Dressing ethically

Clothes can be absurdly cheap these days, admittedly the silly cheap ones aren't usually the nicest, but for everyday wear, they're fine, sometimes more than fine.  However, there's always a nagging voice at the back of the head that's going "why is it so cheap, huh, children sewed it, you know they did, do you really want to wear it?"

To which the answer is "erm". Being skint v being ethically minded??? " I recycle bottles. In fact the trousers I am wearing right now are made from recycled bottles. How good am I? Yes, nagging voice. I hear you. I do care where my £2 t-shirt came from.

So I thought I'd investigate what the companies themselves have to say rather than what the media like to say on their behalf.

(Yes, it's been done before, better, I LIKE to look for myself. Ok?)

An Independent report in 2005 put Marks and Spencer second bottom on their list of ethical traders and Primark bottom, adding that all 27 High Street retailers were appalling and anyone with a social conscience should not buy clothes from the High Street, ever. But I'm not interested in what they said, especially not 5 years ago.

In the last few years companies appear to have taken steps to rectify their unethical practices, and there's little point in pretending that (almost) everyone isn't as unethical as they can get away with until it becomes suicidally wrong to do so.

Marks and Spencer's Plan A makes for impressive reading, you can read it here.

They state that:

"As an own brand with influence over a quarter of million workers worldwide, we are in a unique position to set new trading standards that improve the lives and communities of those who work for and with us."

Next like what they have to say, they are definitely convinced that they sound like they're doing their bit. I'm not entirely convinced, but as they generally have less than ideal quality these days and aren't that cheap, I could quite believe they manage ethical practices. They say their piece on Corporate Responsibility here; as it's only January it would be unfair to assume they didn't achieve anything in 2009 and that they just haven't finished making last year's update sound good yet.

They claim that:

"Our Suppliers - we will work for positive social, ethical and environmental improvements in our supply chain"

Good, good. Most of my wardrobe is from Next. I like their clothes. 

Primark provide astonishingly cheap clothing, that isn't too rubbish. One presumes that their entire stock is made from entirely unethical means and to have a conscience would mean saying "NO!!!" to £6 jeans. But a read here does reassure that they are doing as much as they can. Or at least, they care about what they're doing.

 They tell us:

"Primark is committed to providing the best possible value for our customers, but not at the expense of the people who make our products".

I feel reassured.

Tesco sound well impressive, which makes me less and less convinced by these statements. Read and be impressed/cynical here.

They brag:

"We have high expectations of our suppliers on both a local and global scale. By working in partnership with them we deliver the quality, value and ethics our customers expect."

Yes, we know what we expect of Tesco. Hmmm. Next?

Uh. Asda. Don't appear to have a policy. They are bigging themselves up on other issues here, (click on the side banners, you can't miss them) but they don't mention the people who make things for them. Or maybe they do and I'm a bit tired. Enlighten me. They are expanding their range of Fairtrade products so fast that they may even be available in your local store.

So they do say this:

"The Fairtrade mark guarantees products are produced by workers in safe, decent conditions"

which is a nice woolly statement and doesn't apply to most of their products. Helpful.

Monsoon make beautiful clothes and they charge quite a lot of money for them. I don't mind, I just can't afford to shop there. Sigh along with them here then wish along with me to afford their clothes and to have the lifestyle that suits them.

They say (beautifully, in a swirly pink font):

"We know our responsibility extends beyond your wardrobe, so we've been trying our hardest to live by these values since 1973."

I love Monsoon.

So, they all seem to think they're doing well. I'm not sure how scrutinized Tesco and Asda are when looking at "High Street Retailers"  being, as they are, supermarkets, but I figure I now have to go back to what other people have said. Dammit.

The Ethical Corporation say rather a lot here, but tend to be rather more specific than my brain can process. They do inform me that Gap, New Look, Next and (hallelujah!) Monsoon Accessorize scored highest on a survey on Living Wages, with Marks and Spencer close behind. The ones who did not respond to this survey by Labour Behind the Label (read about them here,  their campaign here and the results of that survey here. Feel humbled.) were Alexon, BHS, Ethel Austin, House of Fraser and the Peacock Group.

Wow. Labour Behind the Label say it all really. And are doing something about it.

Visit their website as linked above, or specifically go to their Better Bargain campaign and stop reading the waffle of the uninformed. You can also go to Clean Up Fashion and they will tell you all about the individual shops. But wasn't it nice to find out what the companies themselves had to say...

Living a lie

Secrets. Things you don't want someone/anyone to know.

Usual reason given for keeping a secret: it may hurt the person the secret is kept from if they find out, or it may in someway benefit them if they do not find out, for example a surprise party must remain a secret to work.

Not a very common reason for a secret being kept.

Usual reason a secret is actually kept: the person the secret is about will appear in a bad light and potentially get into trouble or be deeply embarrassed if the secret is found out.

But secrets are a burden, the worse the outcome of discovery would be, the more of a weight it becomes. Being found out is often a blessed relief because that burden is gone, and the repurcussions may never be as awful as imagined.

One hopes.

The contented soul would have no secrets. It is not necessary to be an open book, there must always be more to uncover, but how pleasant not to have to actively conceal anything.

In sickness and in sickness

It's wearying being the healthy member of the family, not to mention unusual. My three boys are a-lurgied and it's ever so tiring.

Approximately 2 weeks ago, I called up the (supposed) swine flu vaccination helpline, as advised by the doctors practice who are "unable to offer the vaccine" to the latest priority group: the under 5s. The number helpfully provided was the number for Public Health. Who weren't that interested, it being nothing to do with them, and transferred me to child health. Who tried to refer me back to my doctors practice, then said a letter would be sent out. Not all that chuffed given that the purpose of the initial enquiry was to establish why my children seemed to be the only under 5s not to have received said letter. Result: no vaccination and no information. All hail the swine flu vaccination information helpline, as imagined by the doctors.

So. This week we have two very poorly little boys. All the symptoms of flu, except when a nasty cough and vomiting was added into the fray, thoughts strayed to "that could be swine flu." Not being prone to hysteria - I may be a hypochondriac but do normally limit it to my own potentially terminal conditions - I didn't panic, but I did recall the information my brain has been bombarded with.

Sneeze into tissue and put into bin.

Good. Been doing that, because we're not grotty minks and didn't used to eat the tissues or throw them at people or indeed do anything other than bin them. But hey, thanks for the advice.

What else? We're all going to die? Pandemic? That's all of us, right? Kids - and their father - may have it so that fits pretty well with "all", in my world anyway. Good stuff, fulfilling prophecies of doom. Although, small issue: they may be poorly, none of them actually seem all that close to passing away just yet. But hey, they may have it. So that's still pandemic-y even if it's not that bad.

Does that mean the common cold is an annual pandemic? Should we panic more about that?

Swine flu information line. Oh wait, it's NHS 24. Who send you to the doctor just in case you have meningitis and guarantee you feel like a fussy and panicked moron. Brainwashing says: tell someone. Just do it.

No, they don't need medical attention, they're not that ill, I'm
just stating that I think they may have swine flu. I'm supposed to tell. I'm telling. No, really, I already know about Calpol and fluids, I don't really want to drag them out just because I called and you don't want sued. They are definitely breathing.

Oh. Ok. If you insist...

What? It may well be swine flu but they're not dangerously ill so I've to give them Calpol and fluids? And you don't do anything unless they're actually
unconscious? Shouldn't we all be panicking a bit more here? It's Swine Flu. But yay! A trip to the out of hours doc is always fun.

Don't get me wrong, it is a very good thing that my babies aren't seriously ill, but to (possibly - they don't test any more) have the disease that we've been inundated with demands to panic over, only to find that it is nothing, is, well, typical. There isn't any point in pondering.

And I guess we don't need the vaccine after all. Like the many, many other kids that had it and didn't notice.

Non

Sick boys.
Sick husband.
Too tired to catch up, can't formulate words that don't make unintentional
double entendres.
Can't actually get a proper post-per-day, but can manage to say so.

Heh.

Does not compute

There are a number of things that I cannot and will not ever understand.

What follows are the ones that have perturbed me today.

1) Unwarranted heat. The pursuit of being overly hot. Can be deliberately obtained in a number of ways:

a) electric blankets. A luxury supposedly. Torture more like. One of the greatest things on earth is getting into a cool bed. If it's particularly parky then yeah, maybe a hot water bottle at the foot of the bed. For a short period of time not exceeding 30 seconds after joining said hot water bottle. But something that gets hot and stays hot, that's potentially really dangerous and what's more, is hot? That's lunacy. Conjecture: people that own electric blankets are not the same as those that live without heating.

b) saunas. Hot dry heat? Utterly unbearable. And if you're completely mental, you can go from the hot dry heat and jump into an ice cold plunge pool.

c) the going to a hot country for the purpose of getting really hot and burning your skin, ignoring any culture or anything of interest in the pursuit of getting the mild skin damage people find attractive on themselves. And indeed the yearlong obsession with and dedication to achieving this visit to a hot country to be hot.

2) Gyms. A very expensive way to feel inadequate and use machines that emulate actually doing a real activity.

3) Those little floating smiley balls you get to put in the toilet to help small boys (of all ages, ha ha ha, so funny). There's a big circle of water to aim for. Is it that hard? Judging by the two little guys that have relatively recently got the hang of this: no.

