kay scorah.

internexpert.

Not sure if you’re an immigrant or an expat? Take our simple test to find out.

If you’re one of the *232 million people living in a country that you were not born in, then you’re probably wondering where to draw the line between “ex-pat” and “immigrant”. (Unless you are a British person living anywhere overseas, or a French person living in South Kensington, in which case you have never even considered yourself to be anything other than an ex-pat). So we’ve developed a simple 2-minute quiz to help you out.

First, find photographs of the people running the country you’re currently living in. By this we mean politicians, business leaders and media owners. In reverse order.

_90165273_govejohnsonmaycomposite

Now, take a look at our handy skin colour chart, and find **your skin colour.

felix_von_luschan_skin_color_chart

If you are the same colour as, or paler than, the ruling elite in the country you are in, CONGRATULATIONS!! You are an ex-pat.

If your skin is darker than that of the ruling elite then you’re an immigrant.

There are a few exceptions to this rule. If your skin is the same colour as or lighter than the ruling elite, AND you speak or attempt to speak the language of the country you are living in, then I’m afraid you’re an immigrant. Ex-pats know that they do not need to learn other languages because they only ever hold conversations with other expats, and don’t all the locals speak English/French/Dutch/Spanish anyway? (It has come to our attention that some expats do make the mistake of learning how to instruct the staff in the local language. This really isn’t necessary, and in our view is a rather vulgar show of sycophancy or condescension.)

There are also some rare instances (for example if you are an Irish person living in England) where you don’t need to decide whether you are an immigrant or an ex-pat, because most people in the country in which you reside don’t realise that the country you come from doesn’t belong to them.

Next week: Not sure if you’re racist or xenophobic? Maybe you are one of those lucky people who are both! Take our simple test to find out.

(*Daily Mail stat., so who knows what the real figure is.)

(** If you are Donald Trump or a member of the Simpson family, we’re sorry but your skin colour does not appear on this chart. We’re still working on the section for fictional characters.)

Advertisements

“5 Things You Must Do To Make Labour Unelectable”

Our ever popular series, “x things you should y about z”, returns with this insightful piece by Antonia Bleargh. Political Correspondent.

  1. Make sure that you persuade as many people as possible that there is no point whatsoever in voting because you are exactly the same as all the other parties. Did you know that between May 1997 and June 2001 Tony Blair’s government managed to reduce the number of people who could be bothered to vote from 71% to 59%! Yes, a massive 5 MILLION voters turned their backs on the electoral system in just 4 short years. Marvellous achievement!
  1. Don’t make this an indiscriminate cull. Take care to ensure that the people that you alienate most effectively are those who might have been most likely to vote for you. Just look at the sterling work that Labour carried out in this regard amongst young people; 51% of 18-24s voted in 1997 compared to just 37% in 2005. Again, a brilliant vote-losing strategy, precisely executed.
  1. Shake off all those poorly paid, needy types. Middle class lefties are almost impossible to get rid of (give them a couple of decent bottles of cut price Primitivo from Waitrose and they’ll soon forget about illegal wars and such trivia). Instead, focus on getting rid of working class voters by giving peerages to your posh media mates and continuing to keep decent housing unaffordable. New Labour leads the way again; “(Labour) has suffered a cataclysmic decline among working class voters.” John Trickett. May 2015. New Statesman.
  1. Make sure that you squabble amongst yourselves like ferrets in a sack. Bully the boys who dare to be a bit different by giving them girly nicknames like “Alice in Wonderland”.
  1. Remember, it’s more important to be in power than it is to represent the people.

    Antonia Bleargh. Political Correspondent. With apologies to John Tenniel

    Antonia Bleargh. Political Correspondent. With apologies to John Tenniel

The second and final day of this Stark Raving Sane blog.

6 more examples of the miracle by which things sensed are transformed into emotions, which in turn become drops of water which exit through my eyes and down my cheeks.

