Jim & Pat

What a bizzare onstage spat between James Cordon and Patrick Stewart at the Glamour Women of the Year awards.I have to say it has whole heartedly altered my previous opinions of the two chaps.
To start i am not a fan of James Cordon, he for me falls into the fashionable comedian catagory, like Russel Brand and that other lukewarm Russel fella on Mock the Week, who to me is no more than Franky Boyles packing Styrofoam.
James Cordon is a bit more of an enigma as unlike Brand he doesn't really have the stunning visual presence which greatly helps you get away with tepid comedy, and he is quite annoying. I wont say the two Russels and Cordon are totally unfunny, they have all at times begrudgingly made me smile, and I confess a titter once or twice when deliberately scowling through there on screen presence. On the whole though i don't find him funny, its like having to route through some shitty risotto to get to the bits you can stand but don't overly care for.

This doesn't mean i want to see him get bullied on camera by some sulky old Queen. Que a cured Professor Xavier who's black cloud was likely caused back in his dressing room, I expect something along the lines of his specially requested Guinness imbibed ham and green tomato chutney sandwiches losing there chill under his mirror lightbulbs.

(check the clip and feel similar childhood sensations of your parents arguing on a busy Saturday in B&Q)



Unlike Cordon Patrick Stewart was someone i genuinely respected and would still rather find out it was a slip into Senile dementia over it being he's just unpleasant. Even worse it seemed he intentionally attempted to initiate the Audience to join in with his nastiness, not only directly engaging with them about James cordon he also seemed to expect the crowd to applaud his memorable 'hands in pockets' lecture under the fail safe guise of old luvvy professional standards, Which failed and deserved to fail. The result was a snobbishly pointless and spiteful criticism with the intent to humiliate James Cordon. Even if he genuinely felt strongly about the issue as much as a school headmaster mite, he isn't a headmaster and was committing unprofessional hypocrisy voicing it into a microphone.


Old Jean Luc was probably motivated by feeling general irritation towards James Cordon as he's a Annoying fat bloke. On that regard i empathize and feel his irritating presence is equal to a tramp coming into a KFC after you decided to sit in, or thinking you may have left your bedroom window open while literally getting on the bus. Even though he creates the instantaneous loathing of witnessing a crying fat kid whining that his legs are tired from walking up the road while stuffing a choc ice in his mouth. He is still a person and I can see a genuinely Gentle and benign nature. Okay so his voice can reach sperm whale octaves making collies nationwide lazily lift one ear up, and he's made bucks by doing a far inferior 21st century truffle shuffle, that still didn't deserve such an assault by the old skinwig.



Cordon handled it well, even if at times he may of come across as aggressive and emotionally effected. It showed clearly he has dealt with bullies before and he quickly snubbed Stewarts rant Causing the gentrified Yorkshire baldie to immediately look regretful, i expect thinking "just keep smiling Pattie and fuck off as soon as the advert break music starts". That shield of a grin Patrick Stewart wore gave me the mental image of one of those human eyed monkeys protecting her babies from a gang of raccoons.

Another explanation to the unprovoked attack is it could of been a rather Ill attempt on Patrick's part to be funny. He has now touched the hem of Ricky Gervaises black t-shirt. Its possible he thought he would start some banter and Cordons traumatic history with bullies caused him to be over defensive. It does seem bizarre for Stewart to start on the host of an awards evening and there was a look of genuine befuddlement on his face at times, and the belly comment almost looked like he was reading it. Cordon also seemed easily bruised before the actual proper verbal Melee. It can really only be that Patrick Stewart played a very bad hand at trying to be funny or that he's a mardy old bastard.

Poor Cordon did look openly distressed by the situation with the submissive breath out and watery eyes, but he kept it together and recovered it well not giving the power Stewart seemed to be seeking through faux-calm. I do feel a certain amount of respect for Cordon, not as a comedian even his retorts in that situation where shit, but as a bloke who stood his ground and stood it well. As for Stewart, not as an actor and a silky voiced thespian, but showing himself to be a bullying unpleasant arsehole i have gone right off him.

Blushing

a traite that oddly makes me unsympathising with any one else who has it as my particuler variation is i believe one of the most virillant, its like trying to sympathise with someone about to be executed beside you while having your noose checked.

I think blushing can be a rather delightful thing on a pretty young female flaring up there glow, but unfortunately its very niche to that particular sex and age. To everyone else especially a male its a colour coded signal displayed on the most visible part of your body of vulnerability or most evolutionarily likely, submission. Even though its actually not vulnerability or submission most of the time. Just the simple idea you might blush can cause the chemical catalyst to send all the blood cells to your head. At times its even a sort of firefly tourettes just casually pulsing red on and off as a car indicator might. I blush on a hair trigger and sometimes very red all over. It can have the appearance that i have time traveled to Magaloof for three weeks and back again a second later. depending on who provokes it they can actually get there own recorded shade and length. Its a sign of assured comfort of ones company when my redness is either minimal, fast passing or switched off altogether.

Blushing has the very real potential of being a socially destructive trait, it shows a un welcome sincerity that you otherwise would of liked to of masked behind a joke or casualness. It can prevent you from being too sincere altogether knowing you may just blush, It can even bring the unstoppable heat to your face just by accidentally coming across as a bit sincere even when it wasn't meant at all. I can actually start blushing just thinking about a completely imaginary scenario.
one of the most worst things about going red is it can ambush you if someone else sais something embarrassing or displays a certain vulnerability or openness, and there you are making it 10 times worse for them, screaming apologies at the top of your frontal lobes while actually saying the words "um" and "erm" intermittently. I remember when i worked in Waterstones a woman bought a book called "101 blowjob techniques" I tried so hard too be indifferent and professional but the code red message was already sent to the face and the poor woman looked totally shamed by the end. I validated it as shameful, even though deep down i respected her for buying it and thought lucky hubby.
It causes me to follow a blush with a shameful panoramic surveillance of the floor and scratching the back of my head. There is probably not a better example of a self fulfilling prophecy of shame than the blush, as if it didn't happen the rest of the humiliating package would stay firmly un packed.


