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.
Wednesday, 10 June 2009
Wednesday, 27 May 2009
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.
Tuesday, 26 May 2009
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...
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...
Monday, 25 May 2009
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.
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.
Sunday, 24 May 2009
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.
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.
Monday, 4 May 2009
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.
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.
Saturday, 2 May 2009
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.
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.
Friday, 1 May 2009
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.
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.
Wednesday, 22 April 2009
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!
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!
Monday, 20 April 2009
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.
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.
Thursday, 16 April 2009
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.
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.
Wednesday, 15 April 2009
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.
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.
Sunday, 12 April 2009
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
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
Friday, 10 April 2009
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.
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.
Thursday, 9 April 2009
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.
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.
Wednesday, 1 April 2009
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.
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.
Thursday, 26 March 2009
Frustration
Meaningless tasks: The washing machine has been on 5 times. The clothes that were dirty this time yesterday are still dirty, the stuff that got washed was all clean then. Its one of those utterly pointless days that would have made no difference to anyone if it hadn't happened.
Look: no one's being sick. The night is mine to sleep in. So I'm blogging as I'm a bit thick.
More pointlessness: The Apprentice. I watched the first episode of this, I figured I had to see, and I can see the attraction. Watching a bunch of luvvies get their ego smashed could indeed be top entertainment. But sadly, they're all a bit crap. That's Britain's brightest business acumen? God help us.
Pointless past: house is off the market.
actually...
No. It's still there.
Useless tossbag.
But it will be off. The stuff that has been in storage since LAST JANUARY will be returned. Precious books mostly, because there's just not enough here.
Pointless thought: Oliver Milburn's a bit fit.
If this all seems familiar, maybe it is.
and now to sleep and to dream of doing things differently...
Look: no one's being sick. The night is mine to sleep in. So I'm blogging as I'm a bit thick.
More pointlessness: The Apprentice. I watched the first episode of this, I figured I had to see, and I can see the attraction. Watching a bunch of luvvies get their ego smashed could indeed be top entertainment. But sadly, they're all a bit crap. That's Britain's brightest business acumen? God help us.
Pointless past: house is off the market.
actually...
No. It's still there.
Useless tossbag.
But it will be off. The stuff that has been in storage since LAST JANUARY will be returned. Precious books mostly, because there's just not enough here.
Pointless thought: Oliver Milburn's a bit fit.
If this all seems familiar, maybe it is.
and now to sleep and to dream of doing things differently...
Friday, 20 March 2009
The point?
Gah. I've not blogged much lately.
There's not a lot to say.
Things to talk about:
The news.
We have:
Tributes to non celebrities that aren't dead yet
Shocking revelations that relatives of people that die are sad
(and a special one from the Scotsman...
Outrage that lawns are dug up while the ruined turf is replaced)
Music:
I am getting overexcited about music that was released 5 or more years ago.
Washing machines and toilets:
No, I'm not that interested either.
Books:
Struggling.
Exciting things that have happened here:
It was sunny. The woman in the papershop went to Benidorm.
Things on TV:
I've been watching Shameless, Mistresses, Pushing Daisies, Dirty Sexy Money and I've just missed the new Dave Gorman thing. Doh.
Bitterness and why I am useless today:
Nah.
So. Not a lot. I'll go and see if I have in fact missed Dave Gorman or if it's just about to start...
There's not a lot to say.
Things to talk about:
The news.
We have:
Tributes to non celebrities that aren't dead yet
Shocking revelations that relatives of people that die are sad
(and a special one from the Scotsman...
Outrage that lawns are dug up while the ruined turf is replaced)
Music:
I am getting overexcited about music that was released 5 or more years ago.
Washing machines and toilets:
No, I'm not that interested either.
Books:
Struggling.
Exciting things that have happened here:
It was sunny. The woman in the papershop went to Benidorm.
Things on TV:
I've been watching Shameless, Mistresses, Pushing Daisies, Dirty Sexy Money and I've just missed the new Dave Gorman thing. Doh.
Bitterness and why I am useless today:
Nah.
So. Not a lot. I'll go and see if I have in fact missed Dave Gorman or if it's just about to start...
Tuesday, 10 March 2009
Not read
Mosey mosey round and round the net.
I've come across a list of the top 200 books as voted for in the Big Read by the BBC.
