Resolutions - and how they don't always fail.

Finishing a book is a very strange, unique feeling. An oxymoronic groan in the pit of the stomach; delight in knowing the whole story, despair in having to leave the universe which, through the pages, has become three-dimensional, real in your mind. I get this a lot with books. The number of novels I finish with the decision 'I must read that again' are inumerable, and it is only very rarely that I get the time to do just that.

I promised myself, as something of an End of Year Challenge, that I would finish Year of the King before 2011 arrives, and have just managed it, with one hour and 40 minutes to spare. I am glad to say, though, that I have not rushed it - the book is compelling enough in itself - but have taken it in my own time.

This shows progress. Some time last year (that is, 2009, still) I resolutely decided to take up reading on an industrial scale. This decision wasn't as clinical and emotionless as it sounds, as I don't believe it's possible to force yourself to read things you don't want to - or, indeed, to read for the sake of reading. It was something I had considered for a while:

Having always had myself down as a very slow reader (the first proper novel I remember reading cover-to-cover, without audiobook cheating, was Harry Potter and the Philosopher's Stone, which took me three trudging but enjoyable weeks, aged 8) there had always been little desire to read a lot, until quite recently. Of course, I did read, but I wouldn't have considered it a hobby of any kind.

At this point I met my good chum Ellie, in English and form time. Initially, she hit me with the intimidating news that, during the Summer holidays she had managed to plough through the best part of 11 books (albeit of varying sizes). Gradually, as her prodigious speedy-reading continued this grew into a little bit of a joke for us - we pride ourselves on our English-based banter (which sometimes evolves into mock abuse). It was at this point, when the holidays rolled around, that I set myself the initial challenge of putting my reading to the test, and from there it became something of an addiction (as anyone who bothers to read my rambly literary waffle may have gathered) and now, here I am.

Tomorrow, or rather, next year, I go into my second year of reading recording and booklists and such things. For Christmas I recieved a dashing Book Log (which, amusingly also abbreviates into 'blog') which I look forward to using.

Now, the final thing to do is to work out my New Year's Resolutions for this year. A New Year, a new start (as no doubt countless other bloggers will be explaining) and for me this means:
1. Taking each day as it comes. Trying not to get so stressed out about things, remembering that people have gone through much worse than I am, and putting Padre's 'philosophical' view of life into effect more thoroughly.
2. Getting back on track with A-level work. Being in a bad mood is no excuse for failing exams - but not getting stressed about it, as there will be enough of that in the post-exam period. Just keep thinking about getting your own cutlery!
3. Drawing more. NOT school work related things - carry a sketchbook.
4. Organise that commonplace book; use it.

A sensible discussion...

Dee: I never read the history plays - never really wanted to.
Rachel: Ah, but Richard III is GOOD! He basically goes around killing everyone an-
Dee: They're all just politically motivated works of fiction-
Rachel: Most things are politically motivated works of fiction.
Dee: Like your face.

There you have it. My face is a politically motivated work of fiction. Who knew?

Bottles and bottles of arachnids...

It's meant to be the tertiary text, but I have just read about twelve reviews of the Propeller Richard III I saw back in November and my eyes are beginning to go fuzzy. I'm trying to work out - because my memory has betrayed me - whose finger he bit off after killing them. It could be a couple of people (Anne? Edward?) and for each of them it would have a very different significance - and connection with The Changeling (where Deflores cuts of Piraquo's finger after killing him).

None of the reviews mention it - not even the lovely thorough ones. Some of them mention 'finger biting' but remain bloody ambiguous like an uncertain and vague bitch of research hell. Er- but yes, this Richard III business is becoming a bit of an obsession.

Also, had a moment of AHA! while reading a review on a blog. The Blog's subtitle was "The past is a foreign country: they do things differently there." and I had a nice little 'oh-ho, I know where you're coming from there, old laddy, old boy!" That quote's from The Go-Between by L.P. Hartley - actually, it's the first sentence, and all - and that gives me a sad sort of joy to have floating around in my head...

More cheerful having done excesses of research and also installing my SHINY new HiFi system, which is beautiful, and which involved me basically reorganising my room and shelving again... everything's always better when it's a bit fresher, I think. Have also moved the MASS of tickets and posters and notes and whatnot from my pinboard (it was becoming painfully close to collapsing everywhere) and made it all into a montage on my wall.

That's all for now - I love that I have five or so more solid days to dilly-dally and over-complicate this essay. Hurrah!

