Underworld: Revolution

Wednesday we toodled off to go and see Underworld:Revolution.

I didn't hold out much hope, having seen the first Underworld when it was released a while ago...needless to say I wasn't impressed with it at all. Poor Ms Beckensale pouted her way through the role, looking fetching in a very tight outfit (how do they manage to get her in and out of that thing without being taken aback by the sheer smell it must generate....shudder.)

I freely admit to being quite smitten with the second - sorry - sequel. In this instance the sequel is vastly better than the original. However, unfortunately, you still have to have a bit of an idea as to what happened in the first one to follow this one, so you will have to watch it...

The sequel starts in the year 1202 - the lycans have gone insane (funny that!) and have been destroying people and villages. So the vamps have taken it upon themselves to sort it out...

I am one of those very sad people who can't go to see a movie without looking at all the detail - the clothes, the props, the acting, the action...it all has to flow nicely together. I loved the opening scenes where they come across this destroyed village - the vampires are kitted out in fantastic armour - a bit reminscent of LoTR - and they seem to have received genuine instruction on how to fight. One of them even fights with a battle-axe - my own personal weapon of choice (I quote Slaine - "Kiss my axe") and he uses it properly! I was delighted and had to stop myself from jumping up and punching my fist into the air. The lycans looked like lycans - more yay! - and they fought like beasts. It was fab - I prayed that the rest of the movie continued in the same vein.

It did. The sets were so well done - the monastery where they receive help from one of the vampires Selene had "put away 300 years ago" was fantastic and just ancient enough and Byzantine enough to make you realise that they actually did their research, the murals depicting religious scenes were straight out of the pictures in the Coptic churches and what they uncovered in Istanbul. I suspect they shot this somewhere in the Czech Republic or some other tiny ex-Communist country and the starkness and wintry scenes were spot on the create that feeling of worry and fear, showing you just enough to make you comfortable, whilst being that bit foreign to make you feel on edge...

Ah yes. The plot...I diverge too much so I copied it across from somewhere else:

Plot: The sequel to the $100 million worldwide hit, "Underworld: Evolution" continues the saga of war between the aristocratic Death Dealers and the barbaric Lycans (werewolves). The film traces the beginnings of the ancient feud between the two tribes as Selene (Kate Beckinsale), the beautiful vampire heroine, and Michael (Scott Speedman), the lycan hybrid, try to unlock the secrets of their bloodlines. The fast-paced, modern-day tale of deadly action, ruthless intrigue and forbidden love takes them into the battle to end all wars as the immortals must finally face their retribution.

What was good fun to see was genuine loyalty and brains from hencmen/hired help, working for the daddy of the immortals. They took orders, they did what they were told to, they were unswervingly loyal to the old man and didn't swagger, swear or act like brainless eejits - as one expects from henchmen portrayed in all movies - and that was so refreshing. I was quite sad to see them...

Soz - almost gave more of the story away!

Good movie - go see it. All I have to figure out now is how to get myself angry eyes like Selene's...I wonder if the bosses in the Soul Suck will be startled when I put them in when they ask stoopid questions..again!

Fairest Cape of All

Thanks to a stupid Welsh tourist from the backwater of Swansea the most beautiful Cape is on fire.

This from the Cape Town Argus newspaper article

"Although no houses were burned, the fire claimed the life of a 65-year-old British visitor who was hiking on the mountain with her daughter. It is understood she died from smoke inhalation. Another British visitor, from Swansea in Wales, has been arrested for starting the fire."

How anyone in their right mind can do this, is really beyond me. How do you punish someone for causing this much damage? The rescuers found some burned out cars but it is unclear if they had been abandoned in time, on some of the roads. What isn't helping is the fact that there are some very strong strongs winds at present - the south easter is blowing - and the weather is very hot and the area is very dry. Some of the plantation has been burned down and loads of people have been rushed into hospital with breathing difficulties...