Anyway, here it be:
1. The Lord of the Rings by J. R. R. Tolkien*
2. Pride and Prejudice by Jane Austen
3. His Dark Materials by Philip Pullman
4. The Hitchhiker's Guide to the Galaxy by Douglas Adams
5. Harry Potter and the Goblet of Fire by J. K. Rowling
6. To Kill a Mockingbird by Harper Lee
7. Winnie-the-Pooh by A. A. Milne
8. Nineteen Eighty-Four by George Orwell
9. The Lion, the Witch and the Wardrobe by C. S. Lewis
10. Jane Eyre by Charlotte Brontë
11. Catch-22 by Joseph Heller*
12. Wuthering Heights by Emily Brontë*
13. Birdsong by Sebastian Faulks*
14. Rebecca by Daphne du Maurier
15. The Catcher in the Rye by J. D. Salinger
16. The Wind in the Willows by Kenneth Grahame
17. Great Expectations by Charles Dickens*
18. Little Women by Louisa May Alcott
19. Captain Corelli's Mandolin by Louis de Bernières*
20. War and Peace by Leo Tolstoy*
21. Gone with the Wind by Margaret Mitchell
22. Harry Potter and the Philosopher's Stone by J. K. Rowling
23. Harry Potter and the Chamber of Secrets by J. K. Rowling
24. Harry Potter and the Prisoner of Azkaban by J. K. Rowling
25. The Hobbit by J. R. R. Tolkien*
26. Tess of the d'Urbervilles by Thomas Hardy
27. Middlemarch by George Eliot
28. A Prayer for Owen Meany by John Irving
29. The Grapes of Wrath by John Steinbeck
30. Alice's Adventures in Wonderland by Lewis Carroll
31. The Story of Tracy Beaker by Jacqueline Wilson
32. One Hundred Years of Solitude by Gabriel García Márquez
33. The Pillars of the Earth by Ken Follett
34. David Copperfield by Charles Dickens
35. Charlie and the Chocolate Factory by Roald Dahl
36. Treasure Island by Robert Louis Stevenson
37. A Town Like Alice by Nevil Shute
38. Persuasion by Jane Austen
39. Dune by Frank Herbert
40. Emma by Jane Austen
41. Anne of Green Gables by Lucy Maud Montgomery
42. Watership Down by Richard Adams
43. The Great Gatsby by F. Scott Fitzgerald
44. The Count of Monte Cristo by Alexandre Dumas
45. Brideshead Revisited by Evelyn Waugh
46. Animal Farm by George Orwell
47. A Christmas Carol by Charles Dickens
48. Far from the Madding Crowd by Thomas Hardy
49. Goodnight Mister Tom by Michelle Magorian
50. The Shell Seekers by Rosamunde Pilcher
51. The Secret Garden by Frances Hodgson Burnett
52. Of Mice and Men by John Steinbeck
53. The Stand by Stephen King
54. Anna Karenina by Leo Tolstoy*
55. A Suitable Boy by Vikram Seth
56. The BFG by Roald Dahl
57. Swallows and Amazons by Arthur Ransome
58. Black Beauty by Anna Sewell
59. Artemis Fowl by Eoin Colfer
60. Crime and Punishment by Fyodor Dostoevsky*
61. Noughts & Crosses by Malorie Blackman
62. Memoirs of a Geisha by Arthur Golden*
63. A Tale of Two Cities by Charles Dickens
64. The Thorn Birds by Colleen McCullough
65. Mort by Terry Pratchett
66. The Magic Faraway Tree by Enid Blyton
67. The Magus by John Fowles
68. Good Omens by Neil Gaiman and Terry Pratchett
69. Guards! Guards! by Terry Pratchett
70. Lord of the Flies by William Golding
71. Perfume by Patrick Süskind
72. The Ragged Trousered Philanthropists by Robert Tressell
73. Night Watch by Terry Pratchett
74. Matilda by Roald Dahl
75. Bridget Jones's Diary by Helen Fielding
76. The Secret History by Donna Tartt*
77. The Woman in White by Wilkie Collins*
78. Ulysses by James Joyce
79. Bleak House by Charles Dickens
80. Double Act by Jacqueline Wilson
81. The Twits by Roald Dahl
82. I Capture the Castle by Dodie Smith*
83. Holes by Louis Sachar
84. Gormenghast by Mervyn Peake
85. The God of Small Things by Arundhati Roy
86. Vicky Angel by Jacqueline Wilson
87. Brave New World by Aldous Huxley
88. Cold Comfort Farm by Stella Gibbons
89. Magician by Raymond E. Feist
90. On the Road by Jack Kerouac
91. The Godfather by Mario Puzo
92. The Clan of the Cave Bear by Jean M. Auel
93. The Colour of Magic by Terry Pratchett
94. The Alchemist by Paulo Coelho
95. Katherine by Anya Seton
96. Kane and Abel by Jeffrey Archer
97. Love in the Time of Cholera by Gabriel García Márquez
98. Girls in Love by Jacqueline Wilson
99. The Princess Diaries by Meg Cabot
100. Midnight's Children by Salman Rushdie
101. Three Men in a Boat by Jerome K. Jerome