Oooh, bonus anecdote! I was faffing about in the bathroom looking for something in the cupboards and found that my uncle had left us a gift in one of them. Delightful! I hear you cry - What a nice man to do such a thing. Yes, yes, if it had been a bath bomb, or a necklace or something other than a dead, moldy mouse and its brother's skull I would have been overjoyed. Unfortunately not. You may be surprised to hear that I was not surprised by this and simply held my breath and went to inform the parentfolk. I blame tradition - a rather longstanding one which I may properly explain in another blog, at another time, when my eyes aren't eroded by Dicky 3 reviews.

Nanight, lovelies xx

Meh, life.

Christmas was alright if you exclude most of the company, and include the rather high alcohol intake. I am slowly becoming a royal alcoholic at such occasions, not sure whether to be worried or not. Have also caught some dodgy bugs from the masses of small children that were there - coughing and sniffling and feeling rather nauseas the past day or two.

After a let-down of a venison pie at Christmas Mark II yesterday, got some good books - including Year of The King by Antony Sher which I'm already about half way through, and will probably discuss in another blog some time.

Quiet morning this morning, both parents out and aforementioned Sher book in lap. Just building up a desire to write something (I really, really do need SOME productivity...) when Madre comes in and asks me to go to Tesco with her. As Padre asked me too, earlier, had to go.

It has come to the point, I think, where just seeing her face makes me instantly depressed. I find myself not bothering any more than absolutely necessary to talk to her, because it makes me want to headbutt a wall.

Results of trip to Tesco - no real desire to do either portfolio OR coursework, but there's only 6 days of holiday left, and I can't go back having done fuck all.

To curl up in bed and die, or to not curl up in bed and die, that is the question.

Probably going to give over rest of day to moping and reading the rest of YotK.

BT: The End of Mr Y

On rare occasion, you can pick up a book that you've never heard of (even in passing) before and find that it is inspiring, clever and entirely engrossing at the same time. This book (which I heartily recommend as it has prevented me doing any work for the past three days) is one of those.

Initially, I have to admit I was sceptical. The blurb on the back is a frankly shocking representation of it so I admit to some initial internal dread. Judging a book by its cover is something we all do, but all wish we could avoid, and I'm glad, now, the book was given to me as a present, or I mightn't have picked it up at all... Additionally, upon discovering (early on) that the protagonist was a red-haired girly called Ariel, I raised my eyebrows a few times. But it is all justified eventually - and even amusing name puns here and there don't manage to ruin the feel of the book.

The End of Mr Y tells the story of a PhD student who finds herself sucked into a world of life-changing philosophy and scientific discovery through the chance finding of a book in a second-hand book store. This is simplifying it considerably - this isn't a fantasy along the lines of The Never-Ending Story. The book combines intelligent theoretical scientific and philosophical discussions within a very humanistic and down-to-Earth narrative, which makes even the hard science upon which it is based a delight to digest.

This is the sort of fiction you read and, afterwards, come out feeling as though you have not only enjoyed reading it, but you have tangibly learned a lot along the way about quantum physics, literature, philosophy, theology and, in a way, about life in general. I can't count the number of times I read things which made me think, 'Oh God, I wish so-and-so had read this' and 'Ooh, I must tell such and such' because there is such a broad spectrum of interest within it.

So yes, I recommend it wholeheartedly and have tried to extol its virtues without ruining all the juicy surprises along the way.

The Laptop Blues (A Ballad.)

Woke up this morning, cheery as can be,

Opened my laptop and it snapped off at me,

Bits of wires and metal and screws,

I need a new laptop 'n' it's giving me the blues.

Hoo, hoo, hoo, the snaptop blues.

Hoo, hoo, hoo, the craptop blues.

Googling on the web, looking through shops,

Tryin' to find out if anywhere sells good laptops,

Not too pricey, or cheap, this is hard to do,

Can't find a good laptop that I can afford, too-hoo-hoo

(The laptop blues)

(The craptop blues)

(It's snapped, boo-hoo)

Got me some money from the kindle I sold,

Maybe now I can get a laptop that's not old,

Huntin' for cash down the side of the bed,

Ain't enough money even to buy some bread.

Ooh-hooo!

The Laptop Blues!

Ooh-hooo!

Gonna try searchin' Yahoo's!

Well it's five days till Christmas, and I'm starting to wish,

I'd not asked for a new HiFi, or a special Poole dish,

Because I need something more in the computery vein,

Don't wanna have a HiFi and need to save up again...

Ooo-hoo!

Dell, Fuck you!

You-Do!

Need to learn to manufacture quality computers!

Ooooooooh!

