Roll out 2009: Bring on 2010

2009. It's been a tumultuous year- some good, some rotten. With all the

deaths this year too? Yeah, I'm over 2009.

Here's wishing for a prosperous, happy and healthy 2010 for everyone!

Have a Happy Holidays- Turkey All the Way

Spinning Bird Kick: Ninja Monkey Style

See, this is the problem with teaching a monkey taekwondo. They might just decide one day, it's YOU trainer-man who ought to take a drop kick in the face and be the star of the show for once.

And so another intrepid entrepreneur found this the case with his touring monkey troupe dancing for yuan outside a shopping mall in eastern China's Hubei province. Lo Wung (above) looks kinda surprised here- no crap, Sherlock! That said, awesome action shot from the photographer; I have to say.

In the Telegraph article, the best thing was the amused photographer's comment. Talk about street entertainment!

Hu Luang, 32, a bystander who photographed the incident, said: "I saw one punch him in the eye - he grabbed another by the ear and it responded by grabbing his nose. They were leaping and jumping all over the place. It was better than a Bruce Lee film."

http://www.telegraph.co.uk/news/newstopics/howaboutthat/6825449/Taekwondo-monkeys-attack-trainer.html

World Cup 2010 Draw or Eurovision National Lotto?

I watched the long awaited presentation of the group draw for the World Cup 2010, taking place in South Africa. Charlize Theron acted as co-host, but this was no Oscars. The South African influence played out with a lively pre- music show. Unfortunately this was a FIFA run affair from then on in: no fun skits to be found, no spontaneity allowed to seep out. Considering they had an Oscar winning actress on hand, they really made no use of Theron at all.

I always feel like Fifa gigs come across as a mix between a Eurovision song contest and the National Lottery weekly draw. There's no audio, but the pic above sets the scene- DRY.

As it turns out, Theron added unscripted comedic relief to the dry-as-toast French co-host who led the 30 minute proceedings. Signor Pain Rassis [stale bread] kept interrupting Theron's charm offensive with the draw 'assistants' that included Haile Gebrselassi ("Haile, you need to smile more- Smiley Haile!" owing to the Ethiopian running legends' infectious, ever present smile), David Beckham ("Are you sure that's the best ball?" more coquettish flirting with David) and other South African elite athletes. He also had an odd professorial manner about him; his grammatically perfect English lacking the conversational subtleties that someone with lesser English would have used. Consequently, his linking comments came off as blunt, useless pieces of football trivia about which team played another team delivered by ear piece seemed random. All the while Charlize made me chuckle with her rolling eyes, barely disguised annoyance with Signor Pain Rassis and sly put downs ("Wow, you're like a little Facts Machine!"- elbow to the ribs).

The funniest skit- you gotta make you're own entertainment when watching a Fifa fiesta- was when SPR asked Theron about some match in the 1950's, to which she retorted "Wait a minute, how old do you think I am?! You're asking me about something in the '50's?" shock thinly veiled in her voice.

One thing to be thankful for- the draw didn't last long, and England's group isn't half bad!

Group G, however- ouch. Brazil, Ivory Coast, Portugal and North Korea: Group of DEATH

Group A: South Africa, Mexico, Uruguay, France
Group B: Argentina, South Korea, Nigeria, Greece,
Group C: England, USA, Algeria, Slovenia
Group D: Germany, Australia, Ghana, Serbia
Group E: Holland, Japan, Cameroon, Denmark,
Group F: Italy, New Zealand, Paraguay, Slovakia
Group G: Brazil, North Korea, Ivory Coast, Portugal
Group H: Spain, Honduras, Chile, Switzerland.

Bet365 BINGO HEAD Ad: Makes Me Wanna Dance

From the moment I hear C+C Music Factor's "GONNA MAKE YOU SWEAT", I get excited. 'Running Man dance' excited, and all because my current favourite advert is just starting. Who needs X-Factor? No Sir, I got me a TV Ad.

It's not an innovative ad, like the Sony Bravia Bouncy Balls or Volkswagen Golf 'Singing in the Rain' spots.

The infectious beat starts and coloured circles envelope the stage to expose alien-like silhouettes waiting their cue. With a lights setting change to 'disco', the figures begin their routine in earnest. There's the runnning man, various two step manoeuvres, hand swooping, throwing their big head in a loopy circle and static posing. All this happens in front of a garish feature wall with BET365 BINGO before a tannoy announcement 'Hey Bingo Heads!...' telling us about a £1M Bonanza up for grabs on their website, and the end of the routine.

It's like watching kids in a talent show: plenty of hardwork and attention to detail, but not much talent. Or maybe an amateur dance off.

Therein lies its charm and resonance: low key, cheese. Simple, fun (the RUNNING MAN!) and memorable. "EVERYBODY DANCE NOW!!!"

