BLOG 72: Middle of...EVERYWHERE!

“I'm a typical middle child. I'm the mediator. The one that makes everything OK puts their own needs aside to make sure everybody's happy. It's hard to change your nature, even with years and years of therapy.”: Jennifer Jason Leigh, Actress (The Road to Perdition, The Machinist, Single White Female etc, etc)

You can’t grow up in Europe and not know the importance of ascension. The eldest inherit thrones by birthright, the middles are on standby in case the eldest mess up or die, and the youngest go wild with the lack of responsibility. Kings and Queens aside, the idea of ascension never quite leaves us – especially here in the UK.

We are a nation of queuers... we form an orderly queue behind whom ever got there first. The person who was first gets the lion share and the people who come in the middle should get a fair choice and the person who was last should get what’s left. And yet for all the queuing there is little democracy for those who arrive in the middle as we fret about the late comer and want to make sure everything is okay for them too.

Anyone who has worked in retail will tell you that there is an obsession with making sure there is enough for who ever comes last. Stock gets rationed to those who arrive in the middle, no store keeper wishes to have nothing to offer customers who arrive late. (I should know this better than most as I habitually do my Xmas food shop on Christmas Eve and they always wheel out exciting new stock after 4pm). As a nation we approach out lives much the same way, the best for whom ever is first, short supply for those in the middle, surplus for who comes last. It is not for nothing we are referred to by the rest of the world as ‘a nation of shopkeepers’.

Now this is not entirely a bad thing.

Our mentality is very much that the middle will look after itself and we should concentrate our attentions on what is at the top and what is at the bottom. We defer to our superiors, be they the aristocracy, our bosses or our elders and we assist our subordinates, be they the disadvantaged, the unemployed or those younger. Nothing too wrong with that really… on paper it reads like the back bone of civilisation.

But it begs a couple of questions:

1. Does the middle get short changed?
2. Who looks after the interests of those in middle?

Well if the truth be uttered [and after all this is a Jax world column!] yes and no one.

Our attitude to the middle ground starts right back in childhood.

Jennifer Jason Leigh raised a valid point in her description of middle children. The middle ground is all about putting your own needs aside and making sure everyone else is okay... just like middle children do.

Their experience in the middle ground of childhood leaves them able to keep secrets, makes them unspoiled, able to take risks, be pragmatic, able to get along well with others, read people well, be independent, competitive, unbiased and imaginative. These skills make them the peace makers and the mediators in a family. Unfortunately it also makes them recoil from confrontation and turns them cynical, suspicious, and rebellious. But for all the difficulties (they are also quite often the most difficult children to both read and to raise given that they are both younger and older simultaneously) the middle child seems to do okay. It is often said that the middle children are independent and are able to stand on their own two feet.

The middle looks after itself. And no matter where we are born in our nuclear families pecking order, in life, most of us are middle children. As far as the big wide world is concerned… we are in the middle. We approach the world pragmatically, able to get along well with others, able to mediate between those above and those below us. Yeah, sometimes we are cynical and sometimes we rebel but overall we are independent and are able to stand on our own two feet.

For most of us, we watch those who arrived ahead of us (be it in the queue for luck, fortune or high prestige) get praised and encouraged. We sometimes join this chorus. We watch as those who arrived behind us (be it in the queue for setbacks, poverty, or low status). We sometimes assist.

We’re not at the top being feted, worshiped and rewarded, and we’re not at the bottom being assisted. (Apologies to any one reading this who is being hounded by the paps or has just had a benefit concert done for them!)

A lot of the time, like a middle child we mediate between the factions either side of us. We use our positions of being neither blessed nor cursed to make the blessed help the cursed and make the cursed be patient with the blessed. We help those with more than us and those with less than us, move upwards.

There is no one to look after the middle. And that is okay.

Like a middle child we are neither here nor there. Just like the roles of the older and younger siblings are clearly defined, the roles for those above us in life and the roles of those below us are clearer than ours. We have to be self-defining here in the middle - our role is to keep calm and carry on. We have to use our own resources to look after ourselves, for frankly there is no one else to do it. Just like middle children feel their independence was a result of lack of parental attention, for most of us living in the middle ground it’s a case of just getting on with it.