Anything else is a pet rant...

Break up!

Ross and Rachel broke up!!!!

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=UjaU8vQo83g&feature=youtube_gdata

Actual tears fell here last night, sniffing through Disc 11 of the precious, precious Friends boxset.

Because awful though it was first time round, the knowledge of what lies ahead makes this parting devastating to watch. Rachel: silly, silly girl!! You were on a break! He's your lobster! Seven years of heartbreak ahead: you're going to get married by mistake, and divorced again, you're going to have a baby with the guy and you're going to (probably) realise in the end that he is the one. Realise your mistake, forgive him and understand why it happened!!!!

The nostalgia element added to the tears shed last night while watching the disaster unfold. There are many arty shots of the Twin Towers, which are unbearably poignant, coupled with the memories of watching Friends with friends and being ever so young.

What is really, really, REALLY needed is a Friends movie/one off special. It is. Because we need to know that it worked out, we need to see Ross and Rachel happy together forever, *proving* that true love wins. A Christmas special wouldn't be too much would it? Jennifer?

Ahhh. The luxury of a good old wallow in nostalgia, a nod to good old hyperbole, and being utterly banal.

Crazystitcher

At a civilised hour, I showered, changed into my pyjamas and got as far as standing at the end of my bed, ready to get myself one of those mythical "good night's sleep" things I've heard of.

Mania struck, however, when I considered the ridiculous elastic in said pyjamas. As pointless stitching goes, support for the bust is unnecessary in nightwear. Sexy: no. Supportive: not required. Immensely annoying when designed for a pear when one is distinctly unpearlike: yes. A downside of fitting into standard issue clothing (instead of elephantine) is that most manufacturers assume a lacking in the bust. And those that fitted into bizarre pointless elastic scaffolding wouldn't need support ever.

Very annoying. New Next pyjamas, which is why what happened next was crazy.

"I can take that elastic out!" thinks the distinctly amateur seamstress, examining the seams. Out comes the sewing kit. Unpick, unpick, unpick some more. The seam is undone, bring forth the scissors. Snip, snip, and the offending elastic is removed. Pin, match thread, reacquaint self with sewing machine, small moment of terror as it's been a while. Sew new seam. Remove pins and examine result.

It worked!! Slightly peculiar shape - why would there be a seam there? But it worked. It needs a bit of a press and will probably look like it's never been savagely resewn, but getting the iron out at midnight is actual domestic lunacy.




The lunatic seamstress now needs to look on eBay for an overlocker. And she knows what that is.

Funeral

Death is sad, there is no question about that. Death takes a person away from those who love them, it removes any last vestiges of hope, and it is final. It may bring feelings of loss, anger, guilt, frustration. All negative emotions. For those to whom it means relief, which must always be accompanied by guilt for thinking so, then it marks the end of a terrible time, a full stop to a nightmare.

But a funeral is a beautiful thing.

It celebrates and shows respect for the life of an individual, remembering the person they were, not perhaps the person they became as life ebbed away.

It brings together those who loved the departed, allowing them to grieve and say their goodbyes, each cherishing their own memories.

It allows those who love the bereaved to provide support and comfort without awkwardness. Families come together, joined in their sorrow. But they cast aside grievances, catch up on each others' lives, care for each other and promise to meet up before the next funeral - hope for a wedding.

The service is of comfort even if all the words don't make sense. Regardless of belief, the words reiterate that the departed are no longer suffering, their troubles are over.

It would be wrong to say that funerals are nice - nothing that has a prerequisite of death can be nice - but they are full of love and that in itself is wonderful.

Pifflous Ponder

Is it possible to wish for something entirely altruistic? All wishes tend to be beneficial to the wisher.

Even those that seem to be on behalf of another; surely the benefit there is that the wishee is happy and so the wisher is happier by proxy.

That, one supposes, is true for all actions. Selfish always. Altruism for self congratulation, potentially coupled with the admiration of others.

Which is a little sad. Acts of random kindness in order to generate popularity, warmth and fuzziness.

And back to wishing. It does seem to be true that wishing for something means at least one of the following must almost always be true:

1) it is not possible/likely for it to happen. The wish stems from unavailability.

2) in order for it to happen something else must be forfeited

Then again, without either of those, things would just happen and so the desire would pass quickly, probably unnoticed.

But hey. Sometimes the most precious, most difficult, most desirable outcomes/acquisitions can happen/begotten.

And how they are treasured, those unlikely of things.

****

Oi!! take that look off your face, read the title and indulge the need to ponder out loud.

Really. I don't like that look one bit.

Oh be like that then.

Hair management

MEMO
To: all hair
From: Follicle Management
Date: 0 years

Hair required over entire person. Primary hair will be allocated to the head, with slight hair to most of the rest of the body. Primary hair can grow indefinitely, full array of haircolours available; slight hair only allowed to grow to a fixed length (see guidelines 76c) and allocated no colour.

MEMO
To: Head Hair
From: Follicle Management
Date: approximately 13 years.

Take no action, prepare for potential attack/neglect.

MEMO
To: Body Hair (female)
From: Follicle Management
Date: approx 13 years.

Take up residence, or increase growth, with added colour in the armpit, genital and lower leg area.

MEMO
To: Body Hair (male)
From: Follicle Management
Date: approximately 13 years.
Most areas now to begin hair growth. Concentrate mostly on dark hairs on legs. Ensure initial growth, especially on the facial area, is sparse and slow.

MEMO
To: Head Hair (male)
From: Follicle Management
Date: Approximately 25 years
Due to lack of satisfactory performance, most of you are to be laid off over the next few years. There may be potential for retraining as Back or Chest Hair.

MEMO
To: Head Hair (female)
From: Follicle Management
Date: approximately 25 years.
Some of you have raised concerns as to working conditions and the right to remain your rightful colour. We regret to inform you that the files containing the record of your rightful colour have been destroyed. Any hairs wishing to revert can always choose to have all colours removed and become white. Many have already made this choice and we urge you to follow suit.

MEMO
To: Body Hair (All parts, male, female)
From: Follicle Management
Date: approximately 35 years
Please increase production with immediate effect. Spread as fast as possible into previously uncharted zones. Increase length. Colour now optional for those operating on a male.

MEMO
To: Head Hair (male)
From: Follicle Management
Date: approximately 50 years
Cease production with immediate effect.

MEMO
To: Head Hair (female)
From: Follicle Management
Date: approximately 50 years
Abandon all colour. Change texture sufficiently to resist previously applied colours. Send request to Facial Skin to adjust tone accordingly.

MEMO
To: All Hair
From: Admin
Date: approximately 70-80 years.
On behalf of the Follicle Management Team we regret to inform you that you are now under no management or control. We suggest you grow what you can, where you can, when you can. Those located on females may find the face a good place to settle. Those on a male should stick to the chest and back. Colour is not available and despite numerous requests, the only texture available is course.

Kind regards and many thanks for staying.

The Devil has Questionable Taste

Having a shrivelled brain apparently means an increased tolerance for drivel. So much so that I have begun to enjoy utter cack and judge thing inversely on their rubbishness.

Example: I caught a few minutes last night of a thing called "Material Girl". My mind simultaneously thought "that looks truly awful" and "I must look that up on iplayer".

I have spent a number of hours watching my husband play Call of Duty (MW2 and then WaW if you're interested. No?) which is remarkably watchable in the way it's presented but the more I watch, the more I feel myself slipping into a catatonic state.

So, figuring that one person can't actually watch Friends all the time (despite what E4 may think), I purchased a suitably dim looking DVD set entitled "Couture Collection". This comprises 3 films: 27 Dresses, In Her Shoes and The Devil Wears Prada.

27 Dresses I liked, it was cute and ditzy and enjoyable.

In Her Shoes I have both seen and read the book of. I didn't rate the book much, although I did finish it as it must have been pre children. I saw the film by chance on TV (post children, naturally) and enjoyed it quite a lot.

The Devil Wears Prada I failed to "get" at all as a book. It was raved about by all, but even in the glorious concentration of the prechildren era, I didn't get very far with it. This was typical of all the raved about books of the time: Captain Corelli's Mandolin, Memoirs of a Geisha etc. Everyone except me loved them, and I did occasionally manage something with content.

So I figured I'd give the - also raved about - film a shot.

Yawn. Tedium. Ugly Betty: the film, except Ugly Betty is enjoyable.

A couple of tangents.
First of all, the Ugly Betty thing. The Devil Wears Prada book predates Ugly Betty. Very similar premise, ordinary girl out of place in world of fashion takes job at fashion magazine to further dreams of journalism. Ugly Betty however is enjoyable. I found this out much to my surprise by mistake, it was one before/after something else I watched and I got kind of hooked. I really like it and have managed to watch it post children, which is not true of most things.

Anyway, my tangent has taken a tangent. Ugly Betty is supposedly taken from Mexican (???) series Betty la Fey (???) (or some words that are a bit similar to those I just wrote) which predates the book of The Devil Wears Prada. Which is meant to be based on the author's experience of working for Anna Wintour, editor of Vogue. I don't really care, Anna Wintour is the singularly least interesting person of all overrated people, and as far as I can tell is a thoroughly obnoxious person that other obnoxious people decide to follow as true disciples.

Which leads me to my second tangent, fashion.