Buon Compleanno a Me!!

Not sure if that title is grammatically sound. A me, a moi? Whatever.

C'est mon anniversaire, peeps!

Today has been unexpectedly lovely. All cooked breakfasts, thoughtful gifts, cards and well wishing texts and FB msgs (virtually the same thing these days. Oh how dated the phone seems?)

Maybe the most touching has been the flowers my friend sent and my brother left for me. It's quite the thrill receiving a sleek box package from Interflora with a gorgeous bouquet of sunflowers and peach roses. Autumn bloom, if ever there was.

It's nice spending time with family, hearing from friends I haven't heard from in a while and chilling out to noodles and champagne lunches before going to a restaurant tonight. All this before the much heralded (by me) Birthday Pageant Passeggiata, which is where I parade around the kingdom (cul de sac) dropping in on friends and well-wishers. Trick or treat style: "I'm dressed as ME! Now how about a gift voucher for Decleor?"

X-Factor UK Favourite: Joe McElderry

Just got through another week of X-Factor screaming and shrieking. This time, the aural onslaught didn't come from the Twins (you know my thoughts on them). What's happening to the contestants? Strong singers like Danyl, Stacey and Ollie were notably off pitch at varying moments.

The only one to deliver a perfect pitch was Joe Mcelderry. And when I think about it, it's always Joe who quietly performs well week in, week out.

It's not often I'll agree with Cheryl, but I totally understand the sisterly care she shows to Joe. He's a little sweetheart, and what I like most about him is how understated he is. Everyone else draws their fans based on reasons not wholly related to singing. Ollie is 'fit', Lloyd is a teen girls wet dream, Danyl has the Marmite quality (love it or hate it) and Stacey is coasting on Eliza Doolittle charm.

Joe also gave the only performance of the night that drew my eye up from my laptop to listen. Coming at the end of a lacklustre show, little more than 60 minutes of background music while I worked, was some feat.

JOE for the finals. ALLEZ JOE!!

UPDATE: I was just checking youtube for a clip of tonight's performance to include- too early, is the answer. But what I found was maybe better- a fellow Joe believer! So if you don't believe me, listen to Sharky1105

UPDATE II: Joe's performance 21 November 2009

The Hand of Gaul: Incompetent Linesmen Strike Again!

Well, well. The start of terrible, avoidable football eff ups begins already. With every Fifa World Cup to roll by, we're treated to not only excellent displays of football and shocking fouls, but brazenly wrong linesmen decision making.

Tonight's controversy merely wets the appetite for howlers so sublime us viewers will really have need of endless replays and multi-angle TV coverage. France were playing the second leg of their World Cup play off match against a plucky Ireland, and were trailing 0-1. Deep into extra time, France penetrating again and again, Thierry Henry used his hand to touch the ball down (TWICE) and threaded it through to William Gallas, who neatly put the goal away.

Where do we start, in analysing what went wrong tonight?

• One, France had a man off-side at the start of that fateful charge.
• Two, Thierry handled the ball...twice. Swedish ref, Martin Hansson, wasn't sure and conferred with the linesman.
• Three, conferring with any linesman in football is always a wasteful decision in the majority of cases, owing to the fact that linesmen never see anything, even infringements occurring under their nose.

Watch any EPL game and the evidence is there for all to see. In theory, Hansson, old linesman should be able to tell you what happens on his line. In case you missed it. Too bad, he saw nothing and will scurry away Scot free into the dust long before the consequences of his god awful decision does.

People will blame Thierry Henry, and label him a cheater. He'll have to take it, and so long as his country are through, I doubt he'll care. But the real culprits are the officials who have all the rules on their side, but once again show that even the obvious incidents can waltz right before them before they action the rules correctly.

It's sad to see a team who tried so hard be denied the fruits of their labour, all because of incompetence. Make no mistake- that is what it was. Every time a ball crosses the line, yet is declared not. Every time a goal from a free kick is scored, but the ref cites 'foul' based on an inconsequential tussle in the wall. Every time a striker is onside, yet called off. These all add up to more than a slip of the eye. These amount to unfair, arbitrary advantage given by those whose job it is to monitor the game, not blemish it with their presence.

The time is coming for use of video technology during play. Human error as big as this and as frequent occurring in any other area of the sport, would result in a P45. The stakes are too high. It's introduction need not threaten the role of the officials, and for the accountable ones, it wouldn't.

The old arguements and fears about changing the nature of the game, the high tempo speed it's played in and the trust in officials decisions? Someone needs to send a memo to Fifa: that ship has long sailed.

ATP Masters Paris: What In High Haddes...?

(Flickr photo- iPh4n70M, 13 Nov 2009)

I love tennis. Sometimes for the technical brilliance on display, the feats of dogged determination, a single handed backhand pinging the ball down the line before the opponent even begins to move, and you're sat at home going, Ohhhh!

