Argh! (Room 101)

Member Name: MorganaDQ

Product:	Room 101
Date:	09/06/02 (120 review reads)
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Hi, my name's Morgie, and I'm a whinging mare. Hard to believe, I know, but I am. Or, that's what Mr Morgie thinks, anyway. I prefer to think of it as knowing my mind. So, here I was browsing the categories, and I think, "Ahaaaaa! Room 101! Just what I need to get all these niggly little things off my chest." And then I came to write, and realised that not only was Mr Morgie right, he actually under-estimated my whinging potential.



I'm no fashion victim, not by any stretch of the imagination. I don't follow the trends, but I know what I like and what I feel comfortable in. It's very rare for me to criticise anyone on their choice of outfit, simply because I know how important it is to feel comfortable. So what if they're wearing an orange tanktop with a lime green shirt and red, paisley cravat? If they're happy, so be it. But there's one thing that does get to me. Not just because it looks horrendous, but also because I can feel it myself.

Some of the fashion trends over the last few years have left a lot to be desired, but none so much as the wearing of jeans that are so many sizes too big that they could fit a family of four, granny, and the dog inside them. The type of jeans that hang from a man's (or boy's, in some cases) hips. The kind that let everyone who passes clearly see, not only what colour and brand of underwear that adorns their body, but the washing instructions, too, in some cases.

It's not just that it looks, quite honestly, stupid, but I feel it myself. It must be a woman thing, but even just thinking about wearing something that's meant for the waist, on the hips, makes my hips tingle and my toes curl. It's just horrible. Nasty. Ugh!

Builder's cleavage comes under this, too, though admittedly not so much. That., for the most part, is accidental. It's forgivable in most cases, unless the perpetrator refuses to
pull up the jeans, at which point it becomes extremely annoying again. Builder's cleavage, on the right person, can give you a chuckle sometimes. Depending on the size of the bum, the severity of the cleavage, it can even smile at you. If you're lucky, you might even get a wink. But the fashion atrocity that is the huge, baggy jeans that seem about to fall off the body, no, get rid of it, and fast. It's not attractive, and it's not clever.

Simon Cowell is wonderful, you know. Folow his trouser example, and wear them high and proud!



Now, some of you may already know that I love cooking. I adore going into 'my' kitchen to create a gastronomic masterpiece. My kitchen is my domain, and it's where I create some of my best work (other work, you'll have to wonder about). I read cookery books like I read a novel, and I use what I find inside the pages as inspiration, rather than absolute recipes. I think that kind of cooking should be encouraged. The kind of cooking that makes you think, encourages you to use your instincts and imagination. Sometimes a chef will come along who mimics just what my feelings are. And then, there's Delia Smith.

She's regarded as a British institution now, isn't she? She's been the one person who could show you exactly what to do with your eggs (I'd like to show her.... ). She'll teach you everything you ever needed to know about cooking. So why do I dislike her so much? Because she teaches everything you ever needed to know about 'precision' cooking, and she's smarmy to boot. I agree that our Delia has probably helped a lot of people to gain some confidence in the kitchen, but please, is it really necessary to be quite so superior while she's doing it? My mum stopped patronising me like that when I was around 7 years old, I don't need to take it from someone posing as an expert when she clearly isn't.

>I tried to watch one of her series' once. It was the first 'How To Cook' series. It's a miracle the television remained intact and my blood pressure didn't blow the top of my head off. Mr Morgie looked at me like I was nuts, and most likely didn't dare say a word for fear of being cut down in his prime. I think he'd have run, if he'd had a clear path to the front door.

I don't need to buy special cake tins for my Victoria sponge to turn out right. Essential items in my 'pantry' (kitchen cupboard to us plebs) don't have to include garlic salt and vanilla extract in order for every meal to be perfect. I don't have to use a five gallon, copper-based spagetti pan in order to cook my spagetti perfectly. And you know what? I won't have someone tell me that just because I don't follow her instructions to the letter, buy every one of her equally patronising books, or purchase all the equipment she deems essential to the smooth running of the kitchen, that I'm a bad cook. Now, about what to do with those eggs.....



