Sunday, 7 March 2010

Guilty Pleasures... WESTLIFE!

Rather unshockingly, I was never considered cool at school. Not even a little bit. Nothing changes, you’ll be happy to learn. Rather marvellously, I had quite a thick skin - metaphorically speaking, that is. My complexion has always been winning. Cackle. Anyway, where was I? Oh yes – I was busy self disclosing my status as public dork number one throughout my formative years... In short, coolness simply eluded me on every level. I think I wanted to fit in, but the pull of bad hair cuts, obsessive Madonna tendencies, academic success, terrible clothes and a propensity towards obesity proved too strong. Thus, I remained on the social periphery throughout my time at school. Not that I was particularly bothered. Whenever I was pissed off, I would take to my bedroom and spin some Madge whilst singing into a Mars Bar / Twix / Lion Bar / slice of toast that I would later reward myself with by eating. Happy days, etc.

One thing that my lack of cool has fostered is the freedom to like and love things that most people (probably quite rightly) shy away from. I suppose it’s a bit like having a shame-bypass and it's effing wonderful. I’m willing and able to admire things publically without fear of persecution, witch-hunting and a public outpouring of vitriol and general hatred. Yes, I am talking about loving Westlife…

Yes, they might make music aimed at children / bored middle aged housewives who come over all unnecessary at the multitude of key changes that permeate their music. Yes, they might be as exciting as Songs of Praise: The Movie, but I love them. And I’m not sorry. In fact, someone once compared my physical profile to that of the ugly one – can’t remember his name. Mark is it? You know, the gay one that no one fancies. Yes, him. Pah!

Anyway, I don’t care if I’ve gone down in your estimation as a result of my admission. I don’t care if you whisper behind my back or point and laugh at me in the street or invent a crap joke at my expense where the punch-line references a Westlife song title. Actually, I would like that.

In fact, I am going to put their CD on now and sing into an unwrapped Double Decker chocolate bar, which will act as both a microphone and a Grammy Award. And also a post-performance treat.

See. I am not cool. I am thirty three. I am sad. But I love it. Hurrah. In fact, I am going to play Mandy now and revel in their uncool glory. Loving it longtime. In fact, why don't you join me. Come on, it's cool to be uncool.

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