oh, boy- this is fun! further droubble challenge from Liz (see previous posts here and here for explanations of drabbles and droubbles respectively, if you missed it) this time, even more source words. the list is mine. i gave her the first part, and then she asked for some more so, evil cow that i am, i trotted on over to http://www.savethewords.org/ (where you can adopt sadly neglected words and love them and use them and save them from extinction) and picked a few of the little darlings at random.
thing is, i forgot to write down what they mean, so when i came back online a couple of days later, it was to find that Liz had had a bit of a problem with some of the definitions. even the all-powerful Google couldn't find some of them. despite counting this as a sort of obscure victory over The Man (albeit a hollow one, since this means that some of those words are even more forgotten than i realized), i thought i'd better send a few explanations. first, though, i had to go find them again on the website. (if you go have a look, you'll see why this caused one or two problems for me). eventually, i did find the original words and their meanings. and so, without further ado, here is the list, and the ensuing droubble (i've included unusual word definitions at the end):
orca / furtive / seminal / lozenge / treetop / hasten / gleimous / tortiloquy / adimpleate / nidifice / ducenarious / aquabib
The furtive sucking on a lozenge did nothing to reduce his gleimous state. His head felt the size of an orca, and he stared gloomily at the ducenarious used tissues he'd managed to adimpleate with his bodily secretions over the past few days. In his semi- catatonic state, he'd been reduced to dozing in front of the television, floating in and out of consciousness whilst "Parliament Today" droned on before him. From his nidifice on the sofa, he'd observed some seminal tortiloquy and had been impressed, until he realised that this was what politicians did all day, every day.
The worst thing about all of this was not the aching joints, the phlegm, or the lack of energy. It was the fact that he'd been turned into an aquabib during the holiday drinking season. The abstinence was killing him. He wanted to be singing raucousy in the streets, or swinging from a frozen city-centre treetop. Instead, he was confined to the house, whilst his mates sent him texts and pictures of all the fun they were having. Grimacing, he drank more orange juice in an attempt to hasten his recovery so he could go and raise hell at New Year.
gleimous (full of phlegm) / tortiloquy (dishonest or immoral speech - talking around stuff) / adimpleate (to fill up) / nidifice (a nest) / ducenarious (pertaining to two hundred) / aquabib (water-drinker)
.
Wednesday, 29 December 2010
Monday, 27 December 2010
christmas and drabbles and droubbles
so christmas is over. all of the rushing around is done, the presents have been given and received, too much food has been consumed, and life is beginning to show signs of returning to normal.
thank the gods for that!
it was a quiet day in the end - just me and hubby at my aunty's, along with my parents and great uncle. it was slow and lovely. as was the food. *happy sigh*
the following two days (today and yesterday) have been somewhat more trying though.
i have three grown-up stepchildren (aged from 17 to 21). eldest stepson and partner have an eight-month-old. they all have very long legs. and there is only seating for five adults in our front room. given that the main activity when they come round tends to be computer games, and we have one less seat than we need, i have spent most of the last two days in the kitchen, wandering around on the internet, and doing little of use. i tried to edit Cirque Du Seul, but the kitchen chairs are not the most cofortable in the world, and i just couldn't get into it.
tonight, they left, and the peace is bliss. i think Literary Kitteh was happy to see them go, too. the minute the front door shut behind them, he was happily curled up on the settee, snoozing as only a kitteh can. and i have been writing a little.
anyone who saw the last couple of posts will perhaps have seen comments and some excellent drabbles from Liz. this evening, she asked me for some different source words so, with an evil laugh, i gave her "ennui", "squamous", and "shriven". she then announced that she was upping the word limit to 250.
now ok - i'll admit that this bothered me a little. in art, conventions and rules can be bent and broken with gay abandon by whosoever should wish to do so - that's one of the glorious things about it. sometimes it produces genius, sometimes a big steaming pile of... well, never mind. you get the idea, i'm sure. but personally? i rather like artistic conventions. i find they give me structure and purpose when i would otherwise be flailing around and in steaming territory. clear parameters are something i find i need more than i would have thought possible. still in the playpen, you see.
anyway, i went and had a dip in wikipedia, and found that the definition of a drabble has become somewhat more loose than i initially thought. however, i still rather like the pushing and wriggling of trying to fit into the 100 word constraint. it's an interesting challenge. but there is, apparently, such a thing as a "droubble" or a double drabble (see the end of the article). exactly 200 words. so i put this to Liz, and she agreed. she suggested, though, that since this is double the word limit, we should have double the source words. fine by me. i'd actually already started writing my droubble by this point, but that's fine - it's a further challenge to see if i can crowbar the words into what i had in mind. but she has not, as yet, got back to me with those three extra source words, so i have finished the one i was writing, and await the arrival of the new words. when they arrive, i may, indeed, try and crowbar them in, or i may just (which is also more likely) write a whole new one. here's the droubble wot i wrote, anyway - along with a couple of drabbles that also happened this evening:
droubble
ennui/squamous/shriven
He had done everything. He had swum with dolphins, playing with them in the crystalline waters of the Caribbean. He had jumped from a high bridge attached to a piece of elastic cord. He had witnessed a sunrise from space, and a sunset from the top of a mountain. He had travelled through deserts and jungles and cities and tundra, drinking in all that was on offer from the landscape around him.
And then ennui had set in. Surely his odyssey had shown him all that this shrunken planet had to offer. After all, he had flown the length and breadth of the planet more times than he could count. What could there be that he had not already seen? He returned to his vast mansion set in its endless acres and gloomily flipped through his electronic photo library, looking for details that he may have missed. And then it hit him. Staring at an accidental picture of his shoe, his squamous eyes opened, and he felt shriven of the soul- weariness plaguing him. Rushing to his vast wardrobe, he grabbed the first pair of walking boots he could find, and set off into the world.
This time, on foot.
drabbles
effortless / doubt / propensity
She envied others' art. The seemingly effortless melding of incidents and accidents that produced things of great terror and beauty filled her with longing. The propensity to doubt her own abilities led her to dismiss those who told her she had talent, and to seek darker avenues to improve her own art.
Trading with demons in dark alleys, she swapped a piece of her soul for each new ability. At last, she had what she thought she needed. Exhibiting her works to the world, she proudly waited for reviews to flood in. A tide of comments containing one word:
"Soulless."
dissolve / books / revolution
The revolution had come and gone. It left in its wake a vague feeling of "Meet the new boss - same as the old boss". And one other difference. There were no more books. The glorious republic had decided that books were antiquated, had outlived their time. But no matter. There was all the new technology that still allowed storytelling without all of that cumbersome paper getting in the way. Now there was only the sharp clarity of electrical impulses speaking to each other. But without the feel, sight and smell of books, the culture began slowly, imperceptibly, to dissolve.
still waiting for those words, Liz... ;o)
.
(edit - added after comments posted)
so as you can see in the comments, i got my three extra words, and made this:
ennui/squamous/shriven/sniffle/evocative/muse
The ennui had passed.
The slithering, squamous creatures that haunted his dreams had ceased their vile hissing whispers. He'd laboured in darkness for seeming aeons, hacking and scratching with rusty pen and clotted ink at damp, spongy paper. Not an evocative word in sight. The moist chill in the air making him sniffle interminably, he'd pushed his way through the thorny vines of writer's block, wondering if his torment would ever end. He knew he'd brought it on himself. By allowing himself to become distracted by the worst dregs of popular culture, he'd alienated his sensitive and capricious muse, and she'd left. Her punishment was harsh. Unrelenting. He'd toiled for weeks on end to make amends - eschewing television, newspaper, magazine and radio, just to create sufficient space for her. He decorated the space with strange blooms, sumptuous fabrics, elegant sweetmeats and champagne. He carried it in his head as he hacked through the stinking, half-rotted vegetation of z-list celebrity and tabloid journalism, cradling it carefully and keeping it inviolate.
Eventually, a ray of golden inspiration hit him full in the face and, as he felt her pour into the space he'd so carefully created, he knew he was shriven.
