Going Places

2010 will be a year of going places, seeing new people, visiting new things.

2010 will be a year of itchy feet.

That's the plan.

Books Books Books

Newest additions:

1) Lady Chatterley's Lover - DH Lawrence
2) Cry, The Beloved Country - Alan Paton
3) The Unbearable Lightness of Being - Milan Kundera
4) Jude The Obscure - Thomas Hardy
5) For Esme With Love And Squalor - JD Salinger
6) The Infinite Plan - Isabel Allende

What I Miss Most About Living On My Own

Being able to do my song and dance routine while doing the dishes.

Through The Desert

In Where The Wild Things Are, the new movie based on the children's book, Max is twice led through a desert and faced with a realisation. Carol leads him through a desert and shows him what things used to be like, and wishes for things to go back to the way they were. KW leads him through a desert and shows him how things could be, and wishes everyone would move forward with her. He's somewhere in the middle.

The Wisdom of Chris Addison

As seen in The Guardian today.

"Chris mainly watched Fireman Sam over and over again with his chickenpox-ridden brood: 'If I were rationalising the Fire Service, the Pontypandy station would be the first to go. All they do is clear up after Norman Price, who really ought to be brought to the attention of social services.'"

Double Take

, originally uploaded by liz_isabella.

Shades of Gold

, originally uploaded by liz_isabella.

The Road Less Travelled

, originally uploaded by liz_isabella.

Walk On

It's so easy to keep making excuses. My hiking boots are still in storage. I don't have a car. It's rainy and muddy. I'm scared to go on my own. But you have to see past the bullshit. You have to see the excuses for what they are - unfounded fears, silly hang-ups, ridiculous concerns - and move beyond them.

Never make excuses that prevent you from doing the things you want to do.

I don't want to be that person anymore. I don't want to be the person who has lots of ideas and plans, but does nothing to make them happen.

Today, I couldn't find my hiking boots and I wasn't able to buy a new pair, so I sucked it up and hiked in trainers. I hate hiking in trainers. I hate not hiking even more.

Starbucks Parable

Not every panini is my panini,
I said,
wishing it was so.
As a steak and tomato toasted made its way to the customer
at table 3.

Not every panini is my panini,
I murmured,
passing my gaze
to the display case with its sign:

Fair Trade (a better deal for all)

and waited for my skinny latte.
Double tall.
Extra hot.

Hmmmmmm

A new movie that kind of intrigues me on an anthropological level. The Best Friend would understand what I mean.

Babies.

Grrrrrrrrrrrrrr

I share a house with three strangers. The dispossesed Vietnamese chick has just moved out, leaving me to deal with a bemused Frenchman and a couple, who I will call Cock and Cock's Girlfriend.

One of the house rules is that no-one is allowed to wear shoes inside. I did not make this rule. I think it's a stupid rule, because there are tiles everywhere and I don't like being told what to do. Nonetheless, I take my shoes off and then I put them in my room. Sometimes in the cupboard. Sometimes they land near the chest of drawers. Sometimes they lie under my bed.

The rest of the household (read: Cock and Cock's Girlfriend) leave their shoes piled up by the front door. There's such a large pile that you can't get to the stairs without first having to negotiate the pile of trainers, loafers, high heels and other unwieldly footwear in enormous sizes. I mean, we're talking boxes without topses here.

So it was inevitable that I would this morning fall over an enormous pair of trainers and twist my ankle. Just as it was inevitable that as I fell I hurt my back. And then it was inevitable that I would shriek: "Fucking shoes!" and then kick them all over the passage. And it was inevitable that I step over them on my way out and lock the door, without tidying them away. My ankle hurts.

Walk Away Renee - The Left Banke

Progress?

A little while ago I posted a post about the fact that questions keep me awake at night. A friend asked me if that was true, do I really lie awake at night questioning and wondering? I said yes, because I do. But later, as I was replaying the conversation in my mind, I realised that I wasn't being completely honest. Because I hadn't realised that something had changed. I still lie awake sometimes, and then I think long middle-of-the-night thoughts (I blame the medication I've just gone cold turkey on), but I don't do it nearly as much as I used to do. I still fret, but it's not the destructive fretting I remember from a few years ago. I still worry, but it's not the all encompassing worry that used to make me not want to get up in the morning. It's all become tinged with a practicality. A pragmatism. A realisation that it's OK to have a mope, or a wallow, or feel a bit fretful. But there's no point in letting get in the way of my sleep. Or my life.

Progress? Who knew! It happened and I didn't even realise.

Missed Call

I got a call on my mobile from an unknown number. It went to voicemail, and all I got was a young man's voice in mid conversation. He was saying:

"HIV Positive - it's a play on words, but it's just a bad saying. It's about saying that we're not going to be sucked into the stigma that's associated with having HIV or Aids. Radical. Are you serious? You're talking shit Joe. You're talking absolute shit. No I won't hear you out. It's not logical. Because the time when you're most at risk of contracting HIV Aids is in the first two weeks of infection. And you become less infectious as time goes on. And you can be given drugs to reduce the infectiousness as well. Well there's an infesction risk for anyone. The risk applies to us all the time. Millions of people - 10 million people. It's not logically. You can't look at everything with your weird pragmatic pathologic slash fascist mind. It doesn't work all right, it doesn't work. No, you're wrong."

Viral marketing campaign? Accidental bum dial? Who knows. Funny though.

Diffident

dif·fi·dent (df-dnt, -dnt)
adj.
1. Lacking or marked by a lack of self-confidence; shy and timid.
2. Reserved in manner.

Catch

When people talk of being caught
between a rock and hard place,
You are what they mean.

When people talk of being caught
between the devil and the deep blue sea,
You are what they mean.

When people talk of being
caught out and caught up,
caught by and caught in,
and caught on caught on caught on.

When people talk of
being caught,
You are what they mean.

Burning questions

It's the whys and the hows that get me. The whos and the whatfors. The wheres and the whens. It's the questions that keep me up at night, turning thoughts that have no end over in my head.

Head desk

You know those moments when you just want to plant your face in your hands forever, while waiting for The Hole In The Earth to swallow you up as promised?

I have those every day. On special days, I have those moments every hour.

But I Being Poor Have Only My Dreams

When I was 18 I dreamed that I was sitting at a kitchen table. It was round and stained yellow. A bright buttercup yellow. The table sat in a window, and through the window I could see it was a beautiful day - blue sky and sunlight. I could feel it warming my face as I looked up from the papers I was sorting through. I sat looking out of the window, lost in thought. Someone walked through the kitchen. As he passed he touched me lightly on the shoulder. He didn't say anything, and I didn't say anything. But I woke up still feeling the light touch on my shoulder. And was content.

Taste of Home

Taste of Home, originally uploaded by liz_isabella.

Skin

You are embedded on my skin
Indelible
Immovable as the mole on my forehead -
The one you'd touch and call
Yours.

Hazy shade of winter

Hazy shade of winter, originally uploaded by liz_isabella.

TMI

I always wear co-ordinating underwear. It's a bit of a compulsion. Today, by some trick of fate and by virtue of Gap's knicker range, I did not. It bugged me far more than it should have done. I think I may need some kind of intervention.

A Sign

A Sign, originally uploaded by liz_isabella.

Language Is A Fluid Thing

This morning, while simultaneously doing a crossword and trying to convert grams into kilograms.

"What's smaller than an inch?" I asked.

"What?" he said.

"You get millimeters, which are smaller than centimeters, but what's smaller than an inch?" I asked again.

