I've got this little lump in my earlobe and it sort of hurts. I'm ignoring it though. If I had a hurting lump anywhere else in my body I'd be worried or paying it alot of attention or having it checked out.
My dissertation is my ear lump. AJP work is a lump elsewhere. My dissertation is, in the main, ignored and occasionally revisited with a grimace. My AJP work is mulled over, cried over and flashed about.
I need to address this balance...Speaking of unwanted nasties lurking about... What about Desperate Scousewives, hey?!
Lets start with the good stuff... The shots of this beautiful city I now call home and Elissa's green dress.
And onto the bad stuff... It looked like it had been scripted, directed and produced by the Tories as another attack on Liverpool. The opening credits, flutey music with a nails-scraping-down-a-blackboard accented voiceover, echoed those of Shameless - are the directors drawing parallels between the lifestyles of fame hungry "Scousers" to those of benefit-scamming, criminals from Manchestaaaaaar?!
My main issue though is that I know no Scousers like that. Thank God.
Twitter was awash with comments. "I'd rather watch my gran have a bath" read one Tweet, while #slags #shit and #scousewives were trending.
The contrast to Young Apprentice was fantastic. Truly, the haves and have nots. As in, the former have... flair, creativity, brains, style and a little bit of humour (Harry H! I love him!) and the latter have not... an ounce of dignity (anal bleaching?! Layla!), ability to ad lib or style.
There's no denying, though, that this is my new guilty pleasure. (I wish they'd just get another series of Peter Andre on. Now that's quality television.) And that many more hours and blog posts will probably be dedicated to Desperate Scousewives than to my dissertation, for the foreseeable future...
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