.
thank the gods for that!
it was a quiet day in the end - just me and hubby at my aunty's, along with my parents and great uncle. it was slow and lovely. as was the food. *happy sigh*
the following two days (today and yesterday) have been somewhat more trying though.
i have three grown-up stepchildren (aged from 17 to 21). eldest stepson and partner have an eight-month-old. they all have very long legs. and there is only seating for five adults in our front room. given that the main activity when they come round tends to be computer games, and we have one less seat than we need, i have spent most of the last two days in the kitchen, wandering around on the internet, and doing little of use. i tried to edit Cirque Du Seul, but the kitchen chairs are not the most cofortable in the world, and i just couldn't get into it.
tonight, they left, and the peace is bliss. i think Literary Kitteh was happy to see them go, too. the minute the front door shut behind them, he was happily curled up on the settee, snoozing as only a kitteh can. and i have been writing a little.
anyone who saw the last couple of posts will perhaps have seen comments and some excellent drabbles from Liz. this evening, she asked me for some different source words so, with an evil laugh, i gave her "ennui", "squamous", and "shriven". she then announced that she was upping the word limit to 250.
now ok - i'll admit that this bothered me a little. in art, conventions and rules can be bent and broken with gay abandon by whosoever should wish to do so - that's one of the glorious things about it. sometimes it produces genius, sometimes a big steaming pile of... well, never mind. you get the idea, i'm sure. but personally? i rather like artistic conventions. i find they give me structure and purpose when i would otherwise be flailing around and in steaming territory. clear parameters are something i find i need more than i would have thought possible. still in the playpen, you see.
anyway, i went and had a dip in wikipedia, and found that the definition of a drabble has become somewhat more loose than i initially thought. however, i still rather like the pushing and wriggling of trying to fit into the 100 word constraint. it's an interesting challenge. but there is, apparently, such a thing as a "droubble" or a double drabble (see the end of the article). exactly 200 words. so i put this to Liz, and she agreed. she suggested, though, that since this is double the word limit, we should have double the source words. fine by me. i'd actually already started writing my droubble by this point, but that's fine - it's a further challenge to see if i can crowbar the words into what i had in mind. but she has not, as yet, got back to me with those three extra source words, so i have finished the one i was writing, and await the arrival of the new words. when they arrive, i may, indeed, try and crowbar them in, or i may just (which is also more likely) write a whole new one. here's the droubble wot i wrote, anyway - along with a couple of drabbles that also happened this evening:
droubble
ennui/squamous/shriven
He had done everything. He had swum with dolphins, playing with them in the crystalline waters of the Caribbean. He had jumped from a high bridge attached to a piece of elastic cord. He had witnessed a sunrise from space, and a sunset from the top of a mountain. He had travelled through deserts and jungles and cities and tundra, drinking in all that was on offer from the landscape around him.
And then ennui had set in. Surely his odyssey had shown him all that this shrunken planet had to offer. After all, he had flown the length and breadth of the planet more times than he could count. What could there be that he had not already seen? He returned to his vast mansion set in its endless acres and gloomily flipped through his electronic photo library, looking for details that he may have missed. And then it hit him. Staring at an accidental picture of his shoe, his squamous eyes opened, and he felt shriven of the soul- weariness plaguing him. Rushing to his vast wardrobe, he grabbed the first pair of walking boots he could find, and set off into the world.
This time, on foot.
drabbles
effortless / doubt / propensity
She envied others' art. The seemingly effortless melding of incidents and accidents that produced things of great terror and beauty filled her with longing. The propensity to doubt her own abilities led her to dismiss those who told her she had talent, and to seek darker avenues to improve her own art.
Trading with demons in dark alleys, she swapped a piece of her soul for each new ability. At last, she had what she thought she needed. Exhibiting her works to the world, she proudly waited for reviews to flood in. A tide of comments containing one word:
"Soulless."
dissolve / books / revolution
The revolution had come and gone. It left in its wake a vague feeling of "Meet the new boss - same as the old boss". And one other difference. There were no more books. The glorious republic had decided that books were antiquated, had outlived their time. But no matter. There was all the new technology that still allowed storytelling without all of that cumbersome paper getting in the way. Now there was only the sharp clarity of electrical impulses speaking to each other. But without the feel, sight and smell of books, the culture began slowly, imperceptibly, to dissolve.
still waiting for those words, Liz... ;o)
.
(edit - added after comments posted)
so as you can see in the comments, i got my three extra words, and made this:
ennui/squamous/shriven/sniffle/evocative/muse
The ennui had passed.
The slithering, squamous creatures that haunted his dreams had ceased their vile hissing whispers. He'd laboured in darkness for seeming aeons, hacking and scratching with rusty pen and clotted ink at damp, spongy paper. Not an evocative word in sight. The moist chill in the air making him sniffle interminably, he'd pushed his way through the thorny vines of writer's block, wondering if his torment would ever end. He knew he'd brought it on himself. By allowing himself to become distracted by the worst dregs of popular culture, he'd alienated his sensitive and capricious muse, and she'd left. Her punishment was harsh. Unrelenting. He'd toiled for weeks on end to make amends - eschewing television, newspaper, magazine and radio, just to create sufficient space for her. He decorated the space with strange blooms, sumptuous fabrics, elegant sweetmeats and champagne. He carried it in his head as he hacked through the stinking, half-rotted vegetation of z-list celebrity and tabloid journalism, cradling it carefully and keeping it inviolate.
Eventually, a ray of golden inspiration hit him full in the face and, as he felt her pour into the space he'd so carefully created, he knew he was shriven.
.
Wednesday, 22 December 2010
to challenge, or...oooh! shiny thing!
soooo... whilst fighting the cat for posession of my lap and trying to prevent him from treading all over the keyboard, i was perusing the blog of the lady who has been Drabbling so marvellously all over the comments of my previous post (hi Liz! *waves*). I saw that she was doing a thirty day blog challenge. (...uh... what happened to that, BTW - xmas get in the way...? *sympathy*), and I thought it might be a somewhat interesting exercise. i mean - i know hardly anybody ever reads this poor wittering, but perhaps i'll learn something about myself...? maybe. anyway - it's a leeeetle late in the month to start it now. 22 days of posting all at once is a bit of a tall order. and would probably be information overload., anyway. so perhaps i'll have a stab at it in january, when the times are cold and bleak and post-christmassy boring. and try and lick NaNo 2010 into shape at the same time. or maybe, as usually happens, i'll be distracted by a shiny thing and fail.
we'll see. here are the questions, anyway...
Day 01 — Your favorite song
Day 02 — Your favorite movie
Day 03 — Your favorite television program
Day 04 — Your favorite book
Day 05 — Your favorite quote
Day 06 — Whatever tickles your fancy
Day 07 — A photo that makes you happy
Day 08 — A photo that makes you angry/sad
Day 09 — A photo you took
Day 10 — A photo of you taken over ten years ago
Day 11 — A photo of you taken recently
Day 12 — Whatever tickles your fancy
Day 13 — A fictional book
Day 14 — A non-fictional book
Day 15 — A fanfic
Day 16 — A song that makes you cry (or nearly)
Day 17 — An art piece (painting, drawing, sculpture, etc.)
Day 18 — Whatever tickles your fancy
Day 19 — A talent of yours
Day 20 — A hobby of yours
Day 21 — A recipe
Day 22 — A website
Day 23 — A YouTube video
Day 24 — Whatever tickles your fancy
Day 25 — Your day, in great detail
Day 26 — Your week, in great detail
Day 27 — This month, in great detail
Day 28 — This year, in great detail
Day 29 — Hopes, dreams and plans for the next 365 days
Day 30 — Whatever tickles your fancy
so, whaddya reckon? should i do it? do you care what Squeaky's favourite book / film / whatever is? come to think of it, does Squeaky even care...?
answers in the comments...
.
we'll see. here are the questions, anyway...
Day 01 — Your favorite song
Day 02 — Your favorite movie
Day 03 — Your favorite television program
Day 04 — Your favorite book
Day 05 — Your favorite quote
Day 06 — Whatever tickles your fancy
Day 07 — A photo that makes you happy
Day 08 — A photo that makes you angry/sad
Day 09 — A photo you took
Day 10 — A photo of you taken over ten years ago
Day 11 — A photo of you taken recently
Day 12 — Whatever tickles your fancy
Day 13 — A fictional book
Day 14 — A non-fictional book
Day 15 — A fanfic
Day 16 — A song that makes you cry (or nearly)
Day 17 — An art piece (painting, drawing, sculpture, etc.)
Day 18 — Whatever tickles your fancy
Day 19 — A talent of yours
Day 20 — A hobby of yours
Day 21 — A recipe
Day 22 — A website
Day 23 — A YouTube video
Day 24 — Whatever tickles your fancy
Day 25 — Your day, in great detail
Day 26 — Your week, in great detail
Day 27 — This month, in great detail
Day 28 — This year, in great detail
Day 29 — Hopes, dreams and plans for the next 365 days
Day 30 — Whatever tickles your fancy
so, whaddya reckon? should i do it? do you care what Squeaky's favourite book / film / whatever is? come to think of it, does Squeaky even care...?
answers in the comments...
.