"You don't get milli-inches," he agreed.

"We just say 'half an inch' or 'quarter inch',' I said. "We should have deci-inches."

"Or centi-inches," he said. "Cinches!"

"Ha!" I said. "Excellent use of language."

"Well, you know what they say. A miss is as good as a cinch," he answered.

In Such a Hurry

I'm in such a hurry for the good stuff to get here. The feeling of anticipation feels an awful lot like anxiety, but it's not, it's the thrilled hope that something good is round the corner. But I can't be in hurry. A little bit of patience never killed anyone, did it?

No Man Is An Island

I was turning this over today while struggling not to drown in an aqual class.

As much as I'd rather not be privy to other people's thoughts, sometimes I wish we had more of a shared conciousness. There's so much going on inside our minds, but we stop short of sharing it. It's too personal, or we dismiss it as too silly, or naive. And sometimes the moment just passes.

Yes, occasionally you have a perfect moment of accord.

But that just makes me more sure that we are all islands, isolated inside our minds.

Overheard On A Bus

Chav 1: But never going to get a promotion, yeah? Because I've used up all my leave and all my sick.

Chav 2: But you can come back from that.

Chav 1: Yeah, but not until next year like. But right, I see my sick as leave, right? That's three weeks that I have off yeah?

Chav 2: Yeah, that's true.

Chav 1: And I'm too friendly with the customers like. I tell them right off not to get a credit card. I tell them, don't waste your time. I don't have one.

The Absence of Light

100_1200, originally uploaded by liz_isabella.

Overheard In A Punt

Punter: Wait, is she the one with the weird eye?

Puntee: She does not have a weird eye!

No Wonder Cats Sleep So Much

Today I...

- bought a framed map of the West Coast

- alphabetised my bookshelves

I consider that an extremely good day.

Senor Don Gato

I loved this song but I never learned all the words. Will have to teach it to The Nephew.

My Future Career

A remarkable brainstorming session during lunch today revealed that I should devote myself to developing a hotline for confused readers. Readers across the world would be able call me and ask for advice on what to read next.

Just think! I wouldn't have to prowl around Waterstones, waiting for the furrowed brow of the bamboozled bibliophile. I wouldn't have to lurk, waiting to hear the words, "Do you think this is any good?" No more randomly inserting myself into the conversations of complete strangers, just to recommend my favourite author.

What I'm envisioning is that customers would dial 1 for Fantasy, 2 for Non-Fiction, 3 for Kids, etc. And maybe there could be an and-if-you-still-can't-figure-out-what-you-want option. Dial 8 for random suggestions by our extremely erudite founder and leader.

This idea has merit! Just need to think of a name...

Books Books Books

It's been a shockingly long time since I updated my loyal readers (*coff* Marissa *coff*) on the newest additions to my bookshelves. I've added a lot in recent months, and to be honest, I've been remiss in keeping a list.

So I'll only add:

- The Wind-Up Bird Chronicle by Haruki Murakami (comes recommended as a good Murakami starting point - yes, that's right, it'll be my first)
- Mr Knightley's Diary by Amanda Grange
- Edmund Bertram's Diary by Amanda Grange
- Captain Wentworth's Diary by Amanda Grange

It's not as if I need an excuse to re-read Jane Austen, but this will be a fun way to lead into into it.

Oh yes, and one more.

- The MacKades: Rafe and Jared by Nora Roberts.

No comment.

Goldfish Drama

I don't think I'm cut out for goldfish keeping. It's too stressful! I keep expecting them to peg it at any moment!

Success!

I just won £10 on a scratchcard.

Default Position

My default position has been Table for One for so long, I worry that I'm not able to make the leap to a Table for Two. How do you go from being single to being with someone? I know, I know, there are whole books, movies and dodgy articles in Cosmo devoted to this one topic. But I'm serious. Is being willing to embrace the idea enough? Or will I, heaven forbid, have to be proactive? I'd really much rather sit here and wait.

Foxy

"Am I beng flirted with by a psychotic rat?"
Mrs Fox, Fantastic Mr Fox

Queue Idea

I think that the popcorn queues in cinemas would do better to be arranged in order of how late you are for a given movie.

Queue 1: T-15 minutes

Queue 2: T-5 minutes

Queue 3: The movie has started but you have 20 minutes of trailers to get through so you're probably still ok for time.

Queue 4: The trailers are about to end, grab your popcorn and run.

The Golden Age

After an evening spent watching Roman Holiday and The Shop Around the Corner, I just want to dwell in the world of black and white movies. Surround myself with handsome men wearing hats, and witty quips at the ready. Be swept away by the swelling music, and moved by the passionate kiss at the end. And the happy ending - even though Roman Holiday doesn't actually have one. Movies from the 30s, 40s and 50s are just irresistable. As are Gregory Peck and James Stewart. I've lost my heart to them in particular.

Getting Old

I was sitting in TGI Fridays (the best of a bad bunch of restaurants, I assure you, the centre of Milton Keynes tends to cater hamburgers or Chinese food and that's about it) and I was mostly zoned out with my book (I wouldn't even notice the apocalypse if I have a good book to read and in this case I had two) and then I looked up and thought: "This place is loud" Blaring music, loud chatter, plates and glasses being dropped on the floor, happy birthday being sung with applause and sparklers. I mentally clutched my pearls in horror. "I'm getting old," I thought. And then I went back to my book.

Too Much Information

"We can't sit over there anymore," I told my Zen-like friend in the park at lunch today.

"Why?" he asked.

"Because someone has written 'We had sex here!' on it," I answered.

"Ohhhhh," he said.

A Bad Day

You know it's a bad day when you'd rather sit in a dodgy smelling bathroom than go back to your desk and deal with numbskulls who can't spell, punctuate, or apparantly think for themselves in any way.

A favoured few are excluded from this list of course.

Eternal conundrum

If I had kids, I would be totally screwed. How do you teach kids anything, when you spend your entire time on the fence? How can you show kids where the line is, when you can't even decide on a line?

For instance.

We all present a face to the world. How you dress and how you act affects how people see you. You should bear this in mind when you decide what you're going to wear and how you're going to act.

But.

It's wrong to judge people by their appearances. It's wrong to judge people full stop. People are all different, but that doesn't necessarily make them bad. But you can't decide you don't like someone based on the way they dress.

Hmmm, maybe the take away here is, judge people by how they act? But by judgement I mean guage in a sensible manner, not deride for your own amusement?

Maybe I need to write all these arguments down for the future.

Don't even get me started on liberalism and the death penalty.

Sneaky Sainsbury's

Do you know why Sainsbury's can sell a Basics range DVD player For £19.99?

Because they don't include any cables!

Grrrrrrr.

Dear Idiot Bus Driver

The reason I am carrying a walking stick is because my balance is not so hot. You saw me struggle onto the bus and juggle my stick and my bag and then use my stick to manouver towards a seat. So why would you pull out like the devil himself was behind you, causing me to lurch like a maniac? Why would you do that? Like I don't already hate MKMetro.

love and kisses

Liz

Meme

1. Three best movies you've watched recently.
Julie/Julia
Nick and Norah's Infinite Playlist
Mullholland Drive
2. Three favourite songs at the moment.
The Shins - New Slang
Belle and Sebastian - Take Your Carriage Clock and Stuff It
Layla - Eric Clapton
3. Favourite dessert.
Creme Brulee
4.(a) Two physical characteristics you like about yourself.
My eyes and my freckles
4.(b) Two physical characteristics you like in a significant other.
Bare feet and collar bones.
5. The most unforgiveable thing anyone could do is:
Pretend to be my friend.
6. If your were to dress someone up as yourself they would be wearing...
A black coat and a frown.
7. Three favourite magazines:
Time, National Geographic and Empire.
8. A new favourite bad habit:
Putting a pillow on either side of me so it feels like I'm sleeping in a tiny box
9. Dream house:
Farm house among trees, with an orchard and a stream nearby.
10. Which five people would you have with you on a desert island and why?
Jane Austen, Dorothy Parker, Enid Blyton and Lindsay Davies - just to see what would happen.

