An impromptu blog

I have a mere four minutes to write this blog. Let’s see how far I can get in that time.

I haven’t been blogging very much lately. This is basically due to my having started to keep a diary and found it infinitely more satisfying. Sorry, guys, but you’re probably not going to be privy to my rambling mundanities very much any more.

I’ve just been checking my blog roll and in a general sense with no reference to anyone in particular, it’s been making me feel a bit gloomy, because various people seem a bit unhappy over various things. I’m not even entirely sure where I got that impression, but whatever. Point being, if you’re reading this, I probably love you very much. So… don’t worry, be happy.

Also, sixth form starts tomorrow. These are exciting times that we live in, even though unfortunately I haven’t done very much of the summer work. Not to worry, there’s always this weekend. I just need to get into a more worky frame of mind.

One minute before Mock the Week starts, and so I’d better start winding this blog down now. Goodbye, god bless and thanks for all the fish.


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Some opinions and tangents

It strikes me that I haven’t done a blog in a good old while. Not since I made my miraculous recovery from the Dread Disease Swine Flu. Which, despite being really very mild and not that debilitating, has made people not want to hang out with me.

Hang on… maybe that was just their excuse.

Anyway, I haven’t done a huge amount since then. Upon my recovery my parents and sister all swanned off to Dorset, leaving me and my brother in charge of the house for a week. It was jolly lovely – I did lots of cooking and reading – The Beach by Alex Garland (which, according to Livvi, is frequently referred to in Geography lessons. I’m guessing that the references have more to do with the impact of tourism in Thailand than the astute prose and the postmodern disintegrating narrative, so I doubt that that itself is enough to make me take an interest in Geography.) I also read A Woman In Berlin by anonymous, although Wikipedia informs me that it was written by a journalist named Marta Hillers, so… mystery solved. Apparently that fact was only disclosed after she died, though. It was a really really good book, obviously made a lot more interesting by the fact that it’s completely true, although I don’t think it’s as poignant as something like the Diary of Anne Frank, although I guess that sort of stands head and shoulders above other war memoirs in terms of sheer devastatingness.

Speaking of poignancy, I’ve discovered a new phrase that I like – easy poignancy. Stuff like using a brolly that’s been left on the Tube as a metaphor for loneliness and rejection, which is lazy and irritating bullshit.

Anyway – reading! Lots of Evelyn Waugh in the past week: Decline and Fall, which I really ought to finish this evening, and Vile Bodies, which I read this morning because we were talking about it over dinner last night and I wanted to read it before it slipped my mind. Totally heart Evelyn Waugh, by the way, and I’ve noticed that he definitely seems to have been a big inspiration for Richmal Crompton, who’s just one of my favourite authors ever. 

I’ve been dividing my time between books, music, and pointless internet trawling. The music part has been my big project for the summer: take everything off the iPod and instead of keeping it as it is – a mixture of awesome and dross – I’ve been seperating the wheat from the chaff and sorting out some decent playlists – one playlist per artist, and only the best goes on. It’s made me listen to a) Eminem, b) Lauryn Hill, c) Muse and d) Ryan Adams to name a few, so it’s pretty much an excellent thing all round. I’ve been doing my playlisting with the help of a rough guide, although said rough guide doesn’t actually contain many of my most beloved artists (Sandy, where ARE you?). The rough guide on the whole is pretty awesome, although whoever compiled the Richard Thompson playlist needed to dig a little deeper.

Sounds boring to some, I know, but it literally  makes my little music neek heart swell.

In other music news, I spent the past hour learning how to play Wonderwall on the guitar. It sounds shit, partly because I’m shit at the guitar, partly because my guitar is shit, and partly because my capo is shit. If anyone feels like buying me a small but useful present – a decent capo, please.

Also – as if I couldn’t love Russell Howard any more than I do, I have discovered that he is a big Rufus Wainwright fan. In fact, a casual Google told me that he’s said that he would like to BE Rufus Wainwright on at least two separate occasions in interviews. Even I have never gone that far. 

My mum said the other day that I’m destined to be a fag hag. Nice, coming from a woman who worked in ELT.

Anyway, Russell Howard. His favourite RW songs are Poses and The Art Teacher – good lad! Speaking of Rufus, my brother decided yesterday that he sounds like Thom Yorke. Frankly, I was mildly offended, but this is my brother, and he probably thinks that everyone who doesn’t scream tunelessly into the mic is all of one ilk. The things my brother and I agree on musically are basically Jeff Buckley and Muse. And I suppose neither of us like a lot of indie. Hmm.

