Identity

So, first night of the play last night. I think it went well, we heard some positive stuff, which was nice. Very difficult to know when you don't spend that much time actually onstage, but the bits I was on for seemed alright.

Finally, to return to my much delayed blog from Wednesday, I am sick of being mistaken, misspelt, mispronounced and misunderstood. I understand, on the phone why someone may get my name wrong as I speak quickly and the sibilance of the end part of my name does run into the word "speaking" so that it often disappears. I do not understand email and letter confusion. It is written down. How, in any way, can people be so dense that they just don't double-check something before they reply? Somehow, they just seem to assume that I've got it wrong.

Similarly, I have a problem with being mistaken for somebody else. This happens a lot as Big Sis and I are similar-looking and for some people this constitutes us being the same person. Every time this happens I go and rant at Big Sis because I don't understand! We have similar faces, similar mannerisms and similar body shapes but there are enough differences to stop us from being the same. I choose to be ginger, she chooses to be blond. I'm three inches taller. I have a much longer face and goofy teeth. She has a smile like a normal person. Part of the problem is that Big Sis has a public role in her job and a number of people around where she works know her. They then see me, not knowing she has a sister, think I'm her, smile and say hello in a friendly way. As I don't know them, I'm not quick enough to twig and will give them a variety of responses a) confused smile, b) confused frown, c) blank face and, on a bad day, d) glare. I worry about this. It concerns me that I reflect badly on my pleasant and personable sister and makes me feel not so much a person in my own right but merely the bad side of her personality.

Of course, it's worse when the person in question does know both of us and still gets us mixed up. Surface differences are all well and good and I do get mistaken for any number of tall red-headed girls my age with glasses, not just for Big Sis. This just confirms my suspicion that people are basically stupid. But after talking to us both a certain amount and seeing us fairly often, I do get insulted when we're mistaken. Our personalities are markedly different and this, in itself, should overcome any superficial similarities of appearance.

I think where my real problem in being referred to by the wrong name or as the wrong person is that it makes me feel diminished. Every time, I feel like my uniqueness and my identity are being eroded. I moved churches aged about 14 because I found somewhere where I wasn't referred to constantly as someone's granddaughter, daughter or sister and wanted to be known in my own right. The main problem being that Granny was in the Guild, Dad was a steward, Mum ran Sunday School and Big Sis did the creche. There was no niche for me so no-one, except my friend FernBoy, knew who I was unless it was in relation to my relations. I didn't really start socialising at the Bench until I got cast in a few things because I didn't want the same thing to happen.

I don't know why I need to have such a fervent ownership of those things that make up who I believe my self to be like my name and appearance. It probably says something about my self perception that I have to have some grip on these relatively unimportant things to know who I am. This extends, unfortunately, to other elements of my life. Once I have got really close to people, I find it difficult when they are close to other people. I need people to tell me that they like me, especially MuleBoy. I remember getting freaked out when I was younger because I realised that other people could sing better than me because this meant that I did not own that talent. It is a constant effort not to touch things and people and aspects of my personality and scream "mine". It is an effort not to show how upset I can get by things that other people don't even notice. My Dad wrote a thank you letter to a family member for a birthday gift and told them what had happened on his birthday. He wrote that Mum cooked the meal, Big Sis baked a cake and Kitten poured the wine. For a start, the wine thing is a very minimal contribution and what was worse, I didn't even pour the wine. I was an afterthought and a slightly grasping conclusion to make a neat sentence. I can still remember how gutted I felt that I was so marginal. I reminded Dad that I had, in fact, written him a poem that had taken me a good deal of head scratching to get right so he wrote an addendum to the sentence that went "and wrote a poem". Now I felt marginalised, my achievement negligible and I had corrupted a nicely paced sentence with my melodramatic response. One of the most striking things about it is that I remember it so clearly now.

What I would like to know is what this says about me, other than deranged. Is this a sign of being spoilt, as my Granny told me and my parents repeatedly as I was growing up? Or is it a sign that I didn't have anything I considered truly mine growing up because everything I did, Big Sis did first or did with me? This would explain my scary need to have friends that are mine because this was one of the many things that we had to be fair about. We still have a number of mutual friends and it is still something that I struggle with. I don't go so far as when I was a teenager and questioned friends about who they liked best and why when Big Sis wasn't there, feeling cheated when they didn't immediately and fervently say that it was me.

Basically, I don't understand how identical twins cope. I love Big Sis to bits and don't resent her for this. I just have to suppress a lot of instincts when dealing with situations and spend a lot of my time angling for praise and reassurances of my place in the world and my position with other people. A lot of this blog is almost making excuses for myself and explaining certain personality quirks. I guess that's not what I intended. I don't want to make excuses for myself but I want to make myself clear. This is me. It's not pretty, it's not rational and I probably am crazy in a lot of ways. I do know that other people have crazy personality quirks and flaws like me and I don't consider myself to be special in this way. But I do like to articulate these quirks because it helps me not over-obsess about things. I've been obsessing about something that happened last week and trying to work out why I felt emotionally bruised by something extremely insignificant. So this is the outpouring of a week of obsession. Sorry.

Mean!

Talking about fist shaking. I was fully intending to kick someone who was rude to a colleague yesterday. Here is a transcript of their conversation, see whether you think it deserves a kicking:

Rude Man: Where are your catering facilities?
Colleague: What do you mean...(intending to ask whether he meant our humble canteen or the official University caterers based in another building)
RM: What part of 'catering facilities' do you not understand?

Colleague pointed him to our canteen, which he dashed to and then dashed from and outside. I saw him out the window and shook my fist. Later on, I saw him again and stared at him in an angry way. I don't like unnecessarily rude people.

This isn't even the thing that I was thinking about posting when I mentioned that I was thinking about posting. This is something else entirely that sprung to mind as a result of the bracketed fist shaking that I perpetrated towards my Pa, almost as proof that fist-shaking does occur in the real world, even though I don't know anyone else apart from me that actually does it. It's a very good way of venting frustration though. Partly because it makes me giggle when I do it so the frustration is vented through the healing power of being an eejit.

Kick Off

This is the week that the huge endeavour actually has to happen. No, not my birthday, sillies (it's on Saturday, by the way). The play starts tomorrow, which is somewhat stupefying as it's been something of a Sword of Damocles for a year, hanging over all of our heads, from the production team to the cast members, to the families of the production team and cast members. I've had a slightly special view of it, as have only been a part of Play One (see Boanerges for a more detailed explanation of the play) due to slightly diva-esque tendencies that I have been simultaneously chastising and congratulating myself for as the process has gone on. But it is actually quite nice being part of a production, so getting all the nice stuff that that entails, camaraderie etc, and being able to look forward to seeing the show too.

It was also quite a relief to get some time to finish puppet making last night while everyone else was rehearsing. The wolves (on for three appearances tops) are something of a burden. I was really hoping that I could get away without giving them bodies but the director has requested they be bodied up, so I now have to make bodies and work out the mechanics for the actors holding the bodies so it was good to get cracking on that last night. Wile E. Wolf (the second one I made had a coyote-ish snout, hence the name. The first one was relatively dull so he has been monickered Kevin) also needs a face so I have to get cracking on that, too.

There was another reason for relief as my foot, the one that I busted on holiday, has started playing up. No doubt my antics as a puppeteer have upset it rather but wearing a slight heel yesterday and going over on it probably didn't help. I am now wearing my sports trainers and have a little limp. It'll be fine by tomorrow, I'm sure. Being a puppeteer has been a huge challenge for me but one that I've definitely relished. Considering I did what I thought was a terrible job in the puppeteering part of the audition, I was rather surprised to get one of the main puppets (which basically means one with a line or four). Main problems have been trying to remember I'm invisible, trying to remember I'm invisible but remembering that I can still be in the way, trying to get other people to remember that I'm invisible. Difficult job when a large person already. I've managed on the whole, although a couple of scenes where the introduction of the set changed the physicality have resulted in something slightly nightmarish. Going up and down the (extremely vertical) ladders, playing pass the puppet, very tricky. Going up the stairs, do-able, coming down the stairs, slow and clumpy. The balloon scene, which was re-blocked last week, is a complete nightmare. This is currently my bete noir and I have to spend the interval psyching myself up for it. I have to squat, back against the wall, arm outstretched holding puppet in position in front of me, completely visible albeit in blacks with a hood. This is through the audience coming in after the interval, through voice-over introducing second half, through minute-long conversation. Then I get to move finally because the puppeteer in front of me moves to get into position and makes me less visible, so remove back from wall (hopefully without toppling as I did on Monday) and put weight fully on feet which are starting to go numb. Then have to act with puppet without being able to see puppet (I have a horrible feeling wire and inner workings of puppet are visible) and then, finally, beautifully, I can get up as the set is closed. I then spend the next scene before I go back on, stretching and walking and trying to get some feeling back in to my feet and legs.

Discomfort aside, I have loved doing this play. I enjoyed the day-long puppet making sessions. I enjoyed rehearsals. I like everyone in it, although certain cast members have driven me mad, one in particular who has been getting very stressed (uncharacteristically so, I might add) about people doing things correctly and then who doesn't turn his mobile phone off and does not possess the ability to whisper. My Dad has defended PD, who I personally feel doesn't deserve it. He might have got on a bit better if he'd aimed for the cast-call time rather than the play-start time. That's all I'm saying. I am trying very hard to resist the call of the inner prefect though. I'm not exactly on top of it but I'm getting there.

Wow, this is a very rambly post. Apologies for those reading this who are bored with the play already. I may post again later today. I was going to post about something quite different and then got derailed by reading Boanerges (shakes fist).

This week at work...

