Lush Ush-er

When I heard last year that my darling Usher was heading over to this side of the pond in February 2011 I was ecsastic. Oh and by heading over here I mean not like for a holiday or anything, I'm talking about his OMG tour. I attached myself to a computer the minute tickets for his first London o2 Arena date went for sale on Ticketmaster, niftily and vey impatiently keying in my requirements, searching repeatedly for a pair of decent seats but to no avail. Within a matter of moments his date was sold out. Determined to nab Usher tickets, I figured I'd have to resort to another venue like Birmingham, Liverpool or Manchester, even Glasgow or Dublin if need be, so luckily for me he added another London date, for which I had to fight tooth and nail but I got in there - Thursday 3rd February - I'm there baby! Then he added another date. A more convenient one as it was meant to be in my week off. Arrrrgh! And no, that's not pirate talk. So there I was again on Ticketmaster, being nosy when they happened to add another date, right there and then, and unable to resist as better seats kept cropping up, I found myself with another set of tickets. It's okay though right, it's Usher, I could go twice. Except my week off was not that week like I had assumed, it was actually the following week. Arrrrgh! And then he added one final date, like in my real, actual week off. Arrrrgh! By this time I was majorly peeved off with the mighty Usher and his poxy method of adding dates.

So a little about my relationship with Usher before I launch straight into my experience of the concert itself. I'm not an Usher fan, not in the true sense of the word for I don't consider myself a fanatic, nope, not an Usher extremist or an Usher devotee, I simply appreciate the guy in a very mild-mannered form. And it's nothing to do with the fact that he's absolutely delicious and delectable, although that does help a fair bit. He's somebody who musically you can completely bank on, ever since like day one. Fair enough there are plenty whom will beg to differ on this opinion of mine but to me it doesn't get any safer than Usher, I am guaranteed to like anything he does, musically that is, not on the loo or anything. Sure he's a bit of a hoe but dude has an amazing voice, is an amazing dancer, has an amazing sense of style, an amazing body... see a pattern emerging? Yeah I can pretty much go on for a while. Okay, so maybe I am a bit of a fan after all. It's that smile that gets me the most though, them dimples, ah man, they're killing me. You see, I'm quite the sucker for dimples. On a man that is. Dimples on a man are cute and sexy all at the same time. Dimples on a man make me come over all weak. Dimples on a man truly make me melt. Dimples on a man are my kryptonite. I swear, they will be the death of me. Anyway so enough Usher gushing, let's get on with his performance. On stage you filthy folk, not between the sheets.

Usher Round One
Date: Thursday 3rd February 2011
Location: o2 Arena, North Greenwich
Seating: Level One - Block 110, Row X

Got off to a bad start after a Jubilee tube fiasco, something about some selfish passenger deciding to fall ill, resulting in services being suspended exactly where we were heading. I figured it was just somebody who couldn't get hold of Usher tickets and felt 'well if I can't go then neither can anybody else'. Fair enough. To be honest, I'd be exactly the same. We joined forces with some random girls who convinced us to catch a cab with them down to the venue, and then there was some random middle-aged bloke who was practically forcing his spare block A, right-at-the-front ticket on us. Didn't quite have him down as an Usher fan but hey, let's not make presumptions or discriminate, besides there's plenty of Usher to go around. Quite literally.

By the time we finally made it to The o2 I was gagging for a drink, the strong kind. Unfortunately time did not allow us the luxury to hit The Blueroom Bar like we has originally intended to. Damn you, you ill passenger on the tube. I had to make do with drinks from inside the arena which were naturally extortionate but I knew this from the previous times I had been here before anyway, so nothing of a truly shocking nature really. Tinchy Stryder was the support act which I was surprised by, was expecting somebody more important. Sorry Tinchy but it's Usher, he should have a grand opening act. I know this is very unpatriotic of me but I'm not very enthusiatic about British acts, they are not quite as polished as their American counterparts. Tinchy however was alright you know, and I should really be grateful that it wasn't somebody like N'Dubz whom I hate with a passion. And hate is definitely not a strong word in this instance. Oh and Dappy, am not scared of you, what you going to do, verbally abuse and threaten me down the phone?! Anyway, Tinchy was very prompt, he came on exactly at eight like scheduled and did his allocated twenty minutes, can't fault the boy on his punctuality. Same thing cannot be said for the main man himself though. I suppose he was trying to be fashionably late or something - do people still even do that, haven't they outgrown it already? Bit try-hard really. Not saying that I'm always on time, I'm always late actually but not fashionably, more tragically.

