A Sticky Situation, A Victory and a Discovery

Madre was going to park the car somewhere that wasn't the drive. I had not been out of the house today, so I decided "Hey, I'm going to go on a minimal road trip!" Only problem? I'd just got out the bath, and was wandering about in my bath robe, slightly soggy.

So, I looked out of the gate - the coast was clear and so I pegged it to the car. It soon transpired that, for whatever reason, Milton Malsor is THE PLACE TO PARK tonight, and there were no good places on our road. So we drove around the block which was all well and good until we found a place just around the corner from the house.

Sod's Law is a bastard indeed. At some point between my getting into the car and us parking, a congregated MASS of Trick or Treaters and their parentfolk had gathered outside my house and were talking to the people across the road. So, naturally I hid behind the wall and hissed at my madre to remain equally out of sight. What does she do? Does she take up the opportunity of some impromptu espionage? Never fear! She marches out, brazen as anything and says hello to them, leaving me no choice but to make swiftly for the house. As decoys go, it was nothing less than disastrous.

I think I managed to pull off the bright-red-bath-robe ghost look quite well, all things considered.

Thank Moses for Halloween - the only night you can safely be a prat without facing life-long harassment from the neighbours.

***

In other news, my padre won the Mensa Scrabble Championships for the first time today! He has entered the tournament for the past few years and always came second, so I'm really proud, even if he did do it by playing words without knowing their definitions...

Well done, Daddio!

***

Also watched Walk The Line today and loved it a little too much - it seems that Joaquin is meant to be pronounced wah-keen, though that makes kein sense whatsoever - and it has caused me to download a fairly absurd amount of Johnny Cash music. :)

Who you gonna call?!

Last night was The Compass' annual Ghost Hunt and it was spectacular. Apart from serving 'Venom' and 'B-positive' (green and red beer respectively) at the bar, there were masses of decoration, including a witch's grotto in the outhouse and much dressing-up revelry! And despite being one of the last teams to register, and therefore having to wait an hour and a half before leaving, we all had a bloody good time, pun intended.

The prize for dressing up goes to Georgie, who dressed up as a devil-blood-and-talcum-vampire creature (see the dashing and utterly terrifying photograph below)...

We played a quite fail game of Uno, followed by a few very fun rounds of Articulate, with some very bizarre and hilarious answers and explanations emerging. (eg. "You eat it and it grows on trees..." "LEAVES!" "NUTS!" "BERRIES!" "CABBAGE!") After which, we returned to The Compass to begin the Ghost Hunting proper.

If you want an accurate image of the scene, think of a bunch of disastrously unsubtle, torch-wielding, fox-barking and slightly overenthusiastic female types wandering about down dark alleys and being jumped out at by randomers in ghostly garb. Apart from answering questions (which I think we managed quite well, considering) we also had to find various items on our travels, including a walnut, a bottle top, sweet wrappers etc. Excellent, as Anna and I had already compared the detritus in the bottom of our bags - pegs, lip gloss, pen lids - as essential ghost hunting equipment.

Afterwards we wandered back for drinks at the pub and to wait for the results. While we did not win - I think we won in terms of catching the ghosts before they caught us, and also a gold star for enthusiasm. :D It was at this point that my good chum Sunshine bought her first ROUND of adulthood which, as we know, is like being christened, just with more Southern Comfort and Cider than holy water.

Hurrah! :D

Y'reight there, duck?

It is amazing how you can drive a few miles up the road from your home and feel almost as though you are in a different country. Yesterday I went on a work outing with my padre to Stoke which, though not very far away, seemed almost to be the heart of the North.

One attribute of the North, as I know it, is the openness of the people - by this, I mean strangers - in talking to people they don't know. As I wandered about through Hanley town centre, pulling together a few birthday gifts for chums, I was accosted by an absurd number of people about various aspects of their lives. Trapped in a lift, a woman began talking to me about retirement, and her ex-husband, another woman entered herself into a chat with me about the sun, and various others made comments so vaguely that I couldn't be sure of whether they were talking to me, or simply keeping themselves company.

