Monday, 1 March 2010

Sade's fine silhouette

Someone has potentially replaced Cheryl Cole in my affections. It's Sade. She's unbelievable! Anyone who can sit around in Stroud for ten years and then nonchanlantly think, I know, I'll make an amazing album and sell about ten million copies of it deserves respect in my book. As it happens, it's not the music that has lead to this new-found Sade fascination, it's her timeless beauty. I mean, look at this.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=mhcGcfnMaC8

The woman is 51 years old. That's three years younger than my mother. Not only does she sound the same as she did in 1984 she looks the same too. If one compares it to the video for By Your Side from ten years earlier she doesn't look any different. Incredible! So, I have decided to emulate her in every way. I mean, we look fairly alike, I'd say.

I was thinking about this whilst at the gym earlier (one is going to have to work out a lot if one is to freeze time like Sade). One gets so distracted and involved in daytime television at the gym that one is locked in a quandary of (a) wanting to stop exercising as one is about to start coughing up blood but (b) staying on the treadmill long enough to see the end of Quincy.

Norwegian television is second to none for re-runs of 1980s detective and drama serials. The only problem is that my gym is rather run down (not as good as the British equivalent) and thus most of the headphone sockets don't work. So, I have to watch Quincy only half understanding the Norwegian subtitles but knowing that it was recorded in English and that I just can't hear it. It's most frustrating. I'll be able to lip-read by the time I move back to civilisation. Did I say civilisation? Sorry, I mean England. Still, it's probably best that one can't hear Quincy, he does shout rather.


The other distraction in the gym is the one Norwegian thing that is better than the British equivalent, namely the severe hotness of Norwegian boys. I'm not talking about quite cute and better than the local totty down The Red Lion on a Friday night, I'm talking about blistering, boundless, ethereal levels of hotness. During commerical breaks in Quincy I often expect Calvin Klein to mince through the gym at any moment, scouting for models for his next advertisement campaign. I'm half tempted to take a camera in and sneak some shots but fear my membership may be terminated.

Speaking of commercial breaks (referring back to the one during which I was looking at the blisteringly hot boys), how do Americans cope? (Not with being American, a trial in itself -but with the sheer number of commercial breaks they have to endure). I was watching Oprah's Book Club the other day and spent more time watching advertorials for bizarre ab crunch machines than I did watching Oprah herself. Combined with the way in which Americans tend to end conversations abruptly it made for rather bizarre viewing. It went something like this.

Oprah: Hi, this is Oprah's Book Club, I'm here with Douglas Kennedy, we'll be right back.

[10 minute advertorial for Stairmaster]

Oprah: Welcome back, I'm here with Douglas Kennedy, Douglas tell me about your new book, The Big Picture.

Douglas Kennedy: Well, Oprah, it's a searing examination of my own love affair with sketching and watercolours.

Oprah: We'll be right back.

[12 minute advertorial for incontinence pants]

Oprah: I'm on the sofa with Douglas Kennedy. Douglas, what first made you want to write?

Douglas Kennedy: Well, Oprah, it was those halcyon childhood days amongst the cornfields up in Iowa.

Oprah: We'll be right back.

[Adverts for protein shakes, Slim-fast and Ymea Menopause and Silhouette]

Oprah: I'm chatting to Douglas Kennedy. Douglas, what can we expect from you next?

Douglas Kennedy: Well, Oprah, I think a slap round the chops and a strongly-worded letter from my agent if you can't speak to me for more than three seconds at a time!

Oprah: We'll be right back.

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