Other times it's because, occasionally, events do not follow the predicted script. AT ALL. Julien Bennetau, a 27-year old French man is the sort of player who simply perspires hard work. I haven't yet seen him on court without his blonde curls matted to his scalp, his shirts translucent with sweat- forget Dri FIT- and trails of rubber soles etched in his wake. He really tries out there. But against a rested Roger Federer, in the penultimate tournament of maybe his most emotionally satisfying year yet, the end we got was not at all expected: Bennetau won in 3 sets!

I casually checked into the match on the off chance some tennis might still be in play. Instead I caught the tail end of a thrilling third set, with Bennetau running down and hurling himself like a lemming with no fears after increasingly exasperated Federer shots.

A quick scan at the stats showed Federer's first serve percentage was low in the 50's, a slew of unforced errors and only 1 in 7 breakpoints converted. All of which points to Federer's unease on the Paris indoor courts (historically speaking, he's not been a hit) and some gutsy play on Bennetau's part, to the absolute delight of the Paris crowds. Yes, you read right- Paris crowd. Delighted. Not a loftily held nose in sight.

So on day 3, the Masters series Paris sees the loss of the world no.1, but Rafael Nadal (2) remains on track after narrowly escaping 5 match points against Nicolas Almalgro, Del Potro (5) remains with a win over Marat Safin (aurevoir Marat, who's retiring after Paris) and Andy Murray (3) takes on James Blake now.

Scrap the last post- X-Factor Twins stay...

So the circus rolls on, and John and Edward survive their first sing off. Que?! I know, right?

Salute to Dannii tonight, who commented "I'll just say Good Luck to all the singers in this competition". Good luck? More like, God Speed- Y'all need it.

Who would have thought there was a fence sturdy enough to hold the sum weight of Cowell's ego? Subtracting a set of cojones, that fence was indeed found tonight as Simon voted to go to deadlock, effectively hanging Lucie Jones out to dry by leaving the final decision to the public.

Are you kidding me? I'm shocked. SHOCKED! Poor Lucie immediately started to cry once she heard Simon's decision. I'm sure everyone watching pretty much knew her fate was sealed, too.

What exactly is the purpose of the sing off? Aren't the judges bound to vote off the act who perform the worst in their final performance?

Please, please, Great British public- enough is enough. Your sadistic fun with your voting choice needs to stop. This is supposed to be a singing contest. And the twins just can't sing!

X-Factor Twins- Finally, bottom 2!

YESSSSS!!!

John and Edward whats-their-name have finally been placed in the bottom two in the X-Factor Results show (8.11.09). Surely the spectacle of uncoordinated choreography and tuneless singing has come to an end? Even the lure of Simon Cowell's promise to 'leave the country' should the twins win this years' cycle can't be enough motivation to keep the public voting for them?

Let's hope not- sing off is up next!

Washing a Short Afro: Some Tips

I thought I'd include this little 'here's what I did earlier' post on washing afro hair that is short. Really, it's because I did a quick google search for some tips from the afro hair guru's that exist out there, particularly on YouTube, and was surprised to come up short. QUE?? Sure, there's advice on all kinds of hair washing to avoid tangles and moisture loss- co-washing (shampooing with conditioner, often with an Apple Cider Vinegar rinse), banding of hair into sections to wash etc. But none of these seemed to address the needs of the short afro'd people.

I'm growing mines out, having said NO MÁS! to my relaxer in December 2008. I won't pretend it was intentional. More like two weeks of regrowth snowballed into a month, and the prospect of shelling out £70 got less appealing. I found all the transition styles fun, such as "china bumps" or bantu knots, although washing with the resultant tangles became more of an issue because of the virgin/relaxed hair split. Since June, I had enough regrowth to feel comfortable chopping off the dead weight, aka big chop time, and enjoyed the ease of washing a short short afro.

Which brings me onto today and washing hair in that 'tween' not-long-enough for a pony stage. I'm always interested in different approaches to hair care, particularly the ones favouring natural ingredients, a gentle touch and efficient use of time. But with all the advice out there, you could find yourself torn here and there with 'sworn by' techniques and tips, when all that really matters is doing what works well for you and your hair.

I've noticed that with my short hair, tangling while washing can be a problem. Previously, I would use a detangling spray and comb through before washing- the hair was much more pliable and suffered less shrinkage.

Today's tip tries to combine the banding hair principle with what is possible for hair that's too short to hold in sections before contact with water.

Very simply:

1. Section the hair into quarters before washing, like you would if banding (tying 1 or 2 bands around each section to keep the hair stretched while washing). If it's uncomfortable to do while the hair is dry, simply wet the hair first and then section.