I expect the non-musos are getting bored. I’ll talk about something else. 

Like the new Harry Potter film! Guess what – it’s shit! I think people basically judge the Harry Potter films by different standard than… well, all other films. Like no critics seem to notice that the acting still sucks from all the kids, that Daniel Radcliffe gives Harry all the character and individuality of a fruit fly, and that Ginny needs recasting.

Obviously Snape still rocks, but that’s a given.

Anyway, having blogged, having fulfilled the quota and kept the baying masses from my door, I shall now leave you. Possibly to read a book or watch a film or something, and almost definitely to ferret out some food (I made scones earlier but the Human Hoover soon saw to that). Before I go, however, I’d like to say two final things.

1) Is it just me, or is Alan Bennett shit?

Not The History Boys, obviously – how could I hate the play that gave us Dakin and Posner (by the way, I think Posner is rather adorable in that Desperate Romantics thing on the BBC, which I am actually watching (admittedly, on iPlayer, but it’s a start!). It also contains Aiden Turner, and he doesn’t have greasy hair like in Being Human, rendering it basically okay to fancy him, even though I don’t think DR is really that good.)

Golly – I’m mighty glad to see this blog. I wrote all of the above yesterday and was really incredibly proud of myself for writing a proper blog – a fairly upbeat one, even – and then my laptop (by which I mean my mother’s laptop which I am slowly but surely taking custody of) died of juice deprivation. I assumed that the blog was lost in some recess of cyberspace, but lo and behold, I return and here it is. Anyway, I’ve lost all interest in what  I was saying about Alan Bennett, but I’ll still mention the second Thing.

I was thinking of doing a Current Affairs type blog, because despite my best efforts I’m still woefully underinformed in general Stuff and I ought to get more informed, so if I posted a weekly blog on some Thing then I might get a bit more enriched and shit.

Anyway – yay, nay? None of you are obliged to READ it, obviously. Tootles.

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Another blog! What the deuce?

I’m still ill, and so I’m doing another blog – possibly to take my mind off the fact that everyone else is either at Hannah’s or heading to Hannah’s, including friends that are predominantly my own and Hannah has appropriated, being the thieving Jew type. 

I’ve actually spent quite a lot of today doing my history summer work, and feel very smug because I can now basically school anyone on the Wars of the Roses, and my prior knowledge of the Wars of the Roses was limited to: Red rose, white rose – they didn’t get along. However, I was just about to start taking notes from my David Starkey book (I enjoy referring to him as ‘Dr Starkey’, because it makes me feel academic) when I was like ‘Book? So darn heavy. Zzzz.’

I’m such a proper ill person – I can use the phrase ‘It’s tired me.’ Things like making cups of tea, having a bath, creating overly-detailed mindmaps, they ‘tire’ me. It’s very weird to think that on Sunday I walked all the way back from Cheam and then went on a two mile run, whereas right now I can hardly lift a finger without suffering from a minor case of exhaustion. 

In news which doesn’t actually relate to my illness (never let it be said that illness makes me a tad self-absorbed!) my sister came third in her year talent competition! She sang ‘I Wish I Was A Punk Rocker’ by Sandi Thom – how friggin’ adorable is that? Sadly I can’t hug her in case I contaminate her, although to be honest I think if she was going to get the Dreaded Lurgy she already would have done by now.

By the way! I’m employed! I now have a paper round delivering the Kingston Guardian – I’m essentially paid a tenner a week for going on a little walk around the neighbourhood. I think that’s what you call ‘an easy buck’. And right now the actual making of said easy buck is a very appealing prospect, but my mum says that I’d make myself ill if I did it now.

Make myself ill? Honestly, woman.

Reading this over, I note that my prose is considerably less lethargic than my disposition.

What a sentence, eh?

Anyway, I’m feeling quite cheerful, because as I said, I’ve actually achieved something today. Yesterday I was so bored and so disinclined to do anything proper or conducive to my development that I actually streamed both sequels to The Prince and Me. The second one is okay, and the third one is – (all due credit goes to Bobby Webb for this phrase) – a tawdry piece of shit. A tawdry piece of shit which makes me realise that despite an abominable plotline, Julia Stiles and Luke Mably did actually have really good chemistry in the original, thus the basis of its appeal. The woman who replaced Julia Stiles is the most boring actress known to man, and the guy who replaced Luke Mably is worse. And he’s also not sexy. 

