101 Dalmatians. In mole form.

Although I love it when scientific friends tell me fun facts, in general that whole scheme of things goes somewhat over my head. However, yesterday I got a fun, relevant AND scientific fact through my inbox! Obviously, when the subject heading of an email is 'Internet Mole Facts' it's seriously exciting because:
a) it might be about the subterranean animal
b) I like facts.

But when the content turned out to be the following:

"Beauty spots they may be, but many people with prominent moles consider them unsightly. Having a high number of moles could be a very good sign indeed. It could mean that you are biologically six or seven years younger than your actual age. A study by researchers at King's College in London found that people with more than 100 moles tended to have longer telomeres than people who had fewer than 25.


Telomeres are the bits of our DNA that tend to get shorter as we age. What that means is that moley people may retain youthful looks and delay the onset of the diseases of ageing by more than half a decade."

I was ecstatic. Thing is, I'm a pretty moley person. In fact, this blog should probably be called 'Moleface', except it sounds a bit creepy and I dread to think what the google image results may look like. But this is great news! Finally, being covered in tiny brown lumps and being flat chested until the age of 17 pays off! I may well stay young-looking and smug far longer than my smooth-skinned companions.

This is, of course, all rather academic - and in more than one sense. After all, I spend most of my time in NHS spectacles, high waisted jeans and dubious knitwear reserved solely for, and often bought from, the elderly. Which brings me onto another equally amusing and shocking inbox delivery.

Upon remarking on just how good a word 'fancy' is with my sister, I was reminded of a childhood literary favourite: Fancy Nancy. Normally I'd include and explanatory link here for all the poor souls who have been kept in ignorance of FN's greatness. However, something heinous has occurred and the internet seems to think that FN was an invention of 2005, complete with a totally lame illustration. This was brought to my attention by a Maternal Inbox (Un)treat, subjected: 'LOOK WHAT THEY'VE DONE TO FANCY NANCY!' It's true. All over the internet there is no trace of the original FN, a girl who, rather than this feather boa-ed travesty, helped her Gran grout the bathroom and fought old ladies for handbags with whales on in jumble sales. Indeed, a girl who clearly had a formative influence as I spent most of my childhood watching my Mum grout bathrooms and, admittedly only two years ago, did unsuccessfully battle old women for 20p vintage treats in a jumble sale in High Heaton.

Bowlface has a new mission on its mucky paws: returning the original Fancy Nancy to the interweb, and fast.

Shire Syndrome and possible cures

if more american apparel adverts looked like this my self-esteem wouldn't get such a bashing after Vice popped through my door every month

Some of you may be glad to know that since the pity posting things improved dramatically. I deleted 300 of my facebook friends, booked some flights to Munich and started some fantastical plans to become Jennifer Grey. Clearly leaving the Shire on a 48 hour impromptu dirty stop-out trip to London was highly necessary, otherwise several other cheap European flights would be under my belt and I'd be trying to get euros out of my minus money.

Being a dirty stop-out obviously wasn't my intention when abandoning the beloved Yom-mobile in the most economically friendly of Milton Keynes' station car parks at the peril of bored and potentially neglected local children. Instead, I was headed for a reunion with old school buddies at Camberwell College of Art's end of year show. This chap, in particular, as well as being a completely lovable long-lost friend, was luring us in with shiny invitations. I've been a fan of the comic geek since it was transformed into something Seth Cohen shaped in the O.C. However, Harvey's comic books, including 'Have Love Will Travel' and 'Not News Comix' are super great and funny, and accesible on his site. If Bowlface was the type of blog wise enough to have 'top tips', buying them would be one of them. Another top tip would be to bear in mind that 'Have Love Will Travel' was created in a week and a half with a brush, which makes it the product of such talent that my mind is a little bit blown.

It was, however, the second mega-inspiring exhibition of the day as I stumbled across the Sally Mann exhibition at The Photographers' Gallery whilst trying to avoid wierd hair-model scouting types on Oxford Street. Southern America + freckly kids with attitude + dead people + a load of clever silver screen photography techniques and that makes for one incredible first UK solo show. Especially when Mann's kids bicker with her in a video about touring photos of them as small naked children, which was like a much cooler art version of what happens when my mum thinks it a good idea to dig out the family videos.