102. Small Gods by Terry Pratchett
103. The Beach by Alex Garland
104. Dracula by Bram Stoker
105. Point Blanc by Anthony Horowitz
106. The Pickwick Papers by Charles Dickens
107. Stormbreaker by Anthony Horowitz
108. The Wasp Factory by Iain Banks
109. The Day of the Jackal by Frederick Forsyth
110. The Illustrated Mum by Jacqueline Wilson
111. Jude the Obscure by Thomas Hardy
112. The Secret Diary of Adrian Mole, Aged 13¾ by Sue Townsend
113. The Cruel Sea by Nicholas Monsarrat
114. Les Misérables by Victor Hugo
115. The Mayor of Casterbridge by Thomas Hardy
116. The Dare Game by Jacqueline Wilson
117. Bad Girls by Jacqueline Wilson
118. The Picture of Dorian Gray by Oscar Wilde
119. Shōgun by James Clavell
120. The Day of the Triffids by John Wyndham
121. Lola Rose by Jacqueline Wilson
122. Vanity Fair by William Makepeace Thackeray*
123. The Forsyte Saga by John Galsworthy
124. House of Leaves by Mark Z. Danielewski
125. The Poisonwood Bible by Barbara Kingsolver
126. Reaper Man by Terry Pratchett
127. Angus, Thongs, and Full-Frontal Snogging by Louise Rennison
128. The Hound of the Baskervilles by Arthur Conan Doyle
129. Possession: A Romance by A. S. Byatt
130. The Master and Margarita by Mikhail Bulgakov
131. The Handmaid's Tale by Margaret Atwood
132. Danny, the Champion of the World by Roald Dahl
133. East of Eden by John Steinbeck
134. George's Marvellous Medicine by Roald Dahl
135. Wyrd Sisters by Terry Pratchett
136. The Color Purple by Alice Walker
137. Hogfather by Terry Pratchett
138. The Thirty-nine Steps by John Buchan
139. Girls in Tears by Jacqueline Wilson
140. Sleepovers by Jacqueline Wilson
141. All Quiet on the Western Front by Erich Maria Remarque
142. Behind the Scenes at the Museum by Kate Atkinson
143. High Fidelity by Nick Hornby
144. It by Stephen King
145. James and the Giant Peach by Roald Dahl
146. The Green Mile by Stephen King*
147. Papillon by Henri Charrière
148. Men at Arms by Terry Pratchett
149. Master and Commander by Patrick O'Brian
150. Skeleton Key by Anthony Horowitz
151. Soul Music by Terry Pratchett
152. Thief of Time by Terry Pratchett
153. The Fifth Elephant by Terry Pratchett
154. Atonement by Ian McEwan
155. Secrets by Jacqueline Wilson
156. The Silver Sword by Ian Serraillier
157. One Flew Over the Cuckoo's Nest by Ken Kesey
158. Heart of Darkness by Joseph Conrad
159. Kim by Rudyard Kipling
160. Cross Stitch by Diana Gabaldon
161. Moby-Dick by Herman Melville
162. River God by Wilbur Smith
163. Sunset Song by Lewis Grassic Gibbon
164. The Shipping News by E. Annie Proulx
165. The World According to Garp by John Irving
166. Lorna Doone by R. D. Blackmore
167. Girls Out Late by Jacqueline Wilson
168. The Far Pavilions by M. M. Kaye
169. The Witches by Roald Dahl
170. Charlotte's Web by E. B. White
171. Frankenstein by Mary Shelley
172. They Used to Play on Grass by Terry Venables and Gordon Williams
173. The Old Man and the Sea by Ernest Hemingway
174. The Name of the Rose by Umberto Eco
175. Sophie's World by Jostein Gaarder
176. Dustbin Baby by Jacqueline Wilson
177. Fantastic Mr. Fox by Roald Dahl
178. Lolita by Vladimir Nabokov
179. Jonathan Livingston Seagull by Richard Bach
180. The Little Prince by Antoine de Saint-Exupéry
181. The Suitcase Kid by Jacqueline Wilson
182. Oliver Twist by Charles Dickens
183. The Power of One by Bryce Courtenay
184. Silas Marner by George Eliot
185. American Psycho by Bret Easton Ellis
186. Diary of a Nobody by George and Weedon Grossmith
187. Trainspotting by Irvine Welsh
188. Goosebumps by R. L. Stine
189. Heidi by Johanna Spyri
190. Sons and Lovers by D. H. Lawrence
191. The Unbearable Lightness of Being by Milan Kundera
192. Man and Boy by Tony Parsons
193. The Truth by Terry Pratchett
194. The War of the Worlds by H. G. Wells
195. The Horse Whisperer by Nicholas Evans
196. A Fine Balance by Rohinton Mistry
197. Witches Abroad by Terry Pratchett
198. The Once and Future King by T. H. White
199. The Very Hungry Caterpillar by Eric Carle
200. Flowers in the Attic by V. C. Andrews
Oh how ashamed am I!! This, I think, is even worse than films.
