Love & Books: “Romance and novel paint beauty in colours more charming than nature, and describe a happiness that humans never taste. How deceptive and destructive are those pictures of consummate bliss!” ~ Oliver Goldsmith

The following is something I wrote last year but never posted on this blog. I’m posting it here now, slightly edited, because … well, because I want to. It’s not the easiest or happiest of times for me right now, there are people I love who are very much on my mind and this piece is somewhat in keeping with that and my mood.

I have some more loose ends to deal with soon, a couple of awards and a meme type thing that TheJules tagged me with eons ago, I apologise to the lovely folk who I’ve kept waiting, I haven’t forgotten and to my blogchums with posts I haven’t read or commented on yet, I will get round to it, I promise. I’d just rather wait until things have improved and I’m feeling cheerier and had my humourectomy reversed.

After all, nobody likes a Glenda Glumchops.

I’ll be back soon with smiles x

I'm tired.

There are a number of reasons for this, most of them I won't go into; but I will admit that one of the main reasons is because I have spent the last three days glued to a book. I think it was just before 4am this morning that I finally came to my senses and put the book down.

I have spent a very long week helping my mum sort out and dispose of the fine collection of junk that had accrued in her spare bedroom. She wanted to do it so that she could empty the even more impressive collection of junk that SHE has accrued in her room into the spare room, so that she can redecorate. To be fair, it's a job that has needed to be done for some time, even when my Grandmother was still alive. Now that she's gone it has become a small obsession to my mother, but it's been hard work and a somewhat sad and poignant job. We found all kinds of things that my Grandmother had carefully wrapped up and hidden away, most of these things we kept, not because we wanted them ourselves or thought them potentially useful, but simply because they were obviously things she had cherished. My Grandfather I think has found it especially hard. The first day he came upstairs and "helped", but he found it too painful to see my mum disposing of things in what might have seemed a rather callous manner. He didn't come up any more after that, and he has seemed quiet and withdrawn all week.

My bibliophilia is something I inherited from my mum. She doesn't have anywhere near as many books as I do, but even so it took us best part of an afternoon to sort through her "library" and move the ones she didn't want to part with into the spare room and box up the ones she didn't want, ready to take to the charity shops in town. As we sorted through them our conversation naturally turned to books, those we'd read, those we'd like to read and making recommendations to each other. At one point my mum held up a book, "Have you read any of hers?" she asked. It was called "The Duke & I" by Julia Quinn and had a bright pink cover and one of those cartoon illustrations on the front that seem to be the trend in women's novels at the moment, "GAH! CHICK LIT" I thought to myself rather snootily. You see, I don't do chick lit. It always seems so bland and the main female characters are invariably pathetic and annoying. I said I hadn't read it, politely, but in a tone that made it clear I wasn't really interested. "Oh! You should read them!" said mother, "they're funny. They're like Georgette Heyer with naughty bits".

Now Georgette Heyer, I should explain, played a major part in not only our mother/daughter bonding but in my awakening to the glory of books and history.

I always loved to read, even as a small child I would spend hours quite happily on my own with my books. Before I could even read properly I would just gaze at the beautiful pictures, I knew the stories by heart from having had them read to me over and over. As I grew older and my reading skills developed my mum would suggest books for me to read. I have always loved that we had that connection and shared interest.

I think I was around 12 when my mum first suggested a Georgette Heyer book. I had started to take an interest in boys and I suppose she felt I was ready to venture into romantic literature. Her grandmother had introduced her to the books and now she was passing the gift on. And what a gift it was. I'd always seen the books on her bookcases, there were dozens of them, I'd even looked at the pictures on the covers, but having briefly skimmed over the synopsis on the back I had never felt an urge to read one. Not one of them had anything to do with magic or dragons or wizards and fairies! And that equalled an unworthy book in my childish opinion.

The first one she suggested was of course her personal favourite "Fridays Child" (I’m a Friday’s Child btw). She said she thought I might enjoy it. That was an understatement and a half. I loved it. Actually, I still love it and it has become my personal favourite too (it was also Heyer’s favourite). It was so funny, so romantic! And even better, it wasn't romantic in a sloppy way, as I'd first feared. Heyer's books are predominantly set in Georgian/Regency times and are remarkably historically accurate and detailed, because of them I became obsessed with Georgian history, the events and people (most of whom were factual) mentioned in the books. In those days a blatant show of affection or emotion was not encouraged and that is reflected in the books. The heroes are mostly a set of lovable "lads", perfect gentlemen to the gentle-born heroines but who you just know would ravish them in a second if they could get away with it. The romance is always a background aspect of the storyline, cleverly woven around a mystery or a set of misunderstandings that invariably work to keep the lovers apart, or in some cases even unaware of their true feelings for each other. It's chick lit, but it's good, intelligent, humorous chick lit. My mum passed on her Georgette Heyer collection to me when I first left home and they now form a large, revered and much loved part of my own budding "library". I hope that one day I'll have a daughter to pass them on to.

But I digress.

So now I hope you understand why what my mum had said so caught my attention. If these books were even vaguely Georgette Heyer'ish then I wanted to read one. Simple as that.

Then my mind darted back ... wait a minute!

With naughty bits???

Eww!! Mother!!

Like anyone of my age I still have a great aversion/fear to any kind of reference to sex by my parent. It also made me question the quality of the books ... naughty doesn't happen in Heyer's books, the most you get are smouldering looks across a ballroom and passionate kisses once a marriage has been agreed between our hero and heroine. All very prim and proper. If the new books had naughty bits then there was a good chance they were not only poorly written, but historically inaccurate ... and THAT is a very big issue with me. I know my history and I find it intolerable when someone takes on an historic project, be it a book, film or dramatisation on TV and then doesn't get their facts right, (don’t even get me started on the casting of the skeletal Keira Knightly being cast as Georgiana, Duchess of Devonshire, a woman who battled with obesity her entire life, in the recent film “The Duchess”) or worse, rewrites history to fit in with their storyline. History is exciting and fascinating enough, it doesn't need to be changed or enhanced! Grrrr!!!!!!

