I was allowed to carry some holiday over from last year, and today is the deadline for taking it - so I've got the afternoon off. Herself has decided to take the afternoon off too, so we've decided that we'll see the Nicholson\Mondrian exhibition at the Courtauld.
I'm not sure I've had half a day off before. I'm sitting at work (working very hard, obviously) and the prospect of walking out of here at 1 and not coming back is rather appealing. I've got some errands to run this afternoon that aren't usually possible in the week, and with any luck the exhibition won't be rammed so we'll be able to see the art, rather than just the backs of people's heads. It might have been a good opportunity finally to have a go on the London Eye, but it's overcast today so why bother.
Anyway, so far I can heartily recommend it. Half days - who knew?!
Tuesday, 28 February 2012
234. The Idea of Exercise
If you are a sixth generation Irish woman with shoulders built for the potato harvest and a somnambulant metabolism, you have to take exercise or be on a perpetual 1000 calorie a day diet. Recently I have been doing neither, and as I don't like diets (they actually DO make you fatter in the end) I've been thinking about exercise.
I like the idea of running, but I don't like the pain from the tendinitis I've still got in my pointless, useless heel.
I like the idea of swimming, but I don't like swimming costumes, swimming hats, swimming goggles, swimming pools, verrucas or chlorine.
I like the idea of cycling, but I don't like the idea of being turned into jam by the 390 bus.
I like the idea of the gym but I don't like the idea of having to go at 6.30 in the morning.
What I really like is walking quite slowly to the pub. And herein lies my problem.
So I'll do some cycling, now that the weather's a bit better. It's 40 mins or so each way from town to Hammersmith which is a decent day's exercise. A bit of common sense keeps me from the wheels of the bus and a pump and an allen key deal with most mechanical problems. I think it's a shame that I can't be cool while I'm cycling, but it seems to be beyond me, so I"ll have to leave my ego at the door. But with any luck the cycling will keep the spread from spreading and I'll be able to go on eating nice food and drinking nice wine. That is my goal - no more, no less. So the idea of exercise becomes the much less adorable reality of exercise - a sweaty girl in neon and a silver mushroom head heaving a shabby black bike inelegantly from W1 to W6 twice a day. Life is so prosaic.
I like the idea of running, but I don't like the pain from the tendinitis I've still got in my pointless, useless heel.
I like the idea of swimming, but I don't like swimming costumes, swimming hats, swimming goggles, swimming pools, verrucas or chlorine.
I like the idea of cycling, but I don't like the idea of being turned into jam by the 390 bus.
I like the idea of the gym but I don't like the idea of having to go at 6.30 in the morning.
What I really like is walking quite slowly to the pub. And herein lies my problem.
So I'll do some cycling, now that the weather's a bit better. It's 40 mins or so each way from town to Hammersmith which is a decent day's exercise. A bit of common sense keeps me from the wheels of the bus and a pump and an allen key deal with most mechanical problems. I think it's a shame that I can't be cool while I'm cycling, but it seems to be beyond me, so I"ll have to leave my ego at the door. But with any luck the cycling will keep the spread from spreading and I'll be able to go on eating nice food and drinking nice wine. That is my goal - no more, no less. So the idea of exercise becomes the much less adorable reality of exercise - a sweaty girl in neon and a silver mushroom head heaving a shabby black bike inelegantly from W1 to W6 twice a day. Life is so prosaic.
Monday, 27 February 2012
233. Cookbooks
The collection is spilling out of its (limited) shelving these days. Herself pouts when I buy new cookbooks because she is under the entirely erroneous impression that each book should earn its keep. Poor girl. She doesn't know that cookbooks are for reading in bed and looking at the pictures. They're for inspiration and encouragement and comfort at times of strain. And yes, I have cooked out of most of the cookbooks I own, but by no means all. Buying a cookbook is a statement of intent, as far as I'm concerned, and no more.
Most of my favourite, don't have to think about it, cook on automatic pilot, recipes came long ago from cookbooks and then were committed to memory. Some I still have to check no matter how many times I make them - like pancake batter and Kosheri and Jamie's baked beans.
And they come in and out of focus depending on my latest culinary enthusiasm. At the moment it's baking, so Nigel will come out, and Hugh, and my new boyfriends the Herbert Bros.
In moments of doubt I have Delia's Complete Cookery and Leith's Bible. Both are excellent. Best loved are Nigella's How to Eat, Nigel's Kitchen, River Cottage Every Day and the Internet.
You never have to pay full price for them, they're often quite beautiful, and obviously they are full of deliciousness. I need more shelves.
