Taylor Hicks

Singer/soul man/joker

First fell in love with this gravelly voiced hunk in 2007 when seeing him on American Idol. So joined a fansite and was fast tracked to Moderator status on account of my fabulously well written posts. As a Brit I was in the minority and quickly became known as The English Lady. I cyber- friended a few people and am still in contact with two, Jerry from San Francisco and the Duchess of Michigan the funky ballsy Ms J. I love them both. Have met Jerry and hope one day to share a few beers with the Duchess. I'm glad I fell deeply in love with Taylor because I found two other loves along the way...

Taylor won the 2007 season of A.I. and went on to star in Grease.

Why I fancied him?

Grey hair.
Brown eyes.
Funny.
Husky voice.
Larger gentleman.

Out of 10 for 'I would'
10

Oh Just Tit Bits

Another gorgeous day...

...........I heard it through the grapevine that Tory right wingers have got the pip with Cammo...If this AV referendum goes the wrong way methinks knives will be out...Do hope so...But who is there on the Tory front bench who'd appeal to the masses?

.............I saw an interview with former Labour Home Secretarys John Reid and Alan Johnson. Reid got the gorgeous vote from moi, Johnson needs a few early nights..

............On American Idol the brat called Haley is still in it despite being on the three chairs of death twice. Constantly looking at herself on the tvs, constantly showing fake sadness when a fellow songbird bites it and constantly embarrasses when trying to do the diva thing......Jacob sang "Bridge Over Troubled Water" as if in a trance, his last three way note came from heaven I'm sure.

.........I just had a stroll around the garden and saw many weeds in a corner, I'm tempted to do the business but can't on account of my the snooker and embryonic headache.....

.........Still in a daze from watching "Britain's Got Talent". Had disgusting thoughts whilst oggling the Stephen Hall(53). Your moves were sheer rattlesnake baby. Accom?

............Did a bucket of laundry..............

WINNING ISN'T ENOUGH SAY THE KNOCKERS

Paul Gascoigne was right.

People, so called 'fans' of the England football team DO want us to lose.

Even after winning 3-1 there were still fans and commentators saying it wasn't good enough. Ok, we didn't thrash them them 55-0, but the name of the game is WINNING and we did that. We won. There is no higher achievement than beating the opposition. We do that occasionally. We did it last night. If the men on the pitch intoxicate me with their effortless ball skills then I'd be happy but I'd rather them be as dull as ditch water and WIN. I think the frail hearts of Englishmen can't hack it any more, unless we're 20-0 in front by half time then we've failed! If you can't stand the mud boys get off the pitch. Football is man's game. Er....

I suppose losing makes for better newspaper headlines, makes for red hot phone calls to talk shows and gives the England bashers plenty of ammunition. If we lose then we can all have a go at the lads lacklustre performance and Capello's leadership but for heaven's sake let praise ring out when we WIN! DING DING!!!

Last night we listened to the match whilst shoving the late night lettuce around (John arriving home way past his usual time, blasted trains) and after each England Goal I leapt up because I want my team to WIN. I do not get some kind of sick pleasure out of kicking the England team, even when they play poorly, being a true supporter is like being head over heels in love with a bad'un. You know he/she drives you to despair but you stick with him/her because, for Christ's sake, you love 'em.
You don't support only when they please, you stand alongside them when they fail miserably. That's love folks!

Anyway after getting indigestion (me) we retired to the front room to listen to listen to the rest of the game, and when Mexico slammed one in I shivered. Don't do this to me boys I said, my colourful imagination taking me to places I didn't wish to go. Been there, got the t-shirt, got the war wounds. I didn't need a kicking from another 'little team' who surprised us all by their sweet passes and unbelievable success in the Group of death. Blah blah whatever....

It's true to say that every time, and I've blogged about this before, that every time England get ahead, even by two or three goals, I'm still nervous.
Something ignites the hearts of lowly teams when playing England, don't know what it is, but when the minnows score they take that as a green light to ram a few more in. It didn't happen last night though and so I went to bed with MONTY and slept easily...

