Tag Archives: Hallowe’en

Oops

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Dear Bruno,

Mummy would like to apologise for crippling you with terror on Hallowe’en night.

When the chap at the petting farm asked if you were old enough for the ‘Scary Tractor Ride’ as we stumbled through the pitch-black field, Mummy laughed because she thought he was making a funny joke.

It’s true, the green-faced witch with the odd stillness did have prescription-drug eyes but she only shone her flashlight in your face a couple of times.

The crouching bag-of-bones skeleton searching for his missing body parts who mounted the ride was quite a surprise though, wasn’t he?

Perhaps less so than the re-enactment of his craven encounters with the psychotic scarecrow on the wicker platforms erected around the meadow of spent corn-sheaves.

But if you think about it, the slow trundling of the tractor through the flattened husks might have been quite boring without the irregular hollow grunts from the darkness and random grabbing through the railings.

And, deary me, what an unexpected fellow with tangled wig and chainsaw popped up at the end, shortly before you and your little quickened heart were coerced into pelting the pumpkin effigy with shrivelled yellow cobs.

For the record, Mummy wants to say to you now- and to any therapists who may be digging around in the future- that none of this was planned and that bad dreams are just your mind’s clever-clogs way of clearing out its demented fears.

Love,

Mummy x

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Mariah Scarey

I was plugged into the video of Mariah’s song ‘Obsessed’ at the gym this morning and I experienced fear.

The way she starts the song with the words ‘I was, like, why are you so obsessed with me?’ struck me as, like, a deliberately offensive way to, like, start a song.

Then the visual throwback of her walking past an L.A. hotel carrying loads of shopping bags and wearing a gold necklace saying the word, ‘Angel’ made my skin tingle in a different way to the dumb bells.

But coming in at number one most creepy thing to have been let out of the creative industry’s doors in a long time was her cameo appearances as the obsessed stalker himself. (The knowing smile at the end indicating that she is, like, totally cool with any self-obsessed implications.)

Yes, dear reader, what might have elicited a smug little ‘cheeky twist’ chortle from the music producers at an initial meeting has been carried through to its breathtakingly unnerving conclusion.

Mariah Carey as an Eminem chauffeur/hoodie/male stylist parody, with a hairdryer and a fluffy goatee beard, doing blokey hip-hop moves while fawning over her snakeskin-body-hugger-wench self made me slam the emergency ‘STOP’ button on the treadmill.

Stay in on Hallowe’en and pop her on the DVD player with lights dimmed.

mariah-carey-obsessed-video

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=-hpiwPXkbVc

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Scary

Bond reminds me of Sunday afternoons when I was a little girl, asking my father to explain the plot over the noisy action scenes, in the days before video.

It clearly irritated him beyond measure, especially when I didn’t understand the explanation either.

He probably felt uncomfortable watching me copy him laughing at the sexual innuendos too.

Bond: I can feel a stiffening coming on.

Me: Hahahahahahahahaha!

Incidentally, when I Googled sexual innuendo in Bond I found a website where a chap called Brian posed a question I have copied below because, how can you not love a responsible parent?

My 9-year-old son is a spy nut and knows of James Bond. I would like to rent one of the videos for him but want one that won’t scare him to death. I don’t mind sexual innuendo and chase scenes, but I’d like to minimize the blood and guts and overt violence. Any thoughts?

Anyway, there’s been a tiny bit of publicity out for the new one but in case it doesn’t hit the mark MGM have hired 1 million hitmen to hold a knife up to the throats of the British Public, suggesting they go to see it. Each man is responsible for terrorising 50 people, to make sure the population is covered (the few million they will miss are in the industry and have already seen it).

And I’m confident it will be a jolly way to pass a couple of hours, even if it’s hard to look at Daniel Craig without thinking of Zoolander.

Yet not as confident, it would appear, as Olga Kurylenko, who I stumbled across in a BBC news website interview and who left me thinking not of stunts and gadgets so much as Hallowe’en.

Because this woman is COMPLETELY TERRIFYING.

Firstly, I would like to say I like her eyebrows a lot. They are audacious and sexually threatening, in a good way.

Secondly, I enjoyed the sound of the interviewer’s little ‘Mmm’ noises, as he tried to agree it’s a shame Bond girls have to get their kit off instead of portraying the character. Very professional.

Here is the link:

http://news.bbc.co.uk/1/hi/entertainment/7696165.stm

But this, assuredly, is self-assuredness on a whole new level.

An actress who laughs in the face of rejection (‘Too bad for them!‘), who never breaks eye contact (except to gesticulate meaningfully) and who would bollock an interviewer for asking her a question wearing the wrong colour jacket (whilst stroking his groin with her stocking-ed foot).

This woman did not do a casting for the film.

She walked into the agents’ office in 5 inch heels, kneed him in the balls and shoved her telephone number down his boxer shorts. She thinks breakfast is for wimps and has never paid for dinner in her life. When she sleeps she does so in silk briefs and needs only four hours. She home-schooled herself to an IQ of 987. She flies first class everywhere because she thinks jets are environmentally irresponsible even though she has a pilot’s licence. She only packs a toothbrush and lipstick when she travels. Her sunglasses are never smudged. She uses her tear ducts to emote for roles only. She campaigns for pandas, eats steak raw and thinks Angelina Jolie is lazy. She never has to repeat herself. She never has to apologise. She never has to repeat herself. She drinks rare brandy but only ever one glass. She doesn’t smoke but if she did it would be small cigars. She isn’t afraid of death. She has no fillings. She swears judiciously. She doesn’t believe in serendipity. She can’t be shocked or manipulated or given naff presents at Christmas. She speaks 23 languages and reads Proust between takes.

She has never been to the toilet.

This time next year they will be selling an ‘Olga’ costume in the shops.

And I, for one, will be trick-or-treating in it.

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