So Usher was just slightly taking the piss, I was pretty bored at this stage and almost ready to personally drag him out from his dressing room. The crowd at this point were entertaining themselves with The Mexican Wave, followed by collectively chanting 'Usher' in a bid to make him appear. I was secretly hoping they would start booing so that he would emerge in order to save his reputation. When he finally arrived the audience went wild, and I just breathed a sigh of relief. Usher's talent could not be faulted - his vocals and moves were on top form which was a pretty 'in your face' to everybody who slagged off his 'X-Factor' performance. There was a lot of stripping too which was more than a-okay for me. In fact I spent the entire concert screaming 'take it off, take it off'. And my, what a body he has. I did feel fairly sorry for the blokes in the audience who probably felt a tad uncomfortable and inadequate with all the disrobing but jeez, get over it fellas.

Usher paid a miniscule tribute to Michael. Jackson that is, not Bolton or Bublé because that would have been strange. These glittery shoes appeared on a conveyor belt and there was a cheesy "do I have your permission to fill these shoes?" moment at which point the music of 'Don't Stop 'Til You Get Enough' began and Usher, clad in a very 'Thriller' type red and black leather jacket, displayed some fancy footwork, including the legendary moonwalk. The entire scene was just a taster, a tease even, and left me rather disappointed - I wanted more, more dancing, singing as well please but I suppose his acknowledgement to the King of Pop who was meant to have entertained at The o2 with his 'This Is It' was better than nothing at all. There was also the traditional 'pull a fan on stage' manoeuvre, he ran indecisively back and forth for so long that I was like pick somebody already. Eventually he settled on someone who suspiciously looked very much like one of his dancer chicks. She definitely had been planted in the audience because she was too groomed and in shape to be a regular member of the crowd, and to add to that she was far too confident and all freaky-like when doing her thing to 'Trading Places' - she was grinding all over on top of him with ease, cowgirl style, am thinking any ordinary girl would have been too embarrassed, this looked like it had been rehearsed. Oh and her pants kept falling down for a bit of builder's bum syndrome, which is exactly why I'm not a fan of low-rise bottoms. And I swear when they were done and the next track came on, she was there, on stage, dancing in the background. Not fooled Usher, not fooled.

The guy has a lot of material, and he provided a wide range of it, from old classics to recent hits. Now I'm more into his earlier music, I'm talking 'My Way' and '8701' so I was chuffed when he greeted us with songs from these albums. Although am not sure many younger people around me recognised these very well because they looked somewhat confused and failed to sing along. Something was missing from the concert, I couldn't pinpoint it but maybe it was the atmosphere, I had been to Ne-Yo at Wembley Arena the previous year, and Chris Brown at The o2 the year before that, and the atmosphere had been absolutely electric then. Not saying the crowd were bemused and inattentive but I did seem to be surrounded by a few people who were quite unimpressed - there were a lot of girls who had dragged their boyfriends to the concert despite their protests I expect. I had such a couple sitting right next to me, the girl was enthusiastic and just generally over the moon to be there, she kept tugging at her boyfriend who remained glued to his seat for the most part with a pained expression on his face, he so wanted to be watching the footie at his local pub. Then there was a mixed group of youngsters in front of me, and halfway through one lad whipped out his mobile and proceeded on occupying himself with games on it. That's right, he was playing games on his phone at an Usher concert! How ungrateful! Incidents like that served to dampen my evening because they derailed the atmosphere slightly.