I do understand that it is desirable to wear gorgeous fabrics, in flattering designs and have truly gorgeous clothing. Also, it must be nice to have unique clothes. The latter can be achieved by making your own, or by employing a seamstress, which I am quite positive can be done for considerably less than it costs to buy designer. But assuming you like your clothes preassembled, then yes, good fabrics and well cut lines are worth paying for.

What I do not get, and will never understand, is any person who wears something because it is a) expensive or b) fashionable with no regard to whether it is c) nice.

The expensive part especially, the coveting of things that one doesn't actually like purely because they cost a lot and you want to be seen to have paid for it makes me want to weep. How much better life would be if things were allocated to people who would appreciate them rather than those who could afford them.

As to fashion, I appreciate that a lot of people have no style whatsoever and so need outfits assembled by others and told what to wear. I may be so off the fashion map it hurts, but I have pretty much worn the same colours and styles for 20 years; the only difference fashion makes is that sometimes the things I like are easier to source. And yes, I do make my own clothes these days. Some of them, I doubt I'll ever make jeans.

So. The film. I think it safe to say that The Devil Wears Prada is awful. Tedious. I watched an hour of it, did a double take when I realised it had only been the one hour, and turned it off. Not "In a word: BRILLIANT" (Heat) or "Comedy doesn't get much blacker - or brilliant - than this" (Daily Mirror).

I missed that it was meant to be a comedy. That's probably the first time I've learned anything from the Mirror. Heh.
Meh.

The plight of the unread

Due to the unfortunate ongoing combination of being unable to resist acquiring books and being unable to get on with reading, I have 4 books that I have had out of the library for some time. They have been renewed 6 times and I have read a bit of each. Fail.

In order to renew the books, I log into my account and click "renew all". Done. Except that proved too hard this month and by the time the memory kicked in, a fine of £1.52 had accumulated. 38p per book, which doesn't divide into any sensible division, but who am I to argue?

So duty called and offs I trotted to the library to pay up.

Oh yay! They have a fines amnesty because of the difficulty people have had getting to the library through snow. I pointed out that actually the snow didn't affect my getting to the computer and so I should really still pay. This was rewarded with a look of pity normally reserved for the mentally impaired and a reassurance that they simply weren't charging fines. And tada. All cleared.

A warm and fuzzy feeling from doing the right thing and being rewarded by saving money.

Huzzah!

Mario part 876

More Mario... I am a geekette.

For Christmas this year I (definitely me) received Mario and Luigi: Bowser's Inside story for DS and New Super Mario Bros Wii.

Both excellent. Both gratefully received.

Both forking IMPOSSIBLE!!!

I have been playing Mario since he was only on the NES. 1992 is when we were first acquainted. I cannot do either of these games. I am stuck as a stuck thing not very far into the DS game. And as for the Wii game. Well! The only reason I am not still trying to defeat Roy Koopa (is he new? Looks a lot like Bowser, has purple specs and throws purple flames) is that my 4 year old defeated him for me.

Grrrr.

Yes, I have downloaded walkthroughs, they expect a level of skill that eludes me. So for the Wii version, I'll just have to wait till the wee guy gets past Roy at the end of World 2... For the DS I am going to have to CHEAT (or hand it over to my other 4 year old and weep into my Horlicks.

Reviews: I think the DS game looks nice. My progress is so woeful you could get as much info from the box as from me.








Wii game: I LIKE the old school platform style, I find this infinitely more playable than Mario Galaxy. Mario Galaxy is now delightfully possible and I am enjoying it and ogling Mario Galaxy 2.

Back to New Super Mario Bros Wii, multiplayer co-op is nice (if frustrating when playing with someone who doesn't get co-op). Not that new: I distinctly remember playing multiplayer (probably turn by turn) on one of the SNES versions. It is good though, if there are two of you Game Over only happens if you both lose your last life at the same time, as long as one of you has one life or more, you continue and stay where you are.





Pretty, int it? Most favourite picture in our house that is.

Main gripe: lack of save options. There are mysterious stars that may do something save-ish. I shall ask the walkthrough.

I think I'm going to build some Lego. If I can fathom out what the instructions mean.

Sometimes it's hard to be a woman

On the way home last night, I tripped over the stumpish remains of a murdered plant rendered invisible by the darkness.

By that I mean nighttime darkness, the band played no part.


I had helium balloon strings twisted round my hands to stop them escaping and so I landed with an undignified whomp onto the ground, hurting most parts of me all at once and vastly overreacting.

My two sons were at my side immediately, not least to check the fate of the balloons. But then concern kicked in.

Son 1 was most interested to know the exact circumstances of the incident. His prime concern was for the extra strong mint that had been thrown from my pocket. This is, I would say, typical of my minutely elder son, being as he is, a Bloke. A Blokish Bloke.

I can conclude that he will grow to display the following behaviours as a man:

He will never see the point of communicating unless there is something specific to communicate. He won't phone for the sake of it.

He will be generous when it comes to gifts but almost entirely without imagination. Wishlists will be his salvation. Wrapping will be beyond him and where possible he will get someone else to tie his gifts up, only having to throw paper round their gift.

He will be puzzled as to why any woman would be upset at their keenness to play bedroom sports and won't understand why they don't see it as a massive compliment.

He will always have a solution. He will think anyone who tells him a problem and doesn't take his solution on board is a moron. He will figure if you don't want an answer, don't pose the problem.

Son 2 on the other hand will grow up to be the sort of man that indignantly states that all the above is sexist and that "not all men are like that". His response was to comfort me, check I was ok and to scold the offending stump. He also enquired as to my wellbeing the following day. He somehow has extraordinary levels of empathy, he is a joy to have around. Not that his brother isn't a joy, he just doesn't do touchy feely. He's a bloke (a smashing one) and he's gonna have a hairy chest.

Their (hairy chested) father, incidentally, appeared a good bit after to enquire why I was taking so long. I am Mrs Bloke and I wouldn't have it any other way. That doesn't mean I don't complain...

Birthday actual

Today was my birthday!!!
Woo! I am now halfway through my biblical life.

I LOVE my birthday. Every time someone wishes me a happy birthday or I notice the date, I feel happy. I feel like a loved and lovely person, so I AM lovely. I am quite delightful to people.

Or so I think. The truth may be that I am unsufferably patronising, dull and idiotic. But we shall ignore that. I am nice to people and feel lovely.

Today I "met" two other people who share my birthday. Which is positively exciting beyond words (to me).

My Facebook app tells me when someone posts on my wall. This could be immensely annoying but for today it was cheering to say the least.

I have received a veritable fortune in voucher monies to replace my too big clothes (hurrah!!), and other lovely gifts. I did not however receive anything by mail so I am cross with the Royal Mail for letting snow interfere with My Birthday.

I have only spent the one voucher today (go me) and I fear severe covetation of a handbag, coupled with a emptying of a stupid handbag that doesn't shut, means a handbag will need to be purchased tomorrow. But that is extraordinarily banal so I'm going to Stop Typing About Shopping.

Spoiltness and demandation (me! My day! My week!) was rewarded with balloons and cakes. Which was ace.

Ok. Done now. Return to a place where things are normal and I'm less preoccupied with Me.

Birthday part II

In the midst of birthday season, I invited them-what-matters to my house today for a generic birthday celebration. This week because there would have been too many absences last week, the weather was unforgiving and a little because I care a lot more than the boys do. They like presents, who is present is of no matter to them at all.

So we hads ourselves a mini party. In which I fretted about the tidiness of my house, ending up with one unenterable room, (I so need an upstairs) and my family and closest friends visited, bearing - ace - gifts, to be rewarded with poncy tiny versions of food and a party bag.

Yes. A party bag. Children present were mine, a 12 year old and a 1 year old. Everyone got party bags bar he-who-scoffed who then complained. Everyone except the 12 year old, the baby and the scoffer seemed very pleased. We have a surplus of leftover Haribo.

Not a party in terms of there being a lack of music or any form of entertainment or games. More of an "at home". Yah.

I love having people round. It's better than any other type of socialising. Except maybe going out for lunch. Maybe.

The Tears

I don't get me, or to be specific, I don't understand tears as shed by me.

There are certain things that make me cry:
1) people being nice beyond that which I deserve.
2) being very angry/frustrated
3) injustice, when served to me
and
4) schmaltzy cringeworthy sentiment.

Things that don't make me cry:
Anything that you'd expect tears at: death, funerals etc. Dry as a dry thing.

The 4th tear inducing thing perturbs me. Romcoms, Neighbours weddings, utter tripe; I sniffle away like a sniffler. I think I have cried at just about every film Cameron Diaz has been in, there's something about the way she squeaks. Every Neighbours wedding - especially Scott and Charlene *blush* - moves me to sniffs. Almost every episode of Ally McBeal and Ugly Betty has my lip a-quiver and my eyes a-water. Tonight I shed ductfuls of tears over 27 Dresses.

Perhaps subconsciously I am sobbing at the fact that I am watching these things. Perhaps. Or perhaps I'm just a sap.

I think I can't, I think I can't...

Can I write this every day?

No. Apparently not.


- Posted without any claim to factual correctness or interest to any living person. Brought to you by the combined wonder of BlogPress and iPhone.

Classic Albums??

