Thursday, June 22, 2006

Elders

A fantastic couple of days at the House of the Parentals for the Father's Day weekend. Really great just to kick back and flake out in their garden.

A healthy spread of drinks, including a new summer special, supposedly of my father's creation. This is a fantastic summer drink, and even better when mixed with mother's home made Elderflower cordial (bottles of the stuff I dragged back to London. Bottles. But it is lovely.):

Take a glass....
Pop some elderflower cordial in.
Thank Mother.
Add a generous slash of Suze (perhaps bought back cheaply on a cheap weekend to France. Sorry "Fwarnce").
Top up generously with lemonade.
Drink. Preferably in sunshine.
Fall over.

By the time we went to walk the dog around midnight, we had reached the point of sillyness where my dad was crapping by the side of the road. I think the dog was quite confused.

Anyway. This week I have been doing all sorts - including going to BAFTA. Yes. Once the taxi driver found it, anyway. (Piccadilly, since you ask, halfway between Green Park and Piccadilly Circus tube stations).

V glam. So, here is my in-dpeth, undercover reportage:



They like their logo.



They use their logo a lot. It's like a man-size award. I'd just like to thank...



And here are the toikets at BAFTA. Note the classy square wicker basket affairette for putting in the used hand towels in. Ooooo.

So that's me, Much more fun than last week's work do. After a while all the hatchet-faced, leathery skinned old women with too much money started to blend into one.

Monday, June 12, 2006

Well. I never knew that.







Which Doctor Who assistant are you?




You are ROSE. You have no qualifications to speak of but you are very good at holding on to and swinging on ropes. No doubt at school you used to climb up the rope in gym with it tightly between your legs where you experienced your first orgasm!
Take this quiz!








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Marvellous. Why are we travelling through time and space... because we want to! because we want to!

Sorry. Have stinking summer cold. This is the best you're gonna get...

Sunday, June 11, 2006

Attaboy Jack!

This made me chuckle. Go get 'em tiger.

Saturday, June 10, 2006

Not quite as evil as previously thought




You Are 60% Evil



You are evil, but you haven't yet mastered the dark side.

Fear not though - you are on your way to world domination.



Sixty percent?
SIXTY PERCENT!?? I demand some kind of recount.

:-P

...that's not helping, is it...

Sunday, June 04, 2006

The trouble with young people today...

...is that they are apparently nice but square. This from Jon Henley's diary column in Friday's Grauniad:

"Horrifying news from Hampton, meanwhile, where we learn from the letters pages of the Richmond and Twickenham Times that a group of local youths, on spotting a Mr Bradley collapsed on Acacia Road after tripping on the pavement, called an ambulance, waited with him till it arrived, then finished delivering the church newsletters he was pushing through letter-boxes at the time. What is our younger generation coming to?"

Ahhhh. Bless 'em.

In MUCH MORE IMPORTANT news, my friend Stelly has bitten the bullet, done the deed, and handed her notice in. She's officially shipping out of Ipswich and joining the rest of us right thinking people in London from this summer. Yey!

Okay so London is clearly not fantastic all the time, obviously, but the point is we're here and she isn't. At the moment. I mean honestly, who wants to live somewhere the council try (and fail) to market as 'Hipswich'. Can you see what they've done there? Yes. Very good. Now, please put my in touch with the nearest ticket out of here and back to civilisation...

That's a bit harsh perhaps. Ipswich is very... nice.

Oh crap why am I still talking about Ipswich?!

Anyway. Obviously I have many 'hillarious' pictures of Stelly, but she would never forgive if I posted up any that were really, really unflattering. So here is one from a weekend in Wales many moons ago, that I think I will remember with extreme happiness until the day I die:

Thursday, June 01, 2006

In which philosophy happens. Or does it. If no one is there to hear it happen.

So I am trying to kick-start the habit of reading again, and I have finally got around to reading an ace book from Our Lady Soon to Be Ex-of Peru. You know. her.

It is by Alain de Botton* who is appears to be some kind of philosopher, essayist and thinker of great thinks. I had not heard of him, but he has a nice home on the www that can be found here.

The book is called The Art of Travel. As Lady D said, it takes you a little while to get into what he's doing, but it's a really interesting look at the way we travel, why, and what we get out of it. Each chapter takes in a location, or type of location, and while looking at Alain's responses to it, also considers the feelings of great artists and thinkers.

This sounds a bit flakey, but actually works very well, and it's really well-written. I really liked the chapter on the physical act of traveling itself (with our guides Baudelaire and Edward Hopper - an unlikely partnership you would think).

"Journeys are the midwives of thought. Few places are more conducive to internal conversations than a moving plane, ship or train." Says our Al. And he isn't just whistling dixie.

It's also a very human introduction to some of history's madder, badder and downright more fun people. I shall go and find more about Alexander von Humboldt one of these days. He sounds like a 'can-do' sort of chap.

Anyway. Go and have a rummage around and see what you think, if you fancy. Being the big 'ol sap I am I'll probably check out Alain's Essays in Love next.

Incidentally, the book was part of great set of birthday presents, based around the senses. I think it slotted into the 'sight' category.

On completely another tack, I am still only getting my BB knowledge third hand on blogs and other meeeja, but this Kit-Kat advert is brilliant. Thanks Low Culture dot co dot UK.


*It's funny because it looks like Bottom.

Golly

I am sitting here, in my flat, listening to Smash Hits ("smash hits!") radio blurt out of the telly, contemplating that I have apparently reached an age where nose is 'an issue'.

Life really is just one big, never-ending* adventure, isn't it.


* Until it ends. Obviously.