IMG_0521

  1. I was first told that I couldn’t sing when I was about 3 years old. To this day, 60 years later, every time I start to sing I feel that I am unacceptable, unwanted and ugly. Frankie Armstrong on Radio 4 is talking about the cultural crime of robbing people of their singing voice. . and I am crying my eyes out while making the coffee. Not singing.
  2. A procession of primary school children on a London street. 2 by 2. Holding hands. The full spectrum of skin colours on those soft, small fingers.
  3. An older woman – my age – at Marylebone station greets a younger woman. They hug. My muscles remember that yesterday evening I hugged my son.
  4. The bass line on Marvin Gaye’s “I heard it through the grapevine”
  5. I help my mother with the clasp on her gold necklace.
  6. In class, G stands up, reluctantly, to give his presentation. He always looks at the floor. Never makes eye contact. Until today. Today, for a moment, he looks up, and looks straight at us. And he smiles.

Day 1 of The Stark Raving Sane Blog. Rainbows are OK. As long as they’re all green.

IMG_0517(Yes, I’m the same person that sometimes does the funny blog. But this one isn’t.)

I cry easily.

I used to blush a lot.

At school, I would get into trouble for getting uncontrollable fits of the giggles.

I sometimes lose my temper – lash out, scream.

Sometimes I can’t pick up the phone because I don’t have the courage to speak to people.

Normal people probably don’t cry several times a day.

I do.

Almost every day.

I’m crying as I write about crying. That’s how much of a crier I am.

So, you see, I have strong emotional reactions. So strong that some people say I’m crazy.

So I come up with the usual crazy-person justifications;

What if it’s not me? What if our definition of “sane” is too narrow?

So narrow that we stifle everything brilliant and different in ourselves.

So narrow that even justifiable outrage is silenced.

More drugs sold to keep us all in the middle of the spectrum.

As if we’re banning rainbows, unless they’re all green.

 

Here’s 8 things that made me cry today. I’ll tell you more another day.

  1. I received a sweet note from the man who is afraid that his son doesn’t love him.
  2. A mum with a little boy. She had just picked him up from nursery. He was crying. I heard her say, “Did you think Mummy wasn’t going to come back from work today? I will always come back from work to collect you. Silly sausage!” My dad used to call me sausage.
  3. Tobey reminded me that Sam died 3 years and 6 months ago.
  4. I congratulated someone on starting a big new job. They wrote back, “Oh Kay, how can I ever forget you! I have been building on those bits of training you gave me continuously all these years. You were one of my first and best teachers to help me get to where I am today.”
  5. On the street, I passed by the man who dresses like an elegant pirate every day. As we passed each other he said, “Hello, beautiful crazy lady.”
  6. A man on crutches playing football with his small child.
  7. My cousin cried as she talked about her mum’s death.
  8. A woman on the bus told her kids to be quiet. They weren’t really loud. Just little kids. I smiled at her. She spoke to me softly, “I can’t stand it when people say awful things to them.” She was wearing a headscarf. Her little boy came over and hugged her. He kissed her forehead.

 

 

 

 

 

 

Traditional gender-based workplace dress codes..

“traditional gender-based workplace dress codes [ … ] encourage a sense of professionalism in the workplace”. Teresa May 2011

Here at *Porcito we are 100% behind the Prime Minister, a position we particularly enjoy when she wears those figure-hugging skirts and leather trousers. And we are proud of our people. We want all employees to experience the dignity and confidence that comes with traditional gender-based workplace dress codes. Following today’s press coverage we want to remind our male employees of the guidelines:

Manspreading is obligatory. Any man found sitting with his knees less than 40 cm apart will be sent home without pay. Crossing your legs at work (with the exception of the aggressive ankle-on-the-opposite-knee pose) will lead to immediate dismissal. HR has arranged for lunchtime ballet-barre classes to be provided in the conference room B3 every Monday, Wednesday and Friday for any man struggling with his turnout.

Trousers must be tight enough to clearly show the shape and size of your man-sausage.

The bottom button of your shirt must at all times be left open, so that your hairy lower belly is clearly visible. If you wax your belly hair, or are naturally hairless, ahem, “down there” you MUST have a 6-pack. André’s “Glutes and Abs” classes take place every morning from 7.30 to 8.30 in the park on the corner. (If you are spotted with neither belly hair nor a 6-pack for a period of more than 6 weeks, and you don’t attend André’s class this will be grounds for immediate dismissal).