While I was taking on the Great Northern Populus, Vati was sitting in a deep, underground cavern of a room, bidding in an auction and buying most of the place. I came back to a delighted, sun-faced father grinning about how cheap he was getting things for, and having entirely forgotten the size of the car we had to fit everything into. I thought I had overspent in town, but he took the entire cake drawer by spending over two grand! However, he assured me he could sell everything for more money.

A very nice lady outbid us on a lot which included (among rather more valuable things) a wade china tea caddy and which, after a short discussion of my tea obsession, she decided to gift to me. :D

Needless to say, getting things into the car was like playing tetris with rather valuable and fragile boxes of china, but we managed, eventually.

After all this, we were on the verge of driving back when:

Dee: Hey, I thought we could go back through Buxton, and see the peaks!

Me: Hey, that's a great idea padre! Let's do it!

Dee: It's a bit dark, we probably won't see anything...

Me: Yeah, let's go! We can imagine the scenery!

Dee: We could do that at home, though.

Me: We wouldn't have the same altitude ambiance!

And so we took a many-hour detour through the winding hills of the Peak District, to Buxton which was on a whole new page of the map, with great music playing and hills occurring in the sunset. It was bloody marvellous!

When we came to Buxton, there was chaos on the roads and police people everywhere, which made it doubly exciting and adventurous, and we decided to pootle on down through Ashbourne, where we stopped at a pie shop. This shop was beautiful and tucked away down some steps in a little alcove of the town, and played host to a very cheerful Eastern European chap, who made a joke about charging us £27 for a double order of our nation's famous dish!

There was also a rather rotund chap who came in after us, all Northern-like, and ordered a double order of fish with a large chips and peas which I couldn't help but suspect were just for him. I could have fit inside him, easily, three times over - and I am not a stick-figure of a woman myself!

On the way home we discussed everything from how brilliant our Desert Island Disks combos were, to religion, politics and the state of the universe ("very large", we concluded). :D

Needless to say, us phoning from Ashbourne in the dead of night to say "Hey, we took an extremely scenic route, madre!" wasn't taken very well, but all in all a smashing day!

Hair is some advice...

This is a fable - that means you should learn from it - told from my experiences of this week. This is what occurred:

On Friday night, after a long and pretty dashed busy week, I was naturally very tired. I was also rather grimey. So, what did I decide to do? Naturally, I didn't want to soil my bed by taking to it before I was clean, so I dived in the bath. It was the perfect excuse to mess about with the cranberry bath bombs from the Quiz victory.

Now, it was all fine and dandy - they worked a treat, and I came out about 3/4 of an hour later practically sparkling (Twishite style) with cleanliness.

THIS, is where things went wrong. Dried myself in a rather hasty and half-asleep fashion, then fell into pajamas and bed. What I didn't take into account, however, was the state of my hair.

My hair is of the consistency that, if left to dry naturally without being thrown about on a pillow through restless sleep as it dries comes out in ringletty curly things, which is all fine and dandy. Indeed, quite recently it had been behaving itself very well indeed. Until now.

Having gone to bed with damp hair, I woke up looking very much like this:

I even had that expression the moment I caught sight of myself in the mirror.

Well, I know what you must be thinking - It's OKAY! You can slather it with serum and brush it into submission. You are gravely mistaken. The addition of a hairbrush turned it into more of an 80s big hair disaster.

I think we can all agree that this is only remotely dashing IN the 80s and not in the 201's when frizz is practically the devil.

No amount of serum, nor mousse, nor hairspray can tame my hiroshima-fuzz hair when it goes this way. Not even washing it again. I am a walking stick of candyfloss.

And this is why, kids, you should never let sleep take you while your hair is still on-the-dry. Avoid it at all costs!

"Cocker was involved in an incident in which he had to fight a bear."