The pig who started this - Welsh, South African, Korean or whatever - should be set alight himself as punishment.

Grrrr.

No.

This is not a blog about me falling pregnant.

Or being broody.

This is a blog about how scary it is realising that the we have got the first pregnancy in our tiny group of friends.

We saw said friends this weekend and the young wife is pregnant, due in May of this year. She is tiny and the bump isn’t all that big either but she was complaining how difficult she was finding it, even tying her shoelaces was a mission. She regaled us with stories of how, apparently, you can see little hands and feet kick out against the tummy as the pregnancy progresses.

Now, as much as I realise that this is a female’s role in life, if she chooses it, it really freaks me out, beyond measure. I am petrified of things growing in me – be it baby, spider in my ear or disease in my brain. The mere thought of anything foreign growing inside a person really makes me freak out. Much to our friends’ amusement.

I had this rictus of fear (which I thought passed for a smile) on my face as they chatted away about the birth (an acquaintance of theirs had been in labour for 24 hours!) and these days you could have up to three people with you in the theatre. We chatted – knowledgeably – about the pros and cons of natural birth and Caesarean and breastfeeding and antenatal classes and all the palaver.

And then, my favourite subject they brought up was the money it is going to cost them to bring up the youngling. And what struck me is that these are people who are not financially insecure at all – they have got good jobs, good incomes, yet the reality of bringing a child into this world has opened their eyes to the costs of it all. The young wife indicated that she would probably have to stop working as her entire salary would go towards the paying of childcare. So, in all fairness, it would be easier for her to stay home and do it herself. Which is a valid point. Become a full time house-mom.

And I thought to myself about how many young women just fall pregnant as it is the “easy” way out – getting a house from the council, being paid to have kids and I could only shake my head as two very successful young people, our friends, will no doubt get nothing from a government who is happy to pay for useless people who have never worked a day in their lives and who live purely on hand-outs, as they know how to work the "system".

As per always it made me want to get on a soapbox and proclaim how unfair it is to people who work hard, pay their taxes and who strive to make their lives better, and who get no give-back at the end of it all.

However, I was tempered in my annoyance. Listening to their excitement and seeing their worries and fears made my heart ache for them. They will both make such fantastic parents and I can’t wait to see their youngling and to spoil it rotten. We are already planning an outing for after it is born – can you imagine the chaos – four grown adults, one excitable Jack Russell and one new baby … an none of us will know what to do with it!

Oh, the happy chaos!

What a walley!

Monday morning I grumpily weighed myself. I had lost 1.5kg's (more than three pounds and a few ounces). I thought:

"Shyte. I didn't even cheat and I almost lost nothing."

So, this morning, I dragged the scale from behind the door in the bathroom (first cunning plan) and put it down on a flat piece of floor (second cunning plan) and stepped on. I peered down through the mists of sleep and almost fainted. Then I called FG who was in the process of making breakfast (third cunning plan).

I pointed to the scales and had him kneel down to check that the little indicator light showed what I thought it did.

It did.

4kg's down.

I have realised that each time I weighed myself I had done it on uneven ground, whilst the scale was behind the door. Hence, it didn't actually show my weight loss = doh.

Lesson learnt.

As Surly Girl sez: Carry on.

Guests on a TV Show

Cripes - how lucky are we? I somehow managed to get onto a list for a company that "supplies" audiences for shows.

Ever the curious Saffie with no clue who is famous and who isn't, I rang up to find out what this is all about and lo! FG and I were offered tickets to go and see Graham Norton and guests film The Bigger Picture, this evening.

Oh, what fun. No, seriously. I laughed so much I think I aged by ten years.

He was fantastic and his guests were all really entertaining. We had about forty minutes with them, off camera as the auto-cue machines went on the blink and we sat around waiting for it to work. So they did loads of improv and chatted about the differences between colonic irrigation and enemas, and things went drastically downhill from there whilst men with tool belts and jingling harnesses tried to fix the autocue behind dark curtains and crystal chandeliers.

