PHEW....the Mail Online has a story today about Kourtney Kardashian, ending its 24-hour Kardashian drought. Thank goodness, I was getting withdrawal symptoms. The story? I can't remember now. I think she was wearing jewellery.
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The elixir of youth is the disavowment of middle aged prejudices.
Let me give you an example. You (a man or woman in their forties) walks into a PR company where there are lines and lines of earnest young men and women, many sporting unusual arrangements of facial hair. Particularly the men.
The strangest thing, to many of us, is how some of these young Turks can have two styles of beard going on at the same time, on the same face. Two tiered bushes of fuzz. Goatees seem to be out now but hirsute is everywhere. I realise this has something to do with Movember (look it up) and all credit to those taking part.
But then, 20-odd years ago, young men were trying all sorts of hairy arrangements too - George Michael has had the same five o'clock shadow ever since, New Romantics had strange, waxy lines under their nostrils. My mate Howard Thomas grew a full Tom Selleck just to show that he could.
The prejudicial view is to tut inwardly and wonder what has happened to young people while pondering the latest line in baggy trousers with drainpipe legs and wondering who on earth thinks they look good in such a bizarre combination of styles in one garment.
Then you remember the ridiculous things we used to wear. I dyed my hair blonde, used Sun-In, developed an accidental frizz and looked like Shaft in negative.
That's why we're wrong, us of a certain age. The whole point of slavishly following fashion when you're young is that it makes your parents' generation inwardly tut. Outwardly too sometimes.
Otherwise the young would wear Fat Face tees, untucked, with Clarkson-style jeans and cheap trainers and breathe in every time their wife's friends popped round for a coffee. Er, for instance.
And it's still far better than a 55-year-old woman walking round Waitrose, Buckhurst Hill, with a fake tan in a Juicy Couture tracksuit. Or anyone driving a Range Rover.
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I used to know Phil Woolas. Not well but I was The Sun's industrial reporter and he was part of a new wave of young, politically aware but tabloid friendly union press officers including Charlie Whelan, Daniel Harris (still a f/b friend) and John Healey (who also become an MP).
Phil was not quite as outward going as the others, always seemed to be a bit suspicious of everyone, and wasn't easy to warm to but I was genuinely pleased to see him do well, as I am about a lot of people I used to work with (even you Piers). He made himself look a bit of cock over the Joanna Lumley thing but not as much as he does now. I'm just not sure he's the only guilty MP out there but he really should have known better.
Am I being too generous?
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Happiness is having all your family round you. Or at least the expectation of having all your family round you. Ask me again in 24 hours if I still feel that way.
Good shabbas...Solly
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