Also, and I really don't want to be negative about Usher but the guy seemed a little bored. I imagine he has done all this several times over during his entertaining life, and that there isn't much scope or diversity involved now but he did look like he was just going through the motions, very much like you would with your job if you hated it, quietly wishing for the working day to be over so you could go home. There was a distinct lack of passion, that specific interaction with the crowd, I don't know, I could be wrong but it was all too rehearsed that it left no room for his personality to shine through. He did manage to come alive, along with every single damn person in the audience (including bloke longing for a pint at the pub), on the finalé number - 'Oh My Gosh' - possibly because he knew he was literally seconds away from the end. Ah Usher, I do apologise if I'm too critical - hey, still, at least you looked good baby.

Usher Round Two
Date: Friday 18th February 2011
Location: o2 Arena, North Greenwich
Seating: Floor - Block B3, Row B

Missed half of Tinchy's set - awwww, what a shame. Don't know why I say that because ickle Tinchy is really not that bad. Bless him. I was half-expecting The Biebster to put in an appearance, what with him being in Town to promote his new flick - yes, the kid now has his own movie, documenting his rise to fame. For the record, there was no sign of him at all. I was thoroughly disappointed. Still, I was in the mood to party due to the copious amount of cocktails I had downed in preparation for Usher. He was late again but the crowd did not seem to mind so much this time around, maybe because it was Friday and many people did not have work the next day. Too bad for the ones who did - oh well.

This is the first time I've had floor seating for any event. The atmosphere here was dynamic, people were real hyper and determined to have a blast, which is not something I could say for some of the ones I spied along the edges. This dude in front of me was very merry if you know what I mean, he kept grabbing strangers, urging them to dance. So floor versus level one, what's the deal? Honestly, I would stick with level one. Floor seating is pretty cramped, the seats are temporary and therefore not as comfortable, not that you are spending much of the evening sitting down but no drink holders folks. Level one seating has drink holders which may seem like such a small amenity but really makes a huge difference guys. Also, with everybody standing up it can be difficult to see all the events unfolding on stage, especially for somebody of a short stature like myself - my vision kept being obstructed by various bopping heads. Level one is graduated so there is no such issue there. It's all about the viewpoint though, floor seating is directly central and so ideal whereas level one is more one-sided. There are pros and cons with both really. You decide.

Usher's routine was pretty much the same really, no variation from what I could recall. His 'pull a fan on stage' routine seemed more genuine on this particular occasion. The girl he selected came across as fazed, unlike the previous one who had been all casual and laid-back. There were no sexy moves from this one, at one point she was even blushing but for the most part she was beaming from side to side, you couldn't wipe that smile off her face. Lucky bitch!

It's rather odd but I preferred round two to round one. Even though I'd already seen the entire thing before, and not so long ago, it was more enjoyable the second time. I don't know whether it was down to the alcohol content rushing through me or the dynamic mood ringing through my section, whatever it was, it was good stuff. Fo' shizzle.

Heavy Reading

Okay, that's enough now, please try to contain your sniggering, I know it's impossible to believe that I would read anything besides Daily Mail online and Heat Magazine but I am actually capable of prolonged text, even though it may initially seem like too huge a commitment for me.

It took an Amazon
recommendation to spark the initial interest in me, fuelled and spurred further by the 'customers who bought this item also bought...', days later I sat there with my three hard-hitting purchases, all non-fiction accounts of Pakistani Mulim women who have suffered from verbal, mental and physical abuse at the hands of their own family, horrifying narratives of assault, rape and forced marriages, all in the warped justification of punishment and honour. These memoirs all share similar settings - parents who have immigrated to England from some remote Pakistani village, who shun and abhor Western culture, refusing to integrate, instead implementing their strict views, ethics and code of conduct into their offspring via fear so that they will not 'shame' or 'dishonour' them.