In the end, it did work but it was fantastic to see how well it was all handled behind the scenes - no hissyfits, no tantrums and when Graham was told that he was going to have to do things off a piece of paper, up he jumped, literary up for it.

The show we sat through was about an hour and ten minutes long...reduced to thirty five minutes on air. His guests were Alan Cummings, Sir Ian McKellan, Neve Campbell and Annie Tost-sumat or the other.

Having only ever seen Alan Cummings in Spy Kids and Xmen I had no idea who he was or what he did or what kind of person he was - instead, it turns out that he was endearingly camp, huggable and utterly sweet and so genuine in all his responses! They duly made fun of him for wearing an orange jumper whilst the set was red. Did he care? No. He was the cutest thing I have seen (well, barring GfB website) in about a month or so.

We learned off-screen that Neve Campbell had gotten engaged to another actor - an English chap no one knows about. She was very cool and very funny and told us her first ever product advert she did was for Coca Cola with Bryan Adams. She was an obscure 16 year old wannabe actress.

Sir Ian McKellan was as he put it "being a queen" and larking about in a dignified manner. He was quite close mouthed about his latest roll in Da Vinci Code - exciting stuff - and professed to thinking it was all " a jolly good lark".

I must say, it really was an experience and a half. Graham Norton was fantastic and he had everyone in histerics marching about playing up the fact that things have gone awry and how the show will have to be done on a wing and a prayer. They also continually made fun of the floor staff, calling the camermen and women "children" or "little boy" and "little girl".

As I have said, I have aged about ten years - maybe I should get some of Alan's product which he advertised: Cumming on a bar of soap.

Say no more.

I surrender...

I stand no chance today to function like a normal being…

The dreaded headache started late yesterday afternoon, carried on into the evening eventhough I took some tablets…

Woke up this morning and lo – an icepick was sticking out of my nostril, having drilled itself up my nose into my eye and into my brain. Or that is what it felt like.

FG told me “don’t go to work” and I said “I gotta, as it would be suspicious if I am not in as the big boss is out…besides, there is invoicing to be done.” He looked at me with angry eyes.

So I am in, looking like shyte, feeling like shyte. I will stick it out for about an hour and then go home – that way HR can’t say anything and I have been in to do the necessary invoicing.

I hate being a good conscientious and stupid girl.

Skinny R Us

FG has decided – fully blown – to do sumat about our general weight gain.

He has bossed me around at the end of last year and the beginning of this and I agreed to join him on the new way.

I admit to becoming very lax in my own eating regime. This was due to becoming lazy and not preparing pre-packed lunches to take to work. Because of this I had become exceedingly bad and ended up buying: a bagel for lunch to be had with a cuppa soup – with a cheesy triangle smeared on the bagel. Cheap and very cheerful and NOT very healthy, at all. But, along with this there would have been at least one packet of crisps.

So, we are doing the South Beach Diet which we did last year and it worked wonderfully well but we were sensible and didn’t do extremes – working out lovely menus and exciting recipes.

FG writes in his new Fat Blog all about the diet, the proteins and the insulin and whatevers…. (stifles yawn)…and even though it is interesting, I am not going to be obsessed about it all.

I know some people who are utterly obsessed with what they are shoving down their throats and even though I love food and can look at endless recipes about food and have imaginary dinner parties in my head, I am not overly bothered about food. Does that even make sense?

I am fortunate in not having a sweet tooth or suffer cravings for chocolate, cake, biccies or whatever. I do not binge eat or deep fry any food (have never done and never will, preferring grilling or baking instead) and am not particularly fond of chips with a burger but roast ‘tatoes…hmmm.