...I have managed to look through a holiday brochure for the US to get holiday ideas. I'm pretty stuck on Stowe, Vermont and Boston as destinations other than New York. The pictures of Fall leaves make me stroke the pages. Talking about it over with MuleBoy, realised that he has much more confused idea of where everything is than me. Glad I now know where all the states are - yay, the Geography Game (also played at work)
...I have gone back to a story idea that I never got off the ground and have written some actual words. Not many but they exist
...I have designed a Chocolatl (sic) wrapper for the play
...I have requested rights information for a play we're planning to pitch for next year
...I have decided on a new hair colour for when I get my hair done next Friday
...I have hunted eBay for wedding shoes, mainly because the wedding bit in BHS has closed down, which was where I planned to go. Still nervous about buying stuff I haven't tried on so haven't gone so far as to purchase anything yet. Also looked at Irregular Choice shoes. Gorgeous but the ones I really like are so vertiginous, I can't imagine wearing them for more than five minutes at a time. Also looked at possible Best Lady garb for Big Sis. Still haven't found anything that looks right, although looking back at Kate Winslet's Alexander McQueen for Givenchy Oscar outfit, that's kind of what I want. But one that's less likely to keep Big Sis stuck in an embarrassingly lengthy toilet trip a la Kate.
...I have looked for hotels in the area for the wedding night. I am not obsessed. Really.
...I went dancing twice, first at Salsa, second at Urban Funk. First one, not that keen on dancing that close to someone as can't hide sweaty-face easily and not allowed to just do whatever the hell I want. Also, looked down at my feet at the wrong point and realised that dancing partner was slightly more excited than he had any reason to be (I mentioned sweaty-face, did I not?) Made me want to run away and never come back. Urban Funk was blessed relief following that.

...I haven't told anyone that I am bored and have little to do because then they might get a bit suspicious about what I'm actually doing with my time. I have done some work, obviously. I sent some letters out already this morning. I did the post just now. Some students who've left will be getting exit awards. It's all good, it just takes up no time at all.

Bored now

I am looking at the clock and I am just so bored. I just rang MuleBoy to alleviate the dull and he started talking about dissertations and referencing which didn't exactly work. It isn't like I have nothing to do at work, I just have nothing very satisfying to do. My options are: ringing round and leave messages on students' answerphones for them to never call me back, sorting out a new and exciting way of organising the new annual reports procedure, and filing. I don't have a very good relationship with filing. My appraisal every year consistently contains some approximation of the phrase "I hate filing, please don't make me have to do it any more". I also have to work out how to manage Research people but still don't really understand how the whole thing works and once I've done it, this will involve more filing.

Instead I've spent a large portion of my day looking at things to do once I've left this particular episode of my life. There are so many reasons why I've stayed in this job for longer than I really wanted to and all of those things are still keeping me there, and it is really starting to make me chomp at the bit now. So I've been trying to decide what I want to do next! My plan is to do something postgraduate-y and my train of thought is currently rather bifurcated as I can't decide between two options:

Option No.1 - Study a 1 year diploma/MA type thing at a drama school and do the acting thing. Now this is lifelong dream territory. I have considered the acting malarkey before and have put myself off as I know I am not confident enough to actually do it despite really, really wanting to. I know I'm good but I lack certain other qualities that are necessary, like thick skin and the ability to make a good first impression (on average I'd say I make a good third impression, when the fear has subsided enough for me to not sound like a twat).

Option No.2 - Do an MA in Film Studies and either become a film critic or a film lecturer of some kind. When you start reading someone else's text books (for fun!), you realise that this is something for which you have a more than passing interest in. This is the more practical version but the problem with my practical ideas for a CAREER is that they fall by the wayside when I return again to the fact that I really want to act and that the idea of not acting fills me with horror.

I've also been doing stuff towards my wedding but I'm playing it down because I really don't want to be the sort of person who obsesses about her wedding. I never ever anticipated I'd get this excited about the whole business. I blame the dress.

I am Bad Mummy

The cats hate me. I'm right there with them.

We went to the vets on Saturday for a booster leukaemia shot (this boggles my mind and makes me want to look into leukaemia more as I didn't think it was something that could be treated preventatively). Afterwards they went in to see the nurse for Weight Clinic. I can't believe that I go to WeightWatchers for me and feel guilty, and then have to go for someone else and feel guilty too. It's like that show about killing the kids, where they torment parents about how terrible they are and how the children are going to die early. They do it for cats too - we got heart failure, diabetes, arthritis so they were really twisting the knife. Our only defence was that we've only had the cats for six months and had adopted both the food and the habits of the previous owners along with the cats themselves.

So we have mended our cat-feeding ways and they shall soon be on the road towards losing half their body weight (a goal which neither of us feels is particularly realistic). But, obviously, not being in control of their own food, they are hating us for the imposed regime. Particularly Meatball, the bigger of the two. She's generally pretty easy-going and will submit to any number of indignities when I'm feeling playful. However, she has turned into psycho cat now and will generally just sit by her bowl in the kitchen watching us with baleful eyes and waiting for us to fill it. Seeing as I have often let my diet slide due to general moodiness and turned back into a normal human being as a result, I can definitely sympathise. But it doesn't stop me from feeling rejected when I pick her up for a cuddle and she wails in her strangled motor way (occasionally she meows like a normal cat, but she's just not very good at it consistently) and struggles to be free. Its very demoralising. Steve, on the other hand, is much less tormented and even eats less than she is given. I spy a future Slimmer of the Year in the making. I wish I was like Steve.

As you can tell, I am turning into someone ever so slightly obsessive about my cats. It's funny though, despite the cat hair, the expense (Meatball needs dental work - oi vey), and the fact that I quite often skip my breakfast in the mornings because I'm giving them theirs, I can absolutely state that they have improved the quality of my life. A few years ago, during a Christmas break from Uni, I sat around with my friends and we made a list of what we predicted for people. Despite not being particularly maternal and having no pets, they all unanimously decreed that I would be the one surrounded by children and animals in a farm somewhere (it was also decided that I'd be the least likely to be gay, which given the company was quite an obvious one). It's an idea that's stuck somehow and has become something of a mini-dream. I guess the cats, and the fact that I can care for them and look after them, has made it feel slightly more achievable.

I Aten't Dead

Hello. I spoke Mrs Funny Whistler last night who said that she was concerned due to my lack of posting recently. So this is a brief note to confirm that I'm okay. Big sighs of relief all round, I know.

I was off sick last week which meant that I don't have much access to a computer, my home one being booked by MuleBoy permanently for Fantasy Football, MySpace and the occasional essay writing. If I want to use it, I have to undergo a ferocious cross examination and produce a stamped and signed permission slip on request. It's just too much work for a simple post. This week I have been trying to catch up after being off sick for a week which has been a pain, especially considering I'm picking up work for a colleague who's now on holiday for six months (or maternity leave. The one thing that makes me want to get impregnated, especially now it's nine months).

In other news, last night I was talking to Beanie about a part in a play I had really wanted but hadn't got and sounded stupid when he was trying to explain why I hadn't got it. The thing is, I know why I haven't got it and I know that it isn't really about me but about what the director wanted, something I understand even more since directing myself. I understand the reasoning behind it and may have done the same in a similar situation. However, fundamentally, and I know there are actors reading this who can appreciate it, it is always a rejection. I can hear reasons and explanations, even compliments about my audition. But the only thing you really feel is the no.

Well, that's a patchy little post. I promise to do better next time.

I am the REAL Rod Hull

Is it Greeeen jelly?

I am aware that the above reference is slightly obscure but I don't care. You should have watched more Lee and Herring.

Anywho, I am very excited because this week I have discovered a penpal. I did not go out and try to find a penpal, she found me. This came about, I am guessing, because she decided to do that thing that we've all done at some point; typing her name into Google and seeing what comes up (my favourite is still MuleBoy's lifestory on film - it was made in 2002). She spied my work email and decided to make contact - so yes, my penpal has the same name as me. At the moment we're still amused by this and keep signing off our emails with our full name. Unfortunately our middle names are different, sadly for me as hers is particularly pretty, so the similarity ends with our first and last names.

We are very different in terms of lives. She's 13, which makes her half my age, and this, along with a very good standard of written English, makes me think of her as a smaller version of me. Henceforth, she shall be known as Mini-Kitten! She lives in Connecticut, which inspired me to enquire about it as a honeymoon destination as I plan to spend some time looking at trees looking pretty (the plan is also to go to New York so that MuleBoy doesn't go crazy - he's not a big lover of the countryside). She also thinks England is "elegant", which made me chuckle, and is going to be learning about Europe in school this year so "anything she doesn't know about England will be covered, hopefully", which confirmed my feelings about the US perception of Europe. We're very small, apparently. I bit back a comment on that one; she's bright, she'll work it out.

I'm guessing that, being 13, she'll get bored of it quicker than I will. However, it's quite sweet and fun for the moment so I'll keep it going until she stops replying or asks me to stop.

snazzle frazzle mazzle

As said by Mutley.

I had to apologise to my colleagues yesterday. After borrowing Neanderthal Boy's phone directory and then realising it wasn't helpful, I did actually intend to throw it back to him with the intention of hitting both his phone and cup of tea. No accident. I was generally extremely irritable yesterday; I really had to stop myself from screaming at students and just shutting up the office. It may have been because I am trying to kickstart the diet again so my only sustenance during the day was a bowl of cereal and Diet Coke. It may have been because I had spent much of the weekend being grouchy and hungover so hadn't really felt like the weekend had happened, except for the two evenings where I was creating the hangover. It may have also been because Muleboy had come to bed at 4.30am Monday and woken me up, which was fine as I normally go back to sleep again but then he woke me up again because he thought he'd heard something. Of course he'd heard something - we have two overweight but active cats. Anywho - whether it was one or all of these things, it meant that I wasn't in the best mood, exacerbated by the proliferation of new and subsequently confused students needing help and a data-inputting job with a deadline for Friday that I'm only halfway through now despite doing constantly for two weeks.

