Bridge Over Troubled Water: Mad About The Boy Review

Photograph does not belong to me
Photograph does not belong to me

Monday 11th August 2014
Weight: doesn’t matter. Have decided that worth is not tied to numbers on scale. Fat test is now whether or not I can tie own shoelaces. At the moment can, so v. good. Cigarettes smoked: nil. Haven’t smoked since 1994. Tell people I am allergic to Nicotine but it is because I don’t know how to inhale properly.

Monday. This is not good. Mental boss being particularly mental and clueless as usual. Only ray of light poking into my day is work (and IRL) friend B. Decide the only way to distract myself from shouting at someone is to eat my feelings and sent 37 bitchy emails entitled ‘WTF’. This helps.

18.15 pm Get home and remember I finished my book last night. Hence bags under eyes and less than regulation 8 hours sleep. Hence bad mood. Realise I have Bridget Jones 3: Mad About The Boy on the ‘to read’ pile so feel a bit happier. Hmm, but also have I Capture The Castle which is a classic and will make me look cleverer on the bus.

Realise never take bus and anyway, need a dose of Bridge as she is v. funny. Decide overusing Fielding‘s ‘v.good’ signature phrase makes me look lazy so vow to leave this alone for rest of review.

20.38 pm Must start book but have recently discovered Nurse Jackie on Netflix. Netflix was invented by the devil, wasn’t it?

21.41 pm Laugh out loud for solid minute at Gwyneth Goop pisstaking. Brilliant brilliant brilliant.

Tuesday 12 August 2014
Weight: look I told you, none of your beeswax. Punnets of cherries consumed: 2. Number of times strained eyebrow muscles by rolling eyes too vigorously over the desk divider at B: 12. Number of times considered flipping desk violently and telling Stupid Boss to stick her job: 3.

08.09 am Husband leaves while I am brushing my teeth. Says he will be at the Barbara when I get in having his beard groomed (barber). Makes Night of the Living Dead reference as front door slams. Married right guy.

09.00 am Get to work and talk about Robin Williams who has passed away. Facebook is awash with tribute posts about the man most of us grew up with. Feel sad. Vow to watch Patch Adams this weekend.

09.14 am Boss already cursing behind computer screen. I decide best course of action is to zone out and not give her attention. Think about Mad About The Boy and how touching it is. Imagine what my life would be like if I were in a similar sitch. Decide, like Bridge, not to dwell.

09.15 am Remember line about Gwynnie and chuckle to myself for another minute.

09.24 am Is it home time yet?

09.25 am Have eaten all morning snack supplies already. Will be hula hooping this evening for three hours at this rate.

10.46 am Irrationally angry. Rant over email to B for five minute. Feel better.

11.50 am Can someone pay me to blog inanely with no real focus from home in my pants please?

11.59 am Tweet stuff about Boss then get paranoid. Leaving trail of outrage across social media not very profesh. Decide don’t care. Think about Bridge’s foray into social networking and it cheers me up. Can’t wait to get back home and read my evening away. Vow not to turn on TV at all when get home from work.

20.06 pm Get annoyed with Mr Bee as he wants to watch a Zombie/Vampire hybrid tv show called Strain. Get annoyed about the name of show as it puts me in mind of something disgusting. Agree but tell Mr Bee must be in bed by 9.30 as Bridget is waiting for me.

21.22pm Get to bed with eight minutes to spare. Pre-empt seduction by mentioning tiredness and reading.

21.38pm Am crying. Hard. Mascara did not remove before bed falls into eyes. Bridget grieving is a very powerful thing. Ah, but have also caught up with Daniel Cleaver. Not all doom and gloom.

Wednesday 13th August 2014
Weight: pffffffffffffffffffffffffft. Number of bums shouting “Fuck!” repeatedly outside window at 4.30am this morning: 2. Number of times consider bucket of cold water out of window onto street below: 3 (twice for bums, once for flock of seagulls – not the eighties band).

10.25 am Let’s not talk about work again, shall we?

Continue reading “Bridge Over Troubled Water: Mad About The Boy Review”

Uncle Robin 1951 – 2014

Robin-Williams-robin-williams-32089824-2798-3916Yesterday most of the world woke up to the news that Robin Williams had passed away.

I was in a decidedly un-glamorous place as I scrolled through Facebook and found out for myself (embarrassing source of all my news). My subsequent scream from the bathroom caused Mr Bee to get very annoyed when he realised I hadn’t just been injured or attacked.

It is always strange when a beloved celebrity passes away. This year we have already been rocked by the passing of another favourite, Philip Seymour Hoffman, and in similarly shocking circumstances (all still alleged). Hoffman from a heroin overdose in his own bathroom and now Williams, who is believed to have taken his own life.

It’s just so very sad. I guess when you think about death at a not even that old age, you hope for something quick and painless. Tragic, of course but natural. To consider the ongoing suffering of somebody famous for making others feel better is a bitter punchline in itself.

This morning as I was stomping around the park thinking about this subject and of what Robin meant to me, I got to thinking about the joke Rorschach tells in Watchmen:

I heard a joke once: Man goes to doctor. Says he’s depressed. Says life is harsh and cruel. Says he feels all alone in a threatening world. Doctor says, “Treatment is simple. The great clown Pagliacci is in town tonight. Go see him. That should pick you up.” Man bursts into tears. Says, “But doctor… I am Pagliacci.” Good joke. Everybody laugh. Roll on snare drum. Curtains.

Moral of the story: you never know.

Now, I don’t feel qualified to comment on what sort of torment must lead a person to such a hopeless place. I don’t think it’s the cowards way out though.

I know a few things about mental illness and depression, I know a bit about addiction but all my experience is second hand. I know it’s serious and that we should be able to talk about it openly, without judgment and help should be readily available. It goes further than that though and I understand this.

I just feel incredibly sad. I feel as though the world will genuinely have an empty hole in it now. Robin always felt like an uncle to me and when we spoke about him, Mr Bee and I called him ‘Uncle Robin’.

Had he been my real uncle (and I do love my actual uncles), I imagine Robin would have been able to fix anything with a hairy armed bear hug. Nothing could be bad within that embrace and nothing would ever light up the room like that smile. That laugh.

Now this is my fantasy, of an uncle I’ll never have but I’m sure his own children felt that way about him. I’m sure his friends, his wife, all his loved ones felt that way too. I hope he’s at peace now.

Rest easy, Peter Pan.