An end to Dry January, courgettes and MICHELLE BRANCH: Things of the week
This week I mostly...
...hurled myself off the dry and frugal January wagon. Suck it, sobriety! Fuck you, bank balance!
TUUUUUUUUUUUUNE of the week
There are a select number of things in this world I love unconditionally. One of them - ranked somewhere between Turkish Delight, woollens, and ageing family poodle, Roxie - is noughties pop-rock icon, Michelle Branch.
This love has been tested. In recent years, Michelle has released more online cookery ‘collabs’ than she has albums - a miserable state of affairs for which I blame variously, but equally, Warner Bros, Tyler Oakley and Jessica Harp.
Happily, this week’s long-awaited comeback single Hopeless Romantic is fucking brilliant. Wisely eschewing a retread of her earlier sound, Michelle has instead re-emerged as a stripier, marginally-less melodramatic Lana Del Rey.
It's layered. It's atmospheric. It's all the seventeen year old me could have hoped for, and I've only cried twice so far.
Welcome back, Michelle. NEVER LEAVE ME AGAIN.
Second-worst-thing-to-happen-to-Australia of the week
On top of whatever the hell Donald Trump’s been yelling at Malcolm Turnbull about, the land 'down under' is also currently playing host to what's optimistically billed as a B*Witched, Atomic Kitten, Liberty X, East 17 and S Club 3 joint headline tour.
An taste, perhaps, of the relaxed trading standards Britain can look forward to post-Brexit: the tour is less Big Reunion than it is Pop 2030: We Survived the Zombie Apocalypse.
Aussie fans can look forward to just three quarters of B*Witched, Liberty X sans Y chromosomes, and a curious double dose of Michelle Heaton - apparently moonlighting as ‘Liz out of Atomic Kitten’ on top of her regular spoken-word duties.
S Club 3 - still a Rachel Stevens short of anything I’d ever pay to see live - have apparently already missed a show due to ‘flu’. When even Jo O'Meara's pulling a sickie it's time to throw in the 2003 S Club United Tour-branded towel.
Hoard of the week
Move over, SMAUG. Your pathetic mountain of dwarf-jewellery pales in comparison to what I have hidden in my fridge crisper.
Villain of the week
Indignity after indignity for Australia. The treacherous, follicly-challenged Joshua Sasse has in a single week both broken the heart of Kylie Minogue and deprived the struggling island of its first royal wedding. Monster! It was all they had left!
There is an obvious moral to this story, children. Never trust a man who pretends he's never heard Spinning Around.
Quote of the week
This week I was mostly having...
...the goodbye, dry january
- 60ml gin
- 2 shrivelled limes
- Flat tonic
Two minutes past midnight, 1 February. Drag your lifeless carcass to the nearest liquor cabinet, grab a dusty bottle of neglected gin.
Make your way to the fridge (taking a swig for energy if necessary). Forage as best you can for the supplies you took for granted in December. No tonic? Not even under the advocaat? There you go.
Saw through the limes. Splosh approximate measures into the fancy glasses you've been eying, sadly, for four whole weeks. A pack of thyme has fallen into your crystallised ice cubes. It doesn't matter. It will add texture.
Drink. Drink more. More. Sigh. And relax.