I have resigned myself to being irritable on occasion. I don't have much control over it and can do nothing except wait for it to be over. I only ask that if you realise that this is my mental state, do not try to see if I'm alright, jolly me through it or tease me. I'm not saying that I will actually rip your throat out, I will just want to. Bizarrely, after years of living with this and occasionally being subjected to me in this state of mind now, Big Sis still does at least one of these things. I have come to the conclusion that she has no sense of self preservation. That, or she is an evil mastermind and, in a twist from my currently perceived view of the situation, I am the good sister (I sense scepticism from my gentle readers). Tips for the future - leave me alone without making it obvious that you are leaving me alone, do not draw attention to mental state in any way, wait until I start laughing at myself and then approach.

Attitude

Working in an educational establishment as I do can definitely have its ups and downs in terms of how old I feel. On the plus side, people mistake me for a student quite often, I get a student card and can pretend that I am forever 21. However, on the minus side, I can turn up to a class in "Urban Funk" (feel free to laugh at the image of me doing Hip Hop) at the Uni Gym and find myself surrounded by girls whose main aim in life seems to be to make me feel old. The worst part was when the instructor said that she was 21 and I felt very alone. I also struggled to possess any "attitude", a necessity for any dancer of the Hip Hop. The end of the dance routine that was put together was a move full of attitude and yet the only attitude that I had was looking slightly like a little teapot. Bless the students and their ability to look good in jogging trousers while striking poses. I'm going back, though, it's the best class I've done for ages. I may look silly and I may be old but I do like a dance.

Much love to the good people who have been carrying on the nice things. The nice things are reciprocated in triplicate. You are all very lovely.

Touched

I have been loath to commit anything to html for about a week for fear that I be flippant. Thank you (again) to Herself for being supportive and basically very nice to me. If you want to know why, there is a comment under the 0 comments link to the previous post but it isn't showing up. Please take a look if you would like to see nice things about me. Please go ahead and add things (no obligation). Please go ahead if you would like to add comments about Herself. Or if there is anyone else that you feel needs to know nice things about themselves for any reason and whom you know actually reads this blog, please feel free to continue the nice things thing. We could have a forum of sisterly love going on. I know that having a list has made me feel very good about myself and I have referred to it at the various points when I have felt a bit crappy about myself this week. So go on people, be nice!

Mo' Money

The heading is a reference to a film that I've never seen and which I remember primarily for the accompanying theme tune sung by Janet Jackson and Luther Vandross. In retrospect, it heralds the coming of the apocalypse starring, as it does, the Wayans Brothers. Admittedly the lead is Damon Wayans who is less evil than his brothers Shawn and Marlon who are responsible for Little Man (in cinemas now, run and hide), White Chicks and the Scary Movie franchise. These movies make these particular film makers (they write them too, dontcha know) as high up in my "I wish they didn't have a career" list as Michael Bay, Paul W S Anderson, Martin Lawrence and Renee Zellweger post-Nurse Betty. Damon, I can put up with for having starred in a Spike Lee film, albeit one that I didn't particularly like, and for not being involved in his brothers' output. Well played, Damon, well played.

That was a surprising detour considering that this was meant to be a post about the job that I applied for recently. I've been having that "stuck in a rut" feeling and have been applying for jobs that would be a big change, especially in the improving my finances department. This means that I have been applying for jobs quite a way above my experience level. However, I have had good feedback for my applications and managed to get an actual interview for one post. I got excited when I was shown what could be my office, which had but one workstation in it and a surprisingly pretty view but in the end this turned out to be more of an "and this is what you could have won" situation as I didn't get the job itself. Again, positive feedback but no actual job.

I had really mixed feelings about it, though. At one stage this weekend I considered the possibility that I may get offered the job and entertained the idea of turning it down and telling everyone that I just didn't get it. Obviously, that didn't happen because I wouldn't confess to it if I'd done it but the idea was there. I almost wished that I had done worse in interview so that there was no chance I'd get offered it. I fear change, basically. I would have said yes because I couldn't have turned down the money but I would have been shitting myself. It takes me a while to adjust to the idea of doing something new and even longer to convince myself that I can do something that I haven't already proved to myself I can do. My need for security, which I was explaining to Herself yesterday, extends to much more than my need to know where the money's coming from.

Likes and Dislikes

I've been catching up on book reading recently. I had a dry period before I went on holiday due to busy-ness and change of routine, especially walking to and from work which meant that I no longer had a good hour a day of platform and train-bound reading time. It took me a good two weeks to get through one book that would normally take me about four days. The last time I spent two weeks or more reading one book was Jonathan Strange and Mr Norrell, a sizeable work of fiction that took me a mere three weeks (seriously, it's huge. I'm still proud of that record. It's also awesome, read it). Now I feel I am returning to form once again as I am able to utilise my spare time for reading once again. I have borrowed a couple of Ian Banks novels from my boss recently and am quite awed at his ability to not repeat himself in style or content. Go from reading The Wasp Factory to Whit or Espedair Street and see what I mean. You need a strong stomach for The Wasp Factory though, there's a particular scene in it that still makes me go pale at the thought. I don't think it would have had the same effect if I'd seen it on film, which is the reason I keep picking up Chuck Palahniuk's latest at the bookshop, before returning it to its pile in fear. There's a parental advisory label on it for goodness' sake.

Speaking of censorship, I am currently reading The Boy in the Striped Pyjamas whose blurb was so enigmatic that I had to get it. Although the story can be assumed from the blurb, the approach to it in the novel is different to any others that I've read on the subject and I approve of the mystery as more detailed descriptions would spoil the gradual revelations meted out to the reader through the lead character's innocence. The censorship that I object to is that implied in the blurb, which states "you will go on a journey with a nine-year old boy called Bruno. (Though this isn't a book for nine-year olds)." I actually think this is a book perfect for nine-year olds. They may not know about the subject, they may not realise the situation but they will understand the feelings of Bruno and perhaps want to learn more because of him and what he sees. Thanks to Mum and the boy in her class who urged her to read it.

So there we have it, I like reading. I like other people reading and then having conversations about books. I dislike watermelon. Although, bully to me, I ate some on holiday. It was mildly traumatic and I still don't like fruit.

Tricky

The problem is, the more you refrain from posting, the more there is to post about and the next post can become a huge rambly update-y thing when you finally return. So do I describe my holiday in great detail, or do I take the lazy approach and just refer you to Beanie's description of the holiday so I don't have to?

Regardless, I shall inform you that I had a really, really excellent time, Muleboy's insect bites and my ankle-wrenching accident nonewithstanding. I spent some quality time with the Mule, spent some quality time with lots of other people that I really like, ate a lot, drank a lot. Didn't do as much exercise as I would have liked and despite my preference to spend ridiculous amounts of time in the pool ended up spending rather too much time using it as physiotherapy or not bothering because getting in and out was too much like hard work. We went on trips out and we had our first wedding present bought for us on my favourite day out. We danced, we sang, we talked, we watched Dog Day Afternoon in Italian and we slept.

Since then, it has been nicer than I would have thought getting back home as I did miss the cats (call me crazy cat-woman) and my house. I don't really want to be back at work but what can you do? I had a great extended weekend and popped up to London to talk to a man about a dog and spend some time with Mum, Dad and Big Sis, followed by a lovely wedding the next day. Mr Whistler and Funny Girl are now joined in holy matrimony and shall be henceforth the Funny Whistlers. It works for me. I also managed to tidy and sort some of the bedrooms that had yet to be done in our new and enormous house, which gave me a great sense of fulfilment before I spent bank holiday monday parked in front of a TV, first at Drunken Accomplice's and then at my very own. I didn't do as much concerted laziness as I had planned but as this is probably something I would say about my holiday as well, I would count this as a personality flaw.

While on my holiday, I made two decisions. One, that I would direct again with the Mule. I expected to come home and regret this decision but am actually both hopeful and excited. I shall be better this time and try and improve the stuff I got wrong last time (assuming we get voted in). I also plan to write more. I have good ideas, I write fairly well, I just don't dedicate any time to it. If it doesn't work after I make a concerted effort, then it isn't something I can do and I can cross it off the list.

So there we go, both long and rambling. I thought it would be.

Signing in

Just a post to say, I have been away and am back again today (Once you start rhyming, I think you should see it through). It was very nice (despite thunderstorms, terrorism fears and my typical knack for accidents and misfortune). I shall fill you in in detail at some point and may even be so daring as to include a photo (although I have got so lazy recently that I haven't even been bothering with links etc). Right now I just have to try and remind my body that I do have to stay here all day, I can't have crudo (yum!) or a ridiculous amount of cheese for lunch and I can't just pop indoors for a nap during a strenuous day of swimming, sunbathing and reading when I feel like it. I do not need a nap, I do not need a nap.

It was all going so well

I have fallen back into bad habits. Not the eating thing, I messed that up already. No, this is the obsessive counting and listing thing that my brain does when I'm tired. I found myself counting my footsteps as I walked to work this morning, which I change when I walk on a different surface. I can walk on cracks within a particular type of surface but I have to try and avoid stepping on two types of surface at the same time. Nothing bad will happen, I'm not that crazy, but it will fuck up the counting, which isn't allowed. The worst thing is when I realise I'm doing it about halfway through and try and work out what I must have looked like as I take alternatively large and small steps trying to fit it in. And then, despite being conscious of it, keep doing it.

