Thursday, December 29, 2005

And all was quiet

....

Gosh, how glad am I all the eating is over? Christmas day was a hoot - spent hours alternating between the kitchen and the lounge where I watched FG cuss and swear at his new game I bought him (evil grin). At around half one we sat down to a giant meal of a smidge of roast potatoes, roast parsnips coated with maple syrup glaze, garlic potato au grautin (the roast potatoes were more of a token, this year) , grilled peppers, lightly boiled broccoli and tiny canonballs smothered with fresh pepper and grated cheese, perfectly roast beef in a wine sauce and gammon wrapped in smoked bacon smothered with apricot jam, just for colour and extra flavouring. Holy heck - it was a lot of food - FG is still eating roast beef sarnies. But it was gorgeous! And thank heavens I only do it once a year.

FG made a scrumptious trifle which we nibbled at, I had also made a mouthwatering chocolate sunken souffle (so easy!) which we are still nibbling on as it is so incredibly moist...

It was good eating. I reiterate - thank heavens I only do it once a year!
Grin.

The rest of the holiday period was sitting around, reading, sleeping, eating, walks in the park, working on the old novel...good fun.

How droll that it has to stop.

Pout.

Here's hoping we win cazillions on the Euromillion...if we do, everyone gets to be invited to the Wolseley for cheesecake and champagne!

Friday, December 23, 2005

Tumbleweed...


I walked into the office this morning and thought I was walking through a lost memory belonging to that of the Mary Celeste! It was eerie. The silence, the deserted workstations, the drip-drip of the tap in the kitchen echoing louder than it should have…

I took a later train this morning, being wild and reckless. FG and Sparrow walked me to the station where about three people stood waiting for the shortened train. I felt forlorn as I waved them off, thinking longingly of my warm bed, comfy couch and delectable new books to read.

It was the proverbial “damn, I should have taken that half day’s holiday today”. But I didn’t. And here I sit. One boss in thus far. One rather miserable, hung over and depressingly quiet boss.

I feel like I am intruding in his personal space and eventhough I whipped around the office to see if there is anyone I can talk to…there is no one. Pout. I thought maybe I cheer him up with some Classic FM music but it turns out my media player isn’t an up to date version and it refuses to access the net.

I have two songs on my computer, both from Team America, neither of which I think he would appreciate as they are loud, raucous and full of swear words.

Here’s hoping the half day goes quickly.

Shuddering sigh of loneliness!

Tuesday, December 20, 2005

Kong Lives

The beast looked upon the face of beauty. Beauty stayed his hand, and from that moment he was as one dead.
We went to see King Kong – The Eight Wonder of the World – last night. I freely admit to having reservations. I mean, really, how exciting can a movie be with a CGI monster, shot against a blue background, even though it was directed by His Majesty Peter Jackson?

Well.

I freely admit to being smacked in the gob. I was very wrong. VERY wrong.

Kong is brilliant. The scenery, the minute detail, costumes and sets are meticulous, the acting is topnotch. I found myself really liking Jack Black’s character in the beginning and as the story evolved you realise exactly how manipulative and single minded he is in his hunt for glory and fame and money. And he corrupts almost everyone in the process to the extent where I was wishing Kong would tear him apart.

They have done amazing things with Kong – never once did I doubt him as a genuine 25ft monster capable of tearing a T-Rex apart with his bare hands. Or laugh at the vaudeville tricks Ann does to amuse him. Or shriek with terror at the things attacking them in the ravine. The “love” story between Kong and Ann is brilliantly portrayed – it is more one of genuine friendship and understanding, than anything else. I really sobbed my heart out at the emotions brought out by the characters and Kong himself – they did really well in that and I can only imagine how much study of big ape behaviour went into creating Kong.

The one thing I would say though – one criticism is that it is just that little bit too long. We went in at eight and came out at half past eleven. The first two hours flew by but then the old bum started getting uncomfortable on the threadbare Odeon seats. But, having said that, my attention never strayed from the movie and there were loads of people there, all adults, thankfully, and like me they oohed and aahed and shrieked (FG had to remove my nails from his thigh during some of the more anxious and suspenseful moments) and cried.

I would give it…five out of six guitar strings.

Friday, December 16, 2005

Sore fingers...



First lesson today with Phil of Twangg Guitars up the road from us.

What a lovely chap. The hour flew by. My fingers hurt from being shown the cords. We tuned my Fender, we talked about music, he showed me more cords, I sucked my fingers. He showed me strumming, I sucked my fingers.

I came away with two sheets of music which incorporates the chords I had learned today - Green Day's Boulevard of Broken Dreams and Let it be by the Beatles. He also handed over a cd of the Greenday song and told me to listen to it as I practice as it will make life easier hearing it being played as I practice. I have been given two sheets of chords as well with handwritten notes what to practice, technique etc. I will practice till I can play these. We didn't make another appointment for the next lesson - that can be in the new year as the stuff I had been shown today will last me at least three weeks to master. He is optimistic, I am worried stiff that I might need to break my fingers to get them into the position his fingers can go. Grin.

But, we shall remain positive.

Lets do lunch, dahling!


Wow - it has been a strange old week. Monday night we celebrated FG getting offered his job. Needless to say we were out of our respective trees by half nine the evening. Staggered into work on Tuesday morning feeling like shyte - how do people drink and survive? I haven't had a hang over or felt that bad in over three odd years. It was horrible.

I survived Tuesday in a haze of just sitting at my desk smiling blearily at people. I was treated well as my team knows I don't do drink ever, so they were being nice.

Wednesday was much better. I was treated to a lunch at the Wolseley restaurant on Piccadilly, opposite/next to the Ritz. The one director in my team, M, (she heads her own mini-department within the larger one) took Richard (her 2IC) and me out as a thank you for looking after her this past year and for all our hard work. It was one of the nicest lunches - the food wasn't very pretensious eventhough I had to ask loads of questions as to what is what as I have zero French and can just about pronounce "frittes". But, having said that, I opted for dessert - just to be wild and daring - and chose to have the vanilla cheesecake. OMG. I think I would happily sell at least two of my books to learn how to make that. It was absolutely mouthwateringly moreish and gorgeous. I ended up sharing with my director, M - it was a substantial piece and eventhough it was lipsmacking nice, I knew that if I had to try finish it on my own, I would end up with a migraine in a nano-second.

After scooting off from the restaurant we made a beeline for Hamleys, bought a gift (700 experiment science kit) for a very lucky ten year old...after which R insisted we go to Mortons. He had recently become a member of the exclusive private club. And as M was feeling even more daring than me, off we went. At the back of my saddo mind I couldn't help but worry about my work that afternoon...but M insisted it would be all right. She left several messages for the Head of the Dept who eventually rang and said I shouldn't worry about getting back at all - it was Christmas afterall.

So, we ended up at Mortons which is at the top of Berkeley Square. A lovely old building beautifully renovated with spectactular views over the Square. We lounged about like IT-girls and boys, drank (non-)alcholic drinks, had nibbles. In the end I invited FG to join us at the end of the working day to celebrate his new job and M's boyfriend got invited too, to take her home as she professed to be too tipsy to figure out where she was.

All of us trooped off just before eight the evening feeling very posh indeed, even if a few of us were a bit unsteady on our feet.

It was a lovely day - I felt ontop of the world, yet desperately longed for my couch.

We are planning to return to the Wolseley just to go and have some cheesecake. Grin. Oh hell, why not, dahling!?

Wednesday, December 07, 2005

Dazed and confused

I am confused.

More so than usual. Life is a mystery.

I keep being asked “Who is your favourite band? Are you going to get their songbook and play their music?”

And I think to myself…WTF? I am a bit slutty that way. I have no favourite bands. I love all of them equally. I have got 3 playlists set up on my Zen – Noise; Girly Music; Everything Else. The playlists make complete sense to me. On my Girly Music I have Marilyn Manson eventhough he is clearly Noise...but somehow some of his songs fit. As does Bruce Springsteen. I can see the hesitation in my two colleagues at work after I stared at them blankly after they asked the question about the song books.

Is it necessary to have a favourite band? I still love Pavarotti and will sell my hair to go and see Roby Lakatos play his gypsy violin in Budapest. I can dance around the house like a maniac listening to Bond but I can also appreciate Diana Krul and her voice like velvet and treacle. I still put on the Doors when I am in a foul mood and when I feel homesick I listen to Harry Connick Jr. I save U2 for lazy days at home when no one else is around as it is music I love and am comfortable with.

