nothing

FRIDAY.

FRIDAY.

(It bore repeating).

Thank goodness for that. 

HAVEN'T PINCHED A GOOD PIC FROM FUCK YEAH, BOOKS IN A WHILE.  THANKS MORRISSEY, THANKS FUCK YEAH, BOOKS

That is all.

easter update 2014

Easter: four days off, let's do that more often.  Loved it, apart from the heartbreaking moment on Saturday that P and I realised we'd left our egg run too late at the supermarket: chocolate eggs SOLD OUT.  I'm sure we'll get over it but it was a stab to the heart, that's for sure.

Day in the Life: doing this thing again.  Hope to post tomorrow.  If you're bored by this short missive, just wait until I hit you with the minutiae of another day in the terribly exciting life and times of A!

About Time: Richard Curtis you emotional manipulator you.  The film opened with my wedding aisle song (The Luckiest, Ben Folds, if you're interested).  Nearly cried from the get go.  Took half an hour of scrubbing pots in the kitchen after the final credits for me to turn off the emotional gushiness that ensued. 

Revisiting YA fiction over the break: I did this and I am ashamed of myself.  Hours down the drain.  HOURS.

Sunday Painters: meh.  This is probably because I'm spoilt - P cooks excellent French bistro food.  This is also probably because P's taught me to be an unbearable wine snob - no decanters in the restaurant at all, when there's all that lovely aged Burgundy?  Ack, I'm awful.

Silence: was golden in the 09 over the break.  Empty streets, quiet neighbourhoods, no queues anywhere.  With the notable exception of Harvey Norman in Wairau Park to which we stupidly ventured in pursuit of a new vacuum cleaner on sale (yes, that is exactly how exciting my life is now but YOU SHOULD SEE MY RUG Dyson 4 lyf) which had crowds so cray there was a bouncy castle to keep hordes of kids entertained while their parents perused whiteware and gave me claustrophobia on an unprecedented scale. 

2013, a retrospective.

1. What did you do in 2013 that you'd never done before?

Bought a house.  A purple one.  I've never lived in a purple house before, so I guess that's a first too.

Visited Melbourne.

Identified multiple gray hairs on my husband.

Bought a car.  I've never had my own before!

Bit of a boring old list of new things, isn't it? 

2. Did you keep your new year's resolutions, and will you make more for next year?

Eh.  I don't really do resolutions because I don't need another stick with which to beat myself.  There's usually a vague thought about getting fit, losing weight, blahblah but I know in my heart of hearts I'm quite happy to truck along eating a wheel of cheese and watching the development of my bingo wings.

3. Did anyone close to you give birth?

Depends how you define close, I suppose.  I define it pretty tightly, so nope.

4. Did anyone close to you die?

No. (Insert grateful sentiment here)

5. What countries did you visit?

After last year's extravaganza, this year we confined ourselves to a couple of quick visits to Australia. 

6. What would you like to have in 2014 that you lacked in 2013?

Still would like a cat, much as I wanted last year.  Hmmm. Otherwise? I'm embarrassed by putting a list of material desires and 2013 weren't too lacking really, so nothing, really.  Oh WAIT.  Patience!

7. What dates from 2013 will remain etched upon your memory, and why?

1 July 2013: Taking possession of our first home.  Eating pizza on the floor and thinking 'this place is a cold shithole.  What the hell have we done?' I love it now, though. 

8. What was your biggest achievement of the year?

Finding the finance to purchase said home and actually winning a fucking auction.  Some worky stuff.

9. What was your biggest failure?

Wishing away the passage of time, sometimes.

10. Did you suffer illness or injury?

I was fairly healthy in 2013.  P, however: P chunked his thumb, had intestinal issues, suffered innumerable colds - I really felt for the poor bugger, when I wasn't monumentally pissed off at having to play Florence Nightingale.

11. What was the best thing you bought?

The house.  Followed closely by some insulation and a heat pump for the house.  P would no doubt vote for all the $$$ we've spent at Mitre 10 on DIY shit we've barely used. 

12. Where did most of your money go?

House! Also getting piffled away on food and booze; we're just so GOOD at spending on that.