I have had an increasing urge over the past few hours to share with you my love for this man, right here! This (as though anyone couldn't know!) is Jarvis Cocker, who is a long-term love of mine. Why, you ask? Well, to begin with, he has a voice which could melt polar icecaps - it is deep and resonant and lovely. He was also in a fabulous band called Pulp, which I love very much. You're most likely to know their song Common People, which is played tout le temps, tout les places!

Additionally, he appeared (and made worth enduring) the Harry Potter & The Goblet of Fire film as Kirley Duke of the Weird Sisters, and is who I am listening to right now on his radio programme The Sunday Service on Radio 6. I would also like to point out that he is very lovely, and makes me laugh at his silly humour, and is also quite humble, compared to many radio presenting folk. Though he did do a little raunchy introduction to a song when my mother was in the room which, while I am not complaining, was slightly awkward considering.

Also, if I remember rightly, he is a master of crazy dance moves. :D Also, he wears very nineties glasses, and has done since long before David Perham decided to bastardise them.

My only critique is that he now has a beard, which he definitely needs to get rid of. Definitely, definitely.

Have some more pictures of Him:

Here he is back in the nineties with Pulp. :)

And here he decided to dye his eyebrows and beard blue. As y'do...

Finally, when he was touring *in the nineties* he walked into a bear. I'll let him tell you the story...

"I turned a corner and there he was, just staring at me. I knew right then what was going to happen, that it was just me and him, mano y bearo. So I grabbed a gazebo pole from the ground and managed to halt his beary advances by swiping at his face. When he took a few steps back I ran to the bus."

And there you have it. Jarvis is a bear-defeating, pop-singing, sexy-talking, rather amusing chap, who is (as they all seem to be) old enough to be my padre...

In which I say boo to a goose...

Last night I slept a ridiculous amount - 7:30 right through the night - and, as I could have expected, I woke up with a splitting headache. I also woke up early, which meant I managed to blitz most of my recorded telly and some tidying before ten, at which point I began to get a little bored.

So I proposed to mein vati that we all go on a little jaunt down to Delapre Abbey, as I recently sent off an application to volunteer in their delightful little tea room.

The place itself is lovely; sweeping fields, gorgeous wizened old trees and a lake which, unlike that near Six Fields, is as clear as molten glass.

We wandered around the grounds and gardens for the best part of the afternoon, wading through the autumn mud, and being boggled at the burnt-up fishing tent we found by the lakeside before heading over to check out the tea room (where I saw a sneaky Robert Harris book which I covetted but which was not a BookCrossing book, so I could not has). It was small, but cheerful, though they spelled fruit 'friut' on the sign, which we had a little giggle at.

After this, and deciding that our stomachs were much too empty to be sated by potatoes or soup, we meandered over to the Toby Carvery on the way home and had some rather scrummy roasts and cherry bakewells with custard.

Interestingly, got asked for ID on ordering some cider. Now, I was, and have been since I started ordering alcohol with meals in pubs, under the impression that, at 16, you are allowed a glass of cider or wine if under supervision and with a meal. This seems to have changed recently as people have been asking for ID here, there and everywhere when they hadn't been before. Ironic, really, as I am older now than I ever have been, and yet am being ID'd more and more. Boo! Roll on adulthood, I say, roll it on!

We are the stars' tennis balls...

Thursday saw the trip to see the Duchess of Malfi at the Royal with schulefolk. This involved a combination of new experiences, several of which I shall elaborate on, here:

The first of these was being driven by Jess. Jess being the sort of person who, now she has the ability to drive, wants to drive all the time, almost as though simply to prove she can, has been offering lifts left, right and centre over the past few months, but this was the first time I had taken her up on the offer. Luckily she was also picking Ellie up, so the hurdle of her finding her way to my house was easily jumped. Getting to the theatre itself, however, was another kettle of fish.

