Helen goes global (ish)

You can now read the opening chapters of my novel 'Mother of the World' at YouWriteOn - just search for hmsankh (my username) to find them. You can read without registering - the system is that I earn reviews by reviewing the work of others but anyone can read. Do let me know what you think!

Quod erat demonstrandum...

Ah, Eddie Izzard. Or possibly: mmmmmm, Eddie Izzard. How I love that man. I have been following his progress from a distance for over ten years now, as he leaves the blue planet gasping and squirrel-infested in his wake. I have seen him acting live, in the excellent and harrowing 'Lenny', and now at last I have seen the live stand-up of his 'stripped' tour.

There are so many things that I love about him. There's the eyeliner, of course, but more importantly the fact that he is clearly a right-thinking human being, who cares about life, the universe and everything. The broad subject-matter for this tour is the entire history of the planet Earth, human civilisation, religion and the fact that in the probably absence of God we still ought all to be nice to one another. That's the underlying goodness. On top of that lies the howlingly hilarious and surreal Eddie-world. I always know something or someone is special when they seep right into my subconscious and alter my vocabulary. Eddie is right up there alongside Shakespeare and Buffy the Vampire Slayer, melting my cerebral cortex into new and exciting shapes.

It's hard to explain what he talked about without the voice and the gestures, but suffice to say that I now have a clear mental image and matching sound effects for jazz chickens, oppressed squirrels, kenny rogers (two people), foxes in foxgloves, ants in elephants' clothing and the ventriloquist's Yorick.

I will join the Eddie revolution and 'set fire to things' if Maggie Thatcher gets a state funeral. I understand that there is no deity, only Captain Random, and that you can't have a plague of frogs (it's just more frogs than usual). I know the difference between the familiar 'you' (Aren't you my father?) and the unfamiliar 'you' (Who the fuck are you?). I sense that badgers can be choosers, and that what hashassins with vacuum cleaners lack in guns they make up for in surprise. My mouth is filled with the recollected taste of cakemix and zoom lollies (the closest the UK has got to space).

To conclude, as God might have said if he existed: 'Here it is. It's blue, don't fuck it up.'

Das ist korrectamundo!

Westfield, ho!

I seem to have neglected to mention my visit to the opening day at Westfield Mall. I like the architecture (that British Museum - lite roof in particular), I like the fact that they don't have many tacky chain eateries (but do have square pie, sushi, lebanese food etc), but otherwise I'm underwhelmed. The main interior food hall was grossly overcrowded - at least half hour queue for everything - so don't expect to eat there any time around Christmas or sales. The shops are pretty much Oxford Street the second, although I haven't come across the oddly-named 'Pull & Bear' before who have a fine range of cheap and interesting T-shirts, albeit aimed at 16-year-olds.

There were a few first-day incentives around, though nothing spectacular (warm champagne, anyone?). But I was very pleased with the free turtle I got when I bought a bag from Carpisa. It's furry - which of course is a little bit wrong for a turtle, but very cute - and most importantly it's satisfyingly odd.

Using my hands

And speaking of craft, yesterday was day two of the really wonderful and rewarding City Lit course 'Jewellery: Making a Silver Ring'. I have, in fact, made a silver ring! The course runs over two sundays and is designed to be the perfect grounding in working with metal. In order to make a ring you have to learn to cut metal, anneal it (the fiery bit), clean it (the acid 'pickle' bit), shape it, saw it, solder it, make it round, decorate and polish it. Ray Duncan was a very approachable, experienced and patient tutor, who plunged us straight into the fun stuff with minimal chatter as we cut slices of copper for our test version.

I was forcibly reminded of GCSE art, in which I worked harder than in any other subject but was never going to get more than a 'B'. I am sadly lacking in manual dexterity and will not be becoming a master jeweller any time this millenium. But I had a wonderful time using my hands and learning new skills, and I have produced a ring that is round, shiny and wearable. The join is almost invisible, a victory for much filing! The decoration is not very sophisticated - another time I would try to do more with texture using the motorised tools or a contrast of matt and shiny finishes - but it doesn't look grossly amateur either, at least not to a layperson. Profoundly satisfying and a bargain at less than £100 for the course and all equipment and materials (if you wanted a wider ring or to do more you would need to buy your own).

I'll add a photo when my computer stops falling over every time I open the photo file...

Art, craft and higher mathematics

Went to an interesting Royal Society "conversation" last week between Mark Haddon, writer of 'The Curious Incident of the Dog in the Night Time', and mathematician Marcus de Sautoy. The talk was rather tantalising as they brushed the edges of so many fascinating subjects, but there were some lovely and thought-provoking moments, in particular:

- Eureka moments. Haddon said that eureka moments for writers might just be getting a sentence right, nothing more dramatic, but that what he hears at those times is the sound of a very expensive car door closing.

- Explanations. Sautoy's work is all about trying to explain something so that everyone understands the same points. Haddon loves to include explanation, hence his enjoyment in writing 'Curious incidenct', but knows that most art is designed to be subject to multiple interpretations and should leave a lot of space for the reader. He illustrated this very well by reading a sentence or two of a scene by the sea then asking for shows of hands for pebbles v. sand on the beach, boats or none on the sea etc.

- Art and science. They really probably should have stuck to art and mathematics, as there is far too much to say on this topic for one little talk, but Haddon did point out that people may be too quick to look for the similarities - the differences may be more interesting (also, there is no reason why we should all appreciate the same things).

I asked how they saw craft, where art meets physical and technical parameters (such as the mathematics in knitting).