13. What did you get really, really, really excited about?

Not having to go to open homes every weekend anymore! When we won the auction on June 9, we cracked a bottle of something tasty and basically danced around the living room celebrating the fact that the house hunt of 2013 was finally over.

14. What song will always remind you of 2013?

Royals - Lorde.  Ubiquitous in 2013, everywhere, all the time.  Still don't hate it, miraculously.  That song is also vividly associated with driving near Matamata, of all places, as P and I meandered home from a lovely long weekend in the Bay of Plenty.

15. Compared to this time last year, are you:

a) Happier or sadder? Happier.  I think?  I was pretty happy last year too, so maybe the same (this post notwithstanding).
b) Thinner or fatter? Fatty fatty boom boom BOOM.
c) Richer or poorer? Depends how you quantify this.  Probably richer, even though I feel poorer - we may be paying a mortgage and interest etc but we own equity now, I guess.

16. What do you wish you'd done more of?

I wish I'd taken more leave.  This year was a little tight on the leave front, though I guess I'm only feeling it now.  Also: done more of mortgage-paying.

17. What do you wish you'd done less of?

Wasting mah dollarz and waistline on food. 

18. How will you be spending Christmas?

Stewart Island, fighting off sea lions and stalking kiwi - as well as hanging with the fandam. 

19. Did you fall in love in 2013?

Little bit with the house (WOULD YOU STOP TALKING ABOUT THE HOUSE ALREADY, EYEROLL, GEEZ).

Fell a bit more in love with P, as I do most years.  This year it was the realisation he takes so much administrative hassle out of my life.  What, is handling the spreadsheets not romantic to you?  I feel sick thinking that I didn't kiss him goodbye this morning and that we haven't emailed today.  We always kiss goodbye and there's usually something sent to make the other laugh.  The wear and tear of a long year has frayed our edges - it lead to a serious degree of miffedness last night on my part, and this morning on his when I stonily endured his cuddle.   I think we need a bit of time out to reconnect properly, but I do love him more each day, I promise.  Maybe 2013 was the year of domestic discontent?

20. What was your favourite TV programme?

Ummmm, I'm having a bit of a Survivor renaissance which is shameful.  Either that or Top Chef or Breaking Bad or something.  Oh wait, no! Homeland.  That's it - but I can't have liked it excessively or it would have sprung straight to mind?

21. What was the best book you read?

Wolf Hall and Bring Up the Bodies, Hilary Mantel.  So. Good.  I gave them to my mother and while she occasionally raises an eyebrow at my choice in fiction, she also devoured them whole.  Screw the Man Booker, mah mum's praize is all the accolades required, right there! *ahem*

22. What was your greatest musical discovery?

Um, pass?  I discovered nothing new, really.  I like the newish Ladi 6 album, if that counts?

Sidenote: you know people on Idol-type television shows are all 'music's my life' and every conversation with a new person you had in high school started with 'what sort of music are you into?' and people now discuss their top-25 lists on their iPod?  Yeah, music isn't the necessary art for me.  I need words to survive.  I am loathe to admit it but I don't even have my own iTunes and music selection - P has pretty good taste and he'll upload anything I've purchased, within reason.  I do still buy and enjoy music, but often, when at home alone, I prefer silence.  A: enjoys the mute button.

23. What did you want and get?

A home.  YAY for that.  Love, time with family.   

24. What did you want and not get?

Patience! A better work ethic! These are things I can work on by myself and not gifts from Santa, I'm guessing, but if Santa's handing them out...

25. What was your favourite film of this year?

Eh, pass.  Nothing has sprung to mind so they can't have been that good.  Oh wait, I freaked out about space for a solid two days after seeing Gravity.  I don't think it's the best movie of the year, but MY GOD I am obsessed with space / space disasters.  This movie sits on a par with Apollo 13.

26. What did you do on your birthday, and how old were you?
On my 31st birthday I was at work, slogging it out on a big thing and ... wait, I just checked my calendar.  I've got total false sorry-for-self memories.  It was a Saturday and I ate brunch with my sister which was excellent and then I think P and I went somewhere?  Hopeless.