Sunday, 19 December 2010
christmas and flash and drabbles.
well... it seems quite some time since i last blogged... i suppose it is, since the last time i did, it was to crow about being a NaNoWriMo winner again... nothing much has happened, since, anyway.
Max The Literary Kitteh continues to be utterly, utterly gorgeous and adorable (apart from his breath... eugh! :oP he needs his teeth cleaning, i think...) and to sit all over me and purr thunderously whenever i'm on the pooter. or even just sat down, actually. i'm better padded than hubby, you see... also, i have a fondness for hot water bottles which he, being a cat, shares completely. as we do the hot water bottles.
so... like i said, not a lot's been going on. apart from Christmas preperations, of course. i have been unbelievably crap this year. so many people are getting money or amazon vouchers, i'm just anticipating how many times i'll be repeating:
"No, we* weren't sure what to get you and we thought rather than get you something you might not need or like here's and essentially boring and unimagintive christmas present that just shows how utterly crap i am at this sort of thing apart from the odd genius flash of inspiration that happens about once every two ears and unfortunately that didn't happen for anyone this year...."
*(n.b for "we" in this contex, read "me" - hubby doesn't really do the getting of presents in our house - no pressure at all... :-/)
would anyone care to open a sweepstake on it...?
hmph. bah bloody humbug. oh, well - at least we'll get to see friends we don't see nearly often enough.
although, to be fair to myself, i *did* in fact manage to aquire, wrap and post presents for my brother, sister-in-law and niece in astonishingly good time this year. was actually quite proud of this achievement (despite the fact that the parcel also contained sis-in-law's birthday present which should have reached her by the 5th of november... *facepalm*) and continuing the theme of being fair to myself, there were, in fact, lot of things that we (I) thought of that would make perfect presents. but not being a Rothschild heiress or willing to go deeply into debt, i set a £20 limit on each person's gift. i do not wish to start 2011 in hock, TVM...
in other (though related) news, last thursday evening, i was home alone for the one night a year that hubby sleeps elsewhere. it was his christmas do at work and the tradition is that the boss takes everyone out for a meal, and then gets them all rat-arsed. he hires rooms for those who do not live within walking distance, and they all get about four hours sleep and raging hangovers to go to work on the following day. since he works about 20 miles away, hubby is one of those put up in a B&B for the night. so it was just me and teh kitteh. having watched BBC4's adaptation of Dirk Gently's Holistic Detective Agency by Douglas Adams (excellent, by the way - genius casting of Stephen Mangan as Dirk), at about 10:30, i got the urge to write a bit of flash fiction. but having absolutely no idea of what to write, i turned to Twitter for a bit of inspiration. asking for some random words, @eroticnotebook and @cha0tic obliged me very nicely (thanks, chaps!! :o) here are the results, with the words that inspired them:
Stripes gloss tangle (via @eroticnotebook)
Is it the gloss of her oh-so-kissable lips? The sun-born stripes in her artful tangle of hair? Or is it the sparkle in her eyes behind those cute black-framed glasses? Haven't a clue. Nor do I know when it was I first looked at her and knew I had a crush. But I do.
Every day, I see her. She walks the halls looking so fey, as if she'd just stepped out of Tir-Na-Nog for a delighted wander through the heaviness of the mortal world The clothes she wears are of the fashion, but on her they somehow become... other. Nothing really floats, nothing is really rich, or diaphanous, or... or... well, anything, really. But - and yes, I know it's a cliché - somehow, the way she wears them... it makes me sigh. She inhabits the space around her as if the world was perfectly formed to fit her, and she moves through it on the lightest of feet encased in the most damnably sensible and masculine shoes I ever saw on such a creature of faerie. She sits in a throne and lights the people around her to a soft, golden glow. We've barely ever spoken but, even from a distance, she makes the day a somehow softer and more artistic space in time.
~ fin ~
Brick, Bandage, Pins, Backstage Pass, Pipe, Lighter fuel, Charger, Strobe, Watch (via @cha0tic)
The brick walls seep moisture. It's dank in here. It smells of clothes that have been left in the washing machine for a week, at the height of summer. A lone, miserable backstage pass lies in a corner, abandoned; still tangled in the lanyard that, in more energetic times, proudly displayed it around some young and fiery guitarist's neck. No energy left, now. Only lethargic inertia and decay. Congealed dust decorates every surface, clumping into weird shapes that tell the future more surely than any entrailed augury. They spell out the message, "The end is nigh." Rusted pins hold fragments of rotted paper to the oozing baize surface of a once-busy noticeboard. Random objects lie forgotten on odd surfaces. A smashed watch. A strobe that stopped working on the same long-distant night the club closed for the last time. An upended and useless tin of lighter fuel. A small plastic soldier, mounted on a white charger with only three legs. A length of bandage displaying brown smears on its wrinkled and greying surface.
The dripping of a cracked pipe on the sodden and sucking carpet is silenced forever as the wrecking ball obliterates the ghosts of glory days long gone.
~ fin ~
i was quite pleased that the results were at least readable. i tweeted them (with apologies for how depressing the second one was), and got some generous replies from some very nice people (if you're reading this, thank you all!). also an injunction never to apologise for having created something. which was lovely, and made me smile.
i enjoyed the exercise so much that, last night, i decided i'd like to repeat it. i asked for more words, and was deluged by my Twitterfriends. here's what they gave me this time:
oblige /dedication / label /sliced /sticky / marmalade and orange jam / herring / candle snuffers / Aliona Vilani's arse / stationary / propensity /constipation / germination / soft / effortless / heartache / dissolve / revolution /epiphany / revelation / exile / flood / depression / inquisition / debut / doubt / reason / tamales / books
all of these from @skypethis_24601, @DangerousSweets, @EbonyHampl, @thextraman, @TehAntiBubble, @DylynnDeSaint and @monkeystreehous. an embarrassment of riches! i decided i'd write some drabbles (for those who don't know, a drabble is a sort fiction of exactly 100 words - no easy task, but a delightful if, at times, frustrting thing to write). i took all of the words and mixed them up as best i could, producing several groups of three (getting hubby to provide one more to make it all even - he gave me "honey"), and proceeded to drabble. i only managed two last night, viz:
Label / sticky / marmalade
She never watched the show as a kid but, somehow, one episode stuck in her memory. The end of the world was coming, and there were these funny little creatures on a quest to save it. There was no rushing around, no panic - just a quiet dignity, and determination to get things done that stuck in her head; along with the sinister orange glow of a sun too large, old and swollen to care. She looked down, to where her ravaged fingernails picked at the label on a jar of marmalade. Outside, the sky was the same heavy, sticky colour.
and
germination / depression / herring
A depression in the soil may cradle a seed. The rain may fall, and the sun may shine. These, and countless other factors may, in time, lead to the germination of that seed, along with thousands of its siblings.
Likewise, a depression in life may cradle a seed, an idea. Into this life, the rain may fall, the sun may shine, and myriad other circumstances may lead to sprouting, flowering, the bearing of fruit. The cliché of the suffering artist is not so very far from the nature of the physical world. Or it could all be a red herring...
i'm looking forward to sinking my teeth into the rest, though, the next time i fancy a delicious writerly snack. :o)
here are the other trios i made - why don't you have a go yourself and send me the results?
effortless / doubt / propensity
dissolve / books / revolution
epiphany / sliced / inquisition
exile / constipation / dedication
reason / debut / tamales
candle snuffers / stationary / heartache
oblige / revelation / flood
soft / arse / honey
.
added edit: this post did have a tag for the "general uselessness of me", but i was ordered to remove it by the delightful @TehAntiBubble - and you do not mess with Teh Bubbles. ma'am, yes ma'am! *salutes* XXX
.
Max The Literary Kitteh continues to be utterly, utterly gorgeous and adorable (apart from his breath... eugh! :oP he needs his teeth cleaning, i think...) and to sit all over me and purr thunderously whenever i'm on the pooter. or even just sat down, actually. i'm better padded than hubby, you see... also, i have a fondness for hot water bottles which he, being a cat, shares completely. as we do the hot water bottles.
so... like i said, not a lot's been going on. apart from Christmas preperations, of course. i have been unbelievably crap this year. so many people are getting money or amazon vouchers, i'm just anticipating how many times i'll be repeating:
"No, we* weren't sure what to get you and we thought rather than get you something you might not need or like here's and essentially boring and unimagintive christmas present that just shows how utterly crap i am at this sort of thing apart from the odd genius flash of inspiration that happens about once every two ears and unfortunately that didn't happen for anyone this year...."
