So, it's my last morning in the Shire and who knows what's to become of my blogging habits upon returning to the North East. Without the company of the middle-aged, the inebriated elderly and even the slightly inbred, I'm worried these posts may take an even more pedestrian turn.
Therefore, making the most of it, I'm blogging in the last twenty minutes before my departure for a five hour coach. On a Sunday morning. Yesss.
Last night I was taken out to the cinema and for dinner by the parents, which was very nice. The film choices were 500 Days of Summer, The September Issue and Julie and Julia. However, I don't think that even the Vampire Weekend inclusion on the 500 soundtrack would convince the parents and I'd clearly be the only person in the whole of Milton Keynes enjoying The September Issue, we settled with Julie and Julia, because my Dad loves Meryl Streep.
I was somewhat dubious - going only on an overheard critique of it as "two women just cooking their way through their lives", I figured I'd come out hungry and riddled with feminist angst.
Instead, I came out with a warm fuzzy glow from having laughed out loud in the cinema (and sneezed, but that's not entirely film-related). It turns out that Julia Child, posh American cook of 50s Francophile proportions (Meryl Streep) IS the same person as my textiles and food tech teacher, Mrs Sloss. The high-pitched squeaking, the fuzz of brown, tweaked hair, even down to the erratic whole-body movements over food - something I came into contact with twice a week during my teens.
Mrs Sloss was one of those iconic teachers that everyone pretends to dislike and yet finds themselves talking fondly of in their spare time. Classics like balancing everything on her bust during demonstrations, to the time she discussed her breast reduction operation (no more balancing), when she compared her daughter's afro hair to that of lambswool, telling me constantly that I needed to grow boobs, making up facts about silk worms, chastising my friend who is now a Central St Martins' womenswear student, announcing loudly at how tight/short/ugly the garment you'd lovingly made was, along with telling me off for taking my mum to see her on parents evening, "oh, she's only sitting here for praise" - mean that a big screen version is totally, totally brilliant. Especially when you'd be as equally shocked, and yet understanding, when they announced a tube of pasta was "as hot as a hard cock".
Mrs Sloss was one of those iconic teachers that everyone pretends to dislike and yet finds themselves talking fondly of in their spare time. Classics like balancing everything on her bust during demonstrations, to the time she discussed her breast reduction operation (no more balancing), when she compared her daughter's afro hair to that of lambswool, telling me constantly that I needed to grow boobs, making up facts about silk worms, chastising my friend who is now a Central St Martins' womenswear student, announcing loudly at how tight/short/ugly the garment you'd lovingly made was, along with telling me off for taking my mum to see her on parents evening, "oh, she's only sitting here for praise" - mean that a big screen version is totally, totally brilliant. Especially when you'd be as equally shocked, and yet understanding, when they announced a tube of pasta was "as hot as a hard cock".
Julia Childs was apparently a far gentler beast, but she was channeling the Slossy all the way.
The film was also pretty good because of Julie's blogging obsession, and the fact her Mum was somewhat sceptical about it but yet is the only person to comment on it. Rings true... Clearly, all these similarities mean that I also will come home one day to 65 voice mails offering me a TV contract. Obv.
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