Bum crack. We understand how difficult it can be for those of you who wear suits to work to expose your bum crack. For this reason we only impose the bum crack rule on maintenance staff as follows:

First, you will be graded on a scale of 1 to 10 by a panel of female staff members. (10 = Ryan Gosling and 1 = Donald Trump).

Having received your grade, you will be required to follow the natural order of things as follows:

8-10: Your choice, you can expose as much or as little of your bum crack as you like. It’s irrelevant, as all we want to do is gaze into your eyes and dream.

5-7: Between 2 and 6 cm of bum crack to be exposed when kneeling or bending

Less than 5: At least 6 cm of bum crack to be exposed at all times.

Finally, if your knuckles do not naturally drag along the ground as you walk around the office you must wear arm extensions, or reduce the length of your legs.

*Not to be confused in any way with Portico “providers of high quality, tailored front and back of house guest services.” whatever that means…

The Jabbermay. (With profound and sincere apologies to Lewis Carroll.)

Twas brillig and the slithy Gove

Did fawn and fondle with the Trump

All mimsy were the Tory droves

(But David Davis got the hump).

 

Beware the Jabbermay, my son!

The pants that shine, the heels that purr

Beware that Doctor Fox, and shun

The furious Andrea.

 

“Seven days! Seven days!” he heard a wailing

And turned to smite the sickening Hunt

But his bike was toppled by the Grayling

And he fell to earth with a startled grunt.

 

And, as he lay there in a daze,

The Jabbermay, in Vera Wang

Came clicking through the Brexit haze

And incoherently she sang,

 

“Thou canst not fell the Jabbermay!

I scoff at ye, O Labour squabblers!

The Trump and I will now make hay

While you spout internecine cobblers.”

 

 

Leytonstoneguide

What not to wear over 60. The ranteuse returns.

It has come to my attention that there are internexperts out there keen to help me to save myself from the utter humiliation of dressing in a manner inappropriate to my advanced years.

According to one of these, “Your main aims are to create stylish, smooth, lines using contemporary clothing styles that flatter your body shape and coloring..”

Strange as it may seem, dear, my main aim is NOT to “create stylish smooth lines using contemporary clothing styles that flatter my body shape and coloring”. Rather, my main aims, in no particular order are a) to smash patriarchy, b) to help develop an alternative to corporate capitalism that enables peace and equality and c) to have witty and charming people enjoy good food and conversation around my dinner table. And, by the way, I believe that the word you were looking for is “colouring”.

Let’s move on to this gem: “Looking at a full-length mirror after 60 is like running a gauntlet filled with emotional traps, irrational comparisons and destructive media messages.”

A gauntlet cannot be “filled”, you twit. The word “gauntlet” used in this context refers to 2 lines of soldiers, not a bloody glove. Poor literacy aside, looking at a full-length mirror after 60 is like, well, looking in a full-length mirror. If you once looked in a full length mirror aged 19 and then didn’t look again until you reached 60, I can imagine that your reflection might come as a bit of a shock. But then I suspect if you’d spent the last 41 years in a place that doesn’t have mirrors you’d have other things on your mind.

Now to these 2 examples, from completely different sources, which give us some insight into the type of person so selflessly giving of their valuable time in order to help those of us who are in real and present danger of committing serious style faux pas:

“(Over 60) ..there is one person in the fashion industry that should be your best friend. ..I’m talking about your tailor.“ and

“The most important thing in my ­wardrobe is my seamstress”.

The latter commentator presumably goes on to say that the most important thing in her kitchen is her cook, and that she has had her carpenter build a simply perfect bijou residence under the sink for her maid.

Unfortunately, my tailor and seamstress appear to have eloped to Narnia through the back of my wardrobe, and thus I find myself pitifully reduced to breaking some of the most fundamental rules of how to dress over 60 (my italics).

La Ranteuse.

