I got clout mogged

Bomb shelters, Rosalia confessions and dental disturbia

There’s nothing I enjoy more than the First Tuesday in May, waking up to all the horrors of the Met Gala the night before. And this year did not disappoint. From a tyranny missing eyebrows and a rash of men in pussy bows to funny flesh coloured breast plates that looked like the chicken fillets I used to stuff down my bra as a tween, this year might have eclipsed Punk for worst dressed. There was also someone who dressed up as an inflamed gut, a nazi leather daddy (giving more YMCA than Tom of Finland), someone who was farting bubbles, an extra from an Andrew Lloyd Webber production of Cats, a smattering of extra Surrealist-coded limbs, and a couple of highly flammable belly dancers.

Man of the match goes to the guy from Heated Rivarly, whose walk of shame the next day had something of a pantomime quality. I want what he’s having.

What I saw

On Wednesday, I went to see Rosalia play, which was honestly so mind-blowing. Part opera, part ballet, plus a hint of that Y2K kids show Zzzap! it was hard not to fall in love with her. I’d been * slightly * nervous beforehand as they’d ask me to potentially come on stage and be one of her confessions, and the only thing I could think about was that time i was being rather quarrelsome in the bath, when Tom climbed in fully clothed and shoved his finger up my ass and proclaimed he’d found the off button, which would have been quite extreme to admit at the o2 in front of 20, 000 people and then have circulate as a clip online to 20,000 more, but luckily i got clout mogged by Cara Delevingne whose confession was a lot more meaningful and sincere.

I also went to see the Schiaparelli exhibition at the V&A with Substack extraordinaire D. Blaz and learnt about Elsa’s love of lobsters.

What I watched

On Monday evening, I binged-watch Beef on Netflix about two feuding criminal couples. There was one scene in which Carey Mulligan blackmails a medical tourism bookie meets part-time tennis coach into giving her free plastic surgery. Staring at herself in the mirror with marker pen sprawled across her face, she deadpans, “I’m just going to start with the laser. I don’t want to end up looking crazy.” Oh, the lies we tell ourselves.

What I bought

A bomb shelter for the back garden. I had asked for a four-poster bed, but there was something about its corrugated iron roof which had a WW2 quality about it. While it may prove useful given the current geopolitical climate, I’m not sure how much longer it will be staying there. * Clicks returns to sender *

What I read

Matt Starr’s Mouthful, a sick little collection of perverse poems about sex, hunger and bodily obsessions, including one about fellating hot dogs spiked on power drills with his brother. I think he might have had quite a strange childhood. My favourite one is called Family Bonding, which is about the time he and his mum both had depression but only one of them had health insurance and so they split a bottle of SSRIs between them and now are both 50% happier.

What I did

Cancelled pretty much every fitness session I had this week

Tried to talk to Travis Kelce at a bar. It was not welcome.

Drank wine out of a plastic cup

Felt ugly

Ran away from my kids

What I had done

On Tuesday, I watched helplessly as Reuben had 2 teeth pulled out, which was actually an extremely harrowing experience. After having his gums secretly injected (while the numbing cream did its thing), I watched as the dentist twisted each tooth 360 degrees clockwise before plucking each one out, while Reuben stared cheerfully at the ceiling with no sense of what was happening at all. I was so paralysed with fear that all I could do was pet his leg. I later donated £20 to the tooth fairy kitty out of guilt.

Best meal

I actually don’t recall eating this week

Quote of the week

“Having a double-barreled surname used to mean your parents came from good families but now it just means your mother is difficult.” Random person on Twitter.

Random thoughts of the week

I wish I went to school with the boys in Yung Lean’s music video

Is youth culture these days just about livestreams?