This morning I'm thinking about my other current love....

Crystal Bowersox, 24 year old American woman with dreadlocks and imperfect teeth.
You know there are performers, who, without any falsies or whitening or smooth talk manage to make you feel uncomfortable in their presence. She is one such gal.

Her amazing voice is almost too perfect, she's not a Mariah Carey or screamer of that ilk, Bowersox has more than a voice she bleeds when her pipes open.
Watching her singing last week on American Idol, made me wonder what has happened in her young life to enable her to belt so effortlessly.

And then I realized she's just blessed with great vocals and she's poor. And she doesn't give a damn what you or I think. She also has sense of humour borne out of not giving a hoot about regular baths.

Been busking for God knows how long and God knows where, she has a child, has a toothless wild haired old dad who looks like he swears by the bible and just swears. Her exuberant boyfriend looks like her friend as well as the father to her child. I expect they sit on the floor counting money from a cookie jar. Not for long....

If she wins this thing, I hope the money guys don't try to change her. They will of course. It always happens. A cute waitress with a flat chest, bad hair and yeee haaaa country in her blood did well a few years back
and when she appeared on American Idol as a guest she was unrecognizable. Gone was beer swilling po' girl working for 5$ an hour and hello to the augmented wine sipping Sindy doll.

I hope Crystal uses her voice not just to entertain but to hang on to what makes her so beautiful, her dirt.

Rant over.
I'm sitting in a dark blind covered room in my dressing gown wondering about bread and sausage.

I'm also thinking about Sunday 30th May when England play another friendly little team. Japan.
Could be worth a para or two...


Ta ta!

The Queen and Her Princes

They all sing well.
Danny, Adam and Kris are the three men hoping for glory on American Idol. See pic.
And after last weeks performances I know who my money's on. Adam. And although I want to run off with Danny and bear his weight and children, I thought Adam's performance was simply mesmerizing, so magical was his rendition of Whole Lotta Love that it catapulted me from an excited English lady to a leg thrashing uber bitch.
Loved it.

Danny, who I would like to see in a birthday suit, sang like he had a golf ball in his mouth, it was earthy, manly and sexy. His scream at the end had my eyes popping and other parts of my anatomy swelling too, so that pleased me no end. Yes, I adore Danny's big vocals.

Kris, sang. He's somehow managed to creep into the final by edging out rocker kid Allison. Kris to me is a wannabee of the first order, he's competent and good looking but lost his balls in the playground. No, not for me thank you darling.

The judges praised first-on-stage Adam, Simon Cowell bestowing on him a great compliment by suggesting that it was 'all over really'. How must Danny and Kris have felt on hearing that?
They liked Danny, but had reservations about his strangulated scream at the end, I have to admit it was odd, but he laughed it off, like a pro.
Allison, sang a Janis Joplin song and I thought did an excellent job. The American people however thought differently. They kicked her out on her ass. For a seventeen year old she was amazingly confident and had a lovable sense of humour. She'll go far. Only hope she doesn't burn out too soon.


So after this weeks show I will be ecstatic, very happy and over the moon, if super camp Adam and guttural Danny make it to the final.
If Kris messes up my weekend, I'll forget I'm a lady.

Post-Work Thoughts

Beans.
American Idol. Post coming tomorrow.
Lip gloss. Fuchsia pink. Tomorrow for the hell of it.
Fairy cakes. Cute. Silly. Some with silver balls.
Early evening sunshine. So unlike my dismal morning. Brit wev at it's most mercurial.
Rosemary bush needs tinkering with.
Eurovision Song Contest on Saturday. Outrageousness fest.
Guiness. Straight. Not mixed with cider Sweetie.
Adam Lambert. A star is born. To brighten our lives.
Face lifts. Proper one. Sellotape doesn't hold.
Danny Gokey. Wish I was locked in a cupboard with him.
Neck rub. Creaked at three. Hard work is ageing me.
Beans.