Basically it's a brain under stress thing. When I'm very ill or very tired, this is what it resorts to. When I had appendicitis (aged 12), I couldn't sleep and went through in anal detail things that I had just watched (Vice Versa and Abigail's Party) and listed the plots and characters' relationships to each other to a dizzying extent. It stopped making sense but I still kept listing. It explains my love for Japanese puzzles and pointless trivia about films at any rate - they're both ways of fitting my brain's need to count and make order into (mostly) acceptable forms. So the next time I annoy someone by listing all of the films that a particular actor has been in when you only needed one, please take a deep breath and try and think of me like a high-functioning Rain Man. I just can't help it. And if you harrass me about it I will hit my head with my hand and make braying noises. You have been warned.

Living for the Weekend

At the moment, weekends are really good. I'm staggering from one event to the other and spending lots of time with people I like. However, this is starting to get to the point where work is so quiet after busy-ness (and I am being forced to file) that they take a zillion years to even get to the weekends meaning that my time is divided unequally between zippy, fun, social stuff and crappy, slow, boring stuff. Currently, I am in denial that it is Wednesday today as this week has already been so long that it simply must be Friday. As soon as I get home, time resumes normal speed again and I can quite happily spend a half hour sorting the cats out and putting things away and it feels like half an hour rather than a day.

I spent a very pleasant evening last night when MuleBoy was out, sorting out a couple of bills (which is actually quite pleasant at the moment as people keep giving me money), deciding on recipes for Friday evening when we're having family over to celebrate MuleBoy's Mum's Birthday (I've narrowed it down to about twelve) and having Steve the cat fall asleep on me while watching The Terminal on Sky Movies. Not great but actually not subject to the recent Spielberg disease of half-hour-too-long-itis. It needed some story refinement but at least when it got to the end it didn't keep going. The best bit by far was the main character's reaction when he gets to America and is running around the airport frantically trying to find out what is happening to his now-dissolved, war-torn country on the airport TVs. Completely isolated and unable to read the English onscreen or hear because they don't have the sound up, he eventually has to resort to standing outside, looking in at the TV in the VIP section with automatic doors closing in front of his face every few seconds. There were other nice touches, such as the contents of the tin he carried around with him and the ending. But ultimately schmaltz became the overriding (and overbearing) characteristic of the film, which let it down.

Well, at least writing this has made time go a bit speedier. I only have seven hours and forty minutes to go now so should be able to make it until the evening. Go me!

What's it all about, Alfie?

Or, what's this, what's going on here sweetie? as Karen from Will and Grace may say. Unfortunately I hated the remake Alfie (haven't seen the original) and find myself liking W&G less every time it's on. Anywho, I was only trying to express the confusion that you, gentle readers, would naturally be feeling at my posting two days in a row. I don't know what to say, must have just got bitten by the bug again.

I saw Ponytail Boy today. There's something of a saga behind this one. About two or three years ago, maybe even four (help me out, when was Finding Nemo released?) I went to the cinema to see, well, Finding Nemo with a group of people. On coming out, one of the ushers, a short, chubby blonde guy with a ponytail (hence the name) stopped me and said "Hi, Alice. How are you doing?" Now that's a friendly greeting isn't it? Implying an acquaintance where the pair have perhaps met regularly for a period of time but haven't seen each other for a while. I had absolutely no recollection of him AT ALL and allowed myself to be swept away by the large crowd exiting the screen. MuleBoy and I go to the same cinema regularly and he would generally be there and I would smile and act like I knew him and ask surreptitious questions of his co-workers. I asked one girl his name and she said it was Toby. I know no Tobys. Eventually it got very awkward because he'd twigged I had no idea who he was and I was too chicken to just ask him his name and where he knew me from. But I stopped seeing him at the cinema and didn't think about it again. Imagine my joy when I turned around a corner one day at work and realised he works for the same company as me now. Oh. Crap. So on the days when I see him it's back to awkward smiles and uncomfortable silence. One day I will find out, I promise.

Was it only myself and Mrs Drunken Accomplice (presently sober, birdseed eating Accomplice) who mourned the loss of Nikki from Big Brother? I don't understand a public who get rid of the really arsey, interesting people in the house. They want fights, sex and bitchiness but don't want the people who actually do these things to stay in. I miss her already. ("Who is she? Where did you find her? Who is she?)

Update

So here's a quick rundown of the past two, blog-free weeks:

Moved
Unpacked
Did garden (except old bamboo which defeated me)
Mule Boy painted the front of the house
Had housewarming, hurt back trying to rescue Scotland Girl from my bathroom
Walked around like an old woman at various events at the weekend
Was bullied and forced to go to doctor's, realised I hadn't changed doctor's and had to go to Havant
Worked very very hard at work and it felt very long. Filing looming like an unavoidable monster
Applied for new job which is my job but for more money. Fingers crossed, everybody
Went to see play; cried but didn't laugh and was subsequently confused by the play as a whole
Had an anniversary dinner and cinema date with the Mule. It was v. v. nice. I still like him a lot
GOT CATS!!!!!
Had Mr and Mrs Drunken Accomplice round for a meal on Saturday and used the new oven properly. Tempted to really push it, using both grills, both ovens, griddle plate and all four hobs. Also determined to invite more people over for dinner as forgot how nice cooking properly is.
Had a preview of our Italian holiday. Got drunk, embarrassed myself with the language and fell asleep. Cannot wait!
Took a day off work and went clothes shopping with MuleBoy. Not as much of a chore as you'd think.
Am now at work and still many nice things are stretching out before me. What a good Summer this is turning out to be.

bleurgh

Am not going to post too much this week as the Mule and I are moving at the moment and I tend to come home from the gym and get confronted by stuff. Boxing and packing stuff and bills and change of address stuff. Although the Mule has done a large amount of it himself, it is still not what you want to come home to at the end of a tiring day. However, people have been very helpful, particularly family members, and we have had many boxes donated and offers of help with the actual move so thank you to everyone, including The Emsworth Two who very kindly offered us boxes and then who we had a breakdown in communications with when we didn't need them any more. I hope your Wednesday evening was not ruined.

So expect minimal posting for the next couple of weeks as we attempt to put together our new and bigger place. Expect Christmas Tree like tantrums as I get frustrated at not being able to help as much as I'd like (the busiest time of the year at work is underway) and MuleBoy gets to do all the fun decorating stuff. There will be tears, there will be sighs but eventually it will all be over and we'll be able to go to Italy and sun ourselves and relax as work and moving related angst is swept aside.

In a byword to Herself, aw shucks!

Dear Diary Room

Now, I have omitted to tell you all about the Mule and me and our current need to watch Big Brother. As I have claimed several times recently, I haven't been this hooked since series 1, although I remember watching the big fight of a couple of years ago with fascinated horror (still the Mule's favourite BB moment). I don't know why it is more watchable this year but my main justification is that I can actually identify with some of the people. I don't think I am like anyone in there but I have definitely met them before in certain incarnations. Grace, the nationally hated girl, is the one that I went to school with that I loved and hated in equal measure. Capable of cruelty but also the embodiment of what I wanted to be aged 13-16, she was the most popular and, if not exactly the prettiest, she was definitely attractive and comfortable with herself (which was definitely something that the rest of us lacked). Part of why I think the BB audience hates her is because they all knew that girl too. Obviously Grace was bitchy and two-faced, but I think the fact that she owned up to it and didn't try to make excuses was quite impressive. However, she is still reviled because she didn't seem too bothered about the fact that people hated her but what is she supposed to do; break down in tears, break into the house and apologise to everyone? Every time I have spent any time with a group of girls in a claustrophobic setting; school, college, halls of residence I have bitched, been bitched to and been bitched about. It's what we do.

Regardless, although I didn't mind Grace and feel the need to defend her because, let's face it, a 20 year old girl who could be a bit mean doesn't really deserve this level of hatred, my favourite housemate is Nikki. I know, I know, I'm a bit surprised too. I would have cheerfully throttled her in the first couple of weeks and especially after she entered the house in a bunny outfit. However, at some point this changed. I am sure that if I met her in person the need to throttle would return but, in a way that I can't really justify, I absolutely love her on BB. It's partly the way that she is ridiculously melodramatic, with her posturing and hairtossing and incredibly loud and idiosyncratic way of complaining but also the way that I really can't tell whether it's real or not. Earlier this week she was dancing and singing in the garden and got upset that the other housemates were complaining about it so she stormed off to the diary room. When she got in there, she started complaining than realised how stupid it was and started laughing at herself and her crap singing. MuleBoy was convinced she was an actress when she first went in and I really wouldn't be surprised if it was the case. She also reminds me of a very funny girl I know, who often does caricatures of people she knows or has met and Nikki could easily be one of these. I'm hoping I see Funny Girl on Sunday actually in order to request a "Nikki" although I can't imagine her and Mr Whistler watching BB so would probably just get a funny look.

My fascination with BB would probably end at the point when Nikki leaves, thoughink. Although the rest of the housemates are okay and I enjoy Glyn's songs and Pete's apologising when he's cross with someone (I can definitely relate to that), Nikki is the reason that I keep watching. So if she is evicted tonight then that will probably be the end of my current BB obsession. Next year, the Mule has stated he wants to apply so that would be a reason for obsession. Fear, horror and tension but definitely obsession.

Attention to Detail

We've reached the time of year at work where all I do is check things and fret that I haven't checked enough even though I am now checking one particular thing for the third time and am now taking an enforced break so that my head doesn't explode. The thing that keeps me checking is the knowledge that any mistakes I make will be magnified tomorrow afternoon when everyone else gets to checking stuff. So far, I have missed something every time, which is excruciating, but its always been relatively minor so no-one else has been too bothered. But it would be nice if, this year, I managed to catch everything.