*(n.b for "we" in this contex, read "me" - hubby doesn't really do the getting of presents in our house - no pressure at all... :-/)
would anyone care to open a sweepstake on it...?
hmph. bah bloody humbug. oh, well - at least we'll get to see friends we don't see nearly often enough.
although, to be fair to myself, i *did* in fact manage to aquire, wrap and post presents for my brother, sister-in-law and niece in astonishingly good time this year. was actually quite proud of this achievement (despite the fact that the parcel also contained sis-in-law's birthday present which should have reached her by the 5th of november... *facepalm*) and continuing the theme of being fair to myself, there were, in fact, lot of things that we (I) thought of that would make perfect presents. but not being a Rothschild heiress or willing to go deeply into debt, i set a £20 limit on each person's gift. i do not wish to start 2011 in hock, TVM...
in other (though related) news, last thursday evening, i was home alone for the one night a year that hubby sleeps elsewhere. it was his christmas do at work and the tradition is that the boss takes everyone out for a meal, and then gets them all rat-arsed. he hires rooms for those who do not live within walking distance, and they all get about four hours sleep and raging hangovers to go to work on the following day. since he works about 20 miles away, hubby is one of those put up in a B&B for the night. so it was just me and teh kitteh. having watched BBC4's adaptation of Dirk Gently's Holistic Detective Agency by Douglas Adams (excellent, by the way - genius casting of Stephen Mangan as Dirk), at about 10:30, i got the urge to write a bit of flash fiction. but having absolutely no idea of what to write, i turned to Twitter for a bit of inspiration. asking for some random words, @eroticnotebook and @cha0tic obliged me very nicely (thanks, chaps!! :o) here are the results, with the words that inspired them:
Stripes gloss tangle (via @eroticnotebook)
Is it the gloss of her oh-so-kissable lips? The sun-born stripes in her artful tangle of hair? Or is it the sparkle in her eyes behind those cute black-framed glasses? Haven't a clue. Nor do I know when it was I first looked at her and knew I had a crush. But I do.
Every day, I see her. She walks the halls looking so fey, as if she'd just stepped out of Tir-Na-Nog for a delighted wander through the heaviness of the mortal world The clothes she wears are of the fashion, but on her they somehow become... other. Nothing really floats, nothing is really rich, or diaphanous, or... or... well, anything, really. But - and yes, I know it's a cliché - somehow, the way she wears them... it makes me sigh. She inhabits the space around her as if the world was perfectly formed to fit her, and she moves through it on the lightest of feet encased in the most damnably sensible and masculine shoes I ever saw on such a creature of faerie. She sits in a throne and lights the people around her to a soft, golden glow. We've barely ever spoken but, even from a distance, she makes the day a somehow softer and more artistic space in time.
~ fin ~
Brick, Bandage, Pins, Backstage Pass, Pipe, Lighter fuel, Charger, Strobe, Watch (via @cha0tic)
The brick walls seep moisture. It's dank in here. It smells of clothes that have been left in the washing machine for a week, at the height of summer. A lone, miserable backstage pass lies in a corner, abandoned; still tangled in the lanyard that, in more energetic times, proudly displayed it around some young and fiery guitarist's neck. No energy left, now. Only lethargic inertia and decay. Congealed dust decorates every surface, clumping into weird shapes that tell the future more surely than any entrailed augury. They spell out the message, "The end is nigh." Rusted pins hold fragments of rotted paper to the oozing baize surface of a once-busy noticeboard. Random objects lie forgotten on odd surfaces. A smashed watch. A strobe that stopped working on the same long-distant night the club closed for the last time. An upended and useless tin of lighter fuel. A small plastic soldier, mounted on a white charger with only three legs. A length of bandage displaying brown smears on its wrinkled and greying surface.
The dripping of a cracked pipe on the sodden and sucking carpet is silenced forever as the wrecking ball obliterates the ghosts of glory days long gone.
~ fin ~
i was quite pleased that the results were at least readable. i tweeted them (with apologies for how depressing the second one was), and got some generous replies from some very nice people (if you're reading this, thank you all!). also an injunction never to apologise for having created something. which was lovely, and made me smile.
i enjoyed the exercise so much that, last night, i decided i'd like to repeat it. i asked for more words, and was deluged by my Twitterfriends. here's what they gave me this time:
oblige /dedication / label /sliced /sticky / marmalade and orange jam / herring / candle snuffers / Aliona Vilani's arse / stationary / propensity /constipation / germination / soft / effortless / heartache / dissolve / revolution /epiphany / revelation / exile / flood / depression / inquisition / debut / doubt / reason / tamales / books
all of these from @skypethis_24601, @DangerousSweets, @EbonyHampl, @thextraman, @TehAntiBubble, @DylynnDeSaint and @monkeystreehous. an embarrassment of riches! i decided i'd write some drabbles (for those who don't know, a drabble is a sort fiction of exactly 100 words - no easy task, but a delightful if, at times, frustrting thing to write). i took all of the words and mixed them up as best i could, producing several groups of three (getting hubby to provide one more to make it all even - he gave me "honey"), and proceeded to drabble. i only managed two last night, viz:
Label / sticky / marmalade
She never watched the show as a kid but, somehow, one episode stuck in her memory. The end of the world was coming, and there were these funny little creatures on a quest to save it. There was no rushing around, no panic - just a quiet dignity, and determination to get things done that stuck in her head; along with the sinister orange glow of a sun too large, old and swollen to care. She looked down, to where her ravaged fingernails picked at the label on a jar of marmalade. Outside, the sky was the same heavy, sticky colour.
and
germination / depression / herring
A depression in the soil may cradle a seed. The rain may fall, and the sun may shine. These, and countless other factors may, in time, lead to the germination of that seed, along with thousands of its siblings.
Likewise, a depression in life may cradle a seed, an idea. Into this life, the rain may fall, the sun may shine, and myriad other circumstances may lead to sprouting, flowering, the bearing of fruit. The cliché of the suffering artist is not so very far from the nature of the physical world. Or it could all be a red herring...
i'm looking forward to sinking my teeth into the rest, though, the next time i fancy a delicious writerly snack. :o)
here are the other trios i made - why don't you have a go yourself and send me the results?
effortless / doubt / propensity
dissolve / books / revolution
epiphany / sliced / inquisition
exile / constipation / dedication
reason / debut / tamales
candle snuffers / stationary / heartache
oblige / revelation / flood
soft / arse / honey
.
added edit: this post did have a tag for the "general uselessness of me", but i was ordered to remove it by the delightful @TehAntiBubble - and you do not mess with Teh Bubbles. ma'am, yes ma'am! *salutes* XXX
.
Wednesday, 1 December 2010
NaNoWriMo again
so there you have it. thirty days of slog, and here i am. the proud author of my THIRD NOVEL!!!
i can hardly believe it, but i've done it again, and i'm a winner again! :D
and this year, i think i might actually have written something vaguely worth reading, after last year's debacle. although to be fair, i haven't read it back yet, so time will, inevitably, tell. but i have hopes. not high ones, to be sure, as i'm quite aware it needs a damn good editorial kick in the arse to make it readable. i'm also aware that since i didn't actually know who the murderer was until about the 23rd day (and this is one of the reasons that i love NaNoWriMo), there's a lot that needs tweaking to take into account foreshadowing, and certain characters' attitudes to certain things, but that's where the rolling-in-chocolate-sauce glory of editing comes in. *happy sigh*
speaking of, since it's my first snowday since i was about twelve years old (YIPPEEE!!!!) and we have about a foot of snow outside our front door, i think i might plunge into that right about now (the editing, that is, not the snow....brrrrr!!!). but i'll leave you with the synopsis of my third novel (god, that phrase *never* gets old!!! :o):
Cirque Du Seul
i can hardly believe it, but i've done it again, and i'm a winner again! :D
and this year, i think i might actually have written something vaguely worth reading, after last year's debacle. although to be fair, i haven't read it back yet, so time will, inevitably, tell. but i have hopes. not high ones, to be sure, as i'm quite aware it needs a damn good editorial kick in the arse to make it readable. i'm also aware that since i didn't actually know who the murderer was until about the 23rd day (and this is one of the reasons that i love NaNoWriMo), there's a lot that needs tweaking to take into account foreshadowing, and certain characters' attitudes to certain things, but that's where the rolling-in-chocolate-sauce glory of editing comes in. *happy sigh*
speaking of, since it's my first snowday since i was about twelve years old (YIPPEEE!!!!) and we have about a foot of snow outside our front door, i think i might plunge into that right about now (the editing, that is, not the snow....brrrrr!!!). but i'll leave you with the synopsis of my third novel (god, that phrase *never* gets old!!! :o):
Cirque Du Seul
It's almost time for the winter season at the Roundhouse Circus, and the performers are rehearsing hard. When Seb, one of the trapeze artists has an accident and ends up in a coma, people are shocked, but they get on with their lives. The show must go on, after all. But it soon emerges that this was no accident - someone has tampered with the trapeze. It's not common knowledge, however. The incident could shut the circus down for weeks, and be a disaster for the livelihoods of many, many people. So Shona, a costumier, and Bill, a morose and misanthropic clown, set out to work out who could have wished Seb ill. And when opening night finally comes around, it becomes evident that it's not just Seb that the would-be murderer wants dead.
