I had originally planned on writing something totally different for my next blog post, but something occurred during my week off meaning I absolutely must write about two other things instead. These two things are:
Not the most obvious pairing unless it is decided that blasting out Drake’s Hotline Bling from a tiny speaker at the other end from where you wee on is the perfect way to time those agonising three minutes.
I love YouTube. As someone who needs to have music playing from when I put my socks on in the morning to when I brush my teeth at night, it was a great companion to me at university before the days of Spotify and after the days I could afford to pay for CDs. A few taps of my keys and Alex Turner’s Northern drawl happily filled my ears, and off I went about my day.
Ah, happy memories.
Now, when I type in ‘Taylor Swift, Love Story’ I am instantly greeted with several babies disjointedly gurgling Baa Baa Black Sheep accompanied by the words ‘trying to get pregnant?’ in a voice with piercingly excellent diction. This has now been going on for as long as I can remember, presumably since my smart device detected that my ovaries were sufficiently ripe enough to need to be reminded on a daily basis that I should become immediately impregnated.
AND I CAN’T EVEN SKIP IT.
Through Mac&Moore we do a lot of work in the media and advertising world and get very excited (because we are geeky like that) about the future of advertising and improving relevancy, cutting the clutter etc. But I feel strongly that I must appeal to ClearBlue and YouTube and say ENOUGH NOW PLEASE STOP THIS MADNESS. Just because you’ve smugly figured out that I am a woman in her mid-twenties does not mean that I am tracking my ovulation … or even know how you track your ovulation … If I so wished to do it. Right now I’ve got more important things to do, like work out the best place to go in London for a Whisky Sour (any tips would be welcomed) and whether I actually suit these Cami-slip-dress-things that are filling the windows of Topshop. It’s very serious business. And don’t even get me started on the irony of the song I was intending on listening to. Don’t worry Swifty, I’m not putting any of the blame on you, you just keep doing your thing.
But you may be wondering why, if this has been going on for forever and a day, why I chose to write/rant about this now? Well I’ll tell you why. I have just come back from a lovely trip to Paris. After a great day of exploring the streets of Montmatre, strolling around the Jardin du Luxembourg and eating my bodyweight in Fromage, I decided that before I went to sleep I needed to watch a video that my friend had been banging on about. This video was called ‘Brazil Dog Dance’ and if you haven’t already seen it I would highly recommend as it can provide excellent new dance move inspiration for Da Club. I fired up YouTube blissfully naïve. I had let my guard down. I’m away, I’m hiding from you Clearblue. But no, tucked away in the depths of Montmatre, out come those gurgling babies. But this time, the over-pronounced words WERE IN FRENCH.
So my question is, if you’re so clever, you’ve got me so figured out, you know exactly what I want and who I am….. WHY DO YOU SUDDENLY THINK I AM FRENCH?
Rant over. I’m going to go and drink a peppermint tea and calm myself down now … I am a hollow reed … Everything flows through me …