A Classless Christmas (and an Unbiased New Year)

Apparently it was recently Christmas, and despite it occurring on the same day every year a lot of people seemed surprised to see it again. None so more than television producer and Daily Mail columnist Charlotte Metcalf, whose recent bout of jingle hell has upset a fair few people, mainly of the middle- and working-classes. You can read the thing here, but if it makes you especially unhappy I'd suggest just leaving her alone; the woman's had a hard time since it was published and it's not pleasant is it kiddies?

The thing that I believe upsets most people is not that she has held a privileged position: many homes, many cars, earning more in a week than most of us make in a month (and yes that's before tax); it's the naive insistence that since she and her family have had their fill of embroidered cushion covers and luxury bath oil, nothing else will be remotely good enough. It's as if everything below Harrod's in the budget line is not worth bothering with. And here is where the problem lies.

Stockings are a great idea, and so is shopping around.

Hands up if you got all of your Christmas shopping done in one day. All of the food, gift wrap, presents, homeware etc. If your hand is up, you must be a liar. I don't even get my general shopping all in one shop: if I know where something's cheaper I'll buy it there instead. Pound shops are the friends of people like me who don't think they should have to pay £1.69 for washing-up liquid with my weekly food shop when one can get two bottles of Limon Freschchsch! for £1. While essentials and food are often better value than most supermarkets, with toys you admittedly will get what you pay for. I say buy your cut-price triangular confectionery from Poundland and maybe splash out a few more quid on little High Street odds-and-sods: plenty of shops now cash in on stocking filler ideas, for example Peacocks, Burtons, and BHS to name a few.

Part of growing up is learning to cope with disappointment.

As a kid, I always turned over my scribbled list to my parents in early November or so. Often it was about ten items long and I did ask for branded toys like Barbie and Lego, but nothing was guaranteed. And you know what? I didn't throw myself to the ground kicking and screaming in front of my parents and demand gifts: for one thing they would quite rightly have given me the hiding of my life right there and then, but primarily because Mum and Dad never implied that if I made a list I'd automatically receive everything on it.

"Christmas Disappointment" does not last. Parents only truly disappoint their child when they don't keep a promise.

Some years when I handed over my list, Mum and Dad would sit me down and ask which things on it I really wanted. Often our conversations went like this:

Mum: What does that say?

Little Neety: A Barbie.

Dad: What kind of Barbie?

LN: One like Allana's.

M: How about a different Barbie instead of one like Allana's? Otherwise you both have the same, and it'll be boring. Poor Allana's Barbie will have nobody new to play with!

LN: Yeah!

D: And you've put Lego here. Now there's lots of Lego, isn't there?

LN: Yes. *eats fist*

D: What type of Lego did you mean?

LN: *shrugs, eating fist*

M: Did you put Lego on there because Ashley wants Lego?

LN: *thinks for a moment* Yes.

D: So you don't really want Lego do you? How about you have a good think, and tell Father Christmas what you want.

I didn't always know what I wanted, especially at a young age when you're programmed to instantly want anything you see in the advert breaks during Pokemon. If you sit your kid down like my parents did and say "There will be presents this year, but perhaps not all the ones on your list", there may be a few tears before bedtime but at least you haven't led them into false hope. And any child that does throw a major tantrum upon hearing about Santa's budget cuts this year - bad news parents, your child has already been spoilt.

Be honest with your friends.

Ever heard the one about the chap who won the lottery? To celebrate his win he went down to his local, bought each of his buddies a drink and they all laughed and joked together. The next morning he received phone calls from people he hadn't heard from in years who had suddenly decided they were interested in him again. Any idiot can see that these people are what is known as "fair-weather friends": friends who like you only when you've got a lot going for you. If you explain humbly to your friends that they'll just be getting cards this year, your best friends are the ones that go "Hey, don't worry about it, we'll just do cards." If you want to get something for their kids, the choice is then yours and yours alone. Often the nicest gift is something you take a little time to make yourself: how about some simple gingerbread cookies for the kids to ice, or a nice home-made card?

The trouble with Ms Metcalf is that she harks back to her days of smoked salmon Christmas breakfast and £20-a-pop ribbons as if it is the only life worth living. I've never even been into Harrod's let alone bought my presents there and I can only imagine how luxurious the gifts must be, but just because a gift is 'High Street' it doesn't mean it is any less enjoyed or treasured by the person who receives it. Boots, The Body Shop, Lush, Whittards, Lakeland and Paperchase to name a small group of stores all have fantastic gift ideas that look, feel, smell and taste great and feel luxurious whether they cost £2 or £22. Globally, we are all in the same boat, and some of us like Ms Metcalfe made changes to their lifestyle this year, whether it was taking a gamble in the volatile world of second and third homes (her) or moving into your first home with your partner (me), and not all of these ventures always pay off.

I hope my readers (all three of you) had a good and full Christmas and go on to have a prosperous New Year. And remember at Christmas as well as the other 364 days of the year: Stand by the decisions you make, give your family your time and effort which is the best gift of all, and don't promise something you just can't deliver.

