I see Les Mis So You Don't Have To

Let me first of all start with an apology to the patrons of Screen One in the Belmont Cinema last night; it was me who loudly guffawed the moment Russell Crowe started to sing two minutes into Les Miserables. Sorry. It was a knee-jerk response. Be assured that I endeavoured to temper my laughter down to an inward snigger on every subsequent occasion to the point where I think I have pulled one of my chest wall muscles so as not to disturb the mostly weeping audience.

But I’m ahead of myself already. Yes this week’s Misssive is due to Misssy A and I, who have a biological fear and loathing of musical theatre manning up and going to see Les Mis in our yearly quest to see all Oscar nominated films so we know how angry to get come the award decisions. We make our intentions known in advance to our friends and family. Several concerned citizens get in touch. Comments range from the simple “It’s great, but you’ll hate it” to the more aggressive “Please don’t tell me what you think of it afterwards because I don’t know if I’ll be able to be your friend anymore”.

Anne Hathaway's reaction yesterday to hearing that

me and my sister are going to see Les Mis

The story is this. Wolverine has somehow got himself in jail in France where his job is to drag boats that have been crashed by Simon Le Bon back to harbour. Russell Crowe doesn’t like the cut of his jib for no apparent reason but we’re putting it down to the fact that when folk are asked who their favourite Australian actor is they say “Hugh Jackman” and never “Russell Crowe” anymore. Completely out of the blue Wolverine is released into the wild with some ID papers with something written on them that compels the reader to immediately punch Wolverine full on in the puss. Folk aren’t that keen on him, that's for sure. This is probably due to the fact that France never shows films that aren’t French due to their inward looking cultural policy and folk don’t know how boss he is in “X-Men”. A kindly priest who happens to have seen it on a pirate DVD lets him off with nicking some cutlery as long as he sorts his shit out.  Cut to eight years later where he has won the lottery and had a makeover.

Playboy antics of France's Simon Le Bon mean more work for prisoners

He is now a Boris Johnson type figure but with better hair. His many enterprises include owning a factory where they sew the itchy labels onto pants. Anne Hathaway, just trying to make a living to bring up her daughter, is continually pestered by a ginger foreman who has mistakenly thought that the excitement over the naked Prince Harry photos means that fit girls are hot for a ginger. Wolverine hasn’t conducted recent yearly staff reviews because he’s more of an action guy and hasn’t really got time for paperwork, probably a hangover from the grief the papers from Russell Crowe gave him. As a result of this lack of administrative housekeeping he fails to realise that his foreman is a complete prick and that he’s sacked Anne Hathaway and inadvertently banished her to a life on the streets. Hathaway dies from not wearing her coat like so many Geordie girls every winter (note to my son: THIS I WHY YOU HAVE TO WEAR YOUR COAT IN WINTER!) but Wolverine makes a promise that he’ll look after her kid and start paying better attention generally. Oh and Russell Crowe is back. Again! He’s still pissed off because he wanted the main role but he’s not everyone’s favourite Australian actor anymore, so they gave it to Hugh Jackman instead. If he only knew that Wolverine could kill him in one swipe with those claws! Maybe he wouldn’t be such a unremitting dick to him!

The inevitable outcome of the Geordie Shore no coat policy

Meanwhile Anne Hathaway’s daughter is living across town in the film “Sweeney Todd”. Wolverine goes to rescue her from the last great overrated musical film but not before coming clean to Russell Crowe about his identity, which he will just not let lie anyway. They escape into the night after a trip to the local Toys “R” Us.

Turns out the daughter is from the other great overrated film musical “Mama Mia” but Wolverine tries not to let that bother him because he’s made that promise to the priest and is bound to run into him again- I mean every time he steps out the front door he bumps into Russell Crowe, the law of averages says it’s bound to happen with the priest as well. The pre-cutlery Wolverine would have taken the wee girl’s face off for sure. But he’s a changed man so he gives her the benefit of the doubt, but not before checking for traces of Streep as he scans the Paris streets.

