Silver Lining

Some time ago, I bought a friend a copy of Tim Burton's The Melancholy Death of Oyster Boy and other stories which is a rather fab book, and very Tim Burton.

Yesterday, I went to Oxford to a rather dry conference about the student contract.  And I met my friend for lunch, and she gave me this:

Isn't she beautiful??  She's the Pin Cushion Queen.

Life isn't easy
for the Pin Cushion Queen
When she sits on her throne
ins push through her spleen

I love my creative friends!

What a strange evening this is being.  A chance conversation with a colleague degenerated into a gossip session about former mutual comrades from our days of political involvement.  This is a colleague who I know only a little, but for whom I'm sure I could entertain a deep affection.  Anyways, as a result I have been googling the old school.  Entertaining, mighty entertaining.  And an email address for my old university flatmate occurs.  Another man for whom I entertain a deep affection.  Oh excitement!

Then I follow links from my bloglist and find this blog, which draws me in and reminds me how much I love the sound of singing bowls.  And from there, I follow this link and read about the Madonna adoption through African eyes.  And then I think about Purple Hibiscus, written by the author of that article; a book I enjoyed so much that it has stayed with me for several years.  By some random process of mental association (not that I'm categorising both authors as representative of Africa, I promise!)  I think of Ahdaf Soueif, another author whose work I find lingeringly powerful.

The association leads me back to contemplation of this issue which is exercising me mightily at work at the moment.  I am vehemently opposed to the demonisation of moslems because of their faith, and the growing hysteria about veiled women and their integration or non-integration into British society.  I find it frustrating that British society remains determinedly narrow-church and culturally imperialist in a world where those ought to be out-dated, out-moded attitudes.  And I wonder whether my frustration and undoubted naivety mean that perhaps I haven't moved so far from my political history, after all?!

Anyway, I need to consider the level of inappropriacy around contacting my old flatmate on his newfound work email... and make some pasta before the evening twists out of control!

Ouch!

Which refers to the low dragging pain in my lower back.  I'm either getting the flu (that'd be good, wouldn't it?  To go with my laryngitis!) or my period.  Owwww.

Standing in the playground this morning, the boys were playing tag.  Which involved racing from one side of the playground to the other, avoiding the 2 or 3 children who were 'it'.  The classroom walls were home.  One small boy pelted from one classroom wall to another, hit it with his hands, was (very) momentarily safe, but forgot to stop his feet.  Next to hit was his forehead.  Ouch!  The image is quite retrospectively funny, though.  Am I sick?

I've bought a new battery for my digital camera.  Dad gave me a Sony Cybershot last year, his old one, DSC-P5.  But the battery has died.  So I shopped around online.  Alright, I probably didn't need the in-car lead and charger unit too, but you never know when it might come in useful.  Have you *seen* the price of these babies, though??  Double ouch!

And my old friends at Amazon have been seductive again.  Ouchy ouch ouch. 

After all that pain, I needed a plaster - two tickets to see Josh Rouse at the weekend.  A is coming too.  He promises! Though he says I can't shout and cheer (it's ok, I'll stamp on his foot so he shouts for me!)  It's the new Nashville album tour (you can hear samples right here ), and I'm really excited.  Went to see him last year on the 1972 tour (ok, lazybones!  Samples just here!), after my lovely brother in law got me a signed disc.  The venue is very small - no more than 400 people, so it's wonderfully intimate.  I'm really excited.

I'll just have to ignore the bill.  Ouch.

My credit card thinks I should go back to work...

Diversions welcome

At the moment, I'm being diverted by MSN kisses. Not as diverting as the real thing, but very nice all the same!

I'm listening to Paul Weller. I apologise for the image that conjures; tonight I just felt like listening to Paul Weller, OK? But since Moo was last to use the stereo, I'm listening to Paul Weller at Eminem volume. Lucky neighbours!

And I'm feeling cold... and achey. Oddly, my back aches most. Just between my shoulder blades. Pretty much any offer of a good rub down will be accepted at this point - though I'm confuzzled about why running should make my back ache! Did it again tonight. More running, less walking, much the same time, felt less like dying at the end. Such is progress!

I was feeling *so* much like a domestic goddess earlier. Or at least, a heftily significant accolyte! I came home, completed my tax return; changed small people into pyjamas; ran a mile, stretched and showered; brushed small teeth, read small stories (The Whale and The Snail. Brilliant! Thoroughly recommend it. The cleverly rhymed story of a snail with an itchy foot who hitches a ride on the patient tail of a great big, grey blue hump backed whale); ate meal cooked by well trained oldest child; cleared and cleaned(ish) kitchen; set bread maker going; emptied washing machine. ARSE!!! The bloody washing machine has bloody broken! Fuckitalltohellandback! How can it? It's January for fuck's sake! How can I possibly be expected to replace a dishwasher, and repair a washing machine. In. Fucking. January??!! I'm not happy. At all. Bet you'd never have guessed!

I've been seriously distracted all week by the billboards for Closer. A film with Jude Law *and* Clive Owen?! Genius! Apparently it has a plot, too - but really who gives a stuff? The only way it could be more perfect would be if Bill Nighy had a cameo role. Please, nobody tell me he does - they'll have to prise me out of that cinema with a crowbar! I'm just wondering whether it would be better to persuade A to come and see it with me, or go on my own... There's a lot to be said for going on my own: nobody to see me drooling; not having to admit to the embarrassing, groupie like scenario that is almost certainly undignified for a woman of my age. That sort of thing. On the other hand, nothing at all will be said for taking A with me: a conversational cul de sac looms and I refuse to venture foot in it! But oh! Just think of the gratification...