You're Born And Then ...

... You Die. No, don't worry dear readers, I'm not dead. I know this for two reasons: 1. I'm breathing and 2. I'm writing this. So who or what am I writing about? Well, I'm writing about this 'ere blog.

I've decided to end YBATYD. I've really enjoyed putting my thoughts, observations and even the odd, amusing comment down 'on paper' for the world to enjoy. However, I feel that now is a good time to call it a day. I began YBATYD on December 31st 2005 and really didn't expect it to last more than a week, so it's been a pleasant surprise to see that it has lasted for 212 posts and 17 months.

Thank you to everyone who has posted comments and given feedback - there's a great deal of wit and humour out there! So thank you again to all of you.

Finally, let's not see this as a loss to the Tinterweb. I just like to think of it as making a bit of space available for someone else to have a go. Seems fair doesn't it?

I hope you enjoyed the read. Feel free to delve into the old posts and comments when you feel the urge - I'm sure I will! And now, as they say in France:

See ya.

A quickie

I've had a very long and tiring day so this is a very quick post. The posh do was very posh and the booze was fine and varied. Suffice to say, I didn't look like Fred Astaire at the end but I wasn't drunk, just mildly knackered. Right now however, I'm strongly knackered so I'll tell you about the posh do tomorrow.

Knackered or not.

Do men miss out on fashion?

I've got to go to a posh 'do' this week which requires me to dress according to the dress code known as 'a black-tie event'. Now when you say that, it immediately tells you that the blokes need to wear a very smart suit, which in reality needs to be a dinner jacket (or tuxedo if you must), whilst the ladies need to wear a very smart black outfit. And there's the thing. The fellas, essentially, get a choice of a suit. The ladies get a choice of dresses with various styles, materials and accessories.

However, when you don't have the heavy constraints of a 'black-tie event', the differences become even more obvious. Sure, the chaps have a good choice of trousers, shirts, t-shirts, jackets and even shoes, boots and trainers. Yet, when you cast your beady little peepers across the massive range and variety of clothing available to women, the meagre selection on offer to the men just pales into insignificance. As a woman you can choose from dresses, skirts, trousers, shirts, blouses, camisole thingies,floaty bits and ... well just loads more than the lads can. Not to mention the myriad choice of jewellery that's on offer.

I argued this point with some women at work today. This was an eror. Surprisingly, some of them totally disagreed with me, saying that there was just as much choice and variety for men as women. What? Anyway, things soon became ugly and so I retreated from the verbal melee that I had created, safe in the knowledge that I was right. Mind you, there is one big advantage in having less choice. Fewer decisions about what to wear. So in fact, blokes are probably not really missing out on fashion at all. Rather we just have less to worry about.

However, if you're a transvestite ...

Eurovision - flying the flag

A poor quality video to reflect the poor quality of Eurovision. Which is what makes it so great. Although all the bloody Eastern bloc countries voted for each other and somehow a truly crap song, sung by a sort of female Ronnie Corbett managed to win. Our boys and girls finished a magnificent second from bottom but at least the vast array of Euro-food and booze was worth it all.

What the hell is 'halva' anyway?

Welcome back - me!

Hello again my lovely readers. I'm now back, as promised, after a short blog-break. We're off to a fabulous Eurovision party tonight. Now if you live outside Europe, you may have no idea what 'Eurovision' is. Well, briefly, it's a pan-European song contest which has been televised since it started way back in 1956.

The joy of Eurovision is the wonderful array of truly abysmal performers who have trod the Euro-glory path over the decades. True, the competition has actually spawned some very decent musical talent such as Dana (not the tranny from Israel - the Irish lass); Bucks Fizz and of course, Abba who won the contest in 1974.

Eurovision is a sort of national treasure. People love it because of its often terrible production values, appalling music and never-ending points-awarding section which used to last for hours. Sadly though, things have become a bit more professional in recent years and the scoring system has been rather curtailed which has detracted from the joy somewhat. However, there still promises to be a few gems of aural horror tonight. As it's a special Eurovision party we're going to, we had to pick a number which determined what country we get to support. We got Bosnia Herzegovina.

Yay.

Intermission

Hello my (remaining?) readers. I'm having a teeny intermission in my blogging for a few days. Er, oh, I appear to have already done that ny not posting since Tuesday. Anyway, I am a tad busy in the real world for a few days so rather than have you calling the Police/Interpol/FBI or your nearest vet, you can rest assured that I haven't fallen over the edge of the planet.

So enjoy you rest from reading YBATYD and try hunting the Net for some really interesting stuff. In fact, if anyone has a favourite website (not 'Israeli Lolitas.com' or 'Ceramic Ponies.org') that you like to tell me about then please feel free to leave a comment or email me at bornthendie@mac.com.

I have left the building.

Promoted!

I was obviously so excited about this news that I forgot to write about it. Well, as mentioned previously, Birmingham's chance of promotion to the Premiership was in the balance on Sunday. Well ... thank you Crystal Palace. Oh yeah. They beat Derby 2-0 which meant that the Blues (along with Sunderland) were automatically promoted into the most famous league in the world. No not the West Arbroath Ladies' Under 9's - The Premier League of course.

So it was joy unbounded. My dear chum who is a Derby fan even rang me to tell me the news. It was weird because my wife and I and some friends were just returning from a 7 mile stroll through the countryside (is 7 miles actually a stroll?) enjoying much humorous chit chat, including discussing our favourite toilet roll of choice. Anyway, all of this meant that I totally forgot about the drama which was unfolding down in The Big Smoke. So it was a very pleasant surprise when my phone rang and I heard the news which meant that the Blues are back in the big time. How exciting! I wonder what next season will bring?

Relegation probably.