Four Weddings and a Funeral

A brilliant example of a great movie, ruined utterly by one of the last lines. "Is it still raining, I hadn't noticed."

Bleeeeeccchhhhh.

Defining dickhead

The Sister: [referring to housemate] Cock!

Me: He is a cock. Cock is a good word.

The Sister: A really good word.

Me: Much better than dickhead.

The Sister: I don't know why, but when ever I picture the word dickhead, I see a penis wearing a cowboy hat.

Me: And now that's what I'm going to see when I hear the word dickhead. Thanks very much.

The Sister: I'm not sure why it's wearing a stetson.

Three Billy Goats Gruff

Lost

"There are several ways to react to being lost. One is to panic. Another is to abandon yourself to lostness, to allow the fact that you've misplaced yourself to change the way you experience the world." Her Fearful Symmetry - Audrey Niffeneger

Meeting of minds

There's something about someone vocalising what you're thinking, just as you're thinking it, that makes you feel warm inside.

Life, or something like it

I was in London for the weekend. It was a bit of a whirlwind, but it culminated in a shopping spree in Canary Wharf. It feels like a lifetime ago that I worked there, and wandered that mall everyday, took the tube to work everyday. Muscle memory took my feet to the eastbound Jubilee line to Canning Town, before I remembered I was heading in the opposite direction. It's actually only been three months since I left, and it feels like a year, and a split second, all at the same time.

I remember myself three months ago, and I'm not sure what I was doing. I was making ends meet, seeing my friends, hoping for the best, making elaborate plans. But always standing still.

Now I'm living through my unexpected deviation. And I'm making ends meet, and seeng my friends, hoping for the best and making elaborate plans. But I'm still standing still. Always with the standing still.

I'm not sure when, if ever, I was properly living. Sometime I feel like every day since I left university was a day of elaborate plans and standing still. That can't be living can it?

I'm not being unhappy here, or even morose. I'm just wondering if that cheesy Hallmark saying is true: "Life happens while you're making other plans." I don't want it to happen without me noticing. I don't want to be reading a guide book while the sites go by.

It's just that in Cape Town I was living half a life, working to come over to the UK. In London I was living half a life, trying to make things work in a badly paid job in the most expensive city in the world. Now I'm living another half life, in a boarding house populated with a bad tempered English guy, his bland girlfriend, a bemused Frenchman and a dispossessed Vietnamese chick.

Unexpected good has come out of my unexpected diversion. Things have worked out better than they could have. And yet. And yet. And yet.

I would like to get on with my real life now, please.

Jealousy...

...makes you nasty,

Nasty makes you fat,

Fat makes you ugly,

But you're already that.

Blogging on the move

I'm sitting on a train going to London. Needless to say, we're stuck, probably to let all the Virgin trains go streaking past. Bastards. MK itself is horrible, a concrete monstrosity punctuated with horrific traffic circles. But the countryside around is quite lovely - very green and hilly and ye olde England. I'm spotting all kinds of houses that in another life I would have as my very own. I woke up this morning with a horrible case of The Yearns (it's the crisp wintry weather that does it). This sojourn is not helping.

What we talk about when we talk about love

I think, theoretically anyway, that the best part of being in love, would be the sure knowledge, the absolute certainty, that you're loved back.

Theoretically.

Happy

I have faith

I also have my fingers crossed, am not stepping on any cracks, and am keeping a weather eye out for ladders and black cats.

Married

, originally uploaded by liz_isabella.

Scene at the Chippy

I poured vinegar over my chips.

Him: It's interesting. I wonder if it's the height of the counter? But most female customers have to lean forward to put the salt and vinegar on.

Other guy: Must you make a comment about it?

Him: I just think it's interesting! [To me] You didn't lean forward.

Me: I make a point not to lean forward.

Him: Don't worry girl, I'm sure they're lovely and all, but I think most female customers must just be short.

Me: That's weird, because I consider myself quite short.

Him: No, I think you're a good height for a female.

Me: Well, thanks, that's always good to know.

Michael Nyman - The Heart Asks The Pleasure First

Dig those heels in

Isn't it strange how we dig our heels in when pushed? Is this "I don't wanna" reflex the flipside of freewill?

I've been called stubborn (I disagree, by the way). The Mother has always said that I nod along with everyone, then do exactly what I want anyway.

I just wonder how many mistake we've made with our instinctive no, when a little more flexibility could have won us great things.

Plato was right

I know
that I know
your shadow
only.

I know
that you are just an

outline

a sketch

an obscure reflection of a conversation long since forgotten.

I know
that I know
your shadow
only.

I know
that you are just an

unfinished note

an unheard song

a whispered melody, misheard and forgotten.

I know
that I know
your shadow
only

I know

Fictional Zombies

My favourite part of Pride and Prejudice and Zombies? The Readers' Discussion question at the back.

"Some scholars believe that the zombies were a last-minute addtion to the novel, requested by the publisher in a shameless attempt to boost sales. Others argue that the hordes of living dead are integral to Jane Austen's plot and social commentary. What do you think? Can you imagine what the novel would be like without the violent zombie mayhem?"

Ha!

440

The number of emails I just finally got around to deleting from my inbox.

At least half of them were Facebook messages.

Stupid Facebook.

Julie and Julia

This movie is all about Meryl Streep. She just steals every single scene she's in. And she and Stanley Tucci, who plays Julia Child's husband Paul, have the most wonderful chemistry. Their relationship, and Julia's relationship with food, made this movie shine.

I was a bit meh on the Julie part. But it was quite a project to embark on (and definitely one of those "I wish I had thought of that" ones).

And now I just want to go and cook something adventurous and vivacious and French.

Wistful

076, originally uploaded by liz_isabella.

Mullholland Dr

I actually don't even know where to start on this movie. The surreal storyline? The bizarre twists? The tense score? The incredible visual tricks? The absorbing plot? The freaky characters? The rather hot scenes I know you all know about and which you know I now know about and to which I will continue to obliquely refer? It was a brilliant movie. Am hooked on David Lynch!

Timing

I've been turning over in my head something that a zen-like friend told me: you receive what you're ready for. Or to paraphrase even further: you have to be in the right time and the right place.

Maybe because we're projecting the right energy? Or maybe because that is when we recognise the things we may have been too self-obsessed or self-absorbed, or too naive or too immature to see.

Forgive me, I've been watching too much David Lynch.

Old stuff

Endless rows of endless faces
smudged as far as eyes
can see
peering to the bitter edges
trying to find the rest of
me

Endless rows circle faster
spinning swirling sicken stop.
One room, staring, at the walls,
blackness staring back.

How to woo a nerdy girl

Der Fuhrer sent me this ages ago and I forgot to share it. I found it really amusing.

To do list

You know you've bitten off more than you can chew when you have "Life Plan" written on your to do list.

Irony

The Nephew throwing a wobbly at the Peace Pagoda.