Like anyone else, I'm a sucker for a good deal. I actually hunt them out. My Dad has been known to accuse me of being able to catch a penny before it's even hit the ground. There's nothing wrong with that. Nope, not at all. I also like to find better products for me and my home, like so many other people. But companies like to play on it. They make the slightest little change to their product, and release it as something bigger and better than it was. Never mind that all they did was add an extra grain of salt, or shove a bit more MSG in there. Because as consumers, we're a soft touch. I don't need to be told it, to know that's what they think. And how do I know this? It's the favourite little phrase of so many marketing companies. It's the one we're all led to believe is the best thing since the wheel..... "New
& Improved!"

Wait a second. Waaaaaaaiiiit just one little second, here. Do you think we're all idiots? Do you think we were all born yesterday? 'New & Improved', is it? How? Come on, I challenge just one company to tell me exactly how their product is 'New & Improved'. I could get hundreds of messages now describing all the changes that have been made, but how many would answer me appropriately? None, I'm betting. Because they're stuck in the marketing mode.

I will quite happily accept that something has been changed to make it a more superior product. I will give someone the benefit of the doubt when they tell me they have an innovative idea, something that will become an essential in my everyday life. But never, thank you very much, will you make me believe that something is 'New & Improved'. I'm not that gullible, and neither are the vast majority of consumers. Something is either 'New' or it's 'Improved', but it can't be both.

Am I going to get my comments section flooded with 'Oh, but, you can, because....'? I'll listen, I'll read, I'll try to take it into account, but when all is said and done, it's either one or the other. I'm being pedantic with this one. I know I am. Mr Morgie hates that above anything, but I just can't help myself. I'll continue to hunt out the best deals. I'll carry on trying to buy better for my family and my home, if I can. But companies be warned - if it's 'New & Improved', I'm likely to avoid it like the plague, because it's enough I'm patronised by our Delia, without having big company names doing it, too.



Picture this, if you will. It's a bright, sunny day, and you're ambling through the local park. The birds are singing their beautiful song, the light summer breeze is washing over your sun-kissed skin, the scent of the flower
s floats on the air and fills your nostrils with memories of summers past. You can hear the delightful giggles of children as they play on the swings and chase each other around the climbing frames. A friendly border collie trots over to you, wagging its tail, and makes friends.

And then it greets you. Like a spike through your head, it hits with such force that all you want to do is maim. Painfully. Slowly. And it won't leave you. No matter where you turn, this entity, because it's an entity in its own right after hearing it for just a few moments, refuses to leave you. It's already honed in on you as the only person within a twenty mile radius who loathes it so much that she can feel the desperation scratch at her brain. It followed the border collie. It's relentless in its sport, because it's delightfully unaware of the effect it can have on a person. It's the middle-aged man whose joy in life is not only to walk his devoted dog, but to walk it while he whistles.

But he doesn't just whistle, he does it with a spring in his step, and he tries to give that spring voice through the alleged melody of his pursed lips. He tries to get that wobble in the tune, the wobble that suggests he's actually good at what he does. But not only that, it seems he only knows one tune. And it's not a tune anyone recognises, because he made it up. It's a spontaneous little ditty that he thinks is delightful. It may well be delightful to him, but he insists on following me around the park. By the time he's been behind me for 60 seconds, all I want to do is hurt him. Seriously hurt him. I didn't come to walk in the park just to have someone giving me musical accompaniment, and badly at that. I came for peace and quiet, to enjoy the outdoors, to revel in nature's beauty.

And it's not just in the park, either. He follows through the bustling high street. He wanders around the supe
rmarket with his basket of groceries swinging on his arm. He'll even find you as you climb the steps of Whitby Abbey, or in the queue for coffee at a service station cafe. He's everywhere, and he always finds me. Please, if you have any humanity, don't whistle in public. Please. Because you may well be a very nice man. You could be the kind of person I'd adore. But if you whistle in my vicinity, I'm likely to want to pull your tongue out. So, spare a thought for me and the countless others like me, and think twice before you whistle. Please. Thank you.



I feel a very strong desire to continue my whinging. I know you usually get more than four choices, but I fear you may already be falling asleep. So, I'll say nothing of spam in my inbox, litterbugs, chewing with the mouth hanging open, remote control freaks, preaching vegetarians, flying wheelie bins, or the countless other things I have a strong opinion on. Just suffice it to say that I'm finished. You can go now if you want. There's nothing more to see here. Really. Gwan. Shoo! Just don't forget to rate on your way out :)

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