Hi Diddly Dee, an Actor's Life for Me
"Those who agree with us may not be right, but we admire their astuteness."
Cullen Hightower
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Gutted
In a rash moment I bought a load of new clothes yesterday - well that's what store cards are for ;o) I wore my new skirt into work today and it looked very lovely. Maroon, knee-length tiered skirt teamed with a crochet wrap top and flip flops - how great did I feel? However, my work day turned out to be hell on earth, with everyone chucking stuff at me to do. Disaster was bound to happen. At about 5.00 I was trying to change a fax number on a fax cover sheet, so picked up the bottle of tipp-ex to delete the wrong number. The bottle of tipp-ex that I'd not put the lid back onto properly. The bottle of tipp-ex that proceeded to explode all over my brand-new dark red skirt. Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. White spirit is not, so far, removing the offending white stuff. Anyone have any bright ideas? |
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3.5.05 21:16 |
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The Hills are Alive!
For those who are interested, the singing nun extravaganza on Saturday went exceptionally well. The place was absolutely packed - I'd guess about 250 people, although as we didn't sell tickets it's hard to tell precisely. Suffice to say that the entire foyer of BAC was absolutely jammed with people standing shoulder to shoulder on the hottest day of the year so far. Apparently they were fighting to get in - that's what I like to see ;o) Reports back from friends in the audience indicate that it was as enjoyable to watch as it was to perform - and there were many photos taken, which I will post when I manage to get hold of them. There's even a video floating around somewhere, which I'm dying to see! Follow-up events include Ducky at the Vauxhall Tavern on 28 May, which should be an absolute scream. We're also going to be putting some demo songs down onto CD. The nuns are taking over... |
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5.5.05 13:27 |
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A Short History of Custard
This is especially for the lovely Martian. Wikipedia tells me the following about custard: 'Custard is a family of preparations based on milk and eggs, thickened with heat. Most commonly, it refers to a dessert or dessert sauce, but custard bases are also used for quiches and other savoury foods. As a dessert, it is made from a combination of milk or cream, egg yolks, sugar, and flavourings such as vanilla. Sometimes flour, corn starch, or gelatin are also added. In French cookery, custard—confusingly called just crème—is never thickened in this way: when starch is added, it is pastry cream crème pâtissière; when gelatin is added, it is crème anglaise collée. Depending on how much egg or thickener is used, custard may vary in consistency from a thin pouring sauce (Crème Anglaise), to a thick blancmange like that used for vanilla slice or the pastry cream used to fill éclairs. Custard thickened with starch is a non-Newtonian fluid. Most custard is cooked in a double boiler (bain-marie) or heated very gently on the stove in a saucepan, but custard can also be steamed or baked in the oven with or without a hot water bath. Instant and ready-made 'custards' are also marketed, though they are not true custards if they are not thickened with egg. See Bird's Custard, for instance.' I find the last fact about custard not being custard unless thickened with egg very interesting. I think that might make me a bit sad, but no matter. Apparently Bird's custard was invented by Mr Bird for Mrs Bird, who was allergic to eggs. It then took off in a big way and was even used for army troops during the war as, being powdered, it kept well. In Birmingham there is a media and art centre just down the road from the Bullring called The Custard Factory, so-called because it is housed in the old Bird's custard factory buildings. I quite like the sound of this place; it sounds like you'd be swimming in custard all day, which would suit me down to the ground. When I was a student we used to have custard parties of an evening and would eat custard until we made ourselves sick. Ah, those were the days... Custard is also the name of a a cartoon dog (or was he the cat - I always get Roobarb and Custard muddled up) and this programme spawned possibly the best theme tune in the history of the world ever. Anyone who disagrees with this statement is obviously wrong in the head. Just you try and find a better one. I leave you with this wonderful childhood joke:
What's yellow and dangerous? Shark-infested custard.
Boom, boom... |
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6.5.05 16:39 |
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Calling all London-based opera fans...