27. What kept you sane?

Diet coke.  My colleagues.  P.  Taking wee breaks.  Going to visit my Mum.  TEA.

28. What political issue stirred you the most?

Roast Busters and rape culture, for sure. 

29. Who did you miss?

Missed all me friends in the northern hemisphere, particularly V.  V had a baby at the end of 2012 and I still haven't met the wee blighter.  J too, but I get to see her before year's end (YAY). 

Missed my grandmother.

30. Who was the best new person you met?

I very much enjoyed meeting and getting to know C, a friend of some friends this year.  She's got a total potty mouth and I love it.  She taught me the entirely crude phrase 'Cunt Scarf' by using it in reference to Hat Friend's skirt at the Beyonce concert.

31. Tell us a valuable life lesson you learned in 2013.

True: try to stay even tempered, it's better for your relationships in the long run.  

Facetious: use discretion when considering whether dry-clean only really means dry-clean only.  It's surprising what can go through the wash on a cold cycle, but devastating when you get it wrong.

grey christmas?

The ten day forecast is looking particularly dire.  Metservice doesn't offer the weather on Stewart Island, it appears (or perhaps I can't work the website, either seems likely) but the projected high in Invercargill for the day of our arrival is 15 degrees, with lashings of rain.  The mental projection of lovely, 23 degree-ish sunshine on an isolated island in the deep south is starting to fragment.  My focus is now getting enough books to last me a week, packing the cards, and wondering whether I can fit anything else in my pack once it is holding the enormous rip-off North Face jacket my father purchased for me in China, circa 2001.   Don't worry, we've sorted the duty free booze and that'll be travelling with us in the precious, precious hand luggage.

My sister K has been sending messages predicting bulk barf on the ferry.  The Foveaux Strait is no joke, I'm lead to believe. 

THIS PHOTO IS FROM HERE. THE CAPTION READS:
'Rakiura is the Maori name for Stewart Island, the 'third island' of New Zealand. This summer view is taken from the summit of Bluff Hill, on the far southern tip of the South Island. Foveaux Strait is right in the middle of the Roaring Forties, and is very rarely this calm.'
OH SHIT.

bookish

Ugh, all that crap about my urinary tract and peeing in leaky cups has got to get off the top of the blog. 

Um.  Um.  How do you follow a diatribe like that up?

[I've sat on the above sentences for 24 hours now.  Following it up was really, really stinking hard]

OK.  OK.  Oryx and Crake, Margaret Atwood.  Bought this last Friday as a wee treat, finished by Sunday.  Enjoyed is probably the wrong word - there's some very disturbing content, but I think it's a wonderful, thought-provoking commentary on modern day issues set in a dystopian future.  I'm still not sure I get the ending; going to have a bit of a re-read and then plunge on with the next in the series.  I really want to recommend it to P, but I think he'll reach the child exploitation bits and freak with horror. 

I also picked up a copy of I, Claudius by Robert Graves.  I have listened to this on audiobook before - I forget who narrated it but he has a very distinctive tone and I'm very much enjoying him as my mental narrator as I slurp up the words on the page.  It's just interesting, that's what it is.  I haven't read that much about the Roman Empire post-Caesar and I love a bit of intrigue and scheming so this is perfect for 10 minutes pre-sleep reading.  Livia is a nasty firecracker and I love it. 

What else, culture-wise?  I'm going to see Hollie Smith perform this Saturday.  Yup.  That's probably about it. 

That's right - I have had Jonathan Strange and Mr Norrell (Susanna Clarke) sitting on my bedside table for an aeon.  I was reading Julia's archives the other day and she mentioned that while she felt like she should enjoy it, she just couldn't get through it.  I have had this exact experience with Jonathan Strange.  I even took it to the bath a few weeks ago and, well, gave up again afterwards.  If I can't get into a book in the bath then there's something seriously wrong.  To be fair, when a book is that hefty it isn't ideal tub material...but I'm usually still willing to cut it a break. 

spring weekend causes uncharacteristic episode of positivity

Friday was a particularly lovely day.  Posterity, take note:

