Individuality or popularity?

Individuality or popularity?, originally uploaded by Thoroughly Good.

I regularly read the horoscopes in the London Paper. I know. Aren’t I a fool ? They’re just bollocks aren’t they? Why do you want to go and read them ?

Like the crossword (or if I’m really pushed, the sudoku) the horoscopes are a bit of a ritual for me. During the summer they adequately summed up my days with scary levels of accuracy. There was a strange moment of reassurance to be experienced moments before the train pulled out of White City tube. You wouldn’t think there’d be pleasure derived from reading a summary of a bad day, but there was. I’m still not entirely certain why that would be the case.   

Friday’s publication was a bit of a corker. It seemed to provide a serious heads up of how things might turn out this weekend what with that Eurovision stuff going on.

Naturally, I was thinking it was going to be someone else winning the crown and not Jade, hence why I thought the horoscope would be a useful piece of advice to hang on to.

What I hadn’t expected was to end up ranking individuality over popularity when I realised that not many other people could necessarily give as big a shit about it as I do.

Do I care? No. Not in any way. Statistics mean nothing. What’s important is that deep-seated sense of smug self-satisfaction guaranteed when immersing yourself in a subject (or subjects) you know only too well only appeals to one member of the audience. Oneself.

I choose individuality every time. It guarantees happiness.

Research isn’t such a bad thing

Falling foul of a precious queen?

Cute, cheeky-looking Gay About Town Joshua Hunt, writes in his London Paper column about the perils of doing your research. It makes for disappointing reading.

Not Josh’s frighteningly concise writing (something I wouldn’t mind be able to pull-off myself), more the fact that in pursuit of boyfriend material it appears that Josh’s internet based research on his potential beau backfired.

OK, so maybe Josh shouldn’t have been *quite* so literal as to repeat everything back from his research, but still, the email he received with explicit instructions seems a little harsh. In fact, I might even go as far as to say as so incredibly precious as to not worth bothering with the individual anyway.

I rather like it when people research me. Go on. Go ahead.

Give me a drink

London Paper “article” about London drinkers

I bristled with excitement as I ripped open tonight’s copy of The London Paper (I always choose that paper over the London Lite – I prefer the font and the layout) and saw a double page spread devoted to London drinkers.

It seems that a colletion of Londonites have recorded their drinking habits in the form of a diary and in so doing all of them have failed to meet the Government’s defined weekly alcohol limits. I’m delighted to say that even when I was having a few bottles of beer every single night I didn’t come close to any of their personal totals. As for the specimens who spent between £80 and £100 on alcohol per week, they really need to get down to the supermarket. I saw 8 cans of Fosters for £6. I was tempted, very tempted.

I succeeded in resisting the 8 cans of Fosters for £6 in White City Tesco Express this lunchtime as I basked in my smugness at not having touched a drop last week and only two miniscule bottles this week (it was a special, special ocassion).

Now I’m home though, I figure that it might be rather to celebrate the passing of this milestone by having a drink. I’m delighted to announce that Simon has selected two smashing looking bottles from nearby Sainsburys which we will, no doubt, tuck into sometime during this evening’s Proms premiere. Although obviously, I will only be sniffing the beverage.