Friday, 18 December 2009


They don't know how lucky they are.

Yadda Yadda, I'm bored of the snow already. In a Shire context, it means slow roads, not enough of it to warrant any fun snow activity and being really cold. As for being in a Dolomite context...well we'll both find out next week.

The white stuff has pretty much summed up a totally Shire week. With the exception of nice parent-provided food and love and a bit of social activity as only these parts know best (watching David Attenborough and amazing kids' movies over 'chav deserts' - more on that later), it's been one long slog at Bicester Village and some guilt-ridden attempts to make a dissertation.

Bicester Village, as Bowlface regulars may know, provides an unwelcome second home to returning students and 'cheap' shopping for upper middle class types and tourists with dubious money. My top customers of the week were the Russians who paid for £700's worth of fur items in cash and the Iranian who fanned herself with sterling whilst propping a fur-clad thigh on the counter.

Back to the amazing kids' movies. Actually, Where The Wild Things Are is far more of a kids' film for adults - take a child along and it'll probably be confused throughout and thoroughly miserable by the end. I'm not going to stress this point too much; once Dazed and Confused have based an entire issue on Spike Jonze and Maurice Sendak's collaborative efforts Bowlface isn't really one to go there.

What the film did inspire, however, was a furthering of a onesie longing that has grown on me over the last few weeks. A onesie, in layman's terms, is essentially a babygro for adults. An all-in-one, jumpsuit, bodystocking kind of thing. I think the obsession started when I was hunting around for Baby Jesus outfits, and has subsequently grown through ebay hunting, onesie conversations with fellow fans, looking at the American Apparel website too much and, of late, the severe cold and my Mum emailing me onesie-related Womens' Hour news.

Max's wolf/wild thing suit in the film has taken this a whole step further. The onesie of dreams now has ears, fingerless gloves, monster feet, and, preferably, a tail attached. Oh, and it's got to be made out of snuggly snuggly fluff. It's all I want for Christmas.

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