That little something called the weather.

So, day 2 of a heat wave, a heat wave most people have been begging to have for the past 6 months has been moaned and complained about by everyone. It seems the entire country has been poised all through winter to take of its clothes and get a tan, and now the moment has arrived everyone moans, the expressions: “I’m so hot”,  “it’s too hot” and “I’m so sweaty” should be tagged and anyone found guilty of saying them plonked in the south pole, that ought to “de heat” them. Let’s not complain about having some sun, for 2 very good reasons, firstly we spend all of winter and a majority of ‘summer’ begging for it and doing dances to try encourage it and secondly, the more we moan about it, the more the government will notice it, the higher the chance of a hose pipe ban and then every plant in the nation will die, and no one really wants to play a part in plant genocide do they?

So what is it that makes us Brits hate the sun so very much? Many comedians would argue that we just love to have a moan, I however think that is wrong, the problem lies much deeper. The summer of 1976. Supposedly one of the hottest summers in the history books and everyone was poised to have a good time in the sun....but they didn’t. Why? The economy was crumbling and water supplies running out, constant strikes and inflation, and so whilst the kids remember it for being hot, the adults remember a deep source of pain, and so sun equals 76, and 76 equals marathon water restrictions and a crumbling economy, and I think those reasons, they are a good reason to moan...

I do however, see a theme occurring. It’s sunny right now, we are in a recession, Greece is known for its heat, and there economy it beginning to resemble a child’s painting, not very good and Spain, well they have a somewhat interesting economy AND apparently gave us the heat wave! Case closed.

Thanks for reading.

The something’s and nothings they say

Yesterday, boredom struck me like a rather animated piece of lightening, so as any teenage girl would, I lent for my movie box...and out came, an all time classic...well actually 2 all time classics: (I am as decisive as a small child in a sweet shop) Casablanca and Funny Girl. Now, these films are, in my humble opinion, 2 of the greatest films to ever come out of America...and they both have 2 things in common, romance and also loss (and the ability to tug at the very toughest of heart strings).

I don’t want to give away too many spoilers, as if you have not seen these films yet, you really must (not doing so would be a crime against humanity). But, they do both feature an extremely handsome man trying, in Casablanca’s case, to win back the heart of a once loved lady (Ingrid Bergman and Humphrey Bogart) or, in funny girl’s case (Omar Sharif tries to) win over a beautiful girl (Barbara Streisand) with a voice that could steal the hearts of the nation. But it’s the way that these men do this, I think, that restores women’s faith in the male species and there propensity to do slightly unromantic things. They don’t just whisper sweet nothings, and the women don’t come out with expressions like “it was something and nothing”, no...They go all out, they take them out on dates, Omar Sharif acquires the ability to ALWAYS turn up at the right time (an ability I refuse to believe is just coincidence) and steels her heart away with the extravagant flora gifts and dates, Bogart performs great deeds to prove his love for Berman (admittedly not quite as difficult as the 12 tasks of Hercules but there not easy), although he does not truly realise his love for until quite late on. Both men lose their lady, Bogart tells her to go (another act of love) with the famous line “your gunna get on that plane Elsa” as the rain personifies his mood all around, and Sharif, well he turns out to be a bit of a (for want of a better word) numpti, but Streisand doesn’t stop loving him (her ending song says as much). Both men leave lasting impressions the size of yeti’s foot prints on these women, and didn’t get that by whispering something’s and nothings!

 So, to conclude, anyone with a spare hour and 38 minutes watch Casablanca or funny girl and make sure you have an ample size of tissues, and any boys or girls out there, DO SOMETHING, sweet something’s and nothing’s aren’t going to leave your loved one with a yetis footprint, it will leave then with something more along the lines of a squashed ant.

Thanks for reading.

The someones and somethings...

