Martin, a large and recent colleague: "Peter, your patter with the customers
is really ace. And it exactly suits your appearance and personality." (Martin has a
performance review coming up soon.)
Me: "You mean screaming queen?"
Martin (turning slightly red): "Ha ha."
Me: "But don't let me EVER hear you use such an expression." (Eh
- we don't have much money, but we do see life!)
For more on screaming queens, supermodels, and the rag trade, read Julie
Burchill at her finest.
"Men love you because you have a vagina. They don't give a damn
about the Versace."
Reproduced in full for you, here.
However, it would be wrong if you got the impression that I only like
women writers. Although I've reserved my most lavish praise for Julie, Germaine
and Suzanne, there are one or two men also who can light my literary candle. Jon
Ronson (yeahhhh) was always excellent, but he's now gone***
- maybe having run out of topics for his highly individual treatments. But David
Stafford remains, writing a column called Staffordshire Bull, again in Guardian
Weekend.
Whereas Burchill's unquestionably brilliant work is bursting with fear, anger and
insecurity - the very Judy Garland of hackettes - Stafford always
appears calm, sometimes to the point of drollness. But we know, we understand, how easily
this too can mask a mind of terror.
Read him at his quirky best here.