I remember loving certain bands whilst growing up but I never had a fascination with them to the extent where I had all their albums and knew their music off by heart. Is this what they mean about favourite songs and bands? If it is, I think it is unhealthy - the whole range and scope of the music world is there to explore!

So no, I haven't bought any music books. I probably won't, not for a while yet. I will find out what my tutor knows and take it from there.

Monday, December 05, 2005

Songs to learn...


Right, tutor-person Phil (first class to be the 16th December) said I should make a list of songs I would like to learn, basically from some of my favourite artists...

So, I pondered the question of "what music and what bands...?" So far I have got The Man Who Sold the World (Nirvana) Summer of 69 (Brian Adams..."I bought my first real six string...") and I am stuck...what else?

I have recently fallen in love with Creed (pic above) and one of their songs really makes my breath catch. This is it:-

With Arms Wide Open

Well I just heard the news today
It seems my life is going to change
I closed my eyes, begin to pray
Then tears of joy stream down my face

With arms wide open
Under the sunlight
Welcome to this place
I'll show you everything
With arms wide open

Well I don't know if I'm ready
To be the man I have to be
I'll take a breath, take her by my side
We stand in awe, we've created life
With arms wide open

Under the sunlight
Welcome to this placeI'll show you everything
With arms wide open
Now everything has changed

I'll show you loveI'll show you everything
With arms wide open
If I had just one wish
Only one demandI hope he's not like me
I hope he understands
That he can take this life
And hold it by the hand
And he can greet the world
With arms wide open...

Written by Tremonti/Stapp Published by Tremonti/Stapp Music(Adm. by Dwight Frye Music, Inc.)/Dwight Frye Music, Inc. (BMI)Produced, Engineered & by John KurzwegMixed by Kirk Kelsey

I will ask to learn this too. It is nice as he pointed out that he does his lessons around what you want to learn, not what the tutor insists on having you learn. He obviously will be teaching technique and frets and chords and all the actual things, but he reckons that he finds people respond better to actually learning songs to play - it makes sense, doesn't it? Learning to play a song all the way through makes you feel accomplished and lo! inbetween you have learned chords, frets, posture etc. Cunning. We see how it goes though. I have to kiss my nails goodbye though but it is a matter I am happy to comply to.

Sunday, December 04, 2005

Fender Dreadnaught



Isn't she gorgeous? Tones like liquid honey, and that says a lot as I can strum it with meaning, and she is being kind and sweet and hasn't made squawking noises at all!

We took a stroll around London today and after visiting a few shops, picking up various guitars (pronounced ghee-tarrs) and fiddling with them and trying to not look quite the novice, we chose this one.

She is a Fender Dreadnaught and her stats are as follows:-

TOP: Laminated BasswoodBACK

AND SIDES: Laminated Basswood

FINGERBOARD: Rosewood

NECK: Nato

BRIDGE: Black Stained Maple with Compensated Saddle

MACHINE HEADS: Chrome

Needless to say, at first this meant nothing to me but now I have a clue.

It is vastly exciting. What struck me was her sound - she had a deep body and fits comfortably on my lap and I can fit my arm around her nicely and grip the neck easily. The first shop we walked into we were offered an Aria. Which was pretty to look at but sounded like a honky-tonk gheetar. Thankfully we walked out and did some more shopping, listening intently as other people spoke about sound, comfort, etc.

Then, a tiny sign appeared which read "guitar sale" and we scooted off in there and in a shop no larger than my diningroom we found the Dreadnaught. The owner was strumming her, in demonstration. Another young girl was fingering one, looking as happy as a clam, listening to him. Then her older sister, mom, tutor or partner - who knows, there was a gaggle of them - took it over and the sounds she made on it, dropped my jaw. They decided to take one, I got handed the demo-instrument, was shown a chair and started strumming my little heart out, only to find that honey was pouring out of the instrument. I was enraptured.

The owner popped back as FG and I chatted, amazed at how beautiful she looked, her back and neck is this deep rich almost red-almost brown colour. And the fact that she was an affordable acoustic gheetar, and a Fender, sold us. (Snobbish??)

We were packaged up with a free gig-bag with backpack straps, a handful of different picks and within seconds I was transformed from Mundane Liz into Almost Acoustic Fender Rock Chick.

I am planning to pop up there on Monday to get an electric tuner. I have been promised a few books on grips and chords, so I will wait until then before buying my own books.

FG has been really sweet about it - he was the recipient of constant hugs and kisses during the day, much to his joy.

So, all I have to now is limber up my hands who have not seen strings or a keyboard for about eighteen years. Yikes! But, I hold over hope. Maybe I even do guitar lessons locally - who knows? All very exciting!

Friday, December 02, 2005

From PA to Rock Star to Creative Genius!


The cat is out the bag.

To prevent any kind of disastrous present buying this Christmas FG and I have decided to swap present ideas.

His list is a lovely one of loads of little things to buy, so it looks promising. I will take a day off to go and do his shopping quite soon. We have decided not to spend loads this Christmas as the sales here are utterly insane and you pick everything up at half price afterwards, or even less.

My list though is a bit of a nightmare. I don’t want anything, really. I have got loads of books which I want to read, there are many more I want to get, but in reality there is no space in the house, I don’t need jewellery as I like the shinies but forget to actually wear them. There will be the invariable bits of smellies from the Body Shop which is always loved and appreciated. But as a present for myself, I didn’t have a clue. So I sat there, looking perplexed.

FG, however, is a considerate bean and knows my little heart and pays attention during the year when I make noises about some treasure or other and he has hit on the idea of buying me a guitar!!! I am so totally over the moon about this. I have roped in advice from everywhere. We are starting our hunt this coming Sunday. And the fantastic thing about the guitar is, I don’t have to spend £300 plus on one (unless I win the lottery this weekend and then the sky is the limit!)

Beaming.

Of course I have these delusions of picking up a guitar and winding it like Slash. Or Hendrix, belting out the Star Spangled Banner like he did that improv at Woodstock back in the day. In reality it will probably be more Phoebe's “Smelly Cat” from Friends. But it is a start. I am not generally a patient person but I can read music (back in my churchgoing days I used to sing in the choir and murder a recorder) so I am hoping that I can remember something at least and I am stubborn.

It is, in all honesty, shaping up to be a promising new year. I have decided to be more creative – not just with my writing but doing craft projects. I have the time, in the evenings and over weekends to do it, it is just the motivation that is lacking now and again.

This year I am planning to complete my novel I started a few months ago. Advice from an author friend in Australasia and Wordweaver ( a multi-talented lady who not only creates magical poetry , but is a singer-songwriter and a fantastic chef!) is to get the story out and on the screen and then worry about everything else after the fact. I think, as it has been shouted at me enough, I am happy to do this.

2006 is going to be a very creative year. So, beware of handmade presents, jams, chutneys, windchimes, bound journals, papier mache “stuff” – as Creative Liz is about to strike!

Wednesday, November 30, 2005

Just a little crazy




Okay, so it is official.

I am losing my mind.

Here’s why….

It started innocently enough. Monday I toddled off to Waterstones. I bought two new books. I was really excited because the first book was the conclusion of a trilogy which we have been waiting for to come out here in the UK. The second book was one which I knew I owned previously but after a cursory glance (i.e. remove the first row of books to check out the second hidden row of books behind the first row) I concluded that I no longer owned this book and was quite happy to buy another copy.

I got home, clutching my treasures, crowing with joy. FG cast me a blank look after I showed off my shiny new books.

I quote the dialogue:-

Him: "Why did you buy that book?"
Me: "Cos I wanted to read it again."
Him: "But we have a copy."
Me: "No, we don't. I did look."
Him: "Yes we do."

He disappears around the corner corner into the lounge and appears instantly holding the older, grubbier version of my newly bought book. I shut my mouth and quietly put the new one back into the Waterstones packet.

Yesterday I go to return the book and snatch up the new Neil Gaiman book. Or so I thought. I got home and yet another blank look from FG.

“What?” I demand, irritated.
“You bought the wrong book,” he says, keeping calm, but grinning.
“Don’t be stupid.”
“No, seriously. This is American Gods. I thought you were buying Anansi Boys.”
And I go : “Oh shyte.”

I refuse to go back to Waterstones today. I am obviously mentally defunct this week.

Friday, November 25, 2005

Friday afternoon doldrums




OmG, how boring is this afternoon. Most of the team are in but there is little enough work to do (no one seems keen to do anything, either, big surprise there).

Maybe 80% of the people in the office are out – it is Friday, after all. I can barely keep my eyes open – the only reason I am not falling asleep is cos of my sore head.