Quelle travesty. 

I’ve been listening to the same six songs (all by Jason Crigler) all day, which I’m sure is not especially healthy, but he’s a seriously cool guitarist. Fia, if you’re reading this, check him out. Great all-rounder with some nice blues influences.

Speaking of Fia and of my blog readers in general, I was really happified to note that both Livvi and Fia mentioned yesterday morning’s blog update in their own posts, and to show my gratitude in a not-especially-exciting way, I will sort out a sidebar straight after I’ve finished writing this and so, dear chums – Fia and Livvi! *points to sidebar*. Thanks for the warm fuzzies, Livvi. I’m sufficiently recovered to appreciate them. And Livvi, I’m very glad that you liked my card. It really was awesome.

Immodest, but true.

Anyway, writing this blog has really put me in a much better mood, despite the fact that I’m completely worn out by it. I’m a cheerful invalid, like Cousin Helen in What Katy Did. Tee hee. I think my being cheered up is probably due to the fact that in typing I’m able to use lots of punctuation, which is like a textual substitute for the energy that I don’t have. Plus the knowledge that some of my friends are reading this, which is really nice because I feel really isolated and fed up, so it’s nice to kind of feel like I’m talking to someone.

That sounds really pathetic when I read it back. Commence the composition of my requiem, please.

Anyway, Hannah threatened to telephone me on my sickbed from her partay, but I get the suspicion that if she does I’ll be tired and unfriendly on the phone, in which case I’ll redirect all those at Hannah’s party here, for what will probably be a fuller and more dynamic communication. 

Good thing: it’s been raining a lot this week (AWESOME storm last night!), which has the effect of making me feel very cosy, here in my bed of lethargy.

Love to you all,


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So late it’s early

It’s 4.04am, I’m still awake and feeling rather ropey due to having contracted swine flu. I’m actually wondering if it’s the Tamiflu that’s keeping me awake. That or having been in bed for two days and being a bit fed up of it, so my body is actually rebelling by not sleeping.

Either sounds fairly plausible, although to be fair anything sounds plausible at this hour. Seeing as I’m being bedridden, I might get up in an hour, make some coffee, watch a DVD and then sleep till five in the afternoon. I can actually do that, because basically I’m in bed whether the sky is dark or light or somewhere in between, so I might as well sleep erratically.

I think part of the reason is that I haven’t listened to any music in a couple of days, so at about 1.30am I was being all like ‘Buuhh… so tired. But some new music sounds awesome.’ And I’ve now discovered a couple of artists who are pretty good. And as I write this a drag queen called Kiki has just come onto (I’m not sure why, because the last thing that I was actually listening to was Linda Thompson’s Versatile Heart, which, for some reason, I do not yet own, despite having completely loved her comeback album.

Need to get… Linda’s album, Jason Crigler, Lucy Wainwright Roche… possibly some Jenni Mauldaur. And old Kiki is actually turning out pretty good, so that might be another one to add to the list. This will, of course, require an iPod reshuffle, which for me is about as exciting as them bringing Christmas forward. I wonder who actually has the power to do that? Probably the Pope.

Anyway, having swine flu (as I’ve previously mentioned) I have fuck all to do apart from lie in bed all day and do stuff that I’ve wanted to do but haven’t had time, like catch up on The Supersizers and read Moth Smoke by Mohsin Hamid (The guy who wrote The Reluctant Fundamentalist and who is obscenely talented). Moth Smoke is very good, by the way, if deeply weird. 

I’ve also started writing a short story which I thought up at Livvi’s house (I always think of stuff to write when I’m at Livvi’s house… I dunno if I’ve just been underrating creative mess my whole life, or it’s just that something about sleeping on the floor makes me feel like a Skins teenager. Not that I actually got any sleep while I was on the floor, but it was probably whilst I was not sleeping that I got the idea for the story). Anyway, the story contains the line ‘She left him in the conservatory with an erection that he couldn’t get rid of, and lacking in the self love necessary to get rid of it himself.’ You can probably guess what sort of thing it is, but it damnably needs to be written, so that’s another thing to keep me entertained on my sick bed.