Saturday, 30 October 2010
NaNoWriMo
Twenty five hours to go. And I have no plot, no characters, no setting, no idea. Fuck yeah! Bring it on, NaNoWriMo!!! :D
P.S. Wish me luck, dear reader, i'm gonna need it... ;)
XXX
.
P.S. Wish me luck, dear reader, i'm gonna need it... ;)
XXX
.
Sunday, 24 October 2010
three stories and an introduction.
once upon a time, there was a little boy who lived with his grandparents.
one day, when he was playing outside, he met a stray cat. he played with this cat, and they liked each other very much. when the boy was called in for his tea, he excitedly told his grandparents about this lovely little black and white cat he'd met, and how she had no home to go to and pleasepleaseplease could he keep her?
his grandad considered this, looking at his grandson's hopeful face and said: "all right - if you can go outside and find this cat, you can keep it."
the boy was thrilled, and rushed outside to find the little black and white cat. he searched and he searched, high and low, but he couldn't find the little cat anywhere. eventually, it got dark, and his grandma called him inside. he walked inside slowly, his shoulders drooping with dejection. he met his grandad in the living room.
"did you find the cat, then?"
the boy's shoulders sagged a little more. "no, i didn't"
"well never mind" replied his grandad, kindly. "go on upstairs and get ready for bed, lad"
the boy walked slowly and sadly into the hall, to the foot of the stairs.
where the little black and white cat was waiting for him.
it was only many years later, when he was telling his future wife the story of the little black and white cat, that he realised how the cat had got to the foot of those stairs.
---
once upon a time, there was a little girl who already had two cats.
it was a very bad winter. it was very cold, and the snow lay thick on the ground. she began to hear her mum and dad talking about "that bloody black thing" that, she gathered, was another cat that had taken to sneaking in through the cat flap at night, and sleeping on the kitchen table with the other two cats. her dad kept throwing his slipper at it, but "that bloody black thing" was very persistent and, eventually, the family gave in and adopted the cat.
she was, actually, a beautiful longhaired tortoishell, and turned out to have the sweetest, most loving nature of any cat the little girl had ever, or (she suspects) would ever, encounter. it was easy to tell when the cat was asleep, since that was the only time she ever stopped purring.
the little girl grew up with that cat, and they were very, very firm friends.
when the little girl was twenty, the beautiful cat died, and she was heartbroken. a dozen years later, she still missed her and, very occasionally, dreamed about her. when this happened, she would wake up crying, missing her friend terribly, wishing only to bury her face into that soft, sweet-smelling fur, and hear that thunderous, throbbing purr once more.
---
once upon a time, the little boy with the black and white cat grew up to have a son. one day, whilst the (now) man and his (now) wife were visiting the son, his girlfriend and their son, in their new house, the man and his wife went outside for a smoke (so they wouldn't damage the health of the man's grandson). whilst they were outside (along with the man's son and his other son, who was staying with his brother and family for a while), a big black and white cat jumped up on to the fence beside them and, with thunderous purrs and imperious and insistent headbutts, demanded as much fuss as they were prepared to give him. delighted with this amazingly sweet natured animal, the man and his wife questioned the young men about this cat. they were horrified to learn that the previous tennants had left the cat behind when they moved, and he was living in the garden of the abandoned house next door. the brothers had been feeding him, but that was as far as it went, as they were all on a very low income, and couldn't afford to do any more than that. and besides, living outside, the poor animal, of course, had fleas, and they didn't want the fleas in the house (especially with the baby) if they could help it, and couldn't afford to treat them properly.
the man and his wife's hearts melted.
they were on holiday that week, and were going away. they decided, however, that as soon as they returned, they would adopt this sweet and abandoned animal, and give him the loving home that he deserved.
---
ladies and gentlemen, i take great pleasure in introducing you to Max The Cat.
i never thought i would ever again meet a cat as sweet-natured and chilled out as my beloved and much-missed tortoishell.
but i think he comes pretty close.
this is the view i've had for much of the weekend, at least when i've sat still for more than five minutes, since he comes and lies contentedly on my chest:
one day, when he was playing outside, he met a stray cat. he played with this cat, and they liked each other very much. when the boy was called in for his tea, he excitedly told his grandparents about this lovely little black and white cat he'd met, and how she had no home to go to and pleasepleaseplease could he keep her?
his grandad considered this, looking at his grandson's hopeful face and said: "all right - if you can go outside and find this cat, you can keep it."
the boy was thrilled, and rushed outside to find the little black and white cat. he searched and he searched, high and low, but he couldn't find the little cat anywhere. eventually, it got dark, and his grandma called him inside. he walked inside slowly, his shoulders drooping with dejection. he met his grandad in the living room.
"did you find the cat, then?"
the boy's shoulders sagged a little more. "no, i didn't"
"well never mind" replied his grandad, kindly. "go on upstairs and get ready for bed, lad"
the boy walked slowly and sadly into the hall, to the foot of the stairs.
where the little black and white cat was waiting for him.
it was only many years later, when he was telling his future wife the story of the little black and white cat, that he realised how the cat had got to the foot of those stairs.
---
once upon a time, there was a little girl who already had two cats.
it was a very bad winter. it was very cold, and the snow lay thick on the ground. she began to hear her mum and dad talking about "that bloody black thing" that, she gathered, was another cat that had taken to sneaking in through the cat flap at night, and sleeping on the kitchen table with the other two cats. her dad kept throwing his slipper at it, but "that bloody black thing" was very persistent and, eventually, the family gave in and adopted the cat.
she was, actually, a beautiful longhaired tortoishell, and turned out to have the sweetest, most loving nature of any cat the little girl had ever, or (she suspects) would ever, encounter. it was easy to tell when the cat was asleep, since that was the only time she ever stopped purring.
the little girl grew up with that cat, and they were very, very firm friends.
when the little girl was twenty, the beautiful cat died, and she was heartbroken. a dozen years later, she still missed her and, very occasionally, dreamed about her. when this happened, she would wake up crying, missing her friend terribly, wishing only to bury her face into that soft, sweet-smelling fur, and hear that thunderous, throbbing purr once more.
---
once upon a time, the little boy with the black and white cat grew up to have a son. one day, whilst the (now) man and his (now) wife were visiting the son, his girlfriend and their son, in their new house, the man and his wife went outside for a smoke (so they wouldn't damage the health of the man's grandson). whilst they were outside (along with the man's son and his other son, who was staying with his brother and family for a while), a big black and white cat jumped up on to the fence beside them and, with thunderous purrs and imperious and insistent headbutts, demanded as much fuss as they were prepared to give him. delighted with this amazingly sweet natured animal, the man and his wife questioned the young men about this cat. they were horrified to learn that the previous tennants had left the cat behind when they moved, and he was living in the garden of the abandoned house next door. the brothers had been feeding him, but that was as far as it went, as they were all on a very low income, and couldn't afford to do any more than that. and besides, living outside, the poor animal, of course, had fleas, and they didn't want the fleas in the house (especially with the baby) if they could help it, and couldn't afford to treat them properly.
the man and his wife's hearts melted.
they were on holiday that week, and were going away. they decided, however, that as soon as they returned, they would adopt this sweet and abandoned animal, and give him the loving home that he deserved.
---
ladies and gentlemen, i take great pleasure in introducing you to Max The Cat.
i never thought i would ever again meet a cat as sweet-natured and chilled out as my beloved and much-missed tortoishell.
but i think he comes pretty close.
this is the view i've had for much of the weekend, at least when i've sat still for more than five minutes, since he comes and lies contentedly on my chest:
accompanied with affectionate headbutts to the chin, and a purr like the throb of an engine.
i think i'm in love.
.
freezing to death in Norfolk, with added fungus.