WEAR ANKLE BOOTS ONLY WITH TROUSERS. This will ensure that your legs are protected from any unsightly blood splashes resulting from using said ankle boots to kick 7 kinds of shit through anyone who tries to tell you what to wear.

KEEP LEGGINGS FOR THE GYM, and even then, please wear them pulled way down over your head so that the rest of us don’t have to look at your hideous face and neck. We all know that NO-ONE wants to look at the neck of a woman over 60.

STEER CLEAR OF MINI SKIRTS even when worn by other people. In particular, try not to sit next to anyone on the 38 bus who is wearing a mini-skirt.

STICK TO SKINNY BELTS. It doesn’t really matter who is wearing them, but stick to them at all costs. Superglue can be helpful in this regard.

DON’T WEAR T-SHIRTS WITH ANYTHING WRITTEN ON THEM unless the t-shirt says, “don’t you dare fucking tell me what to wear, you supercilious motherfucker.”

DON’T WEAR LEATHER JACKETS unless you are also wearing a motorbike crash helmet so no-one can see your hideous, wrinkled over 60-year-old face and neck. Or wear leggings as advised in point 2.

AVOID BIG JEWELLERY, if tempted to wear your big jewellery, make it easier on yourself by placing it well out of reach, perhaps in a safety deposit box in Hatton Garden. Or not

P.S. There will be an award to the first person to correctly name the chap that should not be illustrating my t-shirt.

 

And now, the end is here…

IMG_1711

The last 3 numbers out of the hat are 2, 4 and 5. I’ll waste no more of your precious time and cover them all in one vicious shake of a rabid lamb’s tail.

“2 THINGS YOU SHOULD NEVER EAT” comes from some CHARLATAN calling himself Dr Jonny. “Doctor” Jonny is the QUINTESSENTIAL internexpert, Like so many internexperts, he is VERY fond of CAPITALS.

This man never writes his name without adding the letters “PhD”, yet neither knows the difference between food and beverage nor the difference between “eat” and “drink”. He has also invented his very own Clever Science Word; “glycermic”. I’m sure he didn’t mean to write glycaemic (or, in US English, glycemic) because, as a PhD, he’d obviously be far to particular about getting things right to do such a silly thing.

Dr Jonny’s 2 things you should never “eat” are French fries and soda. If you don’t speak American (and why should you?) he means chips and fizzy drinks. If I had a penny for every time I’ve taken a knife and fork to a plate of soda……

Joking aside, I was SO relieved to read this. It means that I can continue to eat razor blades and lizard shit whenever I like.

Moving along swiftly to “5 THINGS YOU REALLY DON’T NEED AT HOME.” This is written by someone who “spends her days writing and thinking about decor, food and fashion”, because let’s face it, equality, feminism, climate change and poverty are just too head-hurty for us girls.

Although she obviously has her priorities right in life, she couldn’t be more wrong in her 5 choices. Here’s why: A top sheet is ideal for loosely wrapping several times around the mouth of the person who came to dinner and talked about nothing but decor, food and fashion. It will muffle her inanities and leaves you to converse with your other 10 brilliant and witty guests in relative peace, which is, after all why you bought the 12 piece dinner service in the first place. Thank goodness your real friends have a life and don’t write inane tosh to post on the interwebs (See what I did there? Double irony). Dispose of all the knives that you have in the house before dinner in case the topsheet doesn’t work and you feel moved to silence the internexpert in a more permanent manner. Make sure that you always have exactly matching nightstands and lamps to hand to replace the ones you might have used to beat yourself over the head after trying to explain the difference between food and drink to Dr Jonny. There’s sure to be a specialised cleaning product that gets rid of those pesky bloodstains left on your clothes and furniture after this unfortunate episode.

And finally; 4 THINGS YOU SHOULD KNOW ABOUT YOUR 3rd EYE. (Stop giggling boys, we’re not  talking about that one, even if it is called the pineal gland.)

It had to happen. One of the random subjects led me to an informative, thought-provoking and well-written piece spanning science lifestyle and myth.

What am I to do now?

the end is nigh