If it’s Elle, it must be Tuesday

It’s been a real week of hanging around for me – on trains to and from London, in GP’s waiting rooms, in the MOT garage’s reception and so on.  Which means I’ve been reading a lot of women’s magazines to pass the time.  By the third or fourth glossy mag (I’m a fast reader) I was getting a real sense of déjà vu:

– New Season! New Fashion! New Trends!  Since nude (bloke translation: pinky, peachy, beigey coloured) tops make me look like I recently died, I’m too old for jumpsuits, I haven’t got the legs for short shorts, leather won’t go in the washing machine and I remember head to toe denim from the first time round, I’m not holding my breath for any ohmygod-must-buy-that moments.

– Vampires Are Sexy.  Really?  Hold the front page.

– You Are Eating Rubbish – a disciplinarian dietician criticising some poor soul’s food diary because they eat crisps once a week or drink diet coke.  God knows what they’d make of my ‘a little of what you fancy’ approach to food then.

– Women Will Decide This Election.  Or, perhaps more accurately, women are mostly undecided who to vote for, are sick of spin and would prefer not to vote for any of them if a better alternative existed.

Baz Luhrmann and Mary Schmich had a point: do not read beauty magazines, they will only make you feel ugly.  And cross.

Well, at least my carpet’s fashionably nude coloured…

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