So it’s been a weird week.
Yesterday evening I am watching the evening news and the lead story on all channels was that Alexander McQueen at 40 years had decided to off himself. 40 years old, four times British designer of the year and decorated by the queen, he hangs himself. It’s attributed to the fact that he lost a best friend 3 years ago and then last week lost his mother.
Watched a private ambulance pick his body up from his plush apartment in London. Indescript maroon body bag on a collapsible stretcher. Cop car escorts the ambulance. A black 7 series brand new bimmer convertible with the plate 4AD pulls in to form a convoy. They assume that it’s his partner, McQueen was gay.
The newscasters go on and on like he was some hero. Please don’t get me wrong, at 40, McQueen was a highly successful designer attributed to first designing the famous hipster jeans where ladies give us an eyeful of butt cheeks and lace thongs. We men in return give them at our butts encased preferably in Tommy or CK1 underwear. I find this incredibly weird and have had to many times restrain from pulling these said jeans down from the wearer, but detested. Anyway back to this man, to me he was a hero when he was alive. But not dead, especially when its suicide.
I harked back to RD saying money can’t buy you happiness, it can buy you stuff that makes you happy. Now wouldn’t it have been quite easy for Alexander to seek some help for depression with all the money he had earned from his fashion empire instead of deciding to off himself?
So I suddenly found my answer to the ‘money can’t buy you happiness’ debates. Actually I agree with RD. It just helps to get you thing that make you happy. Money however:
MONEY CAN’T BUY YOU LIFE!
Other than that the kids off on a school ski trip for one week to Austria. The dogs groomed, shampooed and nails clipped. It’s Friday evening and I am off to the local to buy some stuff that makes me happy. As it’s the local, it’ll be mild happiness. Couple of games pool with the Borehamwood hardies, stiff vodka and red bulls to ensure that the occasional outing for a smoke in the cold does not bother, and huge helpings of greasy mayonnaise smeared fish and chips. Might finish up at another local with the hardies to watch the weekly karaoke guy who lip syncs to songs. This is purely bearable as he has a good sound system and all the crowd pleaser songs to select from. I talking Pink Floyd, Queen, REM… occasionally interspersed with The Clash!
Then home to suffer the rest of the weekend from cheap vodka hangover. Sound a rather crude way to release the stress. But honestly I enjoy it when men can be men, get drunk on cheap booze, piss behind the local onto a wall or someone’s car, generally sing loudly while moving from one pub to a pub, goose some fake blonde bimbo’s ass (not me, them), compare tats, look for a potential piss up and contribute to the British economy by binging heavily.
The hardies tolerate me, only because I can drink as much as them without passing out. And I cheer for Watford, I am a MU fan, but they don’t know that…
Enjoy the weekend everybody and I wish you one NOT as colourless as mine!