Today the Royal Mail released their New Year stamps, featuring ten classic album covers, supposedly ten of the most iconic (British) album covers of all time.

I think this means iconic covers, rather than iconic albums. Or it should. I have issue with a couple...








It may just be me, but when I think of the phrase "classic album cover", there's one specific image that springs to mind.







Nope. They went for The Division Bell. Still Pink Floyd, and I think actually the better album, but Dark Side of the Moon is (/was until recently??) Britain's best selling album and has one of the most recognisable album covers ever. It should be there. Really.

Issues with Coldplay - Rush of Blood to the Head and Blur - Parklife along the lines of "err, what????" Both fail both in terms of being classic in any way, shape or form.

I'm not completely ignorant as to the world of music, and so I would sort of expect to have HEARD of a classic album. This is not true of New Order - Power, Corruption and Lies. Chocolate box stylee doesn't do anything for me. I'm missing something, clearly, enlightenment would be appreciated.

Rolling Stones deserve to be there, but is Let it Bleed really their best album and/or cover?
Or am I just feeling animosity towards a picture of a cake by the deplorable Delia? Hmm.

The Clash - London Calling. Classic album, recognisable cover. Guess it works, but meh. Less meh would be: Sergeant Peppers? Revolver? Abbey Road? Anything else by the Beatles?

Mike Oldfield - Tubular Bells.
Fair do's.

Led Zeppelin - IV. I guess so, and they got Jimmy Page to unveil the stamps. whatever that entailed. Wahey.

Primal Scream - Screamadelica. Can't really argue although I'd like to.

David Bowie - The Rise and Fall of Ziggy Stardust and the Spiders from Mars. Cannot argue, wouldn't want to.

The stamps are very impressive, they have been purchased. What to do with them remains undecided.


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Friends

After many years of yearning, I finally own the entire boxset* of Friends, which is probably my favourite TV programme ever.

I know.

Why I love it:

It makes me laugh. Lots.
It brings back happy memories of when I watched it with my own friends.
I am totally in love with Chandler. Really.
Ross and Rachel. Awwww.
It's all really nice. I like nice these days.

I am partway through series 2, Ross and Rachel have just got together properly and it's all quite lovely. I am doing very little else with my time.

Yes. Boring. There's norralorra point in writing about the content, you either know it by now or you don't.

I may watch some...


* "entire boxset" is not right. The boxset of the entire run of all ten series of Friends" would be righter. But hey ho diddle oh.


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Positively pointless.

I'm feeling shy.
Yes.
Insecure.
Yes.
Suffering from blogger's block.
Yes.
Anxious.
No, not really.
Fraught.
Nope.
Exhilarated.
Not that either.
Green.
Excuse me?
Green.
Er, no.

Sleep now.




- Posted for the entire purpose of keeping a promise I made to myself but being devoid of comment. I understand. It doesn't really follow that anyone else will.

Blessings

Happiness today came in the form of:

(1) Snow. (as previously mentioned. It lingers. It falls some more).

It's pretty. It requires the wearing of hats, boots, scarves, big coats and gloves. It's an excuse to not do anything. And it's pretty, not much beats looking out upon a freshly fallen silent shroud of snow.

(2) Children.
Mine, that is. Four year olds are amazing and mine are quite definitely more amazing than any others. I say that with no bias whatsoever.

There is a little girl, who doesn't belong to me, who is just as amazing as my boys, but she is a very special little girl indeed.

I worked out today what it is that I do with my time when I'm not specifically doing anything else. I puzzled for a long time as to why I didn't seem to do anything that I used to do. What I do is this: watch, and interact with, but mostly watch my children. They are quite the most entertaining pastime ever. Every new thing they do is astounding and it is quite astonishing that this is still true after 4 years. I expect I'll watch them in amazement all their lives. "Yes, that man there, walking along the road all by himself. That's my son you know."

(3) My car, my phone, nifty gadgets.

Materialistic? Why yes.
Recently I was very close to exchanging my car for a VW. Until I drove the VW for a week and then returned to my own car. It is very, very good to drive. The gearbox is not something I've ever noted before but it turns out to be excellent. We are friends once more, we travel through the snow together and we enjoy it, both.

At some point in every day I stop to think about the brilliance of my phone. It's an iPhone you know. You knew? Goodness! It is quite wonderful, it is a part of me now. I don't care what owning it makes me, I love it. Truly. And yes, I want an iMac because then iTunes will work properly, yes, I know and I know, but I would love that truly too. And I would be all the things that would make me. And I wouldn't care in the slightest.

My car and my phone are now united by means of an itrip. Simple little gadget means the music on my beloved plays through the radio in my quite-loved. This brings me a level of joy that is quite ridiculous.

And that will suffice for a trio of blessings. Snow, children, possessions. Happiness.






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Birthday

3rd January 2006. Two perfect little boys are born, making their mother the happiest mother ever.

3rd January 2010. Two perfect little boys, still in the afterglow of Christmas, celebrate their fourth birthday. Two perfect little boys get more presents and are overwhelmed by about 10am.

It's a shame. It's all Christmas rolled into one long stretch of excitement. They don't care particularly what day it is: no Santa?? Bah. If I could give my babies one thing*, it would be a summer birthday.

They would probably request Haribo. They're 4.

*they are already healthy, and brilliantly clever and gifted, and loved.




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Snow

Snow!!! There's been a fair amount of it the last few weeks, a large proportion of which was rock hard ice making any outing an adventure in balance control. Very pretty for Christmas though.

Tonight it snowed and the result was astoundingly gorgeous. Floaty deep cottonwoolesque snow, rendering everything soft focus, muffles and slow. Life slows down prettily, light is diffused and a sense of peace is cast over everything. Driving is a dream: massive concentration, virtually empty roads with only careful, slow drivers for muffled company. Delightful, enough to recapture the joy of driving and restore faith in one's car.

Unless you drive a BMW. Heh heh.




- Posted without any claim to factual correctness or interest to any living person. Brought to you by the combined wonder of BlogPress and iPhone.

That was the year that wasn't

I guess January 1st is a time to reflect on the previous year and plan for the coming one.

Gah. 2009 was a non event. I watched TV that everyone else has been watching for years - The Apprentice and Strictly - and did little else thanks to whiplash.

A new decade too. More on that another place/time.

New Year's Resolution:

Be good.

Exciting, huh? I'm not going to do things I'm not supposed to do and I am going to do the things I should.

Diaries ahoy, I am going to attempt to blog each day and see how long it takes to descend into weather reports.

Shush.

Sleep now. N'night.







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Books and the failure to read them

I can't edit this list where it's been. I am not going to read most of them in the next fortnight, so to record for posterity, the books I didn't get round to this year:

Terry Pratchett - Hogfather
Alison Weir - The Lady Elizabeth
Simon Hoggart - The Hamster that Loved Puccini
Andrew Davidson - The Gargoyle
Richard Hammond - On the Edge
Nicci French - The Safe House
Mark Steel - Vive La Revolution
Mark Watson - A Lighthearted Look at Murder
Mark Watson - Crap at the Environment
Phillip Pullman - Northern Lights
Phillip Pullman - The Subtle Knife
Phillip Pullman - The Amber Spyglass
Simon Winchester - The Surgeon of Crowthorne
Simon Winchester - The Map that Changed the World
Jasper Fforde - Well of Lost Plots
Jasper Fforde - Something Rotten
Jasper Fforde - First Among Sequels
Lionel Schriver - We need to talk about Kevin
Andrew Collins - Where did it all go Right?
Andrew Collins - Heaven Knows I'm Miserable Now
Andrew Collins - That's me in the Corner
Derron Brown - Tricks of the Mind
Lynne Truss - Talk to the Hand
Mark Kurlansky - Cod
Robert Winston - Human Instinct
Robert Winston - The Human Mind
Lynn Sloman - Car Sick
David Banister - Unsustainable Transport
Jeremy Paxman - The English
Mark Haddon - A Spot of Bother
Donna Tartt - The Secret History
Ian Marchant - Parallel Lines
Steven Pinker - Words and Rules
Ian Stewart - Professor Stewart's Cabinet of Mathematical Curiosities
Ben Goldacre - Bad Science
Robert Peston - Who Runs Britain
Val McDermid - The Distant Echo
Val McDermid - Beneath the Bleeding
Sebastian Faulks - Devil May Care
Sebastian Faulks - Engleby
John Humphrys - Devil's Advocate
John Humphrys - In God We Doubt



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I am back

Oh dear. I now have the ability to blog again, and I have 8 months worth of inanity to blog.

For the record, the new ability to blog is brought to me by Blogpress, created by Google.

I can even add a photo. Look:




Wow. That was a bit easy. My love for Google is only surpassed by my love for Apple and yes, I do know, and yes, I would.

It remains to be seen if the crazy random new paragraphs appear or if the formatting is as it should be.

Apparently Twitter will automatically be updated with my blogs. How exciting! I may manage to tweet less: I never did get the hang of concise.

So. Here I am. The question now is:

Why did it take me 8 months, and the suggestion of somebody else, to look for a Blogger app?

Well. More to follow. I am quite beside myself with joy.

Zzzz.


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NB That there signature may well be turned off very soon, but I am filled with love for BlogPress just now.

May be back...

Well, I done finded an app from Google that should let me blog from the phone, in absence of a functioning neck and subsequent ability to use the PC.

