Did you see that programme on Tuesday night about men who have 'relationships' with life sized dolls made of foam, or rubber with 'real' pubic hair? The pubic hair comes from Sweden, apparently. I'm not sure about the wigs.
I haven't seen anything so disturbing since Abi's year 4 Christmas show at school. I spent most of the programme with my jaw hanging open.
Highlights - there really weren't any. The whole thing was just shocking.
Lowlights - lots of these:
- watching one man take a bottle brush to his "partner's" lady garden, complaining that she was starting to smell a bit fishy down there.
- feeling so sorry for a lovely, normal, middle-aged woman who was attempting to have a proper relationship with a guy who insisted on inviting two dolls to his birthday party. These two sat at the tea table in their tarty, slutty outfits, their legs splayed, their mouths gaping, their enormous fake breasts pointing bullet-like nipples aggressively at the ceiling. (You can get three different kinds of tongue, and many different kinds of everything else...) This woman was so nice about her fella, who has eight of these dolls. But the credits at the end told us that the relationship had ended two weeks after the horrible tea party.
- the woman who lives with a guy who repairs the dolls as parts wear out. I won't go into which parts he repairs most. This woman admitted to feeling intimidated by the perfection of the dolls. "They're not perfect!" I yelled at the telly. "Because they're not women! They don't have a personality! They won't buy you a birthday present! They don't care! They won't TALK to you. They can't touch you. They're dolls! They're not real!" Eventually a daughter appeared and told me to calm down.
- the English guy who takes photos of his dolls doing realistic things, like reading a book, then fills photo albums with pictures and captions. Lots of pictures of him in tiny shorts and slip on brown leather shoes and socks, and two tarty dolls.
- watching one guy hang his doll from the ceiling. All dolls have a hook in their neck so you can hang them up. They spin round, their legs wide, like they're in the middle of a game of leap frog.
- and the whole thing....that these guys aren't just treating the dolls as a sex toy. Rather they consider themselves to be in real relationships. A couple of them have been hurt in relationships with what they termed 'organic women.' (I wonder if we should register with The Soil Association.) Well, guess what! We've all been hurt in 'organic' relationships. It happens. Get back in there and try again.
Thursday 19 September 2013
Monday 16 September 2013
You won't find any political correctness here, oh no!
But you won't find any nastiness either, I hope. I am such a bad blogger; I'm very easily distracted. I keep thinking of things for the blog, but I've been working hard on the novel and it's been such a busy summer and blah blah BLAH!
This blog is going to be a bit random.
When you go back to work after a period of absence there's always this little interchange:
-Hi, good holiday?
-Great, thanks. You?
-Lovely, thanks.
-What did you do? (Said whilst parking in chair and starting to clear bottom desk drawer of rotten apples, cheese flavoured polystyrene snacks, mould growths.)
-We spent six weeks on an Argentinian cattle ranch castrating bullocks.
-Great. We had a caravan in Cromer for three days.
Lovely
(Pause)
-Students look stroppy this year.
-Yeah. And there's a load of new paperwork.
And then we settle contendedly into mild grumbling.
It's probably exacerbated for teachers as those of us who are paid term-time only are away for such a long time.
The girls and I went to Anglesey for a week this summer. People in Anglesey are very nice. I made a lovely friend in the doctors' surgery where Olivia and I were having emergency treatment for matching ear infections. One day the lovely beach was invaded by the population of Liverpool which arrived in groups of no fewer than 8. The women were a strange orange colour with high peep toe sandals and black hair and they guys were very bare and red. One group lined up very close to our beach towels and pointed themselves at the sun, even though this meant turning their backs on the beautiful sea and their drowning children (Destiny, Paige and Tyler) and facing the road. They were also facing us, which was disconcerting. I found this very amusing and told the girls that I was going to sing a few songs and pass my sunhat round but they forbade me from doing any such thing. Our lovely holiday cottage featured a fountain with pink and purple lights, gnomes, plaster hedgehogs and flamingoes.
Interesting about names. That Katie woman who was on The Apprentice has been getting into trouble for stating that you can judge class and parenting style from children's names. She is hilarious. I was reminded of her yesterday in church when I noticed that the three children up for baptism were Harrison, Tyler and Skylar. If I were the vicar I would take Skylar's parents to one side before the service and have a chat with them....
'Seriously guys, are you really going to burden your lovely little girl with a name like Skylar?'
'We love it, vic, it's really unusual.'
'Yes. It is. She's going to spend her whole life having to spell it out, and being called "Skylark". Or worse.'
'Well, OK. We could change it to Shaneesha.'
'Bless you. Handkerchief?'
'Or Looseee Mae Leee. We liked that. Or Shardonneigh.'
'Er, I'm begining to warm to Skylar...'
I hope I haven't offended anyone today....
This blog is going to be a bit random.
When you go back to work after a period of absence there's always this little interchange:
-Hi, good holiday?
-Great, thanks. You?
-Lovely, thanks.
-What did you do? (Said whilst parking in chair and starting to clear bottom desk drawer of rotten apples, cheese flavoured polystyrene snacks, mould growths.)
-We spent six weeks on an Argentinian cattle ranch castrating bullocks.
-Great. We had a caravan in Cromer for three days.
Lovely
(Pause)
-Students look stroppy this year.
-Yeah. And there's a load of new paperwork.
And then we settle contendedly into mild grumbling.
It's probably exacerbated for teachers as those of us who are paid term-time only are away for such a long time.
The girls and I went to Anglesey for a week this summer. People in Anglesey are very nice. I made a lovely friend in the doctors' surgery where Olivia and I were having emergency treatment for matching ear infections. One day the lovely beach was invaded by the population of Liverpool which arrived in groups of no fewer than 8. The women were a strange orange colour with high peep toe sandals and black hair and they guys were very bare and red. One group lined up very close to our beach towels and pointed themselves at the sun, even though this meant turning their backs on the beautiful sea and their drowning children (Destiny, Paige and Tyler) and facing the road. They were also facing us, which was disconcerting. I found this very amusing and told the girls that I was going to sing a few songs and pass my sunhat round but they forbade me from doing any such thing. Our lovely holiday cottage featured a fountain with pink and purple lights, gnomes, plaster hedgehogs and flamingoes.
Interesting about names. That Katie woman who was on The Apprentice has been getting into trouble for stating that you can judge class and parenting style from children's names. She is hilarious. I was reminded of her yesterday in church when I noticed that the three children up for baptism were Harrison, Tyler and Skylar. If I were the vicar I would take Skylar's parents to one side before the service and have a chat with them....
'Seriously guys, are you really going to burden your lovely little girl with a name like Skylar?'
'We love it, vic, it's really unusual.'
'Yes. It is. She's going to spend her whole life having to spell it out, and being called "Skylark". Or worse.'
'Well, OK. We could change it to Shaneesha.'
'Bless you. Handkerchief?'
'Or Looseee Mae Leee. We liked that. Or Shardonneigh.'
'Er, I'm begining to warm to Skylar...'
I hope I haven't offended anyone today....
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