Had a lovely time at the weekend. Caught some rays at Himself's birthday party, although Archimedes was surprisingly reticent given his recent overtures of friendship. Managed not to fail at Giant Jenga despite clutching a plate of delicious barbecued goodness while removing Jenga bricks.

Then the Mule and I caught a film that we'd wanted to see for a while. Brick has been criticised (by Trash Addict, see link, right) for taking the whole teenage adaptation thing too far in the way that it sets a Raymond Chandler-esque tale in a high school. I understand the criticism as cinematic power does seem to be placed fully in the hands of teenagers and films therefore become aimed at that market. However, as MuleBoy mentioned on the way home, it is difficult to consider Brick attracting the texting, giggling audience that seem to frequent the same cinemas as us. With a labyrinthine plot, no sex or nudity and witty dialogue that never panders to the lowest common denominator, it isn't your typical teen film. The reason why high schools work as a setting and have been used in updatings of literature and styles is because the constraints and social structures that govern them relate more closely to past social structures than anywhere else in modern-day Western society. Clueless worked as an updating of Emma because of the hierarchical class divisions perceived in both. Brick works because it takes a similar class structure and uses the central point of the school to create the film noirish claustrophobia, although we never see our antihero Brendan actually in class (he does, however, acknowledge a debt to Accelerated English when complimented on his nifty turn of phrase). My favourite aspect of the film was the language, which used the rhythms of film noir language and some of the phrasings in order to recreate that hard-boiled style of the 1940s. I really enjoyed Brendan's dry wit and delivery and am impressed by the actor, Joseph Gordon-Levitt's, graduation from sitcoms to difficult drama. I liked the following exchange in particular, as Brendan provokes the anger of a school jock:

Brad Bramish: Oh yeah?
Brendan: Yeah.
Brad Bramish: Oh yeah?
Brendan: Yeah.
Brad Bramish: Yeah?
Brendan: There's a thesaurus in the library. Yeah is under "Y".

Love it.

Ping!

Okay, so I talk about my hair a lot. I think this has a lot to do with the fact that in my head I tend to think of my hair as a separate entity that contributes to, but is still apart from, my person as a whole. Not like a wig though, I mean like a consciousness thing. I often bemoan the fact that I can't just brush the damn stuff and envy women with straight hair who get mussed up and can correct mussing very easily with a single, portable implement. If I get mussed up, I have to use fingers, water, a mirror, an afro comb in desperation and generally just pull the whole thing back with a hairband that I keep on my wrist. Unfortunately the only thing that generally improves my hair when it looks shit is washing it and showers aren't as portable as hairbrushes. However, if I had lovely, shiny, straight hair, I am sure I would get bored of it pretty speedily. It would also look odd with my crazy big face and head (it's enormous. Really). I actually love my hair, however much I complain, and especially the curls that are endlessly entertaining. I was pinging a particularly stubborn corkscrew this morning while reading my emails and thinking that if I had straight hair, I wouldn't be able to spend my time pinging it when I'm bored. It certainly wouldn't be as elastic or as useful as a weapon. I'm kind of re-in love with my hair again after getting it cut back to my original style, which really does suit me the best. I was briefly loving the bob-like cut but it got long and triangular so quickly that it wasn't worth it. Shaggy layers are the best because they're more flexible and, for someone who has always resisted tattoos for the main reason that I throw out clothes within a year of buying them and generally out of boredom, this is a good thing.

I have been getting a bit hysterical at work this week. A particular situation has been created by one of my artistically inclined colleagues that generally makes me start giggling in a slightly panicky way when I think about it. Basically, I have to sort something out in a week that would typically take a month and the first step involves contacting someone who may be the person that I need or may be just someone who has the same name and I am beginning to suspect that neither of them exist. It's all deeply silly and my only consolation is that it is not my fault.

Useless

Oh my God, I haven't posted for 12 days! I am not as useless as Beanie or Dad who haven't posted for years and years but am still pretty flipping crap. I promised myself I'd post at least once a week and have let myself down. I am hanging my head in shame. However, being crap appears to be my forte as this weekend I managed to muck up several plans and many things went askew and skewiff and skewed all because of me. Mainly MuleBoy's plans and it was all my fault. Also, I missed rehearsal on Sunday because I didn't think I was needed and instead spent my time gallivanting in the sun with Big Sis. Can't really pretend to be sorry, especially as I spent the previous day inside making puppets out of copper wire and solder for the same production. It wasn't too bad but it did mean that on Sunday I had the urge to be outside for extended periods. And I had to buy that cheese and those garden statues; these are life necessities, people!

However, all this does mean that I now have to apologise to several people and surrender my weekend to the Mule to make it up to him.

Something Missing

I caught up with my friends last night, one who lives most of the time in Scotland and two others who live locally and who I very rarely see. We get on incredibly well and last night we spent hours talking about minutaie, baring our souls and making each other laugh and we can go months without seeing each other and still feel very comfortable doing that. It's not surprising that I haven't seen Scotland Girl since last August as she does spend most of her time in Aberdeen and she's had a lot of significant life changes recently. But Her Loveliness and AltGirl live around the corner and I still only catch up with them when the more farflung Londoners, Scotland Girl or Spy Girl are around. I spend a lot of time worrying about the fact that I am in a rut in terms of friendship, in that I don't have anyone that I really confide in or reveal everything to and have a group of people that I get on with but don't really know very well. But that rut is of my making as I just start convincing myself that I'm too busy or that person is too busy and don't get on and make contact as I should.

We did talk last night about how much trickier it is to make friends as adults. Your lives are so much more complex and situations are different to college or University where friendships are initiated because everyone is making friends and you have that shared connection and situation. At work, you're entering at a different point to everyone else, you're all different ages and it is so unlikely that you will have much in common that you're very lucky to be able to socialise with people at work. The main people I work with are all a lot older than me, except for Neanderthal Boy who I don't think I could bear spending any more time with than I already do, and I'm so useless and shy outside of my comfort zone that I find it really difficult to talk to other people who work in different parts of the place even though I may have a lot more in common with them.

So I miss my friends and yet feel unable to make the effort to see them more. Partly due to fears of rejection, partly due to fears of impinging on their time, partly due to own busyness and laziness but the end result is still the same. Yet another thing to put on my list of stuff I need to do to improve the overall quality of my life. This is going to sound so stupid but how do normal people fit all this stuff in? I feel like I have to fit all the important life things that I need to incorporate into my day-to-day existence by never sleeping ever again. I used to play The Sims but had to stop when I got frustrated that I could never get enough time to fit in all the stuff you need to create a fully-rounded little person. It started to reflect my own life in a way that made me uncomfortable. I hate being a grown-up.

Being Fair

And that isn't as in the Fairest of them all, because I may wish it but it aint so. Fairest of all the 26 year old women who have curly hair, glasses and occasionally blog and call themselves Kitten maybe. That's as in pale, wan, translucent (my personal favourite), white, untannable. Now, I know I am not as pale as some, namely Beanie and Geef who once got burnt within approximately two minutes of stepping outside. However, I do have trouble not with getting burnt so much but with getting stuff to match my skin tone. I recently bought a tinted moisturiser for fair skin with an SPF to speed up my morning toilette a little. I got the 'fair' tint, tried it on my hand and it looked okay. When I put it on my face at home before work on Monday morning, I looked ever so slightly like I was blacking up and my face hovered above my extremely white-looking neck like a magnum on a white stick. So I did my neck and then rued the fact that I was wearing a low cut top as an expanse of white spread out from my now-brown neck. Unfortunately, by that point, I had to get my train and ran out of the house without any breakfast. Fortunately I had make-up remover things with me and was able to get rid of the ridiculous face and neck when I got to work. So not only did the tint look stupid, it also slowed me down rather than sped me up! I have since decided to improve my colour with self-tanning moisturisers instead and now I am covered in patchy golden brown bits of skin. I can't win. I should just accept that colour does not look good on my skin and I will not be able to get away with white at my wedding, otherwise no-one will be able to see my face and, if it is a particularly bright day, may get struck down with snow-blindness.

Bad Blogginess

I have not been in the mood to write this week. I don't know why, maybe it's because I haven't spent long enough brushing my teeth (although they are still clean teeth, don't get me wrong). I just felt that my last post wasn't as inspired as it could have been and am scratching my brain as to what I should write next. I have been feeling tired lately - maybe it's the stress of thinking about moving, which we should be doing soon, or MuleBoy's insomnia which is bad at the moment. Maybe my mental faculties just aren't acute enough to ramble in a crazy way as is my usual style, I don't know. I promise to be back on form soon, but don't expect too much for a while. I will post, just don't expect the high quality word diarrhoeia that I know you have come to expect from me for a while. Inferior diarrhoeia for the near future it is, then.

Mouthbreathing

I have a stigma to do with the fact that I breathe through my mouth rather than my nose. When I first started doing Pilates, a lot of emphasis was placed on breathing through the nose and I would either forget to do it or start inhaling desperately through suddenly blocked nostrils. When relaxed, as now, I can breathe quite easily through my nose but as soon as I start moving about, the panic sets in and my mouth opens. Embarrassingly, I found myself wheezing a few weeks back in Boxercise as the guy who runs it was yelling "breathe sensibly in through the nose and out through the mouth" to the group at large. I just can't get enough air in through my nose and then I start to panic when jumping about and boxing things. Having said that, the fact that I don't do it automatically is also a problem and in Pilates I would generally switch off and also forget to engage my pelvic floor and core stability muscles, which is like some kind of very-specific-to-Pilates crime.

