I’ve often wondered at lovely Caroline and her idiosyncratic love for Simon Cowell but that’s the thing about love, isn’t it? Thankfully, we don’t all fall for the same person and there’s that blindness thing. Clearly Caroline is so blinded by love she can’t see how high Simon wears his trousers.
But I’ve got a confession to make, and I thought if I came here on a quiet Sunday, and owned up, nobody would really quite notice. Husband said ‘You CAN’T blog about this. You’ll lose all credibility’ and I thought ‘Hmmm, do I have any credibility?’ I think probably not, so it’s quite safe to say out loud. I’m among friends, right?
On Friday evening, feeling a little bit low (loooong lunch the day before) I went and sat down at the television. First I started scrolling through the channels, but at sixty odd channels I soon abandoned this plan to look at the … whatever the Thai version of the Radio Times is.
Oh how my heart leapt at the sight of ‘Music and Lyrics’ starting in five minutes. For any considerably classier than me readers out there, Music and Lyrics is a … frankly a pretty silly movie about an old has been pop star (Hugh Grant) who is given a few days to write a song for a barely adolescent, but nonetheless top of the pops, hit singer. The problem is he does music but not lyrics. While he is trialling a lyricist his manager has introduced him to, Drew Barrymore comes to water his plants. She keeps finishing the end of the lyrics for them. Needless to say, it’s all daft as a brush, but Drew Barrymore is cute and carries baggage which Hugh Grant sorts out and he’s … well, terribly tasty, I think.
Did I catch you out there? Did you read that far? I said I thought Hugh Grant was terribly tasty in that bumbling, charming and very naughty English way that characterises nearly every movie he’s done. And, really I think I’ve suddenly understood Lovely Caroline and her Simon Cowell thing … although seeing Hugh Grant’s and SC’s names in the same paragraph is rather alarming.
And I sat there, watching, laughing and even a bit of blubbing (I was feeling a bit sorry for myself, okay?) thinking 'Oh I do love a bit of romance.' But the weird thing is, I don't in books. In films, yes, romance ahhh (I go a bit fluffy around the edges) but not in books. How strange that is.