lifestylesupportguru

A Day in the Life…

Good evening, Beloved Believers! Here I am, once again, to brighten up your dreary, mundane lives with tales of my exciting, fun-filled life.
Today was an exceptionally full day.

Movies

Call Me By Your Name

First, I was invited by Bazza the Friendly Geordie (the BFG) to accompany her to a foreign film and, knowing that these foreign films can be strange, I decided I would look for some reviews for it just so that I would be prepared.
Well, Devoted Devotees, the reviews did not disappoint, and I looked forward to seeing a film

which featured ‘sensual boiled eggs’ and which promised that I would never look at a peach in the same way again. The film was ‘Call Me By Your Name’ and was set in Italy in 1983, with accompanying 80s soundtrack, although I have to say I only recognised ‘Words’ by FR David.

It is the story of a burgeoning (good word, and one I chose myself!) romance between a 17-year-old boy, Elio, and his father’s research assistant, Oliver, an older man, one summer in Lombardy. Personally, I thought Oliver was a bit smarmy, although the reviews called him ‘a golden Adonis’; I would have called him a narcissistic show-off who thought he was god’s gift, but that’s only one opinion, even if it is that of the LSG. We were warned of ‘strong sex’ at the start of the film, which made me wonder if one could warn of ‘weak sex’, and just what that might involve, but I digress…

sensual boiled egg

I looked out for the ‘sensual boiled egg’, described by the Telegraph as ‘an unexpected gush of golden yolk which brought confused emotion to Elio’s face’; personally, I didn’t spot the confused emotion – I just thought that Oliver was a messy eater as far as soft-boiled eggs were concerned.

So, all rested on the peach, so to speak – small shivers of anticipation ran through me every time there was a shot of a peach tree, as I waited to see how my view of a peach could be changed for ever. At last the moment arrived – suffice to say that I may never be able to eat a peach again without certain images coming into my mind. I do not wish to offend your sensibilities by describing exactly what happened with said peach, but it involved the stone being dug out of the middle of it by Elio and the peach then being used by him… and I shall leave it at that. A lot messier than the egg yolk, believe me!

The scenery was beautiful and at times I thought I was, in fact, watching ‘A Place in the Sun’, although they didn’t produce a ‘mystery house’ as the final choice – unnecessary, anyway, as the peach was enough of a mystery!
The BFG enjoyed it, as did I – if I don’t fall asleep, that means it’s a good film.

This was then followed by some ironing (at home, not in the cinema) – ‘How is that exciting?’ I hear you cry. It was exciting because, when I handed DODO his freshly-laundered clothes, he went upstairs to put them away, then rushed back downstairs and said, smiling, ‘I thought I’d left this in Turkey!’, referring to a particular polo shirt which had been waiting to be ironed for ever such a long time… (he returned from Turkey in June…)

And finally today, we went to Derby Night Market where, firstly, DODO was amazed that the LSG managed to walk away from the leather handbag stall without buying anything (the handbags were leather, not the stall, and I already have two purchased from there on previous occasions, which DODO may not have realised…); DODO went off to take some photogenic photos of the cathedral while the LSG went for some refreshment (shopping is exhausting). Interesting to have a glass of wine in a place where one is used to having toast and coffee…

What a lovely day, full of a variety of events, friends (well, one – the BFG), food, drink, eggs, peaches…
Sleep well, Adoring Acolytes

Being A Sex Pest

A very good evening from the Lifestyle Support Guru, but I am sorry to say that it is with great sadness that I have to confess to being a sex pest. Given the confessions and disclosures of the past few days, I feel that it is only fair that I, too, should own up to having taken advantage of being in a position of power; in this particular case, the power came from being female. (When I say ‘came from being female’, I don’t mean that I am no longer female, but that I was female at the time – and still am – but had a little more ‘oomph’ then than I have now; in other words, age has taken its toll.)

I shall set the scene, as usual:
The scenario is an international rugby game at what was then Cardiff Arms Park, many moons ago, when you only had a seat if you were really posh; otherwise you stood and watched the game with the rest of the ‘normal’ people. The ‘party’ consisted of three people – the LSG, DODO and the male sibling of a very good friend called Karen (that’s the good friend who’s called Karen, not the male sibling…). We only had two tickets for the game, but didn’t see this as an obstacle to all three of us getting into the Arms Park – the optimism of youth (and a few pints of Brains Dark!).
We waited until the crowds had died down a little (well, actually, we ordered another pint in a nearby pub so that we could be sure of the crowds having died down…), then headed for the ground and waved the two tickets at the policemen standing at the first gates – but we waved them so quickly that they couldn’t tell if there were two or three tickets (they’d probably been ordering a last pint as well). The big test would come when we got to the turnstiles where it would be obvious that there were three of us, but only two tickets. Luckily, good friend’s sibling came up with a CUNNING PLAN! I’ll call him Nigel for the sake of anonymity.