However, I can understand and excuse these exercise things as the body under stress does funny things, what I do get worried about is what it looks like onstage and in real life (I can't believe that I put it in that order of priority). People who have their mouth open all the time look a bit dense, sad but true, and I really don't want my mouthbreathing make me look like an idiot, which is where the stigma comes in. Maybe I should tape my mouth up for a while so that I am forced to breathe through my nose. Cue line of people queueing up to help me out with that one. Suggestions welcome however. Teach me how to be like the cool kids with their nose-breathing skills.

Films, Lovely Films

The Mule and I went to the cinema on Saturday for a double billing of cinematic delights. Neither of us had been for ages due to other, theatrical commitments and MuleBoy's Uni workload. I was desperate to see Slither and quite fancied Confetti (it has Jessica Stevenson in, which is a reason to watch anything except dire BBC sitcoms) but Mule was in more of a Mission Impossible 3 mood and if you can't have one star of Spaced... Well, Slither helped my diet out as I had no intention of eating sweets or indeed anything for a while after it finished. While I like horror, and I do, there's something about body-horror that makes me a little bit squeamish. With flesh-eating people, phallic tentacles and evil (and again phallic) red squishy worms, it was a bit too much, especially towards the film's climax when there was a sequence of great unpleasantness. However, I would still thoroughly recommend it as I'm a big fan of B-movies and enjoyed the humour and scares. There was a nice sense of surprise going through the film; no-one really knew how to deal with the situation they were suddenly faced with and none of the characters were ever particularly safe. Although I do play the "who's going to die" game with certain genres (horror, disaster movies) it is nicer if it isn't spelled out. I also approve of anything that gives Cap'n Tightpants (Nathan Fillion) a starring role.

MI: 3 was surprisingly good, I was disappointed by the first and avoided the second but decided to watch this one. Mainly because JJ Abrams was in charge and it has Phillip Seymour Hoffman in it (and the other star of Spaced, Simon Pegg). JJ Abrams had made me happier because he was going back to the notion of the Mission Impossible team, that, lets face it, was the point of the TV series. I remember ridiculous plots that shouldn't have worked but were a lot of fun in their implausability and always boosted by the fact that you had loads of different experts. I was really enjoying the first 10 minutes of MI: 1 because you had Emilio Estevez being clever with computers etc, Kristin Scott Thomas being fabulous and Tom Cruise being the front man. It was then hugely disappointing when they all died and Tom ended up being the only man. So this was a return to the team and, on the whole, it worked. Still a little too much emphasis on Crazy Tom, but there we go. And Pegg was great. I've got this thing about British actors playing British characters in American products, I love it if they do well and really stay British. I think it's because I hate being badly represented so would prefer if they manage to retain their identity. I never really understood why Helen Baxendale couldn't just say "trousers" in Friends and had to say "pants". Would the writers have fired her if she'd put her foot down? I think not. Maybe they should have done for being patently unfunny, but that's a different matter. Anyway, Simon Pegg is funny, probably had some input on his lines, and you should all look out for Hot Fuzz which is in production at the mo.

I also bought Primer last Friday, which I am hoping to watch soon. Apparently it's a combination of lots of different films that I like (eg Donnie Darko, Memento) and you've got to love innovative independents.

Age

We generally get bulletins read out to us at work by Neanderthal Boy, who spends a lot of his day skimming through news websites. This is a person who thinks exclamation marks at the end of a sentence automatically mean that someone is being sarcastic (heaven forbid that they should be, say, exclaiming) and he still is more news-aware than me. Anywho, he has just informed us that the world's oldest person has just celebrated their 128th birthday. Now, for anyone who is feeling old presently, let's think about that in proportion to the nice lady in El Salvador who has 13 children and multiple grandchildren, great grandchildren and great great grandchildren. My main surprise is that she's in El Salvador; who knew that somewhere that volatile could produce such an aged person. I always picture the very oldest people as living on tiny little islands in the East somewhere, with very healthy diets of fish and rice.

In comparison, my Mum, who celebrated her **th birthday on Tuesday, is nothing but a babe-in-arms, although she's not very much like a **-year-old anyway. When she was a few years older than me now, she successfully convinced people she was a schoolgirl onstage and I distinctly remember one of my friend's grandmothers at a party telling me, aged 12 and spending the night upstairs, that she looked like a girl of 17 (which I think Mum, then in her early 40s, scoffed at afterwards). So she has always been very successful at being younger, which is due as much to her young spirit as to her enviably good skin and bright eyes. Lucky Mum.

Random Teeth-Brushing Thoughts

It will come as no surprise, given the title of this post, that I had random thoughts last night while brushing my teeth. Actually, the thoughts started on the loo, as all good thoughts tend to, but I thought a post entitled "random thoughts while weeing" may put people off. Some of you may be put off now, and I apologise. I just thought we should all be honest with each other.

So the thoughts themselves were regarding religion. This is generally something I've had an uneasy relationship with over the years. I went to Sunday School, church every Sunday, a Christian youth group, a Catholic secondary school, sang and acted for the Lord and yet am now an atheist. Which, let's face it, is a bit of an about-face. I was thinking about a few points from my Christian education that should have signposted the turn. Basically, although my parents were Christians as well, they were always a bit relaxed about various things. I had friends whose parents were dead against Halloween because it was felt to be a worship of things opposed to Christianity. My Dad, on the other hand, used to be really interested in the crossover of religions and beliefs and I remember particularly him mentioning Norse mythology, in which a god dies a Christlike death and is reborn, and reincarnation. In an RE class at secondary level, my attempts to raise the question of whether the heaven of Christianity could in fact be Earth and our afterlife could be reincarnation in the same place was shot down in flames. Not by debate, just my teacher saying repeatedly that she couldn't discuss it. Unsurprising in a school where we had to pretend that the pages on contraception in our biology textbooks didn't exist. The thing is, I didn't and don't necessarily believe that reincarnation is true and wasn't trying to be rebellious or anything, I just wanted to talk about the possibility of it. Because it's interesting.

I should have also realised when I couldn't get my head around the idea of martyrdom. In my youth group I remember having a discussion about it where an example was used of a long line of people who were being asked by a guy at the top of the line whether they were Christians and if they said yes they would be killed. Now, my response to this was that if you said yes, you were an idiot. I understand about sacrificing your life for your cause and Christians believe in heaven and life after death but that doesn't mean I necessarily think it's a good idea for me. At the time, I remember thinking that it would be okay to lie because then you can just carry on being a Christian without the unfortunate side effect that is being dead. If they got all the Christians in the world in that line and they all said yes, then everyone else may go "ooh, they believed in their religion so much that they all died for it" but they're not necessarily going to jump on the death bandwagon. Who would teach them Christian beliefs anyway? I think I surprised the youth group leader a bit but it isn't as if there weren't precedents; all the secret Christians in Ancient Rome with their fishes etc. To conclude, in the words of someone a lot funnier than me, "I don't want to achieve immortality through my work. I want to achieve it by not dying" (Woody Allen).

My lack of belief is something that I mourn occasionally but actually can't convince myself to believe in an external, omnipotent being. I respect people who believe in something so much that they are willing to die for it (despite the earlier "idiot"comment) but feel that I could never do the same.

Strangely these thoughts were processed in about five minutes and they instantly stopped as I raised my head to the mirror and realised my frizz had transformed into about four or five perfect little corkscrew curls, whereupon I ran through to MuleBoy to exhibit fantastic hair phenomenon and show him how cool it was when they pinged. He puts up with a lot.

Obligatory Blog

I felt like I should post because I haven't done for a week and it is frustrating when you go to a blog that you like and the bastard hasn't posted for ages. They may have an excuse, like Beanie's "oh, my computer doesn't work, blah, blah, blah", but it is annoying. However, I am concerned that my frequent updating of my weight/clothes-buying/working out status may become somewhat repetitive. Unfortunately it generally means that I am shallow. I am also apathetic and therefore have no views of a political nature that I can bring to the bloggy table. I did however, state to the MuleBoy on Sunday that we must watch the news more. We haven't yet but I haven't been in (appropriately have been at WeightWatchers and the gym, so one form of life betterment has succeeded another - I will get good balance and more knowledge, I will). There is a bit of my mind that is still resistant to the watching of the news though as, as a child, that is the only thing I remembered watching regularly on TV. MuleBoy often mentions TV programmes from his youth that I have little or no knowledge of to his disproportionate amazement. But the watching of the news became something of a chore; many was the night that Big Sis and I would beg for our parents to watch just the headlines so that we could watch something exciting on the other side. Moving to Uni and not having to watch the news gave me a sense of freedom that I'm still not willing to relinquish. But feel that I should in order to tick off one of those boxes I have in my head relating to being a fully fledged grown-up.

Photos

Working among arty types as I do, I occasionally get strange requests from people. Last year a colleague was asked if her hands could be photographed as she typed, I had to touch lots of different textures and answer questions about them and at Christmas we had to make decorations for a special tree out of office supplies. Today I had to have my photo taken with my ID badge. Now, when I was younger, I used to think that people were being silly when they hated having their photos taken and ran away from the camera. As someone who has grown up and realised that they are the very opposite of photogenic (as opposed to my cousin, who is the very definition of the word - it's not that she's drop dead gorgeous, although definitely good-looking, she just has poise) I now understand what those people meant. Many's the time I have turned up to some event feeling fabulous only to be confronted with a photo several weeks and realising that I didn't look as amazing as I felt. I have decided that I don't mind having my photo taken as long as I don't see the results. I now, after relinquishing my image to two students and not checking what they are going to do with it, am living in fear that I will be exhibited around the building in my office-clearing clothes and impetigo-y lip.