The ones in bold I have read, the starred ones I have started but not finished. I have mostly read children's books. Oh dear. Oh dear. Somebody, somewhere said that the average adult has only read six of these, so I'm possibly marginally better than the average adult. Oh help. I think I really need to take "reading" off my CV.
I think just one of these appears in my 2009 list, so that's not going to help. I've got Great Expectations and Crime and Punishment by email as well, I suppose. I've read some books that would surely have made the list in the 6 years since this was compiled. That Curious Incident dog one. I read that.
I am going to Read. A. Book (or 200).
I've come across a list of the top 200 books as voted for in the Big Read by the BBC.
Anyway, here it be:
1. The Lord of the Rings by J. R. R. Tolkien*
2. Pride and Prejudice by Jane Austen
3. His Dark Materials by Philip Pullman
4. The Hitchhiker's Guide to the Galaxy by Douglas Adams
5. Harry Potter and the Goblet of Fire by J. K. Rowling
6. To Kill a Mockingbird by Harper Lee
7. Winnie-the-Pooh by A. A. Milne
8. Nineteen Eighty-Four by George Orwell
9. The Lion, the Witch and the Wardrobe by C. S. Lewis
10. Jane Eyre by Charlotte Brontë
11. Catch-22 by Joseph Heller*
12. Wuthering Heights by Emily Brontë*
13. Birdsong by Sebastian Faulks*
14. Rebecca by Daphne du Maurier
15. The Catcher in the Rye by J. D. Salinger
16. The Wind in the Willows by Kenneth Grahame
17. Great Expectations by Charles Dickens*
18. Little Women by Louisa May Alcott
19. Captain Corelli's Mandolin by Louis de Bernières*
20. War and Peace by Leo Tolstoy*
21. Gone with the Wind by Margaret Mitchell
22. Harry Potter and the Philosopher's Stone by J. K. Rowling
23. Harry Potter and the Chamber of Secrets by J. K. Rowling
24. Harry Potter and the Prisoner of Azkaban by J. K. Rowling
25. The Hobbit by J. R. R. Tolkien*
26. Tess of the d'Urbervilles by Thomas Hardy
27. Middlemarch by George Eliot
28. A Prayer for Owen Meany by John Irving
29. The Grapes of Wrath by John Steinbeck
30. Alice's Adventures in Wonderland by Lewis Carroll
31. The Story of Tracy Beaker by Jacqueline Wilson
32. One Hundred Years of Solitude by Gabriel García Márquez
33. The Pillars of the Earth by Ken Follett
34. David Copperfield by Charles Dickens
35. Charlie and the Chocolate Factory by Roald Dahl
36. Treasure Island by Robert Louis Stevenson
37. A Town Like Alice by Nevil Shute
38. Persuasion by Jane Austen
39. Dune by Frank Herbert
40. Emma by Jane Austen
41. Anne of Green Gables by Lucy Maud Montgomery
42. Watership Down by Richard Adams
43. The Great Gatsby by F. Scott Fitzgerald
44. The Count of Monte Cristo by Alexandre Dumas
45. Brideshead Revisited by Evelyn Waugh
46. Animal Farm by George Orwell
47. A Christmas Carol by Charles Dickens
48. Far from the Madding Crowd by Thomas Hardy
49. Goodnight Mister Tom by Michelle Magorian
50. The Shell Seekers by Rosamunde Pilcher
51. The Secret Garden by Frances Hodgson Burnett
52. Of Mice and Men by John Steinbeck
53. The Stand by Stephen King
54. Anna Karenina by Leo Tolstoy*
55. A Suitable Boy by Vikram Seth
56. The BFG by Roald Dahl
57. Swallows and Amazons by Arthur Ransome
58. Black Beauty by Anna Sewell
59. Artemis Fowl by Eoin Colfer
60. Crime and Punishment by Fyodor Dostoevsky*
61. Noughts & Crosses by Malorie Blackman
62. Memoirs of a Geisha by Arthur Golden*
63. A Tale of Two Cities by Charles Dickens
64. The Thorn Birds by Colleen McCullough
65. Mort by Terry Pratchett
66. The Magic Faraway Tree by Enid Blyton
67. The Magus by John Fowles
68. Good Omens by Neil Gaiman and Terry Pratchett
69. Guards! Guards! by Terry Pratchett
70. Lord of the Flies by William Golding
71. Perfume by Patrick Süskind