I made these comments to my mum. She assured me that it wasn't done in poor taste or out of context, and said again that she thought I would like them. Her judgement, as far as books are concerned, has seldom been wrong. So I took one home with me that night.

Since then I have averaged 3/4 hours of sleep per night.

The books are ok. They have no real substance, and they’re never going to win a Booker Prize, but they’re very easy to read and for reasons quite unknown to me, they’re somewhat addictive. They're certainly not perfect, the author is American and it shows in places. She has clearly done a lot of research, but not quite enough in my opinion. Her faults lie mainly in the dialogue, 95% of the time she gets it spot on, but when she makes a mistake it's a glaring one that makes me growl softly and grind my teeth in annoyance. Right in the middle of a perfectly Georgian speech she'll have the character slip into modern American and gives herself away. Imagine reading Pride & Prejudice and finding Mr Darcy saying “Gee, Miss Bennett” right in the middle of his terribly British declaration of love and then having Elizabeth Bennett sassily putting her hands on her hips and saying “Whatever!” … Well it rather spoils the effect, doesn’t it.

And the names she chooses for her characters are all very British by today's standards (at least, they would probably seem so to an American) but would not have been heard of in those times, especially amongst the aristocracy who generally regurgitated centuries old family names. She also falls into the "clone" trap found in so much chick lit, especially when the author has penned several books on the same theme. The ghastly Barbara Cartland and Catherine Cookson are prime examples (and the worst offenders) of this type of writing in my opinion, all the characters in all the books are basically the same, once you've read one you've read them all.

However, none of this is a big enough problem to detract from the general pleasure of the storyline. Whilst Quinn's books have an element of the "clone syndrome" I haven't yet found it annoying or tedious, although to be fair I've only read two so far and there are at least a dozen in the series, so time will tell.

Her heroines are strong and feisty, and whilst all of them have (so far) simply craved the love of the hero it is not in a pathetic way that makes me want to shake them and tell them to "get a grip love!". And it must be remembered that from a historical point of view aristocratic women were simply there to bring a hefty dowry, good breeding with pure blood and a healthy male heir to ensure the continuance of all the important families in England, nothing more. I'm sure they had nothing better to do than obsess on men and love. Actually, that’s what most women still do today, aristocratic or not, so not much has changed.

And as for the heroes ... oh! They are simply delicious! Tall, manly, strongly built, imperious, intelligent, funny and frisky to a fault. Basically my perfect man.

And maybe, if I’m honest, that's the big attraction of the books. They’re the purest, most simple form of escapism for hopeless romantics who just happen to be historically-minded, are slightly soft in the head and have a crush on Mr Darcy.

I've often considered whether my romantic ideals were shaped by the books I read in my formative years. Long before I fell in love with a real live boy (NOT Pinocchio btw! Thought I'd get that in before all the smart-arse comments start) I fell in love with the male characters so charmingly created by Georgette Heyer. And maybe, (a more lowering thought) that has something to do with my own, rather unhappy and disappointing, relationship history. Because as much as I keep dreaming, men like that don't really exist. Do they?

The men in Heyer's and Quinn's books are male with a capital M. You can practically smell the testosterone seeping out of the pages. They're strong, not just physically but mentally too. They're men's men, they love the company of their male friends, sport and fighting, drinking and gambling but they also love women and are effortlessly sexual, gentlemanly and more importantly, protective even to the point of aggression if need be. They have a ready, dry wit, made all the more intriguing because they are reticent, strong, silent types who can say more with one searing glance than all the poets of history put together.

But sometimes that makes me wonder if I can ever really be happy in love.

Have my literary heroes turned me into my own worst enemy? Can any man ever stand up to the perfect image I have of the "Perfect man”, and if not then where does that leave me?

By reading and loving the books I have, have I doomed myself to a life of romantic disappointment? In my 29 years I have only ever met one man who came anywhere near it, and he came pretty close, it has to be said. But that just made it all the harder, all the more heartbreaking when I realised that he couldn’t or didn't want to be the hero I was so keen and ready to let him be.

I don't have the answers to those particular questions, and to be honest I don't really feel like dwelling on them right now.

For now, Ms Quinn has come along with her paper refuges and offered me some much needed escapism. In the early hours of the morning I can be found in Regency England, snuggled up to a gorgeous Duke. I know I can't stay there, as soon as I put the book down I'm back in my own little universe, and of course that's as it should be.

But for a very short while I find distraction and amusement, and I think that's probably what I need right now.

But gosh, I'm tired!

A Letter From America …

 

 

                                                          

                                                                                                                      Mayfair

                                   25th August 1776

My Dear Inspector Balderdash,

I must say, it was rather … surprising to receive your package and letter since I was quite sure I would never hear from you again.

I did know you were in the Americas since  it has been widely reported in the press since the unfortunate Woldorf case.

Nevertheless, I am shocked and horrified to receive your news and learn that our countrymen are rising up against dear King George! Have they no shame? No sense of duty? To take such extreme measures over a quibbling little dispute about tea seems quite childish to me and totally reprehensible! We are all very fond of tea, I am sure, a most superior brew, but to turn one’s back on one’s native homeland is simply ridiculous! Have no fear, they shall rue the day. We shall see who has the last laugh when they run out of crumpets and Morris Dancers.

And I thank you sincerely for sending me a copy of their Declaration of Independence … I do trust it was only a copy? I feel compelled to ask as one never knows with you Inspector.

I was a little puzzled by the cryptic message attached to it, perhaps you would be so good as to explain it to me? Since I see no purpose or benefit in sucking on a rather old, and dare one say it, grubby-looking piece of parchment.

It is however a most fascinating document to be sure. So many signatures! Doctors I am guessing from the general unintelligibility of the handwriting?

As you know I am a keen, amateur historian and despite the things that have passed between us in the past I will accept it in the spirit of friendship that I am sure it was intended and treasure it for at least a week. I shall buy a suitable frame in which to display it to advantage when I toddle into town on Thursday and then get Ned the handyman to hang it in the cupboard under the stairs. The perfect spot!

