Last Night an iPod Cost My Life
I'm not usually somebody that makes sweeping, quasi-chauvinistic generalisations; largely because I am so painfully flawed that for me to make any kind of snap judgment on another person is tantamount to the governments tough new stance on crime being announced by The Joker; utterly hypercritical.
However for the purpose of this weeks musing I must recount something that many women are said to subscribe to; namely making sure before they go out, that they are wearing matching underwear to assuage any embarrassment in the event of being involved in an accident.
Presumably like so many lazy, stereotypical viewpoints there is scarcely any truth to this notion and women are out there liberally wearing teeny-weeny yellow polka-dot bikinis along with crimson red C & A brassieres without the least bit of shame.
Nevertheless I could never understand the thought process behind these sentiments; surely anybody arriving at the scene of an accident would act professionally and without prejudice; not morph into Trinny or Susannah, take one look at the victims mangled body and begin hurling appalling abuse at them for wearing Bewise pants.
Recently though I have started to suffer a similar crisis of confidence; last year I misguidedly took up jogging and despite looking not too dissimilar to one of those running zombies in 28 Days Later, have kept it up.
Each day I go out battling with my own ineptitude and nagging sense of futility with only my iPod for company; and therein lies my dilemma.
Just picture for a moment, without enjoying it too much, me suffering a mild dizzy spell in the midst of a run and requiring some medical assistance.
Luckily a gentleman is nearby, he's a proper bloke, a salt-of-the-earth type, slightly bigoted but more than happy to help an obvious sad act like me.
He comes over, makes me comfortable and checks I haven't died.
He then notices my iPod lying on the ground next to me.
Imagine my humiliation when he glances upon it and realises that on my very manly work-out session I was listening to 'Something About The Way You Look Tonight' by Elton John.
Now I know those same fears that women have with their underwear.
This has now become a veritable minefield of discomfiture; for every hip song I have on my iPod, there is a guilty pleasure; for every 'Love Will Tear Us Apart' there is a 'Go West', the whole thing has become a dreadful musical equivalent of Russian Roulette.
It's not that they are all necessarily bad songs, just not what I would want to be discovered listening to at the scene of an accident.
Because trust me friends, if I was found to be listening to Razorlight's erstwhile rendition of 'America' at the moment of my death, my funeral would be all the more tragic.
I consider this to be such a potentially damaging issue whilst I'm out jogging that I have been practicing a ninja-like manoeuvre in which, as I feel that sudden excruciating pain rushing to my heart and my legs start to buckle underneath and the darkness starts to settle over my mind, I use my last ounce of strength to simultaneously wrench my iPod from my pocket and heave it into a nearby bush thus saving me the embarrassment of being found by a tattooed Judas Priest-loving paramedic, listening to Abba's 'The Visitors'.
We all seemingly amble around with earphones constantly protruding from our lugholes and I know I'm not the only one who feels awkward with some of their more questionable choices of song; so who amongst you is willing to confess; which of you guiltily walks past strangers in the street and in that briefest of moments as your eyes meet, you hopelessly wonder if they know you are marching along to the sound of 'Rock Me Amadeus'.
I know you do.
Yes YOU! 10/06/10
However for the purpose of this weeks musing I must recount something that many women are said to subscribe to; namely making sure before they go out, that they are wearing matching underwear to assuage any embarrassment in the event of being involved in an accident.
Presumably like so many lazy, stereotypical viewpoints there is scarcely any truth to this notion and women are out there liberally wearing teeny-weeny yellow polka-dot bikinis along with crimson red C & A brassieres without the least bit of shame.
Nevertheless I could never understand the thought process behind these sentiments; surely anybody arriving at the scene of an accident would act professionally and without prejudice; not morph into Trinny or Susannah, take one look at the victims mangled body and begin hurling appalling abuse at them for wearing Bewise pants.
Recently though I have started to suffer a similar crisis of confidence; last year I misguidedly took up jogging and despite looking not too dissimilar to one of those running zombies in 28 Days Later, have kept it up.
Each day I go out battling with my own ineptitude and nagging sense of futility with only my iPod for company; and therein lies my dilemma.
Just picture for a moment, without enjoying it too much, me suffering a mild dizzy spell in the midst of a run and requiring some medical assistance.
Luckily a gentleman is nearby, he's a proper bloke, a salt-of-the-earth type, slightly bigoted but more than happy to help an obvious sad act like me.
He comes over, makes me comfortable and checks I haven't died.
He then notices my iPod lying on the ground next to me.
Imagine my humiliation when he glances upon it and realises that on my very manly work-out session I was listening to 'Something About The Way You Look Tonight' by Elton John.
Now I know those same fears that women have with their underwear.
This has now become a veritable minefield of discomfiture; for every hip song I have on my iPod, there is a guilty pleasure; for every 'Love Will Tear Us Apart' there is a 'Go West', the whole thing has become a dreadful musical equivalent of Russian Roulette.
It's not that they are all necessarily bad songs, just not what I would want to be discovered listening to at the scene of an accident.
Because trust me friends, if I was found to be listening to Razorlight's erstwhile rendition of 'America' at the moment of my death, my funeral would be all the more tragic.
I consider this to be such a potentially damaging issue whilst I'm out jogging that I have been practicing a ninja-like manoeuvre in which, as I feel that sudden excruciating pain rushing to my heart and my legs start to buckle underneath and the darkness starts to settle over my mind, I use my last ounce of strength to simultaneously wrench my iPod from my pocket and heave it into a nearby bush thus saving me the embarrassment of being found by a tattooed Judas Priest-loving paramedic, listening to Abba's 'The Visitors'.
We all seemingly amble around with earphones constantly protruding from our lugholes and I know I'm not the only one who feels awkward with some of their more questionable choices of song; so who amongst you is willing to confess; which of you guiltily walks past strangers in the street and in that briefest of moments as your eyes meet, you hopelessly wonder if they know you are marching along to the sound of 'Rock Me Amadeus'.
I know you do.
Yes YOU! 10/06/10
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