Update again

On the menu tonight:
Chicken casserole. My most favourite one. Herby and Winey. Made with chicken breasts.
Talking. About me mostly.
Ice cream. Will have it unadorned.
Looking at ankle. Been bitten by something. Awful red lump has appeared:(
Thinking about American Idol. Checked Adam Lambert on You Tube and saw a demo tape of him. Camp or WHAT? Great performer. Reminiscent of Freddie Mercury and wears just as much make-up. Like him a lot. But also hankering after Danny Gokey. I cannot be pleased!
Where was I? Oh yes something about what I am doing tonight.
After devouring my favourite chicken casserole I expect I'll fall into a dead sleep. Been snuggling down at ridiculously early times, like 9. But my body's needs dictate my actions. So...snoozypops at nineypops it is.

Will no doubt post a piece after seeing American Idol. Only hope I'm not devastated by result type things.

Now breasts.

Pork and The Kid Who Would Be King...

On the Horsehound menu today:
Sweet and Sour Pork. I'll add a few chunks of cucumber, some itsy bitsy slices of pineapple and a wacking great load of carrot and peppers.
Pancake Rolls. From Sainsburys. Decent enough dipped in a bowl of Chilli sauce.
Boiled Noodles. Drained and then tossed in Sesame oil. Not a lot mind you on account of my heart and exorbitant price of aforementioned oil.

To satisfy my one remaining sweet tooth:
A bar of Galaxy chocolate inlaid with almonds and raisins. This is much better than Cadburys Fruit and Nut.
To drink: Water and tea. My innards are delicate and therefore need cleansing by copious amounts of tap water and PG Tips.

Entertainment comes in the form of recorded coverage of American Idol. Where two of my favourites, Adam Lambert who reminds me of a young Elvis, and Danny Cokey who is just nice will be singing their tonsils out doing Motown classics under the smooth supervisory wing of Mr Smoky Robinson.

I so love A.I. it's the bigness and brashness of it I love, the host Mr Ryan Seacrest who will, from now on, be known as Brian Sea Cucumber is as squeaky clean as my kitchen knives and just as sharp. But I don't fancy him. After all that I feel a film is on the cards, probably the one I recorded last night, "The Edge" I think it's called. Anyway it has the divine Anthony Hopkins in, and that's good enough for me. I am not in love with him.


General stuff now.
My hair is looking a bit bouffant. And that is bad because it makes me act like a madam.
I bought a new secondhand jacket yesterday when out with my stitched skull mum. It's short, red and made in Paris and it cost £5. It reminds of the type of jacket Jackie Kennedy might have worn. I will avoid men named John...Ooops!
I have a new job. My second. I will be a Housekeeper to a business man who has a wicked sense of humour and a nice belly. He likes beef, chocolate, First World War poetry, God and money.
I think we'll get on.

That's enough from me.
More Monday.

Idol Sunday

On my agenda for today is watching hours and hours of American Idol. Also on the agenda is the demolishing of a large roasted chicken, won't and can't eat all of it of course because I want some left over for tomorrow. The stuffing accompaniment is good old sage and onion which always goes down well with a calamity of glazed and tinged carrots. Potatoes yes of course, big and brown but not cooked alongside the bird on account of the bird emanating juices and making the aforementioned potatoes go soggy. No the potatoes get a roasting on their own.

For pud, a mandarin trifle in which I've thrown a few sliced green grapes to sassify it, I've gone overboard with the roasted (there's that word again) almonds, nothing looks better than a layer of browned nuts on top of some nice thick cream.
For tea we'll have a chicken sandwich, it'll be an earlyish tea because we've got an earlyish start tomorrow and I don't want to be kept awake by an undigested bird in me stomach.

Like I said earlier I'm watching lots of American Idol later today not only because I love talent shows but because I truly admire Simon Cowell's trousers.

The picture is of me up a ladder some time ago, I was not drunk, just happy. Further pictures of me will be posted on account of my fascination with cameras.