Friday, 10 July 2009

Sexist Come Dancing


It's a bit early in the year to be discussing Strictly Come Dancing, a show that's essentially one long sequined advent calender for Christmas, but I could not resist discussing news that Alesha Dixon is to take over from Arlene Phillips on the judging panel.

You can read an entire article about it here.

The essence of the story is that Arlene Phillips (66, professional choreographer, wrinkly, much given to making comments about male dancers' hip movements) has been sacked from Strictly and replaced by Alesha Dixon (30, singer, the winner from a couple of years ago, flawlessly beautiful, no real knowledge of dancing at all) in order to "refresh the brand". The "brand" took a nasty knock last season when John Sergeant walked out mid-series, a decision which may or may not have been related to the judging panel's bullying comments, many but by no means all of which were ascribed to Arlene. Alesha is likely to be a nicer presence than Arlene. But lots of people could be a nicer presence than Arlene, and there are things Arlene brought to the table that Alesha can't provide, the most obvious one of which is having any proper understanding of ballroom dance technique.

It doesn't take the most paranoid of feminists to ask questions about an older, opinionated woman being knocked out of the panel in favour of a younger, more agreeable one, particularly when that panel is already weighted 3 to 1 male to female. Last season, Strictly fell behind in the ratings against X Factor, who had "refreshed" their brand by replacing older, opinionated Sharon Osborne with younger, more agreeable Cheryl Cole. The obvious difference is that Cheryl Cole, no matter what you might think of her, is a working professional singer, whereas Alesha Dixon, charming as she is, is just someone who once won a reality dance show, with a lot of help from her professional dance partner.

Ah yes, the professional dance partner. If they really did want to appeal to the Cheryl Cole demographic, why not move one of the professional dancers across, who is young and sympathetic but who can also provide informed commentary to the audience and advice for the contestants?

But Jay Hunt, the controller of BBC1, batted away accusations of ageism by saying "the average age of the BBC1 viewer is 52, so why would I take older women off the channel?" (although what exactly is the average age of the Strictly viewer - and what age would they like it to be?) - so it must just be coincidence that the new judge is so young and gorgeous. If Alesha Dixon has not been chosen because she's young and beautiful, what has she been chosen for? Hunt says: "Alesha has lived through it, we've still got all the experts who understand the technicalities of the Argentinian tango."

In other words, she's been on the show herself, so she understands what it's like, and she hasn't been chosen for her expertise but for her empathy. Which means she's there to be the most sympathetic, likeable and uncritical of judges.

But having the only woman on the panel be the one who is there to be sympathetic, likeable and uncritical is just as bad as having one there for eye candy. It's 2009. Are we still so frightened of a woman with an opinion?

Tuesday, 7 July 2009

London's weather forecast for tonight is rain...

...so how better to spend the evening than listening to me give a talk about How To Write A Novel? I have totally written the talk on index cards and everything. I am a bit nervous about it because I'm not sure that I'm going to be very interesting, but I am wearing a red top to compensate.

More info here. Looking forward to hordes of blog readers turning up because you can't live another moment without knowing what my voice sounds like. (Although, in a word: posh.)

Monday, 6 July 2009

Better start packing...

I took the UK Citizenship test and failed. Got a pathetically unpatriotic 54%. The pass mark is 75%. Next stop deportation.

How about you?

The least said, the better.

That was the most boring tennis match in history. I actually thought I was going to die before it ended. Nevertheless, I watched it for the full four hours and forever minutes. I started off supporting the ROD for the perfectly rational reason that the FED's clothes make him look like an arch-tit mockery monkey, but by halfway through the final set I was desperate for someone, ANYONE to win, just PLEASE GOD MAKE IT SOON. And yet I didn't switch off. Sport moves in mysterious ways.

Saturday, 4 July 2009

So Farewell Then, Andy Murray.

Your tenure as blog mascot was brief, yet brief. As a representative of all fair-weather tennis fans, I vow to completely forget that you exist unless you win a grand slam between now and this time next year, and then get all over-excited about your freckly chops and surly ways again for exactly one fortnight next June (less if excised early).