In which my organisational whims come back to bite me in the arse

I got a sudden urge this afternoon to empty the large box labelled "To file", weed out the masses of envelopes and junk mail, and carefully and systematically refile both the new and existing papers.

So far I have emptied the box and watched The Shawshank Redemption while randomly arranging stuff in piles (Oooh, water bill. I no longer pay water bills, but I might need that. I know, I'll put it on this pile and file it under R for Random.).

The main flaw in my plan was to do all this while perched on my bed. I have managed to dislodge the piles twice and been attacked by the three (three!) packets of batteries I've found. I would take a photo of the carnage but I actually can't find my camera. Or my phone. Could somebody please call me so I can do an echo-location?

Maybe I'll give up, layer all the bills in my clothing in manner of street-sleeper and just watch Mullholland Drive instead.

Archiving

I realised tonight that I've been blogging for nearly four years. I think that's the longest I've ever "journalled". I kept a diary for a solid three years pre-blog, and I still do sporadically, but that has very much become my platform. Pretty damn boring huh?

But I was cool once! Here, see for yourself.

Keeping Our Thoughts To Ourselves

It's strange how as we get older, we talk less. We share less with each other. And that's not a reflection on our friendships, which deepen, I think, as we age.

Are we protecting ourselves? Are we more cynical about our thoughts and ideas? Less willing to risk them out loud? Or are our thoughts just more precious to us, something we can keep to ourselves when necessity forces us to be shared with the world?

Seriously people

You can stop googling Russell Tovey now.

The Crank

He was a crank, and he knew looked it. He stood under the overhang on the platform at Kenilworth station, a full rubbish bin to his left, empty tracks to his right. He was a crank. Pissed off. Dikbek. He listed them as he waited for the train to come in, peering at the lights, willing them to flash green. It was hot and he was waiting. Trains, heat, waiting. He worried the words over in his mind, making them fit.

He reached up to touch the rafters above his head, scowling as his fingers brushed over pigeon shit. He ground his teeth at the unconcerned birds, hating them for their well-worn perches, their homey mess. As he hated the other would-be passengers who joined him under the overhang. His antipathy swelled as he watched them cluster together, away from the bin where he stood.

Flies, attracted to his overheated appearance, circled lazily. Flies, heat, trains, waiting: he listed them again as the lights went green and the train screeched into the station in fits and starts. The people around him forced open the doors, clambering over each other in their eagerness for seats away from the broken windows. Carrying his list of peeves with him, the crank chose carriage number two.

Unsure of his reasons, he faltered for a moment, trying to rationalise his decision. The shrieking whistle yanked him out of his reverie and he barely managed to avoid the closing door and grabbed onto a rail for safety. Unnoticed, unheeded, unwanted, he thought morosely when none of the other people in the carriage so much as glanced at him.

Not thinking this time, the crank chose a seat by the door. He settled next to a schoolgirl absorbed in her book. A wave of something encroached on his habitual self pity. A quick glance at the girl confirmed that she hadn't noticed. Uncaring, he thought, adding the word to unnoticed, unheeded and unwanted.

He glumly examined the spear of sun shining on his well scuffed shoes. Soon it would creep over his ankle, attack his knee and bake his leg. Stickiness, stuffiness, sullenness. The alliterative misery broke through and he smiled, briefly and sardonically. He reached into his pocket and brought out the other list, the one he had had no say in compiling.

Breathe, it said.

Quashing the impulse to roll his eyes, he huffed in and out.

Close your eyes and absorb the atmosphere, it said.

He blinked and considered that done.

Sit without judgement, it said.

Look without criticism, it said.

Relax, it said.

He folded the list away carefully, placed his hands on his knees and prepared to stare at the floor. He ground his teeth as he noticed an identifiable stain by his right foot.

“Think we'll be late again?” a young voice asked.

Startled, he swung around to face the schoolgirl.
She bent the spine of Wuthering Heights back. “Were you stuck yesterday too?” she ventured when he looked at her.

“No,” he answered eventually.

Breathe, the list had said. He inhaled, exhaled.

“I don't usually take the train.”

“I always take the train,” she answered him comfortably. “But it means I'm late a lot. Have you ever tried to explain to a teacher that it's Metrorail's fault? The first 50 times, sure. After that they start to get a bit sceptical. Have you read this?” She gestured with the book.

He nodded slowly.

“It's prescribed,” the girl said. “I don't know how I feel about it yet.”

“Either you like it or you don't,” the crank said, surprising himself.

She shook her head.

“Impossible to say.”

“Why?” the crank asked, despite himself.

“Because they're horrible. Obsessed and pathetic is not particularly appealing you know. They should just let it go.”

Relax, the list said.

“This is me,” the schoolgirl said as the train shuddered to a halt. She leapt up and was immediately lost in the crush.

The crank followed more slowly, his instructions screwed up in a ball in his hand. He walked up the platform, not noticing the vendors and their buckets of ice and cooldrink. He didn't notice the ticket collector's glare when she buzzed him through the turnstile. He walked straight past the boys with their hands outstretched to where the young therapist waited.

“Well?” the young man asked. “Did the list help?”

“Goddamn fucking waste of my time,” the crank grunted, and threw the list away.

Whimper

Quick, someone tell my pilates is worth it!

Carboot Moment 7

Ta da!, originally uploaded by liz_isabella.

Who wouldn't want to buy from us?!

Carboot Moment 6

Sustenance (the bacon butties had already been consumed at this point)., originally uploaded by liz_isabella.

Sustenance (the bacon butties had already been consumed at this point).

Carboot Moment 5

The Sister is appropriately ashamed of spelling DVDs with an apostrophe., originally uploaded by liz_isabella.

The Sister is appropriately ashamed of spelling DVDs with an apostrophe.

Carboot Moment 4

You want to buy this one!, originally uploaded by liz_isabella.

You want to buy this one! And this one, and this one, and this one, and this one...

Carboot Moment 3

Stuff for sale (except fo the Persil)., originally uploaded by liz_isabella.

Stuff for sale (except fo the Persil).

Carboot Moment 2

The Sister is less than impressed about Milton Keynes at 6:30 on a Sunday morning., originally uploaded by liz_isabella.

The Sister is less than impressed about Milton Keynes at 6:30 on a Sunday morning.

Carboot Moment 1

Milton Keynes is very quiet at 6:30 on a Sunday morning., originally uploaded by liz_isabella.

Milton Keynes is very quiet at 6:30 on a Sunday morning.

The Sister and The Nephew

The Sister and Son, originally uploaded by liz_isabella.

Acquired today

1) Stranger than Fiction
2) Grosse Point Blank
3) Emma
4) Mansfield Park

Grosse Point Blank

"You know what you need? Shakabuku. It's swift spiritual kick to the head that changes your reality forever."
Minnie Driver, Grosse Point Blank

Not every silence needs to be filled

If you have something to say, say it.

But you don't always have to say something.

Pondering rudeness

Is it rude to ask someone what they're thinking? What if they've suddenly laughed to themselves? Is it rude to ask what they're laughing at? Are you putting them on the spot?

I like knowing what people are thinking (not as much as I like making up what people are thinking of course), but I would hate to think that I was offending someone's sensibitilies by wondering aloud.

Nick and Norah's Infinite Playlist

This was an impulse movie choice after someone (who I would very much like to give the nom de blogger of Zen Master, but who would not appreciate that at all) mentioned it off-hand last week.

It was smashing, one of those delightful surprises that I'll watch again and again. It met some of my key reqirements:

1) Geeky male protagonist with unplumbed depths

2) Smart and feisty female protagonist

3) Bizarre modern definitions of relationships

4) Plot focuses on one seminal night

4) Based on a book

5) Kick ass sound track

Highly recommended.