72. The Ragged Trousered Philanthropists by Robert Tressell
73. Night Watch by Terry Pratchett
74. Matilda by Roald Dahl
75. Bridget Jones's Diary by Helen Fielding
76. The Secret History by Donna Tartt*
77. The Woman in White by Wilkie Collins*
78. Ulysses by James Joyce
79. Bleak House by Charles Dickens
80. Double Act by Jacqueline Wilson
81. The Twits by Roald Dahl
82. I Capture the Castle by Dodie Smith*
83. Holes by Louis Sachar
84. Gormenghast by Mervyn Peake
85. The God of Small Things by Arundhati Roy
86. Vicky Angel by Jacqueline Wilson
87. Brave New World by Aldous Huxley
88. Cold Comfort Farm by Stella Gibbons
89. Magician by Raymond E. Feist
90. On the Road by Jack Kerouac
91. The Godfather by Mario Puzo
92. The Clan of the Cave Bear by Jean M. Auel
93. The Colour of Magic by Terry Pratchett
94. The Alchemist by Paulo Coelho
95. Katherine by Anya Seton
96. Kane and Abel by Jeffrey Archer
97. Love in the Time of Cholera by Gabriel García Márquez
98. Girls in Love by Jacqueline Wilson
99. The Princess Diaries by Meg Cabot
100. Midnight's Children by Salman Rushdie
101. Three Men in a Boat by Jerome K. Jerome
102. Small Gods by Terry Pratchett
103. The Beach by Alex Garland
104. Dracula by Bram Stoker
105. Point Blanc by Anthony Horowitz
106. The Pickwick Papers by Charles Dickens
107. Stormbreaker by Anthony Horowitz
108. The Wasp Factory by Iain Banks
109. The Day of the Jackal by Frederick Forsyth
110. The Illustrated Mum by Jacqueline Wilson
111. Jude the Obscure by Thomas Hardy
112. The Secret Diary of Adrian Mole, Aged 13¾ by Sue Townsend
113. The Cruel Sea by Nicholas Monsarrat
114. Les Misérables by Victor Hugo
115. The Mayor of Casterbridge by Thomas Hardy
116. The Dare Game by Jacqueline Wilson
117. Bad Girls by Jacqueline Wilson
118. The Picture of Dorian Gray by Oscar Wilde
119. Shōgun by James Clavell
120. The Day of the Triffids by John Wyndham
121. Lola Rose by Jacqueline Wilson
122. Vanity Fair by William Makepeace Thackeray*
123. The Forsyte Saga by John Galsworthy
124. House of Leaves by Mark Z. Danielewski
125. The Poisonwood Bible by Barbara Kingsolver
126. Reaper Man by Terry Pratchett
127. Angus, Thongs, and Full-Frontal Snogging by Louise Rennison
128. The Hound of the Baskervilles by Arthur Conan Doyle
129. Possession: A Romance by A. S. Byatt
130. The Master and Margarita by Mikhail Bulgakov
131. The Handmaid's Tale by Margaret Atwood
132. Danny, the Champion of the World by Roald Dahl
133. East of Eden by John Steinbeck
134. George's Marvellous Medicine by Roald Dahl
135. Wyrd Sisters by Terry Pratchett
136. The Color Purple by Alice Walker
137. Hogfather by Terry Pratchett
138. The Thirty-nine Steps by John Buchan
139. Girls in Tears by Jacqueline Wilson
140. Sleepovers by Jacqueline Wilson
141. All Quiet on the Western Front by Erich Maria Remarque
142. Behind the Scenes at the Museum by Kate Atkinson
143. High Fidelity by Nick Hornby
144. It by Stephen King
145. James and the Giant Peach by Roald Dahl
146. The Green Mile by Stephen King*
147. Papillon by Henri Charrière
148. Men at Arms by Terry Pratchett
149. Master and Commander by Patrick O'Brian
150. Skeleton Key by Anthony Horowitz
151. Soul Music by Terry Pratchett
152. Thief of Time by Terry Pratchett
153. The Fifth Elephant by Terry Pratchett
154. Atonement by Ian McEwan
155. Secrets by Jacqueline Wilson
156. The Silver Sword by Ian Serraillier
157. One Flew Over the Cuckoo's Nest by Ken Kesey
158. Heart of Darkness by Joseph Conrad
159. Kim by Rudyard Kipling
160. Cross Stitch by Diana Gabaldon
161. Moby-Dick by Herman Melville
162. River God by Wilbur Smith
163. Sunset Song by Lewis Grassic Gibbon
164. The Shipping News by E. Annie Proulx
