My life in technicolour YouTube

So it was my birthday on the 19th, edging ever closer to the milestone that is 4-0, forty. Whilst ageing definitely has its benefits, lessened self doubt/neurosis is a massive bonus, the drawbacks are numerous. The permanent midriff overhang, the creaking bones, the stiff and aching muscles, the beckoning dentures, the excessive hangovers, the unwelcome reminders that people around you are way younger ("Pulp Fiction? Yeah, I wasn't born then"). Worse still, despite my best efforts to cling on to my youth, at some point I'm going to have to face up to the fact that I'm indeed twice the age as the other people in the queue in Topman. Aargh!!! Might start planning some suitable mid-life crisis antics already.

Mind you I'm not giving up that easily, I reckon I can get away with pretending to be down with the kids for a few years more. Staff in both the failing and prospering supermarkets still seem to mistake me for an underage drinker on occasion which is a bonus (perhaps I should stop rocking up to the counter with a 3 litre bottle of White Lightning though). Work with what you've got I say, age related shopper's remorse can wait. So in my mind I can get away with splashing out £2 on a black belt and £5 on a dress shirt / t shirt hybrid from the clearance section in Topman and Asos.

I'm all over the bargain belt. It fastens through the platted strands of "leather" so I'm not envisaging longevity. I reckon it'll end up costing less than a 100th of a penny per wear though, which is the definition of good value for money. In comparison I've got a shirt from John Lewis that I've still not worn, bought for £50 (FULL PRICE what was I thinking??) for a wedding. Could've bought 25 belts for that. I'd love to have 25 belts. The dress shirt t shirt I'm on the fence with. It seemed a good idea at the time but on reflection I'm not quite sure when I would wear it. I rarely have the need for a dress shirt, and if so it would require a full on dress shirt and not one made out of jersey. It also looks a bit too dressy to wear as a t shirt. Ne'er mind. I'm sure the opportunity will arise. If all else fails I can do chores in a tux.

Another benefit of 'maturing' has been an increasing boldness with colour choices. At one point as a precocious and ever so pretentious teen, I got it in my head that I was only going to wear black from head to toe. What a loser. Nowadays I've amassed a veritable Pantone chart in my wardrobe. I'm a particular fan of jazzy socks and my go to shop is Primark. So much so that I'm more or less guaranteed to be wearing at least one item of Primark clothing every day of the week. They're cheap and ever so jazzy. They don't last very long so all the more reason for topping up. 5 pairs for £4, can't argue with that.

These ones are slightly less jazzy than the orange and pink zebra striped ones I bought last time but colourful Argyle is always welcome. Lately I've also discovered the joys of brightly coloured shoelaces to spruce up formal shoes. £2.99 each on eBay, purple and blue ones bought, full spectrum to follow.

Rather fetching n'est pas?

This year I'm eking out the birthday celebrations so the day itself was a low key affair. Highly enjoyable still though. Maybe I AM showing my age at times after all. I stayed in with a bottle of Rioja and YouTubed all 38 singles that have been number 1 in the charts on my birthday, that includes my actual day of birth, I'm not 38 for another year. Official videos only of course, no live recordings, shitty lyric videos or pointless home made acoustic cover takes. By necessity there are some stinkers in the list but overall there were definitely more killers than fillers and the whole thing was thoroughly enjoyable. Here are the 38 singles:

1978 Take a Chance on Me - ABBA
1979 Heart of Glass - Blondie
1980 Coward of the County - Kenny Rogers
1981 Woman - John Lennon
1982 A Town Called Malice - The Jam
1983 Too Shy - Kajagoogoo
1984 Relax - Frankie Goes To Hollywood
1985 I Know Him So Well - Elaine Paige & Barbara Dickson
1986 When the Going Gets Tough, the Tough Gets Going - Billy Ocean
1987 I Knew You Were Waiting for Me - George Michael & Aretha Franklin
1988 I Think We're Alone Now - Tiffany
1989 Something's Gotten Hold of My Heart - Marc Almond & Gene Pitney
1990 Nothing Compares 2 U - Sinead O'Connor
1991 Do the Bartman - Bart Simpson
1992 Goodnight Girl - Wet Wet Wet
1993 No Limit - 2 Unlimited
1994 Without You - Mariah Carey
1995 Think Twice - Celine Dion
1996 Spaceman - Babylon Zoo
1997 Discotheque - U2
1998 Doctor Jones - Aqua
1999 Maria - Blondie
2000 Go Let it Out - Oasis
2001 Whole Again - Atomic Kitten
2002 Hero - Enrique Iglesias
2003 All the Things She Said - t.A.T.u
2004 Take Me to the Clouds Above - LMC vs U2
2005 Sometimes You Can't Make it on Your Own - U2
2006 Thunder in My Heart - MECK ft. Leo Sayer
2007 Grace Kelly - Mika
2008 Now You're Gone - Basshunter
2009 The Fear - Lily Allen
2010 Fireflies - Owl City
2011 Price Tag - Jessie J
2012 Somebody That I Used to Know - Gotye feat. Kimbra
2013 Thrift Shop - Macklemore & Ryan Lewis feat. Wanz
2014 Rather Be - Clean Bandit feat. Jess Glynne
2015 Love Me Like You Do - Ellie Goulding