What really awakens and angers the feminist in me are the double standards and hypocrisy at play here, there being one set of restrictive rules for the female and another set of loose ones for the male. The women in each case have been treated merely as subservient slaves, their sole purpose as a child to serve their family, that is to complete all household chores extensively until they reach what is thought to be a marriageable age, which shockingly ranges from thirteen to sixteen. This is when they are shipped off to their ancestral country under the false pretense of a holiday, and then forced to marry a complete stranger who is usually much older in age and shares identical misogynistic traits, viewing the alliance as a means through which to gain entry into this country. It is astounding that such deception is executed by their own flesh and blood - by parents, or rather monsters, who instead of nurturing and protecting their child are instead the primary ones inflicting all this horrendous pain and suffering - beating them into submission and thrusting them into a paedophilic marriage - such parental figures, such love, such compassion, such humanity.

These young girls are expected to lead a 'modest' lifestyle in traditional attire with Western influences condemned and regarded as sinful. Showing flesh is a heinous crime. Interacting with the opposite sex is forbidden. Such acts are thought to bring disgrace upon the family. Any disobedience is met with brutal violence. The men, or boys, meanwhile are free to come and go as they please, there are no confinements in place for them as they are considered superior to the female, almost worshipped even. These girls have no rights, no freedom, no voice. Life is a mere routine of school, and homely duties as well as being on call to regular family demands, with the former probably being their only escape from the daily grind of drudgery and torture. Yet even here they are social misfits due to the cultural restrictions they suffer. It's rich that their parents have travelled to Western lands in order to take advantage of the opportunities on offer, however at the same time are quick to reject and prohibit their culture, there is no sense of 'when in Rome, do as the Romans do', there is no adaptation, just narrow-mindedness and hostility.

Religion becomes a quick answer or reason for everything when in reality it is rather culture than religion to blame here. It is their culture that enforces such constraints, religion instead becomes an easy scapegoat. For example, the Islamic text actually observes that both men and women should dress in a conservative and demure fashion, so why then are only women expected to cover their hair and hide behind veils? Why are these conditions not in place for men too? Not that there is in fact any mention of having to adorn headscarves, veils or full body robes to begin with. Much of this it seems has been interpreted and enforced by society, and this happens to be the case in all these three memoirs - the holy scriptures become misconstrued and manipulated to suit their oppressive and abusive purpose.

These real-life stories are difficult to stomach at times, with strong depictions of violence and sexual acts but nevertheless make for a gripping and enthralling read, and luckily all conclude with a much deserved happy ending. You cannot help but applaud their courage and bravery, their decision to finally admit that enough is enough, to take the first step of liberation despite all the consequences this would inevitably incur. Unfortunately this is not always the case, many girls who find themselves trapped in these dire situations are unable to escape, and even if they do manage to somehow flee they are hunted down and become victims of honour crimes - their punishment for what is considered defiance, this defiance which is thought to have humiliated and degraded their respective families, culture and society.

As well as being a sign of hope for girls destined similar fates to what these authors have endured, I feel these biographies are adequate research for Social Services and Child Protection who are generally not equipped at dealing with such an alien culture. For instance, if the child eventually plucks up the courage to confide in somebody, that somebody should definitely not assume that talking to the family will prove to be sufficient and beneficial - unfortunately there is no bargaining with people who are so deeply ingrained and brainwashed by their beliefs, and such actions will no doubt further endanger the child in question, not only will they be 'punished' for speaking out but any forced marriage proceedings will be accelerated, it being common that the child just simply disappears. This is your study material you Social Services types, take it and absorb it.