165. The World According to Garp by John Irving
166. Lorna Doone by R. D. Blackmore
167. Girls Out Late by Jacqueline Wilson
168. The Far Pavilions by M. M. Kaye
169. The Witches by Roald Dahl
170. Charlotte's Web by E. B. White
171. Frankenstein by Mary Shelley
172. They Used to Play on Grass by Terry Venables and Gordon Williams
173. The Old Man and the Sea by Ernest Hemingway
174. The Name of the Rose by Umberto Eco
175. Sophie's World by Jostein Gaarder
176. Dustbin Baby by Jacqueline Wilson
177. Fantastic Mr. Fox by Roald Dahl
178. Lolita by Vladimir Nabokov
179. Jonathan Livingston Seagull by Richard Bach
180. The Little Prince by Antoine de Saint-Exupéry
181. The Suitcase Kid by Jacqueline Wilson
182. Oliver Twist by Charles Dickens
183. The Power of One by Bryce Courtenay
184. Silas Marner by George Eliot
185. American Psycho by Bret Easton Ellis
186. Diary of a Nobody by George and Weedon Grossmith
187. Trainspotting by Irvine Welsh
188. Goosebumps by R. L. Stine
189. Heidi by Johanna Spyri
190. Sons and Lovers by D. H. Lawrence
191. The Unbearable Lightness of Being by Milan Kundera
192. Man and Boy by Tony Parsons
193. The Truth by Terry Pratchett
194. The War of the Worlds by H. G. Wells
195. The Horse Whisperer by Nicholas Evans
196. A Fine Balance by Rohinton Mistry
197. Witches Abroad by Terry Pratchett
198. The Once and Future King by T. H. White
199. The Very Hungry Caterpillar by Eric Carle
200. Flowers in the Attic by V. C. Andrews
Oh how ashamed am I!! This, I think, is even worse than films.
The ones in bold I have read, the starred ones I have started but not finished. I have mostly read children's books. Oh dear. Oh dear. Somebody, somewhere said that the average adult has only read six of these, so I'm possibly marginally better than the average adult. Oh help. I think I really need to take "reading" off my CV.
I think just one of these appears in my 2009 list, so that's not going to help. I've got Great Expectations and Crime and Punishment by email as well, I suppose. I've read some books that would surely have made the list in the 6 years since this was compiled. That Curious Incident dog one. I read that.
I am going to Read. A. Book (or 200).
Monday, 9 March 2009
Sense
So Obama un-banned stem cell research.
Which would seem a tad sensible.
View a) of stem cell research
Could provide cures to, or understanding of, a variety of otherwise untreatable diseases.
View b) of stem cell research
Could result in the cloning of evil dictators.
Now, it may just be me, but I find comfort in the fact that one of the most powerful governments in the world doesn't think like the sort of people that think b).
Of course, I could take the opinion, as of one of the journalists in our local press, that all the stuff about American politics is a bit tedious, being as how we're British and not American.
But then again, howthefuckdidshebecomeajournalist?
The words "clueless" and "idiot" are floating around my head.
Which would seem a tad sensible.
View a) of stem cell research
Could provide cures to, or understanding of, a variety of otherwise untreatable diseases.
View b) of stem cell research
Could result in the cloning of evil dictators.
Now, it may just be me, but I find comfort in the fact that one of the most powerful governments in the world doesn't think like the sort of people that think b).
Of course, I could take the opinion, as of one of the journalists in our local press, that all the stuff about American politics is a bit tedious, being as how we're British and not American.
But then again, howthefuckdidshebecomeajournalist?
The words "clueless" and "idiot" are floating around my head.
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