Maybe it is right that attention should not be lavished on the independent centre when the top requires support to achieve and the bottom is so much more dependant. The ability to use ones own resources makes us in the middle malleable, just like how it does with middle born children, (who are usually the children with the most friends). Here in the middle ground, the skill of pouring oil on troubled waters means us in the middle get along best with all kinds of people. (Ever noticed that it’s those at the top or those at the bottom who have a problem with this?)

We need to celebrate our position in life. We are not at the top but we are not at the bottom. Being in the middle is a cool place to be, and is much missed should you be unfortunate enough to move upwards or downwards. To be in the middle means that we get to live our lives free from other people’s expectations and free from other people’s interference.

Okay… we’re not getting worshiped and we’re not getting help… but without us, those who are wouldn’t be. It is us who have the power!

So let us make the most of our lives in the middle - for Lord knows you will miss it if changes. A word of warning… fate has a way of moving you out of the lovely, I live my life my way zone without a by your leave.

Our own royal family is a perfect illustration… our last king was born 4^th in line to the throne and our queen was born 3^rd in line. I feel sorry for the Queen neither her or her Dad were expecting the job and I’m sure if she was still the minor princess she started as the corgis would be allowed on the furniture!

JaxWorld has been nominated for ‘Best Blog about Stuff’ in the Bloggers Choice Awards. If you enjoy this blog please vote for it using the following link:

http://bloggerschoiceawards.com/blogs/show/80516?load=comments

BLOG 71: Gone RIGHT to my head!!

“I once had a rose named after me and I was very flattered. But I was not pleased to read the description in the catalogue: no good in a bed, but fine up against a wall.” Eleanor Roosevelt: American United Nations Diplomat, Humanitarian and First Lady (1933-45), wife of Franklin D. Roosevelt, 32nd US president

Oh Eleanor Roosevelt had a way with words, didn’t she! But the gal was right, flattering words and acts do have a way of going right to our heads…till we find out more.

I have just returned from a short break in Spain. Spain is a good place for women who thrive on flattery. Once there it becomes almost routine to be told you are exceptional in some unexpected way.

Coming from the land of the anally retentive, it is certainly a refreshing change to have persons of both genders complimenting you and unused to it as we are it does quite literally turn your head. You start to look at yourself differently and strut about thinking you really are quite exceptional- until you realise that culturally Spaniards are schooled in the art of flattery. And of course the art of flattery is simply telling someone precisely what they wish to believe about themselves.

It’s a useful cultural difference in theses challenging economic times. The tourist pound has been a little reduced in Espana this year, because of the biting hold the recession has on the UK economy and bless em – they miss us! Given their diaspora towards exaggerating and overstating way beyond where we Brits draw the line, it would seem like a sensible idea to them to practice shameless flattery... And to be honest… just for a little while I quite enjoyed being “la mujer más hermosa de Inglaterra nunca haber sido visto en Cataluña”… until I realised I’d spent almost twice as much I had budgeted for!

It’s a hard thing to spot is flattery. The trouble is flattery is often mistaken for its much more worthy cousin, encouragement. These two states are only cousins in the same way a hawk is related to a budgie. Unfortunately unlike the bird metaphor you can’t tell the difference on sight.

I guess the difference between flattery and encouragement is intention. Encouragement validates what IS true about a person while flattery distorts. The encouragers intentions are for the subjects gain but the flatterers intention are for their own gain.

I wonder how in many situations things have been said in order to gain more for ourselves than for the one to whom we have given the compliment? I know I for one have probably contaminated my opinions with flattery in order to gain from it.

The work arena is certainly a place where a heck of a lot of smoke gets blown up asses! I’m no innocent here. In my time I’ve stated to bosses whose proletarian and frankly snoozefest ideas could bore the skin of a custard that their latest idea was something I could not wait to be involved in. I’d love to say it was only on projects in which I’ve gilded the lily but I’ve been equally as flattering to bosses on personal issues. I’ve lead a particular female boss I once had to believe she was my personal style icon. I do believe I said to her on more than one occasion that I wished I was able to embrace fashion with her flair. (All this when I would be as vocal as anyone (male or female) in the daily chuckle about her ridiculous ensembles.)