Now, not being a qualified driver myself, it is probably not my place to say, but I don't think I've ever been driven by someone so inclined to shouting while driving. Some drivers shout abuse from their windows, others tell their passengers to pipe down, some even shout at the radio as they drive, but Jess, Jess shouted at her car, or herself, or both. Though her driving itself was impeccable (this coming from a girl who thought she had broken the thing after stalling twice in as many minutes) the scenario itself was pretty amusing.

The second new occurrence, which made me feel (rightly) like one on the cusp of adulthood, was the opportunity of sidling up to the bar and asking, suave as you like, whether I could please order some drinks to be delivered at the interval. Sure, I didn't request champagne on ice, or a half-crate of cordon blanc, but it felt dashed professional getting a reciept and later coming out of a packed theatre to find my coke, ice and lemon-slice awaiting me. :D

The play itself was pretty darned good. Very religious, very symbolic and quite dramatic to boot! There were bits of Caravaggio painting here and there, and a little group of singers chucking madrigals left right and centre - my favourite of which was the counter-tenor (i.e. practically castrati man) who could sing higher than I've ever seen a man sing in my life. The chaps playing Bosola and Ferdinand were fairly dashing, and ridiculously tall, and the acting was superb, even if they did fluff the occasional like (*cough*Duchess*cough*)

Overall, though, beautiful - I have had Morro Lasso in my head ever since, and now have the really amusing image of Georgie dressed as the pope, as per her plan for my birthday shindig.

Universally Challenged...

This and the next few posts shall summarise the events of the past week.

On Wednesday was the Milton Malsor Quiz and Chips annual event shindig to raise money for the village scout troop. As none of my chums could come along, les parents and I decided to mosey down anyway and head our own team for what lolz it would bring. So we marched on down and settled ourselves at the table, at which point I noticed most of Clan Considine across the room at another table and said hello. :)

Now this whole business was something of an event as, prior to this, we had - all but for the weekly pootle down to The Compass - been mostly strangers to the social world of the Village, shut up in Fort Eames sans front doors and all. This was our (almost) first foray into this world and, without a team of people we knew beside us, it was all a little bit awkward at first. However, the chap who runs the historical society, John, came to join our team and, despite a few awkward moments, things went quite swimmingly.

The highlight, as far as straight questions went was that there was a question concerning a quote I had only read once, a few hours before; I got a bit excited over the coincidence. Also, the dingbats were ridiculous, but fun, although John was trying to work them out very literally, and so failed quite a bit, though we didn't have the heart to tell him.

So, when it came to chips, and they read out the half-way scores, things began to get heated! We were running joint-third with Chez Considine, partly because I had decided to completely forget anything Mr Lomax had ever told me about Native American tribes. D: The fish and chips were lovely (and well needed, after all this!) and we managed to win a couple of cranberry bath-bombs in the raffle. I have since used one, and found it wasn't as bad as the packaging would have us believe!

Many fraught and exciting questions later, it transpired that, far from sticking at third place, we had (somehow...God knows how...) managed to win the thing. :D I may have cheered a little too enthusiastically, and knocked over an almost-empty coke glass.

However, with victory comes great responsibility. We discovered after all the cheerful chocolate giving and things that we now have the job of preparing next years quiz questions. Should be interesting!

Afterwards, being by this time so used to the social situation that I was practically a village socialite, I approached Mike, the question-waller-cum-scout leader and asked if he needed any help organising and running the village cubs and scouts. To my delight, he said something about biting my hand off, and so my return to scouting is now in the works! Intensely excited about this, as I have missed doing it so much since leaving Luton and the slightly-pants Roade explorers. Hurrah, Hurrah!

WE HAVE NO INTELLIGENCE.

This is likely to be brief based on my current level of fatigue and desire to flop into bed for a (long awaited) nap once I am done.