So basically I’m blogging a) because people have been hassling me to blog, despite the fact that no one seems to really like my blog, I don’t really like my blog, and nothing interesting is ever said in my blog. Which proves, if nothing else does, that people really are as perverse as as the tales would have you believe. I’m also blogging because b) I have a trendy disease: the trendiest of the trendy, in fact. Swine flu – it’s been on the news, and it’s therefore cool. And I have it, and am being treated for it accordingly, and this is a novelty worth documenting. Although I suppose it was basically inevitable. However, moving onto c) It’s half four in the morning and I can’t sleep and I’m listening to music. Of course I need to blog. What the hell else would I be doing?

So just to let you know what else has been going down whilst I fester in my bed of sickness and lurgy, I streamed a bit of 2007’s Marie Antoinette earlier today – yesterday. Big mistake, it’s a piece of shit. A piece of shit distinctly lacking in dialogue, and a very tarted up piece of shit which people never tire of pointing out to be visually stunning. Yes, that’s because it’s shot at the Palais de Versailles, and it’s starring Kirsten Dunst, and she wears really nice clothes. It’s not going to be hideous, is it?

Anyway, I’m on trying to find someone else I can fall musically in love with, because I’ve occasionally been accused of living in the past/relying on genetics to produce good music, and basically treating musicians like that race horse genetic engineering model that we did in Y9 Biology. Sadly, ascertains what I like and recommends artists that are a) either related to artists that I like or b) of the same era (ancient) of the artists that I like. Thus no progress is made. It’s also now trying to make me like the Fleet Foxes because I like Bon Iver, and I’ve got the horrible feeling that since I don’t completely hate the stuff it’s playing me I might have to actually make the effort. Anyway, I’ve discovered a couple of beautiful Denny-penned Fairport tracks that I probably wouldn’t have heard otherwise because they were recorded post-Thompson era, so I think I can deem that to basically be a good thing and move on.

So last week was a week of stuff happening, because in the day I was doing work experience at Disney, and by night I was watching good telly, mostly Torchwood. Well, I say that it was good, because for four awesome episodes of awesome Torchwood was the best thing I’d seen on the BBC in ages, and then the last episodes turned it into the inevitable train wreck that Russell T basically creates by making characters too awesome for their own good. Anyway, I shan’t go into that now, because I had that (long) conversation with Hannah on the way back from Livvi’s. Which was really good, by the way, and did that thing of reminding me that I’m more of a regular teenager than I habitually assume, by watching Nick and Nora’s Infinite Playlist (which was well-acted but underwhelming, by the way. And if music was going to be such a big focus then it should have been better. Although I dig a film about ‘musos’ (as my mother calls those who like well-written, well-executed songs), the idea of a band which leaves xXUlTrAsEcReTcLuEsXx as to the whereabouts of its next gig… oh dear. And oh dear, never before in my life have I tYpEd LiKe ThIs. I actually find it weirdly enjoyable.)

Having been blogging for forty five minutes, it’s now ten to five, and therefore not far off from a time that it would be acceptable to get up and make a coffee. This is the problem at waking up at one in the afternoon. is trying to make me listen to some wanker who reckons that ideas are like sparrows. And whilst we’re on the subject of pretentious indie lyrics, can I just give Regina Spektor a gentle slap for announcing that ‘The sea is just a wetter version of the sky’.

No it’s not, love.

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I’m feeling very fired up about gay rights at this particular moment in time, because my mum made me watch Lewis with her, and I had to stay in the room and watch ‘the horrid bit near the end’ because she’s too much of wuss to watch it herself. I’ve got to say, I think the horridness of said Bit is actually offset by the hilarity of watching my mother scuttling in and out of the room, hoody pulled up round her face in anxiety, asking in a panicky voice if ‘Lewis has worked it out yet’.

Livvi looks to Captain Kirk to solve problems. I look to Lewis. 

Anyway, yes. Love is never wrong. That’s what I’m trying to say. Love is never wrong, and the Catholic church can be a right bitch about gays. 

I was just listening to the Dolly Parton original of ‘I Will Always Love You’, which is about twenty times better than the Whitney Useless cover. Although Dolly does sound like a very tuneful sheep. But that’s cool, especially if it’s country music. The Everly Brothers, my father decided yesterday, sound like meerkats harmonising. 

Huh. Sure they do.

