The Mascara Massacres

What an intriguing title! That should attract plenty of hits on the blog. Be a good title for a movie too. Or one of those best-selling thriller novels. Frenzied fisticuffs lead to fashionista fatalities; catwalk killing sprees; mayhem and murder in the make-up department. It’s sort of Jackie Collins meets Agatha Christie, all pumped up on botox and hiding a small handgun and some spare eyeliner in a package that’s certain to appeal to primetime audiences all over the world.

So good I should get cracking on the screenplay right away.

Except it’s not a book or film synopsis, sorry to disappoint, but just Shana’s misreading of a couple of words in one of the faux-Scrabble games she was playing online yesterday. Which goes to show yet again how one can sustain a blog by using even the flimsiest of material.

If you do decide to go ahead with our outline idea, however, remember (as the ads traditionally say) where you heard it first, and don’t forget to bung us a tenner as a mark of gratitude; it’s the least you can do.

Plastikebana: the art of arranging artificial flowers

So there I was this afternoon emptying sand and florist’s oasis out of a small brass bowl (for reasons best known to myself) and, as a consequence, getting sand and bits of plastic miniature sunflowers all over the floor and the table.

‘I bet you can’t guess what I’m doing,’ I said.

‘Getting sand and bits of miniature sunflower all over the floor, at a guess,’ said Shana, happily going along with my blog style and having words put into her mouth after the fact–when, to be strictly accurate, she originally hadn’t a clue what I was doing and was engrossed at the time in an online battle against little pixelated monsters; or was she paying the bills?

Whatever!

Anyway, as I was saying, there I was busily arranging artificial flowers and suddenly I decided that this new-found skill should have a name. So I called it ‘plastikebana’, a blend of plastic and ikebana (the Japanese art of arranging real flowers).

Feel free to use the word as much as you like, especially in letters to the Times (Annoyed of Tunbridge Wells, I’m relying on you) and certain unmentionable social network websites (e.g., Farcebook) and let’s see how long it takes for ‘plastikebana’ to get into the Oxford Dictionary.

Last year’s horoscope

Most people — even sceptics — glance at their horoscope in the newspaper. It may be nonsense, but after all, it’s harmless nonsense, isn’t it? But do you ever consider the work that goes into compiling those daily predictions; the sheer mental toil, the almost herculean psychic effort? If this advert (hastily screengrabbed by Shana from a social networking site recently) is at all representative of the astrologer’s art, though, maybe it’s not such a tough gig as you might have thought. Alongside the picture urging you to ‘click here for your 2011 horoscope’ is the following teaser:

Get your 2009 Horoscope
Money, Love, Luck
Is it In Your Future?

Apparently, people actually pay (usually per-click or per impression) to put these ads on high-traffic websites. I suspect, in this case, that the proof readers were on minimum wage, and I can confidently predict that they will shortly be receiving their marching orders.

(Psst! Anyone want a hot tip for last year’s Grand National?)

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The last petal

Despite suffering from recurrent toothache, Shana still managed to write a story this week. It’s only ten words long, but, as Shana herself said, it was a challenge she couldn’t resist. If you thought Twitter’s 140 character limit made it hard to express yourself, then I should point out that this little gem is a mere 51 characters — including spaces and punctuation. And it still contains suspense, tension and inner conflict (not to mention horticultural debris all over the place).

Enjoy. No, savour:

The last petal falls. She sighs. “He loves me not.”

Britain’s got talent? Certainly has — look no further!

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Lincoln cathedral struck by lightening

'Struck by lightening' typo

From issue 17 (spring 2010) of esprit, the full-colour mag for members of Lincolnshire Co-operative, a classic typo. For those without a modern graphically enhanced browser, it reads thus:

Shaken by earthquakes…struck by lightening…having stood the test of time for nigh on 1,000 years…today Lincoln Cathedral needs your help!

I guess that’s what comes of paying one’s proof readers in Co-op dividend points rather than used fivers. If it’s any consolation to them, though, I’ve seen the same lightening vs lightning gaffe in the Daily Telegraph, so clearly it can happen to anybody.

The error, I’m pleased to note, has been corrected on the actual Co-op website; as far as they’re concerned, it seems, lightening will not be allowed to strike twice.

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Envelopes

Some people brainstorm; we, however, are content to waffle. The ideas come out just the same in the end, though. This evening, as an alternative to ‘pushing the envelope’, an activity beloved by over-enthusiastic business execs everywhere, we invented ‘pushing the antelope‘. This phrase may already exist elsewhere, but if so, we’ve never come across it.

Still on the subject of exploring and testing the boundaries of one’s abilities, we sometimes also talk about thinking not outside the box but outside the tin.

Yes, maybe it is time we both went for a lie down.

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