Journey through space to the Planet Fabulous, where the Ruler of the Universe will see you shortly.

Monday, February 02, 2004

The Tide Is High. And Has Turned. Hooray.

We do apologise that there was no update on Friday – we were out to capture the black heart of pop patchiness, cornering and slaying the three-headed Atomic Kitten in a branch of New Look, Basildon. It was a terrible mess – fake tan everywhere. It looked like we’d pureed Dale Winton.

It was this that reminded us that Atomic Kitten’s legacy is not a collection of songs that will live on forever like the Beatles, or on an equal footing, the Spice Girls. Here is a triumvirate solely responsible for row of day-glo orange shiny legs one witnesses gaggling outside clubs called ‘Creation’. Rows of girls, clad only in a Croydon Overcoat*, all knowing the limited dance moves to ‘The Tide Is High’. Bless them; their leaders are now dead. Who will lead them to triumph, or more correctly, lead them in a rousing chorus of ‘Ooops Upside Your Head’ at the wedding? Not Girls Aloud – we maries have claimed them as our own. Besides, Nicola and co would never dare dress at TopShop. We think.

The battered bodies of the Kittens will now be placed in that storage for all ‘we’re taking a rest’ popstars – The Byrite Store on Oxford Street. This is a shop that has been placed in a time-loop, forever one week from the threatened Closing Down boasted by their placards. It has been for the five years I’ve been living in the capital, and will continue like this eternally. They join Bananarama, Shakespeare’s Sister and Lolly, forever wandering the isles. Just think of it as the pop version of the Ghostbusters ghost container in the basement.

Indeed, you will oft find Cher browsing around the racks at closing time, clad in a public-diverting yashmac. She’s certainly not shopping for overly-stylised yet decidedly affordable items to bolster her ‘StreetCher Named Desire’™ image, no - she actually sleeps in some Tupperware around by the ladies’ parkas up the back in order to keep her looking so youthful. We carbon-dated her at a party the other week for a laugh – she’s now younger than the Roman Empire. And just as powerful, mind.

Ah, it’s not all good news. With the Kittens’ mortal bodies destroyed, their glitter-coated unholy souls do get one last stab at the domination they coveted: hark the hilarious scrabbling for solo careers by the three of them. Just ignore it and it will go away. They can’t harm you.

So. Phase One is complete. We’ve now invited Daniel Bedingfield in for a Byrite suit fitting.

* Croydon Overcoat: a thin sheen of glitter across the shoulders of any Croydon Slappette that seems to keep them perfectly warm as they clatter from the pub to the club on a bitter November eve, arms folded, because they don’t want to pay the coat fee.

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