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they've taken over my life, I'm a wreck.
Now I come to think about it, it's odd how closely my life has been an echo of Margaret Thatcher's: grew up with a grocer for a parent; respected, resented, and feared by peers in equal measure; don't tend to get much more than for hours of sleep at night; went to a state grammar school; campaign within a party effectively actuating the downfall of a bloated and ineffectual Labour party; have had at least one thread on DiS calling me out... Uncanny, really. (I'm gonna assume Mrs T is partial to verbose lists, semicolons, and Oxford commas, too.
There used to be this guy who regularly shopped with us. Norman was his name. A nice old chap with a sunny demeanour. Used to ride his bike the couple of miles between his house and the shop to do a regular shop for bits. Undertones of hipster, really. Like a rural nineteen nineties East Midlands version of that meme guy who had a photo of him looking like a modern day trendy fella, but in the nineteen twenties. But, yeah, he was alright. We used to let him have stuff on credit (as we did with a few others). No interest charged, obviously. How very Islamic!
This Norman bloke bought a usual mix of groceries. Never really requested anything out of the ordinary. But there was one thing that made him stand out from the crowd (and I reckon you're ahead of me here...): SOAP!
He used to buy several bars a week. Always the same brand (he used to get a little on edge if we had the wrong brand). Almost managed to buy bars totally double figures in some seven day periods. We used to have a right old joke about it in the young Wza household. «What /does/ he do with all that soap?!?! What a character! Maybe he makes soap sculptures! Imagine!»
In reality, Norman probably just had a case of OCD, or something. In which case, that's a mildly sad element to the tale. But there's a chance that Norman was a master alchemist and had achieved what alchemists have been attempting down the centuries and was turning the soap into precious metal (with which he was buying the additional soap?).
Many of you will be reading this wondering what type of soap it was. Wonder no more. It was Camay. Always Camay. Which is pink. What a queer colour for a man to be fixated by!
here's that old photo guy, btw:
Hollyoaks if I turn on Channel 4 News too early in the evenings.
because my sister and my mum watched it, and I didn't have a TV in my room or a computer or anything, so I just sat there.
it was really depressing.
do you watch any soaps?
Michael Moon is the weirdest most incredible character that the show has ever had. You often see him pulling a troll face in the background of scenes he's got nothing to do with. His facial expressions, tone and what he's actually saying never seem to match up appropriately with each other, making him appear either incredibly sarcastic or psychotic. I think he's possibly the writer's attempt to be subversive by adding a Lynch-esq element to what is essentially lowest common denominator drama...or the guy is just the worst actor ever.
The Masoods are also brilliant, though it's a shame Zainab has left, she was brilliant. Also a big fan of Max Branning and Denise Fox.
I hate all the "youth" characters with the exception of Jay. Billy Mitchell is pretty awful nowadays, Sharon is terrible and Phil Mitchell is only good when he's drunk or on crack.
He really is bizarre. One other thing I don't understand is what his accent is supposed to be. I get that the actor is probably not from East London, and I get that the character has meant to have been to university, but the character is also meant to be from Leyton or wherever, and I've heard the actor do a passable mockney accent in something else. So why does he speak in that strange way?
The facial expressions are something else. Even the other characters rip the piss out of them in the storylines now. In any case, he's leaving soon, as is Jack Branning. I'm hoping they bring David Wicks back again as he can act, which is rare for someone on EastEnders.