Reading material:

'The Imam's Daughter' - Hannah Shah
'Disgraced' - Saira Ahmed
'Belonging' - Sameem Ali

Funny Business

So it's been a while, I knew I had been neglecting my oh so lovely blog but didn't quite realise to what extent until I actually got back on here, after much difficulty I must add - I managed to actually forget my log in and password, shameful I know but hey, I'm here now and that's all that matters right? I see that it has been almost two months since my last post, and I wish I had some pretty darn great excuse for such disregard, like you know, that I was researching a cure for Aids or educating orphans in Africa or incarcerated for possession but that would be stretching the truth in the sense that if the truth were here in England right this second then I would have succeeded in stretching it all the way to Wonderland. I have struggled to find time to maintain my little baby, what with work, and getting drunk, and much shopping thrown in to fill any possible gaps, all of which I pledge to dissect in intricate detail later. And yes, it's a lame justification because if this were really a newborn then I would have the Social Services on my case but I will strive to be better, I promise.

Russell Peters - I went to see him a couple of weeks ago at the O2 Arena - and it has made me think that I am so totally in the wrong profession. For those who are unaware, Russell Peters is a Canadian stand-up comedian whose material generally pokes fun at different races and cultures. I have seen him many a time on dvd before but this was the first time I saw him live, in fact it was most probably the first time I had seen any sort of comedy show live, not that I hate comedy or anything, it actually forms the majority of my television viewing, well it's a tie between comedy tv shows and reality telly if I am being completely honest, but I have dabbled slightly with stand-up before, not personally silly but as part of an audience at some random comedy pub type place in Piccadilly Circus. It was small and cramped, not at all ideal for a claustrophobic like myself. And this dude, the comedian type, was like a dog without a leash, completely lashing out at various spectators whilst I sat there in the second row, in an unmissable Latin-style red dress, trying to shrink myself, all frozen from the fear that movement may well draw attention to my shy and nervous self. It conclusively took me back to being picked on in them horrid high school maths lessons - maths was never one of my stronger subjects folks. Sorry but I am not the kind of person who can be witty on demand, maybe because I have never been much of a punctual person, witticisms always tend to arrive half an hour later than the occassion. Needless to say I only lasted roughly ten painful minutes, that's like eight minutes since I decided to quit the whole torture session, that's like eight minutes it took to muster up the courage to stand up and walk out, that's like eight minutes too long.

Anyway, so Russell didn't seem quite as daunting because the venue itself is ma-hu-sive, not a chance of being picked on which suited me just fine. And although he was off-the-wall funny (sorry, I know the term 'funny' in conjunction with a comedian is probably quite insulting but my thesaurus is collecting dust at the moment and I don't really want to disturb it), am not really sure whether he was worth the fifty quid ticket for an hour and half show, especially when I have previously paid slightly less to see Chris Brown and Ne-Yo perform (not together guys but they should so do that, they would be raking in the cash) both of whom are far more celebrity and have far more of the entertainment factor, especially when most of his jokes although clever are at the same time fairly predictable, especially when I could have just waited a few weeks and then YouTubed him up!

So there's Chris Brown and Ne-Yo, not together, separately, dancing their little socks off and singing their little hearts out in order to make a living whilst Mr Russell Peters casually saunters on stage, throws about a few recycled jokes and hops off laughing all way to the bank. That's pretty good going for an hour and half's work. And let's not forget that they both had pretty decent opening acts too, ickle Cwissy Brown even had then girlfriend Rihanna make a special appearance (this was about a month before he used her for a human punchbag), who the hell did Russell have? Some dude I have never heard of, I can't even remember his name, don't think I ever even registered his name. Not at all saying that he wasn't funny, yep, it's that word again but c'mon, he weren't no Rihanna.

And to be honest, as much as I like Russell, not love for I don't want Mrs Peters hot on my trail, I have lost a little respect for him. It seemed like he had staged people in the audience that he had a specific repartee in mind for, I refuse to believe that he improvised on the spot, they were most definitely planted as part of his sinister game plan (okay, so he's only trying to make a quick buck not take over the world but still), there is no way he could respond with such clever comments and at such pace, and if he actually did then I do apologise, hats off to him indeed if I actually wore one, that's a hypothetical hats off to him I guess.