So far, so no posts.

Further investigations required but this may be the end of the blog hiatus.

Shush. Nobody makes you read it.

Later... !!!!


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Games and what not

I just finished watching Charlie Brooker's Gameswipe and aside from being totally in lust with Mr B (reverse psychology - he says "I am
unattractive", I think "well, I'd do you", he wins. In a manner as it's all theoretical and we're never likely to meet but one assumes other girls think like me, maybe, well, possibly) I am reminded of my love for games.

That I never play any more because it hurts my neck.

That is not true.
I always play games. At the moment it is Flight Control on the iPhone. Ace. But I don't play Wii games much.

I have already blogged about my love for Mario and hatred for driving in circles, I'm
phoning it here so if you care (which you don't but might have done in a parallel universe) you will have to sift through the links on the right there to 'Mario'.

Of course you remember. Yes, I have been neglectful, it's the neck you know.

Onward. Gameswipe was superb by the way, if you oafishly forgot to watchmor record it, see it on iplayer.

I have completely forgotten the point. Um. GTA not confusing with real
life. Been said. Chuckie Egg best early game. Been said.

I bet I am the only person I know that has played JCB Digger on the BBC.

I have no point. In nearly 3 months - nothing. Back to pondering why good looks and a love for games are mutually exclusive. And why is it that the former are always the more attractive (within boundaries that do not include World of Warcraft or similar). It's a mystery.

Blogspace

There's a pandemic (yes, pandemic, it absolutely qualifies) afflicting Blogger at present.
It affects the ability to form words into coherent sentences and transfer them into type.

A number of key blogs have been infected with this potentially lethal condition.

Suspected reasons for succumbing to this devastating state of being:

1) having something better to do.

This may be an urban myth, but there is increasing evidence that some bloggers have been doing Other Things.


2) Illness, pain or suffering.

While this is clearly not a valid excuse for neglecting one's duties as a blogger, it's one which seems to have a profound effect on one's ability to spraff on.

3) Lethargy and the dangerous 'Being Really Pissed off at the Internet and all who sail in her'. Those who suffer from this either feel the cretinous population of the 'net simply don't deserve time and words devoted to them, or they feel uninteresting and that the genius population of the 'net don't deserve being inflicted with drivel.

So what can you do? Adopt a blogger. Build them a secure and cosy nest to
blog from.
Or if it yourself that is suffering, then a daily dose of calendula will have the expected effect.


Annoyingly required disclaimer: this is not aimed at anything: no particular blog or any person is implicated. For the record, my own lack of bloggage is due to a mild case of reason 2.

Mickey Mouse Nuthouse

Naively I thought that the birthday party phenomenon was a couple of years away yet. Yet one month into nursery, an invitation appears to a birthday party.

Oh.
Dear.
It's started.

Sadly, the initial thought to go through my mind was "I hope this doesn't mean I have to do one".
First week of January: not a practical date for a party, for anyone.

Fancy dress, it said. Hurrah, thinks I, Darth Vader and Batman. Or, yes, perfect: Mario and Luigi. Super.
"would you like to be mario and luigi?"
"no"
"who would you like to be?"
"Mickey Mouse" (in stereo)

So. Look on Internet, £23 for a not-very-good costume.
Big sales pitch on Asda policeman outfit (£8), to no avail. Oversensitivity to pirates in this house, that would had been easy.

Red shorts. Perfect. Black tights. Sorted. Crocs? Grand for shoes.
Felt/foam accessories? Easy.
Black long sleeves T shirt for children?

Does Not Exist

Plan: buy black dye for existing T shirts.
Reality: shop that sells dye has every shade known to man, except black.
Find myself buying black fabric. Oh yes.

I don't sew. Nope. I have a sewing machine that was bought by my mother in an attempt to piqué my interest about ten years ago. Prior to last week I have sewn two hems with it. On curtains. Badly.

I used an existing t shirt as a pattern, cut it out of newspaper, cut out by fabric, and whizzed it up on the machine! With only the one complete dissection of the sewing machine. And they looked good!

The party was great, boys had a ball, their mother didn't die of fright and all was good. Other mothers are nice, I am possibly not a freak, my children seem normal. Happy happy.

Except...

Having reassembled the sewing machine, I am no longer scared of it. I made a humpty dumpty last night. I have a dress pattern. And fabric. I'm going to make a dress. Two in fact! Or, if the first turns out to be an unmitigated disaster, one dress and one pair of curtains.

I have proper dressmaking scissors. I went into the wee shop down the road and bought single bias tape. I know what to do with it.

And that puts the final nail in the coffin of the person I used to be.

The young person is dead, long live the mother.

Probably the worst playlist in the world... ever

Unplayable. Ever. Anywhere.

With the exception of Torn, which is a great song and will probably never recover from being put on that playlist, and a handful of guilty pleasures, that is torture. Oh my poor music. Poor genius having to match them. Poor server having to admit to them.

I'm not admitting to them:
The acquiring of all one week's top 40 albums was a unexpected windfall. Not getting rid of most of them was an epic fail.

What I done readed

This list of books...

It's not going down. It is getting longer. It should be almost infinitely long because there are so many books I have to read.

Oh. And the ones I own. Hunners of them. Most of my books were in storage until last month, and that there list of books for me to read consists of the ones I had in my possession at the time of writing. So that includes one shelf of books I thought I would want to read in the time I naively thought it would take to sell the house-I-will-live-in-for-the-next-forty-years, plus the ones I have bought or borrowed since January 2008.

And then the others returned. Hunners of them. Which is about a third of the books I owned before the storage preparation;I threw out (or transferred to boxes at me ma's because I cannot bring myself throw out a book and haven't yet given very many to charity as planned) a large proportion of my precious books. But still, hunners left. And very impressive many of them are. I may be very badly read, but I own some damned impressive books. Admittedly a lot of the books I have read that aren't pure fluff are popular science, which aren't popular enough to make it onto Lists, but there's a lot of classics and really good books, ones that make the should-have-read category. Ones that people refer to. Ones that crop up in other fiction and conversation and general bookishness. I own good books. I just haven't read them. I was reading earlier about projected readership and how more than one person is expected to read any one copy of a publication. It does seem to be assumed that when a book is purchased that it is read by at least one person. Umm.

Oh poor, unopened books! You are not unloved, I just haven't got to you yet. It may have been ten years, but I will get to you some day. Probably. And just because I gave up after a chapter or eight, doesn't mean a thing. I am currently reading a Terry Pratchett which is marvellous and I can never manage more than a page at a time (although I am in a state of permanent sedation and discomfort at present, I am relatively excused) so there's little hope for the less-than-marvellous. I haven't read some of the marvellous, Mr Fforde and Ms McDermid have unread tomes on those shelves. Andrew Collins' books: I only managed about a third of the first one before I got utterly depressed at the cheerful normalness of it. I don't know why I stopped reading 'Bye Bye Balham' by Richard Herring, it was really good. I think I had a moment of "must have escapism, don't want REAL, god, real life sucks" and accidentally bought my first Terry Pratchett. Which is unfair on any book. Ditto Patricia Wood's 'Lottery' - very good, very thought provoking... oh that was it. Made me think about things that made me sad. Which is quite probably the point, I'm a wimp.

I am also getting repetitive as I have typed most of that before. Yawn. Sorry. Sedated and senile.

So, for the ones I have read, a summary:

Mort, by Terry Pratchett: one of the best books I have read, as already detailed.

Shakespeare, by Bill Bryson: this was wonderful. Bryson writes magnificently, he uses words brilliantly and the whole book was fascinating. Being Scottish, English history is kept somewhat of a mystery. And there was more to Elizabeth I than murdering our Queen. Who'd have thunk it? Compelling, fascinating, brilliant. I learned about 40 new words reading this, huzzah for being able to instantly define words.

- aside, I have Stanza, an ebook reader for my phone, and it does this (word lookup) by simply clicking on the word. Just like that! Amazing! What was I talking about...? books? Oh yes.

A Perfect Match by Jane Moore: This was a good book, well written, good story. But nothing remarkable, nothing to make it remarkable. (Remarks she). Story is of a couple who have a sickly child, whose only cure is by a designer baby chosen to match his DNA. First child: not the father's, so the mother has to have another child by the man she had a one night stand with - a top politician. As you do. So, much scope for moral dilemma, which is presumably why this was chosen for Tesco Book Club. But as I say, didn't leave a mark.

Angus, Thongs and Full Frontal Snogging by Louise Rennison: Oh dear. I am a bit ashamed of this. I read this book because of a comment that piqued my curiosity. And then I proceeded to read the entire rest of the series. Yes, I did. It's aimed at teenagers. My 11 year old niece is also reading them just now. They are undoubtedly amusing and a nice diversion for a couple of hours, but they're not aimed at me, I don't know what I'm doing reading them. It is the diary of a 14 year old spoilt brat of a girl who talks about the boys she fancies and not a lot else. As did I at 14 (I now restrict that to 75% of my conversation). I'm not 14 any more. Oh, so what? Fun diversion. I'm not ashamed. I'm proud to embrace my inner teenager.

