Tuesday, 19 February 2008

He's wearing a special suit for Joey Lucas...

I am wildly excited about the line-up for the next series of Dancing With The Stars. Steve Guttenberg! Monica Seles! Joey Lucas from The West Wing! Lest we forget, Joey Lucus*, who has a real name - it is Marlee Matlin – is deaf IRL. As dancing impairments go, it knocks an artificial limb into a cocked hat. How will she know when to start and when to stop? The answer is, of course, Beethoven. But I would like the answer to involve Kenny, her signing hearer (maybe not strictly a word) from TWW. Nothing would give me more pleasure than to see him quickstepping alongside her and her partner, signalling when to step, and when to ball-change.

*Lest we forget, Joey Lucas was also, according to me, the real TLA of Josh Lyman. Amy was too high-maintenace. Donna was too Donna. Don't fight me on this. It is my unshakeable belief.

I do quite often feel like the Alan Whicker of the magazine freelancers' world. Not enough to make me wear a panama hat, but still. Every week I interact with the indigenous culture of a different office. Today, at my current workplace, it was Cheese Day. This is a festival that happens there several times a year and it is taken very seriously. Everyone brings in a challenging kind of cheese – woe betide anyone showing up with some Dairylea triangles – and assorted 'sundries'. There were grapes, homemade bread and chutneys, olives... It was like Borough Market rehoused on top of a filing cabinet. It was quite brilliant until a) the arrival of a medium-severe grape-induced stomach ache and b) the proximity of my desk to the cheese board (which is very proximity indeed) resulting in near asphyxiation from the fumes by about 4.45pm.

Yesterday, it was most definitely not totally dark for the first time this year, as I walked back to Charing Cross at 6. This means it is no longer 100% winter. The percentage of winter is in retreat from now on. I love the winter and even I felt slightly happy about this. Who could not be warmed by walking homewards under a sky the colour of apricots?

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