 Streep scanning complete

Russell Crowe turns up again and honks like a dyspeptic goose on top of a bridge for what seems like a week. Again, he just won’t let it lie. Meanwhile Paris is in trouble because a rugby club have somehow found their way into the town and they don’t like way things are going politically. They decide to make a small fuss aided and abated by the extras from Moulin Rouge who have leaked in from the nearby third most over-rated musical. They make preparations for action but mainly to their hair. An oversight that will surely get them all killed. It’s at this point that one of them realises there’s not been a love story aspect to the film and this could ruin his chances of an Oscar. He turns around, sees the girl from Mama Mia and thinks, “She’ll do” missing the better looking brunette who has been hanging around reminding him of this fact for ages. Men, eh?!

Just stepped out of a salon

Heaps of folk die because I was right about them concentrating too much on their hair and not about spreading their political message. Russell Crowe’s agent has been on the phone with news that Jackman has been nominated for an Oscar and he hasn’t. He's bloody raging so goes out to give Wolverine a piece of his mind via the medium of honking, knowing that every time he does so he bumps into him despite the city having millions of inhabitants. The honking further deters the people of Paris from coming outside to help in the revolution. He prays for the Mama Mia leak to continue so that Piers Brosnan will appear to make him sound a better singer by comparison. He is to be disappointed. But he does indeed see Wolverine again but not before he’s had a noose put round his neck for ruining the look of the revolution by trying to chum in with the rugby team who have a good hair, good singing voice and high cheekbone entry policy which he clearly flouts. Wolverine lets him go. No-one is sure why. Particularly Russell Crowe who honks himself off the bridge and does the best belly flop you’ve ever seen this side of ITV1’s “Splash!” with wee Tom Daley.

Honk!

Meanwhile given that all his mates have died, Wolverine feels sorry for his future son in law and gives him a stag night he’ll never forget. Just like the legendary stag nights of Fraserburgh he gives him a good blackening, totally covering him in shit from head to toe. Man, you should have seen the photos on his Facebook page. LOL! They also did some karaoke, because it was a musical. Epic.

Les Mis stag night karaoke hilarity

Listen though, never forget this is a tragedy. Not only was horse meat in the food chain, this being France, some human crap got up Wolverine’s nose and he got that campylobacter thing. And wouldn’t you know that his lack of company administration capabilities strike again? Had he sent away the new company healthcare forms that would have validated his health insurance. Well, what do you think?  Maybe Russell was right abut him along along. Waster.

You know what though, apart from the singing and the music, I thought it was bloody great.

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Rules of Submergement

For a metaphor for noughties Britain one need look no further than our local swimming pool. It’s our Nanny State in microcosm except that instead of The Authorities we are governed by barely post adolescent shorts-wearing jobsworths, hellbent on asserting their much treasured powers to manipulate us to their pointless will.

Our local pool is brim full of these polo-shirted admonishment-jockeys.  We’re talking the sort of kids that ratted on their parents for Thought Crimes in George Orwell’s Nineteen-Eighty-Four or the sort of folk that phone up the Benefit Cheat hotline, even though there’s no cash reward. In the space of one hour my girl, Lil’ Misssy and her pal Random N were told off for the following heinous crimes:

1. Splashing (Swim gently, folks)

2. Alighting an inflatable mat from the side of the pool

3. Jumping in the pool, and

4. Alighting an inflatable mat from within the pool. Yes, I know.

So afeared of the swimming pool Stasi am I that today I was pre-armed. I wasn’t swimming but  merely spectating because I had an important crossword to do. The problem was that I had forgotten what the rule was on kids swimming without a parent. I knew there would be at least a few. That they could swim sufficiently would be one, and we had that covered, but there would be a daft one or two, for sure. “Listen, if asked I’m going to say you’re both ten,” I say to the girls, as we drive in, thinking this the most obvious nonsense rule. “Don’t contradict me, play along”. I’ve been here before. Many’s the time I’ve lied to a chugger or Dead Sea Salts or curling iron selling vendor in a shopping centre that “I’m late for a lunch date” or “I’m trying to catch a train” only to have one of my kids shout “No, you’re not!” blowing the whole ruse. This time however,the girls nod in eager agreement, delighted at the idea of being one year older and the parent endorsed fibbing opportunity. At the cash desk, I present myself and ask for “two kids swimming and I’ll be spectating”. “WE’RE TEN!” shouts Lil’. For no reason. The guy clearly thinks it’s her birthday and she’s just excited or a wee bit special.    

