For and Against Cheryl

Isn't a shame about Cheryl Cole? Don't get me wrong. She's a living legend. I mean, if I were to go there, with the lady bits and all, then she'd be very very close to the top of the hypothetical list. She's so lovely and northern and open and warm and beautiful, it's just that she can't sing. This doesn't stop most people soldiering on (Britney Spears, for example) but Britney at least has the good sense not to sing live. Being somewhat unnaturally enamoured of pop princesses in general, I'm usually more forgiving of these things. There's many a late evening I've espoused the validity of Kylie's vocal talents to a cacophony of scoffs and snorts, but really Cheryl, give it up.

I am locked in an agonising battle of wallpaper decisions in relation to my new home in to which I will be moving in six weeks. There are only two rooms which are going to be treated to wallpaper. It's difficult, when one isn't made of money, to pull bold style statements off. I mean, the distance between a searing example of contemporary interior design and bogging and hideous clashing mish-mash hell is but a step.

For the hall I had thought once more of sumptuous rococo splendour but the difference between the way things look online and the way they look in one's sitting room is incredible. With said splendour in mind I ordered samples of such delights as Bamboo Flock Emperor's Garden and East Albany Castaway Mettalix only to realise that (a) it would cost about £1000 to wallpaper the hall with them and (b) Bette Gilroy would be proud of my handiwork if I did so. Norwegian Boyfriend is, in his Scandinavian way, erring more towards exotic ferny glade and I think perhaps he may be right - or at least I may compromise somewhere between the two, along the lines oriental ornamental garden. It's splendour but it's not Beverley Callard's Leotard in essence. I have never actually watched Coronation Street, I don't know where I'm getting these references from.

Then there's the bedroom. I had thought understated far-flung ambassadorial residence chic but it's a trial trying to work out a suitable colour palette. One's bedding is currently white and grey, generally, but does one really want an entirely grey bedroom? Being that one lives in Norway the sky is grey 99 per cent of the time anyway, and one doesn't want to wake up every morning feeling as if one has been transported to a wet weekend in Great Yarmouth, does one? What goes well with grey? White? Black? See my point?

The Norwegian Boyfriend and I have become somewhat dependant upon Dynasty. They've been showing reruns on Norwegian television, and we became so addicted that we bought three DVD boxsets. It's strange how five years ago we would've spent hour after hour giggling at the outfits, but the way revival is so acceptable these days most of it looks rather nice. There are some really extreme get-ups (usually on Krystle) which still defy all sense and logic, but on the whole, 1984 fashions weren't as bad as I thought. I rather wish that chunky costume jewellery would become acceptable for men, for the sole reason that I want to have to remove my clip-on earrings in order to take telephone calls.

Perhaps the most alarming aspect of Dynasty is the way in which any sort of physical intimacy is depicted. Kissing, for example, in 1984, was completely different. It didn't involve any sort of mouth opening or tonguing action, but rather a pursing and light touching of the tips and then a strange, frenzied, jerking of the head from side to side, all the while maintaining lip contact and clinging to another desperately.

Even better is Dynasty sex. This entails both parties keeping on their underwear and the bottom halves of their bodies firmly away from one another. The top halves of the bodies, however, are rubbed sideways against one another, whilst the man, on top, grunts into the pillow, and the woman (usually Joan Collins) gazes with wild, staring eyes at the ceiling, presumably to maintain the flawless finish of her full make-up. Which she also wakes up in every morning.

Perhaps the most important lesson we can all learn from watching Dynasty is how to argue. I am hoping this will be a valuable key to the longevity of my own relationship. The key, it seems, is to speak as passionately and emphatically as possible, without (a) raising one's voice or (b) including any content or meaning in what one says. I often imagine myself in such a scenario with Cheryl Cole. I am hoping it will go something like this:-

Robert: I hate you, Cheryl!

Cheryl: Hate? You gave up the right to hate me years ago!

Robert: Right? Right? What do you know about rights, Cheryl? How dare you stand there on that pedestal and tell me about rights? What do you know about rights? You gave up the right to tell me about rights years ago!

Cheryl: That's just it, isn't it? Anything, anything which threatens to break down that icy facade is an enemy to you. Isn't it? Isn't it?

Robert: Well, when all things come to pass after the way you sent me packing it's all water under the bridge, isn't it?

Cheryl: And so much water has passed under the bridge, since then, hasn't it?

Robert: And yet still those demons haunt you.

Cheryl: Demons, Robert? You gave up the right to tell me about demons when you walked out that door all those years ago!

Robert: Well, we'll see how well you stare those demons down next Friday week, won't we?

Cheryl: Friday week? Next Friday week? Oh, no, Robert, you haven't...

Robert: Yes, my Geordie princess....I have...