Nigel: LSG, if DODO and I take the two tickets, why don’t you go to another turnstile and see if you can talk your way into the ground while the national anthems are playing. Come up with some sort of sob story.
DODO: Sounds ok to me. (Obviously has no problem pimping his sister if it means he can watch Wales play.)
LSG: Fine. (Obviously no problem with thinking up sob stories – useful for future reference.)

The LSG, in her younger and more attractive incarnation, heads for a different turnstile and finds a young man manning it (could a woman ‘woman’ it?). The conversation goes as follows:

LSG: I’m really sorry, but I wonder if you can help in any way? I came to the game with my brother and his friend but I’ve lost them and they’ve got my ticket for the game. (Remember, this was WELL before the days of mobile phones!)
Young Man: Oh dear, that would be a shame if you missed the game. (Strains of ‘God Save the Queen’ in the background.) But I can’t really help because I have to check every ticket through and you haven’t got a ticket…
LSG: What can I do, then? (Tears well in her eyes – further useful practice for the future.) They’ll be expecting me to meet them at the front of the enclosure. They’ve forgotten they’ve got my ticket.
YM: Well, tell you what, if you give me a kiss, I’ll let you through the turnstile.
LSG: Just a kiss?
YM: Yes, just a kiss.
(A nanosecond of thought because this was the 1970s and he wasn’t exactly the Omar Sharif of turnstile ticket collectors.)
LSG: OK

The YM closes his eyes in anticipation, expecting a passionate snog, but the LSG kisses him quickly on the cheek and says, ‘Can you let me through now, please?’ YM realises he’s been conned in some way, but opens the turnstile just as the Welsh national anthem starts!

‘And that, m’lud, is exactly what happened – at no time did I put my hand on the Young Man’s knee.’

Sleep well, devoted devotees!

Being A Radio Star

ADVANCE NOTICE (if I were a taxi driver or someone who wrote roadworks signs, that would say ADVANCED NOTICE, but I wish to give you prior notice of something, not notice of something at a higher level).

Advice From The LSG

Studio Set Up

The Lifestyle Support Guru will be offering advice during DODO’s radio programme on Tuesday, October 24th. This advice is in response to a listener’s query, advice which I hope she will find useful when she hears it. Her anonymity is guaranteed (I am the soul of discretion, Debbie of Willington).

However, I am not writing about the query, because that would spoil your enjoyment, dear listeners; no, I wish to let you know about the trials and tribulations I had to undergo in order to record the said advice. It is not just a case of sitting in front of a microphone and speaking – oh no, nothing so simple, beloved believers!

Recording In The Home Studio

Let me set the scene:
DODO has his room set up as a mini recording studio and tells me he will do the same to mine so that we can speak to each other while recording. This involves:
i) Running wires for the microphone and headset from his room to mine via the hallway and over my door (he LOVES wires!)
ii) Almost yanking my head off my shoulders as the headset wire catches on his sleeve as he leaves my room
iii) Telling me he can hear the traffic outside over his headphones – I close my window
iv) Telling me he can hear a clock ticking in my room – I hide the clock under the duvet
v) Telling me he can hear Molly purring (she’s sitting on my keyboard) – I hide Molly under the duvet

Once we have finished the recording, I ask if the wires can be removed because Molly (who has found her way out from under the duvet) is now looking up at them in a very interested way and I can see her calculating the shortest distance between the wires and the bookcase (which I now wish I’d fixed securely to the wall). Luckily, her attention is caught by her tail (which she’s had all her life, but which still seems to take her by surprise every couple of days) and we are able to remove the wires without any problems.

As I write this, and while enjoying a cool glass of wine in the pub (well, it IS Saturday night after all), DODO and I have been having a little discussion about the other customers in the bar. Far be it from us to be judgemental, but our original opinion that they were ‘very special needs’ has been revised downwards to ‘excluded as soon as they started in Year 7’.

Now, back to my original topic – ADVANCE NOTICE: every Tuesday, 7-9 pm (UK time), David on http://in2derby.co.uk/ playing some wonderful music and featuring the LSG!! (Only available on t’internet at present.)
Turn on and tune in!
PS The Excludeds have gone out for a ciggie – I feel like I’ve gone deaf!

They Do Things Different in Yorkshire, Tha Knows.

Rob Bates

Acronyms!