    

Inside the walls of the pool are so crammed full of warning signs on one thing and another that I fully expect that the time is near when we have to sit some kind of written test before our trunks can even be pulled on. At one point I notice that a silver backed granddad is being shouted at by a female attendant, clearly angry at the way he was teaching his young grandchild to swim. The bastard. Grandad was unsure of quite what it was he was doing wrong; there wasn’t a warning sign that fitted any of his actions, although I’m sure this will be rectified by this time tomorrow. He shrugged, she shouted again. None the wiser, he cupped his ear in the time honoured “I can’t make out what you are saying” gesture. She shouted once again. I too can’t make out what she’s saying and wonder if she’s just rudely heckling him about his lack of manscaping. Two things were certain, she wasn’t going to stop being annoyed, and she wasn’t about to get off her coveted position of The Big High Chair to explain why. Eventually the granddad pretended to understand and gave her the thumbs up just to make her stop. But his card was marked. Expect to see a “No Grandads” sign soon.

Even outwith the pool area the attendants gave the air of prison wardens watching us all at visiting hours. I try not to hug the kids in case they think I’m transferring a shiv. In the cafe area, the same shouty teenager of before gave my table the once over as she passed no doubt noticing our snacks were not from their vending machine but from an outside source. I looked for a sign prohibiting this. None was immediately apparent.

It’ll be there tomorrow. 

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Whistling in the Wind

Following the allegations bout Jimmy Savile, the floodgates have been opened on stories of sexual harassment and abuse in television. I am not going to write about Jimmy Savile but the torrent of allegations of sexist behaviour and sexual harassment  in the media that have come out as a result are something that has been on my mind.

So many things bother me about this whole discussion that it’s difficult to know where to start. I’ll have to tackle them one by one. First off are the cries of “name your harasser” when someone tells a story of workplace sexual harassment. If you are brave enough to complain then you should be brave enough to name. I am  recently and hypocritically guilty of this. When broadcasters Sandi Toksvig and Liz Kershaw independently claimed in interviews that they had been the victim of “groping” by a well known radio disc jockey, I went onto twitter and said in a kneejerk way “Name and shame”. Yet here I am with someone in my past who subjected me to continual disgusting sexual innuendo in the workplace, an attitude towards me that eventually led me to leave my first job in production after a comment in front of my team at a Christmas Party about the noises he supposed I made during sex. I had recently been offered a career change which I wasn’t going to take, but that last comment from a manager director showing off in front of junior employees, was the last straw in seven years of disgusting remarks designed to make me feel intimidated and preyed upon. I went home that night and told my husband I was changing my job. I felt lucky I had the option.  

Can I name this man in this blog, eleven years later when he is no longer in charge of my career and livelihood, when he has no power over me? I don’t know. I haven’t decided yet.

How typical was this guy as a sexual harasser? This person did not touch, he did not force himself on anyone. I was an adult at the time, mature and confident enough to surely stand up for myself. But despite a barrage of folk all over Britain screaming about people leaving their complaints too late, I understand why they didn't do it.  Year after year I meet people who used to work with this guy who tell similar stories to mine. "He’s a dirty bastard", they’ll say, but not one of us has ever taken him to court for sexual harassment in the workplace. We've all just put up with it until we could find another job and leave. Had any of us decided to take action I doubt we’d ever get past the first meeting in a solicitor’s office.  "Don’t waste your money", they’d no doubt have said. For he did not touch; instead he humiliated, undermined and bullied. Insidiously just as bad, in my book, but almost impossible to prove.

I believe that some call it “banter”. But whilst pregnant, his loud ruminations at a work dinner in front of my colleagues  (always with an audience for maximum effect) on how a pregnant me would position myself during sex to avoid my bump did not feel very much like a laugh. Nor did his prediction that I would lose my looks and turn into a “frump” the minute I’d had my kid fill me with mirth. It did, however, make me feel insecure and paranoid, as it dovetailed nicely into his reaction some months before to me telling him I was pregnant. At our meeting he exclaimed that he was shocked. “You’re the last person I expected this from-I thought you were interested in your career” he said.

