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Monday, 18 June 2007

Tagging stuff

It seems I’ve been tagged – yet another thing I don’t understand. I thought tagging was what kids play in the playground til Health and Safety stop ‘em, or what happens to young offenders (or what used to be called “burglars”).
Before I start, do I have to pass on the baton?? If so, it's to exmoorjane!
But meanwhile it’s 8 things I have to say so, here goes:

1. I’ve been attacked 4 times.

Once, trapped in a self-locking underground car park with a man who told me “no-one need ever know.” I lost my temper and yelled at him that I’d had a terrible day and wasn’t in the mood for being raped. It was pre-central locking days and I managed to get into my car and drive out with him spread-eagled on the bonnet – watch the paintwork, sonny!

Once on a sunny Sunday morning on the tube where an enormous Rasta first of all stopped me getting on the tube I wanted, then arm-locked me once on another, and uttered the immortal temptation, “we’s goin’ all the way to Cockfosters.” Too polite and scared to whisper, “Help! Please!” to all the other travellers studiously ignoring the incongruity of our closeness, what’s a girl to do but to knee said Rasta and leg it at Russell Square? (far more my sort of destination, frankly).

Once at a party where 20 Young Offenders gatecrashed having cut the phone line. They started grabbing the hi-fi and booze and promised, “we won’t touch your women!” (this annoys on just so many levels). My boyfriend was last seen grabbed round the throat with a bottle against his head. People were bleeding on the floor. Someone jumped from a first floor window and called the police and when they deigned to show up, I shouted at them to call an ambulance, to be told, “we ain’t a public service.” Oh really. Sill tax-payers. They kept themselves locked in their van and only the Asian officer ventured out because, as another officer said, “they hate the blacks more than we do.” Needless to say it was a long walk back from Acton Hospital at 6 in the morning. Ah, the good old days.

Once by a man with a knife at Baker Street tube where me and my boyfriend were catching the last tube. We had legs. We ran.

2. I’ve been in several road accidents. I sold the moped after the last. I’ve been lucky. Still horribly ghoulish about scars. Still meander across the road hopelessly. I clearly never listened to that bossy squirrel telling us what to do on the TV when small. No ability to follow the simplest rule.

3. My strangest tasks while at work involved sticking white ‘m’s onto m&ms for the filming of the pack-shot (I used to work in advertising), time well spent or what?
And also operating the eyes and mouth of the Spitting Image puppet of The Duchess of York.
Cor, was that difficult. I do not multi-task. I multi-start (but that’s another story).
The most interesting thing I’ve been asked to do recently (and no, strangely, I don’t include a request to iron a PE kit at 5 to 9) is to be a graveyard judge. Sort of intrigued, but since it was going to entail driving the other judge round and round Gloucestershire for ever and ever, neither of us with any sense of direction whatsoever, I possibly foolishly declined.

4. We lived in the Beirut of Bristol when first married (burgled on our honeymoon, sob; husband mugged) but once I was given work by my old boss to cast for extras for a fairly long-running and truly abysmal supermarket campaign, and fed the roles out among the locals, word went around and we were left alone.
Besides no-one looks threatening in the street when you’ve seen them behind a trolley pretending to be interested in pet food.
We still shudder and give thanks to our guardian angels for selling that particular house, mind. Let this be a lesson, children: location, location, location, every time. Do not be lured by glorious decaying architecture and a cheap price.

5. I was once mobbed by a pack of ten year olds in Southampton, thinking I was Boy George. The sticky hands, the pestering. Actually, the outrage! I must have been a third of his weight. The true horror ending of this story came later when the real Boy George, a fearsome beast with terrible skin and mean ole eyes, took a fancy to my boyfriend.
Lesson number 2: never go out with someone prettier than you are, and always avoid nightclubs, and Southampton when wearing a hat.

6. Please don’t ever try to see me without my eye-make up on. I don’t do the orange stuff, and I don’t do mascara, but I reserve the right to be buried in eye-liner and eyeshadow. Otherwise, I will swear. I swear appallingly. My mother said it was fine as long as we had recourse to a wide vocabulary, and felt that an expletive was the right word. However, I did not swear in childbirth, not in front of the midwife. She was very stern and I limited myself, out of fearful respect, to a yowling “lordy.” I prefer all the swear words in the world to the following: 'appropriate,' 'toilet,' 'moist,' 'gusset,' 'community,' 'what's for supper?'

7. I appeared in a documentary made about Tom Stoppard. Hastily, not by invitation, but by dint of his being friends with my parents long ago when my father shared a flat with him and other artists / writers, and when he left Bristol, my mother and he had “separation dreams” about each other. John Boorman made the film (and a couple of others featuring my father) and I’m romping fetchingly in a red swimming suit with a natty white belt to it.
I peaked then. Other random TV appearances have included the epitome of dismal: awkward child dragged onto Points West to whitter about a book called Children’s Bristol; feeble flailing on Top of The Pops when I was pitied and dragged onto an elephant pedestal thing with one of their star dancers (the cringing never leaves you); incompetent jabbering about my job when at the BBC; the afore-mentioned Godawful TV ads. Now, I need a little lie-down to counteract all that retrospective shame.

