I had mixed emotions for last week’s royal wedding – that is, when I could be bothered to summon them.
I felt a little sorry for Princess Eugenie who still lives in the dark shadows cast by her mother’s behaviour and never forgiven by the national press.
Then there was the comparison factor to her cousin’s wedding. But that was all offset by reading the wedding of this woman who works in an art gallery cost us, the taxpayers, circa £2 million.
Whether that figure is correct or not, enough is enough when it comes to minor royals.
If they’re not in the top five of income generators for the country, let them pay their own way.
My husband screamed, ‘squash him like a melon’!
Anyone who has watched the Netflix series, GLOW (Gorgeous Ladies of Wrestling) will know that the whole shamboozle is a glorious game of physicality and storytelling and utter and complete nonsense.
So it was with delight that I agreed to go and watch some live action wrestling when it came to Gosport last weekend.
After all, what could be more fun than watching men in small pants playing with one another (as my friend juicily anticipated), given that there’s no actual blood whipping around the arena or danger of losing a tooth?
And it was fun. From start to finish.
The crowd pre-show was hyped to a tee with foam fingers a-waggling and enough popcorn to feed a cinema chain.
And when it started the thumping music to accompany big entrances, the booing and hissing of the ‘baddies’ and wild cheering for the ‘goodies’, raised the temperature in the air to above boiling point.
I honestly had no idea that the people of Gosport could get so super hyped – and that includes my husband who was busy heckling the wrestlers from the start, with my personal favourite, ‘squash him like a melon’.
Of course the heckles don’t actually translate into action as the set-pieces are carefully choreographed to wind up the crowd but cause minimal damage.
That said, the spring off the ropes was pretty hardcore, as was the wrestlers’ need to avoid various pieces of equipment like ventilation fans stuck to the hall’s ceiling when springing from the ropes.
The truly surprising thing though was being so caught up in the crowd, cheerfully screaming – along with 100 or so seven years – ‘you fat b****d’ at the most rotund of those on show.
Led by our apparent ‘local hero’ this offered a glimpse into a world of mob mentality.
I was less enamoured with the decision to bring a young girl on stage to kick a pseudo tied-up man in his testicles as the crowd roared its approval.
All part of the game? Perhaps, but it still made me feel distinctly uneasy.
I shall wrestle with my conscience on that one.
Wife’s leap of faith after such trauma is simply amazing
The amazing woman who survived her husband’s attempts on her life, one with a mangled gas pipe and the other with cutting her parachute cords leaving her to plunge to her expected death, has taken to the skies once more.
Victoria Cilliers braved another parachute jump to raise money for charity. I am so in awe of the strength and determination of this lady.
That she survived the first time, landing in a freshly ploughed field and being light and fit enough to survive is incredible – as is the assistance that she was given in-situ.
But to face it again is supremely impressive. She wore her lucky trainers to do the jump. I wish I had that much confidence in footwear.