I discovered that I have a soundcard attached to my computer. So, for about five minutes I was wild and reckless and listened to Virgin Radio turned just high enough in volume for a human to hear. Then I felt guilty and paranoid and turned it off again, for fear of prosecution by the dreaded IT Big Brother.

Woe.

Two hours to go.

Tick tock tick tock.

Thursday, November 24, 2005

Pin-cushion


Yep. I have become one of the victims - I got stabbed with a needle today to be innoculated against the flu going around. Am I relieved? Was I worried about getting a cold? Not particularly but as I am one of the saddos who suffer from asthma and is therefore in the "risk" category, I got invited by my GP to join the paranoids, the OAP's and other "risk" catergoriests to be injected with a manmade cocktail of virulent flu anti-bodies.

Oh well.

I have to die of sumat!

Happy sub-zero tonight!

Wednesday, November 23, 2005

Movie Magic



Tincan decided to post about Underworld over on his website and he was sallivating over Ms. Beckinsale. As I read it I wondered to myself "what movies impacted on me whilst growing up and even current day?" And I had to admit, thanks to loads of movies, I have many hangups...

a) Never bother to wonder what is that noise downstairs in the basement (thank you Texas Chainsaw Massacre).

b) Never think a scarecrow looks cool as it stands in the middle of a field (thank you Jeepers Creepers).

c) Never be tempted to go out camping in the Scottish Highlands (thank you Dog Soldiers).

d) Never pick a fight with the quiet Chinese guy in the corner (any Jet Li movie).

e) Always root for the opposition in Vampire movies (Underworld, Blade and Van Helsing).

f) Never eat cherries, ever again (thank you Witches of Eastwick)

g) Never stand infront of a mirror and say "Candyman" three times (Candyman).

h) Vin Diesel always wins the day (any Vin movie).

i) Milla Jovovich is indestructable and can beat up monsters five times bigger than her (Resident Evil 1 & 2) she is also the Fifth Element.

j) You can ride a shark to surface - after cutting yourself with a knife so that when he attacks you, you can punch it in the nose, grab its fin and have a free ride to to the surface(Tomb Raider 2)

k) Being on the Dark Side is cooler (Star Wars)

l) Being an idiot pilot savant will get you killed (Serenity)

m) Being a cop nets you good pay and a very cool apartment/boat/car (Witchblade/Miami Vice/Bad Boys)

n) All aliens are only ever interested in America and bad things only ever happen there(Independence Day/War of the Worlds/Twister/Core)

o. Cars always explode after they crash (any action movie)

p. Cops are rotten shots, which is why there are so many criminals as no one ever shoots one another dead/wounds anyone (any cop/cowboy movie)

q. Johnny Depp should be renamed Dorian Grey as he looks as spruce as he did back in Nightmare in Elm Street.

r. Never trust a hot chick if she shows interest in you (thank you Xmen and Species - from FG)

s. If you are ever on a spaceshuttle, never stop to investigate a distress signal from another "abandoned" space shuttle - blast it out of the sky and make sure you get far far away(thank you Alien and sequels).

t. If you are a cop, never take a new assignment when you know you are going to retire in a week (Lethal Weapon).

u. Always be a gobbypants baddie so that someone can overhear you and foil your plans (James Bond, Spy Kids, Johnny English etc.)

The list seems endless. Do feel free to add more.

Monday, November 21, 2005

Rhythmically Challenged



Friday night, in all our wisdom FG and I decided to go out with some colleagues from my work. We ended up at Tiger Tiger on Regent Street, upstairs at the bar.

It was a lovely evening - we had a few drinks, we laughed, we talked. And then we were amazed. Three chaps arrived, utterly assured of their prowess on the dance floor. We were, as I heard an Indian chappie say recently "smacked in the gob" by their antics on the dancefloor. We were amazed. Astounded. But not at all jealous.

I don't know if you have seen the "No bad dancing with Bacardi" advert but these chaps must have been participants in this advert. I kept looking around me for hidden cameras, sure that this was a piss-take. But alas, no, it wasn't. It was some ancient mating ritual brought back to life from the deepest recesses of Cro-Magnon Man's inner soul, and it mixed with too much booze and their own machismo - they were sure all women there wanted them, right there, right then. They were girating, doing the splits, grabbing girls as they walked past, rubbing against them - it was mind-boggling to watch. I was waiting for David Attenborough's voice to appear over my right shoulder, in my ear and it would have gone sumat like this:

"Here we have the mating ritual of the Drunken Office Worker. Watch him display his obvious masculinity by flexing his muscles as the young females move past. He realises that the more exotic the moves he makes, the better his chances are for capturing one of these delectible (sic) birds of the West End. Just look at those moves - unconcerned about his own image he would do whatever it takes for that necessary brush-up against one of the females. It is astounding. He has no sense of shame (or dress-sense or personal hygiene), so assured is he that tonight is the night."

As my one colleague's husband said when he came back from the little boy's room "I haven't seen so many nobs in one place, in all my life." He turned to look at us as we stared at him, smacked in the gob. He gestured to the dancing loons and whispered. "There was no one in the mens toilets, I am talking about this lot."

We understood completely.

The Man Who Sold the World




I so love this song. It is my ringtone on my phone (shoesh, no comments about personalised ringtones!) and I can listen to it all day long. In all its incarnations, Davie Bowie but especially the Nirvana unplugged version. I don't know what it is about this song, just such sheer longing in Cobain's voice when singing it, or the actual melody/tune whatever, it really does just "fit".

So, here are the lyrics!

Words and music by David Bowie.

Lyrics

We passed upon the stair, we spoke of was and when
Although I wasn't there, he said I was his friend
Which came as some surprise I spoke into his eyes
I thought you died alone, a long long time ago

Oh no, not me
I never lost control
You're face to face
With The Man Who Sold The World

I laughed and shook his hand, and made my way back home
I searched for form and land, for years and years I roamed
I gazed a gazely stare at all the millions here
We must have died along, a long long time ago

Who knows? not me
We never lost control
You're face to face
With the Man who Sold the World

Wednesday, November 16, 2005

Commuter Hell


I sometimes wonder why day-trippers feel the need to travel into town on rush-hour trains. They invariably carry backpacks (not the blowing-up type, we hope), pushchairs and at least two howling kids, at the minimum. And then they tutt at rush-hour commuters who only have one goal in mind – get to the closest cafĂ© to buy the cappuccino so desperately needed to wake up and then get to the office to report for a day in hell.

Do these people not realise that they are a nuisance? That on rush-hour trains backpacks and pushchairs are not allowed? And nevermind the inconvenience of trying to climb over these things to an empty seat, you get to have Timmy and Byron or more poshly, Chardonay or little Britney trying to smear their dirty little paws on you, poop on you, spit and drool on you. Or howling for no reason at the top of their little lungs. Why, dear god, why are they allowed on the trains when all you want to do is either doze, read your book in peace or just relax before the chaos of a working day? Once in town, they get to push or carry or drag the howling demonettes around town for about three hours – shops only open at ten here, later on weekends. And by that time, (I don’t know about you, but my tolerance for going shopping is about an hour) these kids are even more upset cos its cold, its miserable and mommy just desperately needs to go and visit the stylish Lillywhites for that choice velour trackpants with the words – SAUCY – emblazoned in bright embroidery across the bum. Quality.

And then, in the evening, going home is sometimes, even worse. Not only do they disregard any kind of manners they might have dragged with them from their mud-holes, they expect to be treated as privileged citizens, as they struggle through the masses with their pushchairs, kids and numerous shopping bags.

I have, in anger, once confronted such a mom who needlessly barged along, pulling shrieking Timmy behind her and tugging her little trolley case behind her, physically knocking sideways and almost over, an elderly lady making her stately way to the platform. I saw this and reached out at the same time, to steady this old lady who was quite shaken by the encounter, dropping her bag, cane and travelcard in the process. I checked to make sure she was okay and ran after this stupid woman and when I confronted her and pointed out that if I didn’t catch this old lady she would no doubt have had to go to hospital, the careless mother glared at me and said “I don’t care. I need to get on the train. Everyone has been so rude to me today, I just don’t understand it.” To which I replied: “Maybe you should take the advice the LTA give out and not travel during peak hours with your bags and kids in tow. You should really be more careful how you treat others because one day you will be old and doddering and hopefully someone will knock you down.” She looked shocked at this and before she could say anything else, the elderly lady doddered up and took me by the arm and said “Thank you for being so kind – leave this stupid woman alone. She has no grace and was obviously brought up in a pigsty.” Even I was shocked at this statement and together the two of us walked away leaving the woman and her sniffling child at the doors of an open carriage. It was one of those really Hollywood moments where there just was no comeback from that at all.