Anyway, today I revised Physics and went to the dentist. Not fun, and made considerably less fun by the fact that whilst there were two women poking around in my weird numb mouth, Come Dine With Me was on on the stupid mounted portable on the wall. So in addition to having someone drilling part of my body, I had to listen to some boring cow from Dover moaning about the fact that ‘chicken isn’t her favourite meat’. Well, no it’s not. It’s also not exactly an acquired taste. It may not be your favourite food, but it’s also not some crazy delicacy that only about twelve people on the whole planet have a genuine taste for. 

Also, why does a dinner party necessitate a detailed critique of the party giver’s shoes? I did have reliable reports of gratuitous rudeness on CDWM from the likes of David Mitchell, but I chose not to believe him. Foolish me – it is apparently okay to be horrifically rude to people just because the British public are watching. Grim stuff.

My mum just came in to tell me to shut my curtains because there will be scaffolders outside my window early tomorrow morning and apparently they’re ‘coarse men’.

‘Nuff said. Nice of her to try to protect my virtue. Shame she wasn’t there for me when that bitch/bastard was trying to MURDER Hathaway.

In what is possibly my only other exciting news, I now have an app on my iTouch (cue Hallelujah chorus at the word ‘iTouch’) which stores 150 great novels. Which I can read.

Now, book purists may recoil, but there is a lot to be said for being able to carry War and Peace and Locke’s Treatise on Government around in your jeans pocket. Plus, it’s really quite readable – I read The Curious Case of Benjamin Button on it earlier (Not bad, by the way. Hell of a lot more enjoyable than the Great Sodding Gatsby) and it was really quite a jolly way to read stuff. Not a patch on the actual thing, obviously, but not half bad. Maybe even a bit awesome. And all for £2.99.

Anyway, peace out from the Apps whore.

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Fatuous inanity.

The things I learn from WordPress. I was actually quite excited to discover that I’ve read, cover to cover, one of the longest books in the English language – that is, A Suitable Boy by Vikram Seth. 

And enjoyed it. Tee bloody hee.

Aaaanyway, it’s eleven at night and I am so very, very awake. Combination of tea, and I think also the fact that I woke up lateish (ten). Should really have been alleviated by the fact that I went for quite a long run, but seriously, I’m jittery as hell. This would probably be a good time to do some history revision, because if I can cover the content quickly then I can work on my technique in the next couple of days. History being the only subject left that I have a real major interest in doing well in, so practising my technique is probably a good idea. 

I spent today doing physics revision – only obviously,  I didn’t really want to do physics revision, so I made that time more interesting by listening to songs that I don’t know too well on my iPod so that I can give them a star rating. It occurs to me that if I can only carry three and a half thousand songs around with me (and that really isn’t very many) then I ought to choose the best ones, and that means separating the wheat from the chaff. 

Speaking as a music snob, I’d like to briefly recount a rant that I was having earlier and Fia was patiently listening to. In the below I’m going to make myself very unpopular with a certain Imogen.

I think Wizard Rock is pointless.

Seriously. It’s not because it’s nerdy, or because it’s about books, or anything fandom related. I’m a nerd myself, and I don’t judge other nerds based on their nerdiness. I just think that Wizard Rock is way, way too specific. I think that good music, whilst not necessarily relevant to everyone, should have some degree of… transposibility. And I’m aware that that’s not a word. But I just think that by creating a whole genre which is just in the confines of a series of books, it’s way, way too limiting. If you’re going to write a song about loss then… write a song about loss. If you’re writing about experiences that everyone knows and acknowledges to be fictional, then isn’t it by definition less immediate, because it doesn’t come from the artist? And if they’re drawing on their own experiences to express the sentiments from HP, then why do they have to do it in that frame? Why can’t they just… write a song?

Plus, in the stuff that I’ve heard, the production value kind of sucks. And like I said *points to self* Me? Music snob. I like good production. Which basically – and I think I might have just killed my friendship with Imogen here (if you’re reading this, I do love you muchly, and this what I’m here writing was just the child of an idle brain, on account of physics revision. Or I wouldn’t usually have thought about it to this extent/come to the conclusion that I don’t like it) – makes wizard rock ultimately less good than… well, music which isn’t, and is professionally produced. Not all of it! I’m not saying that non-Wrock is by definition better than Wrock, but I don’t think that it can get above a certain level of Good Music, because it’s confined and it’s not really produced properly.