• Work got done.  That all-too-infrequent sense of satisfaction of churning out a job in a timely way well produced?  I had it.  I need to get it more often, self.
• Boss cheerily noted 'why don't you go home, you've got that report done' at 4.15.  I was out of the building by 4.16.
• There was sunshine outside!
• On the way home, I ducked into Smith & Caugheys and sprayed myself with nice perfume.  Such a nice (free!) treat.  Doesn't take much to flick my switch, really.
• While sniffing my wrist waiting to cross a major intersection, I witnessed a car accident.  That might not sound very lovely, but it was just a minor scrape thanks to a last minute swerve with no injuries, so I count my lucky stars.  Plenty of witnesses to comment; I couldn't see who had been at fault from my angle and I got to keep walking.
• Home: empty on arrival.  I poured a G&T ---- vacuumed, and cleaned the bathroom.  Who knew that could be so satisfying on a Friday evening? 
• Gussied up (I don't do that often enough!) and hit Kingsland Friday night with friends.  Drinks, lovely French dinner, safe in bed by 11.  Good times.
• Walked home from Kingsland with P, arm in arm, chatting, laughing.  He's a good sort.

I might have a few moans about the rest of the weekend which was not all I had hoped and dreamed, but given my Friday and the fact I managed to destroy a whole book this weekend, it's not all bad.  (Book = Gone Girl, Gillian Flynn.  Am distinctly ambivalent about it; quite possibly because I'm very late to the party as always and it's been talked up a lot.  Gripping enough to keep me binge reading I suppose but the only character I really liked was Boney and she seemed very underdeveloped given where the character went.  I know, I know: you don't have to like characters to know a book is good but I felt I could have done with someone to like more - Nick's sister Go, maybe? Eh, I don't know.  What a sterling reaction.  Real take home piece.)

Ate my first piece of tasty steak off the giant barbeque last night.  Flat iron and sirloin, if you must know.  P is a culinary god: he served it with a beautiful cos and parsley salad with a simple lemon dressing, as well as his take on potatoes dauphinoise and a dab of Hot English Mustard.  A man who knows the way to fatten up his wife properly, that one.  It did look a little ridiculous - two wee steaks sitting on the most enormous piece of powder coated steel that could serve as a boat, should you wish to add an outboard motor.  If Thanksgiving were a thing here in the Land of the Long White Cloud, I'd have a turkey on that bad boy in a heartbeat.  SRSLY.  It's huge. 

a round-up of spring fashion? perhaps not

It is a glorious day here in the City of Sails - well, from my desk anyway.  I ventured out to purchase that most necessary of all office staples (diet coke) at lunchtime and there is a chilly breeze, but nevertheless, the sun is out, there are boats on the water and there are teenagers wearing ill-advised high-cut denim shorts sans tights.  All is right with the world. 

I have that peculiarly spring-y feeling (plz to tell if you suffer from this as well) where I want to go out and purchase all manner of sandals and floral dresses.  This is a particularly dumb idea in circumstances where:

1. Said dresses and sandals cost money, which I have basically been flushing down the toilet recently;
2. My legs bear a close resemblance to neon glow sticks except hairier and fatter;
3. All the shops appear to be stocking just now are crop fucking tops and dresses that will barely cover my crotch LET ALONE my granny sized underwear. 

I wandered through Glassons the other day, in search of cheap inspiration and was really stoked to find a fine knit Breton stripe top (just the rage with all the cool bloggers, I hear).  I picked it up and was horrified to find it stopped just below my navel.  Look, I know I'm 31 and am borderline being banned from Glass on the basis that it's just inappropriate for a woman of my age (hey, I don't shop at Supre at least), but I do expect that as a high volume manufacturer of polyester for the masses the powers-that-be would be aware that the masses are generally in possession of muffin tops and look absolutely fucking ridiculous in crops?  Or is that just me? (that looks ridiculous.  Says the woman of questionable taste wearing a jumper with what appears to be a mullet-y bridal veil hanging down from the back.)  And before you ask, IT WAS NOT A SIZE 6.  I am dim and am always imagining that I am MUCH slimmer and taller than I am (with smoother, glossier hair too) but I tend to pick the correct size from the rack before I hit the changing rooms. 