Yesterday was Miss Anna's birthday and I found myself cheerfully invited to drinks and steak and various other adulthood-enjoying revels! It was quite smashing as, although I arrived early enough to observe the boys playing the dullest American Football game known to man, Anna quickly returned with shopping including (if I remember correctly) a butterknife and champagne - both of which she is now entirely legally allowed to buy! :D

Hayley and her boyfriend (Mike... Milo...no, wait, Martin?!) popped over to say hello and have a chat, which was lovely as I had not seen Hayles since I bumped into her at McDonalds many moons ago, though I think Martin quickly became very unsubtly bored at listening to girly chatting and the like.

James, Louie and Jamesy were all planning to go out on the lash (as one might call it) in town - as naturlich it was James' birthday too! However, I think Louie - it's so hard not to spell that the French way, gosh! - went home because he wasn't feeling so fab, healthwise. ANYWAY - there were candles which spelled amazing words including "EEEGNITE" and German words that weren't, and glorious champagne in flutes that were not nose-friendly.

THEN we watched the wonderful TEAM AMERICA: WORLD POLICE and laughed excessively at the croissant pavements, the man spray-painted bronze and the hilarious rollychair man. :D We also ate ADULT crisps, and put Toy Story peas (i.e. the cutest thing ever) on Boobie the cat (i.e. cutest situation ever) thereby exceeding any preconceived ideas we might have had about something being cute. :)

Following which, I became very sleepy (something that going to bed almost as soon as I got in doesn't seem to have cured).

It was absolutely smashing. :) In every way. Even if the millions of various DVD-playing technologies all rejected the DVD for ages.

Tip top! :D xxx

That is all.

Domestic(ated) Goddess (+ Revel-ution)

I come to you fresh from doing housework (I know, I know, take a moment to get your head around this rarest and most inconceivable of concepts!) My bathroom, which had been growing increasingly grimy and shit, is now shimmering and sparkling like the porcelain palace it ought to be! Shelves now organised into nice, sensible compartments, toothpaste HQ free of congealed scum and dust evicted left-right-and-centre!

The only thing stopping the Queen taking up direct residence is the massive hole in the ceiling from the last time I tried to do something to make anywhere outside of my bedroom slightly organised. The bath remains a drop-trap for unwitting mice and spiders, but at least now they will be descending into somewhere more pleasant than the loft from whence they come!

Contrary to the impression I've already seared into this blog, scrubbing toilets has not been the most exciting part of my weekend so far. Last night was the fabulous birthday curry bash for my good chums Anna and Sunshine which involved (far too) much Indian food, peach schnapps with pineapple juice and good, old fashioned fun.

(In absolutely every photo I think I have ever been in, I look quite deranged, so I'll just try to justify this with the fact I'd just eaten something indistinguishable from vomit, am absolutely terrible at applying makeup, and lack sufficient melanin to give my eyes a camera-friendly colour... Also, that is Anna, who has eye-makeup skills which verge on godly and who despite having dashing blonde hair is queen of melanin. She is also capable of posing without looking like she is planning to kill the camera with fire...)

Highlight moments of the evening:

Ebony: Oh, but she's such a suck ass.

Georgie: (taking this quite, quite literally) ...SHE SUCKS ASS?

Anna and Emily's stirring rendition of a Flight of the Conchords Megamix (which quickly descended into 'Everything Comes Down To Poo') - actually, there was something of a turd theme. Georgie's chocolate "Vagina" pudding looked somewhat like a plop itself, and regardless what the conversation was, it always turned around to bottoms.

(Aforementioned pud - blame Anna and Emily's collective dirty mind.)

The Scary pervy men, and the banter with the waiting staff, who seemed to think that "Sterling, mate!" meant "Give me a glass, too, mate!" and who ate ALL the puddings.

My Korma was particularly grey and vomit-esque (especially with the addition of egg-fried rice) in all but flavour, the naan breads were gargantuan, and I think all of us came away feeling that we'd had enough curry to last at least four decades (possibly five).

Then, of course, going back to Sunny's mum's man's house (which he BUILT himself, something that STILL blows every braincell I have) and laughing at the ridiculousness that is 'Deep Blue' or something.