In the personal arena, I stand as guilty as anyone for reaffirming people’s high opinion of themselves based on little personal experience of their talents. How often have I given the impression that someone’s story is fascinating with deep eye contact (while my attention is less undivided than they think)? How often have I asked about peoples interests from TV shows I don’t watch to recent vacations I couldn’t care less about? How often have I said “No! Of course your bum does NOT look big in that”? Does all this make me a fake – or just tactful?

So many people claim to value the pure honest truth more than anything in the world… and yet I find so few people actually able to take it! I know I can’t.

I remember once asking a certain male of my acquaintance if a particular dress made me look fat. He answered “Jax, it’s not what the dress is doing to you; it’s what you are doing to the dress!” Brutal I know but he calls tact flattery and prefers to tell it as it is. He thought it’d serve me better to know. He claimed to have only good intentions by encouraging me NOT to blame the dress. I have to add he certainly didn’t make any personal gain from his candour as I hit him over the head with what ever come to hand – I for one would have preferred some flattery!

And there in lies the problem. All of us enjoy being complimented. Whether be our outward appearance or our cerebral activity, other peoples affirming words brighten our days. They are all part of good social exchange.

Flattery is powerful. Although most of us like to think of ourselves as having too much self-respect and dignity to ever use it, we all do at some point.

We’ve all used it to ingratiate ourselves with people who have the power to give us what we want or even to protect ourselves from those who could make our lives hell. We use it to sway a romantic interest (“It must be wonderful to have such a talent for [fill in a hobby you care less than nothing for], a grumpy teacher (“I just wanted to let you know that your classes are the highlight of my week”) potential parents-in-law (“Oh Mrs Brown that was the BEST Sunday dinner I have ever had) or a potential client (“I am so excited to be working with your company”) . Thing is we know we enjoy getting compliments, and we know we grow fond of people who heap them on us. Needless to say we’re more likely and willing to do things for the people we’re fond of. It’s not a huge leap for us to reverse the process to make those gains for ourselves.

Funny enough when we witness someone flattering another, our reaction is completely different than if we are the subject of it. See someone buttering someone up and we’ll suspect that the person is not genuine. However if the same person does it to us, we'll fall for it. Flattery seems on transparent to a third-party, but the old adage about it making you hear what you secretly believe is true when you are the object of it… you want it to be real so it becomes real.

However the jig is up with flattery once you over do it.

There is a thin line between flattering and lying. It’s flattering to say to a vegetarian friend that the meatless dinner they cooked so delicious you didn’t notice the absence of meat but its another thing to say that it was so wonderful that you are now inspired to give up meat all together! Which leads nicely to those who adopt someone else’s lifestyle just to ingratiate themselves.

The idiom “Imitation is the sincerest form of flattery” is often taken a little too much to heart by some people.

And oh by jingo have I come across prats who just don’t know where to stop.

The politics of the work place often means that some departments are just cooler than others. It must be hard if you believe yourself to be cool but you work in IT or Sales when the hip kids are all in Marketing. Bang goes any chance of getting into that group. The temptation to ingratiate yourself with the in crowd by cultivating the same interests can appear to be a good shortcut.

I recall a chap called Nick in a company I worked in once. He was in the uncool department, he was great at his job and well remunerated for it, but in his heart he yearned to be in with the in-crowd. He soon learnt that the in-crowd lads didn’t spend their lunch hour at their desks or in the pub. They’d meet up in reception and head of to play squash.

Nick made sure that every lunch time, he’d happen to be in reception and every time the in-crowd waited for each other, Nick seized his opportunity to drop a word about his love and knowledge of the sport.

It transpired that there was nothing about squash a “tournament playing player” like Nick didn’t know. Eventually these quick fire statements to the in-crowd about their passion lead to the invite to go join them one lunchtime.

Oh Nick was a pro. Nick chucked out the previous players, then walked onto the court, and started hitting the ball claiming he had to do this for precisely five minutes to get the ball warm enough to play. It was all very impressive stuff. There was just one thing Nick didn’t research thoroughly enough… how to actually PLAY squash.

