Politics Did Get Sexier...

I forgot to tell you I actually got a message from Steve Grove, Head of News & Politics for YouTube after the U.S. Elections. It's short but made me giddy like a school girl for a mere life enhancing five minutes. You have to love Facebook for just being able to let this communication even happen!

How A Dream Is Seen...

As much as I am overjoyed for Susan Boyle from Blackburn being propelled into the limelight for singing 'I Dreamed A Dream' on the reality TV Show 'Britain's Got Talent', I can't help getting angry once again at the media's thrust and moral lecturing they've inflicted on the general public because she is old, frumpy but exceptionally talented and has now captured the nation's hearts so to speak. As if we weren't aware that these people existed until now. Like these individuals such as Ms Boyle and Paul Potts are kept in a box marked 'Average Overly Talented People: Do Not Open - In Case of Media Shut Down Emergencies Only'. There are articles everywhere now, I believe the Daily Mail in it's usual derivative style described her as a 'hairy angel', Entertainment Weekly in the States is prime example of a publication assuming we are as fickle and uneducated as they are. Lisa Schwarzbaum enlightens us by saying:

"She pierced my defenses. She reordered the measure of beauty. And I had no idea until tears sprang how desperately I need that corrective from time to time."

The Times says she offers "redemption for the sin of superficiality"

My instant reaction to these epiphanies and serious introspection to what is essentially, lest we all forget, a talented 47 year old singing a showtune on ITV who are desperate for any publicity to increase their ratings, was to exclaimed the words "Oh For Fuck Sake" very loudly.

Hopefully, I am making up for my lack of eloquence now. Again, I feel saddened that the general public do not speak up and demand a more educated insight from its media. Maybe I should be more accepting of the fact most of the general public are plain simple and demand very little to be swayed in a certain direction by such expert manipulators. How I sometimes wish working in the media hadn't also turned me into such a cynical bastard, just so I could just 'enjoy the ride' like the rest of the hoi polloi. But I can't help thinking most of the time, our relationship with the media is as if we're in the passenger seat of a Ferrari being driven by a 17 year old whose just got his licence - we're loving the journey and feel of it all but forgetting the experience of the person behind the wheel. Perhaps I have an affinity towards an abused underdog and will always be maddened at people's miraculous discovery that none of us should be judged on our appearance. Still the PR treadmill churns full steam ahead without my opinion or grimace. I'm even writing about it on my blog when I should be telling you all about my broken limbs. So the programmers publicity team will be pleased.

Whatever happens to Susan Boyle, I hope she manages to work on her lower register, As if I was being completely honest here, it was a little shaky and Elaine Paige will no doubt notice it if they do a duet together. More importantly, I hope she manages to find someone to look after her cat Pebbles while she is whisked off to another world called Fame.

And onto Sydney to seek a gentlemen of worth and value...

Dearest Elinor,

It has been many months since my last correspondence with you and I must immediately apologise for my tardiness and the long and overdue period of silence that has left you bereft of information regarding my new situation here in Sydney.

Ever since my ship has set sail to the Colonies in the Pacific, my journey has been one of ardor and enlightenment. Certainly, the degree of which I have embraced my new life has been dictated by the necessary arrangements to feel at home in my new surroundings, but I am pleased to inform you I feel very settled indeed in my new home.

Now, I hear you inquire, about these men of the New World? I believe you must be quite eager to hear my stories of social and coital engagements with the surly gentlemen of this fine coutry, whom may I add, know no nothing of high tea or of grand balls in Meryton. Be patient no more dearest Elinor and I shall reveal all.

The search for love and a suitable single man in command of good fortune continues still, I am afraid to report. There have been two or three significant encounters during my travels of the 'Wilderness' they call Sydney. Traversing through the lanes of the Eastern Suburbs I have met a number of significant gentlemen who were fair of face and of good breeding. I use the word 'significant' to emphasise the fact there were others who caught my eye. But alas, unfortunately this is all they did. For certainty, I might as well have caught a head cold and experienced greater joy and pleasure from the experience of meeting them.

The men of this country are a predictable breed I have deduced. Many of the maturer gentlemen pride themselves in their appearance and groom themselves quite intensely and 'work out' a great deal. This gives many the illusion of youth and vigor but does nothing to improve their seemingly apparent lack of personality and individualism. The more younger of the men who parade down Sydney's Oxford St are also bereft of any individuality, due to the fact they are hypnotised by the latest fashions from the city and seem to have the desire to leave their hair unkempt, as if dragged through a thoroughfare. They also have no skills in punctuation, spelling or grammar when it comes to correspondence through telephonic or 'on the line' devices. The ghastly over use of 'LOL', 'dat', 'wud' and 'kewl' are abundant and quite frankly leaves conversation incomprehensible.

Everything is not at a complete lost however, for I have also encountered some genuine and rather chivalrous men indeed in my travels. One who has redeemed a fair amount of faith I had previously lost in the process of courtship by behaving as an utmost gentlemen towards me, even though our own courtship together tragically was not to last. Others have been spontaneous and dare I say it wild and would cause any fine lady to blush if spoken openly even in a letter. I am wicked woman for allowing my petticoat to slip even an inch below the knee, let alone shoot past the ankle and onto the parlor floor. I do hope you do not judge me so dear Elinor, for you should know I am not a woman who sits comfortably with the label of 'easy virtue'. Truly I am. But in confidence my dear friend, I have to admit, it has been quite pleasurable indeed.

All experiences for the soul to grow my friend, I have decided. I find myself happily embracing the 'single life', a phrase much more preferential than the term 'spinster' I can tell you. I move on, clutching the hem of my dress and marching towards the Australian sunset and the rest of my future in a new world full of potential.

Until pen meets parchment once more, my love as always.

Yours, Emily.