So please, jobless day trippers with howling demonettes in tow – travel at your own time, not ours. We get to work all day so that you can stay at home and breed more unsavoury children which you don’t have the money or inclination to look after.

Saturday, November 12, 2005

Fun things to do on a Saturday


I created, Igor!

See here:-
Much to FG's amusement I sat and worked all day on a range of goodies for some of my other sires and then created this one as he suggested I do something dark and dreary. I even "wrote" the poem myself. I am quite chuffed with me!

Thursday, November 10, 2005

Oh, hurrow!

I realised that things have been so hectic that there has been zero time for blogging. How sad? No more stories from the Hell Dimension, no interesting tales about fellow commuters as weird as the Trolls...or anything!
So, knowing that the world is out there, on the edge of a knife, just waiting for yet another amusing tale from my colourful life allow me to relate the tale of the FireDrill.
Yes, as sad as it is....I am a fire warden (one of maybe 6 on our floor; it is a large floor!) and on Monday we had to undergo a refresher course. And we had to give our teams names. Two teams; two names. What do you think we came up with? I was in Team B. Team A decided on the name "Firewall" - we did better than that. We were the "Bright Sparks". So, getting that under the belt and between wondering when the tea and cookies would be served and when would we be meeting any fit firemen (Mr. FG can stop giggling now, he is fascinated by Charlize, so I can be fascinated by firemen!) to watch them manhandle fire equipment, naturally, the refresher course continued. And, oh my god, it was so boring. What didn't help is that my team consisted of myself, ASAG (Another South African Girl) and a woman I think of as the Bag Lady, for the sake of this narrative.
ASAG, whilst being a sweet girl, was quite easy to annoy and she swiftly got irritated by Bag Lady being forward and answering all the questions. ASAG bided her time and eventually saw her chance and had to comment on how scary she found the sign for that little fire-alarm box that said "break glass" - she was worried about the glass cutting her finger. Yes. This was the intellectual heights of my team. I considered drowning myself in my cup of tea or choking to death on a digestive. But what stopped me is that I knew Bag Lady was also a first aider and if she had to come near me I would punch her lights out.
The refresher course only brought home the fact that - if there is fire, make a noise, get everyone out - I really shouldn't attend things like this. The sheer mindnumbing experience has stunted me personally. I had to alleviate this by watching Team America. Yet again. Only the best movie ever made.
******
Song quote from the movie, Team America:
I miss you more than Michael Bay missed the mark, When he made Pearl Harbor. / I miss you more than that movie missed the point, And that's an awful lot, girl. / And now, now you've gone away, And all I'm trying to say, is: Pearl Harbor sucked and I miss you. / I need you like Ben Affleck needs acting school, He was terrible in that film. / I need you like Cuba Gooding needed a bigger part, He's way better than Ben Affleck. / And now, all I can think about is your smile, and that shitty movie, too! Pearl Harbor sucked and I miss you. / Why does Michael Bay get to keep on making movies? / I guess Pearl Harbor sucked, just a little bit more than I miss you.

Thursday, November 03, 2005

Paradise in the UK


I really had to giggle this morning when I listened to the news about this “cop” up North with his record amount of arrests. Over 300 “villains” under a year. But of course, this is here and he comes from a country where crime is rife because of – well, many reasons.

The reality of every day life in South Africa, from what I remember, was something like this:-

You don’t walk around on your own after dark, especially if you are female.

You don’t walk around, any time of the day, wearing jewellery, male or female.

You didn’t go and to the bank to draw money on your own.

You get taught how to shoot a gun by the time you hit your teens because no doubt your dad has a gun, so does your brother and your uncles and your neighbour.

You learn how to defend yourself, not because it is an “in” thing to do and a fun thing to keep fit, you do it because your life depends on it.

You never keep to the speed limit when driving. You never stop at traffic lights when its dark but slow down a bit, look left and right, and then just put your foot down and drive for fear of being hi-jacked.

There is a reason that the South African Police has such a reputation for being “hard” – as it is stated in this article, they get shot at everyday, threatened with horrible things and work in really harsh conditions.

My nephew-in-law is a member of the “Flying Squad” in Johannesburg – the Flying Squad are the people who get called in when things are really bad, basically the SWAT guys and they get to go into things like hostage situations, homicides and kidnappings. It terrifies me because he is married to my niece and they have a young family to look after, but he is never oblivious of the danger – because it is something that you grow up with and become used to, you just carry on with your piece and hope to make a difference.

Every single police station in SA has a barricade infront of it – huge sandbags to prevent thrown explosives. There are metal detectors when you enter their offices. They are basically a group of people under siege, that thin red line between crime that is becoming worse every day.

No wonder this chap, Mr. Coetzee is having such a blast up North. What is termed hard here is a bit farcical compared to the horrors he must have seen back in the day in Johannesburg.

By ANDREW PARKER – from the Sun newspaper


A FORMER South African policeman has smashed the British record for arrests — nabbing more than 300 villains in under a year.


Diederik Coetzee used to carry TWO guns and wear a bullet-proof vest on the streets of apartheid-era Johannesburg in his homeland.


Now he is bringing justice to the rundown Ladybrook estate at Mansfield, Notts, armed with CS gas, a baton and a mountain bike.
PC Coetzee, 48, crushed the previous Nottinghamshire best of 242 arrests in only seven months.
He is now on 309, having passed the old UK record of 305 with two months in hand.
Now he aims to top 380 collars by the end of this year and make it 400 in 2006.


The PC said: “It’s a joy getting up each morning for work. For me it really is a way of life.
“In South Africa I wore a bullet-proof vest and carried a shotgun and sidearm. I was shot at by car thieves and burglars on an almost daily basis. At least that doesn’t happen here. All I carry is a CS gas canister and a baton. So from a policing point of view it’s something like paradise.”


PC Coetzee spent 24 years as an explosives and dog handler in Johannesburg before emigrating eight years ago.


The married dad of two had to spend two years as a resident before he could return to policing.
Five years into his role as beat manager for Ladybrook, he has been hailed “Supercop” by delighted residents.


The superfit officer added: “I’ve got to know the criminals and they all know me. But they don’t try to run now, because they know I’ll catch them.


“The people tell me Ladybrook was a dump before I came here. It used to be a hotspot for drugs and car crime. But then I got down to work.”

Paradise, indeed! And people still ask us why we moved here...if that isn't proof, then I don't know what is!

Monday, October 31, 2005

Shhh, don't tell a soul...



But FG and I had the most decadent weekend we have had in ages!
On Saturday we didn't have to rush around to get the house ready to be invaded by smelly creatures (otherwise known as rpg gamers). I didn't have to cook for them or pretend to be interested in yet more chaotic stories of their strange lives and once again tell them off for making so much noise and interrupting as FG valiantly tries to push the story onward whilst they carry on at their own regard.
Instead, we got up, packed Sparrow in the back of the car and drove off to the lovely village of Eynsford, for all intents and purposes to go see an ancient ruin, walk around some foresty bits and come home. Well, as usual, we couldn't find the ancient ruin, but we did find a stunning park with a gorgeous forest and golf course. The walk was wonderful, really steep in some parts, muddy with a few other people out for some air. Och, what a day - the mists came in and wandering around this forest was like being in a different world. We were mesmerised and have fallen in love with the general area. Eventually though, hunger forced us onward, and we left, muddy, sated with the beauty of where we live and desperate to get home for some tea.
We headed home and I ran into Sainsburys to get sumat for dinner and the cleaner was very upset with me as I clumped mud everywhere from my boots as well as the legs of my jeans.
Sunday was a day of sheer indulgence. Slept late, lazed about, read the newspapers, slept some more - it was bliss. I really miss having weekends like these where you are free to do whatever you like, as much as you want to, or nothing at all.
Here's to two weeks' time when it happens again!

Thursday, October 27, 2005

Tempus Fugit!



How sweet does she look?

No idea where I got the pic of Matilda from, but it spoke to me when I opened my picture file earlier this evening.

So I thought I would share her with the world...since I have already posted about Jean Reno earlier this month....

Maybe the 'Verse is telling me to watch Leon again for a change!

Looking Glass Wars


Oh dear.

Now, Mr. G and I are convinced that we have some of the scariest looking people in the Southeast travelling on our trainline.

In all honesty, I think personally that our problem is that we are keen observers of other people. I can people-watch for hours, making little notes in my notebook which I always carry around with me. I like to think they might one day pop up in a book might one day get published - Jamie, stop nodding sagely whilst reading this!