2. In the shower or under the tap, wet each section without disturbing the divisions made. They don't have to be perfectly separate- all you need is to be able to follow each section with your hands as you go through washing hair. NB: hair is easier to comb when wet and for those with tight curls, stretches out. For those who want to apply bands, you might find the lengths are long enough to apply at this stage and follow that process now.

3. Apply shampoo to each section, paying more attention to massaging the scalp with fingers. Wash hair by rinsing each section- if you're like me, that's literally rotating in the shower for even coverage!

Do the same with your conditioner.

4. I then towel dried, sprayed on a home made leave-in conditioner (one part cream conditioner, whatever you have + water mix in a spray bottle- shake well and spritz).

You can then oil the scalp or air dry first and oil later.

E basta così.

Everyone has their own technique, and as you can see, what I've suggested ain't rocket science. That said, for anyone who might be looking for tips from another woman in the same boat before doing your own, I hope it helps!

Caroline Wozniaki- Amazingly Brave in Doha!

Phew, that was one draining, crazy match! Caroline Wozniaki, no.5 seed, was playing Vera Zvonareva in the 3rd round robin match at the WTA Sony Ericsson Championships, and literally limped her way across the finish line.

Caroline came into the match with a hamstring injury, but has played doggedly well so far against Jelena Jankovic and Victoria Azarenka. She should have faced Dinara Safina, no.2 seed, but a back injury ended her challenge yesterday. In the beginning, it looked as if the replacement player Zvonareva would offer little more than hitting practice- the hobbling Dane took the 1st set 6-0. But NO! The Russian came back in the 2nd, 7-5, which dragged us into a long match and the sight of an increasingly weakened and cramp stricken Wozniaki.

As the 3rd set rolled on, Wozniaki was in the lead but stretching manically at every opportunity. Uh oh. You just hoped Wozniaki could see the game out: she's been the more aggressive and focused of the two, but for a little complacency in the 2nd set. And with the 5th game already in play, there would be little choice but to grin and bear the pain or retire from it, so close to a win. On 30-30, that's exactly what happened: after hitting a forehand into the net, a spasm of cramp seemed to strike both legs, and the poor thing fell down unable to move. It was the most uncomfortable thing I've watched in sport, as she lay contorting in pain, all the while knowing the 20 second clock was ticking down in which she'd somehow have to get up and play. Cramp is no joke.

I titled this post 'bravery' because it takes true fighting spirit to plug away as she has in this tournament, and that belief became fact with her incredible effort to go on to win the match. Caroline is usually very good humoured on and off-court, but this show of resilience and will to win in any condition, really marks her mental strength as head and shoulders above most of the WTA players. I'm guessing, future no.1.

X-Factor - Is This Really About Talent?

That's it, I'm done. I'm tired of X-Factor and their TV show pretensions. DOH, it's a TV show! I hear you say? Yeah, you're right. That's exactly why I can't watch any more.

The reason I watch the live shows, once we reach a final 12, is to see singers perform and improve. This season's talent on the UK show has been superb, by and large. Definitely check out clips on youtube if you don't believe me. But for me, the show is about finding real talent- plucking something raw from the mines and developing it, hoping to find a diamond. For tweener girls with a serious crush and plenty of pay-as-you-go minutes, it's about voting for the cute guy with the blonde hair and baby blue eyes. For a sizeable chunk, it's voting for a talentless but chipper pair of odd blond Irish twins you feel sorry for at the expense of kids who bust a gut giving strong performances. For the previous two weeks, it was the consistently strong Rachel Adedeji in the bottom two. The Twins? Never there. Rather like their singing and dancing. That's when it hit me: this is a TV show, and right now, it's nothing but a glorified popularity contest. How silly of me? The "talent" portion of this pageant hasn't yet started!

This week's evidence? The strongest performer, Danyl Johnson, found himself in the bottom two with Miss Frank, a sassy girl group who gave their best performance this week. Neither should even have been there, yet- here we are once again, with a decision that beggars belief. A decision that comes from the well pool of Englands moronic love of The Loser. Time and time again, the nation has shown if you're crap but plucky, if you're cute but dim, if you're something that resembles an underdog, then a significant portion of the public will get the Mariah Carey 'I'll Be There's' on and sing that deadbeat to safety. In this case, voting for duds and dunces.

Is it harsh to react this way? Maybe. But it's hard to not feel for people with talent who get up and deliver performances. Danyl and Miss Frank gave gutsy performances, the former arguably the best on the night with his performance and singing. Yet it's a fallacy to believe that any of those things make a difference in stating your case to stay. How else can you explain the continued popularity of The Twins? It isn't their fault. They try their best and it's a blessing that they are so young and oblivious. It's the public at fault. I don't usually vote until the final, and made exception this week- for Miss Frank and Rachel. Unfortunately, Miss Frank didn't make it. I truly hope they stay together and get a deal. We have no fresh, edgy girl bands at the moment: multicultural, multilingual, singing and rapping. Love them.