Most of my favourite, don't have to think about it, cook on automatic pilot, recipes came long ago from cookbooks and then were committed to memory. Some I still have to check no matter how many times I make them - like pancake batter and Kosheri and Jamie's baked beans.
And they come in and out of focus depending on my latest culinary enthusiasm. At the moment it's baking, so Nigel will come out, and Hugh, and my new boyfriends the Herbert Bros.
In moments of doubt I have Delia's Complete Cookery and Leith's Bible. Both are excellent. Best loved are Nigella's How to Eat, Nigel's Kitchen, River Cottage Every Day and the Internet.
You never have to pay full price for them, they're often quite beautiful, and obviously they are full of deliciousness. I need more shelves.
232. Baking bread
For years I have tried, and failed, to bake my own bread. They always either failed to rise, or came out of the oven as lethal weapons. It was sad, and disappointing, and a waste of time and money.
Then, recently, there was a show called The Fabulous Baker Brothers on the telleovision. I knew of Tom Herbert before (he tipped up on a Mary Portas show, and he's cute so I paid attention), but now here he was showing me how to bake stuff! And of course I had been making some very basic errors.
I made my third loaf of soda bread yesterday. They're still a tiny bit hit and miss but they are always edible and tasty. So, armed with confidence and a greater degree of knowledge, next weekend I will attempt to make a loaf of white bread. And I will keep going until I get it right - because it's true that baking your own bread scratches some deep atavistic itch. And as I seem to have become a soup-eating, cycling, water-preserving, natural-fibres kind of person, it feels like the next logical step. Soon I will be wearing socks with my Birkenstocks, and then I'll have to kill myself. My only hope is that I'll have baked some decent bread before then.
Then, recently, there was a show called The Fabulous Baker Brothers on the telleovision. I knew of Tom Herbert before (he tipped up on a Mary Portas show, and he's cute so I paid attention), but now here he was showing me how to bake stuff! And of course I had been making some very basic errors.
I made my third loaf of soda bread yesterday. They're still a tiny bit hit and miss but they are always edible and tasty. So, armed with confidence and a greater degree of knowledge, next weekend I will attempt to make a loaf of white bread. And I will keep going until I get it right - because it's true that baking your own bread scratches some deep atavistic itch. And as I seem to have become a soup-eating, cycling, water-preserving, natural-fibres kind of person, it feels like the next logical step. Soon I will be wearing socks with my Birkenstocks, and then I'll have to kill myself. My only hope is that I'll have baked some decent bread before then.
Thursday, 23 February 2012
231. Spoonerisms
I find it annoying when everybody's favourite spoonerism, "I'd rather have a bottle in front of me than a frontal lobotomy", is attributed to Tom Waits. I mean, seriously. Surely it's much more likely to have come from either W.C. Fields or Dorothy Parker? Rather than Tom Waits, that gravel-voiced dour-merchant?
But it got me thinking about spoonerisms and why I find them so funny. I've decided it's because they make the English language ridiculous even while it makes perfect sense. So "You have hissed all my mystery lectures. You have tasted a whole worm. Please leave Oxford on the next town drain" is good, but "Someone is occupewing my pie. Please sew me to another sheet" is better. I suspect this is a very English thing.
It's not a Spoonerism, but my absolute all time favourite funny silly word thing is,
'Time flies like an arrow, fruit flies like a banana.'
Never fails. Thank you, Groucho.
But it got me thinking about spoonerisms and why I find them so funny. I've decided it's because they make the English language ridiculous even while it makes perfect sense. So "You have hissed all my mystery lectures. You have tasted a whole worm. Please leave Oxford on the next town drain" is good, but "Someone is occupewing my pie. Please sew me to another sheet" is better. I suspect this is a very English thing.
It's not a Spoonerism, but my absolute all time favourite funny silly word thing is,
'Time flies like an arrow, fruit flies like a banana.'
Never fails. Thank you, Groucho.
Wednesday, 22 February 2012
230. Online sales
Or, to give them a more personal title: "Yet another excellent way to waste time and money"
If you're one of those people who has the time and mental acuity to go physically to a shop, try on the item you like - and then wait for the sales, you have my respect. I buy random things online because the photo looks nice and IT'S HALF PRICE, and then spend the best part of a week going to post offices, filling in forms and feeling disappointed. But there's something exciting about the whole process. Because after all, if it doesn't all go horribly wrong, if I don't end up looking like a sack of potatoes in an ill-fitting case, then maybe the opposite is true. Maybe I'll have bought something in the sale that looks good - and IT WAS HALF PRICE! I think it's a risk worth running. And at the end of the day, we need to use our post offices, or they'll be closed down.