Whew, ranty. 

Moving on: culture.  I has none.  I wasted a bday Whitcoulls voucher on Mortal Instruments: City of Bones I don't know why because it transpires that it is terrible, terrible teenage fantasy-style fiction which features:

1. the supernatural
2. a love triangle
3. a heroine who doesn't know her own talents

Sound familiar?  And yet I have been consuming it rapidly.  I suspect A aged 14 has been all up in my head with her heart racing as the heroine chooses between good looking guys and saves the day.  I have since discovered that the movie being made of this book features Lily Collins, so I guess I can't hate it.  Lily Collins = Phil Collins' offspring and I HEART PHIL forever.

Digression: you know how in rhythmic gymnastics and synchronised swimming they do team items coordinated to music?  Well, there is a similar sort of thing in dressage (horses for courses) and at the ages of 12 and 13 respectively, my sister and I choreographed a routine to "Another Day in Paradise" for four of us and our ponies.  I can't remember whether we won the competition but I can tell you Phil Collins writes excellent beats for an extended trot.  F me, I can't believe I just told you that.

I have a nasty feeling I'm on a kind of roll spilling all my teenage shames here so I better put an end to this post, pronto.  Have a lovely weekend, all. 

nerd alert

DID YOU MISS ME?

Of course you did (ahem). 

I am back now and better than ever, even if I did come home from what I now admit to be a giant camp for lawyers (does it get any better than that?!) feeling greasy from my dormitory stay.  Personal highlight?  Organisers were getting a group photo in front of the Courts on Saturday evening, with all of us garbed in our best dark suit/white shirt/suitable shoe combos.  Guy driving past slows down, winds down his window and yells "GEEKS" before shooting off.  Best. Driveby. Insult. EVER.  We completely, totally and utterly deserved it. 

I absolutely loved, loved, loved coming home yesterday.  Even if it was clearer in the deep south with gorgeous views to the snow-capped Southern Alps, I stepped off the plane in Aukalofa and had to take my jacket off because of the warmth and humidity.  I wore short sleeves yesterday!  Also, my house is now insulated in the ceiling and under the floors and it now retains heat!  Who knew what a difference a boatload of some kind of polyester situation would make?  (Lots of people, apparently, but I'm still marvelling).  Oh yeah, very nice to see P too after 7 days of pining (him pining for me obv, I'm awesome). 

Um, what else?  I am most definitely not going to tell you any more about my big geeky week because I'd bore you to tears and you'd loathe me forever.  Oh, wait, one thing: suffice it to say that I have ACTUALLY missed my calling to be an Actor.  We got to play witness a little bit and fuck me, if it didn't all come rushing back and MY DAUGHTER WAS SHOT IN FRONT OF ME OF COURSE I'LL BE ON THE VERGE OF QUIET YET PROFOUNDLY EMOTIONAL TEARS IN THE WITNESS BOX.  Why I didn't pursue that career is beyond me. (No it's not.  It's because 16 year old me was a fuddy duddy and decided to give up the dramatic arts for something that would be more lucrative / steadily employed.  I think 16 year old me wasn't ready to admit it either, but with these looks and stooped shoulders I was only ever going to be competing for the 'character roles', if you know what I mean. Ah well, still time for a career change nearly half my life later, right?) (RIGHT??!)

So, weather report, Spring has basically Sprung here.  It is seriously awesome, I love it.  There are daffodils and lambs and new produce and it is all la-di-dah very lovely. 

God I'm boring.  Sorry. 

things what i'm thinking, recently

What ho, chaps?