Nick never got any alone time with the In-crowd after that… he was exposed as having been talking at length and with authority about something he didn't know anything about. The in-crowd were less flattered and more creeped out that anyone would go to such lengths to be around them – they never seemed to be interested in Nicks words of wisdom on their interests and brushed off his flattery from then on.

Thing is, flattery can’t work unless the flatteree believes. We get sucked in by flattery because we want to. The In-crowd wanted to believe a tournament player was joining their game because they believed they were worthy of that kind of attention. Just like how I wanted to believe when I heard “muchas picante conchita” in Spain. But after a while you begin to notice that such flattery comes mainly from those who will gain from the goodwill the flattery generates.

However on my last night over there I was still buying into the flattery… choosing to believe that the catcalls of what sounded like “Whappa” were in reference to my obvious fantabulousness and certainly NOT the size of my butt!

JaxWorld has been nominated for ‘Best Blog about Stuff’ in the Bloggers Choice Awards. If you enjoy this blog please vote for it using the following link:

http://bloggerschoiceawards.com/blogs/show/80516?load=comments

BLOG 70: Va Va VOOM!

“The more you dress up the more fun you'll have.” Brian Molko: Lead vocalist, Placebo

It used to be that dressing up is what we girls did when we were invited to attend something important. Go to the V & A and walk through hall after hall of amazing outfits British women slithered into for a day at the races, a night at the opera or a good ol’ fashioned knees up. Our capital city is rightly one of the key fashion centres of the world, inspiring women globally to get the London look. But somehow the idea that dressing up involves nothing more than a sparkly top and a pair of jeans has not left these shores since 1991.

Hello??? - Jeans and a sparkly top say… “casual with hopes of better”. COME ON… we can all do better than that. Surely if we are investing our time (and often money) on going out don’t we want it to be GREAT anymore?

Getting dressed up IS prep to a great night. It gets you in the mood, it sets the scene, it’s lets all comers know that THIS night is special. Never a truer word said than the quote I began with. The art of having a great time begins with the outfit you are wearing. Neigh on impossible to have the best night of your life dressed like a sack of spuds! Since time began mankind has gone to greet it’s most important moments in it’s most impressive outfits.

All of our best moments are marked by the outfit we wore, from our christening gown to our coffin suit… it’s all about dressing up. Just ask the Scots… you think they held back the English with just military cunning?... nah… they were made up to the nines in blue paint and darling short skirts! Ask Julia Roberts… you think her turn as Erin Brockovich was the thing we’ll remember about her Oscar win… nah, it’s the vintage Valentino that stays in our mind. But think of your own big night… wasn’t it half the fun being head-turningly glam that night?

Yes, it’s mid November… party season is upon us, and NO, jeans and a sparkly top just doesn’t cut it. I’m not saying we have to dress for the red carpet every time we go out after dark, but it’s a special time of year and we really should be making the most of it. Don’t worry you can still say “What THIS old thing?!” just make sure that what you wear between now and mid January is going to be the thing that lingers in the memory.

But it’s not just about being memorable it’s about being in a frame of mind to have fun.

I’m not a fashionista; I couldn’t tell you what leg of trouser we are supposed to be wearing this season. I find fashion rather dictatorial, it never seems to take into account that there are 8 billion women and only 8 supermodels. Fashion usually makes me feel something about me has to change. But what is so great about dressing up is that it’s not about what is in our out… it’s about what works, stands out and makes you feel good. Feeling good is the essential ingredient to having fun.

I’ve always leant towards costumiery when it comes to dressing up. Maybe it’s because I wasn’t really a girly girl growing up (see blog about my Hornby Train set!), I must have missed the day when all the other little girls were learning the subtle art of special occasion wear. Maybe it’s because I have a love of the golden age of Hollywood, that I change character when I dress up and become a role. Or maybe it’s just that I’m a big fat show off – who knows! But the first thing I do when an invite plops on the mat (or pings in my e-box) is to think… ‘Now then what am I going to wear’. It’s never just a case of pop on a frock for me… I have a whole new me to become for one evening only!