Whackhead Simpson: Asda are chumps

An oldie but a goodie!

(White) Lies

The nephew just raced in to tell me "there's a bird sleeping on the patio! Come look, come look!" My heart sank but I followed him as he tiptoed quietly to the window (so as not to wake the bird) and whispered, "See, he's sleeping."

I didn't actually commit to the idea that he was asleep (sort of non-commitedly mumbled a "wow" and a "would you look at that."). Then I hustled him out of there with his mother to the park. I've cleared the dear departed away now, so I'm waiting for him to come back and want to see if the bird is still sleeping. I don't actually want to lie, but I really don't want to explain that the bird met his maker (or rather, the exceptionally clean french doors). It's just too nice a Friday evening for that.

It also reminds me of the time when I was little (around 5 or so), and my pet gosling kicked the bucket. Poor Pieter. Anyway, he died, and it was traumatic, and The Mother encouraged me to come away from the cardboard box in which his little yellow body was lying and talk to The Father on the phone. So I went along to tell The Father what had transpired, and then The Mother came back to get the phone. While she was talking to him I raced back into the dining room to mourn the dead. But to my shock, he had disappeared. The box was empty. Jesus had come down to take Pieter away to heaven. I was elated, The Mother was relieved, and it was years before I found out that she had removed the evidence while I talked on the phone.

An eternity of anticipation

At last, Friday has arrived. And so, too, the end of August - possibly the longest month I've lived through.

Ten minutes is all it takes

It took me ten minutes tonight to finish tidying my place - a task I've been procrastinating over since Monday. I'm not sure why I do this. Maybe it's a kind of reverse instant gratification?

Flutterby

Full circle

March 2009: See Dr Weir who advises Disease Modifying Drugs. Advise Dr Weir that I have in fact moved to London. Be transferred to Dr Silber.

July 2009: See Dr Silber. Be put on Disease Modifying Drugs. Have life go tits-up and advise him that I've been moved to Milton Keynes. Be transferred to Dr Butterworth.

August 2009: See Dr Butterworth, who urges Disease Modifying Drugs as quickly as possible. Be advised that the prescription centre for Milton Keynes is, in fact, Oxford. "You'll be seen by my colleague, Dr Weir. Hope you don't mind."

Just because you're paranoid...

...doesn't mean people aren't out to get you.

I thought I'd left the paranoid, sad, nervous part of my personality back home. But no, she popped out in full force today, complete with twitchiness, repetitiveness, grumpy attitude, and tendency to bite people's heads off for the most minor of infractions.

But it's ok, I drowned her in the pool after work. Hopefully she won't reappear soon.

Solitude

Lying there in the dark, she realised that although she was no more alone now than she had been for years, it was the first time she'd felt alone. The difference between solitude and loneliness, she said into the blackness, was that solitude was voluntary, and could be ended at will.

Thyme Out - Katie Fforde

Making it up as we go along

I watched my manager put together a presentation, using the work we've done over the past month (a lot of work, I hasten to add) to justify major changes to the company website. It was all I could do not to run around the office screeching: "We don't know what we're doing! It's all bullshit! We've made it all up! And who cares anyway? It's only a poxy £400,000 project!" And then I fell into a tiny heap, sobbing.

Ok, only in my head.

This job matters to me, in the way all things I work at matter to me. I want to get it right, first time, perfectly. But we're all just making it up as we go along.

Wasps suck!

That is all.

Goodbye to You - Michelle Branch

Corporate claptrap (2)

You know you're stuck in a Corporate Hellhole when you go to the team huddle (...I know...) and the boss hands out a stuffed dog to the team "top dog".

The Ipod 10-track experiment (2)

Kudos as always to Der Fuhrer.

1) Aretha Franklin - I say a little prayer for you
2) Crowded House - Weather with you
3) Robbie Williams - It's De-Licious
4) Simon and Garfunkel - Bridge over trouble water
5) The Shins - Caring is creepy
6) The Beatles - Yesterday
7) Counting Crows - Perfect blue buildings
8) U2 - Beautiful Day
9) Nirvana - Pennyroyal Tea
10) Pink - So What

The only thing about me that never changes is my taste in music. Talk about lack of personal growth.

Dear Carrie Bebris

I have been trying to read the Mr and Mrs Darcy Mysteries since I first heard about them a few years ago. And I have not been disappointed.

Jane Austen sequels usually fall into two categories: awful and wretched. Mr Darcy Takes a Wife was awful and wretched. Putrid actually.

But Pride and Prescience was fabulous. The characters were interesting, but true I felt to Jane Austen's work. The relationship between Darcy and Elizabeth was really well written - all the wit and spirit of the original, not at all ruined by them actually being married now. The story was intriguing, but not too contrived. Having Darcy respond as a rationalist and Elizabeth use her intuition was an effective plot device, because they each had merit as such.

My only niggle was that the English characters sometimes lapsed into Americanisms, but that was only a very slight concern. I'm really looking forward to the other books in this series.

The Ugly Truth

Shockingly adult about sums it up! Definitely worth a look though - but don't expect any real wisdom to come out of it. Or any real romance. But it is laugh out loud funny.

Skype scam

And you thought Nigerians had the monopoly on "foreign investor needed for super-safe bank transfer of tragically lost millions" scam.

"[23:24:31] silver abbas says: Good day,

Please I crave your indulgence in reading through my mail to understand
my predicaments.My names are silver Abbas, i am a Sudanese by
nationality but presently i live in Accra Ghana with my mother and my
kid sister as refugees,since the political crisis in our country Sudan
that took the life of my father who was a wealthy business man and a
opposition politician to the present regime in our beloved country
Sudan

The main reason why I am contacting you now is to seek your assistance
in the area of my future investment and also for a helping hand over
some huge amount of money my late father deposited for me as next of
kin. This money amount to ($12.750, 000, 00 USD) Twelve Million Seven
Hundred and Fifty Thousand United State Dollars only, my late father
deposited for me here in Eco Bank Ghana Limited some years ago.

Since we escaped here to Accra after the death of my father, I have
contacted the concern Managements of the Bank so many times but what
they told me was due to our refugee status they will not release the
fund to me,that I should present a foreign partner or a company to
stand on my behalf for the transfer since then we are in search of a
foreign partner to help us retrieve the money from the Bank and also
help us relocate to your country and invest in real estates.
Please help us stand as my foreign partner to make this transfer to you and in time of the investment and we can come and live with you.

We are ready to give you 30% for your assistance.

Thanks and God bless you,

David Abbas.

You can contact me via my private email: silver.abbas@live.com"

Only 30%! I think gullibility is worth more than that, don't you?

Legging it

I've embraced the leggings trend. A few weeks ago I impulse bought a very nice blue print tunic. I realised that it wouldn't look right over jeans or a pair of trousers. So I thought about it.

I have a pair of grey yoga type trousers. But they just didn't look right, you know? The material was too thick, and the grey and blue, which looked really nice in my head, just looked very blah when when I put them on together. So I decided to bite the bullet and get some leggings.

I went to Gap first, and this really nice salesperson advised I go to H&M, because their leggings are better. She said she preferred them because they go down to the ankle, but can also be hoicked up to the waist and "I don't about you, but I like to yank them really high". So she directed me to H&M (turn right, go past the tree and keep going right) but I got lost and ended up in Debenhams instead.