Sometimes, just sometimes, I reel back in shock when I see what people dress like when going to work, and at first thing in the morning when your brain isn't functioning very well yet...well, I have been known to point and double-up with laughter as my people-friendly programming hasn't kicked in yet.

This morning, case in point, Young Miss TeenIdol is off to go work in her uncle's caf in Lunnen dressed to the T's in this shiny fabricked wide-legged three-quarter lenght shitty trouser/long shorts (which looked hideous in the 80's and looks even worse now) wearing boots stopping just under the hem of said shitty trousers. Ontop she wore this knitted topthing that was basically a tube in a bizarre cerise pink colour (the trousers were a soft lime-green and the boots were a good leather brown) and she had earings on so large that I feared for her life, expecting a dead parrot to drop from the sky to hang off them. And of course, the obligatory fag was being waved about as it spoke loudly on its mobile - no one else has one, yeah, so like, I have to show off what I got yeah? - whilst chewing gum.

We moved further down the platform and I had to turn my back. FG looked at me and just said "we have to institute that Charity we spoke about when we win the lotto." I fully agree.

The Charity will be called:

The Every House A Mirror Charity
Its sole purpose would be to ensure that every single household in all of the UK will have at least one full-length mirror at its front door. We hope this would encourage people to look at themselves before going out, so that they don't inflict their "individual fashion sense" on the rest of the poor unprepared population of this Country.
I am glad to say that I have always been a skinny t-shirt and jeans kinda gall and have NEVER in my life owned anything fashionable. Well, except for my leather biker jacket but that was a necessity and not a fashion accessory. Why people follow fashion trends and don't stick to failsafe classic lines, is beyond me. Admittedly, it would be a boring old life, but I really don't want to be tortured with the sight of pale fat legs and flesh peering through too tight fishnets sticking out from under a too-short skirt because the fashionistas have declared it "the look of the season".
Save us, oh gods of fashion, of sheep who blindly follow the pack.
Yes, you are an individual. Just like the other fifty million people on this planet.

Monday, October 24, 2005

Enough is enough


I suffer from migraines. Debilitating shitty things that destroy any kind of social life I would like to lead. I have been to see a specialist and have been subjected to MRI scans, CAT scans, injections, eye tests, blood tests...nothing was flagged as the reason for these headaches. They turned to me and said "You are one of those unfortunate people who suffer from them...no rhyme, no reason." I was relieved, imagining that I have this growing tumour in my brain or something. But no, nothing like that. No explanation either...then they wondered if I would be interested in trying these funky new drugs that are supposed to be given to people who suffer from depression. One of the postive "side effects" to these tabs = they help with migraines. I rebelled - why take tablets for depression and maybe get hooked on the shyte so I can be headache free. I ran away from the specialist and never went back (also because Lewisham hospital smells really bad and I felt like an imposter amongst people who made me think of refugees from these third world countries you see on TV.)

I have really given up - I pump myself so full of headache and migraine tablets that it isn't even funny. I have a stash at work in my drawer, in my bag I carry around with me and at least in two of my work-jackets too, just in case one decides to strike. Anywhere I go I make sure I have these lifesaving tablets with me. I don't drink wine or beer or any other kind of alcoholic beverage for fear of getting a headache. I try not to drink coffee cos it might trigger it. I rarely have chocolate as it might trigger a severe headache so crippling I can't see.

What a horrible thing to live with. It is in the family though - my mom used to suffer from them, so do two of my sisters that I know of.

I have vowed to now eat nothing processed, with e-numbers or anything like that. I am going to test myself and see how things go. I am just sick of having them. They are happening more frequently, once a week or so. And it isn't stress - work is the same laughable joke it has always been. I get the headaches over weekends, on holiday, during the week. Phagh. It isn't even hormonal as far as I can tell.

People who don't suffer from them think its all made up - until you try and describe the excruciating pain, where it feels like you have sustained severe trauma to your head and the rest of your body goes into shock. Your head is so sore that it feels about three degrees warmer than the rest of your body, sweat pours off you and the pain is so severe that you are quite prepared to try and open a hole in it to vent the pressure you feel is building up in there. I hate it. I hate seeing the genuine incomprehension in people's faces when you explain how you spend time hunkered over a toiletbowl hurling your guts up and praying that it would stop because it just increases the pain in your head...but alleviates it at the same time.

I am even tempted to put my name down for tests at the Migraine Clinic here in London. But then I think to myself that maybe they will try all these tests on me and turn me into a bigger mutant...so I don't know.

But in the meantime I shall be a good girl, take my tablets, and watch what I eat.

Friday, October 21, 2005

Cruelty to animals





The spate of cruelty to animals recently highlighted in all the national and local newspapers has really struck as a clear indicator as to how low mankind has fallen.

How anyone can excuse themselves torturing an animal (burning it, setting it alight), putting it in a bag and smacking it with sticks till its dead, hanging it from a tree for fun, strangling it because it is a puppy and it was crying for its mother….is really beyond my own reasoning.

And the sentences being handed down are negligible. 21 days in jail and then being banned from keeping a pet for ten years. Ho-hum. If he can do it to an animal, he can do it to a human. I wonder if that would get him more than 21 days?

It is disgusting and vile. People committing these crimes, even if they are kids, should really be treated as badly as they treat these animals.

In matters like this I am almost tempted to support these radical animal activists.

I can’t put across how angry I am on behalf of these defenceless animals. All I have to do is look at my poor little dog, Sparrow and see his sheer joy when seeing is after we have been out and my heart just melts. Even after being shouted at for being naughty pup, he comes back, forgiving, wagging that little tail a mile a minute and is loving. How can you be so hard hearted to horrible things to a poor creature that loves you so unconditionally? Don’t get me wrong, he will be disciplined when naughty and he is better behaved than some animals I have seen, (even some people), but to really lose your head and beat him up to the extent where he has broken ribs puncturing a lung…or to the extent where his injuries are so bad that he has to be put down….bloody fuck.

I really do vote for animal abusers to get longer jail terms, no excuses, and maybe to be whipped a bit too with a cat o’nine tails, burnt with coals, cut with knives, just to show them how it feels. My motto has always been – if you can dish it out, you had better be prepared to take it. And please, no one ever tell me “oh, he was an abused child/had a difficult childhood,” – evil is evil. The punishment should fit the crime.

Wednesday, October 19, 2005

Giggles from the Hell Dimension



Yesterday was - in a word - so incredibly horrible I considered running away and joining the Chinese State Circus currently touring the UK. (Okay, so it wasn't quite a word but if you say it fast enough, it would be.)

Back to the Circus idea - I would give that a miss as I don't think I would like the taste of dog masquerading as Kung Pow Chicken.

But, I digress.

Yesterday, was a godawful day. I sounded like someone suffering from tourettes, much to the hilarity of my work colleague LBJG (Little Blond Jewish Girl) who is always amazed at my proficient linguistic skills.

I went into work this morning, promising myself to not a) wish the main demons of the department dead, b) consider going to see a Voodoo Priest to curse them, c) pushing them infront of a bus/train/taxi/delivery van or d) poisoning them by making them tea/coffee. Then I remembered about Karma ... and I decided to wait till I am filthy stinking rich (having won the lotto) and then hiring baddies to take them all out.

I remained relatively calm most of the day - except for the occasional tourettes slip.

Something which had me giggle though is how badly I can drop the main demon in the trouble with its Mrs.

SNH SNH SNH

I got a faintly panicked Blackberry message on my email from said head demon as he was travelling back from a business visit in the other Hell Dimension known as France. "Any ideas for an anniversary present?" - which made me burst out laughing. So, sensible and helpful secretary that I am I email back asking "Not sure what Mrs. likes...jewellery and scarves or what...?" Response came back "Yes."

Sigh. . .

His anniversary is on Friday. I have set him a reminder to buy her a card tomorrow (which translates into "Liz, quickly go down to Paperchase and buy me a card.") and I printed off all the shows and their venues currently on the boards here in the BS (Big Smog).

Ontop of that I rang him and mentioned that I looked at Links of London (lovely jewellery) and I really think he should maybe get her a charm bracelet...and he said he thought that was a lovely idea...Wait till he sees the prices! My evil genius mind works like this, see? The thing about the HD is...he can't make up his mind. EVER. About anything, and I have learned the trick into bullying him. Gently-like. (He didn't HAVE TO travel First Class via Eurostar today...AND pay for his three work colleagues.)

So, giving him a deluge of things to get his poor Mrs. I guarantee him spending A LOT of money and she gets to have a lovely anniversary and be spoilt. Just because he couldn't decide what to get.

