I saw this on a fellow blogger’s website. Something caught me by the heart:
“I want to shake off the dust of this one-horse town. I want to explore the world. I want to watch TV in a different time zone. I want to visit strange, exotic malls … I want to live, Marge! Won’t you let me live?” – Homer Simpson
Did it catch you by yours, too?
I am devastated.
The Observer on Sunday tells me that my height of five feet and seven inches is – bang on – average. Yes, women today are typically between 5′ 5″ and 5′ 9″ tall. So not only am I average, but I’m the average-est average, right in the middle.
What a blow. I thought I was tall! Perhaps it’s because I used to be. Has this pink lady gone cuckoo, I hear you ask? Not quite. I’ve been this height since I was eleven, so people always called me that. Then, it seems, the other b*ggers decided to grow tall too.
Maybe that’s it. We’re not all average: no, we’re just all tall.
P.S. Perhaps the more devastating news is that the average man is only 5′ 5″-5′ 11″. Ruined my tea break, anyway.
”Ok, so, 13-08-2007 … until … 21-12-2007 … DONE!” said my telephone interviewer. I’m going to Chennai!
I’ve been accepted for the role of Guest Relations Executive for five months in the Taj Coromandel, Chennai. AIESEC have done it again: with their help, I am once more off to India.
Phoning around, trying to get a quote on flights, a lady commented that I was “planning for quite a long holiday”. She then asked me: “Are you going home?”
Perhaps it was just my ruined English accent deciding to be Indian that day. Or, perhaps she was actually onto something.
Somehow, India does feel like home.
P.S. I’m writing all further thoughts on Chennai at http://goinghometoindia.wordpress.com.
Filed under: pink
Indulging in a stunning bout of grumpiness yesterday, I came across a marvellous rendition of our world by Charlie Brooker in the Guardian’s The Guide:
“People ruin everything. Open the window: look, there’s a bunch of them
right there, wrecking stuff. Bloody persons. Always pis*ing in your cornflakes.
On any given day, a person might give you a cold, burgle your home, or break
your heart. Who started the second world war? A person. Who invented
ringtones? A person. … I wouldn’t trust them as far as I could throw them.”
But it does get better:
“Of course, I don’t actually believe this: it’s just that being a person myself, I’m prone to flights of irrational fancy. … We’ve done some good things, us people. We made The Muppet Show, for instance. Beat that.”
There is hope, then!