My second issue with all of this, is that men are complicit in a culture of workplace sexual harassment. But they are not- most men are decent. I’d like you to spare a thought for the blokes who are subjected to the banter directed at female employees. Time after time my particular case study would make remarks about female staff and expect the men of the workplace to join in. But many of these men were uncomfortable with his comments and powerless to do anything about them. Years ago I wrote on this blog about a time when I was doing some co-presenting of a live broadcast. Later, I gave one of the crew a lift home and he seemed uneasy about something. As I dropped him off he asked me not to get upset but to consider wearing a jacket the next day. He then went on to tell me how the boss who had been sat in the outside broadcast truck with the production team (all male) had been suggesting that my nipples were proof that I was excited by being on live TV, either that or it’s cold in the studio. Why didn’t my colleagues tell him he was out of order? The same reason that I never made a big deal about his sexual comments to my face. He was the MD, he was in charge of our livings, he was the boss. They were invited to join in the banter, or at the very least expected not to object to it, no matter that the object of his disgusting comments was a woman they generally liked and respected. Only someone more powerful than this guy would have got away with challenging him without consequence. My male colleague felt the only thing he had the power to do was to let me know that the man was letching over me and to cover up so that he couldn’t make those references again. I practically welding a bra from sheet metal overnight to wear the next day.

My third issue is that I’ve heard so many people say “It was a different time. That sort of thing went on.” But to say that is to make it look like it doesn’t go on still. My particular case was in the late 1990s, and let’s not forget that a makeup artist was not allowed to leave the trailer of Russell Brand until she flashed him her breasts. This is a man who is a CHILD of the Seventies not a character in a Carry on Film made in the Seventies. This incident was only a couple of months ago. And the person who took  public exception to Brand’s behaviour? 67 year old Billy Connolly, who apparently wiped the floor with the younger comedian for his sexism and demanded he apologise to the woman. This behaviour is not a generational thing, it is an attitude thing. It is the attitude of being an ass.

 So am I going to name the guy who sexually harassed me and countless others in his employ over the years? 

No. Because I am still scared to do so on record.

So imagine how those women groped live on air, abused whilst in hospital, grabbed in dressings rooms felt. The next time you have a go at those who didn’t speak up, don’t be too hard on them. No one likes a whistleblower.  Instead, choose to be hard on the society that makes this still the case.


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My Granda's a Zombie!

I've not blogged for so long, you'd be forgiven for thinking I'd had my fingers cut off in a bizarre gardening accident, but today I re-open the Misssives front door.


We've been busy, us Flying Martinis. None more so than the beasts themselves, who have been making films. Last year Indy, Betty and co made a short film called My Granda is a Zombie. It's a short factual piece about their fears that their actual Granda might be an actual zombie. Apparently it's a common problem grandchildren have. Over about 4 weeks they secretly filmed the man in action (or lack of) and on his 65th birthday presented him with their film as a birthday present. He is still non-plussed as to how they did it (a common zombie symptom).


Last month they entered the film into a project called We Are Northern Lights which is looking for footage from all over Scotland to make a feature length documentary about us folks here- think Britain in a Day but Scotland, and not in a day...We've been submitting wee films like mad- and to be honest, I'm going to miss the project when it's over. It's been great. You should do it.


There's a competition element to the project and the kids have made it their mission to win The People's Choice Award. it is the only award in the project that is voted for by the public. At the time of writing the kids have 1178 votes which is unbelievable. Team Zombie have been canvassing votes in all sorts of ways- we've been facebooking, tweeting, we've been sending out leaflets, we've had the kids' schools involved we've even made a Zombie Granda campaign video AND you can follow @ZombieGranda on twitter. 


But we've a problem. We have rivals. Despite being in a healthy lead for about a month, another film beat us overnight. A film from students in St Andrews. We don't know quite how they did it but we are not beaten yet. We have 3 days til the deadline and at the moment we are in second place. Second place! Nooooo!


So I humbly ask you- could you vote for Team Zombie. You'd make a 14 year old, a 12 year old, two 9 year olds and a 6 year old very happy (and a 40 something year old pushy mum..) Unlike most competitions there's no annoying registration or anything- it's a two click job- click THIS LINK and then press vote. Job's a god un!


