward pause)...friend." but again, it was all surprisingly easy. Oh well, maybe when they look at the photos.
Thursday 21st March onwards
We shop, we beach, we sightsee (hey, when you work with as many recruitment consultants as I do, everything's a verb, okay?) and in the evenings check out the nightlife, with guidance from Kelvin's ex-boyfriend. Which proves to be another Thing That Should Be Awkward But Isn't.
We start at Cafe Manhattan - very chilled-out, great food, and in a steep, pretty street that reminds me a lot of San Francisco. From there it's on to Bronx which seems to be pretty much the hub of the gay scene, and the most consistently busy of the bars we visit. And rightly so, it's a lot of fun - good atmosphere, bit of a dancefloor should the urge take you, decent music, and one of those crowds where everyone from the leather queens to the crop-topped twinkies is all thrown together in one big melting pot. Which is always entertaining. And needless to say, we end up here rather a lot.
Later, it's across the road to 55, which is a nice venue, though very mixed in terms of music, clientele, and numbers - sometimes good, sometimes just too quiet, although I'm sure it's a different matter in high season.
Highlight, in nightlife terms, proves to be Saturday night at S.K.Y. which, with reassuring familiarity, is the full-on booty-shaking, pill-popping, shirts off, hands-in-the-air experience (did I really just write that phrase?), musically veering between the dark'n'funky house of London's Crash and more commercial Fridge-like moments. It's the venue itself that makes it, though, being upstairs with a chillout lounge area and front balcony which are both outside, meaning you can relax on the rooftops in the warm(ish) night air when it all gets a bit too much. Luvverly.
We meet, among other people, a couple of friendly fellow Londoners - David and Pier - who we hang out with over the next couple of days, taking in a trip up Table Mountain (spectacular) and a meal at Blues in Camps Bay, by all accounts Cape Town's finest restaurant (equally spectacular). And while we never came across anywhere where the food wasn't outstandingly good and ludicrously reasonable (La Perla and Beluga also come highly recommended should you be heading there anytime) this was the best of the lot.
South African meals, by the way, are invariably HUGE. By the end of the holiday I had ballooned to a point where Greenpeace volunteers were gathering on the beach to try and push me back into the ocean. But I'm not complaining.
And as for the wine - I'm not much of a wine buff, but if you ever come across a bottle of Stony Brook 2000 Shiraz, I can only advise you to snap it up immediately, it's incredible. As luck would have it, we'd planned a trip to Franschhoek, in the heart of the winelands and home of Stony Brook, for two days later - and so it was that we found ourselves in Mrs Stony Brook's kitchen, merrily gulping down their latest creations, and departing with a caseful of the stuff.
Other highlights included the wild and weather-beaten Cape Point at the very southern tip, and Boulders Beach, where decidedly cute African penguins mingle amicably with the humans, although there's a clear pattern: beach one is mostly humans, beach two is very mixed, and beach three is clearly Penguins Only. I was distinctly taken with them, which has resulted in my holiday photos being something along the lines of:
"And here are the penguins at Boulders - aren't they cute?! And, er, here are some more penguins. And this is another penguin we saw on the way there. And here's a penguin coming out of the water!" Hmmm.
There's doubtless more I could mention, and stuff I've forgotten in the fortnight since we returned, but suffice to say the whole holiday was a fantastic experience in a truly beautiful place (and hey, the company wasn't bad either ;=)
I loved my first trip to Cape Town. And it will definitely not be the last.
Thursday, April 11, 2002
Forget S Club 6 and the S Club Juniors, Popjustice brings you, direct from the nursing home, the S Club Seniors...
Jesus Saves!
Jesus also does a mean tackle apparently:
Yes folks, get your Inspirational Sport Statues, Holy Water fonts for the home, 'Hail Mary' T-shirts, and so much more at the Catholic Shopper.
Divine.
Jesus also does a mean tackle apparently:
Yes folks, get your Inspirational Sport Statues, Holy Water fonts for the home, 'Hail Mary' T-shirts, and so much more at the Catholic Shopper.
Divine.
Monday, April 08, 2002
I was reliably informed by the world and their dog just how much I was going to love Cape Town. They were right. Full marks to World and Dog. It was truly, truly fantastic - the sunshine, the beaches, the mountains, the food (oh good god the food!), not to mention getting to spend two weeks uninterrupted with my much beloved - definitely a damn fine holiday. Which I shall attempt to summarise, as best I can:
Monday 18th March
Arrive at Heathrow Airport, excitable and (fortunately) feeling no ill effects from the previous night's RVT indulgences. Which validates my theory that it isn't the seven beers and multiple vodkas I chuck down my throat every Sunday night that make me feel rough at work on a Monday - it's just getting up and coming to work. I've always suspected it's bad for your health.
Owing to budget constraints, we're not flying direct, but on the much cheaper Turkish Airlines, via Istanbul. Which makes it a long flight, but other than that, any reservations we had (I'm sure there's a pun to be had here somewhere - oh, you make one up) prove to be unfounded as it's a very nice plane, the food's as acceptable as airline food gets, and there's plenty of space. Not quite so sure about the soothing take-off music: the cheesy supermarket-muzak version of 'Killing Me Softly' almost does, and then, especially for the nervous travellers, it's the the theme from Titanic! Marvellous.