My mistake. I'll tune in again when the show reaches the stage where it's about finding the best performer. When the judges stop crying because they've picked the wrong song (Cheryl!), get mock-offended when Simon Cowell is Simon Cowell (Dannii!), when Louis has no more ponies in the stable. When my expectations are in line with what's happening in front of me, then it will be safe to return. The eventual dismissal of the twins will signal that, although knowing this country, that might not be any time soon.

Me Encanta 'Mi Vida Loca'

Dios Mio, que va a pasar a Merche???

This is the question I'm dying to find out. Actually, it's more like GASPING, after watching the latest episode in the BBC's online spanish language drama, Mi Vida Loca (My Crazy Life).

It's a fabulous multimedia tool taking the viewer, and language learner, on an adventurous tale with the ultimate goal of learning Spanish. In a series of 22 episodes, you are placed in the shoes of a tourist in Madrid staying at the apartment of your Spanish friend. Once there, the viewer runs into Merche, the busy sister of their absent mate, who it turns out is a journalist investigating corruption in Gran Canaria.

I wanted to learn Spanish using online sources, and this series not only does the trick, but has me gripped with it's addictive, soap opera plotting, engaging characters and the lovely way it makes the interaction with English and Spanish so easy. No surprise then that the show won an Innovation Bafta award in 2009.

Anyway, I have to get back to it. Ep 19, La Inmobiliaria, isn't going to watch itself...

Hasta entonces, chicos!

http://www.bbc.co.uk/languages/spanish/mividaloca/

Those Virgin Media "Customer Service" Mother ****ers

If there's one thing I can't stand, it's being unfairly treated by a utilities or services provider. Why? Because I am confronted with the maddening maze of (alleged) customer service with call centres worldwide, otherwise known as The Faceless Other and brings out my enraged alter ego, Incredibly Pissed Off.

This weeks offender? Virgin Media: how I can't stand you (my words, but something of a secret motto of theirs right back at the customer too).

They stand guilty of not having any other means of contact outside of speaking on the phone, forcing you into a stand-off with staff who glibly possess a fragile grasp on the meaning of 'customer' and 'service'. The worst part is that this process involves a fair amount of trust on the part of the customer, and it's the ease in which a CS or Collections rep can abuse this trust which triggered the emergence of my IPO self. By trust, I mean the faithful record of a call and the write up of notes summarising the main points of the call on a persons account. This is the least I expect if I'm going to speak to Sundeep in Mumbai's frontline call centre, forwarded to Stacey in a Bolton pod, then to Sunni in Birmingham (let's call him Dick Wad) and then back again to Another Chap at the same B/ham centre, in an annoying, unproductive daisy chain. I never considered the absurdity in how business calls have become a human telefonic version of the pass-the-parcel childs game. Rather, Pass the Buck- Quick!

Call centres are supposed to make customer service seamless; smooth. The end of one call, and the start to another like passing on a baton of information: "Ah, Miss G, I see you called in about that last week"...Instead, this Virgin Media brigade are a dislocated, truncated and downright renegade service on a global scale- literally. One call can involve at least two transfers like Poirot making unplanned pit stops on The Orient en route from Instanbul (Murder on the Orient). Each agent in each transfer screens for the exact same information as the last, before telling you, "Sorry, wrong department. On yer merry way to Scotland, Hercule!".

Suffice to say, my original complaint is yet to be resolved. We'll see if the unfortunate manager at B/ham's Faceless Other centre honours their 24 hr callback policy that I requested within the first ten seconds of conversation with Dick Wad Sunni, who naively argued that "my colleagues will say the same thing as me". Oddly enough, it brought an odd satisfaction and some restoration to order hearing him say that. You know you've hit that nerve of powerlessness when a CS rep says that- the faint hope that this pesky woman will go away and accept my words, stinks out the air like a putrid possum fart.

Let the battle commence...

Tough Love Rule #73: Don't try to out-think love

You can tell I live in the UK, because it's only in September 2009 that VH1's Tough Love reality show has hit our screens. I love it!

You really learn something new every night (11pm), or rather- you hear something you've heard a million times before but never bothered to consider it actually might be of some use if you're a singleton subjecting yourself to dates in the name of finding love. The shows ballsy matchmaker and host, Steve Ward, tries to get a bunch of women to see dating from the male POV.

There's no sugar-coating those myths and delusions that the women claim are the reasons behind them being single; in fact, I definitely see myself in the well-intentioned but very confused behaviour on display in the house. The girls all have nicknames reflecting their key dating flaws. The one I most resemble? Miss Picky, without a doubt! I'm not yet at the tiara wearing stage or trusting a pet to pick my dates, as poor Abiola does, but I have my fair share of crazy. One of which: if you're not an astrological fit, we have issues...or is that, I have issues? Hmn...