The Truth About Melody Browne by Lisa Jewell: I like Lisa Jewell, I've read all of her books and I have enjoyed them all. I enjoyed this. The story of this is about a girl who gets hypnotised and starts to regain her lost memories, she had previously remembered nothing prior to being 9. And she had quite a traumatic life, it's pretty interesting and Melody herself is pretty likeable. Quite moving, but I am afraid to say I finished it and put it straight onto the "try to sell if possible" pile.

Queen of Babble gets Hitched by Meg Cabot: Another one to display my maturity and literary achievement. Meg Cabot wrote the Princess Diaries and various other children's books. She has written a number of frothy and enjoyable books for adults and this is the third in the series about a girl who talks herself into trouble. I've read the other two and so I had to read this. Another quick, easy read with an immensely likeable heroine (a lot like Sophie Kinsella's shopaholic; she gets into strife by being impetuous and a bit dopey on occasion, but comes good in the end by being generally a good sort. Nothing like life, but smile inducing). Enjoyed.

Brain currently unstretched at all, braincells are dying off from lack of use as I type...

Secrets by Freya North: This is pink, girlie and undemanding, and I DON'T CARE!!! I love Freya North. I do. I've read all of her books, in order, as they came out, and I've loved them all. Some more than others, but I like all of her heroines (Fen's my favourite) and I am completely in love with each the men that capture her heroines' hearts. Her novels are set amongst settings close to the author's heart, and as such, the reader loves it too by the end. Cat's love for the Tour de France gave me an insight and interest into a sport I'd never looked at before. Fen's world of art history, Chloe's Cornwall, and the Saltburn of this book all stand out and become real. Reviews for her books say that she has matured, and she has, but that's not to say the early ones are immature. They're just different. Frothier. This latest book is intriguing, it is about a young single mother who arrives to housesit for a fascinating bridge builder. Their stories are slowly revealed as the young mum finds a life for herself in a northern seaside town. It's a really, really good read. This is my least favourite heroine, she's a bit perfect, but she's still interesting and likeable and has had the decency to have made a few mistakes along the way. There is an interview and all manner of notes at the back by the author which is fabulous to read while experiencing the momentary loss of the characters of the book, an emptiness on realising there is no more story to come. All fiction should leave you feeling like that.

My brain has still not been stretched.

The Life and Soul of the Party: This is chick lit by a bloke. It's nothing major, it's well written and the author is very good at characterisation, but it's just a book. It's a year in the life of 6 friends. It's mostly sad, it doesn't end well, but it's a good enough read.

Persepolis by Marjane Satrapi: This is fabulous. I was given this by a friend and I am very glad. It's the story of a girl growing up in Iran, about the revolution and the war, written entirely in cartoon format. Fascinating, thought provoking and clever... and I've lost it. I think I've subconsciously hidden it because I had to use my brain. Sigh.

All You Need is Love by Carole Matthews: I hated this. I have no idea why I finished it. It's diabolically bad. I've read Carole Matthews' books before and enjoyed them, I'm sure, but this is awful. The protaginist is prissy, goodly, annoying and unlikeable. Flawless, a perfect citizen, never done anything wrong, yada, yada. She has a son of ten, born when she was 17, (but that was an dodgy condom, naturally, she would never have intentionally taken such a risk) and she's a model mother. In a sink estate in Liverpool, which is reiterated every paragraph or so. She has a handsome, kind, funny, generally brilliant ex boyfriend who she has dumped for being unambitious, but because she's so damned perfect, he remains in love with her and is around being generally supportive and great all the time. She meets Mr Rich, Perfect and Jawdroppingly Handsome and, obviously, he falls madly in love with her. She is uneasy about it, because even though she's perfect, she struggles to fit in with his lifestyle, being from the afore-oft-mentioned sink estate. Meantime she gets the council to give her some massive grant to help tidy up the estate and her sheer perfection and general greatness mean that people from the council turn up to join in the work, because they thought they might like help, and the hoodies discover that they love gardening and they don't need to vandalise things any more. Just in case things weren't splendid enough for everyone, Superwoman (she does actually refer to herself as that)'s son steals the ex-boyfriend's paintings and gives them to the Tate Liverpool, who adore them, buy them, and secure a massive commission for the ex boyfriend. Superwoman meantime turns down Mr RPJ-H's marriage proposal because she doesn't want to leave her beloved estate. No, to be fair, she doesn't think it's right for her son. He's better on the estate where he's loved than with lots of money and a stepfather than doesn't relate well to a child he doesn't know. Or something.
There must be a humour to this, it must be something that I'm completely missing. There must be, it must just be my decaying brain, it must be an Ben Elton-esque parody on these type of book... or this is the one of the worst books ever written.

And now I am ignoring all the books I own and am reading Sourcery by Terry Pratchett. One page per sitting...

iCare

I may have mentioned previously that I got an iPhone and I'm rather fond of it.

The one bugbear I HAD with it was iTunes. It's a bit temperamental, it loses songs occasionally, which may be the fault of the server they live on, it may be a Windows thing. I know not. I shout at it relatively often. It takes forever and a day to get all the music nicely imported and matched up with album art and the gapless playback thing done (I never listen to albums in order: why can't I turn it off?). It has moments of being rather slow. I don't like to think about what they can know about me. It worries me. The final straw came when I realised the suicide of my computer meant I had completely lost some purchased music.
Ridiculous!

So I sent an email, expecting some corportate regurgitation of the rules regarding downloads and how it was my own stupid fault for not backing up.

Well.

Almost immediately, I receive an email from John at Customer Services. Very polite, very apologetic, offering me credits to rebuy the songs in question, plus an extra credit. Niggly problem I'd moaned about, fixed. And the following day - I still don't get on the PC much - a follow up email to see if all was ok. It is indeed ok. I have just been wished a nice evening from John after a number of "thank you", "no, thank YOU" emails. How very nice. How very unusual.

iTunes: I love you. Even if you only have an acoustic version of Live it Up.

Stuck on a ponder

What I would talk about if I had more time:

1) the definition of normal and why people assume that to label one thing "the norm" is labelling those that do not adhere to the norm "abnormal", and that by doing so it is belittling and cruel. I may expand on this later.

I can't go into detail about this or I wouldn't have time to go back to:

2) Religion (Christianity, to be precise, for no reason other than that's the one I've been assigned to by birth, baptism and education) and what it's all about. I'm on a quest. Not to find faith, but to try to understand how people who are clearly not stupid can take something that is prescriptive and exact and say "so that clearly isn't so, nor is that, but I believe in the basis behind it all". I can't comprehend that, not because I wish to force my non-belief on the religious, nor assert my superior questioning skills, but because it doesn't make sense to me. How can people "just believe"? I'm also curious how people that believe they are following God's path can reconcile tragedy.

My quest, incidentally, makes no sense to anyone. Tne religious take offence, they assume I am mocking; the fundamental atheists reiterate that "it's all rubbish, there is nothing to find out, some (stupid) people "just believe"". And everyone in between wonders why I don't just accept that some people do and some people don't.

I admire Richard Dawkins greatly for his ability to state his point, The Selfish Gene is a wonderful book. However his assertions are cruel on the subject of religion, he shows a lack of compassion for those who have presumably thought a great deal about why they do what they do, and it aims to take away something that forms a structure for people's lives. Really, it doesn't matter if people want to believe in God, it doesn't actually harm them or anyone else (as long as they don't force it on people - as they shouldn't have their belief forced away from them).

I have changed my tune on this, I was firmly in the Dawkins camp at one stage until I realised how offensive it was, how insensitive I was being.

So, some reading matter:
Richard Dawkins - the atheist.
(Not joined by Christopher Hitchens because he does seem to take it too far. Dawkins does argue beautifully).
John Humphreys - the confused.
I have been promising to read both of these, quite possibly for this very purpose, and more than likely here.
The bible, if I can stomach it. It's on my phone. I'm on Genesis 4.3 after a month.
And a book I found in the library entitled "The Dawkins Delusion".

I'll see where I go after that. Nowhere fast probably. I'll ponder on.

Ashes to Ashes

I love Ashes to Ashes. I accept that it isn't as good or as clever as Life on Mars (which was tarnished by the ending anyway) but I love it. Being the age I was, I thought everything grown ups did was marvellous and Alex Drake is exactly how I wanted to grow up. I have a massive girlcrush on Alex Drake.

So. Obsessed.

Current theory on ending

Hospitalised person at start of series 2 is patently not Alex Drake, the nurses are talking about her not being found.
So...
I reckon that it's Sam Tyler, his awakening, suicide and what not, as well as the whole Alex Drake story are part of his coma dream. He will awaken at the end of this series.

But, Alex Drake is real, he is hearing all the "we've got her" stuff from medics, the news footage is real, and when he awakens, she is there in the hospital, also awoken from a coma. Confused recognition on both parts in a Sliding Doors moment.

I fear we are meant to think it's Sam Tyler.

Or, it's an old Gene Hunt in the bed and the Tyler/Drake characters could be real from his "future".

Well, episode 3's on in a few minutes, which will undoubtedly blow this theory to smithereens. Ho la.

peeved

Pet peeves of the month:

1) drama series that have the "flashback" episode. There's about ten minutes worth of back story, essentially it's a filler, a non episode, a waste of my watching time

2) smarties: what have they done? I liked the artificial colours and flavours. They taste weird. The purple ones taste purple!!! Which, as everyone knows is poisonous. Green is weird. Pink is weird. Blue is weird. Yellow is lemon, which does not go with chocolate. Orange is orange, fair enough, brown is chocolate.
Ingredients: safflower, radish (radish?????), black carrot (carrots go black when they are off. Silly people), hibiscus, red cabbage (may explain the ugh vile bleg taste of the purple) and lemon. Orange oil is listed seperately. Because it's normal and not freaky weaky.