And if you had a laugh watching My Granda's a Zombie- pass it on- we need all the votes we can get. Even though Granda went on the rampage to eat the brains of those St Andrews students (watch this news footage for evidence) their votes are still going up. Making children cry, they are!

VOTE ZOMBIE!

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Shameless Self Congratulation

Got some nice news last night. The video I shot and directed for The Lorelei won the Fudge for Best Video 2012 last night. I am very chuffed. The band also won Best Punk Band ( I know, me neither) so congratulations to them too.


Here's the video (and the punks) in question. Be lovely if you shared it, folks. Thanks!





Here's the video
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Worried Of Aberdeen

 "What me, worried?"* A bit, yes, if I'm honest.

I am worried about my city. And I am worried about my country because of what has happened in my city. Sometimes I think we in the Scotland get complacent because we expect democracy to work. And when it is being undermined we tend not to notice or we shrug and think it must be some kind of mistake.  But as with most things the clues are in the little things.

In the last few years I have been watching as one of our city centre parks is being wrangled over. One camp wants to develop it, the other wants it to be left alone. I am in the latter camp. I think that a Victorian park with mature trees should at most need some cleaning up, some more lighting put in and the toilets restored and re-opened to revitalise a park that used to be able to host events before the council decided to neglect it.  Others believe that the whole structure of the park should be changed at a cost over potentially over £100million. Each side is entitled to their view. That’s democracy.

 Union Terrace Gardens as it is now.

Next month we get to vote on whether the proposed design for the park goes ahead. A referendum is being held. Yes or No.  Simple as that. The problem is that the last time a consultation with the public was held on this issue, of those that voted 55% said no. But this result was then ignored and the plans kept going anyway. Hmmm, that’s not democracy.

So some designs were put forward and the public were asked which ones they preferred. That’s democracy.

But there was no option on the voting form that said something along the lines of “I don’t want any of these developments, I wan the park to remain as it is”. So as soon as you voted for any of the designs it meant you were putting your support to developing the park. Even if you went for any of the designs that you deemed “the least worst option”. Hmmm, that’s not really democracy.

Turns out the design most people wanted wasn't even chosen anyway. This one was.

The proposed design for new development. 

Known as The Granite Web by Buro Happold. 
(notice the cars going in the wrong direction...)

It gets even more interesting as of last week. One of the companies whose design was chosen as the winner of the design competition, Buro Happold, announce on their website their joy at being awarded the contract for the redevelopment of Union Terrace Gardens. Oh, hang on a minute. What about that referendum in March? Surely no-one will be awarded any contract until the voters have decided in that fair and transparent referendum? Hmmm, I’m getting a bad feeling about this so called democracy.

 The announcement on Buro Happold's website last week.

Someone from Aberdeen City Council gets a call after someone on twitter points this out. And Buro Happold promptly takes the announcement down and someone probably gets a bollocking for letting the cat out of the bag. I’m still waiting on Chief Executive Valerie Watts reply to my email on why this happened. However the radio media are on it like wasps on a donut. Now a free press- that’s democracy!

The Aberdeen Journals, Press and Journal and Evening Express instead carry no mention of the gaffe at all in the next day’s editions deciding instead to focus solely on former Aberdeen resident of thirty years ago, football manager Alex Ferguson, who has on that day lent his support to the Yes Campaign. Free and fair press? Hmmm, you decide if that’s democracy, folks.

My last little paragraph concerns today’s little exercise in democracy or the lack of, and that is freedom of speech. Something I really happen to like. Fellow blogger, Fraser Denholm, who is far more eloquent on matters concerning the Union Terrace question than I, wakes up to discover his blog has been flagged as spam and that Google have temporarily taken in down whilst they investigate. As they must. This happens on the day that ACSEF, the body responsible for economic development in the City and Shire and huge campaigners for the Yes vote go on “a massive myth busting drive”. Their words. Stopping everyone having a chance to have their say on a subject? Democracy? Hmmm.

Google have since reinstated Fraser’s blog after deciding that it is not indeed spam and that someone was merely trying to make his life a little bit more difficult in the realm of opinion expression. Now, that’s democracy.