In terms of global influence and being a pop superstar, i am an extremely tone deaf no-one, in terms of my parents eyes, I’d like to think I’m a pretty big someone...but on Thursday,  a massive someone died...Peter Falk. A man, that was able to change the way people viewed  ‘cop shows’ as he stared in the role of Lieutenant Colombo, died at age 83. If a man who’s signature clothing was a scruffy rain coat that looked like it’d always escaped the wash load  was able to steal the hearts of a materialistic nation, he must have been good, very good. He had been suffering from Alzheimer’s and dementia for the past few years and died in his Beverly Hills’ home; he had a big career, lasting 30 years on prime time TV and was a legend. But this got me thinking, this man became famous because he was good at what he did, he was an actor who could really act, but how many people out there are famous for nothing, nothing at all..

In today’s world I believe there are two types of celebrity, you have your Paris Hiltons and Kim Kardashians but also your Steven Fry’s and Huge Laurie’s. Fry and Laurie are the dynamic duo who besotted the nation with the wit and good humour after graduating from one of the UK’s top universities, but what did Kim and Paris do to gain there fame? Well...there hot, there is no denying that, but that’s all, I almost admire them. It’s quite a skill to be able to make so much money (the times reportedly said “Kim has made $35 million”) from doing nothing other than applying make-up and walking in ridiculously high stilts that us mere mortals can only dream of being able to walk in without falling head over heels into a circus clown, but this is, of course, just a matter of opinion, for all I know she may turn out to study maths at oxford, but why would she? I don’t know, as she has all the money she could ever need from doing “meet the Kardashians”(...no thanks), although, with rising tuition fees perhaps we should all sell our souls to the media in a last ditch attempt to attend university.  

So my advice to you, is join the circus, they will teach you to walk in heals, there are plenty hot clowns out there and the job comes with a make-up allowance, every girls dream right?

thanks for reading and feel free to leave comments :)

It really is something and nothing

                

    As most fairy tales should, I shall start this one with once upon a time and so, if you're all sitting comfortably, I'll begin. There once was little lady named Lizzie, who had a dream of being a writer/journalist, and on the 24^th of June 2011 a lady came to her school, and the realisation of how hard it was to get into it hit her like freight train on speed and so she started a blog, a blog about something and nothing, whether this fairy tale ends like a modern day disney, or a two brothers grim story is unknown, but as any self respecting cheesy sit coms would say, only time will tell.

    So what is something, the Wiki dictionary sets forth that it is “ a thing that is unspecified or unknown”, however I prefer to think of it as life, all components of life are something, heck even death is something, love is something (apparently a pretty big something) and happiness is something, but what makes one something more than another something...who knows? Right now, this very minuet, writing this blog is my biggest something, along with trying to multi task (I’m a woman after all) and watch Andy Murray beat the cat out of the racket, because apparently hitting a ball at 130 miles per hour is not punishment enough. But that’s my point, everyone’s ‘something’s’ are different, but also nothings, Murray winning Wimbledon won’t change world poverty and my worries that I have put the word something way to many times in the entry are nothing compared to that of Mr Papandreou’s.

    This leads me to my next point, nearly as swiftly as a Beyonce costume change, what’s a worry, at the moment (besides the something problem) by top worries are that I will fail my GCSE in French, a subject I am destined to find as useful as a chocolate teapot and face certain death by the Medusa like stair my father conjures up on the very worst of occasions, the boy I have liked for the past 6 months will think I am a complete weirdo/social recluse after in a fit of nerves I told him sharks sleep best upside down without an explanation, greeting or even a particularly coherent sentence and that my friend will almost certainly get hit by a car as she refuses to listen to the talking hedge hogs! But, apparently, these are not “real worries”, because i do not yet have a mortgage, husband, small brat or job and they are therefore insignificant, and in some ways they are, if the boy thinks Im a bit odd, then nothings changed, if my friend continues to wonder into the road I can and will subtly stick florescent stickers (excuse the oxymoron) to her coats and in the eventuality I do fail my French, I’m confident I will make a lovely statue.

     Thanks for reading.