A Short Rant...

I'm done... DONE I TELL YOU...

I am a total winter chap. I love winter. I love cold, blustery days and thick, wooly winter clothing. I firmly believe that the White Witch had the right idea but... BIG BUT... I'm bored now.

Today the journey from Gavin's to Mine left me freezing with red, frost bitten hands and a sinus cold to rival any other. I want spring. I'm finally hungry to see green things growing and to enjoy the luxury of wearing fewer layers without suffering. I want to see my poor little bonsai tree with new sprouts on it and to leave the back door open and welcome in the neighbour's cat. 

Roll on the fairer seasons... This here winter lover is ready to be unfaithful.

x

A Sad Goodbye...

Just a small nod in the direction of (Lee) Alexander McQueen. Though I have no links to the fashion world whatsoever, I'm a great follower of his rebellious, innovative work and admire his rags to riches story very much. What an inspiration to all the misfits and the eccentric youth of today that the son of an east London cab driver could rocket skywards and become one of the most respected designers in today's British fashion scene. His suicide has left enormous ripples across the world. What a sad, sad loss to the fashion industry and to England as a whole. 
x

Saint Who?

I pose some questions to you dear reader... 


When was the last time you called it 'Saint' Valentine's day? Who was Saint Valentine and does he/she mind that their saintliness has been quietly dropped from this international holiday's title?


With February 14th looming, I'm starting to sicken of bright red hearts and cuddly toys in shop windows. There are signs and billboards everywhere, subtly brainwashing London's busy shoppers into believing that love isn't real unless it is accompanied by a stuffed bear with the words "hug me" written on its pudgy belly. Where did this madness come from?
Call me a miserable, old curmudgeon, but I think Saint Valentine's Day is close to vomit inducing. I sat in a cafe yesterday evening watching men (You know the type- the tracksuit bottomed, sovereign ringed man who's idea of romance is allowing his wife to accompany him to the pub to watch the football) pouring in and out of Clinton Cards with armfuls of pink junk and mass produced cards stuffed with cliched declarations of love... It was enough to put me right off my skinny decaf latte.
Is this what love is about? Surely love should be shown on every day of the year and not just when the card companies vow it is time to do so? 
Being someone who loves a good excuse for a spot of research, I did so and discovered some very interesting facts. Ready? Good!
Apparently, the link between matters of the heart and February dates back to a pagan festival of fertility. To celebrate this special occasion, a carefully chosen animal was slaughtered and then all the young women of the village would strip naked and run around whilst the men of the village would chase them and slap their bare bottoms with the sacrificed animal's entails. This, obviously, made the young women more fertile and cemented February as one of the more amorous months of the calender. 
A second interesting little nugget was the execution of Father Valentine on the 14th of February somewhere between the 14 and 1600's (the dates differ quite substantially from source to source). According to some rather unreliable records, Valentine was put to death for performing secret weddings in a time when marriage was outlawed by the king in order to keep his army's minds on the mission and off the ladies. Right before they cut the poor bugger's head off, it is said that Father Valentine slipped a note to his lover (again she varies from his wife, the King's sister and even the executioner's daughter) that was signed "From your Valentine", thus the first Valentine was sent...


Lovely. Brilliant. So...!?!?!?


There were many Saint Valentines, though none have anything more than a tenuous link to February 14th. There's a pagan bottom slapping ritual, a dead priest, and somehow they all morphed into a commercial, extremely unromantic holiday about romance.
I call each and every person who believes in a spot of real romance to stand up and say "NO". No to the mass produced cards. No to the cuddly toys. No to the vile, eighties cliche of red roses.
Stand up you final few and say "I shall treat my loved one no differently on this day because I love them EVERYDAY!!!!!"


Phew... I got quite riled then... I think I need a sit down and a cup of tea...
x