Taking away the kinders' surprise

I am outraged.

Yodelling

My neighbours yodel when drunk.

Big, whooping yodels.

I'm losing the will to live.

Shocked

My father doesn't know how to spell my second name.

PATTOTE: Better living through patricide.

WTF?

This is awful.

Strange meetings

He was about nine or ten, and he stopped me on the station platform to ask where the ticket gate was. I pointed him in the right direction, and suggested that he walk with me so that I could help go through. The train guard stopped us, and the boy told him that his aunt would meet him on the other side. The guard looked me over, as if challenging me to contradict the boy's story, then asked if I'd make sure he was met on the other side.

We went to the barrier and he took out his tickets, muddled about which one he should use. I pointed out the right one and helped him through the barrier. We went to the station entrance, and I asked him if he knew where his aunt was. She lived about 15 minutes away, he had called her and she was coming. Did he want me to wait with him? He hesitated. Would you mind? he asked. Of course not, I'll just let my parents know where I am. Your mum and dad won't be angry with you will they? he asked. Of course not, I said. Don't worry about it.

We stood in silence for a few minutes. I didn't want to pry too much, asking a nine-year-old too many questions just didn't seem right. We both stared fixedly at the door across from us. Finally, unable to bear the silence, I asked him if he was on his school holidays. Yes, he said. He'd come to visit his aunt. Then he was going to go away to Southend. He'd already been to Glasgow. That's far! I exclaimed. Very far, he said. You read for a little bit but then you fall asleep. Do you like to read? I asked.

Yes! He brightened up eagerly. I'm taking part in the libary competition. I only have to read one more book and then I've read ten and then I win the prize. What are you reading? I asked him, curious what nine-year-old boys read nowadays. Horrid Henry! he said. All about the Romans and the Vikings and Booduhka, he said bloodthirstily. Booodukha, I pondered. Do you mean Boudicea? Yes! She poisoned herself after the Romans killed her husband and hurt her daughters. Well, I said, I imagine she thought she had no other choice since the Romans had taken everything she loved. He nodded soberly. Can I ask you something? he said. Of course. Do you think that when people die there's always a lot of blood and it hurts you? he asked very seriously. Well, no, I said. Most of us get very old and our bodies just top working, and if we're lucky we go to sleep and don't wake up. Heart attacked? he asked, with an understanding that comes on from experience. No, not always, I added hurriedly. Mostly we just go in our sleep. I think it's very peaceful. He nodded.

A question of culture

This being England's annual week of summer, I wore a knee-length skirt to work today. On my way home as I passed the "Muslim ethics for Britain" sign, the halaal butchery, the halaal kebabish, the Islamic bookshop, the mosque, and all the men coming out of it, I wondered if what I was wearing was offensive.

Hilariously cheesy

I went to see Mamma Mia, the movie, tonight. It was absolutely hilarious. And cheesy. Just like ABBA. The story was amusing, the singing was terrible, and the cast were clearly having a ball taking the piss out of each other. Go see it. Die laughing. And then have "Take a chance on me" haunt your dreams forever.

PATTOTE: Better living through hearing Pierce Brosnan sing as if he was passing a particularly enormous kidney stone.

Plugged

Der Fuhrer was terribly hurt that I didn't provide a link to The iPod 10-Track Experiment when I did my post on same. As if he needed the publicity. Go on, click here. A fairy dies everytime you do. Puppies and kittens perish when you click the button. Going to that group will bring about a curse so evil that the space-time continuum will implode, taking us all with it. That has to be motivation enough.

PATTOTTE: Better living through Der Fuhrer's ego, which could feed the 5,000

Meeeeeeeeeemmmmmmmmmmeeee

A scattergories meme. Use the first letter of your name to answer the following questions. Do I use Liz or Elizabeth? I'm already failing the test! Panic-stations!

What is your name? Liz
4 letter word: Lazy
Boy name: Lysander (so he can get ruthlessly picked on, just like Mummy)
Girl name: Lola (she was a showgirl, with yellow feathers in her hair and a dress cut down to there)
Occupation: Leader (of the world)
A colour: Liver brown
Something you wear: Leotards (bwahahahahaha ahem)
Beverage: Lemonade
Food: Love (the raw fish)
Something found in a bathroom: Laundry basket
Place: London
Reason for being late: Luck dragon got lost
Something you shout: Lalalalala (I can't hear you)

PATTOTTE: Better living through cheating, mercilessly.

Dear Piatkus Illustration Department

Your latest cover for Nora Roberts' Tribute sucks. It sucks big floppy donkey dick, as a friend of mine used to say. Repeat after me, people do not belong on the covers of fiction. They should especially not appear on the covers of romantic fiction if they're blond, vapid and look as if they're being chased through the woods by an axe-wielding psycho. It raises expectations of axe-wielding psychos actually appearing in the book. Which they don't. I prefer my guilty pleasures to have nice non-descript covers. You hear that blondie? Begone from my book, forthwith.