SOURCE: Metcalf, Charlotte (2010) The Daily Mail Online, www.dailymail.co.uk, retrieved 31/12/10. Source article updated 6/12/10

Apologies to my oldest friends Allana and Ashley for using you in my analogy, and thanks for many happy years of Barbie and Lego.

'Red Tops' Should Be Red Faced

Hello readers. I'm meant to be on holiday and enjoying myself, but thanks to two very insensitive, celeb-hounding daily publications, I'm wound up. So thank you, you inconsiderate bastards.*

Why am I so wound up? Well, I popped down to the local offey to get some holiday essentials (I'm only in Portsmouth and it's pissing it down, yay Britain) and I noticed something was amiss on the cover of not one but two 'red-tops'.

You probably saw it yourself. If you did, congratulations for not screeching in fury and rending said article in twain. If you didn't see it, let me explain: identical pictures of Cheryl Cole, obviously screenshots from recently shot footage from the X Factor show, obviously leaked from some degenerate who works there. She was slumped on her desk, presumably unconscious, and in case you had any doubt ("Oh, she's just resting or crying or something, they'd never print a picture of a seriously ill person mid-collapse. Would they?") there was even a massive headline reading "SHE'S OUT COLE".

Oh, hilarious. Very well done. I'd have liked to have been sat next to the moron who thought that was acceptable as a headline, mainly because I'd have liked to have cuffed them around the neck and forced them face first onto their desk.

Speaking of someone regularly faints, it is a horrible experience. One minute you're up and about, next minute you wake up on the floor and don't know a thing. Often there are people staring at you. It's scary and humiliating. It's been widely put out in the last few months that Cheryl is in a fragile state after contracting malaria; and who can blame her when the press is hawking this sort of shit about.

Imagine if you will what it must be like to be her, or Robbie, or Kerry, or Jordan. Disregard whatever opinion of them you already have and imagine that in the back of their minds there's this shrill little voice going "She's ill! Ill! Her husband is cheating! She's going to lose jobs! She's too thin! She's with this man! Now she's with this man!"

What would that be like in your own life? Imagine being followed by "He's no good at his job!" "She's too fat!" "His girlfriend cheats!" "She can't get a boyfriend!" Although the stars mostly maintain a dignified silence, and have really good agents who can field most of the horrid press, I'm sure some gets though. Read Kerry Katona's column in OK, Peter Andre's column in New!, Alex Reid's column in Star. There's a designated slot for denying stupid rumours.

I must still be relatively naive, because when I last checked it wasn't OK to gawp and giggle at unconscious women. If Cheryl was a non-famous bystander who collapsed, would there be this mass interest? Maybe, if it had happened to a nobody like me at a celeb hangout or during a prime-time TV audience slot. Then the headline would be on Page 28 and would read "WOMAN FAINTS AT PLANET HOLLYWOOD: LITTERS FLOOR WITH FILTHY PLEBEAN BODY".

My advice is stop funding it. Stop reading. I was going to buy the paper to research it, but then how does that make me better than the moron who goes "Oh my GOD, wait 'til I show everyone in the office THIS."

*Actually, it didn't ruin my holiday. It was lovely.

The Birth of Some Icons

So you're back then? Great, I was hoping you would be, as I've been making icons for you and finalising my Blog layout. Actually I've been doing that for the past few weeks - I'm getting waaay better at this.

Anyway, I mentioned last time about there being some changes to the layout of the Blog. My posts are now going to be laid out in a certain way. Instead of waffling on for paragraphs about it, I'm going to let the pictures do the talking. Then I'm going to talk a little bit anyway.

Features - You remember the posts that came in groups and took forever? Those were my

features, and they're back. And this time it's personal (no really, it is; I write them myself about personally chosen topics). All joking aside, there will be features and many more of them. On my side this time I have several contributors, all of whom can be found in my new look links bar (see "You Should Read These") from photographers to musicians.

Yeah, I'm not getting rid of these. As a woman I reserve the right to rant and rant until the day ends, and then come online and do it some more. Let's face it: you seem to like them, I haven't got in trouble yet and I quite enjoy getting my teeth into something now and again (HUR HUR HUR). Plus there's plenty of things out there in the great wide world that sometimes make me want to explode and spew molten loony all over the place, and I would really like to not do that.

You may have noticed that these things are crappily rendered in MS Paint. While that may be true, nothing will tarnish the love and care that went into these. At the very least they convey what they're meant to, so I'm quite happy with them. The little one on the top is a Media review. That denotes anything that can be seen, listened to, watched or played. And its little brother on the bottom there means that the post will be a product review (see the little handbag? I have an A Level in Graphic Design, damn it). As this is a blog aimed mainly at women, it is most likely to be an item of cosmetics, perfume, maybe a ladies' brand such as Bravissimo or No7. I like to think I am more than fair to you guys, so you can just ignore these (although please try and read them; they might help if you have a girlfriend you like to buy treats for, or they might just debunk a few myths and mysteries).

So there you have it. Also, for those of you on Facebook, why not become a fan of us there: don't act like you're too discerning, I've seen you liking "The Original Power Rangers".

Happy reading!

Reboot!

