My statistic might not be scientific but at a wild guess it is safe to say you, dear reader, have at least one friend in a band that is not going to be heading Glastonbury any time soon and not just due to the festival's former policy of giving the fields a break every five years. Namely this band are rubbish, but what is to be done when your friend demands an on the spot review?
Have you considered learning air guitar? Image: Gabriel Pollard In the art world certain issues are often returned to time and time again. Issues such as funding, publicity and venue space are deservedly tackled by culture secretaries and writers alike. There is one issue however that is so sensitive people tend to avoid discussing it. Yet statistically you have a 1 in 4 chance of being affected by it (not really, I made that up). So why does this issue so rarely come up in conversation, why do we feel the need to side step this, specifically: What do you do when your friends' band is, frankly, rubbish?
My statistic might not be scientific but at a wild guess it is safe to say you, dear reader, have at least one friend in a band that is not going to be heading Glastonbury any time soon and not just due to the festival's former policy of giving the fields a break every five years. Namely this band are rubbish, but what is to be done when your friend demands an on the spot review?
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People constantly ask me the same question. They say Squeamish Kate, how can we be more like you? Come summer I am asked this all the more. Last year Squeamish Louise wrote about dressing for summer when you are a heavyset person. This year I am writing about dressing for summer when you are usually a little bit of a wilting flower in the sun and wish to get a little crafty. As others sweat and burn in the beam of Mr Sun I stay cool and unsullied by UV rays. My trick is not staying inside all day until night falls. I always keep a tube of Soltan factor 50 in my bag alongside something else that can be scrunched and screwed up into a ball until the time comes. Ladies and gentlemen I bring you The Beach Cape. Guys, I don't want a fuss this year, just a few friends, a kickback, y'know. I have lived in the city. I have lived in the country. I have lived in a Belgian suburb and I can conclude that nobody wants to talk to anybody. Or rather; nobody wants to talk to their neighbours. Street parties can go forth and multiply because in real life I am not convinced anybody wants much to do with street parties beyond pocketing as much free cake as possible and making a swift exit. They certainly don’t want to talk to their neighbours, not with tell-tale cake crumbs around their pockets. So party shops, you can stop printing Union Jack napkins and publishing How-tos for street Diamond Jubilee street parties because we shan’t be taking part. Anyway, everybody already spoke to their neighbours in 2002, at the Golden Jubilee when it was easier to convince us a street party would be vintage and fun and twee. This is not because the general public hates the Queen, though frankly 3 Jubilees is greedy, but because they presume to hate their neighbours and there’s no telling how many people have touched that cucumber sandwich. You are not a carebear Image: Julie McLeod It happened rather suddenly. I was a teenager, my best friend had moved schools and invited me to visit a new school friend of hers. We met, the three of us, we got along fine, I pretended to know what they were talking about until it was time to leave. That’s when it happened. This girl, this person I had met but hours ago leant in for a hug. Ok, so it’s not the kind of thing that requires a trigger warning or anything. I don’t come from some sort of cold military style family. It isn’t that I’d never hugged or been hugged before but that was reserved for family and that’s nuclear family. Plus, we were teenagers, isn’t that a time for shrouding our under/overdeveloped bodies in baggy band T-shirts and hunching? Puberty is cruel to all people in some manner, some people get teenage acne, some wake up and their nether regions have gone all Teen Wolf on them. Hugging interrupts hunching. Pastry. Doughy, delicious pastry. Commonly used to illustrate lists of “things you might as well buy rather than make.” And usually, I would agree. Who wants to faff around rolling and re-rolling puff pastry when it comes readymade? But shortcrust, my friends, is a different matter entirely. Make your own shortcrust pastry and your mince pies will be the best in class. I know Squeamish Kate thinks it’s all about the mincemeat, but I beg to differ. One day we will team up and win Christmas. Since the year my school uniform featured a light grey jumper and I realised I could cheer it up with The Body Shop’s lip ink in taupe I have been a fan of red lipstick. In a sea of clear lip-gloss and over plucked brows I stood out with my blood red matte lips. In my black and white yearbook photo I look like some goth who’s peculiarly observant of the ‘Focus on One Feature’ make up rule, in black lipstick. My aunt mentioned recently how all eyes would home in on her reddened lips when she joined any feminist group in the 80s and 90s. Make up was apparently not compatible with the notions of equality and choice. Let's snuggle Autumn and winter mean big boots, cosy jumpers, hot chocolate and mulled wine. They also mean anyone near me is going to hear a lot of complaining about long nights, along with many wishes that I was a black bear and could hibernate through the dark days. I don’t really wish I was a bear (although how cosy does this look?) – it would mean I would miss out on kicking big piles of leaves, snowball fights and Christmas. But the darkness does get to me, so here are some ideas for getting through it. A woman in Rome claims she was turned away from giving blood because she’s a lesbian, while in the UK we’ve only just started letting gay men give blood... so long as they haven’t been sexually active in the last 12 months, condom or no. I’m against the ban on gay men giving blood, but I am very pro giving blood – if you’ve ever known someone who’s needed it, it’s likely you are too. I can’t tell you it might be morally right to lie about your sexual history if you know you’re healthy. But I CAN tell you all about what it’s like to give blood. I have now given 10 pints of my blood away. I know this because they give you a badge when you reach 10. And a certificate. That’s enough to fill up a whole other one and a half people. With the government hastily putting together new public orders , the Fawcett Society organising a protest on November 19th and changes to the NHS afoot, we’ve got a feeling you might be needing this handy guide to peaceful protesting. As I headed off to ‘Block the Bridge’ last weekend concerned friends worried about what I’d do when I was arrested. There’s a perception among lots of people I know that if you attend any protest or demo, it will end in violence, destruction and/or arrest, and I’ve seen it put people off taking part. But I’ve been on plenty of demos and marches over the last few years, and that’s not the case. Yes, things often kick off, but it’s more unusual to get caught up in that unwittingly than it is to spend a day marching, chanting, chatting and then heading home. Either way, if you have reached the stage where you want to get out there and show your dissatisfaction but you have no idea how to begin then this is for you. 5 tips from the sideline. A protesting 101... After the Fish Pedicure feature a ton of you wrote in asking about my strawberry toenail art. Ok no one did but I am sure that is just because you’re all shy. And as I am such a giver here is my step by step guide to painting yourself some strawberry nails.
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