Which reminds me … do you recall Ned? Poor man, he is quite afflicted! He has recurring episodes of the most traumatic symptoms, slurred speech, loss of balance, the oddest inclination to sing loudly, especially favouring rather “warm” songs about a woman called Nellie! I was quite perplexed until he explained to me, in the most touching way, that it is a condition he has inherited from his poor father, and that the only thing that helps is to drink lots of fine brandy! Isn’t that fascinating? And even more interesting … Douglas, the butler, has the same dreadful affliction! What are the chances of that happening, I ask you?  I do declare I was never more astounded in my life!

I was truly sorry to hear about your own misfortune in losing your hand. It must be terrible for you, and to lose it to Count Edgewood must be a bitter pill to swallow indeed! Who would have thought an 8 year old boy could be such a deadly swordsman! One quite wonders at his parents for allowing him to run around as wildly as he does.

Thank you so much for the lovely books you sent to me! I was so touched to know you had thought of me in what cannot, I fear, be an easy time for you . How you got them into the envelope with only one hand is nothing less than amazing!

I am greatly looking forward to curling up in one of the wing chairs in the library this evening and losing myself amongst their pages. I know that they cannot compare to the likes of Shakespeare, Dr. Johnson or Milton but I find them charming and as Mrs Thrale is wont to say, a bit of gratuitous fornication and fisticuffs never hurt anybody.

And so to the last item in your package, which I confess leaves me totally bewildered

 

I appreciate the reference to my fondness for the fairytale of “Pinocchio” … but again, the message is quite cryptic! We use coal for the fireplaces as you well know, we have plenty of kindling and it is the height of the summer season! London is sweltering and I cannot fathom for the life of me why, or indeed how I would give wood to a fictional character!  I can only await your explanation, Sir.

And now, though it pains me to do so, I must address the issue of your continual insistence on referring to me as though I were your housemaid!

Inspector Balderdash, in 1774 I paid you a great deal of money to track down my father’s assassin. To date I have had little or no information with regards to this matter from you or the Bow Street Runners. I am English and therefore it goes very much against the grain with me to complain … but this is most unsatisfactory! And to then be constantly spoken to like the most menial of serving girls is simply intolerable and I must ask you to once and for all desist immediately.

You have a housekeeper I believe? It is for her to see to your washing and the making of your bed. I am not your skivvy, Sir.

Nor will I be stocking up on tobacco! Smoking is a filthy habit and deplorable in any but the lowest classes. Not for you or your ghastly Mr Henderson, at whose grubby, molesting hands I have suffered enough. If I should ever have the misfortune of running into that horrid man again you can be sure I will summons the Watch and have him locked up immediately.

I daresay you will have noticed I have not yet responded to your reference to “The Case of the Poisoned Pillowcase”, this is because it was the most unfortunate of matters, most distressing and even now I find it hard to think about without shuddering and feeling quite faint.

I am afraid I still haven’t quite forgiven you for including me in this embarrassing episode. To allow me to believe you were taking me to see your banker in order to return my money to me and to then throw me into the middle of that shameful melee was unforgiveable.

With regards to your ludicrous and frankly delusional memory of the events that took place in Sir Woldorf’s home I shall remain silent and ladylike. I have however enclosed a cutting from The Times which I believe gives a fairly accurate account of the sordid circumstances.

Should you ever return to England it is my most sincere wish never to set eyes on you again. However, in the name of good Christian spirit, I wish you luck on your travels and for now remain,

Yours most indifferently,

Lady Katherine

Scandal in Mayfair            A case of poison in the knight It has been brought to our attention that scandal has yet again raised its ugly head in the household of Sir Edmund W - whom you may remember was caught, in the early part of last year in a compromising situation with the famous Drury Lane actress, Fanny Moldycake and a basket of satsumas. He was also the subject of speculation in 1768 with regards to a possible liaison in the “French style” with Col. Ponsonby Smythe , current world record holder of  “Biggest Mutton Chops and Most Ridiculously High Collar” . Known for his scandalous and most obnoxious behaviour it comes as little surprise to us that somebody would wish Sir W - harm, indeed it is far more surprising that he has attained the grand age of 57 years with all his body parts intact. It is believed that the crime would have remained undetected were it not for Sir W - ‘s  tailor voicing his suspicion of foul play. During a routine measuring for a new set of breeches the canny tailor noticed a most unpleasant and disfiguring rash on Sir W’s parts most private, “At first I just thought it was syphilis” said Gabriel Midgewidgeon, the tailor, “what with his reputation, what have you, but he  simply wasn't mad enough. I‘ve seen plenty of syphilis in my time, I’m tailor to most of the gentlemen in Parliament and they‘re all as barmy as a badger on a unicycle. His Lordship owes me a fair bit of money and I’d be nibbled to death by ducks before I saw a penny of it if he went and snuffed it. So I reported it to the Bow Street Runners! ”           The Infamous  Inspector Balderdash Steps In Our sources tell us that the current crime wave that has London in it’s nefarious grip has left the Bow Street Runners severely under-manned, which could explain their questionable decision to bring in the ubiquitous Inspector Archibald Balderdash, that ineffective, vexatious braggart who has jeopardised so many criminal investigations in the recent past. We have also been reliably informed that Insp. Balderdash, who recently left the country in some haste and is believed to be residing in the Americas, attempted an arrest within a few minutes of entering Sir W -’s home, accusing his wife, Lady Harriet W - of attempting to poison her husband by soaking his undergarments in Strychnine. Going so far as to tackle the unfortunate lady to the ground whilst bellowing that her unbecoming bonnet had “Murderess written all over it”. Chaos ensued, as it invariably does whenever  Insp. Balderdash is involved; even his own assistant, who goes by the sinister name of “Henderson”, pointed out that whilst Lady Harriet had many a good reason to loathe her husband a lady of her social standing would hardly be found carrying out such a menial task as the laundry. Thankfully the day, not to mention the Bow Street Runner’s reputation, was saved thanks to the quick wit of a young woman believed to be in the employ of Insp. Balderdash, (who modestly has chosen to remain nameless). A woman clearly possessed of great charm, intelligence and sweetness, who pointed out the washerwoman busily  scrubbing Sir W -’s  bed linen and to the fact that she had a large bottle of strychnine sticking out of her apron pocket. It was later discovered that the woman was once a mistress of Sir W -’s, cast off many years previously and heartlessly left to a harsh life of gin, mangles and the pox who had sworn to have revenge on the  dastardly knight. The sorry tale ended with the poor, mad wretch being carted off to Bedlam, Lady Harriet having a fit of the vapours and Sir Edmund heading off to his club for another evening of drinking, gaming and whoring.                     Aftermath An interesting and somewhat ironic side note is Sir W –‘s recent descent into madness, as witnessed by his demand that everybody should henceforth refer to him as “Pitt the Elder, Wiser and Hotter”, his sponsoring of a small monkey, whom he calls Sir Roger, as Lord Mayor of London and his habit of wearing a pair of earmuffs and ladies bloomers in all seasons. It would seem that the rash which first raised his tailor’s suspicion was indeed the onset of syphilis and the subsequent foiling of the washerwoman’s murderous plot merely a lucky fluke. It should also be noted that there is currently still a warrant out for the arrest of Inspector Balderdash for the distressing assault on Lady Harriet and her bonnet, which was sadly crushed in the fracas.