Okay, so maybe this story isn't as funny as all that...but after the absolute torture he put me through yesterday, today was a blast - I think I was hysterical, actually. I shall report back and see how much I can make him spend on her.

Now, I wonder how I can write off that nice Ferrari parked outside on expenses...

To the new kid on the block



As was posted by FG and Cheezy -

  • congrats to Tincanman on the birth of his daughter.
  • congrats to the Mom who looked pretty cool during it all.

We wish you both the best of futures with your little sprog (I am not sure what her name is yet but I think I will call her Lily) and hopefully, one day soon, in the next 18 years, you might get some sleep in.

Loads of kisses!

Aunty Liz

Sunday, October 16, 2005

New Blog-Look


Dear All

I felt creative this weekend and decided to "mess about" with the look of my site.

Let me know what you think of the new look - I quite like the minimilistic look of it - also, the links (if you hover your cursor over the squares of manuscript) on the left hand of the page actually work whereas I never had the link-option on the "lighthouse" template. By clicking on the manuscript squares it takes you to different "pages" - which I think is quite nifty...but I am worried that it is tooooooo plain. I added the scrolling marquee myself as I am pretending to be flash. I mucked around with adding my own pictures, instead of the manuscripts and it throws the text out a bit...but I will see what I come up with.

Comments would be appreciated!

Thursday, October 13, 2005

Just what Germany needs!




A giant brothel set to cater for tens of thousands of football fans at next year's World Cup in Germany is opening its doors in Berlin.

Built just yards from the main stadium, its owner believes the three-storey Artemis brothel will be a big hit with World Cup visitors.

Norman Jacob, lawyer for the private investor who wishes to remain anonymous, said: "Football and sex go together extremely well."

Prostitutes wanting to use the facility also have to pay £50 to "rent" a room there for three months. For that price they get free meals and access to the Artemis gym.

Prostitutes negotiate their own fees with clients who must also pay an entrance fee of £50 to enter the complex, which has rooms for more than 100 girls as well as a sauna and lap dancing bar.

The band demands Queen Contestants

I love the Ananova quirkies - this one is a beauty! Har! Pun!


A rock band has asked for all of this year's Miss Serbia beauty queen contestants in their dressing room.

Finnish band Apocalyptica included the request in their rider for the Exit music festival in Serbia where they are supporting Garbage.

They also asked for a dozen postcards with stamps already attached so they could write to their mums.

Organisers of the four day festival said they had asked the girls if they were willing to visit the band, but it were not sure they could make it.

A spokesman said: "It was a bizarre request, and I don't know why they wanted the postcards. Perhaps they wanted to write about the girls afterwards.

"It would have been much better if they were all like Garbage who were much more reasonable.
"They just wanted china plates and not paper ones for their food, a certain brand of soap, diet coke and a few bottles of Heineken, which are all things we can provide."

Wednesday, October 12, 2005

Wikipedia


Now, I love the net...I just did a search (don't ask why) on Jean Reno from Leon (Ronin, Big Blue etc.) and for some reason...Wikipedia came up...with an entire page on him, his film bio, pictues...the works. It makes me wonder...an encyclopedia listing Jean Reno!? Whatever next?!

The coolest thing about Wikipedia is everyone contributes to it. I love the Net.

Let's go be bad guys...


I love Joss Whedon. I was a fan of Buffy (the shows that I did manage to watch) and Angel...the music just did it for me and of course Spike being so very English (honest, guv!). I love the Fray comics (I have them all in graffic novel type) and I religiously watched Firefly the series and I even have it on dvd... Its quirky, and funny, and the one liners are brilliant. Then they decide to cancel the series...and two years on Mr. Whedon scrapes cajunes together and makes the movie, Serenity.

We saw the movie this Friday past and I must say...I didn't feel the time go by. When it ended, after such a breathstopping spin on things, I looked at FG and we both just exhaled (not realising that that heartpounding thing was actually our hearts telling us to "breathe, dammit!")and said "Wow." And then "Let's watch it again!"

As someone who grew up on cowboy books and movies - my dad was a huge fan and before I could afford my own books, these were the only books I ever read - this really hit the spot. Admittedly it is set in the future but it is enfused with old West drama; they talk the talk and walk the walk. The characters are really well developed from the series, but you don't really need to know much about the series to enjoy the movie. You get to know a lot more abour River and what had been done to her and boy, does she kick butt? When I grow up I want to be her.

But, searching imdb.com I found some of the quotes from the movie, so here you go:


The Operative: I want to resolve this like civilized men. I'm not threatening you. I'm unarmed.

Capt. Malcolm Reynolds: Good. [pulls gun and shoots Operative in the chest, knocking him into the wall, grabs Inara and gets ready to leave]

The Operative: [grabs Mal from behind] I am, however, wearing full body armor. I am not a moron!

Oh, and another classic line

Capt. Malcolm Reynolds: Yes, I've read a poem. Try not to faint.

Fantastic! Defo go see it...another one for the dvd collection when it comes out!

Life from a Woman's Perspective

This got sent around to me via email today and there were just too many true-isms to not post it on here.

1. I love a Martini, but two at the most. Three, I'm under the table, Four, I'm under the host.

2. I want to be Barbie - that bitch has everything.

3. If the shoe fits... buy one in every colour.

4. I take life with a grain of salt... a wedge of lime, and a shot of tequila.

5. What part of Princess don't you understand?

6. Some call it cocktail hour - for me, it's a support group.

7. I'm on a 30 day diet. So far, I've lost 15 days.

8 . My greatest fear is that there is No PMS, and this is just my personality.

9. I know I'm in my own little world, but its ok, they know me here.

10. Lead me not into temptation, I can find it myself.

Monday, October 03, 2005

Who cares...

about George Best anyway besides his son and his very young wife who wants his money?

Admittedly, he is in hospital with pneumonia and it has nothing to do with his liver (the new one which he messed up AGAIN by going on the lash constantly).

But, I can't help but wonder, back when he had his innards replaced if he got it done faster than so many more worthy and patient ill people out there because of who and what he used to be to the Country?

But, I am sure, it wasn't his fault that he mucked up the new one by drinking himself to a standstill, yet again. I am sure it made those who were pushed aside and further down the list all warm and fuzzy inside because "Bless, it is old Georgie, innit? I don't need to live, I am sure someone else will donate him a kidney, a heart, a liver. He is one of our favourites, after all. The fact that he is a unrepentant alkie doesn't mean a thing."

Also, this from the Sky News website:-

One of Britain's favourite football legends, George Best, is in hospital being treated for a kidney infection.

His illness is thought to be a reaction to drugs he has been taking to stop him from drinking alcohol.

Best once said of his lifestyle: 'I spent a lot of my money on booze, birds and fast cars - the rest I just squandered.'

Will now remove myself from my soapbox and move along to bed



From temper tantrums to calm...



Last week, I had to admit to my boss, infront of my other work colleagues that one of them was driving me up the wall. Said person was not there, thank heavens, but not thank heavens cos I like to think I am an honest person and would have liked him to be there to stand up for himself.
Said colleagues were shocked by my boss, the head of my department, bullying me infront of all of them, and basically saying "Liz, admit it, it is (insert person's name here), who is making your life hell." They all agreed that this conversation should have been had between just the two of us, without boss-man making a scene.

And all I could do was nod in shock and agreement - and I must say, with him forcing me to admit it, I did throw a bit of a fanny wobble at him and I ended up being quite verbal in my own annoyance of my team not appreciating me, respecting me, steamrolling over me when I tell them how much I have on, whilst they think that they can sweet-talk me into doing extra things for them, especially if I am busy doing someone else's work, etc. But they asked for it.

And my gods, the difference in the atmosphere is so hugely different. I am being spoken to like a person, not a scivvy (although, no doubt, that is what I still am and it will change within a week when they reckon I have calmed down), people are walking the extra three paces past my desk to make their own photocopies instead of just dumping it all on my desk with post-it notes because they "are so busy working", read "emailing my mates to find out what we are doing tonight for fun".

Tsk. So, I feel better. The air has been cleared. The person who has been taking the piss has had the rules read to him - but, as I say, I would have preferred it if he were there to defend himself as at that point in time, as I was being bullied and made to feel quite bad - and he has taken it on board and is now slacking off harping on me about inconsequential things that I don't know anything about - especially IT related junk. I am sorry, but I didn't take a course in Blackberry to figure out why it doesn't update when you plug into your machine. I am sorry, I don't know how to retrieve deleted items from your deleted box, or any other number of inane and stupid things you think about asking me during the day. There is a reason WHY we have an IT Team and a IT Helpdesk. They are there to tell you to turn your machine on and off. I don't have that qualification.