Random observations:
1978 through to 1990 is stellar, pure class, and a stark reminder of the overall decline in quality musical output since.
I'd forgotten just how excruciatingly bad the video for Think Twice is. She's forlorn, wrapped in a sheet! He's an ice sculptor!
U2 really could churn out any old tripe and get to number 1. They appear 3 times too many for my liking. And Numb wasn't one of them, which would've made it slightly more bearable
Now You're Gone has been watched 164 million times. Lunacy

My favourite year:
2003, closely followed by 1989 and 1979. Faux lesbian Russian teens, say no more

Love is strange

This weekend gone was Valentine's Day. The sheer force of capitalism and commercialism washes over us all like a tsunami and in its wake a sea of devastated bank balances and credit card limits. February 14 is that one special day of the year when everything is given a glossy sheen of romance. Chocolates, bottles of bubbly and bouquets of flowers cease to just be confectionary, alcoholic beverages and botanical specimens, they become red wrapped, heart shaped embodiments of love. A meal out is no longer a pleasant and convivial means of ensuring daily nourishment, rather a shining beacon of commitment and joy. No papering over the cracks here. No siree.

As you may have noticed, I don't care much for Valentine's day. I'd go so far as to say that it's probably my least favourite 'day'. I've always made a point of not acknowledging it, even through years of being coupled up. My dislike is multifaceted in origin. It's a cynical commercial ploy, it's exclusive, it's reductionist, it's gender biased. If I wanted to display affection to loved ones through the medium of presents, I wouldn't necessarily wait until mid February to do so. And I wouldn't buy something that had been 'carefully selected' for me to unsubtly spell out the sentiment. Unromantic chocolate tastes just as good.

Having said that I'm not against the concept per se, I just don't value it for myself. The mere thought of grand, sweeping declarations of endearment of any sort gives me the shivers, akin to a dentist drilling too close to the nerve. Others clearly get a lot out of the day though and that's totally great for them. No soap box of ginormous proportions here. No siree. As though to prove the point, this year even I dipped my toe into the sickly sweet goo of love by bookending Valentine's weekend with two very different depictions of human affection.

Early afternoon screening at the brand spanking new Curzon Sheffield of Love is Strange, starring John Lithgow and Alfred Molina. The title is slightly misleading seeing as there's been a number of unusual love stories hitting our multiplexes and independent cinemas over the years that would've been a better fit. Man loves mannequin (Mannequin). Boy loves granny (Harold and Maude). Woman loves gorilla (King Kong). Man loves sex doll (Lars and the Real Girl). Doll loves doll (Bride of Chucky). Man loves operating system (Her). There is nothing remotely headline grabbing about the central love story in Love is Strange however. The only unusual thing, strange even, is that it got made in the first place, focusing as it does on a gay male couple of advancing years who decides to tie the knot after being together for 39 years. Understated and beautifully acted by two ageing stalwarts with palpable chemistry between them. It's like Amour minus the tension and dementia.

The film is not without its flaws but enjoyable nevertheless, and particularly appropriate for a Valentine's matinee. Love is indeed strange and it's not a one size fits all. I once had a chat with a poly-amorous couple three whilst peddling Chlamydia tests in exchange for Sex Factor boxer shorts as part of Sheffield Sexual Health Day in Barker's Pool, outside John Lewis. I had never come across the concept before, let alone an actual couple/threesome. They spoke very frankly and candidly about their approach to love and relationships, how they can fall in love with more than one person at the same time and how they maintain the relationship between the three of them. Afterwards I was thinking huge kudos to them for being so open and unapologetic for a 'lifestyle choice' that would generally be demonised or dismissed. So what if consenting adults are living as a threesome? So what if someone falls in love with a computer with husky vocals or declare his inanimate and perennially surprised sex doll his life partner? That's love too. And herein lies perhaps the main reason for my Valentine's dislike. Loving relationships are all around and take on all sorts of guises yet at Valentine's the complexity of human emotions is kicked into submission and shoe horned into neat heart shaped boxes of conventions and expectations. If only life itself was that simple.