 

* Trinity … thank you so much for the package! I loved it! I’m really touched that in the middle of your trip to see Erin and Washington you thought of me. You’ll be pleased to know that you too have stunned the Swiss Family Manson into shocked silence with the Pinocchio picture. You can now join Gwen in the rather elite “Girl Interrupted Hall of Shame” … maybe I’ll make badges! But for now … congratulations! :D

I can’t wait to read the comic books … Snow and Bigby better get it on big time, or I’m throwing the mother of all hissy fits!

Thank you :) You’re such a good friend x

 

A couple of other quick mentions … my pal Diane over at Cooking Blind awarded me the Superior Scribbler’s Award, so thank you very much Diane :). Diane was the first lady blogger I started exchanging comments with and she’s become one of my top blogchums so this means a lot to receive.

I need to pass it on but I’ll have to take care of that in my next post as I’m pressed for time right now and need to get this posted. Hope you don’t mind x

And the lovely Other Worldly One over at Calling People Names also gave me an award … but not just any award! Oh no … her award has … wait for it … *drum roll* … MICHAEL JACKSON ON IT!! Yes indeed! I think it could be my favourite award so far! She’s managed what nobody else has, to forever tattoo my blog with his freaky little face … and for that, I love her dearly. Also she’s just hit the 300th mark which is pretty spectacular, especially as her posts are always a joy to read, so click on the link and go congratulate her and whilst you’re there read some of her posts, I guarantee you’ll love them.

Congratulations OWO :) x

Ok, I have to dash, feel free to leave disgruntled messages about tardy bloggers and lazy English girls in general, I promise I will try to do the rounds later today or tomorrow and catch up on the usual suspects ;) you know who you are.

Bye for now x

Just tying up a few loose ends ...

Well here I am again.

(Er ... don't think I didn't hear that "Slacker!" muttered under your breath!)

I've been busy doing this and that but thought it was about time that I popped back and sorted out the bits and bobs that have been accruing in my blog in-tray (I would SO be sacked by now if this were a proper job).


So first up:

Eons ago the very sweet Carrie (who right about now is enjoying an uber-loved up reunion with her soldier boyfriend who has been posted abroad for months ... awww!) over at Carrotspeak tagged me (apologies for taking so long Carrie x). The idea was simply to post the 6th photo in your 6th photo file and then tell people about it.

Unfortunately I'm not organised enough to have separate files for different photos, I prefer to chuck them all in together and hope for the best. Hey! It works for me!

Anyway, it turns out that the 6th photo in my one mahoosive photo file is of an ex in his underwear. (Oh, don't give me that look!) And as tempting as it was to share that little gem with all you lovely folk I can't be bothered to deal with all the aggravation I'd probably get if it was discovered online by certain parties ... plus, I'm just not that mean.

So I'm posting a pic of my friends cat instead.



Say hi to Charlie.



Yes, he is rather ... unusual looking, isn't he?

Does he remind you of anyone?










Huh? Huh?









I don't have an amusing story to accompany it I'm afraid, I just like Charlie's face and wanted to share it with you.






What's next?

Oh yes! I owe an extremely big apology to J.J. over at The World According to J.J. in L.A. (sorry J.J.) who kindly gave me this pandalicious award for making outrageous comments on her posts!!

Me? Outrageous??

I was actually genuinely pleased to get this award because commenting is my absolute favourite part of blogging. It's all great fun posting ... although I grudgingly accept that it may be a little hard for you to believe, given my woeful posting performance of late ... but it's the comments that I enjoy the most. And just like oral sex (what? I'm not an effin nun you know!) I think it's always nice to give as well as receive.

I love leaving comments ... which I also grudgingly accept may be a little hard to believe just recently ... and whenever I read a post I always read the comments that go with it, even if I'm not *guilty clearing of the throat* leaving one myself.

I'm proud to say that I've started stalking many a blog due to being rather taken with a blogger's witticisms ... Mo Stoneskin, Gwen, wordsx3, Sass and Pru, just to name a few of the little, twinkly comment-superstars out there.

Now I'm supposed to pass the award on, but it was so shamefully long ago that J.J. gave it to me that frankly I can't remember how many people I'm supposed to pass it on to! But you know what? It's ok ... because that means I can give the one finger salute to the rules and blithely say that anybody who comments here regularly is welcome to take the award, I adore all my commenters and thank each and every one of you for making the whole blog experience worthwhile.

