2012 - July

In July, Jubilympics #2 took place. And all the closed cyclepaths, fears of armed police on the streets, Boris everywhere, missiles on roofs, public space being privatised, thought crime came true became irrelevant in the whole golden glow of BRITISH WINNERS and less people on the tube. It also gave us a marvellous and bizarre night out almost in the Olympic stadium.

We also went to Devon.

Books I buried myself in:

Meg Rossof - How I Live Now

Clare Boylan - The Agony and The Ego

TV that wasn't the 'Lympics

Secret History of Our Streets

Suburgatory -I came for the cast (Billy from 6 Feet Under, Dr Spaceman from 30 Rock, Cheryl and Jennifer from Curb, Wash/Alpha from Firefly/Tru Calling), I stayed for the whimsical comic plot about a single dad and daughter (in matching plaid shirts) moving from NYC to the upstate NY suburbs, to a town of bitching, backstabbing and botox with all of its social rules and hierarchies. Fave character was the dead-eyed Dahlia with her back up bitches of Kenzie, Kaitlin and Kimantha (surely a nod tothe Kardashians). The only problem I had with it was the lead character's awful mid-West flat vowels, like the ubiquitous nailsdown a blackboard.

Twenty-Twelve - I originally didn't watch this programme because I'm bored of the mockumentary format and my general policy on the Olympics was to avoid anything to do with it. Other people said: "Oh the PR girl is so funny," which led me to believe that the characters were clichés. I was very wrong. The PR speak of saying something without saying anything, the office politics, the hapless muddling through, the competitive coffee-ordering, a weekend away being “rebranded as a romantic mini-break”, the people who think that if they really believe something, it makes it true, were nothing compared to the excellent characterisation, not just the main characters - there was as much work put into the guest-stars of the week: the star-struck vicar, the appallingly nasty Under-Sec at the Foreign Office (last seen being kicked out of office by Malcolm Tucker), the bitter protester complaining that all his fourth wife gave him was a recipe for salad dressing were just as brilliantly conceived and written. I now can't take the expressions: "Not a problem," "Absolutely" and "Enjoy" at all seriously and, having binged on S1 when I was ill, started to, like Sally, rather fall for the beleaguered Ian Fletcher.

Songs that reminded me of yesteryear:

The Trash Can Sinatras - Obscurity Knocks. You may fault the over-production but you can't beat those melodies