If you're one of those people who has the time and mental acuity to go physically to a shop, try on the item you like - and then wait for the sales, you have my respect. I buy random things online because the photo looks nice and IT'S HALF PRICE, and then spend the best part of a week going to post offices, filling in forms and feeling disappointed. But there's something exciting about the whole process. Because after all, if it doesn't all go horribly wrong, if I don't end up looking like a sack of potatoes in an ill-fitting case, then maybe the opposite is true. Maybe I'll have bought something in the sale that looks good - and IT WAS HALF PRICE! I think it's a risk worth running. And at the end of the day, we need to use our post offices, or they'll be closed down.
229. Instagram
My big sister (movie producer, photographer, lover, lunatic) got me and the small brother onto Instagram when she visited our shores recently. I can't speak for the small one, but I love it. It's a photo sharing site thingy, but there's something very immediate and warm about it. My photos are rubbish, but you can put different filters on them and perk them up a bit. Both Big Sis and Small Bro are better photographers than what I am but I haven't given up hope.
In her case, Instagram serves as a daily diary. The dog features large (it must be a hereditary condition) but I can see where she's been and who she's seen, just by looking on Instagram. I like it. She's 3000 miles away, but no further than my pocket.
I recommend it highly. I think it costs a few pennies, but it's well worth it.
In her case, Instagram serves as a daily diary. The dog features large (it must be a hereditary condition) but I can see where she's been and who she's seen, just by looking on Instagram. I like it. She's 3000 miles away, but no further than my pocket.
I recommend it highly. I think it costs a few pennies, but it's well worth it.
Friday, 17 February 2012
228. The Royal Tenenbaums
What I love the most about TRT is that it's a well-observed story about a dysfunctional family, with a lovely shiny layer of bonkers over the top. (Also I'm pretty certain that Gene Hackman was just playing himself, but that's another story.)
Many, many people have tried this kind of whimsical tomfoolery on film before and failed miserably. I think TRT succeeds because it's not a construct - it's very likely that Wes Anderson's interior world looks and sounds almost exactly like the world in the movie. I like Rushmore and The Life Aquatic with Steve Zissou (and I quite liked The Darjeeling Limited) but for me TRT is his best movie yet. There's something poignant and melancholy about TRT that is only just balanced by how funny it is - it's soulful.
Anyway, it holds up beautifully. A perfect movie for a rainy Sunday afternoon.
Many, many people have tried this kind of whimsical tomfoolery on film before and failed miserably. I think TRT succeeds because it's not a construct - it's very likely that Wes Anderson's interior world looks and sounds almost exactly like the world in the movie. I like Rushmore and The Life Aquatic with Steve Zissou (and I quite liked The Darjeeling Limited) but for me TRT is his best movie yet. There's something poignant and melancholy about TRT that is only just balanced by how funny it is - it's soulful.
Anyway, it holds up beautifully. A perfect movie for a rainy Sunday afternoon.
Tuesday, 7 February 2012
227. Westies in ads
It seems perfectly sensible – and logical – to me, when companies use Westie dogs to help sell their products. Well, duh. Westies are the cutest, shnarfliest, wuffliest, bestest dogs in the whole wide world, so it obviously makes sense to hitch your wagon to their gorgeous little haunches.
Sadly, not all marketeers have cottoned on to this remarkably efficient, simple, strategy. They persist in using cute (?) children, handsome (?) boys and pretty (?) girls, when they could just use a Westie. They fly to Connemara, Vancouver, Bordeaux - when they could just use a Westie. They spend thousands on ad agencies and cynical, world-weary copywriters like me, developing cynical world-weary slogans that sound all fresh and hopeful and bubbly, when they could just use a Westie. Why? Why do they bother?
I think I've made my point.
I will open the floor out to other small dogs (particularly terriers, obvs) and the occasional larger hound as long as the first thing that crosses your mind when you see the pooch isn't 'big dog, big poos.' This thinking may be unique to me. I'm not sure.
So if you're thinking of starting a small business, or other commercial enterprise, I have a Westie for hire. She's not very white any more and she's almost entirely unpredictable where consistent behaviour is concerned, but she's a Westie, ergo she will help you sell your products. No, no need to thank me. You're welcome.
PS - She is afraid of her own farts, so remind me not to give her any veggies before the shoot or you'll need a contingency for overtime.