There are a few though who deserve an extra honourable mention for consistently making my day brighter with just one kind or hilarious sentence, people like my essential road trip trio of bad girls Diane, Dominica and Vic; Girl with the Pink Teacup (whose epic, thoughtful, warm and wonderful comments really deserve an award in their own right); Trinity (his comments are rare as leprechaun poo, but totally worth the wait); Dr Zibbs (a little bit out there and always original, his wackiness appeals to me and I wouldn't have him any other way); Lola Lakely (we've only recently discovered each other but I already adore her classy, witty comments and blog); Valerie (another recent find but I really like the way she looks at life); (Other Worldly One (who is queen of the punchy one-liners); Mr Condescending (arguably my most adoring fan and bestest ego stroker); Simon (so intellectually caustic and sagacious it's scary); Harmony (I love her dry take on things, she cracks me up); John Smith (supremely humorous, he provides my surrealism fix on a regular basis); The Jules (also one of the lesser-spotted species, but just ... perfect!); Tennyson ee Hemingway (a real Aussie gent who is unfailingly positive and interesting); NancTwop (who always has the links to all the coolest stuff); Zepolopez (my treasured US BFF who always has something lovely to say); LostInSpace (also a genius of the one-liner, he never fails to make me chuckle).

All of these fine bloggers I would class as top-rate commenters and would happily pass the award onto them ... however, I know awards aren't everybody's cup of tea so I will leave it up to them as to whether they accept it or not. No hard feelings if they prefer not to ... I've made a mawkish, girly display of my affection for them so my work here is done.

Oh, I'd also like to say a quick hello *cheery wave* and thanks to my new followers, I apologise if I haven't gotten around to checking your blogs out yet but I promise to do so asap.


Ok ... still awake after that rather mammoth love-fest?

Cool! What's next?

Ah yes! An award from my gorgeous US blog-chum Zepolopez (who incidently is fantastic and deserves a lot more followers, go and check out her blog ... or the puppy gets it!) - the Blog It Forward award which I'm supposed to pass on to bloggers who inspire me. Well ... that's pretty much anybody who appears on my "International Bloggerati" list on the side bar. I know it's a bit of a cop-out but the fact remains that they're all there for a reason ... the reason being I've read their posts and liked what I've read. Fact.

So, if you're on the list I cordially invite you to take this award and display it with pride. But as I said before, it's no biggie if you don't do awards, or if you want to take it but don't want to pass it on then that's fine too. Each to their own.



Yesterday was a bit special as 3 of my favourite bloggers hit their 100th post. A big congrats to Mr Condescending, Tennyson ee Hemingway and Jerrod over at The Yellow Factor who also gave me an awesome award ... you should go and take a look at his blog too, he's a sweetheart and writes some really cool posts and his Friday Funny's are a perfect way to laugh yourself into that weekend feeling.



And in other news, by way of thanks for the lovely parcels I recently received from Gwen and Trinity (which you can read about here and here) I decided to return the favour and sent them both some English goodies. Both packages arrived safely I'm pleased to say and you can read about Trinity's here, if you're the nosy kind.




Speaking of Trinity (again), we had a conversation a little while ago about possibly starting up an online bookclub for bloggers.

We both share a passion for books and have noticed that they're always a popular post topic. So we were wondering if anybody would be interested in joining us if we got a bookclub going?

Obviously there would be a number of factors to consider, including pesky time zones etc, but nothing that we couldn't get around if people were genuinely interested. It wouldn't require too much time, maybe an hour or two per month. We could choose a book to read, nothing too long or weighty, and then discuss it at the end of the month. Those involved could then write a post about the book and the bookclub meeting if they wanted to, or if preferable we could take it in turns.

Possible positives = discovering new books; having a laugh; making new blog friends; getting to know existing blog friends better; getting to hear Girl Interrupted's dodgy English accent (if we decide to use Skype or a similar application)

Possible negatives = Er ... Eye strain? Paper cuts? Jeffrey Archer novels? Having to listen to Girl Interrupted's dodgy English accent.

So what do you think? Would you be interested? Can you think of any pitfalls we should be considering? All thoughts and suggestions (well, the polite ones) are welcome via my comments box or email, which can be found on my profile.


So that's about it ... my in-tray is empty again, all the bloggy loose ends have been neatly sorted and tied up in cute little bows. I don't think I've missed anything out ... if I have, then please give me a shout and remind me and I'll make sure it's in the next post.


But before I head off to bed I'll leave you with something a bit more entertaining, as a reward for sticking with me and reading this far.

I'll leave you with Room 101.

For the sake of those not familiar with this I'm going to shamelessly steal the description given by Wikipedia:

Room 101 is a place introduced in the novel 1984 by George Orwell. It is a torture chamber in the Ministry of Love in which the Party attempts to subject a prisoner to his or her own worst nightmare or phobia.

"You asked me once, what was in Room 101. I told you that you knew the answer already. Everyone knows it. The thing that is in Room 101 is the worst thing in the world" - O'Brien.

I've been thinking about doing this for a while, we had a programme in the UK called Room 101 in which a different celebrity was showcased each week and invited to submit items and people to be put into Room 101, arguing their case for submission in a humorous way.

I may even make it a regular feature if I can find plenty of things to loathe enough to rant about.

But for now, I'm putting in:

Moths:

Because they just don't have any real purpose, other than to be totally hideous and to scare the bejeesus out of me.

I have zero respect for moths, especially the big, gross, hairy ones, they freak me out when they flutter around aimlessly. They're total dimwits. You can tell that the only thing going through their tiny little minds as they repeatedly fly into the lightbulb is "Oooh! Shiny! Ouch! Oooh! Shiny! Ouch!".

This one is trying to act cute by donning a pair of Playboy Bunny ears, but it doesn't fool me for a second.