Anyway, I sit there laughing, ohhing and O.M.G!! mouthing along with the resident drama queen, Taylor (Miss Gold Digger), but what stays with me by the end of each funny episode will be one of Steve's top 100 dating rules. Tonight's top tip for me? Rule#73: Don't try to out-think love. Love is emotional, not cerebral. Sometimes you can be so smart it makes you stupid. Find out if he's on your level.

So very true, for all Miss Picky Overthinkers out there. Can't wait to see what tomorrow's penultimate episode brings, though I can guess: more cat fights, another Ariane or Jody meltdown, possibly some more confrontation between Steve (hot, in a jock kind of way) and hard-to-read Jessa, aka Ms "I don't like you".

Are You Ok? I Don't Think So

At what point do you have to stop running along a path, and admit it's a blind alley, admit you're lost? For the past two months, I've gone from a walk into a sprint since my uncle died and only now, when the world expects me to 'be ok', do I have to acknowledge that I'm not.

I'm still in mourning. It's the same for my mum and brother. Before there was a benchmark to aim for, prompting you to keep going: a church and priest to find, a funeral to arrange, tables and chairs for the wake who-know-how many will attend, his apartment to clean, his estate to sort out, his life's possessions and all the things connecting him to the system, as a citizen. Cancelled, like debt. What's left after the public displays of mourning, reminiscence and physical goodbyes, is just you. Friends text to see how I am, some haven't even bothered, most assume the worst is behind me. They're wrong. When you lose a loved one, the worst is ahead of you. The intensity cools down a little, that much I know. It's been two months and the soothing effect of time is already noticeable. I can think of him without the fear of immediate tears flowing. Instead, what happens is I cry at unpredictable, intermittent moments. Little things lie in wait to set me off like boobie traps. Watching a TV or movie death scene provokes tears of emotion rawer than the script surely had intended. I find myself relating to characters on duff daytime soaps, and think maybe that writer incorporated a little bit of their knowledge and experience into this.

"What they don't tell you when someone dies is that it sucks. People talk about time being a healer, but right now it just really sucks" a character called Aiden on Home & Away said at his young wife's funeral. And he's right.

Well meaning people, some are friends, some acquaintances, giving me their cliched bile, telling me what they 'know'. You don't know unless you've been here, I don't care how intuitive you think you are.

In a hospital scene in Neighbours waiting to see if young mum Bridgette will be ok, her husband Declan snapped at his teenage friends "If you can't be positive, then just go home". His impatience at their inability to offer understanding of his all-consuming panic hastily spilled over. I feel like if these people haven't got anything useful to say, just say nothing. Don't try and feel your way through, because it's too soon and it doesn't help. Far from it, it actually angers me. These people, stumbling through the emotional carnage of a broken down 'me' with the casualness that only comes from never having experienced this kind of loss. Maybe they're underestimating the uncle-niece relationship? Maybe they don't have a strong bond there to relate to. Some family relationships on paper strike a stronger, universal resonance- Dad/Mum-daughter, I get it. Brother-sister, ah, that's a terrible loss. The assumption that they can speak to me as if time should have done it's healing by now, and everything should be alright? It galls me.

Hey chick, how's things? what's up?

Awful, that's how it is. I feel like I've been unplugged from the Matrix and for the time being, I've got gloupy porridge on the horizon and no tender, juicy steaks and fine red wines in sight. There's no other way to cut this, so I'm going to come straight out with it. What you now know, what is tangeable, real and unavoidable, is the realisation that the end is always around the corner. Not the knowing death is guaranteed to us all. I'm talking about feeling death everywhere. Take the 'knowledge' and follow that thought through to its conclusion- you live, you die and there's no timeline, only hope. People talk about the young dying being unfair, because that's how it feels- a sense of injustice, like they've had no time. When the old die, we say 'they had a good, long life'. These are all platitudes. There IS no guarantee. The young dying is just the young dying- a shame, but unavoidable. I read these emails from people, going about their business as a good drone does, as I used to, with my plans and dreams and my bullshit. I got a throbbing headache last night, I've been feeling a little fluey, so tried to put it down to that. But all I could think after downing glasses of water and taking aspirin, as I felt a vein along the front of my head throb, was how this could be it for me. I could die of an embolism right now! The stock response is, 'you're being paranoid' and the answer is 'yeah, I am' but the truth? I could die of that embolism, it could be my time right now. 29 years was what I got.

My uncle passed and not one of us has experienced a dream, vision or feeling where his spirit has been back. Might sound crazy to some, but I believe in a soul, and that this isn't the end. Anyone who's confronted the absolute stillness of a corpse believes in something beyond this. But I have no answers as to where or how or anything. Heaven as a construct sounds beautiful, a place of pure love. But this is a world that hasn't prepared us for that, so it's a stretch in imagination or faith to say the least. I believe he's someplace better, and it's always easier to say that about others and to others. Not surprisingly, I feel better believing he is safe and protected and not in the pain he would have been in by the end. But when I think about where I will go, how does that work? I'm logical and the leaps of faith aren't something I can grasp while I'm still so seated within my body, if not a little unsettled with my place in the world right now.

