Bifidus Culture - Bollocks

Fuck Off Martine McCutcheon

I appear to have missed the point in time when the most common topic of conversation between female friends became constipation.  Watching television advertisements recently it appears that we should all be suffering from some kind of bowel complaint or at least "feeling bloated".  And then talk about it in front of your friends just before you stick your face in a plate of pasta.

I can't recall ever discussing this subject coming up at a girly-gathering - and if it did it wouldn't be fucking yoghurt that was prescribed by those present.  More likely you'd be told "Get some bloody Guinness down your neck and have a bag of pistachios.  That'll clear you out.  Now shut moaning". 

 

The ad/marketing agencies are making assumptions about what women are talking about.  Handbags?  Solar panels?  Buying nutritionally-crap food in Iceland?  Stain removers?

My social circle is made up of well educated, intelligent and hard working women with some disposable income.  Rather than arriving at a lunch table and announcing "I'm bloated" before sinking into a chair like Gillan McKeith, we're more likely to stagger in and offer: "Sorry I'm late, I had to catch up with Match of the Day because I was out last night shagging that bloke from the kebab shop".  Typical topics of conversation are:

Match of the Day
Would you shag Alan Hansen?
Soccer Saturday
Not going to the gym

How much free alcohol we managed to inveigle from a venue last week
Aiden Turner's arse
The latest brawl you kicked off in a petrol station
Whippets
Shagging.  Not relationships.  Shagging.
Rugby - and in particular why Wales are so shite 

Infuriating parents
How to get pissed in Majestic Wine for free

Dr Who
The scandalous price of fags

Nobody is whipping out blister packs of medication and looking wan.  We're far too busy leching at some passing barman or waiter.  So do us a favour Martine McCutcheon, take your Activia and do one.