3) drama series that copy things from classic films, badly.

4) being British. What a purple country to belong to. Climate's good and it's nice to be free and all that, but it's just rubbish. Even if I left, I still have to lug my Britishness with me.

5) having to put a stamp on preprinted envelopes to the Student Loan Company. You only write to them if either:
a) you want to borrow money from them
or
b) you want to defer payment back to them

Both situations mean you're skint. So why do you have to pay for your own stamp? Grr.

6) parenting advice. If it is wanted, it will be sought. It's rarely wanted. Social Services will pitch in if I get it too wrong, otherwise we'll just muddle on.

And in the world of nothing...

The neck don't work, this is brought to you by the wonder that is iPhone. So, I can only make mistakes in the first window worth or I can't edit it!

I received an email yesterday telling me that Psychologies magazine is moving from April Green into May Wellbeing. Gliding actually, not simply moving. This has been buzzing around my mind annoyingly, it doesn't immediately make sense.

Green is not a state of being
Wellbeing is not a colour.

But what if they were?

What sort of mood would green be? Would green be happy and healthy and successful? It's presumably the opposite of wellbeing, so was April particularly sickly? (yes, how did they know)
Things I associate with green:

Plants. Today, specifically, moss, but I'm guessing that's NOT what they meant.

Um. That's about it.

Maybe they mean a sort of khaki, vomity green? That makes more sense.

So. The other side of it. Wellbeing as a colour. I'm seeing yellow or pink. Sunshine yellow and candy pink, I hasten to add. And the word "wellbeing" conjures up an image of some white toothed Beautiful Person leaping for joy, grinning with sheer joyfulness and innate wellbeingness. You know. The sort that make you want to be a bit sick. If the new magazine's out yet, I've not seen it and I'm getting a bad feeling about the cover. Please no. Please. The only thing more offputting on a cover is Keira Knightley with "that" expression - the punchable one - smirking out at you. Ugh.

Nope. I don't know what they mean. I could read the link. I'll be buying the magazine, maybe all will become clear. Meantime I could just ponder mindlessly, bordering on scathingly. That's always fun.

Maybe wellbeing's always been a colour. No one tells me anything.

The other trembling excitment in my inbox, which held me in suspense for a whole day, was from Boots. They have brought out a better serum! Yes, really! Protect and Perfect Serum, the one that makes you look like Keeley Hawes, is now available in Intense! It works better than a placebo apparently.
Yes, I'm that excited too. I was hoping for a change in packaging, but this! A new variant! It's astounding.

In other news: Dabs are selling cheap stuff, the Motley Fool are giving endless "advice", mostly about which credit card they (probably) get money for recommending, and Firebox are selling weird things. It's edge of the chair stuff.

Disclaimer: I don't get out much.

Hello

Just a wave to the people reading this that never say hello.

Hello!

I'm lonely you know. That's why I write this. Bit broked just now but never mind. Only me.

No. It's not very interesting. Move on.

Bye!

Ow.

Not that long ago I was bemoaning the fact that nothing ever happens.
I didn't realise that this was good.
I hurt.
Lots and lots and lots.
I have whiplash. Doesn't sound much, but it's rubbishy rubbish. I am completely crap. I now can't do:

Sitting up for long
Being on the computer (thank you iBaby)
Remembering stuff or understanding things
Driving (but I don't want to)
Turning my head
Using my arms to lift anything heavier than a phone
Bending

But I have many tasty painkillers so I sleep lots. And I've been exempt from doing most things. It's not all bad.
Whiplash! It sounds so nothingy.

My car is relatively unscathed and is merely awaiting a new bumper. I've had a Focus to not drive this week, it's rather nice.
The RAC are the greatest organisation in the world.
Everyone join the RAC. They are amazing in the event of an accident.

Although everyone's been pretty nice, especially the personal injury lawyers sniffing a case.

Not the police, who I blame entirely for the whole thing and who *apparently* don't like affronted missies being stroppily sarcastic at them.

That, I'm sorry to say is that. A pain in the neck is indeed a pain in the neck and so my mind is occupied.

Dodgems

Me + car = trouble.

Tonight I performed an emergency stop so as not to hit a police van that was going through a red light.
Car stopped dead, all good then...
"BANG"
And I've got another car rammed into me.
Happy day.

I did get to be incredibly sarcastic to a number of police officers. Which is quite fun even if they did make me feel geriatric for the second time in a day. And I got top marks (0) for my breath test. Obviously.

When my Volvo got broked, I fully expected it back. I was truly bereaved when it was pronounced dead.
Distraught, I bought a pretty coloured Vectra on the rebound.
It hates me. It knows I still love the Volvo. It's been trying to crash since I got it.

I just know they're going to fix the Vectra. I'll get it back just a little shiter than before. I've found a new Volvo!
I'm not going to get it. Dammit.

I should have a courtesy car soon, I bet it's a Ka. Courtesy car is good. Do not complain. Admit it is unlikely a BMW is the same grade of car as a Ka. Hope for a Punto.

Sleep eludes me. Too wired.

Anonymity

I do love smuggery.
And yes, I do know the correct word. I like that one better, ok?

"I am better than everyone else. I have no idea about why people do things but I shall judge anyway".

I was left the following comment on an old blog entry I made about my other "101 things" blog. It says:

67: find something better to do then make blogs about nothing.

Goodo. Can I just point out that the use of the word "then" in the middle of that makes that sentence a little nonsensical? Do something interesting, then write about nothing. Would it not make more sense to write about the something interesting? Ah. Maybe you meant "than", that would actually make sense. Not to worry about spelling though. It's not important, people KNOW what you mean and it's just old fashioned and bothersome to use the word that makes sense.

Back to the point however. This riles me. It is something that crops up relatively often from the smug and uncaring.

"Don't you have anything better to do?"

No.
Mostly I don't.
Don't you think if I had something better to do, I'd be doing it?

I have noticed (and previously noted, I bore myself) that people who spend a lot of time on the internet fall into the following categories:

1) people who are primarily on their own a lot, for whatever reason. That is somewhat lonesome and it's a type of company. Not a very good one but it's a wee bit better than putting the television on for company. The people I have noticed tweeting most (and pleasantly, there are more prolific bores) are writers and quite probably have lots of better things to do at other times, but who maybe just want to make contact with people.

2) people who have insanely bad jobs and a combination of hatred for the job/organisation, boredom, and ability to access the internet.

3) liars. people who fall into one of the above categories but make like they have interesting lives. Most people aren't Stephen Fry and if they're doing something, they don't have time to post about it.

4) people that actually have a lot of others that want to know what they have to say, who make time to say it and who should be thanked for doing that rather than derided. (This also includes people who think this applies to them but who are a bit deluded).

The "101 things" blog is a tool thing and not remotely meant for entertainment. It's not listed on searches, it's just there for me and it's not hidden because there's a vague possibility I'll be embarrassed into getting on with it. This here blog: it's not meant to be anything other than blether, mind burps, a way to say things that have occurred to me. Hence the title; it could have been called "It's extremely interesting" or "It's content heavy" or "It's lots of things" or "It's basically waiting to be compiled into a paperback". It's not, it's called "It's nothing at all". It therefore contains many words about nothing in particular, occasionally accidentally happening upon something interesting, and is listed partly because nice people sometimes say hello, and partly because just once in a while I'm saying something I like to be out there.

I am incidentally saying a lot less than before, but that's a little to do with the fact that I can concisely comment in a twittery manner, and mostly because the stuff that's keeping me busy is far from interesting. Today for example, I made a "hoover" out of an easter egg box and a wrapping paper insert. Time consuming: yes. Interesting: no, not really.

So, Mr/Ms Anonymous: yes, I would like to have something better to do, it is sage advice and I shall be sure to start finding something better to do with my time. I only wish I'd thought of that myself.

For the record, I do not like anonymous comments, unless it is done in humour. Anonymity in order to have a go at someone that may or may not know you is cowardly.

Them

I do marvel at what matters to people. I have lost count of the number of comments along the lines of "we are so much happier since we stopped spending so much money".

Bingo.

That is what's wrong. It's all about money, possessions, showing off. It's not about enjoying life. It's not about making the world a better place. Does anyone ever need more bathrooms than there are inhabitants of the house? Do people really not take walks because it's a nice thing to do?

Why does it take a global financial pigs ear of a situation to make people think about their family, about not throwing money hand over fist on things that they don't need or particularly like (for if they really liked them, they'd stay)? To discover nature, to cook at home, to stop and enjoy what's just there.

So: less spending, more happiness.

That's why poor people are so happy all the time.

Patronising smug gits. Why don't magazines etc feature normal people?

Anyway. Aside from those who have lost their job, who I'm guessing have bigger issues to face than if they should holiday in Bali or Bangor this year, is everyone not a bit better off? Mortgage payments are less, most things are a bit cheaper - that means more money to spend. No?

Part 2 and some coherent tying tomorrow, sleep just tapped me on the shoulder and asked me to surrender.