8. I’m married to Bill.
Sorry.
It was a holiday romance – can you imagine resisting? I knew I was going to marry him just from hearing his voice. I was reading “Invitation to a Beheading” which made him gulp, but he wrote “I love her” the first night on the tablecloth (the waiter dug it out of the bin to show oh-me-of-little-faith the next day: I had scurried down on the dolmus to check). He asked me to marry him numerous times from that first evening onwards while I said “no,” meaning “yes.” He then stopped asking me, but come the end of September we will have been together 20 years. Blimey.
Cushion-issues apart, he's really quite a nice chap.
Anyway.
You can read more about him, and his intolerant little ways, here: http://rotwatch.blogspot.com/2007/06/who-is-rotwatcher.html

25 comments:

Suffolkmum said...

Have been chortling happily away to myself - inspired list - then- Jesus! Bill! Your husband! Totally passed me by, that one. I guess that explains his prediliction for your home furnishings! How extraordinarily funny. There was a comment a while back, wondering if you'd run off with him - and of course you had, we were just 20 years too late. Can I say I love his views on the Apprentice - although, and I say this smugly, I did correctly predict that Siralun would go for Simon. Sure he would deny it, but I feel he has a lingering feudal respect for the toffs. (Siralun, of course, not your husband).
Fantastic post Milla.

DevonLife said...

oh milla welcome back. My friend had a baby last week and has called her .... Milla of course!

Wanted to tell you. Very very very funny blog today, you court danger milady.

DevonLife said...

oh Bill. gosh. feels slightly incestous. I of course is married to chickenix.

Ahh those were the days

ChrisH said...

Sadly we will never meet now that I have read your list - it's clearly far too risky to be in the same vicinity as you!

toady said...

That was worth waiting for, hilarious. Toady

Zoë said...

brilliant fun, and Rotwatch, well.... inspired ! Thanks for a great laugh!

Exmoorjane said...

Huzzah! The return of Milla the Triumphant....and her worthy consort Bill the Bonkers. King and Queen of Blogland. I predict a riot (well, much scurrying and wild gossiping in purpleland)....
Still waiting for the picture of the dog. And, g'warn, post a pic of Bill, bless his cottons.
jxxxxxx

countrymousie said...

Well now I remember why I loved reading your blogs so - I dont know which is funnier - someone thinking you are Boy George, or someone fancying your man. I used to get this a lot - the fancying of my man - he appeals to gays apparantly - he is oblivious of course - I have to keep making him aware. I think its those berludy pink shirts or something!

Laughed and laughed and laughed - it was just the tonic I needed having just returned from the graveyard!!!love mousie

PS Remind me never to get in a car or on a moped with you!

The Country Craft Angel said...

Oh Milla

I just want you to know how much I miss my daily dose of Milla lite!!

That was truly brilliant!
And I always said that Bill was a nice chap! I did guess there may be a connection and you were the first person I guessed he might connected with!!-told Jane as much.

Wonderful, funny typical Milla Blog.

"WE WANT MORE...WE WANT MORE...WE WANT MORE...!!"
...ummm...get the message??
(Sorry-know you are busy with builders and work etc)

Take care and warm wishes to you...and 'im indoors of course...
xx

Preseli Mags said...

Please don't stop at eight - there must be more! Brilliant! Brilliant! Brilliant! (As whats-his-face used to say on How Do They Solve a Problem Like Joseph).

MaidofKent said...

Amazing!
My first thoughts were: "...keeping out of your berludy way " and " What, OUR Bill?" It took a minute to adjust my head, then I laughed till I almost choked. Much like everyone else I imagine!!!

Blossomcottage said...

Now we have heard the ones that you feel comfortable telling us Tell us the 8 really naughty ones, go on you know you want to!!

Welcome back missed you.

Blossom

WesterWitch/Headmistress said...

Oh no - no more - have to get my laughter aching sides calmed down first . . . .

UN PEU LOUFOQUE said...

Welcome back Milla, good to hear your heroic tales!

snailbeachshepherdess said...

Gobsmacked!

Faith said...

Are you REALLY married to Bill?

Amazing blog Milla - worth waiting for.

KittyB said...

Well flippin eck and all that. A dangerous woman to know. I prefer any swear word to moist or gusset too - they are on my list along with leotard, and, oh god, makes my skin crawl, unitard. Just make me cringe.

Bill, eh? Nice one. Curmudgeonly old Bill. Well I never. A dark horse - hang on a mo, surely not...

elizabethm said...

I go away for the weekend and come back to find you have blogged. What a welcome home present. It was the Boy George bit which got me going. Loved it. I too suffer from being married to a man who attracts others of both sexes but who is utterly and completely oblivious which is of course marvellous. I have always been very atrractive to young boys and old men and will know I have really lost it when this ceases to happen. At the moment still reliable despite advancing years.

Grouse said...

Oh! Specularlywelcomfoley!!!!

Dont know what was funnier..your revelations or the ones they inspired!!!!!!!

Bill.. .. ..

Should have seen that one.

bodran... said...

Hi milla, absolutly blumin brill,And boy is someone watching over you to escape all those situations..Poor bill does he dare leave the house with you.. and i hope you hit him with one of the famouse cushions...xxxx

Pipany said...

Welcome back, milla. Great list and sorry for passing the baton, but it had the required result! xx

Inthemud said...

Hilarious Milla!

Wouldn't want to be out with you though , you seem to attract attacks and disaster where ever you live!

Bill! I'm amazed! He's really your other half!

sally's chateau said...

Can I now finally admit then that I thought Bill sounded lovely ? HYSTERICAL wheeze

CAMILLA said...

Milla, Dear Girl, as ever a truly amusing blog, but you did have some scary times. Thank you for your comments Milla. Some pics of Lol, I trust she has gone past the chewing of chair-legs!
Camilla.xx

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