This is the bit where I wave my hands frantically and point to the above, saying loudly ‘This is just my opinion and I am not trying to make any assertions which infringe or discredit the preferences of others, I’m just making a point because Wrock is like… a crazy phenomenon and as someone who cares about music the idea of a musical genre based on a series of books is interesting to me!’

Ahem. There we go.

Well! I’m actually tired now, which is kind of annoying, because it means that I probably won’t end up doing that history revision after all. I felt that I’d better do a blog because I haven’t done one in ages. I haven’t done one in ages because my life is incredibly boring and I haven’t really done anything recently. Apart from go for dinner at Canteen in London on Thursday night with my family, which was pretty nice. I’m so cool that I go and hang out in bars behind Waterloo Station at night – with my dad and cousins. 

Great. I’m in premises that I shouldn’t be in because I’m too young to legally drink: and it’s with my family. 

In other news, I’m reading A Heartbreaking Work of Staggering Genius by Dave Eggers, because Hannah and Livvi have been extolling his/its virtues for so long, so I thought I’d give it a try (plus, I have to try and come round to books which are Clever with a capital C, due to the fact that I’m writing one) and it is, indeed, amazing. Not to mention obviously really, really original. I’ve actually been reading it for over a week, which doesn’t usually happen with me and books. But due to Sucky and Failurific exams, I haven’t got much time to sit down and read a book for several hours.

It’s funny, during exam time it’s all ‘I have no time! None! NOT ANY!’ But with all the time that I spend procrastinating on Facebook/watching shit telly, I could actually have read the complete works of Tolstoy whilst on study leave. But what I basically mean is ‘I’ve got a limited amount of time that I can spend engaging my brain, and at the moment it’s all being used up trying to remember stuff about plugs’. But anyway, I’m really excited about Dave Eggers now, because he’s got quite a few books out and if they’re all as good as A.H.W.O.S.G. then I’ve got my summer reading sorted.

Not that it wasn’t already sorted. Not that I don’t have a great huge pile of books that I want to/feel that I ought to – read. But a specific author to look forward to is a delightful notion.

Anyway, thus having blogged/probably pissed Imogen off/made some inane comments about a book which most of the people who’re reading this will already know is awesome, I depart to bed. Nighty night.


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Finally admitted to myself that my calf is injured. It’s like… you know when you’re lying in bed and your calf is suddenly seized by a pain so acute that you actually can’t think for maybe three seconds, and then the pain just goes?

It’s exactly like that, but without the brevity. Ouch.

History exam today, although frankly I’d rather not think about it. I don’t think that it was terrible, it’s just usually I quite enjoy history exams, and I really didn’t enjoy this one. But that was, by and large okay, because then Hannah and I went and sat in Cafe Nero. I had a terrifying drink which was bright green, and we sat and discussed variousness, the nature of which I cannot exactly remember. Then returned to my house and drank tea and made arrangements for Dorset. Then – oh shock and horror – Hannah listened to some music and actually took it in. A momentous occasion. Granted, there was a specific purpose for this music listenage, but I still like to think that I improved her general wellbeing with some Janis Joplin/Nick Drake/Jeff Buckley/Tom Petty/Richard Thompson. We then proceeded to actually have a laugh, which I haven’t done for quite a while and was therefore hugely appreciated, although it had the effect of making me think the week is over. Which of course, it isn’t. And tomorrow there is chemistry to be done.

However, for posterity, I feel that I should record some of the amusingness.

ME: He was searching for himself on Ebay

MIRSKY: Searching… for stuff that belonged to him? Or… his soul?

ME: Dunno. But he found himself.

Maybe you had to be there. Anyway, we were also discussing my List of Favourite Men (and if this was a video blog, and if I had a sidebar, I would be pointing to a link to Livvi’s blog to explain the origins of this conversation. As it is, just Google insidelivvishead.) Anyway, within my List of Favourite Men (and there are thirteen of them… because that’s just Numberwang) there is a sub-category. This subcategory being the Tall Pen, where the tall people are kept. The Tall Pen contained David Tennant, Russell T Davies and Laurence Fox (who are 6’1″, 6’5″ and 6’3″ respectively, so we can basically assume that the Tall Pen is for those over six foot). Anyway, in the Tall Pen, they are obliged to stand with their legs splayed apart like giraffes bending down to drink.

Like this:

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