"We gave the sharks huge brains...we didn't expect them to GET SMART." "I CAN'T BELIEVE YOU LET ME LOVE YOU."

And also the horrible yellow-dressed badger woman who only WISHED she could sing, as well as beautiful bacon rolls (what do you get if you push a pig down a hill? &c.) for breakfast in the morning. Excellente!

So, in conclusion, you might say that cleaning the bog was actually the LEAST interesting event of the weekend so far, but you know what they say about leaving the best till last, and letting the poo float to the top. (I told you, EVERYthing comes down to poo.)

To quote Miss Sunshine, "Absolutely Sterling!" :D

Nonsense.

मों < फॉर सम रासों आईटी हस देसिदेद तो ट्रांस्लाते माय ब्लॉग इन्तो Hindi.

Anyway, now THAT little problemski is fixed, let me tell you why I am here. My good chum Sunshine showed me a commentary she wrote (as I have to jump through the old commentary-hoop for uni, so thought it would be handy if I had an idea of what I was talking about...) and we found this rather obscure little mot 'non-sequitur'.

This is wikipedia's spectacular example of aforementioned:

"Q: How many surrealist painters does it take to change a light bulb?
A: Fish."

(Oh, how we laughed!)

I am now able to define absolute nonsense in an excellent and latin-based way- hurrah for that!

I laughed at this far too much.

I also cannot construct sentences this evening. Everything I have written thus far is shit.Shitty shitty shit shit. I am going to give up for now and read Man in the High Castle and think about grammar. I am also going to make angel delight and eat all of it. Screw you, lack of appetite.

And stop using the word 'as' to convey events. Kristos!

Barriers To Civil Rights: A Ballad.

There once was a man called Booker,
Who wondered what civil rights were –
His accomodationist aim,
Led to political fame,
Until some problems began to occur…


Without sufficient organisation,
He put emphasis on education,
“If we want some improvement,
We don’t need a movement,
We should focus upon work preparation.”


Though the white men turned in his favour,
Others trust in him began to waver.
His best chum Du Bois,
Said he “ you won’t get very far,
Through such accepting and conformist behaviour.”


Most black people lacked land and employment,
And had no money to aid life’s enjoyment,
So they formed a committee,
To take on New York City,
And assert their general discontent.


The South weren’t so fond of such sights
As the pressure groups wanting their rights,
The KKK took to lynching,
The Deep South unflinching,
In the Supreme Court, corruption ignites.


Jim Crow’s laws enforced race segregation,
Which depended on state destination,
Southern court collusion,
Prevented black inclusion,
And led to further social degradation.

What ho!

First off, I have a horrid recurring sore throat. It returns at 9pm almost exactly, and endures until about 11am every day. God knows what's up with it.

Anyway, I have spent a large part of this evening reading P.G. Wodehouse stories aloud to myself with great enthusiasm. I have my Bertie Wooster and Jeeves voices PERFECTED, though I also really enjoyed doing a painfully gruff and proper one for the Duke of Chiswick (possibly hence enhanced throat issues...) I have strong opinions on this, and I'm going to throw it out there for the world to see - Wodehousian slang needs a mass revival, what! From now on, I am going to make it my job to include more than simply the occasional expeditionary TALLY HO!

Once I was done with that reading lark, I set to tidying up my bookshelves (which had become disastrous and painful to look at), and in doing so rediscovered my OCD tendencies whenever it comes to tidying anything. I have now got separate (and dashed well tidy!) shelves for my classics, my reading guides, my as of now alphabetised general books, my reference books, my non-fiction garb and, of course, the kiddies series shelf remains! In addition, I now have a rather spiffing audiobook shelf, for all those cassettes I don't have a player for, and such like.

I feel dashed accomplished, I'll have you know. Capital idea, it was, too. :)

Entschuldigung, ich verstehe nur ein bisschen Deutsch!

Not entirely sure if I managed to spell the title right, because German language CDs don't actually tell you how to spell things - damn them! I am, however, learning! :D

In any case, I am here to tell you the story of mine and my dad's venture to Tesco's today.