My Achilles heel is…popcorn. I have a popcorn pot at home and it only gets used to make popcorn for when we sit down to watch a movie or on weekends when we are reading and relaxing. It is, to me, strangely, comfort food. And as I make it from scratch, kernels, olive oil, lots of heat, a splattering of salt, it isn’t half as bad as the butter-laden things they sell at the movies…but still. My only joy and I have to kiss it goodbye.

But, what this blog is really about is to say – we are doing it and how very proud I am of FG for climbing back on the wagon and making me come along for the ride – as we have nothing to lose, but weight!

Animal fun?

It wasn’t until yesterday when someone pointed out to me that I had some strange luck with animals that I sat down and thought about it seriously.

When growing up in Aaafrica we had loads of animals (we had a huge house and a huge piece of land with a bit of an orchard at the back) which we had kept as pets at some stage or another. We had geese, chickens (ew, I know…), several dogs over the years, including my very own little dog called Wo-Wi (I couldn’t pronounce his posh name as he came from show-poodle stock and had a genuine cerificate and everything).

The first truly bizarre pet we had was a little “spider” monkey – I can’t remember how we came to own it but it was very cute to look at and it absolutely hated me. I was about eight or so at the time. I remember Pietie (Peetee) loving to sit with my mom, his tail wrapped around her neck, sitting on her shoulder, going everywhere with her in the house. He would jump at me whenever he saw me and shriek wildly, pulling my hair. It was very traumatic, especially as his shrieking was very loud and he had these tiny icy cold little human hands that really hurt. He also had the bad habit of playing with himself…and he peed. A lot. He had a cage though and was hugely pampered and loved by all. Except me. Little hairy bastard. He used to sit on the back of Wo-Wi and screeched incessantly, grabbing onto his little poodle-ears to make him “go”. Wo-Wi would run around with Pietie on his back, obviously terrified of this little hairy freak. I can’t remember when or how we gave him away…but I was really glad.

We also had a chameleon which I was utterly petrified of. It used to hiss loudly whenever you got close to him – he also ate bugs, which is why we had him. Again, he loved travelling around with my mom. Even Wo-Wi hated him as the hissing and the blowing up was very scary.

And Wo-Wi, who was my favourite little animal in all the world, the little sneaky shyte, used to steal my sweets which I hid from everyone underneath my pillow! He also had a penchant for stealing cash from my dad…we trained him to do that so that we could go to the shop and buy sweeties.

Mercifully there were a few years between this and my other traumatic experience with an animal.
Shudder.

We were visiting my sister who lived in Cape Town at the time and we went sight seeing. Everywhere are these signs at the scenic spots telling people NOT to feed the baboons. We get out of the car and I was nibbling on a piece of fudge…and the next minute this huge baboon launched himself at me, bellowing, with huge fangs on display, snatching at the fudge square I was holding in my hands. I was about ten and had no clue. So I shrieked back at it and promptly stuck the square of fudge into my mouth. No way in hell was I sharing my fudge with him – it was rare enough that I got bought a piece. It shrieked at me some more, bounced around, showed me its hairy arse and off it went to call the rest of the troop. We promptly got in the car and drove away. Fast.

Oh, and then there was the time my cousin and I were chased by a hippo down the beach as we were stupid enough to go walkabout before sunset in a nature reserve. Boy, did you ever see a little blond haired girl run like a loon?

Moving to the UK you think to yourself that you would be safe…not Liz. No, she got attacked by a foal whilst walking through the lovely Kent countryside. Much to Mark’s hilarity as he was trying to take a picture of Liz posing dramatically infront of the fence with the mare and foal in the background. The foal thought it would be good fun to try and eat Liz’s hair as it was yellow and is obviously food. So Liz pushed it away and it bit her hand so hard it swelled up to twice its normal size. Thanks, bunches, goddamn horses.