Recently I was invited to an evening where some major Hollywood players would also be present. It was a smart affair, but certainly not black tie… nor fancy dress. There was to be champagne and mingling sure, but there was also to be a lot of sitting down, so no chance of a red carpet frock… Hollywood may well have been present but this could be a jeans and sparkly top night if there ever was one.

Well maybe… if you are not Jax! I have a wardrobe that could stock a small boutique, but it wasn’t enough to just pull out something ‘nice’ and go. Oh no. Jax start thinking Hollywood looks and somehow settled on Faye Dunaway in Bonny and Clyde and decided to dress the part. Now I hasten to add that I bear little resemblance to Ms Dunaway... in fact one could say that if there was anyone on this planet I do not look like, Faye would be top of the list! But I never let such minor details bother me. It’s amazing what twelve hours and eight thousands combos will achieve, but in the end off I went in a beret, bustier, silk cardi, pencil skirt and boots. The only thing missing was the machine gun.

Funny enough, no one noticed I was ‘doing a Bonny’ but having that character in mind gave me confidence I certainly did not possess in that kind of company. Apart from getting compliments from other women (YES!!!) - standing out from the sheep in the jeans/sparkly top combo also means that the luminaries can find YOU. All I can say is I had a great night – it’s amazing the power an outfit has on a gal.

It’s not the first time I have borrowed from a character when assembling a ‘look’. I remember borrowing from Audrey Hepburn in ‘Roman Holiday’ to go to a boat party, and I’ve stolen from Monroe far too many times to talk about. Pop videos are a good inspiration (thank you Beyonce), I have even attempted a Kylie moment or two though I draw the line at doing a Britney!

One particular company Xmas party it occurred to me that Jayne Mansfield in ‘The Girl Can’t Help it’ would be the way to go. It was amazing how the all out glamour of one dress could change your career path! Used to me being one of the guys, it simply never occurred to any of my then colleague that I could be fun, daring or girly. Funny enough it hadn’t occurred to me either… but once in that knock out gown, that was exactly what I transformed into. It was impossible to down pints and arm-wrestle in that get up and there was something about the dress that made me not want to. Getting dressed up made sure that I had much more fun.

That’s the thing about getting dressed up. Sparkly top and Jeans is just too ordinary – I even see people wearing them in my local supermarket, and tell me - who wants to go on a special night wearing something someone else buys cheese in? Nah – it’s part of a special evening to slip into something special. It’s like you put the routine you and your routine cares and worries away with your routine garb. It takes thought (and in my case a whole armoury of foundation underwear!) to select a whole different look. It’s an opportunity to feel like a whole new you.

As Brian Molko, said at the quote at the top of this blog the MORE you dress up… the more fun you have. I can honestly say that slipping into a character inspired outfit really does give me a fast pass to having loads more fun. Maybe I go too far by slipping into a whole different me with the outfit. And yet somehow, me in a pair of jeans with a sparkly top isn’t as dazzling as me dressed as Mya Harrison in the Lady Marmalade video! Getting dressed up, I walk differently, I hold myself differently, I feel different – I feel “Okay… let’s go!”. I envy the generations for whom going out meant that this feeling was a given.

I know we’ve all spent a lot of time investing in the idea that it is cool to look as if you got dressed in a hurry and just threw on some old thing. But dare I say it I’m calling “TIME” on that old chestnut.

It takes a lot of work to ‘throw an event together’. Someone has to find the place, the catering, the booze, the music and work hard to build the ambience. Don’t you think they deserve more than attendees that look like they just drifted in of the streets? I think it’s a great compliment to your host to turn up looking like planning being there was a priority to you.

So like I said, TIME on the “this old thing?” that looks like it just might be exactly that. I for one have spent a joyous evening on the internet looking at fantabulous dresses at www.sexyher.co.uk . And yes I have ordered a couple of knock out head turners… coming to a party near you soon. But if you compliment me on the night of course I’ll bat my false eyelashes coyly and thank you kindly adding “what?... this ol’ thing” !

JaxWorld has been nominated for ‘Best Blog about Stuff’ in the Bloggers Choice Awards. If you enjoy this blog please vote for it using the following link:

http://bloggerschoiceawards.com/blogs/show/80516?load=comments

BLOG 69: KING OF THE CASTLE

“If a Man's Home is His Castle, why is There Potpourri in My Moat?” Leighton McCormick, blogger extraordinaire

Welcome to winter UK style.