....well...not all the time...
from monday to friday this week, we've been on our annual it's-october-and-we've-got-a-week-off-let's-go-park-up-somewhere-beautiful-for-a-few-days jaunt. this year, it was Thetford Forest in Norfolk. it's been a favourite campervan haunt of ours since a friend mentioned it a few years ago. we've been two or three times, now, though not for about three years, for various reasons. and it was as quiet and peaceful as we remembered it. it's managed by the forestry commission, and is basically a vast triangular tree farm, consisting of mainly pine, but with a few pockets of deciduous planting here and there. as i said, we love it. it's so vast that despite the public access to the many many rides and dirt tracks and pathways that crisscross it, you often get the impression that you've got the whole place to yourself (well - you and the wildlife, that is...)
as usual, i took lots of pics and, amateurish though they are, i think they might give a better impression of why we love the place than i could with twenty-six letters and a handful of punctuation. therefore, a photostory of our holiday folows:
from monday to friday this week, we've been on our annual it's-october-and-we've-got-a-week-off-let's-go-park-up-somewhere-beautiful-for-a-few-days jaunt. this year, it was Thetford Forest in Norfolk. it's been a favourite campervan haunt of ours since a friend mentioned it a few years ago. we've been two or three times, now, though not for about three years, for various reasons. and it was as quiet and peaceful as we remembered it. it's managed by the forestry commission, and is basically a vast triangular tree farm, consisting of mainly pine, but with a few pockets of deciduous planting here and there. as i said, we love it. it's so vast that despite the public access to the many many rides and dirt tracks and pathways that crisscross it, you often get the impression that you've got the whole place to yourself (well - you and the wildlife, that is...)
as usual, i took lots of pics and, amateurish though they are, i think they might give a better impression of why we love the place than i could with twenty-six letters and a handful of punctuation. therefore, a photostory of our holiday folows:
we arrived about four-ish, and parked up in our favourite spot under the trees, almost in the centre of the forest. in case you're wondering, Talulah isn't an all-terrain vehicle, there's a dirt road that leads right through the heart of the forest. the potholes in said road, however, had me gritting my teeth and screwing my eyes shut waiting for the crunch of a grounding. thankfully, hubby managed to avoid the deepest ones.
off we went for a walk down the beech avenue in the fading light...
curses!
as often happens here, we ended up stumbling back in the dark, not entirely sure of the precise path to follow, but we made it back eventually. a little later, when we were snuggled up in bed listening to the radio, the moon came up, and shone through the skylights...
the next day, we set off again into the forest, but this time, with a purpose. a friend had loaned us a fantastic book on foraging for and identifying edible mushrooms, and both being mushroom lovers, we just couldn't resist.
however, something had got there before us...
but! we proudly identified and gathered a hatful of common yellow rusula mushrooms
it being October, of course the forest was full of fungus, some of it very beautiful.
i have absolutely no idea what this one is, but it was soooo pretty!
so, on return to Talulah, we had, ta-DAAAAAH!!!!
mushrooms on toast, what we had picked our veryownselves! (*whisper* if i'm honest, they were a little bland, but salt and pepper helped, and the pride of foraging, identifying and cooking wild food adds a piquancy all of its own) accompanied, for me, at least, by yarrow tea (see top of pic), as i was developing a stinking cold, and yarrow can be very effecacious in knocking it on the head.
accompanied, of course, by a good might's sleep.
camper tip: hats in bed = essential at this time of year - the wind was blowing straight across the North sea from Norway, and it was fecking FREEZING cold!
have to say though, the cold is kinda worth it when you get to wake up to this...
----
the next day, we headed off to a place charmingly named Wells-Next-The-Sea, on the north coast, because even we can get bored walking around a pine forest for five days, and i had very fond memories of the beach, and the deli on the seafront (which, i was sad to learn, no longer sell the delicious blueberry brownies we had the last time we were there :(
the beach, however, was as lovely as i remembered. unfortunately, the Norwegian wind was still blowing hard. the patterns you can see on the sand are, in fact, caused by a mist of fine grains being blown across the surface. the effect of the brilliand sunlight on these streamers of sand was shimmeringly magical, and utterly mesmerising. sadly, not quite enough to distract from the bone-chillingly cold wind, so we escaped into the trees to shelter from it.
a little piece of heaven.
----
it was so cold that night that we almost threw in the towel and buggered off home. however, we decided not to, and were soooo glad that we did.
heading back to Thetford Forest, this is what greeted us:
the wind had died somewhat and, in amongst the trees, it was almost warm. so off we went for another wander.
along the way, we encountered deer,, which we managed to sneak up on admirably (i thought) and photograph.....
.....and this singular construction....
it's not a sunken cabin, but one of several little constructions roofed with black-painted corrugated iron, created as a haven for the local adder population.
and just across the way was this stunning specemin of fungushood:
we instantly recognised it. here's one we found earlier:
these pics were taken the very first time we went there and, as you can see, these things are bloody ginormous!
excitedly, i whipped out the mushroom ID book, and we were thrilled to discover that this was not only a parasol mushroom (of course!), but....it was edible!
we grabbed the prize, and hot-footed it back to Talulah to fry it up in breadcrumbs.
it. was. utterly. UTTERLY. delicious.
and so, with a sense of triumph and euphoria, we headed home the next day for something even more exciting than delicious wild food.
but that's the subject of the next post.........
.
Sunday, 19 September 2010
about as intellectual as i get
there's been a thought washing around in my head this week, and it's this: i wonder if those ancient greek dudes were really on to something...? believe it or not, this was prompted by my having my lip pierced.
look, in Squeaky's World, this makes perfect sense, i promise.
it was Plato (....um...i think...) who came up with the "Theory of Form", which basically, as far as my limited brain can understand it (following a distant reading of Sophie's World and a quick reference to Wikipedia), states that everything we experience through our senses is an echo of a perfect form that exists on some other plane somewhere. ....or something along those lines...
and i have begun to wonder, in an idle sort of way, if we are not all shadows on the wall.
bear with me on this.
so - at the age of sixteen, the embryonic Squeaky had her nose pierced. and she was so very proud of this. she loooooved her nose piercing. it gave her a little bubble of joy every time she looked into the mirror. it just felt so right - like it was meant to be. and she still loves her pierced nose, seventeen years later. (omg - i had my nose pierced more than half of my life ago! *momentarily feels old*)
then, a couple of years ago, having had blonde hair to her waist for most of he life, she had it all cut off, and dyed it purple. again - bubbles of joy nearly every time she looked into the mirror. like it was meant to be.
a week ago yesterday, she had her lip pierced. and she loves it.
now, the day after she had her lip pierced, she went to see her parents, who live on a boat near Hull, wondering what their response would be. her father, she was sure, would hate it, but that's just Dad. he hated the nose ring, too but, being Dad, said little or nothing about that, since he's so laid back, he's practically horizontal, and tends not to get aerated about things he realises he can do nothing about. her mother, she was not sure about. she had, after all, encouraged and paid for the nose-piercing (and the moment it went in, with Mum looking on proudly, is still a surprisingly vivid memory, by the way).
so she waited for their reaction to her new adornment.
and waited, and waited.
in the end, wondering if they were just being polite in not mentioning it, as they both hated it, she asked what they thought.
they looked mildly surprised when attention was drawn to a new piece of metal in their daughter's face and, individually, their reaction was much he same: "Well, i thought it was new, but i wasn't sure, as it seems like the sort of thing that you'd do, anyway"
....er....ok....
i'm 33. most people, i think, tend to get this sort of thing done when they're in their teens, or early twenties. but maybe that's just my prejudices showing. in western society, putting bits of metal into your face, or any part of your body other than your ears, has always struck me as a mildly rebellious act, since it's not really in our culture.
...um...i would like to stress, at this point, neither the nose or the lip were a consciously rebellious act on my part - more in the nature of decoration (though i must admit that it has been tremendous fun winding up a colleague who thinks that tattos and piercings are a revolting perversion)
anyway - back to the point.
i had very much the same reaction from colleagues. these are people i see every day, in an environment where facial piercings are pretty uncommon, though certainly not villified (except for by the colleague i mentioned earlier). and nobody noticed! not a single one! when it was pointed out, they said they hadn't really noticed, but that they thought it was very "me".