Goodnight, before I snooze midsentence

Typing for fun

I have the whole of April to catch up on reading blogwise. That's a lot of blogs, of which I've read a small sample. I don't, obviously, read all blogs, because that wouldn't be possible, and actually I don't read very many, but I do read some and I haven't been and I feel slightly overwhelmed at catching up so I may just shut Blogger and run away.

Then again, I might not.

The joy of having a desk. Did I mention I have my desk and chair back? 15 months of using my laptop (3 different laptops actually, but that's an irrelevant point) on the bed is now over. I can regain feeling in my fingers. I am comfortable. I am In A Chair.

So I'm going to type until I just fall asleep. Bla bla bla.

Or not. I may wait till I'm nearly asleep and go to bed. Which I have to do from my desk. I don't sleep here. I might, but I fear that wouldn't help the sore back. But I could. I have a chair.

My phone has never known a desk before. It has a place to sit, my little charging station which sounds quite organised but consists of a fourblock taped to the side of the desk and a little freebie phone deckshair that the wires for charging (DS and iPhone) can sit on so they don't go AWOL. And I have a mental attack every time I put my phone on my desk because for no reason whatsoever the box is here and so I have to line the phone up exactly on the picture on the outside of the box. Seconds of amusement.

Come back! I have other things to talk about! Ages worth!

I am watching the Apprentice. I have never watched this before on account of despising that sort of thing (mostly) but I decided to. I like it. Get thoroughly obnoxious arrogant twats and make them look stupid. I love seeing Kate look stupid, she does it with such ease. I don't care about the others. They're all donkeys apart from Yasmina. She said "I am so much better than the rest of them" or something to that effect and yes, she is. She is quite correct. Lorraine does appear to have a brain attached, but she is spectacularly ugly and everyone knows ugly people don't win reality tv shows. The blokes are insipid and unremarkable in every way.

And that's all I'm going to say on the matter, perhaps, because everyone else says it so much better. Sadly, not Andrew Collins which is a very sad thing indeed, but such is life.

Twitter: my life now boils down to tweets of 140 characters. (Why is it not Twits and Twitting? If that's rude then why's the whole thing not called Tweeter?). People come across well in tweets, I warm to them. People should speak at all times in comments of 140 characters. I'm not entirely sure how you'd measure it but it would be great. Exams would be so much easier, and shorter. Interviews would be infinitely easier. It's the future. But anyway, it does seem to bring out the best of people, they possibly actually have to think more to abbreviate, but whatever the reason, it works. I adore Stephen Fry now, I never quite took to him previously but he just gets the tweet thing right and says the right words at the right time. I naturally have many ginormous virtual crushes but shhhhh. Them's a secret. I find out about the bits of the world I'm interested in through other people, I can be spectacularly lazy. And for the iPhone users of the world, Tweetie is a great application.

Stuff has happened. Stuff I wanted to rant about. But for now I'm feeling mellow and unranty and I think I shall takes myself off to that bedplace.

Nytol.

Oh look, she posts.

I've been ill and busy and rubbish and tired. It seems that I gave up blogging pretty much for Lent, I've not read half the ones I normally read either. It wasn't deliberate. I may be rubbish again. No one cares really.

I have been returned my non essentials. All that which was in storage for the exciting house sale that we anticipated last January (oh the timing, we have a gift) and which we have abandoned all hope of has now been returned. I have my bookcases, my chests of drawers, my frivolous scarves, my books, my silly things. All back. All mine. I feel a bit of me returning. I have things that I forgot I owned, it's been jolly nice. I missed my books. I love my books.

When I was young I used to write a lot. Even when computers became the mainstay of communication, I liked to write things down. I still do, but I lose them. I didn't used to lose so much and so have found a couple of young-me things.

One is a book entitled "All About Me" which is intended for young children but which my friends purchased for my 21st birthday and which I dutifully completed.

You'd think I'd change more in 13 years. I am less sappy about the man, no longer have a dog, still despair about living in Kirkcaldy (although have lived away for a few years in between), still hate being skint and am still hoping to lose weight - except unlike then I actually have weight to lose. I thought I was vast! I was right in the middle of my ideal weight range. Hmm. Maybe when I'm 45 I'll look back at now and think "golly, and I wasn't even obese!" What a depressing thought. Being over 40 that is :-p

I don't mean it. I quite like old people.

Ok, I'll shut up now.

I also found a list of rules that I compiled for my husband before we were married. (Not as a pre-nuptial thing, this was before we knew we were getting married). They consist of the mostly sensible:

1. Shave regularly
2. Make cups of tea on demand
3. Remain on own side of bed while asleep
4. Don't hog the Nintendo/PC/bath
5. Always put the seat down on the toilet
6. Don't take Morag's seat when she goes to the kitchen (????)
7. Completely in charge of dogwalking
8. No dropping ash on carpet
9. Discourage growth of back hair
10. Be prepared to try other foods other than bacon/bread/cheese/chocolate
11. Don't eat chocolate that doesn't belong to you
12. Don't refer to food you don't like as "sick"
13. Always cut up your own cornbeef
14. Never admit in public that you play Galaxy
15. No watching football where you don't care about the result
16. No new speakers till old ones are broken
17. No old trainers when new ones are available.

Quite reasonable, I'd say and mostly still entirely applicable. No idea what I was on about in 6, 7 and 8 no longer apply in the absence of cigarettes and dog. No 9 is possibly unfair and I don't remember what the Galaxy of 14 is about.

Oh books. Lovely books, I have so many to read, I have many many more . I will finish Shakespeare tonight then I am deviating off the list for a bit to read my bookclub book - interesting as it is Alexander McCall Smith (La saves the world) and I have never read him on account of deciding I wouldn't like his books for no good reason - and to read Jade's autobiography for absolutely no good reason other than the fact that she was a mummy to two little boys. Shakespeare, McCall Smith and Jade. I feel confused already.

Happy Easter, which is what people seem to be doing this weekend, starting a day early. I don't even like chocolate that much.

Can't care, won't care

I'm all out of rant.
I'm so lost without it.

I don't care about anything any more. I mean, I do care a bit, I care a bit about a lot of things, but I don't feel evangelical about any of them. I want to. I want to have a subject to bang on about at the drop of a hat that isn't "aren't my children exceptionally talented and beautiful and polite and other things that are of no interest to anyone that isn't their parent?"

See, I care quite a lot about fish. I feel that people who bang on that "meat is murder" and then eat fish are a little hypocritical. Don't get me wrong, two of my most favouritist people in the entire world are pescetarian types, and anyone can eat what they like, but neither of these people are the "murder! murder!" types. I eat chicken occasionally despite being ostensibly vegetarian these days. I also eat jelly babies. I don't care what other people eat. Even fish. Unless it has a head or shell on, then it makes me a bit ill. That's just me, sorry, and it's fine -really! - if you do it when I'm not there. It just seems a bit wrong to say it's cruel to eat a chicken, but it's not cruel to eat a fish. But, I don't want to offend anyone and people are entitled to eat what they want (there aren't diminishing chicken stocks - not Knorr, don't be silly - but we'll not go there). If it's about taste, or preference, or dislike for farming methods, anything like that, fine, but do not tell anyone that it is murder to eat one animal and not another.

Incidentally, they make good pets, they are not just decorative and it does matter when they die.

And that's as passionate as I get about anything and I don't want to offend people so I need to retract most of it.

I care quite a lot about Boris. He is an idiot and I will happily explain why at any given chance. But I get a bit boring about that because it's all transport related. Mention the word "transport" and people glaze over. Also, being passionate about a hatred for a human being is not very nice. I find gleeful mirth at the fact that my clever, clever phone wants to correct "Boris" to "virus" and bore people occasionally.

Do you KNOW what he's wanting to do to traffic lights?

Oh. Ok.

I raise an eyebrow occasionally (rarely a sign of passion) at the reports on why *we* are so much happier in times of crunching credit because now *we* do things like walk in the park and have friends round to the house. Oh do *we*? *We* didn't do this before? What is the point in life if you don't enjoy the stuff that's just THERE? Were *we* that obsessed with things-that-cost-money?

Yada. People drink too much, too often. I don't. I don't see why almost all social occasions have to revolve around getting drunk. See fish comments for "best keep this to myself or I'll offend, well, everyone". Do you really need to be drunk to have a good time? Really? Oh, never mind, social skills aren't all that. Really? Moving on.

The environment. I care. I do what I can without unduly affecting my life. I'm a bit lazy. I think the people that can do anything aren't, and the people who know what they're talking about talk about the wrong things. And the wrong things are being done. It's hard to get passionate about something when you see what the other, more influential, people are doing and getting it wrong. Yes! I have changed all my lightbulbs! Yes, I don't use a tumble drier! Yes, I walk places! Oh, you're landfilling all my rubbish. That's grand. And where do I recycle these things? Hmm? Oh right. Paper only, or I can take bottles to the park. Great. Thanks for your help! Oh good, more biofuel, that's just what we need. Ach, I'll just turn the light on again.

Invasion of privacy: I'm too ignorant to care. Rights of the motorist? Selfish gits, get out and walk. Other things? Can't think of them so I clearly don't care that much.

And so we come to the end of everything I could care about, in a lot more than 140 characters.

Sigh.