For those tip-of-the-tongue moments when you're surfing the Zeitgeist but can't quite remember where you are, here is malapropism for the 21st-century. Compiled by Christopher Norris. All views expressed are my own
Other than tasteless publicity on a sad anniversary, the Fund should use unofficial channels to explore ways of shutting down the trade. A trademark infringement case, should it go wrong, would simply open the floodgates to products seeking their main chance.
Fans of Notting Hill the movie would be forgiven in thinking the avoid was devoid of black culture. The film, however, was an airbrushed version of the vibrant reality. Not so much Hugh Grant as Eddy Grant; not Julia Roberts, more Robert Nesta Marley, universally known as Bob.
At Notting Hill Carnival time, the ethnic diversity of the area is celebrated with music, costume, Caribbean food and joie de vivre (not to mention truckloads of Red Stripe lager). The floats started their parade at around noon, and the crowds promised had not reached bone-crushing, pickpocket-cruising levels at the time. The volume of the music was less ear-splitting than feared (maybe Kensington and Chelsea borough council whispered in the organisers' shell-like ear, after last year's sound systems would have given a Jumbo jet a run for its money). The food was reasonably priced (jerk chicken and a beef pattie for £6.50). And there were surprising pockets of calm, with jewellery stalls, face-painting opportunities, and vuvuzela sellers dotted around.
The police were everywhere without being obtrusive. I only saw one cannabis dealer and one guy offering laughing gas to an unsuspecting public, both plying their wares at a mobile disco where nubile young things were writhing to the ragga on the back of a specially customised lorry.
All in all, a joyous day, wrapped up with a warming-down walk through Kensington Gardens and a read of the paper next to the Serpentine.
'How can you tell me you're lonely And say, for you, that the sun don't shine Let me take you by the hand And lead you through the streets of London I'll show you something to make you change your mind'
Ralph McTell might have been singing about isolation in the big city, but Hookedblog.co.uk's blogger and street sherpa, Mark, took a group of individuals at a loose end last Sunday on a tour around the ever-changing surfaces of parts of Islington, Hackney and Tower Hamlets.
This urban jungle safari brought out an abundance of sightings of work by the likes of Roa, Invader, Eine, D*face and the Toasters: many of which would be missed by the untrained eye. Mark's tracker skills in the wilder streets proved invaluable. Everyone caught the moments with their cameras, while trophy hunters were discouraged.
And were the walk to be repeated in a few weeks time, the images captured would be different; shifted by the passage of time, the councils' clean-up teams, gallery commissions, opportunistic collectors and street-art politics.
Is there any scheme that can be said to be a perfect crime? The Graff Diamonds heist might have seemed perfect to the perpetrators, but it ended up being close without the proverbial cigar for the sharp end of the operation.
The criminals forgot that using theatrical make-up needed professional application. The expert who changed the robbers appearance simply went to the police, given the unusual nature of the crime.
The robbers did, however, nab £40 million in jewellery that may never be recovered. The twisted moral of the story is that if you are going to rob a jewellers' store, make sure you get other people to carry out the raid. If they get nicked, you can be out of the country with the booty.
Conservationists in Guatemala have built of the findings on scientists at Bronx Zoo in New York City, who experimented with 23 different scents to attract the animals to camera traps. The outright winner was Calvin Klein's 'Obsession for men': the musky scent grabbed the jaguars' attention for 11.1 minutes on average.
In the wild, the scent is proving hotter than catnip. Male and female jaguars rubbed their cheeks on rags sprayed with the cologne fulfilling the hope that images of the creatures could be captured by heat- and motion-sensitive cameras. Little-seen behaviours, including mating rituals, have been captured on film.
If the marketeers at Calvin Klein have any sense, it should be a no-brainer to revamp their 'Obsession for men' ads with images of jaguars and other big cats along with a slogan like 'Bring out your wild side with ...'
What it the boot was on the other foot? Padded jockstraps for 8-year-old, t-shirts with slogans like Future Pimp, and home gyms for toddlers to hone their six-packs? I think not.
And thank goodness the stereotypes haven't veered into race relations.
There will always be a market for tacky, insensitive merchandise. Sometimes the public needs to be protected against itself.
This sets up an interesting cultural experiment: the degree to which a networked audience of fans will allow someone famous to fade into the background at the peak of her fame. Miss Allen's fashion ideas may well be successful, but it will be hard to escape her singing career.
The scenario contrasts in interesting ways with Sandie Shaw, the sixties singer who gave up the limelight to became a successful psychoanalyst. Given that the tabloid media is a lot more tenacious than 40-odd years ago, it will be a test of how invisible people allow former performers to become.
Good luck to Lily, though. I hope her change of direction makes her happy. Perhaps it's time to take a breather when politicians start referencing you ... but will she give up tweeting once her life gets a bit less 24/7?
Perhaps fashion won't blink an eyelid after all? Alexander McQueen's signature items were being snapped up from shops like Liberty like there was no tomorrow. The press seem to think his brand may die with him, though, but what do journalists know about anything to do with the future? Perhaps there's a young British designer itching to step into his Jimmy Choo's.
Something's afoot in the world of fashion. Creativity seems to be being squeezed out of the industry in different ways, the monster craving evermore exotic theatricality.
Brilliant designers are quitting the scene, some permanently like Alexander McQueen and some temporarily such as Tom Ford. Supermodels don't have the same buzz as in rosier economic times. And Primark is booming while catwalk culture becomes the preserve of the megarich and famous, no longer an aspiration to buy designer stuff as the cheap knock-offs are so much more affordable and have a kind of reverse glamour.
Everything's retro when there's nothing left to say. We're having revivals of revivals at an ever accelerating pace.
So, whither fashion now? Perhaps it needs to go back to the drawing-board and prepare us for a post-industrial future. What will we be wearing when the climate changes? How will we be clad in the new blazing summers and freezing winters? When will Primark launch their own fashion label ... and be taken seriously by the industry?
by Daina Taimina (see also earlier post, 
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