Life happens between books: ... On a more serious note...

Tuesday, 22 April 2008

... On a more serious note...

London mayor elections. What do you do if you're a born and bred Labour supporter but can't face Ken's growing kissy-kissy-face with the extremist tendency? What do you do if you're a committed and quite fervent smoker but can't (just CAN'T) vote for a jug-eared adulterous public school buffoon like Boris even if he offers a potential relaxation of the smoking laws? You can vote Green, which is a good idea all round, or LibDem (the party of the disgruntled ex-Labour voter), which has rather let itself down by fielding a fairly dull candidate. In either case you're pretty certain to see either of the above two clowns get in anyway. AAAAAAAAnyway. Does anyone know where I can buy cheap low-carb whey powder apart from ridiculously expensive health food shops?

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Today (13th May 2016) I am mostly:

wondering if I can get to Tesco's and back for a sandwich without missing the afternoon book delivery (what are the odds)
reading "Archie" (the reboot of the 60s comic) by Mark Waid (Daredevil) and Fiona Staples (Saga). I was never, I should add in self-defence, an Archie fan, but the idea of it being all Sunnydaled up is intriguing. If you're a nerd.
wearing "Lys Mediterranee" by Frederic Malle. It's like I've beaten you to death with a bunch of lilies, and you liked it.
unable to stop singing "Cielito Lindo" (aka "the AI YI YI YIII song"), thanks to a violin-playing busker who has been playing variants of it outside for the last 4 hours.

The Cast List

Mr Fishwife = longsuffering spouse. 20 years, eh? You get less than that for murder. Any resemblance to Jack Donaghy is purely wishful.
Mantua Maker = my oldest friend. Sorceress and crafter of fine fabric products oop North. Married to Frederick Barbarossa (and his otters).
Foxy Highflyer = my second oldest friend. A foxy highflyer. Expatted to the wilds of California, the poor love.
Mith Moth = my third oldest friend. MILF city. Mother to Rudolf Valentino and Mariella Frostrup.
Tabby Dhabi = She's a superfreak, superfreak, she's superfreakehh.
Andrew Paracetamol = not, obviously, his real name but it sounds authentically Thai, doesn't it? Mr Fishwife's best mate. Doubles as Hellboy, although fewer kittens. In fact none.

Strange and oddly unrelated Google searches by which people have found my blog...

Role models I channel when necessary

Miss Prothero in "A Child's Christmas In Wales" by Dylan Thomas : "She looked at the three tall firemen in their shining helmets, standing among the smoke and cinders and dissolving snowballs, and she said, "Would you like anything to read?" "
My mother the librarian, who can express displeasure with a very slight widening of the eyes. Invaluable for dealing with the general public.
My late paternal grandmother, a woman who consumed nothing but untipped Senior Service and gin 'n' sherry (aka "alkie's delight") and once drove down a 1:3 hairpin bend in her Reliant Robin with both hands in the air cackling "Of course, I'm COMPLETELY pissed".
Eleanor of Aquitaine - brought literature and table manners to Britain. And a fellow ginger.
Miss Jones from "Rising Damp". ...."Oh, Mr Rigsby, the music's gone to my head like wine!!!"
Jennifer Jason Leigh as Amy Archer in "The Hudsucker Proxy" - the ultimate distilled essence of 1950s Frank Capra fast-talking snappy career gal.
Harriet M. Welsch ("The Spy"). 11 year old eavesdropper, peeping tom, and potential genius.
E Nesbit - she smoked, she drank, she wore trousers, she founded the Fabian Society - oh and wrote a few books too.
Lilith Sternin-Crane (Frasier's ex-wife and icequeen) "It's like he can sense an earthquake, or a dark force, or a - hello Lilith - vortex of evil..."
Chrissie Hynde, now and forever. With a voice like that who cares if she looks like Amy Winehouse's gran?
Joy Darville Turner (Earl's ex-wife and all-round nail-extension-wearing trailer park harridan) "I do quality manicures for women and half-fruits alike."
Sei Shonagon - 11th century Japanese court lady, highly intelligent, deeply bored, and arguably the first ever blogger (See below Lady C)
Lady Colin Campbell (see below)

Fictional men I have had a crush on (in chronological order)

Asterix. I wrote a proposal of marriage, to me, from him, in yellow crayon and presented it to my mother. I was 4 at the time.
Snufkin.
Prince Gwydion of the Sons of Don.
Ged, aka Sparrowhawk, the Wizard of Earthsea (well, one of them).
Tintin. What can I say? I was 6.
Mr Knightley from "Emma". So much more appealing than the rebarbative and snotty Mr Darcy. Always marry your best friend.
Brat Farrar.
Steve Carella of the 87th Precinct.
Tom Ripley, eponymous hero of the Patricia Highsmith series. Not sure if I love him or secretly want to be him (how liberating would it be to just murder some complete stranger on a train because their clothes annoy you a bit?) Envy his cute french wife though.
Roger Mexico from "Gravity's Rainbow". Tormented but ridiculously bright and savagely witty.
Amit Chatterji. Honestly, how was he not the most suitable boy?????????
John Constantine, the old Hellblazer himself. Well, it'd be rude not to. He's hot! He's scruffy! He's British! He's a warlock! And he smokes! Although the fact that he seems only to smoke Silk Cut makes him oddly wussy.
Charlie Parker - not the jazz musician, the private eye from "Every Dead Thing" et al. Traumatised. Psychic. Mind you the fact that I have a crush on John Connolly, the author, may have a bearing on this.
Berry Rydell from "Virtual Light". Endearingly shambolic.
King Mob from "The Invisibles". Buff, bald, a trained assassin, and an inveterate quoter of The Kinks.
Dexter Morgan, unapologetic (nay, gleeful) serial killer from "Darkly Dreaming Dexter". The TV series got him wrong, even if it was great viewing. Should have been Brendan Fraser.
Jackson Brodie from Kate Atkinson's "Case Histories". He's so cool (blushes).

Things that smell horrid

Vietnamese fish sauce, nuoc mam, which genuinely smells of grubby pants, strangely unlike Thai fish sauce, nam pla, which is just fab
"L'Air Du Rien" - Miller Harris perfume "created" by Jane Birkin. Achieves its aim of "representing" Paris, in that it smells largely of dog poo. Seriously. Try it and tell me I'm not wrong.
"Angel" by Thierry Mugler. Vile. Smells of the cat-hair-covered toffee you find down the back of the sofa. Also of ageing and desperate cabin crew.
The "Toast" catalogue. Smells of linseed oil and old haddock. WHY??? What are they printing it on? Or with???
Wet Barbour jackets, and don't kid yourself otherwise, Tarquin.

Things people do that make me want to slap them.

Shout "I can't believe you're doing this to me" at a traffic warden who is, usually deservedly, giving them a ticket. Believe it, love, the evidence is right before you.
Preface a question with "Question!"
Get grumpy about "too much choice" in bookshops etc. What the hell does "too much choice" mean??? I've started saying cheerfully "Absolutely! Bring in a totalitarian Communist state and you'll just have one book which you'll HAVE to read!"
Sulk. Irritating in a small child, positively BACKWARD in anyone over 15.
Use phrases like "it's not in my skill set" when they mean "I'm too idle/self-important to learn". Lucinda Ledgerwood, come on dowwwwwn!!
Say "No offence, but.." before being very offensive.
Refer to themselves as "little me" (women)