I haven't really covered all the good topics recently, have I?  In case you felt like you were missing out, here's the highlights package in a lovely little listicle:

• Royal baby: I approve.  Post-partum tummy? Real life, mah friends (or so I am told). 
• Simon Cowell's harem: well, bully for him.  Sounds like a baby will upset the pecking order. 
• Earthquakes: I felt one! In the office! In Auckland! That's ridiculous!  Guess what! I froze! I did not get under my desk! Hopeless in an emergency!
• Hilary Mantel: OH MY GOD SO GOOD.  Read her now.  Do it.
• Blonde: I am heading that way tomorrow (no, not a NEWS item as such, but then does the above really count?)
• Baths: are really not that great when you hop in, inhale in preparation for a big sigh of contentment and realise that you're searing your nostril linings with the acrid scent of bleach.  I think my MIL bleached the bathtub without my knowledge, which is super sweet.  I'm also super clean, having bathed in dilute sodium hypchlorite.
• Names for the North and South Island: OF COURSE Te Ika O Maui and Te Wai Pounamu should be known as such.  No one is taking away the right to call them the North and South Island because GEOGRAPHY. 
• Oh god, I'm feeling uncomfortable.  I think the gastroenteritis that has been passed round my rellies recently is headed my way. 

And on that note! Ta ta for now!

bad prose on poetry

Oh hallo Blog.  There you are!  I missed you while I was absent for five or so minutes.

Manhire to Music at the Auckland Writers and Readers Festival last Friday was excellent.  Bill Manhire's poetry is lovely, redolent of place/whimsy in a way I found delicious. 

I love this, for example: 'On Originality' Bill Manhire, via New Zealand Electronic Poetry Centre (I can't reproduce without permission, so I won't.  But please to follow the link and enjoy for yourselves.) 

They closed the piece with Hone Tuwhare's 'Rain'.  I can't find a link that doesn't make me feel all suspicious about copyright/attribution, but I walked past that poem every school day for the five years of my undergraduate study, and I think it's eaten it's way into my skin, living in the subcutaneous fat, an unacknowledged part of me.  That's also probably a breach of copyright, but then, nominal damages only?  It's beautiful. 

(oh - the Hone Tuwhare Charitable Trust site is here and features a copy.)

It was lovely to have the poet read aloud, lovely and emotive to hear those words set to music.  But I also wanted a copy of each poem in front of me so that I could devour the shape of it, study it further, use more of my senses.  Goes without saying I bought the book, hey? 

pictureless void no more

I can't stand looking at my pictureless blog just now, so Fuck Yeah, Books! has come through once again:  this time, it's introduced me to Awesome People Reading.  I can't even.  LOVE.

CHRISTOPHER PLUMMER READS
VIA AWESOME PEOPLE READING, PHOTOGRAPH BY ANDREW ECCLES

SIR IAN MCKELLEN READS (AND STARES INTO THE UNKNOWABLE)
VIA AWESOME PEOPLE READING, SOURCE NICK DRAKE

That's better. 

auckland can be just lovely

Hallo April, you're looking pretty.  Weather report: few drops of rain over the weekend, but also gorgeous sunny clear weather too.  P and I flopped down in the middle of Victoria Park yesterday because sunshine! and then I got eaten by a cloud of midges so you know, this extended summer business has its drawbacks too.

MUST TELL YOU: the Auckland Art Gallery Toi o Tamaki is magical!  I forgot my glasses so had a limited span during which enjoying the art was, well, enjoyable (gets a bit ruined when you have to stand next to the piece and squint) - but my gosh we had a superb visit yesterday.  The bit of the collection we saw was just lovely (largely New Zealand artists of the 20th century in the Toi Aotearoa exhibition) and the building itself was fantastic.  My favourite part was sitting on a balcony with a coffee, with a perfectly framed/unframed view of Albert Park and a twisty pohutukawa, complemented by native birdsong.  I chose that moment to break his bday surprise news - he's pretty excited. 

GRETCHEN ALBRECHT, GOLDEN CLOUD (1973) VIA

We'd wandered into the city on foot to see the gallery; we followed it up with a visit to Unity Books (fave bookshop, EVER, hands down) and mosey around the sunglasses stores (an unfortunate victim of R + A's wedding).  P and I were so drunk off our own lovely city/country that we ate Bluff oysters and drank Mission Reserve Chardonnay for lunch + felt blissfully happy/like proper Auckland nobs.  Easter Monday was lufferly. 

 

frost

I haven't got a lot for you today - just a link to a fab article by Kathryn Schulz on Robert Frost. 