Unsincerely yours

Liz

PS This should in no way put you off reading the book. It is really good and a lot more low-key than some of her recent work has been. The whole murderer part was very secondary to the incredibly cool hero-figure. In fact, the hero-figure is so cool, the rest of the book pales in comparison. So I guess that's a back-handed review.

PATTOTTE: Better living through non-tacky romance covers

Perfect

A few weeks ago I saw Counting Crows live in Hyde Park. As I stood in the drizzle and listened to Adam F Duritz perform Colorblind I thought, this, this is why I'm here. Then some idiot in the audience began catcalling. And then I remembered that the world is full of idiots and the moment almost went away.

But it was a day full of those moments. Drizzle and blue sky and Australians and a wild boar and apple hotdog. Listening to Goo Goo Dolls perform Iris and being transported back to my 17-year-old self in a tiny town on the West Coast of a country a million miles from here, railing angrily inside her head at people who would never know who she was. And listening to the amazing, soul-destroying Counting Crows do Holiday in Spain, and believing that somewhere in the audience was someone who knows what that song really means. And crying, because who knows who or where he is.

Getting animated

I've been reliving my childhood today, and watching X-Men: the animated series. I loved this programme. It contained two of my favourite tortured souls, Wolverine and Gambit. I was always a little bleak that Gambit didn't make it into the movies, his Cajun swamp-rat attitude made a deep impression on my 12-year-old self.

Of course, my heart truly lay with Logan. I could never understand his fascination with Jean Grey, anymore than I could understand her love for Cyclops, who annoyed the crap out of me then with his goody-two shoes attitude and still does. And don't get me started on Jean's dark side. That whole Phoenix thing was just stupid. Anyway, Wolverine is your classic comic hero really - man with a past that is not entirely clear, suffering from an ongoing disability that crushes pretty much everybody he's ever loved (adamantium claws are not conducive to affection), looking for redemption.

I'm sensing a pattern in my superhero boyfriends - Batman's torturedness gets me everytime as well. The combination of deeply unhappy and trying to save the world: irresistable. That's why I always preferred him to the uber-wet Spiderman and the annoyingly perfect Superman. Bruce Wayne was at least flawed. And miserable. And rich. And hot. Ok, Christian Bale is hot, I take that back.

I was never much of a comic reader (although I appreciate the value of the graphic novel) - particularly with X-men there are so many threads and storylines that it was hard to keep track of the characters. And with K-TV's penchant for either showing the episodes out of order or repeating the same one for weeks on end, my actual knowledge of the series is a little sketchy. Thank goodness for the internet. And dvds. Now to find Conan the Barbarian and Cities of Gold.

PATTOTE: Better living through geeky nostalgia

Character-building

An interesting article from the BBC.

The Ipod 10-track experiment

Shamelessly stolen from Der Fuhrer for my own purposes, ie, I have absolutely nothing to write about, so this will have to do.

Random shuffle:

John Lennon - Jealous Guy
The Eels - Bride of theme from blinking lights
Mindy Smith - Little Devil
Green Day - Good Riddance (from Bullet in a bible)
The Weepies - Big strong girl
The Eels - My beloved monster
Counting Crows - On a Tuesday in Amsterdam long ago
BJ Thomas - Hooked on a feeling
Ben Folds - Best imitation of myself
Three Doors Down - Kryptonite

Hopefully the muse will return soon.

R u kding?

"According to The Times, to gain minimum marks in English GSCE papers -- an exam taken by hundreds of thousands of 16-year-olds across England every year -- pupils must demonstrate 'some simple sequencing of ideas" and an ability to put "some words in appropriate order'." (from Yahoo news)

Management speak

"They have already been paid to manage their own lavatorial affairs." As soon on the BBC website regarding workers taking toilet breaks.

What is the point?

I'm seriously asking. What is the point of all this? The drudge, the suck, the constant annoyances. The people. I'm grumpy, and I'm taking your opinions. What is the point?

I feel all smart

I just found out the difference between a situationist and a dispositionist. I think I lean towards the latter.

The wilds of Yorkshire

I have just returned from Harrogate; was up there for our big annual conference. I only saw enough to want to pop up there for a holiday at some point. Very quaint little town with lovely apocalyptic urban legends. My kind of town. Also, a great book shop.

This week is shaping up to be busy, culminating in moving next week. Sharing with a complete stranger....oooh.

The Time-Traveler's Wife

"My apartment is basically a couch, an armchair and about four thousand books." - Audrey Niffenegger