Other than trying to smush Harvey's non-smushable face, my girltime companion and I figured we needed to calm down from two cumalative hours of inner-city bus travel with some inventive tea and ludicrously good cake at Soho's Yumchaa. This was just the start of an international gastro feast which partly justified the dirty stop-out-ing, (alongside the knowledge that if I returned to the Shire I would book some flights and maybe start stalking Harvey's native Shire-based home) and continued via a Chicken Sagwala and some Sunday lunch Dim Sum. According to a discussion going around the table at the time, Dim Sum translates roughly to 'little delights' which is simultaneously cute and creepy. I'd say the same description could well apply to Dim Sum itself; such as the fact you eat pudding (egg custard tart equivalent, well lush) before savoury and many dishes apply the term 'cake' in the loosest possible sense. However, it does mean that after last weekend's oyster experience I have made new food virginity loss a second consequetive weekend. If next weekend falls into a similar pattern I can see myself developing a new and scarily addictive kind of church.

Diana Vickers has my Kigu

I know, right? NEWSFLASH. Regular readers may remember the Kigu fascination last month, and I'm still hungry to run around the house looking like a red panda.  It's taken me a little while to get onto this whole number one pop track thing because I've been boycotting Radio One during the hours of daylight for nigh on five months now. I just love the sound of James Naughtie of a morning, and every now and then I learn something about Darwin or bell ringing. It's great.

Thankfully, I was checking my facebook as a means of procrastination from dissertation editing (having failed to click the 'include footnotes' box I'm over the word count by 1,000 words. I was just going to lie on my form, but now I've cut 300 out I kind of have to get rid of 700 more. Yawn) and fantastically themed blog Video Is My Radio Star alerted me to the new Vickers' video, and amusing commentary.

Had I read the commentary before the video, the blow of Vickers in a Kigu would have been considerably less painful. But, being the reckless and crazy (ha) Literature student I am, I figured I should immerse myself in the 'primary text' before settling down to the 'secondary material'. I'm still recovering now.

Like pretty much everyone situated in the north, I too have a tenuous link to the Vickers. My ex-flatmate's little sister was her best mate. She was meant to come to his grand Lancastrian 21st party but she was too busy performing on X-Factor, so during the cake-cutting ceremony his mum paused the proceedings and asked us all to take out our mobile phones and vote for her. True story.

Anyway, after due warning, should you fancy seeing how Vickers makes a Kigu look 'cool' or 'sexy' or just rips it off to reveal a sequined ballgown, she's riiigghhhttt here (embed disabled. Maybe they realised the Kigu could potentially kill). Expect a fake version in a Primark near you soon, sigh.

Autism, it's like, the latest craze?

Autism is a socially debilitating condition. It's hardly the most fun thing about, and yet, recently, it seems like everyone wants to have it. I can kind of understand - it's always been kicking around in the Bowlface family household. Not that any of us officially have it, but we're occasionally so close to the mark it became a kind of funny joke. My brother would send me texts explaining himself with the sentence, 'I have autism'. Mummy Bowlface insists that at least three children a year in her class have it. I've even given family members books about it on festive occasions. Yes, we do know how to party.

However, autism broke out of the Bowlface Shire residence and into the mainstream last week when Channel 4's 'Embarrassing Illnesses' did a special feature on it. Ironically, really, as, sure, autism could be a tad embarrassing, but the sufferers probably don't care because, well, they're autistic. For such an incredibly high-cringe factor programme, it would appear plenty of people watched it because at the weekend I had about five conversations with people about autism. Furthermore, two of these people had taken the autism test and could run around excusing their rudeness much like those brotherly texts of yore: 'I have autism'.

Then came the literature. At the library at the weekend I was checking out books next to a little old lady who was checking out the same book on autism I gave to a family member three Christmases ago. THEN the book I received in the post, Speaking With The Angel, a collection of short stories published for charity purposes and edited by famous Father-of-an-autistic-child, Nick Hornby, had a ten page introduction all about it. Autism was coming through my letter box in a jiffy bag.

I took them all as signs and did the test. I got 16. Much to my amazement, this makes me .4 less autistic than the majority of the population. Who would of thought? Now there's not even a medical reason for my bitter cynicism. Maybe 'Embarrassing Illnesses' will expose all tomorrow night.