All eyes on me, in the centre of the ring just like a circus

Wow, so I haven’t written in an absolute age – I have no excuse, I’m just lazy. Best to be honest and upfront about these things I always find!

So I experienced one of the biggest disappointments of my life on Saturday night. I had a date. Not just any date but a date with one of the most interesting (if not a little crazy) people that’s ever walked God’s good Earth.

Oh yes, I had a date with Britney Spears. The 02, London, Row P seat 103.

The date has been in the diary for months. I picked my outfit weeks ago. My hair was preened, my nails were polished, my skin pampered. This was going to be one hell of a date and I wanted to look my best. Well, it is the princess of pop after all.

You know how sometimes if you’re going on a date, on your friend’s advice you think of a list of conversation topics just in case your date has the social skills of a blade of grass, you know, so that you’re prepared for any eventuality? Well I didn’t even have to do that – I know all the words to every Britney song ever released. So there were to be no awkward silences – I was sure of that.

Maybe you’re thinking that this is nothing to be proud of and perhaps this is the type of information (along with the fact that my Zac Effron postcard takes pride of place on my desk) that in it’s existence and truth lends itself to me dating the type of guys that one would need to prepare a list of conversation topics for. Well anyway, this isn’t about judging me so lets move on.

Basically what I’m trying to convey is that I am a massive closet Britney fan and had been looking forward to her comeback tour with the same excitement as David Cameron looking towards the next general election – sheer elation!

I should have known it would all end in tears. Never ever ever build something up in your head because the pressure just gets too much and it will always turn out badly. I should have learned by now that my expectations of everything – people, places, everything can never be realised by natural events and human beings, ergo, if I build something up in my head, it will always either go horribly wrong or lead to catastrophic disappointment.

I’d read the reviews, I knew full well that Britney would lip-sync most of the performance – but do you know what? I didn’t care one little bit. If I wanted to listen to Britney I’d stick the album on. I was excited to see her dance, to perform, to be passionate – to be the Britney that I wanted to be when I was 16! Instead I was stood up. She wasn’t even there. Well, technically she was physically there. But she may as well not have been for the lacklustre attempt at a show she put on.

For the record: Strutting up and down the stage in a variety of differently coloured sequined pants DOES NOT constitute as dancing.

And do you know what? Maybe Britney should have prepared some conversation topics pre-date because the only words she could muster for the entire show were “Thank you London” before she disappeared below stage.

Gutted. I left the 02 feeling absolutely gutted. A comeback? Come back in a few years when you actually give a crap about performing and haven’t just been made to do your tricks like a good little show pony so daddy can earn a few bucks.

wonderful ridiculous Britain - an oxymoronic little place

My affection for Britain was given a good old boost this weekend after a wonderful couple of days in the Capital. Sunday was Flora London Marathon day and this year I had a friend running it. Last year the weather paid no tribute to those some 35,000 people participating and it rained cats and dogs. This year however, joy of joys, the sun made a guest appearance! It was GLORIOUS! The atmosphere around the course was palpable and seeing all those people achieve something you know they have been training for for months and months was actually really emotional. People came from all over the country and the supporters were brilliant (even if I do say so myself). No animosity what so ever; everyone made sure that if you had someone coming past the supporter barriers soon, you were at the front and able to shout, scream, clap, wave your banner until you were sure your runner could hear you no more. Then it was a quick dash, challenge Anneka style, to the tube and on to the next point of the race where you'd do it all over again. We were so lucky, we managed to cheer our friend at 3 different points of the race and then wait for her at the end at Buckingham Palace. And for once, I thought London actually managed to organise something really well (I still wait with baited breath to see how on Earth we manage to organise the 2012 Olympics when usually we couldn't organise a picnic for Woodpeckers in Sherwood Forest). In true British style, we then made the most of the weather and headed to the nearest beer garden. Brilliant.

However, I knew it wouldn't be long before something brought me back to reality and if the sound of the torrential rain hitting my window pane today didn't do it then by the time I'd read the news this morning I was confronted with the verisimilitude of Britain.



I'm outraged that this ad would be banned from being aired on TV. Of course the ad is shocking; it absolutely needs to be to raise awareness of the dire plight some women have lived and continue to live through every day. Abuse of any kind is completely unacceptable and if it takes a famous actress and this odious content to make people take notice then so be it. I'm not saying it should be shown on the ad break between In the Night Garden and Peppa Pig on Cbbeebies but after a watershed I don't see how Ofcom can justify the ban.

Oh and of course the British media are doing a stellar job of making sure we all know that we're going to die of Swine Flu.