We are a strange breed us Brits. In Europe but not European, citizens of the world and yet not cosmopolitan. I think it’s because we live on an island. Island mentality has a lot to do with why we are so different from our cousins across the channel.

Where they have sophistication, we have rituals. And why not… the fact we are so odd has held of every invasion since the French in 1066. (And as my French pals say to me often ‘Phah … Le Royaume-Uni... .the colony that never quite worked out!’ You can kind of see their point, they won the land fair and square and yet we managed to turn them into Brits and before long they were heading up Brit armies to invade France!)

So here we are, cosy on our little Island with nothing more than blustery cold and often wet days to look forward to until spring. But do we care? Do we heck! We’re Brits… our homes are our castles, and AT LAST it is the season to pull up the drawbridge and enjoy ‘being indoors’.

Of course we are by history a mixed bag of tribes. Palaeolithic people got here from the Middle East, followed by Celts and all sorts from Europe up till 43AD when the Romans got here. After that the Germans from Saxony and the Vikings from Scandinavia, then the poor old French took the gaff on. Tribes have been a bit friendlier since then, with Jewish, Commonwealth and Eastern European waves of immigration all adding to the mix.

These days however, to be in a British Tribe is less to do with where your people originated… and much more to with what you watch on TV. And in winter with the drawbridges up on our mythical British castles… it is a declaration of what you watch over these cold winter months that decides whether or not your fellow tribesmen will let you in.

I jest not! Even I - who never says no or even maybe to the suggestion of entertaining in her humble abode will think twice about allowing in someone from a tribe of telly watchers to which I do not belong.

The key tribes are as follows:

X Factor – a singing contest in which tomorrows recording star is hoped to be found.

Strictly come dancing – a dancing contest in which a minor celebrity will hopefully prove to have talent in this area

I’m a Celebrity get me out of here! – an endurance contest in which a minor celebrity or major has been will win the nations hearts by enduring hardship in a jungle

Dancing on Ice – an ice dancing contest in which a minor celebrity will hopefully prove to have talent in this area

Celebrity Big Brother – an endurance contest in which a minor celebrity will win the nations hearts by enduring a complete lack of privacy

Try as you might to get through winter without being sucked into one or the other of these reality shows… it cannot be done.

It’s like a car crash… you know you shouldn’t look, but seeing everyone is gonna ask you about it tomorrow anyway, you’ll just take a quick peek. And before you know it…you are hooked like a fat kid with a tub of Ben and Jerry’s and a spoon. It’s never the one mouthful.

Oh and the excuses we make to ourselves… “I’m not hooked, I don’t watch it… I just check who has been eliminated online/in the paper/ in the gossip magazines” “I don’t watch them per say…I just watch the first show to see who is in it, and the last few shows to get a feel for the final”. Ahhh… admit it… there is no one on this fair isle who does not know exactly who is in which show and how things are going in each.. and there ain’t no one who doesn’t belong to at least one tribe of followers for the top 5 shows I’ve listed.

I agree… it’s hard to own up to being sucked in by the popularist twaddle these shows are. These shows are a guilty pleasure. Brought up as many of us were on the ethos that television is there to inform and entertain, we are aware that these shows do little of either. We watch them as our ancestors watched the freak shows in the travelling fairs.

We’re all aware that the shows are not really about giving us stars of tomorrow. With but a few notable exceptions, X-factor has given us little over the years other than cruise-line singers and poor karaoke. Strictly come dancing has yet to produce either a Vernon or Irene Castle (let alone a Fred or Ginger). It is lucky that Torvill and Dean are presenter/coaches on Dancing on Ice for not one contestant has gone on to dazzle us with their newly found skill after the contest is over. The two endurance shows – Celebrity Big Brother and its Jungle equivalent seem to do little more than add to the CV of micro celebrities.

It’s the magic of watching people expose themselves to the nation that makes the shows so darn unmissable. There is something about being cosy and warm by the hearth of your own home whilst watching these small dramas play out that makes the winter scheduling of these shows so crucial.