I don't feel ok with the insecurity of not having the time to get adjusted to my eventual death. I don't think 'being dead' is something any of us should individually worry about because by then it's fact and the loss effects those left behind more than the person gone. My worry is the actual part of dying, of slipping away, and of finding solace and peace when the time comes. I want to know I'll be able to accept what's happening, once I 'know'. If I accomplish anything in life, I need to evolve enough to believe that. And yet, here I am alive and well (God willing), dwelling on the end.

I'm Sorry For Your Loss...

Are you? Or is it just a nice thing to say to someone whose doing that thing you've seen others experience. Yes, grieving. I underestimated how much it would absorb you, or could do. Different strokes for different folks, I guess. I underestimated how finite that line is drawn between the 'before death' and 'after'. May as well be night and day.

When I think about it, of course it hurts. It should hurt if the person meant anything to you. If you love, then you guarantee yourself loss at some point. If you live, then you must face the reality of death- as a spectator of the end or participant whose time it is to meet their own.

I wrote this all because I realise how difficult it is to deal with a grieving friend- what do I say? what should I do? I wrote this to work out why it was that I find myself getting as angered by the peppy tone in well-meaning emails as I am annoyed by the total avoidance of the subject by others. I'm riled because life carries on, but is never the same as it was before that day, before 7 August 2009 when we found out. I'm riled because whether it's 8 weeks since or 2 weeks, nobody but those who have been through it know how difficult this is. Arranging a funeral is like throwing a big party in a country where you don't speak the language and have no guestlist. It's the hardest job I've ever done in the most alien of circumstances, yet people ask me 'How comes it takes so long?' with a straight face. You remove your loved one, a part of you, from the world

and people just expect you to move on. Just like that? I'm riled because when I say what happened and say I've been busy, it should not follow to ask 'can't wait to hear all you've been up to!'. Did you not hear what I said?

So in answer to the question, am I ok? No I'm not. I can't tell you when I ever will be, but given there are only two ends of the spectrum- life and death- I know at some point I'll move back along the line and rejoin the Matrix, that middle ground. I'll let time take away the burn of this loss, take away the endless questions about how he died or speculation 'was it swine flu?' by my loved ones, make feeling at a loss for what to do with myself and re-assessing my priorities and goals in life redundant. One day, I'll be alright, but that time is not now, dear friends. Patience helps and the distraction of sports chatter (see previous blog entries- thanks US Open) and a surprise trip to Vegas (eternally thankful, Mo Mo) and The Osmonds. But more than anything, please accept that when I say I'm not ok, you don't have to do or say anything. Understanding as best you can is enough.

Dave Chappelle: COME BACK. PURLEEEEEZ!!

It was a repeat showing of Dave Chappelle's Washington DC gig, Killing Me Softly' (HBO) which set off my night of nostalgia for the comic stylings of Sir Chappelle. A quick scan through TV listings at 12.30am on Paramount UK, and there she was- a rare juicy morsel of Chappelle humour, which I didn't have to download, stream, listen on audio or pull out on DVD. Success!

I love Dave, and a quick google or youtube search will show I'm not alone. Even on twitter, one chap @Dave_Chapelle is keeping the spirit alive by tweeting vid clips (bless his cotton socks).

This led to spontaneous laughter at my recollection of favourite skits steeped in Chappelle-esque humour, from the culturally and socially astute, to the sublimely ridiculous (Tupac skit 'I wrote this song a long time ago, a real long time ago; way before Slim Shady was in demand, way before we dropped buloni on Afghanistan; I wrote this song in '94'; the blind White supremacist Clayton Bigsby (whose Black) and questionable teachings on Sesame Street 'Get it together Grouch!').

Chappelle is a veritable comedic legend to anyone who appreciates comedy, let alone African-Americans. I'm a Black Briton, and he's a legend to me. To my brother, too. Chappelle humour is outlandish and equally recognisable because of his humane approach and intimate delivery- you laugh through the revelation of what Dave's saying, and double over at the truth suddenly seen within it.

A Huffington Post piece I just read summed it up: "I find myself every now and then longing for at least 5 or 6 minutes a week I would receive a good laugh at life's absurdities. Damn, I miss Dave Chappelle".

His 2004 Charlie Rose- a Conversation with Dave Chappelle interview, which I recommend along with his appearance on Oprah, will help to understand the man and his comedy a little better too.

Go on. Get your 5 minute fill of Dave Chappelle. You'll feel better for it.