This sounds fantastic. I think I shall be booking tickets for sure... |
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13.5.05 12:58 |
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Book 9
The Last Crossing by Guy Vanderhaeghe I'm loath to review this one, as I really didn't enjoy it, but I suppose I can't only blog the good ones! The story follows two Englishmen, who are looking for their missing brother in America. They are joined by a woman, Lucy Stoveall, who is looking for revenge on the men that she believes killed her younger sister. Chucked into the mix are another man who loves Lucy although she couldn't care less about him and an Indian guide. There's a love triangle, fights between the men, murder and venereal disease. However, despite all these potentially exciting plot twists, I was bored. The characters are one-dimensional and caricatured and the language used is cod-19th century and grating. Even when Lucy leaves Charles, the man she loves, for Custis, the man who loves her unrequitedly, I really couldn't have cared less. I just wanted it to be over. My mother always told me that if you can't say anything good then don't say anything at all. I'd therefore like to point out that there are 2 good things about this book - it was cheap and has a pretty cover. Other than that, I'm afraid I'm struggling. Avoid it. |
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18.5.05 21:48 |
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Book 10
My Friend Flicka by Mary O'Hara My Friend Flicka is the story of a boy, Ken, and his horse, Flicka. I loved it as a child and returned to it with a little trepidation, not knowing whether I was going to ruin a memory. Happily, this was far from the case. Ultimately, this book is a rite-of-passage story. At the beginning of the book Ken has failed a year at school and will have to repeat a grade. He is living in his older brother's shadow and his dream of having a yearling of his very own to break seems to be just that - a dream. However, Ken's mother helps to persuade his father that having a horse might make Ken learn responsibility. When Ken sees Flicka out on the plains he falls in love with her there and then and decides that she is the filly for him. However, Flicka comes from bronco stock and training the wildness out of her is far from easy. In fact, she nearly kills herself and almost costs Ken his life too. It is not a children's book as such, despite the main focus being a ten year old boy whose dream is to own his own horse one day. It is a beautifully written book with many layers, some of which inevitably passed me by as a child. For instance the frustration of Ken's father at his son's inability to keep his head out of the clouds manifests itself in anger at Ken. When I was younger all I noticed was a rather terrifying man who shouted a lot. As an adult I saw the love and ambition that fuelled that anger. This was another book that had me crying on the tube. It is beautifully written - not a sentimental book, but one with heart and feeling in which you can't help but engage with all the characters, both human and animal. And now that I've rediscovered it I have no doubt I will be reading it again and again. |
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18.5.05 22:14 |
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The Really Wild Show
Recently my garden has been host to a whole variety of wildlife. Apart from the cats, that is. For the past week or so I have been rudely awoken at around 7.00 by the harsh croaking of a crow. I'm evidently not the only person to have been disturbed by his vile noise, as this morning somebody let off an air horn at him. Unfortunately it has not deterred him, as this evening I came home to see him sitting in my walnut tree, making a bloody racket as usual. Then I looked at the base of the tree. Funny, looks like someone's taken a chunk out of it. I don't remember the tree surgeons removing any branches from that low down, but it definitely looks like a scarred piece of wood... Hang on a minute - that just moved. It's that bloody fox back again. A couple of years back there was a real fox problem in the surrounding gardens. Some silly moo 2 doors along was feeding a whole family of them and they therefore had no fear of humans and were running riot, making a hideous noise at night (if you've never heard foxes yelping, believe me, it's very unnerving) and stinking the place out. One night I was awoken by George haring through the catflap (my bedroom door opens out onto the garden), nearly taking it off its hinges, then sitting just inside hissing for dear life. I was about to boot him up the backside for being so silly when a long red nose appeared through the catflap after him... Anyway, they disappeared about 18 months ago and I hadn't seen or heard from them again until the last few months. I've seen at least 3 different foxes in the garden, one being the rather handsome russet beast in the above picture, another being a rather mangier red one and the third being an enormous grey one. They are at least being reasonably quiet this time round (although the bloody crow is making up for that) but I'm still not happy about them hanging out in my garden. I'm pretty sure it was them that dug up my pot of garlic and there is a distinct foxy whiff which is rather offputting. I feel rather like Farmer Giles - 'Git off moi laaaaaand!' |
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19.5.05 19:23 |
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