In my recent break from Blogging, I’ve been taking a look at my work from the years previous and I’ve realised that in past months, I really did get lucky. About 18 months ago I was jobless, joyless, morose and bloated and stuck in a relationship that was about as charming and life-affirming as the ebola virus. Today I sit typing in my cosy two-bed flat while I eat the dinner made for me by the companion I’ve always dreamed of. If I met my past self, Present Neety would have given Past Neety a rousing pep-talk a la Shakespeare’s Henry V and Past Neety would have responded by knocking Present Neety unconscious and making off with her purse (I was desperate; JSA paid a measly £48 a week.)

Cutting to the chase, I have to say that my cheery disposition has drained my bile, and as a result I have had less to whinge about. That and I’ve managed to balance a course in Birmingham, a house move, a sick turtle, two jobs, a show, a wedding and several other minor activities into the last month or so.

So in the absence of Blog material and the presence of petty excuses I’ve decided to re-model LADYBLOG once again. And I’m not just talking about the colour scheme, I’m talking structural layout. This is me pressing the T-bar on the explosives switch. Here’s a quick breakdown of what you’ll be getting:

- Gasp! At the advent of descriptive ‘tabs’ which let you know which vein the post will follow: whether it’s a general rant, a review or a topic-specific article.

- Marvel! At the amalgamation of Take it or Leave it, my ill-fated reviews site with LADYBLOG to create one organised Blog.

- Wonder! At the new site layout and colour scheme (hey, I’ve just moved home, I’m in that kinda mood. It might even change again.)

- Laugh! With the introduction of illustrations, hand-drawn (loosely termed) by Neety herself!

- Ponder! The links to relevant articles, media and showcases from fellow Blogs, as well as collaborations from a range of sources: other Bloggers, websites, social networking polls, etc.

Now I must say that I admire those who can apply deadlines to their work, and in my admiration I must say that I will not be conforming to any strict deadline. I will be however starting to plan out my Blogs in advance and will aim for an update at least once a week in any chosen format. The first couple of weeks will be a trial format and I may change the layout of tabs and Blogs as I go.

May I end with a thanks to my loyal readers: LADYBLOG’s been going for a little while now and without trying to sound like Halle Berry collecting her Oscar in a veil of tears and showbiz snot I am genuinely overwhelmed by every comment I receive, or everyone who has personally admitted to reading a Blog (even if they didn’t necessarily like or agree with it). So thanks to you guys. Stick with me; the best is (hopefully) yet to come.

A Sizeable Question

All is quiet.

Your hands tremble with fear and embarrassment. All around you people march past with glazed, unfeeling eyes, getting on with their daily routine, unaware of the internal struggle going on between your brain, your heart and your stomach. Sweating profusely, you stretch out your unsteady arm to grab the nearest article, ducking away into the crowd like a petty criminal, ashamed of yourself. You stagger to the cold MDF counter and lay the spoils of your hunt down before the stone-faced assistant like a slaughtered lamb on the butcher's slab.

Struggling out of La Senza, you shed a solitary guilty tear as you remember your empty boasts. "Shopping for my girlfriend? Easy!!"

OK, so that may not happen to everyone. But having said that, how many of your guys have a girlfriend? How many know her clothes size? And that's without any of the following 'help': being told outright, or picking her garment off of the bedroom floor and checking the label. And even if you know that your lovely miss is for example a 12 up top, did you bother to listen when she said "Oh but I'm a 12 in New Look and a 14 in Monsoon and a 10 in River Island and a Medium in Next and a 24 in Primark..."

My point is, I have a beef with those women of the "You bought me the wrong size? How dare you. How dare you insult me with your presence, get out of my life, you never loved me, blah blah."

Judging by my approxiamtion of what a shopping trip must be like for a guy purchasing for his fairer half, I'm not surprised that the number of men eager to buy their girlfriend clothing as gifts is waning furiously. I SAID WANING. During a conversation with my poor put-upon boyfriend, I casually asked him what size he thought I was. "Er..." he said, all the while probably thinking he aught to remove himself from the kitchen and the array of sharp objects before answering, "er....a.12?"

I was extremely flattered, and I didn't mind admitting that I am actually a 14-16. I say this because I'm a 14 in New Look, 16 in Next, yada yada - and that's just up top. There is no such think as a definitive 'size' any more. Look through my wardrobe (don't, actually; I'll be mighty pissed) and you'll find 14s, 16s, the odd 12 and 18 in both tops and bottoms. This is because I'm bigger up-top than on my hips. And I'm not the only girl with this trait...but then not all girls are like me

So you guys have a tough time already before you've even hit the shops. Take lingerie shopping for example. I'm actually in London as part of my Christmas/Easter treat, and Mr Brawn has allowed me to visit the Covent Garden branch of lingerie mogul Bravissimo's stores. And there I will be buying my own lingerie, simply because I am one of these women who does not always fit directly into the size 'niche'. Of course, I could send him in there with my money and see what happens, but to be honest I could probably predict that I will wind up out of pocket and out of decent bras.

So give men a chance, for Freya's sake. Stop berating them when they get the tiniest thing wrong. The odds are stacked pretty high against them as it is, and anyway isn't it better in the long run to carry on letting them think you're a 12?