Dartmoor ponies are the get of Satan. We stopped on the moors and I got out to take a few photos of them as they wandered around – a distance away – and Mark goes “Liz, get in the car.” So Liz flaps a hand that indicates “innaminute”. And Mark again sez “getin, getin”. I turn to look to my right, the blind side and there loomed this giant damn pony the size of well, a pony, with this huge head, right next to me. I could see the end of days in his eyes. He had wandered across the road, to come stand next to me, leading his other hellish buddies with him from the far side of the road. They had circled the jeep ( a bit like those Cravendale cows wanting their milk back ) and eventhough I had scrambled into the car again, we couldn’t move. So we sat there for a bit, panicking…eventually they ambled off. We had to go for sustenance at the local pub and I was shaking. Once again to Mark’s hilarity.

Undomesticated animals are scary. Sheep are creepy, always with the watching and the beady little eyes. Shudder.

Splattering tomatoes everywhere!

I visited the ever delightful and ascerbic Surly Girl's blog and found this gem... which naturally, I felt I had to share.

This is for those people who intensely dislike James Blunt. If you have sound on your comp, turn it up and tomatoes away! I scored 45 tomatoes only...but that was because I was laughing so much at the lyrics.

http://eclectech.co.uk/gullible.php

Gelukkige Nuwe Jaar!

Yes, my title is in Afrikaans - a long forgotten mother tongue, which I have decided to try and practice as one of my resolutions for this year.

It is with sadness that I note that Cheezy has decided to lay down his blogging tool for the coming year. I must admit that I understand where he is coming from. I haven't been doing this for a year at all - a few months only - and I got enarmoured with creating websites (some okay, some really crappy) - and the idea of having an online journal to air my views was a novel idea. It wasn't until Tincan lured FG and I into these shadowy realms that I realised how much fun it could be. It really has pushed me into being more creative - I realise now what columnists in newspapers have to go through. To stare at an empty screen feeling the need to write ... but what!?

Anyway.

I digress. This is a post to say "farewell" to Cheezy and good luck with his own screenwriting endeavours. Do feel free the stop by and be eviscerating and amusing and do stay in touch. We still owe you (and your other half) a face-falling-off hot chilli and tequila evening! Tincan knows about these. Grin.

The other part of this post is about thougths, ideas and resolutions.

As for my own self this coming year...well, I already decided a while back what I will be doing.

• I will be learning how to play my guitar so that I can make use of my lovely guitar songbooks I had received from my collegues at work.
• I am finishing as much of my novel as I can (have now written in excess of 10,000 words)
• And to be more healthy - get out to do more exercise with Sparrow in tow - I hate going to gym and have wasted money there before. This time around it will be dancing around the lounge like a loon and going for two hour walks in the country park = healthier and cheaper!
• And, speaking of health - I am going to sort these bloody headaches and migraines out once and for all. An appointment will be made with the doctors so that they can send me to the London Migraine Clinic....maybe I need a brain transplant...Igorrrr...
• On a more personal level - to be less negative about myself and other people. I hate being grumpy (eventhough I am so very good at it - snarf), and will be making a concerted effort to be less nasty, not just towards others, but also towards myself. I realised that your view of yourself does really reflect outwards and I don't like what I have been seeing lately. Yes, there are excuses (long hours at work, commuting, tourists out for a stroll whilst you are rushing around like a loon, the list continues) but I am working on that.
• What else - bad habits. Spending less time infront of the telly, forever scrolling around for the right programme instead of doing something creative - be that writing, drawing, strumming, or gods - doing origami or sumat. Anything but becoming mentally lazy.
• On an esoteric level - this year I am also going to be spending more time on learning my tarot and runes - it is something that I enjoy and it is laziness that has prevented me in the past. I also want to learn meditation to get rid of those horrible work-stresses.

That is a lot of resolutions...but the year is a long one! I might even be able to keep some of them!

Happy 2006! May the best of your yesteryears be the worst of your coming years!

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!

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!

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.

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!?

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.

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.

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!

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!

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 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.

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!

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.

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

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 café 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.

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!

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.

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!

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!

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.

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.

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.

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

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!

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."

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.

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.