***

*Update 1:  09/02/2012: Press and Journal reports that the results of public consultation on the gardens designs will stay a secret. Click here to read the report.


*Update 2 09/02/12: Stars of the film One Day Removals Patrick Wight and Scott Ironside will be making a short film in support of the Save Union Terrace Gardens campaign in the gardens on 10th of February from 1pm. All welcome.


*Alfred E Neuman appears courtesy of Mad Magazine.


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You've Been Trumped Hits the US

I am too busy to blog- that's evident, but last year when I wasn't so busy I wrote a review about a film that is very close to my heart and indeed my house. That film is You've Been Trumped which is directed by Montrose based filmmaker Anthony Baxter.  


My sister Lindsay and I have been opposed to the Trump golf development at the Menie Sands (which are situated beside Balmedie in Aberdeenshire) from the day the proposals were first announced. We've argued with friends and family over it, we've got too angry and tied ourselves in knots trying to figure out why politicians and councillors we previously trusted have rolled over and allowed US based tycoon Donald Trump to build on and destroy a Site of Special Scientific Interest which should be protected by law. We've watched in disgust as local residents have been bullied when they refused to sell their family homes to allow Trump to realise his plans for a huge golf and hotel resort, which hardly anyone in the local area will even be able to get membership for. We scoured the local papers for any reports on the disgraceful acts that Trumps security firms were committing for example detaining a female horse rider by force for merely riding her horse along the beach which bordered the Trump owned land. It almost seemed that even the local press were in Trump's power too, as coverage of these events was either non-existent, biased or scant at best.


Whilst all this was going on Anthony Baxter was filming the whole thing. His film is fantastic but did nothing to stop Lindsay and I being utterly despairing about the situation over at Menie Sands. We thought that we were living in a democracy. It turns out that there were things in that film we didn't know had happened that made us even more angry. As we sat at teh premiere of the film we were angry but at the same time we were also proud  of the Menie residents who are still standing up to Donald Trump and delighted that Baxter had documented it all for the truth to finally be known. Not one review of the film appeared in the local press. Only one journalist from local radio station Northsound was present at the premiere. No BBC Scotland, no STV, no Press and Journal; the film was being blackballed. 


You can read my full review here.


I spoke briefly to Anthony Baxter at the premiere of the film which was also attended by the Menie residents. I asked him if he would come and speak to my students one day about making his film. I have kept in touch Ant via twitter, but I don't think he will be visiting Aberdeen College any time soon and this pleases me greatly. Why? Because You've Been Trumped has become a huge success. it has won awards all over the place, Michael Moore has championed it and audiences all over Canada and the US have been talking about the film and OUR STORY! 


This week actress and broadcaster Rosie O'Donnell saw the film and was blown away. She invited Anthony onto her show "Rosie" which is watched by millions. 


Here is his interview with Rosie O'Donnell. This is an important film. Please go and see it if you can. Trump hasn't beaten us yet.

Filmmaker 

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Hack Yourself

Photo courtesy of Stuart Walker

The blogging and the writing has taken a back seat this year as I've gone back to doing the creative thing I started doing first, making videos.

It seems only fair to share it on the Misssives. I've made four music videos this year for The Lorelei to coincide with their album release. This is the biggest video to date with nearly 100 extras and seven wonderful crew members. I will blog about the filming day another time but for now, hot off the edit suite, here is the finished article.

Merry Christmas everyone!

(Or watch direct on Youtube here)

And if you like that then get their album here

Misssy M
x
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Disasterdly Dawg

Sonny The Black Menace had an accident today. The full details of which are only just emerging. It started with a phonecall from the backroad, "Dad Sonny's not moving".

As opening lines go, it's a cliffhanger.

And talk about the dramatic irony of Mr M receiving the call as he was half way through building a massive garden fence because Sonny keeps on escaping and we are dreading that he will get run over one day.

Sonny not moving was not the result of him being dead. I don't really need to tell you how relieved we all are about that. Instead he has an eye injury caused by a bungee clip that fired off and hit him square in the right eye.

Now the reason for this, which I've only just learned:

Sonny met his BFFs Ann-Marie and Stuart on the back road and decided that he'd rather hang out with them than Indy. So Indy had to bungee rope him to his bike as he didn't have a lead. You can piece together the rest.

