Did you miss me?

I have not had an internet connection since Saturday, twitch twitch. I've just got back online and I'm playing catch-up. Sorry to have been uncommunicative.

I have been blogging, however, just in my word processor. So you’re going to get a week’s worth of posts at some point.

The state we're in

Tuesday. I was livid about the passengers on the flight from Malaga to Manchester who forced two young men off the plane on apparently no more grounds than that they looked a bit funny. I caught an interview with a couple who were on the flight, who said that when the two young men got on board the whole atmosphere changed. (Why an interview with these people? Why not an interview with the injured parties?) The husband of this couple – the preposterous have-a-go wannabe – said you could tell something was strange about them because everyone else was wearing shorts and flip-flops and they weren’t. It’s enough to make you take up wearing a hoodie. What a shame the airline didn’t tell anyone who had a problem with these young men that they were free to get off and catch a later flight. I hope someone sues.

Some of you may remember that at the start of the month I received a mailshot letter from the local police inviting me to inform upon people speeding down my rat-run road (they were asking residents to note down names or index numbers of speeding drivers). In an unusual burst of activism, no doubt triggered by having no internet to keep me soporific, I rang them up on Monday to find out exactly what they intended to do with these bits of unsubstantiated gossip. They explained they want people to note down patterns of behaviour so that they can then come out and set up their speed cameras or whatever in order to prove or disprove allegations.

Speaking to the policewoman tasked with this, it transpired that I am the very first person to call them about this letter (this tickled me to high heaven, I’m sure you can imagine), and that they were all wondering why nobody had got in touch with them, given that speeding on the road had been such an issue at local community meetings. She sounded young and earnest and a bit bewildered to have this lunatic barking about civil liberties down the phone at her. (No, I was perfectly well-behaved and polite but, God, I did feel old.) I didn’t offer to participate, but I did suggest that perhaps one of the problems might be with the letter, which reads very badly: “Citizens! Do your moral duty! Shop your neighbours!” only in unreadable Arial and semi-punctuated.

The whole thing reinforces one of my general rules-of-thumb about, you know, life – that most seemingly dubious actions are basically down to ineptitude. Not the case with the people on that flight, though. They’re just bastards.

Lord, didn't it rain?

Tuesday. Half-arsed excuse for a functioning human being that I am, I had to slink with my tail between my legs over to the library in order to return some spectacularly overdue books. The fine is mighty and still not paid, and it was pissing it down as I trudged over. Afterwards, obviously, I had to go book shopping to cheer myself up, and went to David’s, the Emporium of Pain Relief and Shelter in a Storm. To replace Brendan Kennelly’s The Book of Judas which had lately been returned unread, I picked up his most recent selected verse, Familiar Strangers.

Brendan, bless his socks, made me laugh then cry within the space of five pages. Here’s why. Cut so you can choose your own adventure.

( She laughed )

( She cried )

Going critical

Wednesday. I am reading Against Management by Martin Parker, and the logo on the front is exactly like the new Doctor Who logo.
( Read more... )

Look, I'd been four days without internet and was pretty desperate by this point, all right?

Chess

Wednesday. I found an elderly tape containing a recording of post-ABBA joy-fest Chess. The best thing about it – apart from the glorious 80s cheese – is that I recorded it off my brother’s LP (remember those?) on my dad’s record player (or those?) which really didn’t work terribly well. In between all the hissing, there are occasional ‘bop bop’ noises as the thing struggles to push the turntable round again but, absolutely best of all, it couldn’t manage to do that at a constant speed, which means the singers waver in and out of tune throughout. Magic.

Interview meme

Thursday. Sometime earlier in the century, fictualities asked me five questions for the interview meme. Being net-less gave me the opportunity to finish them up.

1. In any of the longer stories/novels you've written, what's the moment when you felt that you knew something about one of the main characters that you didn't know before?

( Read more... )

2. What invention or technology that's come along in the past ten or twenty years or so has most changed your daily life, and has this been for the better or for worse?

( Read more... )

3. What activity or pursuit that you really enjoy -- APART from reading or writing -- would you like to find the time to do more?

( Read more... )

4. If you could invite three people from history to dinner (the same dinner, this is a party) who would they be?

( Read more... )

5. What school subject did you find the most difficult as a child?

( Read more... )

Doctor Who: Rose

First scream, and it's a man.
First sniffle - it's the TARDIS.

Poor Clive. Poor Nelson.

Oh look - Christopher Eccleston; he was the Doctor, you know.

It is all so joyous - and Doctor Who right from the start.

SNIFFLECOUNT: A: 3 Mr A: 3

Doctor Who: The End of the World

Poor Moxx. I hope Mrs Moxx has lots of insurance.
Poor Raffalo. (Maybe it wasn't fatal. Maybe she just got dragged into the... Oh dear.)

Mr A thinks it looks a lot better than episode 1. Too much in the way of sonic screwdriver shenanigans, though.

SNIFFLECOUNT: A: 4, Mr A: 3
[Mr A is clearly heartless]

Doctor Who: The Unquiet Dead

Poor Gwyneth.
Poor Mr Sneed (the git).

You can't go wrong with (TV) Victorian Gothic.

Best pre-credits of the series. So far... (Don't forget Bad Wolf...)

SNIFFLECOUNT: A: 4, Mr A: 4