Grim

Maybe I should stop listening to the news.

Yesterday I was reaching out for the big blue towel to dry myself, whilst listening to the radio. It’s part of my routine, along with checking my mail first thing in the morning and burning bread in the toaster. Then this : the night before, a group of yet undentified persons broke into the local RSPCA and proceeded to beat up the dogs. Just for the hell of it. Then they left the gates open. For the whole of the next day, neighbours were bringing back traumatised animals.
I sat on the edge of the bath and started crying.
That’s all.
I don’t even know what to add to it. My internal loop commentary has been : I don’t want to live where this kind of things is possible. Maybe I’ll come back to this post and extrapolate, right now it’s just the icing on the cake, too much to take in

Gü make Chocolate soufflés and Chocolate & Raspberry desserts.
I just can’t decide which ones I prefer, so I buy them both.
J reckons it’s the closest thing to joy. I am tempted to agree.

Soundtrack

Big red bus, top deck, work-home route (approx 20 minutes), Thursday, 6.30 pm.


Welcome to Orange voice mail. You have 1 saved message. To listen to your saved message, press 1.

(1)
[‘swi:tha:t], [its] [mi:].[ai] [neu] [ju:r] [at] [ðe] [‘sinime] [nau]. [ai] [am] [‘geuiŋ] [tu:] [ðe] [pa:k]. [ai] [lлv] [ju:].


To listen to this message again, press 2.

(2)
[‘swi:tha:t], [its] [mi:].[ai] [neu] [ju:r] [at] [ðe] [‘sinime] [nau]. [ai] [am] [‘geuiŋ] [tu:] [ðe] [pa:k]. [ai] [lлv] [ju:].


To listen to this message again, press 2.

(2)
[‘swi:tha:t], [its] [mi:].[ai] [neu] [ju:r] [at] [ðe] [‘sinime] [nau]. [ai] [am] [‘geuiŋ] [tu:] [ðe] [pa:k]. [ai] [lлv] [ju:].


To listen to this message again, press 2.


(2)…………………

After 7 days, my girlfriend’s saved messages are automatically deleted. So I have to listen to them a lot. To make the most of them.



(You can't do phonetics properly on this. The cute inverted 'e' becomes a square. I apologise to the purists.)

At the end of the day, clichés, to be honest with you, like, drive me mad.

The Plain English Campaign (those people who stamp a cristal on medicine packs) said it had canvassed people in 70 countries to find the most irritating phrases of all.

"When readers or listeners come across these tired expressions, they start tuning out and completely miss the message -- assuming there is one" said John Lister of the Plain English Campaign.

People who busily "touch base" or talk about "ballpark figures" and "bottom lines" are not "singing from the same hymn sheet," they are quietly driving others to distraction.

"Using these terms in daily business is about as professional as wearing a novelty tie or having a wacky ringtone on your phone", Lister said in a statement.

A particular bugbear is the constant use of "like" as a form of punctuation.

Lister said that they had expected geographical variations, but the same phrases appeared to be universally annoying around the world.(he forgot to add: in English-speaking countries around the world.)

"Gobbledegook jargon and clichés really are no respecter of international boundaries," he told Sky Television in a cliche-riddled interview.

The list includes:

-- it's not rocket science

-- between a rock and a hard place

-- I hear what you're saying

-- touch base

-- bear with me

-- to be honest with you

I would like to add my pet peeves: 'You know what I mean', as well as 'basically'. Said in a Souf Lunnun accent. They almost caused a break up.

Blood pressure
Tonight I sat, positively mesmerized, grinning at Watchdog on BBC1.
What a fantastic programme.
Dodgy double glazing salesmen, falsely advertised slimming pills sellers, disappearing estate agents; and, on the other side, a fearless team of sympathetic, tastefully clad investigators, exposing the villains, putting things right, protecting the innocent, booing the bastards.
How could I not love it. How it quenches my thirst for justice!
You see, I can’t bear plots, any plots, in which the premise is false accusations, betrayal, undeserved punishment.
I watched Anger management for a total of 13 minutes before I had to stop it, with a racing pulse and tears in my eyes. ( this poor man , he doesn’t have behaviour issues) Most of Dickens’ books were an ordeal. (evil stepfathers, schoolmasters, bullies) I had to get up and pace around several times during the first part of Gladiator.(after he’s betrayed by the emperor, his wife and son are mercilessly slaughtered by the Roman army) I might know that the hero or heroin will be rightfully avenged by the end; I know, I know, these plots are predictable; I just cannot bear it. I have to skip paragraphs. Fast forward. Remind myself it is only a book. I want the Watchdog team to come in earlier in the film. Hell, I want to be the watchdog team. Expose the villain to a booing crowd, hang him high and dry, light a fire under his feet.
On the other hand, I am fascinated with revenge novels –in which pay back time is the plot. The Count Of Monte Cristo is at the pinnacle of my personal pantheon. Wrongly accused by some guy who fancies his wife-to-be, he is imprisoned for 19 years, during which he learns much from a fellow inmate; a successful escape and a treasure enable him to plan his rise in the world and his revenge upon those who betrayed him. He is a bitter, magnificent character; his thirst for vengeance will eventually take his humanity out of him; but the 1000 page process is, for me, ever so satisfying.
I read Stephen Fry’s rip off – The stars’ tennis balls- with similar satisfaction. (I skipped fewer paragraphs, the book is slimmer.)

When I grow up, I want to be the Count of Monte Christo. Or one of the Famous Five. Or Fantômette.

I really have to stop brooding so damn much.
So I went to see Starsky and Hutch. I even liked it. Mostly.

From inside my bubble
For the first time ever, I know and feel that being blown up in a terrorist attack is not something that happens to other people.
When rubbish bins blew up on a crowded Oxford Street several years ago, when the Canary Warf tower exploded, when bombs went off in Paris, even when trains were derailing all over the place, I don’t think I ever believed that my little bubble of a life could ever be burst. Mayhem and fear and destruction happened outside my sphere. Things blew up, things were fixed; then the whole thing took on an abstract dimension. Like a piece of history; history is not supposed to be moving, is it? So many more pressing news every day, we must move on, and we forget.
Is it because I so recently experienced that violent death can and will strike close to home – all the violence, all this promise of chaos and slaughter suddenly feels very real to me. I am grateful to not have to commute by tube every day. I count the people I know who do; I count those who don’t. I am glad that my mother lives in an unlikely place – unlikely to be targeted, that is. I am thinking of limiting my trips into central London, especially by tube, especially at rush hour; won’t they try to strike when the most people can be killed, workers, shoppers, symbols of the western economy? I make lists. Fear lists. I have finally come to understand that death doesn’t just happen to other people.

A new perspective on present-giving
This year I shall buy all my friends a butt plug for their respective birthdays.
Take your pick.

This is what I do on Friday nights
A really hard vocabulary test for the literary geek in you
I got 182 out of 200!
I shall now beam with pride in the privacy of my bedroom.

Equilibrium
For the past couple months I have been reading two related blogs – two halves of a relationship which until now was long distance; one blog recounted the tribulations of the first half : her planned move from her own country to England, quitting her job, her life, her everything almost; I followed her blog daily with something like baited breath as she was looking for a place to live, selling her furniture, getting used to the idea of moving countries, moving lives.
I also followed her partner’s blog. Sporting events. Car washing. Shoes shopping. Oh yeah, and now that partner has moved closer – they ran into each other in town, and that was weird.
Hmmmm.
I wish them luck. I do.

I know that if/when I move to be close to my girlfriend, the first thing on her mind won’t be shoe shopping. I don’t think so anyway.