Being Schwarzenegger – – a moment of recollection . . . total, that is

It started the moment I arrived at the hospital, this morning. Metropolitan hospitals do have a strangely Science Fiction feel to them, featuring large numbers of lost souls tramping interminable corridors. When I reached my designated ‘waiting area’ (that’s why we’re called ‘patients’) it was the usual ordered chaos of hurrying over-worked medical staff, Sellotaped posters, and people fiddling with their phones in front of huge signs informing everyone that under no circumstances should mobile devices be used within the hospital. The salient Schwarzenegger feature was the windows, which had been covered from the outside with a mural showing a lake– a ‘faux view’ not unlike the one we see in Arnie’s apartment in the early part of Total Recall.

Unfortunately when my name was called, I remembered another part of the film, which I would more than likely be re-enacting – – the one where our hero rummages around inside his nose in order to remove a large object with the help of a large pair of sci-fi pliers. On the positive side, it was the consultant who did the ‘nasal exploring’ and more importantly, the device inserted into my nostrils was a thin optic fibre, and no objects were discovered or removed in the making of this film. However it made me think, why would anybody spend years training to be a doctor and then specialise in examining the volcanic contents of people’s noses – – – a job usually done by the individuals whilst in traffic jams on their daily commute?! I understand the altruistic desire to help people in an Albert Schweitzer/Good Samaritan sort of way – but the Job Description must surely skip over the gory details . . ah well, each to his own.

Separated by a common language . . . . . .

Now I KNOW that language is a living and breathing thing which changes with time and cultural variations….. BUT I do have a little objection to the influx of Americanisms, such ‘And I was, like, . . . ‘ Yes – every time I hear ‘I’m good!’ in response to the phatic greeting; ‘how are you ?’ a small part of my pedantic soul dies. Now I also know that in many ways American English is MORE traditional than ours- their use of the Chaucerian ‘z’ rather than an ‘s’ and their staunch adherence to ‘or’ rather than our bizarrely willing adoption of the French ‘ou’. My objection to Americanisms is that words and phrases are a reflection of societal mores, and theirs are different to ours. For example, the quaint expression ‘Knit and Natter’ conjuring up the image of a room full of Miss Marple lookalikes sharing tea, gossip and twinset patterns, is transmogrified in the US to ‘Stitch and Bitch’ which seems closer to the Witches of Eastwick than the Vicar of Dibley, where a pack of glamourous Cher clones, will be planning their moves with cold precision, (presumably whilst creating crocheted bondage gear.)

On this basis, I would like to propose a UK based alternative to the the word ‘cougar’ – meaning an older woman preying on younger men. Based on the image of ladies of a certain age wearing seductive underwear, I would suggest the title ‘basque terrorists’ which I feel creates a slightly less-threatening, and somewhat picaresque, image.


Saturday shoppers . . .

I don’t really like shopping . .  . but as Lesley does, it leaves me some time to sit around sketching. When did shopping become a pastime rather than simply a time-consuming necessity? I want to go out and buy what I’ve gone for and then return to a space where I can:

play it

wear it

eat it

or drink it (delete as applicable)