CRAZY RIGHT NOW

This drove the girls at work crazy today. "Très feucquable", said one of my French lady colleagues, huskily, with the same look I saw in Beyoncé's eyes as she sang "God Bless America" the other night. If there is going to be any hanky-panky, I'd put money on her being involved. Beyoncé, not my French friend.

We're all leaving work on time to be in front of the TV for the anointing of The One and Only. McChe is even having a bath for the occasion.

YES WE CAN CAN

2009 marks a number of anniversaries, not least 50 years of Motown, but it just occurred to me that it was 30 years ago, almost to the day, when I departed Albion's shores to live Sur le Continent. In early January 1979 I received a phone call from an American impresario who had auditioned me earlier that day in London, who seemed to be saying "Can you be here in 10 days?" I heard myself replying coolly "Just a moment, I'll check my diary ...", ruffling the phone book a bit, and then resuming: "Why certainly I can. I trust accommodation will be arranged for me?" before putting the phone down and shrieking "Mother, I'm going to Paris!!!!!"

It was round about the 17th of January, I believe, when I departed from the White Cliffs of Dover for La Belle France, with my steamer trunk packed to the gunnels with feather boas, sequinned thongs, nipple tassels and jars of Vaseline. Now my late husband Harold is no longer with us, I can be frank about my career on the boards. He didn't have a clue, the truth would have killed him. The Folies Bergère was still going great guns in those days, and English dancers were prized for their long legs and enthusiasm for the casting couch. I was very innocent and when Mr Finkelburger asked me to come to his office for a special job he needed doing, I trotted up the stairs in my little (fake) Chanel suit, oblivious to the knowing looks of the other girls.

"Ayup our kid, don't wear navy blue next time, you'll save on't dry cleaning bills" advised Dolores Entwhistle, a plain-spoken Yorkshire lass (is there any other kind?). Dolores and two other hoofers "Orinoco Flo" McCluskey and Hattie Mildew-Spliff became my bosom buddies, in a very literal sense. We choreographed our own dance routines which became more and more audacious. One, involving a gerbil, a live eel and two parrots, actually provoked an official complaint from the Animal Protection Society.

With apologies for the Spanish subtitles, but I gather we were big in Costa Rica.

THE MESSAGE

Obama is coming to Brussels in April. I gave myself a long, hard look in the mirror and asked, can I get him to notice me?

"Yes you can!" replied Barack in the mirror. I blushed like a young girl at her first prom.

"You're leaving Michelle at home, right?"

"Baby, you know I only has eyes for you. You wanna be my ho? Well, shift that lilywhite butt out on the street and make me some money."

"Ooh daddy, I love it when you talk dirty."

"I ain't kidding, girl. That motherfuckin' white bread Bush administration done left me jack shit to get the economy restarted. I need my homeys out on the street corners dealing, and my ho's on they backs squealing. But you ain't gonna fit in no hotpants with a ass the size of Russia."

"Barack?"

"What, bitch?"

"D'you love me?"

"Girl, you a glutton fo' punishment! Ah gon' love you when you lose about twenty pounds. An' I gon' whup you white ass if you don't. Now git to work."



I got the message. I have to get fit to retain my self-respect as a woman.

DEJA VU

So that's another festive season survived. I always have the most immense sense of relief when it is over, and usually so does my credit card. Remarkably, I did not spend a fortune in the UK as I had anticipated, as I was not near any shops at the right time, and the one afternoon I had free they were mobbed and I ran away to Tesco. However, when the Visa purchases I had made came through translated into Euros, I thought seriously about getting right back on Eurostar. If this exchange rate lasts, I shall be needing a frequent traveller card. I have also been catching up with Christmas TV which my lodger was kind enough to wake up and record while I was away. Hamish Macbeth, the History of Scotland, Rab C Nesbitt ... now I am a great fan of bonny Scotland as you know, but I have to say his range with the remote control is a bit limited.

Paul Merton's retrospective of the work of Morecambe and Wise was a joy. Pure genius. How weird is this though: I had planned to post the Greig's Piano Concerto sketch, and entitle this post with a quote from the sketch, "For another four quid we could have got Edward Heath". This rang a vague bell, so I checked my back catalogue and found that on 4th January 2008 - i.e. exactly one year ago today - I had posted the same clip, with the same title (and the same mistake in the quote).

I think I'm on a loop.

Oh what the hell, it's still funny.

OUT WITH THE OLD

I'm not optimistic about 2009. I feel the financial crisis has hardly shown the tip of its nose yet. It will be not so much a question of make do and mend, as do without altogether. Maybe even sell something.

*Takes long meaningful look in McChe's direction*