Now, I'm deathly afraid of Debenhams. All the tiny collections freak me out, even though their sales are amazing. But I was desperate for the loo and I thought, maybe they have one in addition to leggings. I found some really nice ones as well - black, ankle-length, and distinctly un-80s ski pants. And they look really nice with my blue print tunic, if I do say so myself. And I don't think I looked like a sausage, because I paired it with my new black cardigan (and you guys know how I love black cardigans) and my black pumps and I had a rare moment of feeling well put together and comfy.

But don't worry - lest you think Liz has left her graceless ways behind her, the buttons on the tunic have a habit of coming undone at awkward moments.

Pondering expectations

Try not to let your imagination colour your perception of reality. Real people react differently in life to the way they do in your mind - there's no point in being disappointed in people not meeting imaginary expectations. They can't read your mind. And why should they?

Not as good as the book

I succumbed and went to see The Time Traveller's Wife tonight and, predictably, it didn't meet my standards. It's a good movie, but I thought it was missing all the pathos that made the book so incredibly powerful.

The movie flinched skimmed over the surface, where the novel really delved into the characters, making an improbable situation into something tender and hearwrenching.
There was never any hope of capturing that on screen, no matter how lovely Rachel McAdam and Eric Bana are.

Dear Sophie Kinsella (2)

Welcome to the list of Liz's favourite authors.

There's no medal or ceremony or anything. Just the satisfaction of knowing you made onto the list.

Congratulations!

Love and kisses

Liz

Corporate claptrap

Dear Bosses,

Please make up your minds.

Please please make up your minds.

We're losing the will to live here.

Love and kisses,

Liz

And now I've died laughing and can never go home again

What don't you miss about home Liz?

R42 for a burger, chips and a cooldrink?!

Holy shit!

Reliving the 80s in South Africa

What do you miss about home Liz?

Pimp my cane

A little while ago, a friend and I were discussing the vagaries of weight loss, body image and the like. I was commenting that I had bought a load of cheap clothes, because until I've hit the magical goal weight, I don't "deserve" more expensive clothes.

She replied, saying that in her experience she has found it more productive to treat herself to good clothes, because even though she's aiming to lose weight, she is still allowed to look and feel great. She said it keyed into the way she looked at weight loss too. Rather than being draconian and forcing herself into giving up all nice things because she was fat fat fat, she began to look at herself as a body that needed care and attention and deserved to be cared for and attended do. And then she acknowledged that I may have a slightly more complicated relationship with my body, because of the MS.

You know how occasionally someone says something in passing that actually makes you gasp at the truth of it? This was one of those moments. I had never allowed that thought to bubble to the surface, because it almost feels like an admission of defeat. And that's the hardest part about all this really - not admitting defeat. Because yes, I have a complicated relationship with my body. It's out to get me. That's not paranoia - that's truth. I always knew something was out to get me as well, I've always had a lurking suspicion. My body is out to get me. My immune system thinks I'm one massive germ, and is determined to eradicate me. My immune system is the Borg, and resistance is futile.

But it's also not my body's fault. I am Liz's slowly ticking, waiting to implode, time bomb of a neural pathway. But it's not my body's fault. It's fucked up, big time. But it's not my body's fault. And it's not my fault either.

So what can I do? I could feel sorry for myself. I could be ruthlessly practical. I could make crass jokes about impending disability payments. Or I could do all of the above. I started by buying a cane. It isn't an admission of defeat. I've had to use it once, but mostly it's just knowing it's in my bag that makes me feel better.

I'm not actually at war with my body, and the sooner I accept it the sooner I can make myself healthier and, hopefully, keep bouncing back.

Success is...

...completing the Daily Mail crossword.

Wortelkoek

A word that sounds infinitely more yummy in English: carrot cake.

Read the book first!

Here's a trailer for The Time Traveler's Wife, which is due for release soon. It's going to be interesting to see how it plays out on screen, because it was an amazingly complex and lyrical book.

A lot of people google Russell Tovey

I've had so many hits on his name, I think (Russell Tovey) I'll (Russell Tovey) just (Russell Tovey) seed (Russell Tovey) my blog (Russell Tovey) with his name (Russell Tovey). For SEO you know.

A frustrating day

A day in which I didn't hit my own targets, or meet my own expectations.

Dear Russell Tovey

First off, let me say that I enjoyed you immensely in The History Boys. Great movie, and you were great in it.

Second of all, I loved Being Human. The idea of a ghost, a werewolf and a vampire sharing a house in Bristol was genius. I am an old hand at admiring angsty werewolves, and you did a really good job.

Third, as John Chivery in Little Dorrit, you were quite good. I would have given you higher marks if you would just stop crying.

You cry in everything, did you know that? As trademarks go, do you want blubbing to be yours? Sniff it up, and get on with it!

It's a mystery

I'm not the best detective novel reader in the world, because while I get sucked into the story, I don't usually read along identifying whodunit, or spotting red herrings. But I do enjoy mysteries. And a good crime with a twist is always entertaining. Sherlock Holmes is always a good bet. I haven't read any Agatha Christie, a situation I intend to rectify. I've read some PD James, but I don't love Dalgliesh (not sure why, but I find him a bit wet). Elizabeth George's Lynley books are really great, as is Kathy Reich's Temperance Brennan series. I have absolutely no time for Patricia Cornwall though.

And now I've finally sampled the ambrosia of Dorothy L Sayers' Lord Peter Wimsey, and have found myself in a heady netherworld of crime and passion, with a delightful Edwardian English atmosphere. Sorry, got a little carried away there.

Although initially Lord Peter is just a little too foppish to cope with, his character is soon revealed to be intelligent, acerbic and shrewd. The language is really great - lots of intelligent puns and classic references that just make Wimsey stand out even more. And the supporting characters are so well drawn - Bunter especially.

But most of all, the plot is engaging and sucks you in. Arsenic and spiritualism are a brilliant combination. And I'm extra gleeful - there's a whole series of Wimsey left for me to read. I love it when that happens.

Books, books, books

Some new additions to the bookshelves:

The Collected Dorothy Parker - Dorothy Parker
Fight Club - Chuck Palahniuk
What We Talk About When We Talk About Love - Raymond Carver
Fifteen Tales of Modern Attraction - Alison MacLeod

The last two are short story collections. I covered Raymond Carver in third year English, along with other modern Americans, and fell in love then. That was Where I'm Calling From, so we'll see how Love compares. My friend Cams has been recommending it to me for ages, so on her head be it.

I love short stories, and of all the different forms of writing I've tackled, I enjoy that most. Maybe because there's value in the vignette? Power in the pause? Something special about dipping ever so briefly into a character's life, and then having the story end before you're ready to say goodbye.

My Happiness

I was thinking about their gig the other day so for your listening pleasure, Powderfinger.

Well I think it's funny...

When I took The Sister and The Nephew to a wild fowl park the other day, there was an enclosure of ducks and geese that really tickled my fancy. (Disclaimer: I am inordinately attached to geese - they're grumpy and funny, the misanthropes of the bird world.)

The enclosure was enormous, incorporating at least three of four ponds. But every time someone appeared with a bucket of the food you can buy at the entrance, they came charging down to the fence, honking and quacking and flapping and falling over each other.You can see it here, but be aware that all you can hear is me talking. A lot.

New Slang

For one reason or another, New Slang by The Shins has been in my head a lot lately. I finally rediscovered my Ipod and there it was - the Garden State soundtrack. I love the scene in which New Slang is played - Zac Braff is in a doctor's waiting room with Natalie Portman, who has foisted her earphones on him. He's listening to the song and staring at her with narrowed eyes. She stares back at him intently, watching him listen to a song, watching for his reaction. And his face is filled with an overwhelming sadness.

