Joke

Man: Doctor, Doctor, I can't pronounce my Fs, my Ts or my Hs!

Doctor: Well, you can't say fairer than that then.




Back soon.

Yup. That's what I thought.

You Are a Great Liar

You can pretty much pull anything over on anyone. You are an expert liar, even if you don't lie very often.

Are You a Good Liar?

Less of a celebration, more of a rip-off

Lovely Significant Other, who couldn't be less interested, but knows I am, turned up with two tickets to the Doctor Who exhibition. So, come Saturday afternoon, off we traipsed to West Brompton.

I dunno, maybe it was the gap between expectation and fulfillment, but I was disappointed. (Possibly also the gap between moulded plastic and CGI, I dunno.) There were some good bits, like How To Build An Ood, and a static display of life-size Daleks that came VERY SUDDENLY to life, also setting some unsuspecting small children to crying ha ha ha ha, and, I guess, for those so inclined, the actual real true-life Waitress costume As Worn By Kylie, but otherwise -

Nah. The jeans worn by La Piper? A cat-faced nun? A Victorian telescope that looked just a leetle like it had been made out of a gigantic loo-roll and some sticky-backed plastic? And a Tardis with DO NOT TOUCH all over it, so the much-longed-for photo of Moi in its doorway is going to have to wait for my much closer acquaintance with Photoshop? And a shop where the minimum price-hike was 20%.?

And all over kids (not that I'm agin 'em in principle, you understand, but when they get in my way to this degree?) standing by the exhibits, looking gormless, and having to keep out of the way while Doting Parent takes a picture?

Again, Nah. I'll stick to watching it on telly There's only So Far one can take fandom, and with a grateful kiss to Significant Other, this was A Step Too Far.




Actually the Stone Angel was quite good, positioned in a suitably unexpected corner. And the Empress of Raknoss was BIG. That was good too.

All we like sheep . . .

Far be it from me blindly to follow the crowd, and it does seem that a lot of bloggers are posting links to videos, but on the other hand I did find a REALLY GOOD PIECE. It's an a capella rendering of Bohemian Rhapsody by one of those College Boy Bands so quintessentially decadent East Coast. (Of the U.S. of A., I mean, not Essex. Or Kent.)

I shall be quite annoyed if this phenomenomenomenon isn't kept afloat by gay men. How irritating would it be to find a country where it's perfectly acceptable for talented straight men to dress tidily, have an extremely functional knowledge of music, and work hard enough to produce this little gem.

Oh, yes, the link - it's here.

Dangerous

One of my favourite things ever is getting a comment from Reg. This is what it looks like in my hotmail inbox - all dark and brooding. Think storm clouds on the horizon, think the Reichenbach Falls, think Olivier playing Heathcliff. Think Reg.

In other news, 'Paradise Lost' is orf. Not enough interest in the village. I'm a bit gutted, aksherly.

Abdiel

Look at this -

O Heaven! That such resemblance of the Highest
Should yet remain, where faith and realty
Remain not; wherefore should not strength and might
There fail where virtue fails, or weakest prove
Where boldest, though to sight unconquerable?
His puissance, trusting to th' Almighty's aid
I mean to try, whose reason I have tried
Unsound and false; nor is it aught but just
That he who in debate of truth hath won
Should win in arms, in both disputes alike
Victor; though brutish that contést and foul,
When reason hath to deal with force, yet so
Most reason is that reason overcome.

There's to be a staging of Milton's words in early July (not all of them. That would be mad.) and I auditioned yesterday. I said, of course, that I would just be pleased to be asked at all, but that's a LIE - I want Abdiel. I really really want Abdiel.

(Abdiel is the angel who initially was swayed by Lucifer's 'Non serviam', but thought better of it. That's the angel opposing Satan, who with his legions is assaulting the throne of Heaven. I may have to post some more of this later - it's FANTASTIC.)

See?

If it's better to give

then who on earth do the givers give to? This week, as 'appen, ME.

Lilies from Anisa, all tightly furled. One of my favourite things EVER is to watch flowers slowly burst into bloom, and lilies are spectacularly good for this - a miracle on my own mantlepiece. And, just as they reached full perfection, Significant Other asked, sobbing, if we could please throw them out.


Pollen allergy. Bah.






My mother, returning from a couple of months in South Africa, bore a box (shaped like a star, coloured crackly antique gold, with a BEJEWELLED top) full of shells.







And Rachael, who is an Autumn, occasionally buys Spring stuff by mistake, and then gives it to me.