I am by no means trying to knock the guy, he is making cheddar the best way he can, that's money not cheese you urban challenged people. However, comedians as entertainers quite frankly have it easy, no gruelling dance routines, no vocal training, no mad gym sessions, you are actually even expected to look fat, it's the norm, sorry, I meant to say overweight/out of shape/chunky/larger than life - you pick whatever takes your fancy. See, if I were a comedian 'fat' would be funny, not politically incorrect. All I am saying is that once I get over my medical condition best known as stage-fright, Russell best watch his back, I got my eye on his job! All it involves is taking the P I double S out of people, and that is quite literally what I do on the regular, even more so after a drink or two, and there I was thinking it was an illness when really it is a talent of some sort that deserves to get paid big bucks.

All in all it was a great evening, and Russell was his usual hilarious, genius self. Whether it was worth fifty quid I am not entirely sure. Maybe it's because we live in a world where every other person is depressed, and where laughter is the best medicine, in which case an hour and half's dosage is proabably a reasonable deal. Although I cannot help thinking that Prozac would probably be cheaper.

Animal magic

I've had quite a bit of an animal fest recently, what with visits to both the London Zoo and the London Sealife Aquarium, which by the way is pretty much like a zoo for fishes.

Yes, I'm really a big kid at heart. I find there's something magical about zoos, it's like stepping into another world, it's not quite Narnia or Neverland or the Land of Oz but it's still pretty neat. Almost exotic. I don't care too much for zebras, giraffes, gorillas and the like, for me it's all about the cuties - penguins, koala bears, lemurs and squirrel monkeys. They are so adorable and fascinating to watch. And no, this doesn't make me a perpetrator of crimes against animals.

Many people believe zoos enforce animal cruelty. C'mon guys, it's no circus. Animals at zoos are not expected to perform, in fact for the most part they just lie around sleeping which does make me think that perhaps they are bored partly because they are enclosed. Or maybe it's just their lavish lifestyle that has accustomed them to this level of laziness. Yes, they are under the microscope so to speak, with curious eyes peering at them and chubby kiddie fingers trying to poke about at them but surely it's as entertaining for them as it is for us? We get to watch animals, they get to watch humans, it's a fair deal really. And just how different is their lifestyle from that of a celebrity who is constantly under the glare and scrutiny of a camera lens? In that retrospective, they are quite similar to these entertainers, but with significantly less of the entertaining and obviously minus the A-list lifestyle. Almost each day they get to be the centre of attention, which many of the egotistical and self-indulgent animals probably thrive on, it's rather like having their own television show. Next they will be dishing out autographs.

Fair enough, they deserve to be out in the wild because that's their natural habitat and all that malarkey but truthfully we all know that they are well fed and cared for at zoos. Spoilt one may even say. They are also protected here, not under threat from other animals who would normally target them outside the security of such a safety net. I know plenty that are firmly anti-zoo would suggest they place me in a cage and see how I feel, and to be honest go for it, I think I would ironically find it rather liberating. I could quite easily do away with my job. I would happily sit in an enclosure with my fellow like-minded creatures, it would be a playground of some sort, and I would be a three-year old again, scrambling around with the others in this mini adventure land, and hey, if you human folk are lucky, I might even flash you a smile.

Animals, in my opinion, have it real easy. Well, the ones in zoos anyway. Ultimately their daily activities quite literally are eating and sleeping. Where's the difficulty in that? Or cruelty for that matter? They are sheltered from the money-driven society we struggle within. For they say 'money is the root of all evil', their world is then the purest. It would be interesting, very Caveman-like, to live in a world where coins and notes did not exist or govern. A much more simple existence with no hint of materialism whatsoever.

I would willingly swap my life with, say, a penguin, a brand spanking new life where emotions are not heavily at play, love is meaningless, relationships are pants, how much heartbreak would you save yourself from? And no having to primp and prune yourself, endless hours in front of the mirror grooming your hair or camouflaging a pimple, no more 'fat days', how great would it be to live in a world where appearance did not matter at all, a world that wasn't so shallow and superficial? I know Mr Darwin believes we evolved from apes, unfortunately I really wish we hadn't evolved at all, I feel we have had nothing to gain from it but hardship and pain, 'ignorance is bliss' after all, and I would rather be that ignorant ape with his straighforward lifestyle, devoid of stress, anxiety and other headaches that plague the average human. It's not a competitve world that the ape belongs to, he can leisurely go about his business, there is no such thing as time because there is no such thing as money. It's like being an infant again, when we were free of these adult-related troubles, and each day consisted of eating, playing and sleeping. Oh to be an infant again. Better still, oh to be an ape again!