It's a great movie and it's a great song. I really enjoyed the symmetry of it coming up on the Ipod as I sat in A&E with my feet up on the chair, watching people come and go to the words "I'm looking in on the good life". Unfortunately, Zac and Natalie did not make an appearance.

It's life, Jim, but not as we know it

On Tuesday I went into the chippy around the corner. Not just any chippy - they do fish and chips, Chinese food and kebabs. In order to get my food I was required to have a long chat with the keepers of the counter. They asked me who I was, because they'd never seen me before. They asked where I was living before. They asked why I chose Milton Keynes. They wondered if I knew where the various highlights were located. When I took out my book, they asked me if I was a book person. And if I wanted chips with that.

On Wednesday I trudged past the chippy in the rain and I saw the same two in the window.

Today I returned to said chippy (yes, yes, I know, I know, I'll be healthy again next week). They greeted me with "hey Londoner", said they were going to wave at me yesterday but I looked like I was in a rush, how has my week been, how am I settling in, do I like Milton Keynes, and do I want some chips that?

How does it end?

I've consulted tabloid stars, broadsheet horoscopes and internet predictions. I'll turn over tarot cards, throw apple peel over my shoulder and consult tea leaves - I'll even give coffee grounds a try. I've sat in church and prayed (admittedly not enough), I've lain awake at night and pleaded, I've screwed up my eyes and repeated "Now I lay me", wondering if ending it differently will make it all end differently. I've eyed up the hotlines of phone psychics, I've walked past flea market clairvoyants, I've tossed coins down wishing wells. I'm carrying a St Jude's medal on my keyring but am transferring it to my wallet just in case. I've crossed my fingers and held my thumbs. I'm not standing on cracks, or walking between posts or under arches. But I still don't know how it will end. And if it will all be all right. I just need to know everything will be fine.

It'll be fine.
It'll be fine.
It'll be fine.

I said it three times, that should work.

Maybe if I say it with more feeling.

Please, please let it all be fine.

A truth universally acknowledged

'That is very true,' replied Elizabeth, 'and I could easily forgive his pride, if he had not mortified mine. I dare say I would've cut his throat had not the unmentionables distracted me from doing so.' Pride and Prejudice and Zombies - Seth Grahame-Smith

Dear Sophie Kinsella

I loved Can You Keep a Secret. It was just what I needed after binging on crime fiction. And can I just say that what I enjoyed most about the characters Jack and Emma was that they were both capable of apologising? It was nice to have someone admit they were wrong on paper. God knows, it never happens in real life.

kind regards

A Fan

PS I'll stop comparing you to Cecilia Ahern now. That was an unfair thing to do. I'm sorry.

Burning questions

Is it better to:

1) Eat three courses, enjoying every mouthful and then moving on, so that by the end of the meal you've got lots of different tastes in your mouth?

or

2) Have one course, so that you can savour and enjoy that one dish, and that's what stays with you?

I know I can rush through a meal, so that by the end I can barely recall what I've just eaten. I would like to learn to slow down, to remember to taste and savour everything. But sometimes you just want a dessert. Does that ruin what came before? Does having the chocolate mousse kill the delicate seafood paella? Should I just eat the paella? Or, um, the chocolate mousse?

Dear Nora Roberts

Excellent work switching to a new publishing company. There were far fewer mistakes in Black Hills, which just helped me enjoy the mystery that much more. My only criticism would be that it had some stong similarities to Montana Sky. That said, I did like it. It wasn't a thriller by any means, but it was a good read.

kind regards

A Fan

PS Why did you let Brittany Murphy near your adaptation of Tribute? She's horrible! And can't swing a sledge hammer to save her life.

Horse sushi

Finally - something I won't eat!

Thank you, new co-worker, for killing my usually voracious appetite. When I finally hit the magic 80kg, I'll know who to thank.

Benign neglect

In the last three weeks I have:

* Ended one job

* Moved to a new town

* Been unemployed for a day

* Been re-employed

* Moved again, to a different town

* Hurt my back

* Finished a number of books

* Seen the new Harry Potter movie

* Not updated my blog

I will attempt to do better.

Tempus fugit

Two years ago today I wrote this:

I arrived in England this morning at 6:55 on an overcrowded plane from Johannesburg. Virgin provides so-so food, fantastic entertainment and the smallest economy-class seats ever.

I only told The Sister I was arriving today, so I could make it a surprise for the The Parents. It was worth it to see their faces. And now I'm here. And strangely, it doesn't feel strange at all. I had a pang as the plane landed. "I don't live in South Africa anymore." Maybe as the excitement wears off and I start looking for a job, reality will beat me over the head with a mace. But for now I'm just fine with being excited.

PATTOTE: Better living through world domination. I have to start somewhere.

On the move

Just recently I finally hit a wall at work. It was a shitty arse week, brought on by a million things I had asked to be changed and weren't. I got home at 11 and lay in bed and stared at the ceiling and thought: there has to be more to life than this. There has to be more to life than earning a tiny salary in an expensive city, working at a job I used to love and think I was good at. And then I gave myself a slap for a being an idiot, and remembered that other people's faults are not my faults, or my fault even, and that I have given this job everything and it hasn't measured up and so it's time to move on.

I applied for a job two weeks ago, I went for the interview last Friday and they called this morning. I start at the beginning of July. In Birmingham.

You lose nothing by trying. I'm going to try and live my life, instead of letting my life live me.

The Alphabet Song

Fireman Sam

Mr Darcy carnal desires

This was the google search that led someone in India to this blog.

How?

PATTOTE: Better living through porn with literary merit.

World MS Day

Nothing to say

I've been keeping a list of all the things that I want to blog about. But I've lost it. Sorry.

Proud hausfrau

I managed to get a tomato-based stain out of a white top. I'm so chuffed with myself it's a little ridiculous. And I only damaged myself a little - a scrubbed the top of my index finger raw.

PATTOTE: Better living through washing powder.

Tackling Tetley

I really dislike this advert - it's just so patronising, and twee, and wrong.
Why must they resort to such blatantly wrong stereotypes, especially when it's done so badly that no joke results? If you're going to be insulting, at least be funny.

There's been a suggestion that this is some sort of homage to Alexander McCall Smith's Mma Ramotshwe. But...that's in Botswana.

PATTOTE: Better living through Nando's adverts, which you don't get here to my disgust.

Tartle

A Scottish verb meaning to hesitate while introducing someone due to having forgotten his/her name.

Deeper underground

I'm rather sadly obsessed with things that happen undergound. Love tubes and subways, would love to do a sewer tour. etc etc.

So I was thrilled to see this article in the Guardian. Books and the underground. What's not to love!

PATTOTE: Better living deeper underground, there's too much terror in this town, going deeper underground...

Sunday obits

It's weird, but for the last couple of months, as soon as I check the news on a Sunday morning, someone reasonablly famous has pegged it. Why do people die over weekends? It's convenient, but it's also a little odd.

Lovefilm anticipation

On their way - The Accidental Husband and Jane Eyre!

Two very good ones. Love this adaptation of Jane, because it has the always wonderful Toby Stephens in it. I was never as obsessed with Mr Rochester as some other fans of the book because, let's face it, he's a jackass. But he has a certain charm.

PATTOTE: Better living through Netflix lookalikes.