Wasps:

Wasps are just mean spirited little mofo's. They've got massive chips on their hairy little shoulders, and why? Because they have envy issues. They're Bumble Bee wannabe's. They want to be chubby and furry and kinda cute. But they're not. They're wiry and wholly unappealing. As a consequence they have anger management issues too. Unlike bees who will only sting if provoked and then promptly die, in guilty penance of their crime, wasps are aggressive little shits and sting just for the hell of it. They don't even have the good grace to die afterwards! They just fly off, buzzing annoyingly (so unlike the soft, melodic hum of the superior Bumble Bee) to sting another day.


Tom Cruise:

Oh! Where to start?

Firstly, in my opinion, he is THE most overrated actor of all time. He's pretentious, totally up his own bottom, why else would he have made films like Eyes Wide Shut, Far & Away, Valkyrie and War of the Worlds? And they're just the ones I can think of. I have seen good films with him in them, but he was by no means the reason for them being good, he just happened to be in them.

Secondly ... sex symbol? Seriously? He's WAY short, he wears those built-up shoes that are designed to not look like they're built-up, but we all know they are and he still looks ridiculous standing next to the tall, glamorous women he dates/marries. He also has a big nose and a Hitler hairdo. I've just never seen the attraction personally.

Thirdly ... the women. Not that I'm suggesting any of them went out with him to further their own careers, but ... well, ok, maybe I am suggesting it a little bit. Then he parades them around with that smug look on his face that makes me want to bless him with a piece of 2x4. Sometimes I feel kinda sorry for Katie Holmes, then I think "Nope! You got involved with the creepy little midget, now deal with it. And haha ... it still didn't get you any decent film roles, you just seem to have ended up with a series of dodgy hairstyles, a worryingly fluctuating weight problem and a Stepford child"

Fourthly ... the whole Scientology thing? C'mon Tom! It was created by a manipulative, phoney of a (very bad) science fiction writer! Wake up and smell the Diazepam!

And lastly, but by no means least ... the sofa-jumping episode on Oprah. Urgh! Cringe MUCH!

Well that's all from me for today ... if you made it through the whole post then thank you! And well done! Award yourself a little gold star. It's not my most riveting of pieces I know, but I couldn't leave this stuff hanging any longer.

I'm off to bed.

I've been Girl Interrupted and you've been wonderful.

G'nite x

Friendship: Newt the Wonder Frog ... this one's for you

* Warning: this post may contain traces of unabashed, soppy, emo-like utterances


Well what a week it's been, blog-chums! Events of the last few days have been unexpected and heartwarming and have left me "all toastie inside ... and leaking!" as the dear old Grinch would say.

Here's another good quote ...

"and they say the internet is such a solitary experience, that you don't make friends, only 'cyber' friends that you'll never interact with. I think this blog (one among many) proves the lie of that statement"

Know who said that? The very cool and excellent Tennyson ee Hemingway from the equally cool and excellent andy warhol goes shopping blog, that's who. He left that comment on my last post. Wasn't that a nice thing to say?

(Ok, brace yourselves, here comes the soppy part ...)

And I have to admit that I am constantly amazed and delighted by the people who wander into my little corner of the blogosphere and welcome me into theirs in return. They are funny, intelligent, fascinating (some of them are downright sexy! ... yes, I'm talking about you ... oh, er, no, not you *nervous grimace*, the person ... yes! you! How you doin? *suggestive eyebrow waggle*) and generous to a fault. I like to think that I've made some real friends in the last few months and hopefully will continue to do so. Maybe I'll never meet them in person but so what? It doesn't detract from the value of a kind word of support or the sharing of a point of view or a joke, does it?

Now, c'mon everybody, let's take our clothes off, (well, except for that guy there ... he should stay clothed at ALL times) light some candles (careful men, we don't want any unnecessary singeing) and have a group hug whilst singing along to the Golden Girls theme!

Beautiful!

(Ok, and we're done with the soppy ... )

I want to tell you about my number one blog-chum, Trinity.

But first I guess I should set the scene ... I was a bit naive when I first started blogging, I didn't have a clue what to do and I didn't know anybody else who had a blog to ask questions and advice of. So I just merrily typed and posted away, until one day I noticed somebody had left a comment!

Now, wouldn't it be awesome, in a glitzy, Hollywood movie kinda way, if that first comment had come from Trinity? Thus starting a beautiful friendship in a cool, fateful manner ...

Yeah, but it wasn't him.

I had to go FIND HIM!

Tsk!

Deciding that comments were kinda cool, and realising that there were like, you know, other blogs out there, blogs I could like, you know, read 'n' stuff I took the brave step of searching for like-minded souls, kindred spirits, people who liked zombies.

Yep, that's hows I found him, via zombies (well, via Shaun of the Dead on his profile to be exact ... I later searched on Anchorman, fact fans, and found Dr Zibbs, "what kind of weirdo calls his blog That Blue Yak???" I wondered, then it was a short skip and a jump to leaving a few smart-arse comments on his blog, stalking his funniest commenters until they came and checked me out, and then stalking their funniest commenters etc ... and Bob's yer uncle, blog history was made!)

Anyway, back to Trinity ... the title of his blog, Newt the Wonder Frog's Lily Pad caught my eye. I like things and people that are quirky, and when I saw "inappropriate sniffing" in his list of interests I knew I had to take a look at his blog.

What I found was a man on a mission.

(Cue mysterious, leitmotif)

Trinity was and still is working his way through a book entitled "This Book Will Change Your Life", I'll let him describe it in his own words, as quoted from his "Day 1" post (which you can read in full by clicking on the above mentioned book title):

"It has a daily task that is extremely odd, random, dangerous, etc and you are to perform the tasks daily to add some new life to your life. Thus, today being the first day of the year, you can see how I believe fate had something to do with me finding this book.

Anyway, I am going to do my damnedest to finish this experiment and you should see at least one new blog a day chronicling what the hell this book is telling me to do. I will be as thorough as possible and hopefully I can stick to this"

I thought the whole thing was kinda cool and unique, it captured my imagination and has done so ever since. Plus, I soon realised that Trinity was indeed a kindred spirit, if a bit bonkers, and there I was, hooked to him and his blog.