So basically what I am trying to say is that I have no sympathy for animals fortunate enough to have made zoos their home, I am quite envious of them actually so there. Those that cry cruelty have obviously not actually sat down and thoroughly thought about the entire situation, if they had, they would have reached the same conclusion I have - animals, those lucky sods. It is those that don't have the pleasure of such an accommodation that I truly feel sorry for, the ones who have to live by the 'survival of the fittest' rule, the ones who find themselves a victim in predator-prey relationships, the ones who have no idea whether they will get a meal tonight or will become a meal tonight.

And for those whom it may concern: I am a vegetarian. Just so you know.

'Le Fantôme de l'Opéra'

.. or, as in plain ol' English, 'The Phantom of the Opera'. Just sounds so much more alluring and exotic in French though, no? Anyway, I finally managed to quit the dilly dallying and dragged my well-proportioned ass down to Her Majesty's Theatre for the popular gothic tragedy. Before I am met with a resounding series of tutting I must iterate that I have not purposely evaded the musical all my goddamn twenty-eight years, if anything it has evaded me. Honestly. So skipping the done to death plot summaries, here is what I took away from the whole shebang:

• If you don't conform to the physical norm you better make sure you have a talent to offer, something that distracts from your imperfections. A bit like how individuals of a larger variety are expected to be comediens. Or failing that, bubbly. Similarly the Phantom, shielding his disfigurement behind a mask, relies heavily on his musical abilities to prove his worthiness and existence. Lesson: being ugly is hard work.
  

• Society is pretentious full stop. The Phantom is mysterious and dangerous, not to mention immensely talented, for there is something very sexy about a man talented in the arts. Raoul on the other hand I find awfully blah. Yeah okay, maybe he is reliable and all that jazz but nevertheless still very blah. Yet Christine 'picks' him. I would like to believe she sincerely loves him however I prefer the idea that Christine is just shallow and superficial. Lesson: being ugly gets you nowhere. Oh and nice guys don't always finish last.
  

• Christine is, mind my language, a prick-tease. She is the puppet-master. She strings both fellas along with her innocent act of being all indecisive and torn. Aww, poor li'l confused Cwissy eh. Oh she's a wily minx that one. There are those that are adamant that she was in fact under the Phantom's hypnotic trance, that she only ever really played the role of a dutiful student to her mentor - hmmm, not buying it. The passionate woman in Christine quite fancied a bit of rough. It's a classic heart versus head dilemma at play here, Christine goes with the latter, and the inner romantic in me desolately weeps. Lesson: bad boys aren't for life, they're just for flings. Oh and for maximum relationship drama be flirty but flighty, don't be afraid to toy with hearts and never give it up so easy. Guys like to chase. Amen.

• The Phantom is in dire need of a relationship coach, a professional who can help him woo his lady love in a more mild fashion. He starts off well, bless him. At first he's captivating and enigmatic but rapidly proceeds to stalkerish and desperate. Dude, like chill, tone down the intensity. He probably would have managed a home-run had he played it a little cool. Also, gals are not that enthusiastic about murderers and abductors Mr Phantom, criminals are scary not sexy. Lesson: guys try not to be too keen or eager in your pursuit of females. Oh and a persistent obsession is by no means romantic, it is pure derangement, in such scenarios please seek psychiatric help.

... and those are the brilliant life lessons I gathered from the epic love triangle. 'The Phantom of the Opera' - not massively politically correct but a great visual guide to the realm of love and relationships - self-help at its finest I say!