P O'd

I am annoyed. I have many plans in motion for this evening, involving being dressy and going out for dinner with Mr and Mrs Drunken Accomplice. Drunken Accomplice and I have rambled through several emails about wanting to be classy and pretty this evening. So imagine my dismay when I woke up this morning to find the evil demon impetigo had surfaced on my top lip. It was brewing last night but I hoped it would go away. Even when I was awoken by a dull throbbing in that area at 2.30 in the morning, I prayed it would not be true. But alas and alack, it is. As it is the fourth year that I have suffered from this affliction (it started September 2002 and has popped up every so often), I ended up going to my local drop-in clinic and telling the nurse that, yes, it may look like a cold sore but it is definitely impetigo. The second time I had it I went to the pharmacy at Boots and was told by the pharmacist that it was definitely a cold sore and I should just put Zovirax on it, which I did, causing my top lip to swell to the size of a golf ball (if it hadn't been my lip, it would have been funny). Now I wouldn't mind if it was anywhere else but I have a problem with stuff on my face. It's gross and embarrassing. People do double takes as I pass. It's understandable as the infection that causes impetigo is all straptococci-ish and therefore springs from nose and throat, so it is natural that the blessed thing roosts in the meeting ground between the two. I just wish it wouldn't.

My only consolation is that the antibiotics I have to take don't get messed up with alcohol, so if I can't be pretty, at least I can be drunk.

In other news, I looked at the dress and have gone off it so that fever has abated but I still bought some trousers and a Matthew Williamson jacket in the sales. So cute! And ridiculously cheap - from £90 original price together to £22. It's like I've made £68.

It is over, I am finished

The cold turkey period is well and truly over. I bought three tops on Friday afternoon and then bought a pair of shorts on Saturday morning (if only the weather was short weather, ah well, they were reduced and it will be soon). My willpower has broken and I am now desperate to go to my nearest Monsoon to check out this green dress that I saw the other week in London. In my defence, the purchasing of the tops was very necessary as many of my tops for work are either falling apart or worn so many times a week that they will be soon. I'd like to say that the newly rediscovered urge to shop has now abated but unfortunately I can make no guarantees. It is lucky that I hate the current Dotty P range otherwise I would be lost.

Folk On!

That headline is supposed to be a pastiche of "rock on" but it doesn't quite work. Go with me on this, though. I'm not changing it. I went to a folk club with Mum and Dad yesterday. It was definitely a new experience. I knew that it was a "singaround" but assumed this meant that someone would start a song and we'd all join in. Nuh-uh. We snuck in late, trying to avoid the competitive playing of a game involving green baize and long sticks (they are indistinguishable to me) on our way through a pub to the folk club residing in the skittles alley at the back. The MC was chatting and then the guy next to him did a poem about King Harold being stuck on a hillside on (everybody!) a horse with a hawk on his hand. I was quite surprised about everyone joining in something spoken but am, despite allegedly being in a folk band for three years, very ignorant of this folk malarkey. However, it wasn't until the guy next to him began singing on his own that I twigged. A singaround isn't really the same as "singalong". Yes, people, we were taking turns. Now, I wanted to do the folk club thing to be heard and find a new band to sing with. Anywho, when confronted with the opportunity to get myself heard etc, I couldn't really back down so had to go for it. The words to the first song I did literally dropped out of my head. I stopped halfway through the penultimate verse, tried to go on to the next one, then, with nothing in my head but white noise, had to stop. Fortunately, the group being apparently quite small (with about a quarter of the people there saying "pass") I got another chance to redeem myself and managed to remember all of the words. I obviously did quite well with the redemption thing as the MC did a request bit at the end where he went around and asked specific people to sing or play again and I was his first choice. Result! By that point I had run out of folk songs that I knew well so ended up singing a Billie Holliday.

I really loved it, the people were really friendly and I got to hear people just unselfconsciously playing and singing, which is so unusual. There was no false modesty and people just got on with it. I got to hear a dulcimer, a man playing the blues and a woman who sang with an amazing folk voice and sense of rhythm. I'd definitely go again. And next week Mum and Dad are going to prepare something too. Now, what to sing, what to sing?

Babies

I am not going to have babies any time soon. I do not want babies yet. Being asked continually will not speed up my decision. If someone could let MuleBoy's family know, I would really appreciate it. I keep telling them but they don't seem to listen to me.

I bought two t-shirts on Saturday. I tried so hard but I just couldn't do it any more. I wanted something new.

Assertive

I am off on a training day to learn how to be assertive. In this job so far I have improved on being a Minutes Secretary, learned how to be appraised, how to get ahead in management (I haven't) and how to deal with people "on the front line", as separate from the more practical software and regulations training that I have to do periodically. I quite like these training sessions, they're a good opportunity for a nap and they have hot and cold running tea and biscuits. Despite my tendency to nap, however, I tend to ace them. I've always been good in classroom situations, I'm not afraid to look stupid and put my hand up and I'm quite good at pretending to be assertive in a controlled situation. But that's not really the point. I'm going to come out of today still rather afraid of confrontations and unable to stop my lip from wobbling when forced to remain assertive. My own physical inability to keep from crying in difficult situations (happy, sad, angry, frustrated=tears) isn't going to go away after one day. I once started crying when asking a housemate to be more considerate about bathroom usage at Uni. I am a big wuss. Looking at the programme for today, though, I am quite looking forward to the "Group Brag" - self-esteem, compliments and praise. The ego will be pleased.

Fitness update: I tried Hot Cycling on Monday and ached yesterday but am now miraculously pain-free after Aquafit and swimming yesterday. I just wish the Aquafit tutor would think up some new jokes as the jokey "four left: four, three, two, what comes after two? One and three quarters, that's right. One and a half, etc, etc" which she does for each exercise starts to wear a bit thin.

Sleep, or the lack thereof

I am obsessed with sleep at the moment. I spent a lot of last week waking up in the early hours fretting about quitting the band and what would be said. This has now rolled over into this week, mainly because the Mule's insomnia has been getting worse and worse. For some reason, however, this is affecting me more than him because he just carries on taking sleeping tablets and ignores the problem and I fret about all the things he should do to actually solve it, resulting in my losing several hours of sleep worrying about his losing sleep. Ah, irony.

To be honest, though, sleep is something I obsess about quite a lot. When I was young I used to have panic attacks if I didn't get to sleep by a certain time (twenty past eight) because that meant I wouldn't get to sleep at all. For some reason, the vision of sleeplessness that I had was always accompanied by a mental image of a badger. I had possibly just learned that badgers were nocturnal but I still have no idea whether this was comforting or scary,maybe I thought I'd turn into one. It may not surprise you to know that I also used to avoid pavement cracks and count everything as a child. I still do it subconsciously every so often before realising but I am saved, I think, by my inability to count well (I forget where I am and, if not concentrating, go back to 20 instead of counting 91). Phew, a brief teeter on the brink of OCD saved by general ineptness.

It is Done

So, the decision was decided and now the deed is done. I am out of the band. We've been in our current incarnation for about three years and I'm hoping they feel able to carry on without me. I know how important it is to FairyHair in particular and feel bad for her sake that I felt it necessary to go. However, as a group we didn't work, always a problem when there's three of you, and I was feeling more and more like the spare wheel. It's been a couple of years since I used to come back from the rehearsals in tears and ironic that I chose to leave now but it really felt like now was the time for a good clean break.

Hopefully it won't be the last that is heard of the band, although as I am no longer in it I can't make any promises. It definitely won't be the last you'll hear of me. Onwards and upwards, baby, onwards and upwards.

Decided

I've spent the last three months or so making a very difficult decision. Now tonight is the time when I have to do something about it. It isn't earth-shattering but it is important to me and will probably leave some people disappointed. I spent a great deal of last night thinking it over and weighing up what I am about to do and how I say it. It's difficult to decide whether to get everything out in the open or remain dignified and mature (and we all know how capable of maturity I am). I was also going over the pros and cons to doubly make sure that I am happy with the decision. I'm not exactly jubilant about it but it is definitely the right thing to do. I'm decided.

Maturity

I just reread my post from yesterday. Is it bad that I still giggle when I call people smelly? Should I have grown out of this by now? Should I no longer find the words poo, bum, wee, willy and boobies funny? Will it mean that I have finally grown up when I fail to crack a smile when someone says Number 2? I think I just have to face up to the fact that I am immature and may stay this way for a while. He, he, he, boobies.

Fun was had by all

Hello to my lovely people, and to my smelly people (Big Sis, I'm talkin' 'bout you, you know it). I seem to have become more of an occasional poster recently as the initial fever of having a blog has died down. I think that's the way it needs to be, otherwise everything that I end up doing will be shaped into an anecdotal filter, much like watching everything through a camera lens.

I enjoyed Hills Have Eyes, although wouldn't necessarily recommend it. There are good scares and good effects and I was impressed with the main actor, Aaron Stanford, who has taken a bit of a leap from the teenage roles he has become known for (Pyro in X-Men 2 and the lead in Tadpole) to a family man. I do have reservations about it, though, which mainly come from the 70s throwback aspects of it; elements of misogyny and concepts of masculinity which felt a bit dated. However, my reservations and MuleBoy's less contemplative enjoyment of the film led to an interesting discussion in the car on the way back.

I don't remember kicking much arse at the paintball: I'm still not entirely sure whether I hit anyone; I fell over a lot; and got hit many, many times by unexploded paintballs, which is why I still have an impressive array of multi-coloured bruises. Many of these are around my leg and knee area so I look like I've been attacked by particularly vicious garden gnomes. I'd definitely do it again, though, gnomes and all.

