I have muscles.Who knew? I know I have them because they have surfaced as a small complaining group, after being forced to carry me up ladders and do lots of stretchy things. They were carrying on a bit last night, so I took them to their favorite place, the sofa, and we watched the film of "Sex In The City". I came to this phenomenon late, as indeed I did to sex. Everyone was talking about it and saying how great it was, but I didn't fancy it really. As for the series, I didn't ever watch it, and didn't notice the films either. But let me tell you about this film because it took me aback a little. There are these four women; and the main one is a writer who wears clothes that are extremely chic. So fashionable is she that people burst out in peals of joyous laughter in the streets of New York,where she trots about dressed variously as a bellboy. a retired ballerina, and the Caterpillar from Alice In Wonderland. I have never been to New York due to the flying thing (blogs passim),but it appears to be a place with an easily impressed and sartorially forgiving population. I like to think that should some poor afflicted creature go about in Liverpool wearing tartan sellotape (Scotch Tape? ) and with a teddy bear on her head, we should all rally round with the warmth and compassion for which we are famed, and have her sectioned. Unless it was the Biennial, in which case she would be Art.
And the writer person has three friends.One is very very feminine. We know this because she screams a great deal, cries at card tricks,wants a baby, and wears gingham.She is a Weed,married to a small fat bald Otter. Another one is a Ballbreaking Lawyer, called Mildred, married to a Wet with specs. And the third is Old, But Hot. She behaves like a man, and not a very nice man at that. She is named Sam, (definitely a man), runs some sort of management company and has a young boyfriend called Smiffy or something, who is a Drip. She cares only for sex, which as we know can land people in all manner of trouble, and indeed, in one scene, she lies about naked covered in wet fish, to please the Drip on Valentine's Day. But the Drip,showing judgement beyond his tender years, stays firmly in the office until all the whelks pinned to her nipples have turned bad.So incensed is she that she hurls exhausted seafood at him . I had no idea that New Yorkers were so sophisticated. Then she gets fat, to express her self-destructive tendencies, and everyone makes jokes about how fat she is, despite the fact that she looks EXACTLY the same.
The main one, Corrie, (named after our own dear soap opera, I imagine) , the writer one, also has a chap. But he is a Smug Bastard. He is also a different colour from everyone else in the film; a sort of creosote shade. He is called Pig and is old enough to be Corrie's Dad. People in the film make all sorts of objections to the Bastard; but no-one mentions the most obvious problems, which are that he is a) George Hamilton, and b) mummified. Everyone drinks a lot, as indeed they might. There are some fashionista gay people who are bitchy and witty,and a saintly black woman who is a Real Person. We know this because she looks as though she might have eaten solids in the last decade and could survive outside New York.
Anyway, they all get very involved in Corrie's wedding to this 900 year-old-man, news of which is in all the glossy magazines.Vivienne Westwood sends her a frock. This was the only part where I felt a twinge of aspirational envy.Then I remembered that she was wearing it to marry Pig in,and that I would rather be shot in it. Now bear up, there isn't much more of this. Pig gets cold trotters and is too stupid to get out of a car at his own wedding.Corrie finds him and bashes him over the head with some symbolic flowers.
Her supportive girlfriends go on her honeymoon with her (but minus Pig,who is in the doghouse),to Mexico, where she is eaten by a giant crab, sorry I dreamed that bit, where she cries for three days, but cheers up when the Weed accidentally soils herself and then they all..No, I honestly can't go on.
Serves me right for deserting Radio 4, but there was a programme on about wizards, and I have limits. So now I know all about being a sassy single woman in Manhattan,and have extended my cultural education. I have also had my suspicions about watching television confirmed. Noel Coward said that it was for appearing on ,and not for watching. So I shall send them my proposal for a reality television series following the fortunes of a morbidly-minded middle-aged neurotic as she tries to pack and deal with Talk Talk Customer Services. With hilarious consequences. Can't see any flaw in this plan, can you? I shall round up my sassy single girlfriends and a pint of sassy single cockles,we shall be sensational.
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