hux

The issue isn't if Serena has a right to behave badly or inappropriately. Of course she does. This issue is, are we allowed to make fun of her without being labelled racists, sexists, (and now apparently) parentists? I suspect various cartoonists are already backing away. Oh, and the coach was totally cheating (Guardian). Though apparently he was coaching a woman in the crowd or something.

My statement that he was mocked mercilessly and made globally famous because of his tantrums? Nope. I don't think he does disagree with that statement. Also, the article you linked to includes the words 'but opinion is divided.' I only point this out because you clearly missed it.

When McEnroe had his tantrums people took this piss out of him, mocked him mercilessly (to the extent that his tantrums made him famous globally far more than his tennis ever did). When Serena had hers... we're suddenly seeing articles about sexism, racism, the outrageous hate of cartoons, the innate bigotry of Australia. We're even being told that 'McEnroe never had to put up with this kind of thing.' Sigh.

He's fast becoming one of my favourite writers. In a era of the tedious, the politically correct, the same monotonous voice expressing the same tepid opinions about the world, he's frankly a God.

Underwater Love - Smoke City

Saturday Night - Whigfield

Partners in Crime - Turtle Power

Nena - 99 Red Balloons

Eagle-Eye Cherry - Save Tonight

^I could be wrong but I'm pretty sure Bowie had at least two hits (possibly even three).

Carl Douglas - Kung Fu Fighting

I thought the book was perfectly readable but that's the least I expect from a woman who has a degree in English from Cambridge. But beyond that, it all felt a little too convenient and unrealistic. As someone who grew up on council estates in the West Riding, the world she's describing looked nothing like the world I knew. Which brings me to my own personal irritation regarding the book. It seemed clear to me that the writer knew nothing of working class northern life at all and wrote about an almost mythical land that didn't really exist except in the mind of an educated southern middle class girl. What bothered me about this was the fact that had she written about being a small black boy growing up in Detroit, I suspect the people praising her novel would have had a lot of negative things to say about that. But writing about working class white people apparently means you can happily know nothing of the subject matter and no-one will give a crap. I found a lot of the writing overly flowery and would-be-poetic especially given that we're supposed to believe this is coming from the perspective of a small boy -- though it's later revealed he's 15 which took me by surprise. Why the f*** does he keep calling his father 'daddy'? I know the flash forwards suggests an older Daniel narrating about his younger life but that just makes constant references to daddy even more bizarre. And the fact that Daniel grows up to be a generic homosexual felt utterly pointless and purely done to keep the Guardian reviewers happy. As for her use of words like wandt etc to express the Yorkshire dialect, this made no sense to me either. The 'd' isn't pronounced so what's it doing there? It should be pronounced 'want (wasn't), dint (doesn't), wunt (wouldn't) etc etc so again, I'm not sure why the author is being praised for that. Overall, the book was reasonably enjoyable though ultimately uneven and forgettable. I fear the Booker prize nomination may have done her no favours though.

Ulaanbaatar - because it's the best named city ever and when am I ever gonna get to go to Mongolia?

Just read it. Loved it. It took a while for me to get into it and I wasn't really grabbed until Joyce showed up and it became more than just a constant slew of references to fat asses and being hungover. I struggled a little to get used to the simplicity of the prose (not what I'm used to) and the varied and indiscriminate lengths of each chapter. But yeah, once he met Joyce I was pretty much hooked. I avoided Bukowski for years because every dating profile I ever read always mentioned him as their favourite writer so I came to the conclusion that he was some kind of hipster f**kwit's wet dream. And while I can see why he appeals to post-modern , skinny-jean-wearing Starbucks frequenters, I think he deserves a better reputation than that (admittedly based on this one reading). I will definitely investigate his other work though. Having read the book, I'm further confused about the OP suggesting that expression of sexual attraction to women is "a product of it's time." Really? We can't want to f**k women? Not even in our heads?

Peru - to see Machu Picchu