Barry White and white dresses…



A rare (or lately not so rare) moment of boredom at work finds me sitting cross-legged in a big blue chair, scribbling this into a notepad. This sneaky attempt to appear extremely busy and important is foiled by the iPod which is quite obviously plugged into both ears, effectively drowning out the noise of the office around me. Subtlety is my forte, apparently.


So here I am. And like any self-respecting Ally McBeal fan, I’ve got Barry White crooning sexily in my ear. Honestly, it’s unfair that someone who can actually sound like sex could be so… ugly. Guess God was forced to make some sort of tradeoff, otherwise the poor man would’ve been dead by puberty from an overload of fawning females.


Baby oh baby, girl what am I gonna do?

Oh baby sweet baby, my baby, what am I gonna do with you?


I suppress a strong urge to run to our loo and manically perform a John Cage like Barry-inspired dance. I’ve done it before, mind, (after ensuring, of course, that I was alone) and it’s enormously therapeutic. There’s nothing quite like cracking yourself up. Our loo is the best place for it really – no where as classy as the unisex in the TV show but it’s got 3 mirrors each on opposite walls so you’ve got 6 mirrors to watch yourself being a dumbass in. It’s brilliant. Continue reading Barry White and white dresses…