Mission Impossible


Tues 1st

Lisa: “Have you heard of a rapper called Tupac something?”

Wed 2nd

Esther “I couldn’t sleep last night until I could remember Fred West’s wife’s name. I ran through the alphabet over an over again looking for the right initial”.
After 5 hours, she took some codeine, instantly remembered that it was Rosemary and passed out from exhaustion.

Thurs 3rd

News 24 really comes into its own when something terrible but epic happens. I didn’t have it in time for 9/11, but I did for 7/7 and the London Riots. Currently, Esther and I get our perverse kicks from watching Anders Breivik’s trial. You can tell he’s a baddie because his facial hair has fled to the coast of his face, where it is waiting for his nose to find it and shoot it.
Much has been made of the way he only cried at his own propaganda video. Apart from a bit of rough editing, I didn’t think it was so bad.

“It’s because he can see his mental illness in it” says Esther, who knows about such things.
“He can’t hide from it. He made the video because he was driven to do it- it he hadn’t, he would have gone mad. He had to kill everyone to make the thoughts go away. He should be tried as insane- why can’t anyone see that?”

Friday 4th

Me: Can we get Mission Impossible: Ghost Protocol out?

Esther: No, we’re going out tonight

Me: Oh yeah

Walking through work, I overhear 3 guys in a business suits leaving a meeting:

“…So, we can call the suncatchers ‘Sunnies’…and then we can call windcatchers…erm…’Winds’?”

Sorry chap, I don’t think a promotion’s on its way.

Friday night is Lucas’ 30th birthday. His girlf Gabby has managed to keep his party a secret for over a month, no mean feat in this Facebook-mediated social world where people whore out their secrets for a handful of ‘Likes’.

Did you know that Esther bites her own toenails?

Ben is a very lovely cockle-warming sort of chap, and the tiny pub Gabby had hired could barely contain the love.
The long, long night passed in a blur of dancing, platonic hugging and homoerotic wrestling. Clearly, it had been some time since so many alpha males had been in the same confined space with so many beta-males and fillies to provide an audience for their prowess. “Long, thick” Lucas, as he is now known (after his prodigious oversharing), won most bouts and so managed to combine exercise, ego-massage and overindulgence in one epic night.

Way to go, Bday Boi! (Incidentally, I wonder if there is a superhero called Bidet Boy who squirts water at baddies’ privates, thus embarrassing them into ceasing and desisting their naughtiness? Thought not.)

Saturday 5th

Me: Can we get Mission Impossible: Ghost Protocol out?

Esther: No, I won’t be able to concentrate on it.

Lisa: That laugh you did then sounded like Axel Fawlty from Beverly Hills Cop.

Sunday 6th

Today it’s time for an altogether more sedate party: My grandad’s 90th. Or perhaps not:
“I’ve had a shit, shower and shave,” he informs us upon arrival.
90 is a jolly good age. Or as he puts it “Been dead ten years, most men.”

Lord how he can talk. Today I learned the correct name for ruler-based corporal punishment:

“I’ve still got my dad’s tools from before the Great War” he enthuses, “I’ve got the 2 foot rule he used to twank me with. If I was naughty at the dinner table, he’d bend it under the table and twank me on the knee”.

Perhaps due to his incessant talk of goldfinches, Mum has made Grandad a gold cake. It is the goldest thing, for the oldest person in the world. He stopped taking an interest in popular culture around 1945, and manages to be casually sexist and racist, sometimes even at the same time (“I don’t like The Voice, there’s all these silly women singing negro songs, going up an down like they’ve forgotten the tune”). They don’t make em like they used to, and it’s a damn good job.

On the train home, I am roused from my torpor by the traumatic sound of Angela Lansbury’s name being dragged through the mud.

“Angela Lansbury was terrible!”
“Oh but she was good as Jessica Fletcher though wasn’t she.”
“Yes she was, but she was terrible as Miss Marple.”
“That old lady was very good, what was her name?”
“It was…(pause as reads from a Wikipedia app)…Geraldine McEwan.”
“Oh yes, she was very good.”

What kind of fools omit Joan Hickson, I want to shout! But they sound like they mean business…I zone out, and when I next tune in…

“Prince Phillip is known as Prince.”
“No, it’s Prince Consort.”
“I don’t know what that means…”
“Kate doesn’t put a foot wrong and she works hard.”
(Sarcy) “She’s well rewarded for it too!”
“It’s not as easy as it looks”
(Derisive laughter)

Another 30 seconds later…

“Seeing Nadal would be my dream come true. If I see him I think I’d probably cry.”
“If it’s Murray I’d be well happy”
“He needs a haircut”
“I don’t like him”
“He’s all we’ve got”
“It’s ae-ro-dy-namic”
“What is?”
“Murray”

Me: Can we get Mission Impossible: Ghost Protocol out?

Esther: No.

Mon 7th

Me: Can we get Mission Impossible: Ghost Protocol out?

Esther: Yes

Me: Oh goddammit, no we can’t. Silent Witness, Made in Chelsea AND Eastenders are on tonight.

Lisa: I’m to angry to eat tuna.

 

Unsent Letter No. 5


"Naff off you Northern perv!"

Dear Eastenders person,

Please see to it that Lauren Branning is killed off this week. Her acting is fine. Her storylines are fine.

But her lips are like GMO raspberries about to burst and her fringe is becoming so angular that she looks like an impossibly perfect Manga character and it is making my jaw hurt. I couldn’t actually look at the TV that day because of her- it must be what Christians feel when they have a visitation. Or what Mary felt like when she was got it on with a ghost. Horrified and Horny.

That dress you put her in last week when it was Ronnie’s court case nearly did me in. Also, the way she pronounces every syllable in her pissed off cockerney accent makes me weak at the knees. I trust you will find the usual means of ending her character- a car driven too fast round that tiny square usually works. Otherwise, I shall be sending you my BUPA bill forthwith.

Cheerio,

Vienna

Bye Bye Ronnie, Hello Kristen!


Jan 7th
Lisa is bedridden with tonsillitis. This means that rather than sitting downstairs and chain-smoking, she is reclining in bed doing it.

"I'm outta here Jack"

In other news, Ronnie is leaving Eastenders because she’s fed up of weeping every episode. Her face has begun to set in the form of a melting alien

“Oh no my prodigal daughter’s dead”

“Oh no my rapist dad’s dead”

“Oh no my replacement baby’s dead”

“Oh no my career based purely on my looks is dead”

She shouldn’t have changed her name to Womack then should she? A recipe for blubbing-

8,400 complaints for her sustained ugliness. Wow, harsh.

Just noticed that the BBC bigwig says”The DNA of EastEnders has always been to take big strong social issues and wrap them in a traumatic wrapper.” This shows a basic ignorance on capitalism- no-one’s going to buy sweets that are covered in pics of tooth decay are they? People only put up with corpses on their Golden Virginia because they’re addicted.

Excuse me while I go and sit by the phone- Kristen Stewart has finally seen sense…

Reports suggest R-Pattz has decided to ‘end things’ with his Twilght co-star…

Hope my grandad doesn’t call because I shall have to be abrupt: “naff off old man, Kristen wants me”