So we've downgraded from death to possible blindness in one eye. One emergency visit to the vets (Sunday callout! Get yer wallet out!) and she seems fairly happy that his cornea isn't damaged despite a gash to his eyelid and a big ole shiner (not visible to human eye given the blackness of the Menace but there all the same), and a horrible bloodshot eye which is the reason I decided to b/w the photo cos it's a bit horrible.

Quite a traumatic day, but given that as I was typing this- our neighbour delivered him home after another escape, I reckon he's fairly much over it all. 

Us, not so much.

That Disasterdly Dawg...
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Help! My Granda's a Zombie!

For the past few weeks my kids and my nieces have been secretly filming my Dad, their Granda, also known as Frazzlegranda.

This is why.



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Andrew Collins- J'Accuse!

A few months ago whilst watching Springwatch on TV I declared that my eighties love for Chris Packham was undiminished. In fact it was possibly stronger than ever. I declared it for public record on Twitter. 

Packham: If I weren't married Chris..

if I weren't married....

Never would I dream that Chris Packham would see my tweet, see my profile pic, leave his wife, plead with me to leave Meeester M and we'd set up home together on a hide on a mountainside making mad passionate love every morning before going outside to identify chaffinches. No, because that would have been an over reaction on his part and it would also mean that Packham wasn't the man I thought he was cos he clearly searches his own name on Twitter, Which would make him a little bit sad. I probably wouldn't fancy him anymore just because of that.

However my friend did reply to me, "Chris Packham! Next you'll be telling us you fancy Gaz Top!" This is how twitter works by the way- you say flippant things to get a reaction from your mates and have a wee laugh throughout the day or when you are watching telly. I reply "Ha! Even Gaz Top's WIFE doesn't fancy Gaz Top!"

 Gaz Top of Get Fresh and How 2 fame

Copyright: The 80s

It's not even ten minutes later and I get a direct reply to my tweet from none other than a @GarethJonesTV who is indeed Gaz Top* who I neither follow or who follows me. His tweet to me says "I think you'll find she does!"  Twitter is a strange beast- some people search for their own names. Some celebs in particular search for their own names. Still I thought Gaz's reply was moderately hilarious and we had a bit of a chat back and forth which was good humoured enough. For the record, he doesn't still have that ridiculous trademark hairstyle. He has mellowed. Shame....it was magnificent.

I mention that little Twitter story by way of a bit of background. It is only the prologue to the happenings of this week which I wouldn't have blogged about if this hadn't appeared this morning on Andrew Collins blog. For those of you who don't know who Andrew Collins is, he is a DJ on BBC 6 Music, which is my regular choice of listening. It is the best station in the UK but sometimes I nip over to Radio 4 to catch Desert Island Discs, The Today Programme or Woman's Hour- I'm only human after all- I like that whole free will thing, I can't help it! However on Tuesday I was doing some work from home and was enjoying being entertained by Shaun Keavney on the Breakfast Show as I wrote a script about not getting killed on an oil rig. Lauren Laverne, my absolute favourite on the station would be on next. She wasn't. She was still on holiday. Who was covering? Andrew Collins, the bloke he admittedly says himself is the bloke who covers everyone else's show when they aren't there. I'm not really a fan. In fact, his banter drives me insane. 

Collins: He doesn't like me much. 

But I'm sure if he met met me he would.

He's one of those guys who I'm sure is very nice in person but tends to pick a stupid inane thing that's happened in his personal life and run with it talking absolute nonsense for the rest of the show. Usually involving his home town of Northampton and stuff he did as a teenager there. I couldn't write a script about saving people's lives on oil rigs with Collins on in the background whilst feeling all stabby. And to be honest I was slightly pissed off that they couldn't have replaced Lauren with one of their female DJs who don't get enough airtime as it is. Although I must be honest this was a minor point- I just don't like listening to Collins. I told Twitter as just telling the dog seemed silly:

" I love BBC 6 but I draw the line at Andrew Collings sitting in for Lauren. Liz Kershaw not available? Off to listen to Women's Hour on Radio 4"

Not even five minutes go by and I get this from Andrew Collins (who you'll note I did not message or @ . In fact LOOK I even spelled his last name wrong!):

AC:@MisssyM Well thanks so much for your supportive words. Just doing my best here

Eh? Crikey!