When we were living in the States, we went on a wee roadie through New England, pitching up in Vermont to visit Robert Frost's grave.  I'm not usually a cemetary groupie (I don't seek out the tombs of the famous or infamous; though I love the history of a graveyard, celebrity spotting in this manner leaves me dead - no pun intended).  However, there is something about Frost's poetry that made we want to see where he was buried.  It was leaf-peeping season in New England - he is buried in a quaint, quintessentially colonial graveyard on a hillside, looking down onto a tree-lined valley in Vermont.  It was perfect.

FROST VIA.  HE ALWAYS SEEMED KIND OF CURMUDGEONLY TO ME (THROUGH HIS WORK), SO THIS PIC FITS THE BILL, EVEN THOUGH THE EXPRESSION IS A LITTLE SOFTER

Grandad loved Robert Frost (though he loved Burns even more.  Scottish heritage was big for Grandad T).  He was thrilled when I could recite Frost's poems to him verbatim as an 8 year old.  They used to make me feel a little hollow - his poems were so rhymey, conjuring very distilled scenes. However, they have very happy memories for me now on reflection - and this fantastic article made me see the cleverness of that crystal feeling of hollow articulated by Frost. 

Anyway, more words than expected on a dead poet.  And miles to go before I sleep. 

books

I love this tumblr.  So much.

FUCK YEAH, BOOKS AGAIN, VIA

I'm a book whore.  Will read and reread over and over and I love to get my sticky mitts on something new.  A friend recently suggested I get hold of the short stories of Haruki Murakami.  Wow, these were seriously emotive and just beautifully composed.  After reading them I spent a few days all horrendously introspective and, y'know, DEEP.  I felt incredibly disjointed and weird afterwards; next time I'll dole out the stories one by one instead of swallowing the collection whole like a glutton.  I don't think I've felt that unsettled since I read The Bone People.  You don't get that from a Marian Keyes novel, let me tell you (I'm not bashing Keyes or Murakami or, indeed Keri Hulme - I read and enjoy them all in different ways).

All in all a lengthy way of saying I'm looking for some new booky inspiration for my trip away this week.  Tomorrow evening we're on a plane to Croatia; very much looking forward to it.  I've got my fingers crossed for some sunshine as we are hopping on a boat for a substantial chunk of the trip.  I'm not the most seasoned of yacht passengers, that's for sure.  I will do my level best to keep the vom under control - wish me luck!

Please excuse my bloggy absence for the next week; I shall return with hopefully abundant tales and pictures of interesting people and places. 

In the meantime, lay your fave holiday books on me...

thirty is the new something-something?

Sooooooooooooo.....you know how I've been all "30?  I'm fine with 30!  In your 30s you know who you are, are comfortable in your own skin, hit your sexual peak (if lucky enough to a woman, sorry boys you've been on the downhill for aaaages)" etc etc?  I've just been emailing Hat Friend extensively over this 30 business and we've been pretty self-congratulatory about how incredibly cool we are about it.

AN IGLOO MADE OF BOOKS BY MILLER LAGOS VIA FUCK YEAH, BOOKS
I NEED THIS IGLOO AS MY SAFE PLACE.  READ INTO THAT WHAT YOU WILL, IMAGINARY THERAPIST

Just had a minor moment, checking a new tick box on the medical history forms needed for a dental check-up at a new practice.  30.  Wow.  Which was compounded by receiving an email from the SIL about whether I wanted her to save her newborn baby clothes - would I be sprogging up in the next 1 to 2 years?  She meant well but HOLY CRAP that freaked ten types of shit out of me.  Suddenly, the implications and societal expectations regarding being married, moving closer to home and turning 30 have just become apparent to me.  And here I was all "I'm turning 30 and then four days later I'll be unemployed and wandering the world, fuck I'm so COOL and HIP and YOUNG don't you worry about me" when what I was actually doing was EVERYTHING people expect you to do when you get married and turn 30. 

Sorry, I'll try to fucking ARTICULATE next time.  This is a RANT. 

I just said thanks, but no thanks on the baby stuff.  I'm having enough trouble deciding what to eat for dinner let alone thinking about when I'm going to spawn.  Actually, that reaction right there has calmed me a little. If I were properly grown up, I might, you know, not have lost my shit at a well meant and kind offer.