Clijsters Gets it Done: US Open Womens Final 2009

This match was far more topsy turvey than you'd think from the outset. While 19-year old Dane Caroline Wozniacki battled hard and got some fab break point opportunities, ultimately experience told. Clijsters held the edge with solid baseline ground strokes, mixing pace, and pressing at the net when needed.

Bloggers, twitterers and commentators talked about a subdued atmosphere on Arthur Ashe. Psh, I didn't see that! The New York crowd seemed a little stunned to even get a match, even if hope of it going the distance faded fast once Clijsters took the first (a little fortuitously) 7-5. Her victory on the horizon, though certainly not sealed, that left space to admire some fantastic long rallies, the wonderful enthusiasm of Wozniacki (who I envied for enjoying the moment whilst battling at the same time -not easy to do!) and the fierceness of Kim Clijsters to finish off a tense final game.

The winner is famously a lovely person, in addition to her competitiveness, and all in all this was a surprisingly refreshing final. Both tried hard, the winner deserved it, no one choked- nothing but celebratory clapping, baby mamma cliche remarks in the trophy ceremony (Mary Jo Fernandez shamelessly trying to provoke more 'I did it for the kid' sooundbites from Clijsters), adorable daughter Jada Lynch pointing excitedly whenever she saw herself on the big screen (move over Shiloh Jolie Pitt, there's a younger blonde moppett in town) and happy tears (not grief stricken what-the-hell-happened-out-there stares into the distance. Sorry Dinara, that'd be you).

I also liked that Caroline speaks fluent Danish and Polish and chose to hijack the airwaves demonstrating this with a lengthy shout out in native tongues to her peeps- go girl, keep on talking, let the music play before you hand over the mike...

For someone who expected to be underwhelmed by the womens final, this kept me on my toes enough. Welcome back Kim!

Foot in Mouth? In Defense of Serena Williams

I'm a big tennis fan, and nothing pleased me more than the recent good headlines coming from the womens game at the US Open: Cinderella Oudin, The Return of Mighty Mamma Clijsters, The Tenacious Euro Teens Reaching Semi Debut.

Much better than the usual complaints and argument about rankings. But what went on at the end of a scintillating second set in the Williams-Clijsters match up has gone on to ruin that.

Quite frankly, I feel pretty flat about the finals coming up tonight- and it has nicht to do with the worthy and deserving competitors who'll play, Kim Clijsters and Caroline Wozniaki.

I'm miffed because of the unequivocal and pious bashing Serena William's is taking for the default point on match point. Let us get this straight: at 3-5 (Clijsters), in the second set, on 15-30 with Williams on her second serve, the lines woman called a foot fault. To clarify, a foot fault occurs when a player touches the baseline or the court with either foot. This decision, with its subsequent point penalty, brought the game to match point. Now, who really thinks this is a good decision to call such a minor infraction at THAT time? I feel like Chandler from Friends asking, Can there BE a worse time?

Remember, this is the marque match. For all intents and purposes, this is the US Open Womens Final with the defending champion facing off with the comeback kid. In non-headline terms, a match with Serena engaged and dominated by the only player in the womens draw, not called Williams, able to truly threaten the 11-time Grand Slam winner at a Grand Slam.

The answer is no: there really couldn't be a worse time. From this erroneous decision, one that on replay looks dubious to boot, followed a sorry chain of events which leaves neither player nor tournament looking especially good. Serena Williams did unleash her fury on the lines woman, yes. Everyone saw how vexed she was, and everyone probably hoped she wouldn't edge back over the fateful second time having walked back to her service position. But she did. And it led to the Code Violation point deduction and match over.

I am not arguing the right and wrong of what Serena did- she had a choice, although her frustration at the time was wholly understandable. But just as Serena had a choice, so too did the lines woman. She had the choice to call that fault or not, to evaluate the degree of the infraction against the moment of play.

Veteran USTA tennis official Carol Cox, who evaluates the lines men and referees, said in an excellent article on the NYTimes Straight Sets blog that there are two schools of thought on making a foot fault call at a critical juncture : "call it when you see it; or don't make a call that can decide a match unless it's flagrant". No 'in other words' needed here- unless the player has systematically made these faults through the match or puts their size 10's some meters in court, you don't have to make the call! That is their 'get out of jail' card, allowing the lines man more margin for interpretation than most of the paid pundits or armchair critics care to recognise.

I haven't trawled through all the papers and blogs out there (by choice), but it doesn't take long to see the easy route most people are choosing: to blame Williams for unsportsman like behaviour, rather than or in addition to acknowledging the howler of a mistake that this line woman made with her suspect fault call. Filip Bondy's NY Daily article was equally appalled by the way broadcast commentators rounded on Serena so vehemently, as if shouting at the refs and lines men was something new, even if never right.

I say call it as it is. It takes two to tango, but only one whose name we all know.