Most people have the good grace to ignore it, even if taken a back and not realizing how much i agree with them that it seems a bit O.T.T. Sometimes you can see they feel a bit bad they caused it and tend to either make there excuses or change the topic. I think old friends still notice it but as are well accustomed to the unstoppable force and even though it can inflect the direction of conversation a bit, it tends to not completely reset subject matter like it can with people i don't know well. Some people comment on it thinking that i may not realize my own facial colouration "you've gone red" or worse "beetroot red" even though while this is being said i can almost hear a crackling fire behind my eyes.

It as they say 'not the end of the world' except for a brief three or four seconds while staring into someone elses eyes feeling your face tanning from the inside, it is. Strangely when i am showing off or intentionally addressing a group and making a lot of jokes, i just don't blush, its as if i have taken away the possibility of embarrassment..or self deprecating humor is lowering the bar, i dont know really. It mite be the intimacy has been so diluted that one persons negative reaction is statistically outweighed.It comes as no surprise i have a certain attention seeking streak i mean you will avoid a mine field when offered a clear path.

Anyway blushing has inspired my blog title six_colours as i thought it would be interesting if we all had unstoppable colour dyes breaking to the surface of our cheeks under different feelings. Imagine the difficulty if we couldn't hide the greenness of jealousy or the orange of sexual desire, what if you really where blue when your sad. In an odd way i think the world would be a much simpler place and lying would soon find it self redundant. It would be a harsh enviroment for the honesty but we would of all developed thick skins...perhaps to prevent the colour reaching the surface!

Reality

Reality


My first memorable encounter with "reality"or to put it better the sense of what i think reality to be. Was when i first smelt TCP after grazing my knee at some wee age in little little school, that raw abbrasive and dominating smell was more genuine than every other moment leading to and surrounding the antiseptic. The wool it was on seemed to eminate its own chill. And wherever it was waved in the nurses hand it broke the previously unoticed haze of stymied normality around it igniting blue ray crispness with its invisable vapors. Of course when it touched my graze it backed up its case by being more painful than the original accident.

Perhaps it caught me at that stage of development when i was braking into a new sentient level and the experience on a whole was inevitably going to be associated to such a potent ident. Creating my own bespoke catalog of "reality". Except i remember little else than the very real dowsed cotton wall coming towards my knee making the rest of the world in comparison no more than differently shaped uncertainties.

TCP represents those vulnerable moments at four in the morning when you wake up and your mind is caught out while performing maintenance and making everything seems very real and scary. Its also the very oppressed searing pain that knows your relationship isnt working or your friendship is drifting, Its the thing that sees your lifespan like a countdown. Its when you feel very grateful to be alive after something making you nearly not being. Its a mixed bag of the unpleasant and the vital and the nasty that we block out and save for other peoples lives to be read the next morning in the metro. Except we are haunted by the faint TCP aroma more than we realize only consciously obscured by the worlds physical familiarity and the ironic masochism of wanting to always feel good.


My first Death Realization happened when i was sixteen. My nan died unexpectedly on the 1st day of the new millennium completely out of the blue. Its almost as if she was programmed to cut out before the 21st century. I was left feeling shamefully unaffected, she lived up the road but was never particularly affectionate, not mean by a long shot its just the words "duty" seemed to guide her interaction more than"love". This may not of been the case but thats how it felt, i didn't really care overly.

Walking back home drunk 3 months later after an underage drinking success i thought passively "i'm going to die one day"... then a bit more analytically... "Me Matthew Eveleigh will be dead" ....then a bit panickingly... "...I am actually going to cease"... then very perturbedly... "Everything i have felt will feel or experience will be over and mean nothing!" i then stopped on the spot near my house and lightning sober as if i had a blood transfusion from a nun. Its as if someone split a whole bottle of TCP all over my real body that was connected to the matrix bringing the real me round. In that incrementally harrowing re entry through Realities levels to the big "D", i lost my care free youth, my resilience to Dangerous activity, my romantic Americanized film view of the world.

I didn't recover from that phase for about two years, dwelling on death trying to get round it, obsessed with coming up with a rescue plan. I rejected religion as it seemed totally obsurd even though i understood its attraction more than i ever had. I was a pre-emo emo, finally coming out of it in a rare mental agreement with TCP lathered reality to ignore the problem until it comes into view, as i was oddly contradicting realities purpose by indulging in one of its most over whelming aspects while it wasn't actually yet being experienced.

in hindsight of that situation and since i think being drunk definitely opens chinks of reality into your mind, or it anesthetizes the interference of your protective "everything's normal" security system that lets you run your life with stable day to day efficiency.

if we are not careful we wrongly attach a fake opinion to "Real"which contradicts its term and with bothersome outcomes, some people can over romantisis death after listening to Nick drake, as they have never confronted the minimalist and strongest truth of the reality. Certain types think they are truly gods gift at a task as they have a tendency for arrogance, and will eventually encounter the reality off guard. While others who are truly gifted believe they are worthless as they have a tendency for mental torment and perhaps will never face the reality they are good. Sometimes the very real TCP stinking un-manipulated truth staring you in the face can give you a good and much needed slap and if not providing a wanton solution to your problems, drags you by the vulnerable in the right direction.