Showing posts with label Paul McCartney. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Paul McCartney. Show all posts

Friday, 27 May 2011

Nap to it


Afternoons are the worst. There's a point, usually around 3.30, when my eyes are so tired that even Brad and Angelina riding unicycles naked through my office couldn't keep me awake. It doesn't help that I work in an agency with lots of handy little 'screening' rooms, with a comfy couch, lockable door and dimmer switches. The temptation to slope off and catch forty winks is almost unbearable at times, like waving a bacon sandwich at Paul McCartney.

But I'm a professional. So I gulp down a coffee that's as bitter than David Miliband, and try to focus on my work, rather than what the insides of my eyelids might look like. Then again, not everyone's as diligent as me. I used to manage a team of writers, one of whom would regularly disappear to an uninhabited part of our building, kick off his espadrilles and snooze through most of the afternoon. He always argued that it improved his productivity. But the clients who were stuck listening to hold music on a conference call may well have disagreed.

Some cultures firmly believe in the value of a mid-day nap, believing that a well-rested workforce is an effective one. But unless your workplace has an abundance of sofas and quiet spaces, it's tough to find the right place to get a little shut-eye. Wouldn't it be nice if you could just curl up at your desk and kick back? 

That's the thinking that led architecture and design company kawamura-ganjavian to develop the prototype of a new product called The Ostrich Pillow. Vaguely reminiscent of a giant grey scrotum filled with foam, the Ostrich is "a micro environment in which to take a warm and comfortable power nap at ease. It is neither a pillow nor a cushion, nor a bed, nor a garment, but a bit of each at the same time." If you don't mind your colleagues worrying that you're being slowly ingested by a hippo's clopper, this could be the answer to your prayers.

Not recommended for anyone suffering from claustrophobia, the curiously comfortable sleeping device offers users "soothing cave-like interior" that isolates your head and hands. And presumably, its soft fabric lining is ultra absorbent, to soak up any involuntary drooling that may occur whilst you're off in the land of nod.

At present, The Ostrich only exists in prototype form. But given the right level of consumer support, there's no reason why we shouldn't all be able rock up to work someday with one of these babies tossed over our shoulder. Wake me up when they're available in IKEA.

Sunday, 13 December 2009

The winner is...

Now it's Joe's turn to struggle through The Climb. Only he's making it sound easy - which is why he really needs to win this. Simon looks much more interested in this version (he's actually watching it). Here's the choir, and here's the key change. It's all coming together - Hannibal Smith couldn't have planned it better himself.

The judges are falling over themselves to tell Joe how great he was. Cheryl's also doing her amazing voice wobble - nothing gets those voting fingers working like seeing our National Treasure on the verge of tears. She hasn't had much luck in her life, we'd better hit the phones. Oh dear, seeing Joooooooo's sassy old Nan has tipped her over the edge, it's a make-up catastrophe.

Now say 'hello to George Michael who's popped up to do his cheesy Christmas song. He gave it away for free last Christmas (along with his heart), but this year, rather than give it to someone special, he's charging for it. He's singing it very nicely. It's all about Jesus coming to stay - he's probably a better houseguest than the extended family, and less likely to complain that the sprouts are underdone.

The next guest "practically invented pop music". Amadeus?. Elvis? No, it's Sir Paul McCartney. The man who gave us Wonderful Christmas Time. Thanks for that. He's tried to recapture his Beatles look, but would be more at home on the 'men who look like old lesbians' website. Of all the great songs he wrote, he's decided to open with Baby You Can Drive My Car. Now he's doing Live And Let Die. It's better but his voice is wobbling as though his piano stool has been set on vibrate. Someone also needs to have a word with the guitarists, it's not their show.

Lines are closed, ads are finished, shouting lunatics placated. Ten million votes have been counted and the lights are down. Joe's giving prayer-face and Cheryl looks more nervous than he does.

And the winner of the X-Factor is... Cheryl Cole. Oh, and Joe. I'm guessing that those stories about Cheryl leaving the X-Factor may be a smidge premature, don't you? Joe can't stop grinning, but that could just be the teeth. Insincere air kiss between Dannii and Cheryl, but then she's too busy nestling in Simon's burly chassis. Rachel just grabbed Joe's microphone to give him a shout out, but it was all about her.

Now, who's up for a live blog about Susan Boyle? Kidding!