[In the Fruit Section]

Him: (groping a bag of tomatoes to check their freshitude) What have you got?

Me: Baking Powder, why do I always come back to find you groping something.

Him: ...scrotum?

Me: Go away.

----

[In the Meat Section]

Me: What are your views on sausage?

Him: (as per 'Allo, 'Allo) A lovely, little sosij?

Me: A German one.

Him: Oh.

---

[In the dry-food-reduced-area]

Me: Oh my god, oh my GOD. D: Eugh.

Him: What?

Me: THAT. [points to a defrosted, OPEN packet of suppurating muscle meaty bits]

Him: [PICKS IT UP] What? Wait... is this- OH GOD IT'S LEAKING ON ME.

[collective running away]

---

[In the tea section]

Me: HEY, HEY - THIS.

Him: You don't need any mo-

Me: Look at THIS. It is HAND-ROLLED into PEARLS. It is the Stephen Fry of tea.

---

[On the way out]

Me: [drops a box]

Him: FAIL. [drives the trolley straight into a telephone]

Me: ...you were saying?

Pub-times I

My father has managed, under the influence of a number of very fine ales, to drop the entire microwave full of rice all over the kitchen floor. Only after THIS intense failure, did we discover that my madre also forgot to actually set said rice to cook. Additionally, I have adopted a walnut from the pub, realised that the fact I get served anyway makes the first drink on my 18th meaningless, and eaten a little bit of raw rice.

Now, having scooped up some floor rice, all I can hear is my padre's whistling the batman theme song, and the sound of running water.

Sometimes, IL my family. :)

Getting back into writing so heavily is clearly having a detrimental effect on my work-ethic. But frankly, Mr Shankly, so long as I get the work done on time by SOME means, the writing is more important, and better for my soul.

There is something excellent about being so involved in a plot, knowing the characters reactions better than you know how you, yourself, would react in such a scenario, that the ideas just keep flowing. Nomnomnom.

That said, I do have a painfully expanding mound of artistic expectation piled at the end of my bed awaiting annotation...

I have also downloaded far too many musical soundtracks in the past 24 hours, it is slowly turning my masculine side gay, I am certain.

Joy Unbounded!

Assam tea is basically crack in liquid form. I swear, I am almost in pain with how hyper I am and how excellent everything in my life is right now. It's the weekend, I've just spent the evening writing a couple of really exciting 25PP passages, revisited another old character, Basil, who is one of my utmost favourites, and pranced about in my Lance Corporal jacket saluting various people in my house.

No pub tonight, because my dad's out badmintoning, but I am pretty darned cheerful all the same.

Tally ho! Let there be loud music, more tea and good, old-fashioned revelry! Aha!

The rather enervant situation of being in the mood to write something, with a tinge of tiredness that is just that little bit too prominent for it to be considered wise to actually sally forth and write something.

That, and having Jeeves and Wooster books on the bed, winking up at me enticingly. Sad thing is, whatever I decide to do, something is going to have to wait until tomorrow.

Zut alors et merde ensemble!

Let Them Eat Cake (Excessively!)

Today: the awesomest day in Awesome Land. Aware as I am that 'awesomest' is not a word (and indeed that Awesome Land is an utter fabrication and not a place at all, let alone one full of awesome things), today is a day worthy of defying such logic out of sheer excitementiasm!

For one: woke up in a smashing mood; a rare occasion, especially when the weather outside of a morning suggests a sudden-onset Ice Age. Then I was cheerfully reminded that it was Sunshine's birthday, by a bright spotty box of goodies and the prospect of much cake and merriment flooded my mind!

I was not disappointed. Cakes Galore! I cannot explain adequately the proportion of cake:people that was going on, even as I arrived. This was before Jess brought her own colossal chocolate cake with added cake-shaped-sponge which, amid the marass of cakiness, could very easily have been mistaken for further baked delights!