Tsk.

So, from a tantrum comes calm and a bit of wary respect as they (the Team) had no idea of the workload heaped on me...yep, my own fault cos I just accepted it and did it, without telling them to back-off. But, admittedly, as a team, surely they should be aware of what each person is doing, specifically the amount of work they give their admin staff?

Hey, what do I know? I am only the PA.

Thursday, September 29, 2005

A picture is worth...

a thousand words.



I am just not sure what this one is about....

Wednesday, September 28, 2005

Homesickness and the tokoloshe



We had a weekend of feeding the hordes - friends came around on Saturday and we made a potjie (picture above) which roughly translates into a giant stew. I chose goulash as it is one of my favourite dishes in all the world and it tastes even better the next day. It cooked away on the stove in the cast iron potjie (cauldron, then) for around six hours. Needless to say the beef was so tender it broke apart into even smaller strips and bits when I dished the food that evening. Man oh man - it was gorgeous. Like with all kinds of meat dishes used for a stew/sauce, by cooking away for hours on the stovetop it only benefited. My con carne and chilli never cooks for less than three hours.

Oh well - the potjie put me in mind of family and friends, back in South Africa. The fact that I am reading a new author who had written "Gem Squash Tokoloshe" didn't help either. It is set in the Northern Transvaal and so liberally peppered with true South Africanisms that unless you come from there, you wouldn't get it. The tokoloshe in the title is a kind of boogyman that the bantu/natives (I have no idea what to term them anymore...indigenous south africans?) believed in. They would raise their beds off the ground by placing bricks under the feet which helped prevent the tokoloshe from stealing you away.

And there I sat today, wrapped in a cloak of memories - homesick is the word. Plain and simple. Not even for the country itself but for my family and for my childhood when lazing about in the garden, at the side of the house was the best thing in the world, eating watermelon till you couldn't breathe and chasing the dog up into the apricot tree and then having to climb after it to rescue it. How we used to plot and plan a raid on the neighbour's fruit orchard and how to sneak the long way back so that no one would catch you. Or listening to Springbok Radio after school, whilst doing your homework, keeping up to date with the radio soapies was the thing to do. Then changing over to listening to Radio 5 and their pop and rock music. And in the evenings there was Radio Highveld that played the smooth "classics". How innocent and uncomplicated life was then...How desperately I wanted to be an archeologist and dig up treasure that I used to steal money from my mom's purse and bury it in the driveway and dig it up a few minutes later and pretend it was a find even cooler than Carter finding King Tut's tomb!

How, at Christmas, there were so many presents under the tree that you can't fathom how Kersvader managed to get his fat gut through the door, nevermind all that loot! How I couldn't figure out why my dad kept on disappearing at a certain time of night on Christmas eve and then, suddenly, there was Father Christmas in his big red suit, squishy tummy and beard...and how odd he was, smelling just like my dad...and they even had the same old scars on their hands from working with machinery. I was about thirteen when I eventually figured out they were the one and the same. How the tables groaned under food made by my mom and all my sisters! We used to feast like there was no tomorrow and the next day...it would happen all over again. And of course, Christmas was in Summer so that was even better cos you could go play outside in the sprinklers after opening presents just because it was that hot.

I told a friend today how I longed for that...for those memories again and she told me the Welsh have a name for it...it is called Hireath (no doubt I have misspelt it) but it means longing, homesickness, a longing for a youth that once was. And that is how it has been these past few days. Tsk.

Thanks for ruminating with me. It was a good haul.

Tuesday, September 20, 2005

Gotta love the Welsh!

From Ananova:-

20ft porn star shocks Cardiff


A group students were arrested in Cardiff for projecting a porn film on to a neighbour's house.
They set up the 20ft x 30ft screening so that all their pals could watch it in the street.
Student Nick Griffin, 20, said: "The women were three times lifesize - it was great."

Friday, September 16, 2005

Proof positve....

Vampires are real...



Yes, on a slightly different tangent - if vampires did exist, in the classical sense surely

a) they would smell to high heaven as they are sorta dead
b) having sex with them would be the same as necrophilia
c) having sex would be physically impossible as there is no blood flow to - you know - engorge wossnames
d) they must have seriously bad breath

And I wonder what is going to happen now that New Orleans is destroyed (all those dead bodies to eat, yum Lestat!) - are all the vampire-wannabes going to find somewhere else to hang out now?

LA, perhaps? The land of the sun and Hollywood eyecandy.

Tuesday, September 13, 2005

I am an addict...

I am an addict.



I thought I would blog it before Mr. G does.
I am a obsessive compulsive book addict. I can see you breathe a sigh of relief going “Phew, that’s okay Liz, it isn’t that bad, surely.”

Well. You are wrong. It is bad. If I didn’t occasionally get rid of books, I don’t think we would have anywhere to sit. I have got three large bookshelves full of my “favourite” books. Books that I am happy to reread, cart about in my handbag. I have books on ancient history, fantasy, horror, thrillers, books on writing, various crafts and diy, gardening, childrens books, faery tales, mythology, medieval history, religions, theology, ancient mysteries. I have books on Norse legends, a favourite copy of Beowulf so well read we know the passages off by heart. I think I have read every angle on Arthur and his knights, I have various miscellaneous books on Celtic tales, French faery tales, I have a copy of the Annotated Brothers Grimm (complete with illustrations by Arthur Rackham). I have a limited edition copy of the Chronicles of Narnia.

And it isn’t as if I don’t read them!

No. These are books with my fingerprints in them. They have all been read. And loved. Companions on train journeys, flights, long lazy baths, even longer and lazier weekends when there is nothing else to do but settle down and read.

I have books on the windowsill next to the bed. I have a bookcase on the landing crammed full of books. I carry at least two books with me each day – one a novel, another any one of the above subjects oh, and a notebook to make notes and scribble ideas and such like. (Always handy when you are sitting in Starbucks, plugged into your MP3 player and idea for a brilliant storyline strikes you out of the blue between sipping a double mocha latte espresso drink with cinnamon and chocolate sprinkles whilst wondering why they don’t hire barristas who can speaka da eeenglishe.)

I can’t be trusted in Waterstones. Or Foyles. Or Forbidden Planet. Or Ottakars. Or Books etc. And not second hand bookshops either. They call to me. I swear it.

If I am not buying for myself, I always manage to come away with something for someone I know. I don’t understand it when I ring Mr. G and say “Hi, I am on my way to Waterstones, do you want anything from there?” and he goes “Uhm, no, not really.” He doesn’t visit bookshops as often as I do, totally relying on my habit to get enough books for both of us. But still, I can’t understand it…how can you not know what your next book is going to be? Even if it isn’t a specific author or book…maybe a genre.

My name is Liz and I have a problem. Please donate generously.

To PsP or not to PsP!?




Pleh, pleh! Am in a giant conundrum. Do I PSP or don't I? Our sixth wedding anniversary is coming up in October and I would love to get a nice sumat for Mr. G.

And the obvious choice is either a brand spanking new PSP - which I know very little about but it is such a cool gadget (hangs head in shame, yes, I admit it...I am a gadget geek) and, well, its cool!

Or, the other sumat I am thinking of is MP3 player.

Oh dear. Unless, we make a promise as follows:- save up a bit of dosh (pray the PSP price goes down a bit) then just buy two of them (cos I want one too, see?) and then we can ahem, play together.

Oh the choices. Oh the look on the face of the present receiver when the present is opened and lo...there is a dvd he always wanted...Army of Darkness...compred to a psp...or another gadget...or do I get a book?

Oh hell.

Monday, September 12, 2005

Why I love the public transport system!




Why oh why do these things happen to me?

Friday afternoon travelling home should be an event of great relief and great joy after a long hard week of slogging.

Not so.

Not for me and others who took the 5:58pm train from Charing Cross to Hayes. All went well until a dodgy chap got on, muttering to himself. I thought, fair ‘nough, I am sure I mutter to myself too on occasion. I probably fall asleep in mid-conversation and snore too, but that is besides the point. Said Odd Man (after this referred to as OM) plonked himself down on a two seater, facing me, but far enough away so that I was not subjected to spittle flying. But I kept my umbrella handy. OM then proceeded to make a range of very abusive phone calls – as soon as he started cussing like a sailor with tourettes I plugged myself into my mp3 player – and was amazed to watch his facial contortions which resulted in a standing fight, complete with hand outflung, and foot kicking his train seat whilst I was listening to Maroon 5. It didn’t stop there. Because I was in his line of view he started making eye contact and spitting randomly, plucking at his hair, doing a very good imitation of someone very close to a nervous breakdown.

