Are you OK?

I happened to find myself at my Doctor’s surgery again last week for another blood pressure check up. The whys and wherefores are of no consequence to this post, because there’s a long rant  story to unfold instead. 

I arrived at my surgery’s reception and waited to speak to the receptionist, but she was on the phone. The receptionist is rather rotund, with blonde curly hair and the huge glasses who looks like cross between Jabba the Hut in a good wig and one of Royson Vasey’s more attractive women. She must be in her 50’s, and I imagine her to have a husband and a family,  but she manages to slump without even trying, and is prone to talking just a little bit too loud, then laughing slowly, but in a patronising way. In short, she’s quite annoying.

Anyway, Mrs Jabba was on the phone, so a lady in a blue cardigan – probably a nurse  -asked me who I was, and said I could take a seat and Mrs Jabba would cross my name off when she got off the phone.  I sat down, and shortly after, I could hear Mrs Jabba speaking slightly too loud saying “Drunken Spaniel? Who is this on that piece of paper, there?” someone was obviously replying, but I couldn’t hear them. Then she said “Oh, they’re waiting are they? Right.” Oh good, thought I. All sorted.

There were one or two individuals in the waiting room, starting the long and tedious task of reading all the posters on the notice boards. I’ve been to the doctors surgery three times in as many months because of my chest infection and cold, so the “Do you have a drink problem?” patient information notices are rather fresh in my mind. I collected a magazine from the selection available. I avoided back-copies of People’s Friend and What Car? and picked up an Autumn 2006 copy of OK! magazine.

I should mention that I’m not really cut out to read women’s magazines. I never buy them, I only ever see them in doctor’s or dentists’ watiting rooms, and they stir hidden anger and frustration from the very depths of my soul. I know that before 30 minutes has passed I will be at best bloody annoyed, and at worst absolutely incensed. I can’t stand ‘celebs’ (like celebrities but you’ve probably never heard of them), I don’t like sentences which consist of shortened words (for example “sis” instead of sister) and I can’t bear the kind of journalism – if you can call it that – which points out the blindingly obvious and thinks I want to know about these people. In short, I’m too intelligent to be reading this trash.

Anyway, the longer I spent reading this magazine, the more insensed I was getting. The particular edition, I felt, should have been called Jordan’s OK magazine, since it was mainly about her. It had some laughable, almost verbatim transcript of a so-called interview with Jordan, aka Katie Price, and her husband Peter Andre, which took up about three double-pages. Each page had a posed picture of the two of them wearing outfits from Topshop and Top Man (Yeah, like they shop there!), which took up the majority of the space so that the poor readership didn’t have to struggle with too many words to read on each page. My favourite quotation was by Jordan herself and went something like this:

“I don’t like people staring at my body. When I’m on holiday, I try to cover up because I hate the attention.”

What the??!!! Why did you buy the huge tits, then?

Anyway, there was more. Her son, Harvey, it seems weighed 7 stone at the time aged 4 years old. Jordan claims she only weighs 8 stone. Firstly, why draw attention to the fact your son is morbidly obese? It only makes you look like an apalling mother! Secondly, there’s no way that girl is only 8 stone. Maybe if you removed her breast implants she is, who knows.

Still, reeling from the ‘interview’ I flicked over to read some hideous ramblings of Kerry ‘the face of Iceland’ Catatonic, or whatever her name is. In OK! she has a double page where she tells you what she thinks about other people. Like I care what her opinion is of someone else’s party-frock! Who is she to judge? Bloody cheek! I did raise a wry smile, though, as she tried to gush all sympathetically over Jade Goody’s failed beauty salon business (It was called ‘Ugly’, apparently. How apt.) To Kerry it was sympathy, but to me reading it in a sarcastic tone of voice it could just as easily been entirely the opposite. But it was no good, I could feel my blood pressure rising anyway.

I looked at the clock. I’d been in the surgery for 40 minutes. Seemed like a very long time! There’s no way I should have been reading the magazine for this long – 10 minutes tops. I went over to Mrs Jabba to ask what was happening.

“You haven’t arrived” she said to me. What kind of a statement was that?!! I explained the circumstances of my arrival, and she said she “could only apologise”.  She didn’t sound like she meant it though.

I went back to my seat, and crossed my fingers the nurse hadn’t gone home yet. I flicked through the last pages of the magazine, and spotted a reader’s photo. It was slightly blurry, but you could make out a double-bed with a white bedspread, and the words “Marry Me?” spelled out in rose petals on it. Draped across the pillows was a woman in her 30s holding a copy of OK! magazine for the photo. The caption explained that Damien had proposed to Linda on their holiday in this romantic way, but they’d spoiled the moment by photographing a magazine cover and sending it off to the editor in the hopes that they could get the picture on the same glossy pages as their heroines Jordan and Kerry.  I fely quite sorry for the happy couple, really. Not only that, the end of the sentence read “and Linda will of course be referring to OK! magazine to get some hints and tips for her big day from her fave celebs!!”

There it was. Fave and celebs. Agggghhhhhhhhhhhhhhh!!!

Funnily enough, my blood pressure was a little bit high when I finally got it checked out by the nurse. I wonder why.

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4 Responses to “Are you OK?”


  1. 1 Booger 15 January 2007 at 9:04 am

    I’d tell you this was my ‘fave’ rant in a long time, but you’d probably lamp me…
    Maybe you’ve just invented some sort of alternative therapy there; you know, you purge your body by reading vacuous interviews and looking over air-brushed photos? Give it a whirl, although it probably won’t help your blood pressure.
    P.S. I happened upon this weeks OK! over the weekend. Not saying my Jordan rant from two weeks ago was right or anything, but one of the headlines read: “Jordan: My Harvey’s in so much pain.” That woman is fucking loathsome.

  2. 2 anotherblogger 15 January 2007 at 11:51 am

    I suspect the vacuous interviews are not nearly as vacuous as some of the readers. I refuse to buy any wimmin’s magazine as I think they do more harm than good. It helps, that they just don’t interest me and I’m appalled to think they represent womankind, but then FHM doesn’t represent men, I guess.

  3. 3 Kevin Charnas 16 January 2007 at 4:10 pm

    “What the??!!! Why did you buy the huge tits, then?”

    – made me laugh out loud…thank you.

    These are the same reasons why I can’t watch the mainstream news here in the States anymore. I don’t give a shit about “celebs” and what they’re wearing, what they’re snorting or who they’re blowing. I wish that they’d actually report news.

  4. 4 Bob 10 February 2007 at 9:08 pm

    Jordan only weighs 8 stone because here tits are filled with helium. Come to think of so is her head.

    It’s a sad world when someone buys a magazine to read about her life!


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