Sadly, not all marketeers have cottoned on to this remarkably efficient, simple, strategy. They persist in using cute (?) children, handsome (?) boys and pretty (?) girls, when they could just use a Westie. They fly to Connemara, Vancouver, Bordeaux - when they could just use a Westie. They spend thousands on ad agencies and cynical, world-weary copywriters like me, developing cynical world-weary slogans that sound all fresh and hopeful and bubbly, when they could just use a Westie. Why? Why do they bother?
I think I've made my point.
I will open the floor out to other small dogs (particularly terriers, obvs) and the occasional larger hound as long as the first thing that crosses your mind when you see the pooch isn't 'big dog, big poos.' This thinking may be unique to me. I'm not sure.
So if you're thinking of starting a small business, or other commercial enterprise, I have a Westie for hire. She's not very white any more and she's almost entirely unpredictable where consistent behaviour is concerned, but she's a Westie, ergo she will help you sell your products. No, no need to thank me. You're welcome.
PS - She is afraid of her own farts, so remind me not to give her any veggies before the shoot or you'll need a contingency for overtime.
Monday, 6 February 2012
226. Echoes - Will Young
Another one for the list of my musical crimes - the new album by that nice Will Young. I've never owned any of his music before (the copy of his first album which is in my possession came from my rule of 'Finders Keepers, Losers Weepers at the beach. Just FYI.) Auntie Kim very sweetly bought this new one for me, for Christmas.
The first single, Jealousy, is like an earworm. And it turns out that the rest of the album is like that, too. My top three are Come On, Runaway and Personal Thunder. I am listening to this album on endless repeat and really struggling to get bored with it.
I always used to think that there was a grating chipmunk quality to the Young voice, but I've changed my mind. (Sidebar: I've changed my mind about Gary Oldman's Smiley, too. But that's a different blog.) And, frankly, there is something appealing about the fact that when Will Young's singing about his broken heart he's singing about a boy. Sorry, tiny bit of politics there. Won't do it again.
Herself can tune out my singing, and doesn't hear half the nonsense that comes out of my mouth, but she says that she likes this album, so you have a second opinion. She had to watch me dancing round the beach house to Thriller yesterday - wife and woofy sitting there staring at me with a mixture of affection and alarm. Ah, good times.
Anyway, I'm wittering. Will Young's album Echoes. It's a good un.
PS - the dog lovers should watch this video...
The first single, Jealousy, is like an earworm. And it turns out that the rest of the album is like that, too. My top three are Come On, Runaway and Personal Thunder. I am listening to this album on endless repeat and really struggling to get bored with it.
I always used to think that there was a grating chipmunk quality to the Young voice, but I've changed my mind. (Sidebar: I've changed my mind about Gary Oldman's Smiley, too. But that's a different blog.) And, frankly, there is something appealing about the fact that when Will Young's singing about his broken heart he's singing about a boy. Sorry, tiny bit of politics there. Won't do it again.
Herself can tune out my singing, and doesn't hear half the nonsense that comes out of my mouth, but she says that she likes this album, so you have a second opinion. She had to watch me dancing round the beach house to Thriller yesterday - wife and woofy sitting there staring at me with a mixture of affection and alarm. Ah, good times.
Anyway, I'm wittering. Will Young's album Echoes. It's a good un.
PS - the dog lovers should watch this video...
Thursday, 2 February 2012
225. Thoughts for the Day
Work is being more than usually annoying at the moment, so we have taken to fortifying ourselves with bracing thoughts for the day. So far, they have centered on 'occupations which would be worse'.
I was working on a brief the other day for TENA incontinence pads, so my thought for the day became, 'I do not have to analyse the wet patches inside 350 adult all in one briefs.'
My friend Philippa, it turned out, is relatively untutored in the spectrum of revolting jobs, so her thought for the day became, "I do not have to hack the fat off the insides of the sewers."
Bizarre as it sounds, it works. And obviously my new goal is to find the most disgusting jobs undertaken by humans and tell Philippa what they are while she's eating (for maximum effect). Who says I'm not effective in the work-place?
I was working on a brief the other day for TENA incontinence pads, so my thought for the day became, 'I do not have to analyse the wet patches inside 350 adult all in one briefs.'
My friend Philippa, it turned out, is relatively untutored in the spectrum of revolting jobs, so her thought for the day became, "I do not have to hack the fat off the insides of the sewers."
Bizarre as it sounds, it works. And obviously my new goal is to find the most disgusting jobs undertaken by humans and tell Philippa what they are while she's eating (for maximum effect). Who says I'm not effective in the work-place?
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