Still, Istanbul Airport is positively palatial after the overcrowded shack that is Heathrow Terminal 3, we buy coffees for approximately 6,000,000 lira (price stickers in shops must be HUGE in Turkey) and get back on board for the long haul.
I'm quite hopeful of actually getting some sleep because:
a) am very tired
b) have Nytol - clinically proven to aid restful sleep!
c) have boyfriend with big shoulders on which to rest head
By about 1am though it's clear that despite the above, there will be no sleeping tonight. Head is very comfortable. Butt has lost all feeling whatsoever, yet somehow still manages to hurt from sitting so long. Wish had spent less time on that skiing machine thingy at the gym endeavouring to lose excess cushioning which would now be invaluable. Ah, the price of pertness.
Tuesday 19th March
Nevertheless, we land in Johannesburg and finally in Cape Town at lunchtime, feeling surprisingly awake. It's about 27 degrees, the sun is shining, there are palm trees, and it's gorgeous. And better yet, it transpires we're not staying with Kelvin's family out of town (though that would have been fine), but he's secretly booked us a five-star suite in Bantry Bay, right on the seafront, for the two weeks. Needless to say, I'm overwhelmed - this is a genuinely, really nice surprise (turns out World and Dog knew about this too - dammit my friends are far too good at keeping his secrets! Must work on this.)
We check in and unpack, and I think I can describe the suite best by simply saying it's one of those places where they turn down the corner of the bed and leave a little chocolate on the pillow every night. We like.
A quick dip in the pool, and then it's off to (gulp) Meet The Parents. I kept thinking I should be nervous but somehow just wasn't - maybe it's just hard to be in such a laidback place, maybe just because there was no real reason to be. Either way, it went just fine and an enjoyable evening was had by all. Shucks, perhaps I'll get to be The Evil Homosexual Who Stole Our Son some other time.
Have to continue this later but next on Dave's Cape Town Adventures: the wedding, the ex-boyfriend, the bars, the beaches, the clubbing, the penguins (not clubbing of the penguins, before I start getting angry emails from excitable cardigan-wearers) and oh, so much more.
Stay tooned.
Monday 18th March
Arrive at Heathrow Airport, excitable and (fortunately) feeling no ill effects from the previous night's RVT indulgences. Which validates my theory that it isn't the seven beers and multiple vodkas I chuck down my throat every Sunday night that make me feel rough at work on a Monday - it's just getting up and coming to work. I've always suspected it's bad for your health.
Owing to budget constraints, we're not flying direct, but on the much cheaper Turkish Airlines, via Istanbul. Which makes it a long flight, but other than that, any reservations we had (I'm sure there's a pun to be had here somewhere - oh, you make one up) prove to be unfounded as it's a very nice plane, the food's as acceptable as airline food gets, and there's plenty of space. Not quite so sure about the soothing take-off music: the cheesy supermarket-muzak version of 'Killing Me Softly' almost does, and then, especially for the nervous travellers, it's the the theme from Titanic! Marvellous.
Still, Istanbul Airport is positively palatial after the overcrowded shack that is Heathrow Terminal 3, we buy coffees for approximately 6,000,000 lira (price stickers in shops must be HUGE in Turkey) and get back on board for the long haul.
I'm quite hopeful of actually getting some sleep because:
a) am very tired
b) have Nytol - clinically proven to aid restful sleep!
c) have boyfriend with big shoulders on which to rest head
By about 1am though it's clear that despite the above, there will be no sleeping tonight. Head is very comfortable. Butt has lost all feeling whatsoever, yet somehow still manages to hurt from sitting so long. Wish had spent less time on that skiing machine thingy at the gym endeavouring to lose excess cushioning which would now be invaluable. Ah, the price of pertness.
Tuesday 19th March
Nevertheless, we land in Johannesburg and finally in Cape Town at lunchtime, feeling surprisingly awake. It's about 27 degrees, the sun is shining, there are palm trees, and it's gorgeous. And better yet, it transpires we're not staying with Kelvin's family out of town (though that would have been fine), but he's secretly booked us a five-star suite in Bantry Bay, right on the seafront, for the two weeks. Needless to say, I'm overwhelmed - this is a genuinely, really nice surprise (turns out World and Dog knew about this too - dammit my friends are far too good at keeping his secrets! Must work on this.)
We check in and unpack, and I think I can describe the suite best by simply saying it's one of those places where they turn down the corner of the bed and leave a little chocolate on the pillow every night. We like.
A quick dip in the pool, and then it's off to (gulp) Meet The Parents. I kept thinking I should be nervous but somehow just wasn't - maybe it's just hard to be in such a laidback place, maybe just because there was no real reason to be. Either way, it went just fine and an enjoyable evening was had by all. Shucks, perhaps I'll get to be The Evil Homosexual Who Stole Our Son some other time.
Have to continue this later but next on Dave's Cape Town Adventures: the wedding, the ex-boyfriend, the bars, the beaches, the clubbing, the penguins (not clubbing of the penguins, before I start getting angry emails from excitable cardigan-wearers) and oh, so much more.
Stay tooned.
Okay, okay, alright already, yes, it's an update at last! Apologies for the extended hiatus, for which I have been roundly berated (is that as much fun as it sounds?) but there will be full updates just as soon as I find a plausible way of ignoring the tide of work that has greeted my return. Honest.
Certain Swedes may be happy to know they won't have to look at that picture below for much longer.
Certain Swedes may be happy to know they won't have to look at that picture below for much longer.
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