A very, very good evening to you all from the Lifestyle Support Guru! I am in a particularly joyous mood tonight because I have at last been vindicated in my food of choice (or my choice of food). Let me explain:
This afternoon I went to see the film God’s Own Country with my very good friend the BFG (Bazza the Friendly Geordie), although her husband, the BSG (Bazza’s Shy Geordie), was unable to accompany her because he was repairing a temperamental toilet. In fact, thinking about it, the BSG always seems able to find any number of domestic tasks whenever the BFG is meeting the LSG – a mere coincidence, surely? The LSG was accompanied by DODO, but not TOFU or TT (the Tiny Tyke), although DODO went AWOL before the film, since he didn’t think it would be to his taste – he’s more of a ‘shoot ‘em up’ type (although a calf got shot in the film, but I don’t think he would have counted that) .
I had considered asking TOFU and TT along because the film is set in Yorkshire, TOFU’s current place of residence and TT’s birthplace, but they still have to earn a penny or two while the LSG and DODO can make merry to their heart’s content! And so to the film and the reason for the LSG’s delight. (Enough acronyms there to please any writer of government leaflets!)

Review

God’s Own Country (a sort of northern Brokeback Mountain but with sheep farmers instead of cowboys, and a couple of cows instead of horses) is a little bit like Countryfile on steroids, with nudity, sex and strong language thrown in for good measure, Do not expect a ‘Morecambe and Wise Tour of Yorkshire’. However, I feel I learned quite a few things from the film, such as how to skin a lamb or build a drystone wall.

Pot Noodles

So where does the feeling of great joy come from, I hear you cry. Well, this is the first time I have ever seen a film that featured… Pot Noodles! Yes, dearest followers, not just one Pot Noodle, but several! A whole bucketful, in fact, which the two young heroes took with them when they went to spend a week in close proximity in a derelict outbuilding on top of the moors during the lambing period.
My only complaint is that there seemed to be a lack of reality in the amount of time allowed for the ‘Pot’ to cook properly – they just poured on the water and started eating instead of allowing the requisite four minutes. I distinctly heard a ‘crunch’ from one of the young men because his Noodles hadn’t softened enough, so to speak. Nor did they have bread and butter, an essential part of the ‘Pot Noodle experience’, but perhaps understandable when eating at a campfire on top of the Yorkshire moors.
So there you have it, Beloved Believers, Pot Noodles on the big screen – is there any greater accolade or mark of respectability, even in a film set in Yorkshire? I leave you with that thought and wish you a very good night.

The Party’s Over

Camilo Ayala

Great Sadness

It is with great sadness and an aching heart (but an immense sense of relief) that I have to announce that I no longer regard myself as a PARTY ANIMAL. How has it come to this, you may ask yourself. How can the Lifestyle Support Guru have reached this sorry state? What momentous event can have caused this? Let me tell you…

DODO and I decided that we would venture into the city centre to sample the bright lights of a Saturday night, something we had not done for some time. THIS WAS A MISTAKE.

We started in a new ‘games pub’ where everyone was playing board games, which wasn’t so bad, although it’s not how I personally would have chosen to spend my Saturday nights when I was in my twenties (or thirties, or forties, or…).
Looking for something just a touch more lively, we moved on to a Latin-American-themed establishment. THIS WAS A MISTAKE.

At first we were ignored by the bar staff, who probably thought we were the cleaners and had arrived early. After getting served (we were the only ones not drinking cocktails), we managed to get a seat and gazed around at the clientele. I came to a number of conclusions:
i) Too many women were wearing dresses at least one size too small
ii) Too many women had failed to purchase ‘no VPL’ (no Visible Panty Line) underwear to go under their small dresses
iii) Too many women had not practised walking in stilettos before coming out for the night
iv) Too many women were too concerned about flicking their hair alluringly over their shoulder then looking round to see who’d seen them do it
v) Too many women were ‘shaking their booty’ – not a pretty sight in a dress two sizes too small, and quite unnerving for DODO because they were ‘shaking it’ in his face. He almost choked on his beer!

I am all for self-expression and not judging others, but there are limits… I doubt very much that the young woman with the VERY large bust and VERY narrow hips wearing a VERY short, tight dress with large flowers (possibly peonies or cabbage roses) on it had intended to look like a drag queen… THIS WAS A MISTAKE.

But there has been one final ‘event’ that has settled it in my mind that my PARTY ANIMAL days are finished. I was preparing a gourmet Sunday lunch (fish and chips – or ‘frites’, since they were from M&S) for myself and DODO. It was as I was lifting out the baking tray to turn the ‘frites’ over halfway through cooking, as per the instructions (is there a knack to this? They seem to end up on the floor or not turned over unless I use my fingers, which HURTS!) that a thought sprang unbidden into my mind – ‘Hmm, I could do with some new oven gloves.’ NEW OVEN GLOVES? NEW OVEN GLOVES? NEVER in the LSG’s long(ish) and illustrious life have oven gloves ever featured in any significant way. And certainly not on a Sunday afternoon with lunch and a glass of wine waiting.

And that, beloved believers, is when I realised that my PARTY ANIMAL days are finally over. One cannot allow PARTY ANIMAL and OVEN GLOVES to exist in the same mind. I am off to the Aga shop tomorrow…
THIS MAY BE A MISTAKE.

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