I watched Raiders of the Lost Ark last night for the first time in ages. It led me to wonder whether I have ever actually seen the beginning sequence before in my life as I didn't remember any of it, just those bits that are famous from spoofs and clip shows. I'm also still surprised by the bit where we see inside the ark as, when I was little, my Dad used to cover our eyes when Indy tells Marian not to look. This was probably done to be funny rather than to protect us as I remember him chuckling throughout. I think I was about 19 (and living away from home) when I saw it for the first time, so it's still shiny and new.

Horror Fan

The plan is to watch The Hills Have Eyes tonight. I've never seen the original so I'm looking forward to it. I never quite managed to make myself see the remake of Texas Chainsaw Massacre because I loved the original and because it was directed by Michael fricking Bay (you want to hear me get soapbox-y, ask me about Michael Bay, the world's most moronic director). MuleBoy, despite enjoying the genre as well, doesn't understand the Texas Chainsaw Massacre thing as he thinks I'm sick for finding it funny. Now, the film starts off just plain scary, you've got your shots of graveyard desecrations, then your build-up of tension and unease, and then Leatherface starts attacking. However, once the man in the wheelchair gets killed, it all starts getting a bit silly in a blackest of black humours kind of way. The blond heroine's run through the wood followed by man with chainsaw is all very Acme-esque, bringing up images of Roadrunner and Wile E Coyote and the use of sound is hilarious. The sequence where the heroine is tied up and absolutely terrified at the dinner table is scarier because of the humour. She screams and they mock her by screaming back at her; she's waiting to be killed by the mummified grandfather who can barely hold the murder weapon; Leatherface has put lipstick on. It's all so unsettling and weird that laughing is the natural reaction. The end, once you've come through the ordeal, is still my second favourite horror ending after Psycho as there aren't any other horror heroines who looked so completely traumatised. Although I approve of the smarter heroines who fight back etc, I can't help feeling that if I went through what they tend to go through in these films, I would be bloodied and laughing insanely in the back of a pick up truck too. Not for me the witty comeback and the cool, final gunshot to the baddy's head. Tonight's film doesn't look like a laugh-riot but I really fancy Slither (2006), which looks very sick but also quite funny and has the tightpanted Nathan Fillion in a starring role. This is a golden time for all horror lovers as studios are realising how little these films cost and how much money they make. Look out for Hostel and Reeker as well (unless you're Herself, in which case run for the hills).

Thank you to Herself for providing encouraging words to help me along in my quest for better fitness and all over health. And enough people (Herself, Big Sis and Drunken Accomplice) have said that sports clothes don't count for me to be reassured that the clock is still ticking and is nearly at 2 months on the no-clothes ban. I would also like to recommend the sports bra I got, which is a Shock Absorber one. It's awesome, I'm a D cup and there is no movement when I'm wearing it. I was jumping up and down in the changing rooms, trying to get it to move and there was nothing. It made Boxercise easier yesterday (I managed about 5 Burpees compared to the zero Burpees I did last week), although I still need to fix my glasses more firmly as they've been threatening to fall off. You get one unnecessarily bouncing thing fixed, and realise you need to stop another.

Well, I'm off to get myself mentally prepared for the Paintballing and Shag Party tomorrow (for the uninitiates, Shag is a stag/hen combination party rather than what you're thinking of, you naughty uninitiate!) I may cry, I will bruise but I also hope to kick some arse.

Sleepy kitten

I messed with my sleep patterns a bit this weekend and am thus unable to really wake up particularly. After the night of booze and pink lampshades, I got home but didn't get to sleep until 2ish, then woke up at 6.30 and went swimming, then slept for most of the afternoon, then went to sleep about 2ish, woke up about 7 the next day and slept most of the afternoon. If I am to truly pursue this crazy exercise-y lifestyle then I should perhaps make other changes to cater for it a bit more.

In addition to this, I was very disappointed after a week of pushing myself to have put on weight at Weightwatchers last night. However, the fact that my weekend's diet included tapas (with at least a bottle of wine to myself), chinese, pick'n'mix sweets, roast pork and potatoes may have contributed to this. Dammit!

So earlier nights on Fridays, avoid alcohol, avoid eating out and try and stick to the diet a bit more. Argh. I may give myself a day off a week but I think three is a bit excessive. I must get rid of the weight that I haven't properly managed to shift since before Christmas and then keep going! I'm determined now!

I finished Girlfriend in a Coma by Douglas Coupland yesterday. It's an excellent book about the way that the world has shot off in a diagonal from the way that it should be. A girl goes into a coma in 1979 (the day before my birth, which, embarrassingly, is one of the reasons I was intrigued enough to buy the book. Interestingly the book is full of similar coincidences, so maybe not so embarrassing) and wakes up 17 years later and is disappointed by the way that the world has developed. Time doesn't exist and the only thing that people can get excited about is how efficient everything is (she also gets sick of everyone telling her about AIDS and the collapse of the Berlin Wall). It's very interesting and full of metaphysical ideas which are left tantalisingly close but never fully explained. I approve of not treating an audience like morons so appreciated that. I'm not going to bother doing a link because I don't seem to be particularly successful with books. However, the book thing seems to be becoming a regular thing. Maybe I should also review the Sudoku puzzle book I fall asleep over every night in bed. I don't like reading in bed as I either get too excited that I can't sleep and want to keep reading, or fall asleep and miss things. For some weird reason, that seems impolite.

Not a happy blogger

I have been put off posting this week as I understand that I have been criticised for being rude to people. In my defence, I would say that I may be flippant but I never plan to insult my friends or family. Please, anyone who has received a name and is unhappy about it, provide me with alternatives. If the content upsets people too much, by all means stop reading.

So, now that that's out of the way, there were quite a few things I want to write about this week so here's my week in short:

1. Went out to a birthday do last Friday and ended up initiating conversations with people I'd never met before. Given my occasional stilted speech and extreme shyness, this felt like an achievement. Yay me!
MuleBoy enjoyed himself despite spending the hour previous to the party telling me he didn't want to go. Yay him!

2. Met up with old friends who I haven't seen for months on Saturday. Ended up freezing and watching Tootsie in a house with broken heating for four hours before we decamped to Miss Funky's parent's house for heat and fajitas. The Gay Tory and I found that we were both extremely useless at music quizzes and for some reason decided to team up. We lost. I also learned a new song:

Lesbians, lesbians
A woman takes another for a lover

Lesbians, lesbians
They don't have to be..undercover

3. I decided to exercise and have so far been to an aqua fit class and a boxercise one. I am going swimming tomorrow morning as well. I hurt, which I expected, but feel amazing, which I didn't.

4. In the course of preparing for fitness, I had to buy a new sports outfit as I only had some t-shirts and some brown jogging trousers that are saggy at the knees.. The new thing was half price and necessary but it still counts as falling off the wagon. I start again here. Unfortunately I also need a new bra as I didn't have enough support. Can't decide whether this will count or not.

5. I am going out to get sozzled tonight and plan to be embarrassing. MuleBoy is not coming but will have to deal with the aftermath. Feel sorry for him, everybody. Unfortunately alcohol tends to be the main cause of weight gain for me but I plan to not think about that this evening. I just hope I'll manage the swim.

That was my week. I had a lovely time, thank you please.

Hmm, definitely a very deep thought

So, I love my new hair, it rocks and is the closest a gal like me can ever get to a stylish bob-type thing. However, am not sure about it with a centre parting. Side parting, I feel like a Hollywood starlet, back when that was a worthwhile thing to be. Centre parting and it turns into terrifying triangular hair, a curse for the curly. You straight-haired people will never know the true terror of triangular hair and what happens when that gets frizzy. Believe me when I say that I look almost indistinguishable from Crystal Tipps, a sad fate for anyone who isn't animated (as in drawn, rather than full of expression).

I Heart Books

I have just finished two books in two days and have started on a new one this morning. I go through periods of voraciously devouring books and due to the play finishing have got back into my stride a little. The first book was extremely enjoyable and quite long, so I was reading it throughout the run but, for obvious reasons, could never just sit down and plough through it. Ursula, Under by Ingrid Hill, a book which allows the reader a glimpse into the lineage of a small Finnish-Chinese-American girl who fell into a mineshaft and there bore the responsibility to live, being the last person in this epic line of people. I loved it, particularly the narrative, which was extremely omniscient and at several points made reference to a God who could see not only what was and what is but also what will be and what could have been, and by using this technique gave you insights into what could have been a better or worse life for the characters in question. Another thing I liked was that it was never sentimental and wouldn't linger on the potentially emotionally manipulative scenario of Ursula's predicament, focussing instead on differing viewpoints and practicality. I recommend everyone to read it.

The second book took me less than a day to read and was a horse of a totally different colour. A Year With The Producers by Jeffry Denman was an actor's diary taken from his auditions to his appearance as Matthew Broderick's understudy in the original Broadway production. I love reading about people who work in theatre, there's something about it that both undercuts and perpetuates the myth and glamour. You hear about the slog and the hell of auditioning but at the same time get to read about parties where Nathan Lane, Matthew Broderick, Mel Brooks and Anne Bancroft conga around a restaurant with the rest of the cast in tow. However, I was very glad I had seen both films, even if I'd never made it to see the production onstage (do you know how much those tickets cost? And it's currently John Gordon Sinclair who I am not that keen on) because it is written for an audience who know the show reasonably well. Someone coming into it completely cold would be rather confused by the references to Little Old Lady Land and chorus line swastikas.

So, I'm a big novels geek but at least MuleBoy would be proud of me for reading consistently adult books as he moans at me for reading children's books. He has yet to discover the genius of Philip Pullman and Garth Nix (seriously, if you haven't read Garth Nix yet, he is excellent. I wasn't a big fan of Sabriel but Lirael and Abhorsen are well worth it).