....hang on, a minute...
very "me"? what does that mean? now, i choose to believe that they think it suits me. but more than that, and here's where those ancient greek dudes come in. it almost seems like the nose, and the hair, and the lip, and various other things, were things that were always there in potentia, as it were. that Squeaky, as a person, exists in her whole and complete form somewhere beyond Plato's Cave, and she's coming into focus in the sensual world bit by bit. and that applies to her mind, too. and that's why every time i become aware of that thing that's changed, it feels right. because, somehow, that's how it was meant to be...
or i could, in fact, be talking complete bollocks, as usual. *grin*
***
in other news:
we have a new addition to our family of vehicles.
because the adorable Talulah is such an expensive old girl to run, we have acquired a tiny little Fiesta van, who has been named Little V. (little van - geddit? :D) and she, too, though battered, is adorable! dirt cheap to run and lovely to drive, she's taking the pressure off poor old Talulah, and will save quite a bit of money in running and maintenence costs. and we have found somewhere off the road to park Talulah - so she's not subject to the indignities of passing traffic hurling stones and road shit at her beautiful paintwork.
yesterday, we went climbing, for the first time in months. it wasn't long - just a couple of hours, but it was good! we went indoors, to our local climbing centre, Alter-Rock. it was good to be back. since we were last there (in January!), they have added a large fin in the middle of the area, with loads of new climbs and textures/techniques. as well as a traverse wall. And. It. Rocks! there was soooo much to do, and all very interesting. loads of corners and aretes and overhangs and roofs to tackle. great fun, and i did really well - having not climbed for months, i actually managed a couple of 6A rated climbs! and i even screwed up my courage to lead a 4!!! *pride*
.
look, in Squeaky's World, this makes perfect sense, i promise.
it was Plato (....um...i think...) who came up with the "Theory of Form", which basically, as far as my limited brain can understand it (following a distant reading of Sophie's World and a quick reference to Wikipedia), states that everything we experience through our senses is an echo of a perfect form that exists on some other plane somewhere. ....or something along those lines...
and i have begun to wonder, in an idle sort of way, if we are not all shadows on the wall.
bear with me on this.
so - at the age of sixteen, the embryonic Squeaky had her nose pierced. and she was so very proud of this. she loooooved her nose piercing. it gave her a little bubble of joy every time she looked into the mirror. it just felt so right - like it was meant to be. and she still loves her pierced nose, seventeen years later. (omg - i had my nose pierced more than half of my life ago! *momentarily feels old*)
then, a couple of years ago, having had blonde hair to her waist for most of he life, she had it all cut off, and dyed it purple. again - bubbles of joy nearly every time she looked into the mirror. like it was meant to be.
a week ago yesterday, she had her lip pierced. and she loves it.
now, the day after she had her lip pierced, she went to see her parents, who live on a boat near Hull, wondering what their response would be. her father, she was sure, would hate it, but that's just Dad. he hated the nose ring, too but, being Dad, said little or nothing about that, since he's so laid back, he's practically horizontal, and tends not to get aerated about things he realises he can do nothing about. her mother, she was not sure about. she had, after all, encouraged and paid for the nose-piercing (and the moment it went in, with Mum looking on proudly, is still a surprisingly vivid memory, by the way).
so she waited for their reaction to her new adornment.
and waited, and waited.
in the end, wondering if they were just being polite in not mentioning it, as they both hated it, she asked what they thought.
they looked mildly surprised when attention was drawn to a new piece of metal in their daughter's face and, individually, their reaction was much he same: "Well, i thought it was new, but i wasn't sure, as it seems like the sort of thing that you'd do, anyway"
....er....ok....
i'm 33. most people, i think, tend to get this sort of thing done when they're in their teens, or early twenties. but maybe that's just my prejudices showing. in western society, putting bits of metal into your face, or any part of your body other than your ears, has always struck me as a mildly rebellious act, since it's not really in our culture.
...um...i would like to stress, at this point, neither the nose or the lip were a consciously rebellious act on my part - more in the nature of decoration (though i must admit that it has been tremendous fun winding up a colleague who thinks that tattos and piercings are a revolting perversion)
anyway - back to the point.
i had very much the same reaction from colleagues. these are people i see every day, in an environment where facial piercings are pretty uncommon, though certainly not villified (except for by the colleague i mentioned earlier). and nobody noticed! not a single one! when it was pointed out, they said they hadn't really noticed, but that they thought it was very "me".
....hang on, a minute...
very "me"? what does that mean? now, i choose to believe that they think it suits me. but more than that, and here's where those ancient greek dudes come in. it almost seems like the nose, and the hair, and the lip, and various other things, were things that were always there in potentia, as it were. that Squeaky, as a person, exists in her whole and complete form somewhere beyond Plato's Cave, and she's coming into focus in the sensual world bit by bit. and that applies to her mind, too. and that's why every time i become aware of that thing that's changed, it feels right. because, somehow, that's how it was meant to be...
or i could, in fact, be talking complete bollocks, as usual. *grin*
***
in other news:
we have a new addition to our family of vehicles.
because the adorable Talulah is such an expensive old girl to run, we have acquired a tiny little Fiesta van, who has been named Little V. (little van - geddit? :D) and she, too, though battered, is adorable! dirt cheap to run and lovely to drive, she's taking the pressure off poor old Talulah, and will save quite a bit of money in running and maintenence costs. and we have found somewhere off the road to park Talulah - so she's not subject to the indignities of passing traffic hurling stones and road shit at her beautiful paintwork.
yesterday, we went climbing, for the first time in months. it wasn't long - just a couple of hours, but it was good! we went indoors, to our local climbing centre, Alter-Rock. it was good to be back. since we were last there (in January!), they have added a large fin in the middle of the area, with loads of new climbs and textures/techniques. as well as a traverse wall. And. It. Rocks! there was soooo much to do, and all very interesting. loads of corners and aretes and overhangs and roofs to tackle. great fun, and i did really well - having not climbed for months, i actually managed a couple of 6A rated climbs! and i even screwed up my courage to lead a 4!!! *pride*
.
Tuesday, 31 August 2010
what i did on my holidays
...um...well...not a great deal, if i'm honest...
bearing in mind, though, that we haven't been away for a year, not doing much doesn't really matter, as we were too busy just chilling out. of course, the rain didn't help all that much, either... but it was nice and, forthwith, some pictorial representations:
first stop, the Headland Camping and Caravan Park, Tintagel, where the peace and quiet know no bounds. you can just breathe in the tranquility.
bearing in mind, though, that we haven't been away for a year, not doing much doesn't really matter, as we were too busy just chilling out. of course, the rain didn't help all that much, either... but it was nice and, forthwith, some pictorial representations:
first stop, the Headland Camping and Caravan Park, Tintagel, where the peace and quiet know no bounds. you can just breathe in the tranquility.
that's Talulah at the back of the row - she has her roof up. we hadn't been there ten minutes before the guy on the pitch next to us was taking pictures of his kids giving the VeeDub wave and saying "Duuuuude!" in their really tiny little voices. sooooo cute!
then we headed off down the coast path and around the headland to Tintagel Haven. it's one of my favourite places in the whole world - i would sit and watch the sea there for hours if i could get away with it...
as you can see, the tide was in. the large cave in the centre of the picture is called Merlin's Cave (natch!). when the tide is out, you can scramble over the slippery rocks in there and come right out on the other side of the headland. this is the place hubby taught me to skim stones when we first came here about 12 years ago. i'm pretty good at it, if i say so myself, and still ridiculously proud of being able to... *grin*
when hubby finally managed to drag me away from the border between earth and sea, we toddled off up to the cafe on the headland to have those cornwall essentials: a pastie (for him) and a cream tea (for me). oooh - heaven on a plate! :D
Talulah's bed, by the way, is totally awesome!
behind me you can see Mango The Rat's cage. yup - she comes too!
later that evening, we discovered that we had a stowaway...
this handsome fellow is Spot The Spider. a well-travelled fellow indeed, we found him in all sorts of unlikely places around Talulah, and he stayed with us for a day or two. however, one night, he mysteriously disappeared, and hubby woke up feeling suspiciously fuller than he had when he went to sleep...
it also rained fairly hard that night. as you can see - Squeaky is a genius when it comes to sorting out a leaky skylight...
the following day was beautiful, if extremely windy. the pixie hat became my constant companion on this holiday - i rarely took it off, hence spent most of the holiday looking somewhat silly. but then - there's really nothing new about that.
next stop: St Ives.
and the sun shone for our arrival.
(that sign we're making with our hands, BTW, is the VeeDub wave i mentioned earlier)
however, the following day...
it pissed it down. ALL DAY!!! D:
at times like these, you make your own entertainment. what we made was pouches for the magnets to hold Talulah's curtains up (which i'm still sewing on, BTW. a minimum of six on each curtain. four curtains done, eight to go...*groan*). it was a really lovely way to spend a rainy afternoon, and the time flew.
the following day, it had, thankfully, ceased to rain like the end of the world was nigh. Talulah is lovely to spend time in but really, even i was getting cabin fever by the end of the day!
so we took advantage of the break in the weather and hotfooted it along the coast path to St Ives.
...just...