Eyes right

It never fails - as you take the DLR from West Silvertown to Pontoon Dock, and then on to London City Airport, everybody's eyes are immediately drawn to the Thames Barrier. It sits solidly over the river, inviting photographs and questions that nobody can answer. Why is the barrier there mummy? Um, to stop London from flooding. But how mummy? Um, um, look, an aeroplane. And we're still no closer to an answer.

PATTOTE: Better living through googling, I know, but going to the visitors' centre would be more fun I think.

Hurt

I've been listening to the Johnny Cash cover, because I was watching a really good documentary. It's so..sad.

Here's a video, so that you can all be sad with me.

Click here.

PATTOTE: Better living through the man in black.

You've got mail

I love this movie, it's one of my standbys. When it first came out I went to see it three times in a row - one of the first times I picked a movie and went to it by myself. Today though four things strike me:

1) The cleverly modern computer graphics in the opening scene - really, really dated.

2) The dial up sound makes me giggle so hard. As does the 'you've got mail'.

3) Wait a minute, a movie that came out when I was a teenager is looking dated. Shit, I got old!

4) I was suddenly really taken aback by the fact that Joe was as eager to hear from Kathleen as she was to hear from him. Am I really so stuck in my view that I'm always going to be more interested in them than they are in me?

PATTOTE: Better living through romcom realisations

Scene at South Bank Centre

Love Poem

You remind me
define me
incline me.

If you died I'd.

PATTOTE: better living through love poems and margharitas.

Dear Cecelia Ahern

I must insist that you cease and desist writing novels forthwith.

Having just completed PS I love you and Where rainbows end, I am honour-bound to inform you that necessary parts of my brain leaked from my ears. Your wanton disregard for pronouns caused my face to twitch so badly, doctors believe I will never smile again. And the dialogue. The stilted dialogue. The...stilted, dialogue.

No.

No, no, no, no, no.

yours respectfully

Me

PATTOTE: Better living through half-way decent chicklit, which this is not

I see

Relative afferent pupillary defect (RAPD): An indication of damage to the visual system which is greater on one side than the other. The presence of a relative afferent pupillary defect (RAPD) means that the pupils constrict less when a light is directed into the affected eye than they do when the same light is directed into the normal (or less affected) eye . The presence of an RAPD usually indicates damage to the retina or optic nerve that results in diminished light impulses being transmitted from the eye to the brain on the affected side.

PATTOTE: Better living through wikipedia, even though mostly it generates more questions than answers.

Such excitement!

Dark, very dark

Alas, poor Darcy, I knew you well

I've been watching Lost in Austen on DVD. It's a rather random mini-series about a woman in London who changes places with Elizabeth Bennett and proceeds to muck up Pride and Prejudice, while trying to get the story moving. I have loved Darcy since the minute I picked Pride and Prejudice. But alas, I have realised that he is a twat. I'm distressed.

PATTOTE: Better living through fictional heroes, cause real heroes are thin on the ground.

A burning question

So I'm waiting for a letter from my neurologist, informing my GP that it's all stations go on the disease modifying drugs so that my disease can, y'know, be modified. Finally today I got a response from the neuro's secretary. Apparently the hospital in Reading outsources their letter writing. To India. No, really.

They send them the dictaphone tapes (how exactly - because if they upload to email and email it, surely it would just be easier to type it here?) and then they transcribe them and send them back here for posting.

So my letter has been written, but some vital details have been left out ("Maybe the tape was broken," she said. "Or maybe they didn't understand something."). So now I have to wait. For my letter. To come all the way from India. Instead of all the way from Reading.

PATTOTE: Better living through carrier pigeons, which I'm seriously considering investing in.

The Book Thief

At first Liesel could not talk. Perhaps it was the sudden bumpiness of love she felt for him. Or had she always loved him? It's likely. Restricted as she was from speaking, she wanted him to kiss her. She wanted him to drag her hand across and pull her over. It didn't matter where. Her mouth, her neck, her cheek. Her skin was empty for it, waiting.

The Book Thief, Markus Zusak

Outrage

Today I got a letter from a debt collector.

On behalf of the library.

I have an outstanding fine.

Pay or else.

WTF???

Tasty

When I visited my mum the other day I asked if I could borrow my favourite of her recipe books, which is a blank book she used at school for home economics and has added to ever since.

I love to peruse it, and not just because it has some of my favourite recipes in (my grandmother's doughnut recipe is faithfully recorded, as is my ouma's pannekoek recipe, designed to serve up to a hundred hungry people at a church bazaar). I love to see my mum's handwriting develop, from the straight up and down cursive she used at school to transcribe recipes for things like kidney soup, to the sloppier cursive she used when I was little to write down recipes for funny face cakes, and rice krispie treats. Later the handwriting is more brusque, in capital letters. And now, now it has computer printouts stuffed in the front, recipes googled for and then forgotten.

I love this book, and I have only borrowed it (I'll return it Mum, I promise!). But one day, a horrible day in the future I really don't want to think about, I'd like to say to my sister, you keep Mum's wedding ring and eternity ring. I want her recipe book.

Not safe for children

Train brain

What do you do on your commute?

Heard at Canning Town tube station

Would Inspector Sands please report to the operations room immediately.

Past times

The news comes that someone from the past will be where you are now. And you are simultaneously struck by a wave of apprehension, that in a city of millions of people, they will be the one you run into, and a wave of acceptance, because really, so what?

I walk the line

Mr Pip

A doctor would have said I was suffering from depression. Everything I have read since suggests this was the case. But when you are in the grip of something like that it doesn't usually announce itself. No. What happens is you sit in a dark, dark cave and you wait.

Mr Pip, by Lloyd Jones

Something to crow about

Doubt

This was entirely made for Meryl Streep. She is just so uncomfortable the whole way through the movie - she fidgets, she taps, she twitches, she is irritable, she acts as if she is suffocating in her habit. She's perfect, and this move is all about her.

Trailer: Two Clive Owen movies are on the horizon - oh happy day!

Washed up

Saw The Wrestler last night, which was really good. Mickey Rourke did a bloody good job with the whole has-been junkie thing. Oh wait, I wonder why?

The most interesting thing for me was seeing the parallels between Randy and Cassidy. They're each washed up in the same way, each faking it in the same way.

The end was unnecessarily abrupt though.

Trailer: The Curious Case of Benjamin Button. I'm just not sure about this one - it looks very sappy and sentimental, despite the headliners.

I'm with stupid

Last weekend, in a fit of domesticity, I invited some friends over for a roast lunch - beef, veggies, bread and butter pudding. It was all going swimmingly until I opened a packet of sultanas for the pudding. As I started opening the packet with a knife, I wondered briefly if I should use a pair of scissors instead. And then I sliced the tip of my finger off.

PATTOTE: better living through scissors, not serrated paring knives with a bend at the tip

Things I did not expect to hear in London on a Thursday night

"Would you like to make group for to be having the sex with us?"

Blow me up, blow me down

I'm sleeping on an inflatable mattress at the moment. It's pretty comfy. Well it has been except for the fact that it's started to lose rather a lot of air. So now I have to frantically pump it up before bed and then hope for the best. But the pumping has definitely entered my subconcious, because at 3am this morning I found myself pumping up the bed in my sleep.

PATTOTE - better living through sleeptasking.

How many books you say?

70!

That works out as more than one a week doesn't it?

Fun author I'm glad I discovered - Katie Fforde

Author I knew I liked but finally got around to reading more of - Nick Hornby

Promise for next year - read more classics

PATTOTE: better living through the written word, lots of them