Now it's all about the ROD versus the FED. (Oh, and the WILLIAMS versus the WILLIAMS, but deja yawn.) I want to support the FED but I have serious trouble seeing past his monograms. Every time I want to get excited about his tennis I catch sight of a little RF on a sock / cufflink / gold-plated snot cap for his nostril, and it's really hard to focus on sport when you're trying to catch your own vomit in your hands. (Someone else's, no problem.) But then there's the ROD's cap. I know there are good reasons for wearing a hat out of doors, protecting your head bla sun in eyes bla bla nudge to All American fanbase bla, but it's such an unsexy garment, because not only is it horribly unflattering (on everybody, readers note), but also, all I can think of is the sweaty hair ridge when you take it off. *Shudder*. The FED would never risk a sweaty hair ridge. Not unless he could get his own head monogrammed in sweat.

Boringly, therefore, I will have to choose my allegiance based on the quality of play on the day. What kind of a way to follow sport is that?

Friday, 3 July 2009

Remorse

Andy Murray is so lovely on Twitter. I mean mainly it's just ice baths and physio, but... bless:

"before i forget, thanks a lot to pizza express wimby village for firing up their ovens after they shut last night just for me. really kind."

He is totally my favourite English tennis player.

That, too, is a joke.

Lady Meets Gent: A True Story, In One Act


SCENE: INTERIOR, BASEMENT CORRIDOR OF A BAR IN HOXTON SQUARE. NIGHT.

It is a short corridor with unmarked doors at each end, and the entrances to the Ladies' and Gents' toilets next to each other in one of the walls.

MARIE PHILLIPS emerges from the Ladies' toilet. She is a 33-year-old novelist of very minor renown. She pauses in confusion: unequipped with any kind of sense of direction, she does not know which of the two unmarked doors leads to the bar.

A MAN comes out of the Gents'. MARIE turns to him in some relief.

MARIE: It's this door isn't it?

Midway through this sentence, MARIE realises that the MAN is in fact DOMINIC WEST, internationally acclaimed 39-year-old star of THE WIRE. DOMINIC WEST is far taller, better looking and less sweaty than his character JIMMY MCNULTY appears on screen, and is wearing a particularly fetching tweed jacket.

DOMINIC WEST: (slightly surprised to have been addressed) Yes, I think so.

MARIE opens the door which does indeed lead to the staircase up to the bar.

MARIE: They really should mark these doors.

DOMINIC WEST: Nonsense.

[Long pause]

DOMINIC WEST: Then we wouldn't have had this exchange.

MARIE and DOMINIC WEST walk side by side up the stairs.

MARIE: This brilliant exchange.

They both laugh.

[Very long pause]

MARIE: It's not one of my better ones.

MARIE and DOMINIC WEST return to their respective tables.

CUT

Thursday, 2 July 2009

In the continuing saga of things that are broken in my life...

... computer monitor, phone, heart, mind, body etc, we have a new arrival! A seemingly very important piece of my kitchen table, the bit that holds the top onto the frame, has just fallen off. Can't for the life of me figure out what it was attached to, but I can now rotate table top as if at Chinese restaurant. I wonder how long that will stay fun for - say, until it collapses one day, showering guests with food? Nope. That still sounds fun.

Wednesday, 1 July 2009

Another Boring Announcement

My phone is working again now. Presumably the intervention of Captain Yawno of Bore (another tennis player, not AM, but I am thinking that I might do better if I disguise everyone's identities. Sure, you won't know who I'm talking about, but I will. I am also filled with disdain towards Smoothio, but I miss Dogtanian and wish he was in this year's contest.)

A boring announcement

My mobile phone has joined my computer monitor in the land of Michael Jackson. Soon I will be living in a cave with only a lump of tallow for light. Friends: landline and e-mail for the time being only.

Needless to say, I blame Andy Murray.

That's a joke.