One only has to look at the dwindling figures of the summer reality shows to see that people watching is a winter activity for us Brits.

My personal love affair with the big five features the two dancing shows. I feel more qualified to mock, judge and shout at my telly when it’s a skill I actually possess. Untold years at Doris Bruce Barker’s School of Dancing means I know my Foxtrot from a Samba. I’m not saying I get out my Paso trophy every time Strictly comes on … but it feels good knowing WHY Len gave a SEVEN when the audience thinks nine would be reasonable. Many thousand Saturdays at Streatham Ice Rink means I have my crossovers, and mohawks down – I should be the fifth ice judge - give poor Jason Gardiner some back up when he points out wobbling across the ice is NOT ice dance.

My house shares a chimney breast with them next door. Although these are now bricked in, the hollowness of what lies between my living room and next doors gives amplification to my Saturday night dance critiques… and plenty for us to laugh about over the wall on a Sunday morning. “Ah Jax… boy you gave the telly a good shouting at yesterday… we had to turn over from X factor to see what all the fuss was about”.

Ah yes... I live next door to the X Factor tribe.

Now I love my neighbours… they came straight out of the perfect next-door neighbour catalogue. Friendly, but not gossipy, helpful, but not interfering…we get on great. In the summer months we quite happily chat over the garden wall and agree on practically everything. But come winter… I have no idea WHAT they are on about. I’m talking about Jade’s leg injury and fretting if she can compete on Saturday, I also have grave concerns about Laila’s chances of avoiding the dance-off…. And they are rabbiting on about Jedward’s mikes being turned down. If this goes on much longer the annual exchange of Xmas cards will be in jeopardy!

It’s not just my relationship with my neighbours that lie in jeopardy in winter time. My GBF is a massive X Factor fan. There is no way I can allow him up the drawbridge until Strictly has finished. The two programmes are broadcast at the same time. The big difference is that Strictly is resolved on the same night, whereas X factor is dragged on till the following day. This means I have to suffer his addiction over two days. He is so badly addicted, he frets about his chosen artiste overnight and the programme crops into conversation the following day several times till all is resolved at some point after 9pm. He really feels the contestant’s pain. He’s not alone…. Facebook goes CRAZY after the X Factor results show. I find the whole thing quite bizarre – it’s just a singing contest ain’t it? My GBF and almost everyone on face book beg to differ.

I love my GBF so I have found a way to preserve our friendship. The drawbridge is up till after the X factor Final. Besides he likes the Ice Dancing show… and that starts straight after Christmas. We’ll be back in synch again and the drawbridge will be down.

Meanwhile my mate Beah – who is ab fab in everyway has gone the route of I’m a Celebrity get me out of here. Today she regaled to me the tale for Katie Price’s dramatic return to the jungle and how the poor inflated Barbie Doll had to do FOUR (count them FOUR) bush-tucker trials. I had no idea what the hell she was on about… but to be fair she had no idea of the dramas of all the injuries in Strictly last week. It seems very worrying me that someone as fantastic at Beah would wish to spend her evenings watching the D-Q list of celebrity-dom swim in slurry and eat bugs.

But what can we do… it’s winter.

Our drawbridges are up and we shut out the world (and howling winds) and enjoy our homes till spring returns. We join a virtual tribe for a bit of outside interest and bicker about which passes winter away in the most entertaining way. It’s the British way.

Lord knows the pubs and clubs of the UK will be empty on three dates in December. Three of the tribes will be rushing home to watch their shows finales. I’m a Celebrity get be out of here ends 7^th December. X factor ends 12^th December. Strictly’s final is scheduled for 19^th December.

Of course not all of winter will be spent in front of the goggle box. We’ll have a little time off to enjoy yuletide…. Then we are right back on our sofas….Dancing on Ice and Celebrity Big Brother returns to our screens after Xmas.

In this corner of this little island of the western coast of Europe, two tribes will be coming together at that point. Next door will join me in the Dancing on Ice tribe… drawbridge down!

JaxWorld has been nominated for ‘Best Blog about Stuff’ in the Bloggers Choice Awards. If you enjoy this blog please vote for it using the following link:

http://bloggerschoiceawards.com/blogs/show/80516?load=comments