...gorgeous!
there were many lovely things to be had in this ancient fishing village / haven for artists, the deli we found was quite heavenly (homemade brownies and gingerbread, delicious goats cheese, and charcoal biscuits - all organic and totally nommy!), but the little details of the town (which i believe is getting on for 700 years old) are utterly delightful.
seriously - how many places could this door lead to? on this plane or any other?
this one delighted me beyond measure, being such a tea-obsessed slurper. really, they ought to rename it Squeaky Street. or possibly Teabelly Alley (a personal favourite)
*snigger* no comment. none whatsoever. no cheap jokes, either. ;)
following our days in St Ives it was, sadly, time to start making our way homewards. but Talulah is an old girl, and needs to take her time when she's ambling around the country. so we had to pick a place to stop for the night on our way home. hubby, genius at picking new places to go that he is, picked a tiny little end-of-the-road place called Brean, on the Somerset coast - right at the edge of the levels. the geography and scenery around there is awesome, but i don't think you can really appreciate its stunning beauty until you get yourself up high, and can see the whole world spread out beneath you. we only discovered this when we climbed up Brean Down - a great chunk of turf-covered rock that thrusts up and into the sea between Brean and Weston-Super-Mare.
look! there's Talulah on the beach! :D
the vast expanse of sand was utterly breathtaking, and the land is just as flat for miles around, glowing with a million shades of green.
and the sun shone all day.
:)
.
Tuesday, 10 August 2010
Inception
Just come back from the cinema. This film surprised me. Seeing the trailer, i expected it to be blow-your-hair-back spectacular and, well, yes - the SFX were, of course, excellent. But pretty much of a muchness with so many other big budget spectacular movies. Can't actually say they were anything other than a bit Meh, to be honest, though the freefall scenes were very well executed, and pretty impressive. The thing that most caught my attention was the story, and the concept behind it. The fact that there actually *was* a story, and a good one at that, was a very nice surprise, i admit. And so beautifully constructed, too. Simple, yet very complex. And the concept was always guaranteed to get my attention, having spent so many hours as a child pondering the differences between dreams and reality, and how one could really, *really* tell one from the other. And if that telling would be right. So glad it really *isn't* just me. And the guy who played Eames? Hot damn! *thud*
Monday, 9 August 2010
camper porn and other news
so the last time i blogged, i believe i mentioned something about a bit of a catch-up. really, it's just that there are one or two minor things i meant to blog about and just never got round to it. what can i say? i'm like good pastry - flaky. however, i'll start with things uppermost and see where i go from there...
continuing the love affair with Talulah. *sigh*
something we never thought about before we bought Taulah, something that never even crossed our minds, is that VeeDubs are rather special creatures. yes, they are beautiful design classics, and iconic in their own way. yes, they are veeeeery fasionable (as, of course, they damn well should be - there are, after all, some people left in the world who have taste and discernment... ;). and yes they are, of course, camper vans.
and that's what we thought we were buying: a camper van. a very pretty and well looked-after camper van, but a camper van, nontheless. and, of course, we did.
however, stealing over us a little more every day since we bought her has been A Realisation.
Talulah is a Classic Vehicle. one of those things you see at shows and on driveways, being polished to within an inch of their mechanical life. and now, we've got one. by default, yes, but we have one.
now we have to look after her.
oh, gods - we have to put fuel in her!
something we never thought to check is the rate at which these things drink fuel. oh, my - Talulah is a thirsty girl! she did 22 miles per gallon.... when she was brand spanking new!!!
ohmyjesusgod!
so the plan was to use her in much the same way we used Isobel. *cough* kinda not really practical. notwithstanding the cost in fuel and maintenance (hubby drives 40 miles a day on a filthydirty road that's caked in salt in the wintertime - EEK!), we don't want to wear out her poor engine.
Enter Plan B (no - not the band - do keep up)
there is a very nice old lady a few doors down from us that was my beloved and much missed Nana's best friend for over 50 years. she's agreed to rent us some space on her driveway. we are also buying a runaround from some good friends. this little thing is about as generic as you could get as far as cars are concerned (therefore extremely cheap and easy to maintain) and, moreover, does about 60 to the gallon.
result!
so when the weather gets shitty, we will tuck Talulah up on her lovely cozy Tarmac (with a cover, natch), and use her only on weekends - to keep her ticking over. and now, despite the fact that the vehicles in this family will soon outnumber the humans by a factor of 1.5 : 1, i don't feel the sliiiightest bit guilty about that. no siree bob, i do not. because sitting on that driveway a few doors down is all of our holidays for at least the next three years. hopefully much, much longer. and she is a work of art.
ok, i'm done now. i promise i will try veryvery hard to not post any more pics of our baby.
---------
and so - in other news or, as it's more accurately known....
Random Stuff. *checks pic folders for Stuff I Have Done Recently*
several weeks ago, we went on a work outing to Stratford-Upon-Avon because... well, frankly, it was a cheap day out, and we thought it would be interesting to go there and see how well we could avoid Shakespeare. we did pretty well, actually, we did Pub, Shoe Shopping, and....
Making New Friends.
continuing the love affair with Talulah. *sigh*
something we never thought about before we bought Taulah, something that never even crossed our minds, is that VeeDubs are rather special creatures. yes, they are beautiful design classics, and iconic in their own way. yes, they are veeeeery fasionable (as, of course, they damn well should be - there are, after all, some people left in the world who have taste and discernment... ;). and yes they are, of course, camper vans.
and that's what we thought we were buying: a camper van. a very pretty and well looked-after camper van, but a camper van, nontheless. and, of course, we did.
however, stealing over us a little more every day since we bought her has been A Realisation.
Talulah is a Classic Vehicle. one of those things you see at shows and on driveways, being polished to within an inch of their mechanical life. and now, we've got one. by default, yes, but we have one.
now we have to look after her.
oh, gods - we have to put fuel in her!
something we never thought to check is the rate at which these things drink fuel. oh, my - Talulah is a thirsty girl! she did 22 miles per gallon.... when she was brand spanking new!!!
ohmyjesusgod!
so the plan was to use her in much the same way we used Isobel. *cough* kinda not really practical. notwithstanding the cost in fuel and maintenance (hubby drives 40 miles a day on a filthydirty road that's caked in salt in the wintertime - EEK!), we don't want to wear out her poor engine.
Enter Plan B (no - not the band - do keep up)
there is a very nice old lady a few doors down from us that was my beloved and much missed Nana's best friend for over 50 years. she's agreed to rent us some space on her driveway. we are also buying a runaround from some good friends. this little thing is about as generic as you could get as far as cars are concerned (therefore extremely cheap and easy to maintain) and, moreover, does about 60 to the gallon.
result!
so when the weather gets shitty, we will tuck Talulah up on her lovely cozy Tarmac (with a cover, natch), and use her only on weekends - to keep her ticking over. and now, despite the fact that the vehicles in this family will soon outnumber the humans by a factor of 1.5 : 1, i don't feel the sliiiightest bit guilty about that. no siree bob, i do not. because sitting on that driveway a few doors down is all of our holidays for at least the next three years. hopefully much, much longer. and she is a work of art.
ok, i'm done now. i promise i will try veryvery hard to not post any more pics of our baby.
---------
and so - in other news or, as it's more accurately known....
Random Stuff. *checks pic folders for Stuff I Have Done Recently*
several weeks ago, we went on a work outing to Stratford-Upon-Avon because... well, frankly, it was a cheap day out, and we thought it would be interesting to go there and see how well we could avoid Shakespeare. we did pretty well, actually, we did Pub, Shoe Shopping, and....
Making New Friends.
Hippy Hubby talkin' to teh animals
Squeaky and friend (look at the butterfly - not the face! aaargh!!! *hides*)
The Art Of Disguise
seriously - how cool is this little dude?!
t'was quite a jolly day. didn't do much, but it was relaxing.
---------
even more weeks ago, on a miserable, drizzly saturday, we went to Derby musem. haven't been there since my grandad used to take us as kids, 25 years ago. ever wondered what 25 years' wrth of dust looks like...? nope, me neither. i found out, though, as some of the exhibitions really were the same ones i used to look at as a kid. there was some stuff in there that i was dreadfully bored by as a kid that was fascinating now, but that's to be expected, right? oddly, though, and slightly worryingly, the most fascinating object in the entire place was part of an exhibition of stuff that was found in an old chemist shop before it was demolished recently. viz, this:
i have a low pain threshold, and i hate having injections, but for reasons i have not examined too closely, i found this absolutely fascinating, and very beautiful. i actually spent a good ten minutes with my nose pressed up against the glass, trying to imagine what something this delicate would feel like, sliding into my flesh...
---------
lastly (i'll tell you about the curtains and the slightly haunted sewing machine another time...) there is a new addition to our interior decor. finally, finally, i have bookshelves of my very own. my wonderful and clever hubby made them for me, and i cannot express how happy it makes me. seriously - i actually cried when i saw them all finished and mine all mine.
*happy sigh*
.
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