Now, a few months later, and a whole lot wiser, I believe THE BOOK (cue extremely sinister leitmotif) was possibly written by sadistic, devil-worshipping, 14 year old boys with a penchant for toilet humour and Scientology.

THE BOOK is pure evil. (cue extremely sinister leitmotif)

Here are some of the things THE BOOK (cue extremely ... oh, whatever, you get the gist) has demanded of Trinity (click on the links to read the corresponding post):

Give himself an enema

Lurk in dubious chat rooms with strange women

Build his own cross and suffer as Jesus did: Yep, he really did, on Good Friday too ... there's even pics to prove it

Family Love Day: (actual quote from THE BOOK) "Incest works well for animal breeding, so why not for you? Today explore your deeper feelings toward a cousin, a sibling or a parent perhaps. Taboos, after all, are made to be broken" ... !!! Scared yet?

Take a pregnancy test by wiping pee on one of the pages


And that's just the tip of the horrifying iceberg. But to his great credit, and I truly admire him for it, he has stuck with THE BOOK through thick and thin and has faithfully carried out all that was asked of him, with very little complaint or use of illegal substances.

(I would have had an exorcism performed on the bloody thing months ago and then burned it at the stake, just to make sure)

Mind you, it actually gave Trinity a task on Monday that worked out pretty well.

He had to send a message in a bottle to somebody.

He mentioned in his post that he had done so accordingly, sending it to somebody who not only read his blog but who also had a blog of their own. He refused to say more until said person received the message, when all would be revealed.

The subsequent post comments went something (actually) like this:

Girl Interrupted: Oooh! I hope it's me! I hope it's me! I hope it's me!!! Ps: I am going to be royally PISSED if it isn't me! :)

Trinity: I hope you aren't too pissed.

Girl Interrupted: :( *sulk*


I think his leitmotif should now be changed to "Poker Face" by that aptly named GaGa woman, because yesterday I got a delivery! *smug, triumphant grin*

It was in a FedEx box and everything! I've wanted a FedEx delivery ever since I saw Castaway, and here it was, a dream come true, and I hadn't even had to be traumatically sucked out of a plane or form a close, emotional bond to sports goods. Woohoo!

Fortunately the Swiss Family Manson weren't around, so I got to open it without fear of interrogation.

This is what I found ...


A real message in a bottle! It made up for all the disappointment of never finding one during all those warm, idyllic summers of childhood spent at the seaside, combing the beach for treasure and gazing wistfully out to sea. Wondering if anybody had found my own, childishly scribbled messages of "Help! I'm a prisoner in a toothpaste factory!", "I'm coming to get you, Love Jaws x" and "Tammy Laine smells like poo" (apologies Tammy if you ever happen to read this, it was personal, but I was six at the time, and to be fair, I thought everyone smelled of poo).

Ah, happy days!

So next I decided to read the message. Except ... do you know how hard it is to get a poxy message out of a poxy bottle? It's BLOODY HARD! But finally, after an hour of swearing, getting my finger stuck in the bottle, swearing louder, cursing people foolish enough to send a message inside a bottle ("Could've sent an email ... but nooooooo! WTF is wrong with just sending an IM anyway, FFS!!!" ... Gwen would've been proud of me) and unsuccessfully looking for a hammer with which to smash the message out ...

Ta-Dah!!


And here's the message (you'll probably need to click on the pic to enlarge it enough to be able to read it ... unless you have superpowers, which would be pretty cool and fancy *cough*show-off*cough*) ...


Isn't that lovely? It's almost as though he really likes me or something!

As mentioned in the letter, Trinity had also enclosed a really cool comic book, Fables: Legends in exile. This was such a surprise, Trinity is an aficionado of comics (geek) and is pretty obsessive (nerd), which I've never really understood, and may even have teased him about on occasion, having never seen a proper comic book or understood the charm and the allure.

This was my first and I loved it straight away ...


The plot basically takes fairytale characters (known as Fables) who have been forced out of their own lands by the sinister "Adversary", and puts them in New York where all manner of gruesome yet interesting things happen ...

Bloodfest MUCH.

I want to quickly show you some of the artwork too, because for me it's one of the best things about the book.


Cinderella (meets Kill Bill) ...


Not sure who this is, possibly the Black Forest Witch (terrible posture!) ...



Rose Red (giving new meaning to the phrase "keep your hair on!") ...

Awesome, eh?

But not as awesome as Trinity, because he'd even sent me snacks to munch as I read my comic book (Cheetohs and Red Velvet Cake! Mmmm ... who needs vegetables?) ...


I'm such a lucky girl!

So thank you Trinity, you totally rock ... you're like the brother I never wanted! You nag me and act as my very own Jiminy Cricket (not always a good thing, from my point of view) but you also make me laugh and smile, you're a good guy, you like lots of the same things as me (which obviously makes you cooler) and I can talk to you about anything and everything ... it's also kinda cool that you've been there with me, almost from the beginning.

But not as cool as liking zombies.

I really do have the greatest blog-chums, they've turned my dull and dreary week into a festival of fun and smiles, which is very much appreciated.

(It's ok, it's not a full-on soppy moment)

So, thanks to friendship you've had three posts out of me this week, giving us all an invaluable lesson I think, something we can learn from ...

If you want more posts, you have to send me cool stuff.


As Trinity would say ...

That is all.

Hey Gwen ... wanna see my muffins?

Author's note: Since posting I've received a few messages from people saying they can't see the full post :( Apologies to anybody experiencing the same problem, being technologically challenged I simply don't have a clue what the issue is or how to fix it ... it seems you need to click on the actual post link (ie click on the post title) to be able to view it properly ... that works for me, anyway. If you still can't view it, let me know and I'll try re-posting it. Sorry folks x


'ello!

I know, two posts in one week, eh? I can almost hear that annoying French lady in the Ferrero Rocher adverts exclaiming "Ah Madame, Wiz ze blog posts yuh ah spoiling uz!"