(la la la)

Oooooooo-oooh!

(la la la)

I's got the laptop, snaptop, shut-your-traptop, absolutely crap-top blues!

(yeah.)

Victory, skid-marks and mint-making...

This is a photo of the first recorded snow I could find in Milton - it's also very nearly the view from my house. (1962) Yes, I'm going to do that terribly English thing, where I make a great deal out of clouds bursting - tally ho!

***

So it's been tremendously snowy the past day or so and anyone who knows my feelings about weather properly know that snow is my favourite, followed by rain and then fog and then sunshine. It makes the world all shiny and light even at nighttime. Anyhow, I do have a point to make with this - this isn't simply small talk.

Yesterday, with a lovely blizzard outside, I decided to accompany my padre to the Moreton Pinkney auction to pick up the spoils of the day. This quickly turned into an adventure of epic proportions, with the snow-level gradually rising as we drove (that area had a lot the previous day, aussi) and hilarity (and DANGER!) around every corner.

Getting there was the easy part - ambling along listening to various good tunes and discussing my increasing level of hunger - but coming back took the biscuit.

One thing you should know about the Northampton area is that there are an absurd number of canal and railway bridges compressed into a relatively small place, with a number of little 'island' typed areas where you are, quite literally, trapped between bridges. Therein lies the problem. These canal bridges seem to pride themselves on being as tall and steep and twisty as possible, and even in a rather chunky car, if you throw in the added hazard of arctic conditions, things start to get crazy.

We arrived at this canal bridge near the Marina to find the debris from some earlier collision; bits of wall, tyre marks that made no sense to a linear journey, and the perfect image of a disaster waiting to happen. But we braved it, and skidded around and about for ages with all the vigour and vanity of a mouse trying to climb up the side of its glass vivarium. Eventually we gave up and tried (in a rather beautiful ARC of skidditude) to turn around and go the other way.

Eventually we went across to another, more passable bridge, but then quickly found ourselves trapped on one of these islands, between a bridge with an impassable one behind it, or a bloody ridiculous rail bridge. However, there was an incentive! Beyond this bridge, was a pub!

Alors, in order to get to the Walnut Tree for a pint, we braved the rail bridge for the best part of a rather hilarious half-hour going forwards, backwards, sideways, diagonal-wise etc and being looked at as though we were dicks by some cocky truck and 4x4 drivers with their smug-arse four-wheel drive. They didn't have the fun that we did.

After many millennia we escaped the island and trundled over to the Walnut Tree (whose steps I had shamefully redecorated with stomach fluid a full week before) and dived in for a quick one. Christmas beer, cider and 'sizzling prawn' crisps that were wank, considering.

From there things were easier and we returned to find our house had experienced a deluge of fallen clouds. What an adventure! :D

***

Incidentally, I've just managed to sell my Kindle (which I bought for £109 when it came out) for almost double its price - the joys of e-bay, Christmas, and people's failure to read websites that say that only the upgraded version is sold out. :) HURRAH!

wisdom comes through initial foolishness

1. Never get drunk. Just don't do it.
2. Never even consider drinking Babycham then being given wine.
3. Never decide to redecorate the steps of your friend's work-place with the contents of your stomach.
4. Avoid the above, especially when you are expected to be sociable and early-rising the next day. Even more so if you have an absolute deadline for history coursework the day after that, and are going to be forced to stay awake to chop words out of it.

fml.

Wishing I had gone into school today. Being here isn't good for me, or for anyone else. Makes madre uncomfortable, makes me uncomfortable, makes the whole thing awkward.

|: Dear.

Retail Therapy

This weekend I have been feeling pretty down - this led to some rather excellent retail therapy, which in turn led to my buying a very gorgeous aviator jacket of the kind I have been drooling after for quite a while. Problem being that now I am poor, and unable to buy a matching hat. Alas.

Matching hat definitely going on my Christmas list.

Additionally, this house is very cold. Despite being all bedridden and doubly duvetted-up, my hands are getting damned cold from typing.

Also, have missed Rosie's birthday - merde and a half - will have to bring in pressies tomorrow.

Even more also, read a book about racial harmony and things. I blame Climax, but also the fact that it was about a Latin teacher. Merging of interests, nom nom nom. It was quite good, actually. Hmm...

ich bin sehr kalt.

All this cold weather, without PROPER snow is clearly not good for anyone's health. Example: weeks of blizzards last year, I was healthy, fluless and cheerful. Now, however, I am sofa-ridden with flu, knackered and generally worse for wear.

Duvet days all round.