At the one station, as people started getting up to get off, he eyeballed this one chap, started calling him names that made my hair curl, and invited him off the train for a good old one-two (in much rougher language than that, I might add). OM was working himself up to a frenzy now and was swearing even louder (yes, that is possible). Which is the point where I drew the line. I asked the lady sitting next to me to please excuse me.

Being that close to a psycho was making me feel physically ill – no jokes. I got up and went to go sit much further down the passage. This was about the time he lit up a cigarette. And of course, everyone was so stunned and scared witless, no one bothered asking him not to.

I made my escape at my station, physically shaken by the encounter. I am so glad that I am not his wife, partner or one of his kids – I think that is what the fight was about – not being able to see his kids or something like that. I didn’t want to listen – he kept on threatening to kill “her” and rip “her” heart out.

Unfortunately, I was too far down the train to actually speak to the train driver – I think maybe half the coach got off at our stop, just to get away from him, even though the next train was twenty minutes later.

Tsk. So much for starting a peaceful weekend.

Sunday, September 11, 2005

A witchy link!


I am branching out!

Since I now have a superdooperwhoppingubercomputer - grin - I thought I would create a site for my other passion - all things esoterical and this is the link to it:-

http://childofherne.blogspot.com/

I spent some time doing this up, and I am quite chuffed. I have invited my friend Viv to "join me, join me" - so we see how that goes. It will hopefull act as an impetus to get me going on my own studies into tarot, runes...and all other things weird and wunnerful!

A completely etherial, wistful, witchy and crafty website, compared to my more grounded self, in this blog.

I don't have the side-bar-links on this site, so unfortunately I can't link through - unless someone knows how to do it on this one? If so, please comment! I shall be eternally grateful.

Wahoo, I gotit!



In return for my brand spanking new (second hand) computer from his work I dragged the Mr. over to Sainsburys and we bought yummy stuff for lunch - i.e. grown up food. Genuine roast potatoes, genuine lovely shoulder of pork stuffed with sage and onion, parsnips and a feast of other grown up healthy veg. It was lovely. We played some Mortal Kombat, I got my butt served to me on a platter in each of my different guises and as I bowed out, in squelchy noises of gushing blood to do the dishes, Mr. G dashed upstairs to connect me to the net...and lo and behold...here I am.

Whoo - the excitement is rife.

Only problem now is ... the keyboard is very very very loud. And Mr. G is already glaring at me cos it is making so much noise...at 75wpm.

Grin.

Yay!

Friday, September 09, 2005

Signs and portents


I really think this sign should be prominently displayed as we travel into work. In fact, it should be a pop-up as we enter our workplace.

Sometimes, I wonder, how I have managed to stay out of jail. If I had to give in to my impulses of homicidal tendencies my entire team I have been working for for the past two years would be obliterated. To smithereens, never to be found again.

Take today, for instance. Only one example mind...We have a general email list to all other property companies in the UK. It is accessible to everyone on our server, if you know where to look. And even if you didn’t, it is piss-ant easy to find because it is stored in a very logical place.

So one of my AD’s (associate director) from now on known as the Scottish Pansy, decides he wants the updated list on his computer. No worries, Liz will show him how to do it. Half and hour later, because he doesn’t want to relinquish his seat so I can do it, and because he wants to do it himself with his bizarre little monkey hands/Gollum fingers, and he has no technological skills at all, we still haven’t managed to link Outlook Contacts with the Contacts list. Jaysus and Mary up a tree.

And he keeps braying at me in this deep stupid accent “I canna unerstaend whyi it isna wurkeen” and as he does, I have mental pictures of myself going Tomb Raider on his ass, cgi blood spilling everywhere and me, standing there, looking stupidly happy as I survey the carnage. I realise, in my demented mind, that this isn’t possible, so I concentrate on the fact that I have got Syndol in my bag and some tequila waiting for me at home tonight and if things progressively get worse, I have absinthe too. Just to wipe today completely from my mind. And to make things worse, he stank of old booze, stale cigarettes AND garlic.

Shudder.

Friday, September 02, 2005

It must be puppy love!

Yesterday was a strange old day. I do not generally subscribe to teary fits or “woe is me” tantrums but for some bizarre reason only known to the Creatrix I was struck with a fit of being a girly-grrl.

Ech. I felt put upon. A fragile thing.

During a conversation with one of my colleagues yesterday morning I burst out into tears – blubbering about Gene Kelley in Singing in the Rain we watched a bit of the night before and how not only was it one of my favourites but one of my mom’s too. And how, when I got into work no one in my team bothered acknowledging my presence (not an unusual occurrence as they are all general aholes anyway and have to emerge from their cave of self-love to notice anyone anyway) and how low that made me felt. She blinked at me and then, without a word, gave me a hug and a few minutes later brought around a gorgeous scrummy donut.

Then, during another conversation with another colleague I once again broke down, embarrassingly, trying to explain to her how rough I felt. The upend of this conversation is a whole swathe of lovely pictures and emailed poems to make me feel better. Which it didn’t as they were all poems about soppiness but the thought counted and I felt much better.

I got forced into a lunch with all the girls and they vied to tell me all about their favourite movies to have a good cry to. We had a good laugh, the food was predictably shite, but the company was good and all in all they were there being lovely and sweet.

By the end of the day, however, my nerves were raw and all I wanted, more than anything else in the world, was to go home and be safe and loved. But first there was a shopping expedition at Tesco. But Mr. G, being the hero he is, did most of the shopping and all I had to do is stand around blankly and hand him plastic packets whilst he packed groceries.

I got home, made gorgeous beautiful risotto (comfort food) and hugged poor Sparrow constantly whilst sitting on the couch. Sparrow, who never stints when love is being dealt out, licked back enthusiastically so the evening ended well with me and my hair dreadlocked by doggy spittle, my face throroughly cleansed with doggy drool, and my cares washed away by doggy love and the best tea made by the husband.

My heroes.

Monday, August 29, 2005

Night Watch


All That Stands Between Light And Darkness Is The Night Watch.

I was so excited! We got to see the first screening here in the West (unless you have been a bad person and downloaded it from the Net) of Night Watch. There was a surprise bit at the start where the Russian Director did a small into of the movie to us, the Horror Audience at Frightfest last night = we applauded madly.

I can easily see why it grossed more than Lord of the Rings and such, over in Russia. It is beautifully shot, the shapechangers when changing actually look like the animals they are supposed to change into...the changes back into human form suitably gory complete with cracking bones and gore...it was brilliant. The story is easy enough to follow - (and I copy this from the US official site as I am too lazy to type it up myself) -

For as long as humanity has existed, there have been "Others" among us; Witches, Vampires and Shape-Shifters who are soldiers in the eternal war between Light and Dark.
Light Others protect mankind from Dark Others, who plague and torture humans.
Over 1000-years ago a truce was struck between Gesser, Lord of the Light, and Zavulon, General of Darkness.


They agreed that no one could be forced to good or evil, people must choose freely for themselves. To uphold this truce, each side established underground forces; the soldiers of the Light would be called Night Watch, making sure Dark Others obeyed the truce. And the soldiers of Darkness would be called Day Watch, to do the same.

Ancient prophecy foretells that one day the Great One will arrive who can end the threat of an apocalyptic battle between Light and Dark Others. That day has come, and the Great One, once he or she is identified, must choose whether to destroy the light within or battle the surrounding darkness. This choice will reveal mankind's destiny.

1992:Anton Gordesky, a broken-hearted man, desperate to win back his fiancée, seeks out the black magic services of a witch. This Dark Other, about to use her magic for evil, is arrested by the Night Watch moments before for completing her spell. The cataclysmic event awakens Anton to discover that he is an Other. Now he must choose whether to become a protector of light or warrior of darkness.

Today:Somewhere on the streets of Moscow the "Great One" wanders, oblivious to his or her powers. Anton, along with his Night Watch team, race to find and protect the Great One from Zavulon and his Day Watch vampires who seek to plunge the world into darkness. Whoever reaches the Great One first will hold the balance of power in their hands and control the fate of humanity.

Nuff said. Can't wait for it to come out onto circuit as I will go and see it again.

Off to Ikea now to go and buy a frame for the huge kick-ass poster for Land of the Dead. Oh, plus, we got freebies yesterday - t-shirts and really cool tiny badges for the Night Watch promos. How kewl!