MisssyM: @AndrewCollins Nothing personal-just feel that 10-1pm slot should have female replacement for Lauren-not enough female voices on BBC radio as it is. You've been trumped by Jenni Murray- there are worse things that could happen.

Now I lied here- it was personal- I don't like listening to Collins, I was trying to spare his feelings here. I'm not a monster.

AC: @MisssyM I will do my best not to be a male next time
 

Christ, now I'm horrible and a sexist. He's bought the whole woman thing. This isn't going well. My, what a  sensitive flower! Is he going to come round to my house. Should I tidy up just in case. Should I buy some Kleenex in case he breaks down. Shit, I HATE it when men cry- no-one knows what to do in that situation.

@AndrewCollins You're taking this too hard,Andrew.You can't be everyone's cup of tea.I feel dreadful now...maybe I could make it up to you?

I want to point out that I am NOT offering him sex here. He's no Chris Packham after all.

AC: @MisssyM It's fine, really. And the female voices thing is pertinent. I would say don't tell somebody you're tuning out while they're on air

But but but I didn't!!! Christ, I wouldn't get this shit from Jenni Murray.

"I can confirm that Misssy is a nice person 

and indeed she would never get this kind 

of shit from me" Jenni Murray earlier today.

I turn back to BBC6- my ears are burning. A half hour later Collins tells his listeners to stand down as the lady who upset him has apologised. Oh Christ- he's been talking about me already! He goes on have another little rant about me though- saying it's fine I don't like him but that it's rude to message the person to tell them directly as they are going on air. Hmmm. I need to put Andrew straight. He's made me feel terrible... But I feel that a slight injustice has been done and am slightly wary of some shoe gazing 80s fan boy Collins fans attacking me in the street by beating me to death with Smiths 12 inches or something.

I reply again:

MisssyM: @AndrewCollins I now consider myself suitably shamed! (I could argue that I never used the @ but that would be churlish)

I don't like that I've upset anyone and I do like to think of myself as being a reasonably nice and polite person. Collins calls me rude. I don't feel that I was, I never directly messaged him to tell him I was switching him off. Why would I do that? That would be horrible. I've been on radio myself not so long ago, it would be upsetting to hear that whilst on air. I might not go on to rant about it repeatedly on air or indeed write a blog about it, but yes, my ego may be a bit scuffed for about five seconds. Andrew, like me, writes books, he's surely had bad reviews- does he write to those people who have given him bad reviews and tell them how hurt he is? Does he wait for them outside their houses to tell them how upset he was on reading their review as they go out to buy a newspaper? I got one bad review for my book- it stung, but I wouldn't dream of contacting the person and having a go. It would be undignified and well....a little sad.

Still, I do feel bad in the heat of it all. I then offer him a homemade mobile phone mitten with anything of his choosing by way of assuaging his hurt feelings. Maybe a caricature of Morrissey- he likes 80s music after all. To date I've heard nothing more on that subject. Some suggestions on what I should put on a phone mitten for Collins are gratefully received.

Jenni Murray of Woman's Hour, perhaps?

Stop Press: 21.07 Saturday- The saga is over. It's important to tell you that the above link to Andrew's original blog is now not working as he has removed his post. He was in a bit of bad mood and over-reacted and you know what, he's man enough to admit that. In fact he's written a post saying so. Good on you Andrew. Here it is.

As you can see from this photo we are now buddies.

Photo art by DaisyGlaisy

*it's Gaz Top's 50th birthday today- I urge you all to wish him a Happy Birthday by tweeting him @GarethJonesTV . Happy Birthday Gaz!

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Belladrum Festival VLOG Part 3- The Festival Weekend

Includes very rare footage of Misssy M wearing her glasses due to an ill advised attempt to insert her contact lenses after using antibacterial hand spray....also features mis-cued presenter links, fashion tips from Dr Ben, a Mighty Boosh tribute act and The Lorelei, who have just been nominated for two Scottish Music Awards (Best Album/Best Folk Act)

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