Highlight of the day, however, was not the cake (though I do suspect the butter-icing in the butter-fly cakes is the reason for my sustained joviality even this late in the evening) but was the present opening! I love presents, for some reason even more when they are for other people, because there is nothing more lovely than watching people getting things they like!

The most intense example of this being the revelation (aptly left till last due to bold letters declaring 'OPEN ME LAST!') of Anna's picture book. Without having a photo of it, I cannot hope to impress upon you the adorableness of said book, which even went so far as to have THREE-DIMENSIONS. The only thing that could top the thing itself was the reaction - tears abound.

For the second time in recent weeks the 'group cry' mentality could be applied. This time, however, it was nothing to do with application stress, or school-based cabin fever. Regardless of being neither giver nor receiver of said book, I was welling up in a serious way.

That takes the cake (not all of it, nobody could possibly take ALL of that) for the most touching moment of the year so far and, perhaps the most hilarious came mere moments afterwards.

If you are aware of Harry Potter, and are aware of Hogwarts School and, and are aware of the grand tradition (though apparently occurring only once for Harry's generation) of The Hogwarts School Song, you will be better able to picture what 'Happy Birthday to You' entailed. Everyone, different pitches and tunes, attempting not to die of laughter whilst singing (at great volume) Sunshine's birthday song. Literal death by laughter, right there.

The only downer was that it had to end so soon - the bell dragging us all in our separate ways to a premature (and frankly poor excuse for a) quiz, and more lessons.

Latin was a laugh (but that is nothing new and ought to be taken as standard), and I managed to get much too involved in an English essay about Carlo. I welled up, for the second time today, that's how involved we are talking about.

All in all, what with a high sugar intake and low stress levels, today was beautiful. :D

Easily amused...

Only my father and I could be amused for the best part of an hour looking through the movie listings on Sky and laughing at their ridiculous descriptions.

"Sagging Beauties Meryl Streep and someone else do something..."

"Shocked to wake up a pregnant virgin, such and such a lady is compelled to bring about the end of the world."

...what sheer hilarity and bollocks. :)

Bookythought II + Confusion.

Whether it was the knowledge that it was written by a student (which gives us all hope!), the Edinburgh -related documentary I watched a few years ago, or my sudden interest in crime novels influenced by Fatherland, I recently found myself reading the first of Ian Rankin's Rebus novels, Knots and Crosses. First off, I was amused by the rivalry between Rebus and Anderson, as it made me think of Anderson from Moffat's Sherlock (whom I believe to be in Conan Doyle's novels, too, though I've not got to him yet!) My limited knowledge of detective-based books has thus far led me to the understanding that it is not a good mystery unless there's an annoying member of the Anderson clan lurking about in the background, making the protagonist's life a little harder.

I thoroughly enjoyed the book - especially the final few chapters when everything tied together in that lovely way a good novel always ought to. While I'd spent the first half, or so, thinking the book to be a bit more shallow than it was, I was delighted when things started to tie together, even if I had had my suspicions who (if not why) the strangler was for a little while.

Anyhow, this led me to thinking about the amusing connections between Sherlock and K&C, including Anderson's excuse of a 'drugs raid' in order to search Sherlock's apartment, which I was reminded of while reading about Jim Stevens' false leads about Rebus. Rebus, not having a 'Watson' of his own (if we ignore Gill) the similarities quickly fail there. Fun to ponder about, but almost definitely the result of teachers reading connections into everything; it's rubbing off on me.

In any case, I am currently in the process of hunting down the second of the series, Hide & Seek - into which, considering the connections made by the first novel (Deacon Brodie), I will happily read Jekyll and Hyde references. "If he be Mr Hyde, I shall be Mr. Seek" &c. I do like things that are based on puns. :D

***

How is it, too, that it's possible to do more work while off sick from college, than while actually there? The amount of time we waste doing very little in the classroom is confusing and concerning - especially with the number of deadlines they expect us to work to.

Back to bed for me now, though,

Tata!