Love's strange ways is also at work in the film that wrapped up my Valentine's weekend, having thoroughly enjoyed Arsenal outgunning Middlesbrough in the FA Cup earlier in the afternoon.

The brilliant Juno on Blu-Ray, pre-owned from eBay for £5. I've been waiting patiently for it to appear on Netflix but thought fuck it, it's worth owning anyway. Exceptionally well written, peppered with quotable lines, funny and well acted. And it's about teenage pregnancy. Despite Juno deciding to go through with the pregnancy it still feels like it's sticking two very firm fingers up at convention and the joyless pro-lifers. Get pregnant and give birth first, then fall in love. Whatever works, love is strange.

Home improvements

Something out of the ordinary happened the other night. We'd been to the @showroomcinema to see Inherent Vice (or rather Incoherent Vice, I struggled to keep up with the plot, beaten into submission by incessant ramblings about something or other) for our mate Jimbo's birthday and finished the night in the Rutland Arms for pints and rock night on the jukebox. Having seen the others off in a taxi, I started walking through town when I saw three tracksuit-clad youths coming towards me. A split second after we'd drawn level one of them shouted "chink!" in my direction and kept walking. The whole thing took me by surprise so by the time I'd turned around they were well in the distance.

Luckily such incidents are a rare occurrence for me. In the 17 years I've lived in the UK I've probably only been subjected to what some may deem hate crime in nature a handful or so times, and the extent of the 'crimes' have been mere name calling. That includes a few "faggot" and "poofter" remarks too for good measure. Needless to say it could have been a lot worse, others have suffered lifelong physical and emotional damage. Nevertheless when it does rear its ugly head it's a bit of a jolt.

When I was younger I might've got upset, might've shouted back and got in to a spot of bother, might've felt less assured, less worthy. Now I just brush it off before it becomes internalised, words dished out by people who probably only speak monosyllabic. I also feel mightily relieved that unlike them I haven't got some form of vocal spasm that causes me to involuntarily comment on everything I see before me as I walk down the street. How bloody tedious would that be?? Pavement! Dog shit! Fag ends!

It also helps to know that, all things considered, I'm in a much different place than them. For all their attempts to manifest their indigenous superiority by verbalising the plainly obvious, even though factually incorrect, South Korean not Chinese capiche?, I'm the one with the measure of control over my own life. The ability to make independent decisions, to gain meaningful employment, to look after my health and wellbeing, the sense to not wear sport related clothing in place of denim, and most importantly the financial freedom to do whatever the fuck I like. Fancy splashing out on an obscenely priced bottle of wine. Done! Could do with a holiday. Booked! My flat needs sprucing up. High fives! Straight in there, splashing the cash.

Never one for spending too much money on home improvements, I went to town with this one, buoyed by a not insignificant pay rise last month. Tripod lamp and multicoloured lamp shade and orange cushion with a rather bizarre animal print from Habitat, possibly the best interior design shop in the world. All 3 items were in the sale of course, totalling £97, down from £142. In fact it only came to £87 as I got a 10 quid voucher because they messed up the delivery and I kicked off.

Improved my home it most certainly has, it's instantly more vibrant and colourful. Previously it was oppressively white, not helped by the fact I'm not allowed to put any nails or hooks in the walls. The lamp in particular is a thing of beauty, whether it's switched on or not. A functional beauty as well, spreading light in the winter dark. It will continue to do so, the light bulb will last for 15 years according to the packet. A frankly ludicrous claim.

Home improvements on a much wider scale is needed too, or come 7 May we'll be staring into a rather humongous abyss. And incidents like the one described above will be altogether more prevalent. It's election year of course and the chance to try and put the country on to a fairer course. 5 more years of the current trite would be difficult to swallow, unless you're a member of the peerage or the owner of Boots or a banker (surely it's not a coincidence that it rhymes with wanker). In the run up to election day it should be considered a civic duty to try and enlighten the gang of Faraged and deluded UKIPpers. Europe really isn't Hades and the Daily Mail is not the Bible.

I reckon I tick almost every box on the UKIP manual of hatred. I'm not white and I'm not British. I'm a migrant (that most heinous of all life forms). I've come to the country through the open border policy that Europe, not the Houses of Parliament, has dictated. I've taken at least 13 jobs that could've gone to a (white) British national. I've claimed benefits that could've gone to (white) British nationals. I've occasionally been a drain on the National Health Service's resources, veering close to health tourism. I'm sexually deviant and won't produce offspring to pass on traditional British values to. I might as well convert to Islam for a Royal Straight Flush of UKIP vitriol. Put that in your [bigoted put-down of choice] and smoke it.

Incidentally my migrant status excludes me from taking part in the general election so all I can do is hope and pray that the British public decides to go to town and make a Habitat style home improvement of their own. It really does work!