The thing is my "Cake in the Community" care parcel arrived (Brief recap: the truly scrumptious Gwen posted about making Red Velvet Cake, which you can read here, I was intrigued and asked for the recipe but Gwen went one better and offered to send me a cake mix, which of course I eagerly and gratefully agreed to, having seen the ridiculously lengthy and complicated "make it from scratch" recipe) all the way from St Louis, and in record time! Gwen only sent it last week and given the general pantsness (hey! that COULD be a word!) of postal services these days I wasn't really expecting it until, oh, I dunno, 2011.

So imagine my squeaky glee when the postman delivered a parcel with my name on it!

First I had to deal with the Spanish Inquisition (Ha! Nobody expects the Spanish Inquisition! ... you know I had to do it, right?) i.e. my family, who wanted to know why I was receiving parcels from America, what was in the parcel (well if you STFU and let me open it you'd find out a whole lot quicker), who had sent me the parcel, was it a man or a woman (I could see my Mother planning an international wedding in her head) and had I joined some kind of religious cult.

So a couple of hours later ... I finally got to open my box of delights

Oooh!

The Swiss Family Manson crowded round to take a better look at the goodies within, but seeing a lovely mauve envelope in the bottom of the box I pounced on that first and sure enough it was a cool card from Gwen with a picture of the McDonalds sign the beautiful Gateway Arch on the front.


Here's what she wrote (click on the pic to see it in its full glory ... oh, and in case you're wondering, the picture is of the Armadillo groom's cake from Steel Magnolias, a classic example of Red Velvet Cake ... and not some grotesque animal autopsy) I heart this card, doesn't she have the coolest handwriting? ...


So on to the contents of the box ... this is what me and my mother and grandfather saw first ...

... I only wish I'd had a camera handy to capture the look on their faces.

Grandfather: But why is it ... er, urgent?


Haha! And it got better ...

... clearly Gwen has heard of my notorious baking reputation


Next came the all important chocolate mouse poo (as mentioned in the card) ...


... by this stage in the proceedings there was nary a whisper from the folks, I think they'd witnessed more f-bombs than they'd seen in weeks, if not months, chuckling quietly to myself and reflecting on the fact that silence IS golden in some situations I reached for the next delicious item ...


... Cupcake dicks? thought I, somewhat perplexed.


And finally, the lovely and ever-thoughtful Gwen had even sent the muffin cups! She'd literally thought of everything! (sadly, no f-bomb on these ... Americans must take their baking cups extremely seriously)
*Really wish I'd overcome laziness and given myself a French manicure now


Anyway, I could hardly wait to start baking, which no doubt would stun anybody who knows me into shocked silence. (I'm quite a good cook but I don't have a very good history where baking is concerned, invariably if I attempt to make cakes I end up telling friends that I made biscuits. Very flat, slightly grey biscuits. But that's better than very flat, slightly grey cake, right?)

So I got all my ingredients together, cake mix, vegetable oil, eggs and water and chucked it all in a bowl carefully beat it all together as directed and ooh'ed and aah'ed as the mixture turned a vibrant shade of red ...

Once the cake mixture was ready it was time to transfer it to the cups. This is an especially tricky stage if you suffer from a mild form of OCD; the compulsive urge to allot exactly equal amounts of mixture to each cup and to avoid at all costs any unsightly spills means that it can take a very (very) long time.

Ahem.

There was also a scary moment when I'd filled 12 cups and had another 12 to go, but on looking at the bowl I realised that its contents hadn't seemed to have decreased in volume one little bit! You know in the film "Jaws"? The "We're gonna need a bigger boat" scene? It was just like that.

In the end I filled 30 muffin cups.

That's a lot of muffin.

Next I popped them in the oven and was soon tormenting my family with the mouth-watering smell of freshly baking cake mixture. The house smelled just like you imagine those posh, show-home places they feature in magazines like "Country Living" and "House & Garden". All I needed was a twin-set, a cute little apron and a lobotomy and I could have been mistaken for one of those 50's housewife types.


Ping! 19 minutes later they were done to perfection (well, they weren't badly burnt or flat) ...



Then they had to cool. Do you know how hard it is to resist hot, delicious, freshly baked muffins?

Me either ... I just thought "Sod it!" and ate one. Self control is for ... people who aren't me. And I'm glad I did, because it was totally lush. Really light and moist, it just melted in my mouth. Almost like somebody who was really good at baking had made it, instead of me.

Once cooled it was time to add the cream cheese frosting (my Grandfather says I should give up any dreams I might have once cherished about being a plasterer) ...

... like my groovy cow cookie jar? (I'm thinking now that maybe I should have tidied up before I took these pics)


Next came the delicious "chocolatey mouse poo" sprinkles. It was at this stage that I came to understand exactly why the cream cheese frosting was so "fucking urgent" ... apparently unless you add the sprinkles straight after you've slapped on the frosting, the surface dries and your sprinkles have nothing to adhere to, leaving you futilely trying to get your mouse dropping to stick instead of just rolling straight off the top of the muffin and making you swear like Gwen a trooper and shouting "GAH!" a lot.

Finally though, I was all sprinkled out ...


At the end of a long but satisfying couple of hours it was time to relax and reap the fruits of my labour with a nice cup of tea and a copy of Steel Magnolias on dvd ...


In between blubbing at the sad bits in the film and stuffing my sticky little face with gooey muffins, I raised my teacup in salute to gorgeous Gwen who had single-handedly, and at an impressive distance of several thousand miles, given me an evening of fun and laughter (with the odd patch of sniffly, girly, sobbing).

So thank you, Gwen :) the only thing that could have made it more fun was if you'd been here too x





Ps: Bet you thought I'd forgotten the groovy little cupcake picks (not dicks as previously thought) ... not a chance. Here's some I put on a plate, ready to entice my family members and anybody else who happened to visit ... don't they look fun AND yummy?

And since I didn't realise it was my new blog-chum Jerrod's birthday until after the event, I designated one particularly fine muffin as being especially in his honour.

Happy belated birthday, Jerrod!