As you were. 

weird free association

My god I'm terrible at ten pin bowling.  That's I what I learned this weekend (didn't need to learn I hated losing; already knew it).

I went with friends to an undisclosed location in Cambridgeshire for the weekend.  FINALLY FINALLY the sun came out and though it was crisp, we had some good weather this weekend for which I am eternally grateful.  I am also eternally grateful to have lovely friends who appreciate the value of laughter, even if it's IN MY FACE when I bowl yet another gutter ball.  Thanks guys; keeping me humble since ages ago. 

The fens in the East of England were verdant.  I spent an inordinate amount of time on the train on the way home thinking about fens and wondering if all the visions I'd had of Cathy and Heathcliff were completely geographically inaccurate.  I think I was seeing some kind of marshy arrangement but with heather for moors?  In any case, the fens were lovely and the rape flowers were glowing eerily where ever we looked. 

 CAMBRIDGESHIRE, MAY 13 2012.

Fields of rape always seem to have a kind of otherworldly glow to me, irrespective of the lighting and the time of day.  I always think of the ectoplasm from Ghostbusters when I see rape; I think I have a problem.*  Everything comes back to some kind of pop culture reference, which reminds me that I was flicking channels last night and came across a young Dan Ackroyd and Jamie Lee Curtis.  Made me infinitely happier than it should; P and I launched into Blues Brothers/Ghostbusters reminisces followed by a detailed dissection of the body count in True Lies.  WE ARE SO COOL. 

*Fields of rape are planted for rapeseed oil, just in case I needed to clarify that.  I appreciate this sentence sounds horrific if you don't realise I'm talking about the plant - SICK SICK SICK AND VILE! 

literary admissions

London suburbs are sweetened by little lumps of opportunity shops.  These shops tend to run in packs - two or three together - at the end of a high street, or just round a corner.  We suburb-hop of a weekend in London and my heart swells when I find the op-shop stores in a new suburb.  I give a cursory glance at the glassware collections (vintage champagne glasses can be identified in an easy ocular sweep of a shelf), run my fingers through the plastic ropes of beads, and then swoop on the inevitable, wonderful stacks of plyboard holding up a treasure chest of pre-loved books.

In bookstores and libraries, op-shops and other people's homes, I have a distinctive spine-reading head tilt.  Left to right across a shelf, then right to left on the shelf above or below, eyes angled to run like fingertips across the angular undulations of a row of books. 

SPINES

Like the black jellybean in a packet, some literary collections in an op-shop are an acquired taste.  I don't often select tomes from the extensive collections of chick-lit and romance novels, but I do love to compare the pictures on the front (a Mills & Boon aficionado friend, at 18: "avoid anything with a baby on the cover.  Always unsatisfying.").  Do these books make their way in droves to the second hand stores because, once read, their previous owners are ashamed to let them grace the bookcase? 

I recall a guest - a boyfriend of P's friend - commenting on my bookshelf some years ago.  He didn't realise I was in earshot and called us wanky for having a dictionary.  Didn't he know it was a gift? I thought.  Didn't he realise how supremely useful a dictionary could be?  I think it was the first conscious realisation that someone's taste in books was akin to a taste in art and was subject to the judgement of others.  The guest went on to insult P's CD collection and choice of music to P's face and, unsurprisingly, never graced our apartment again. ("Oh that dick", we said, on learning P's friend was seeing him again).  Challenge me, yes.  Mock me gently to my face, I'll blush and try to serve it back.  But nobody, bar nobody, who wants to drink my wine bags my dictionary.  Now there's a line in the sand for you.

There is always a Stephenie Meyer book at the op-shop these days.  I think there are a multitude of women who have secretly tried Edward Cullen on for size and clearly, for some, he's been found wanting.

But you never know when there will be a dog eared copy of Dickens, a scraggly paged travel guide of Spain (the best sights in foreign places never go out of date like an old edition.  Who needs the hostel recommendations when you've got 5 words of the language and a map?) or, my favourite find to date, a beautiful red and gold leather bound Austen, pages crisped to a faded yellow. 

£1.50.