Haddon felt that craft was different in purpose and method to 'art' because of these limitations and because the main aim is to make something for a fixed purpose - I didn't have a chance to point out that most good craft involves everything that I think gives value to art, namely (and not exhaustively):
- creativity
- skill
- interpretation of a tradition
- possible symbolism
- personality
etc etc.
And when it produces something wearable or useful as well, that is surely a bonus...

Fame at last (ahem...)

Had an email recently reminding me that the winners of the PCS & Words Magazine short story competition (open to members of any trades union) had been announced. I hadn't heard anything so knew I hadn't won, but was very pleased to see my name in the "highly commended" category! They also list those who reach the second and third readings so you appear at the top of a pleasing pyramid. The story is a little too long to post here - it's called 'Moonlight over Mount Pleasant' and involves a young boy with learning difficulties going missing at the British Postal Museum and Archive, with some possible comparisons between the sorting office, the silent prison that once stood on the Mount Pleasant site and a mind that is full of ideas but has trouble expressing itself. Very nice to have a little recognition to tell people about before I go back to work in January.

Redemption

Two really astonishing stories I have come across in the last fortnight. First, Joe Hill's novel 'Heart-Shaped Box'. Neil Gaiman's blog recommended this ages ago and I finally picked it up. This is in some respects a truly nasty story - I was slightly surprised - but genuinely redemptive and one of those books that you just feel is 'true'. It's been badged as horror - the vengeful ghost is central and really terrifying - but I wouldn't even call it fantasy, just a novel of real life with a supernatural catalyst. I've never read anything more revealing about the effects of abuse and the way the abused can become the abusers. Oh and the vision of the ageing rock star as the central character also feels very convincing.

Just as good and probably somewhat easier going for the faint of stomach is beautiful film 'I've loved you so long' (french with subtitles). This has jumped straight into my top 10 films of all time. Even those who prefer more plot must surely be gripped by the underlying tension and mystery of the scenario where Juliette (Kristin Scott Thomas) comes to live with her sister Lea after 15 years in prison.

We find out relatively rapidly that Juliette murdered her own 6 year old son. Each brief event in this film conveys a world of detail and emotion about the relationship between the sisters and about Juliette's adaptation to a new world, her sisters' loved ones, her social worker, her employers and so on. I know at least two people who have seen this and shown amazement that the characters can act with their eyebrows - not in a comic way though! Every character, however small their part, is a fully fledged person with all the contraditions that tends to entail - the parole officer with his dreams of great rivers is particularly poignant, as is Juliette's evolving bond with her sisters' adopted children.

There is also plenty of observational humour - the lothario of the local swimming pool, Juliette's expression as she confesses to her sister that she has slept with a man from a bar and even the moment of tragi-comic tension as a family friend puts Juliette on the spot at a dinner party about why they have never met her before.

Long before we comprehend the details of Juliette's crime, we have understood this 'criminal' as a human being. Kristin Scott Thomas' performance is a highlight in a pretty phenomenal career. Although Juliette's make-up and wardrobe are austere - we are allowed to see her tired eyes and lines - she is nevertheless unbelievably stylish (SO not what this is about, but I defy you to come out not craving grey cashmere and a suede coat). But the true heroine is sister Lea (Elsa Zylberstein), who displays deep humanity as she takes her older sister in, embraces and trusts her without prejudice, supports her as she builds up a new life and defends her against all comers. It is Lea that I cried with at the emotional moments, and felt for as she came up time and again against Juliette's walls of independence and pain. The ending redeems not only Juliette, but most importantly Lea's faith. We are given a sympathetic reason for Juliette's crime, but she has still committed a crime of sorts against her family by never explaining herself and it is Lea who gives them both a second chance. Really beautiful - I can't recommend it highly enough.

...and a little inanity

Am I the only one who gets tired of magazine's 'must have' beauty lists which appear to be sponsored by L'oreal and almost never include anything a bit less chemical? Here, then, is the beginning of my own, thoroughly biased but rather more broadly-based list, which I can guarantee is based on extensive and thorough experimentation!

1. To begin at the feet - the only foot cream that I am passionate about is L'Occitane's shea butter foot cream. It smells refreshingly of lavender (real lavender, not synthesised lavender). It's rich and creamy but if you massage in a pea-size blob to each foot you will be able to walk on carpets again by the time you have moisturised the rest of your body - which leads me to...

2. Body lotion - best cheap and plentiful lotion for dry skin like mine is St Ives Collagen Ellastin. Rich but not sticky and an unobtrusive smell, large bottles at very reasonable prices. Weleda mallow body lotion is a runnier but even more virtuous alternative.

3. Shower gel - it is a mystery to me why anyone still buys generic shower gels unless they really really love them. A trip to Whole Foods Market or a local healthfood shop will reveal a cornucopia of really lovely organic shower gels in every price range. I am currently revelling in Figs & Rouge's Juniper gel (the only flaw is the screw cap but I switched it for a flip-top from an old shampoo bottle). Next on my list is Giovanni's sweetly named and sweet-smelling 'cucumber song'. Ren, Korres and others are also now widely available in department stores.

4. Facial wash - it is no good asking me about cream cleansers, nor about toner, I am a firm believer in cleanser that washes off, toning as it goes. Elemis Tri-enzyme facial wash is pricey but does a good job of encouraging dead skin to depart without giving that nasty tight feeling. I only like to use it once a day so my morning wake-up wash is JASON's Super-C cleansing wash, lovely long-lasting organic orange burst of freshness. Simple's cleansing washes are also a good basic.

5. Night cream - cream, schmeam. What you want is oil. I say this with zealous conviction after my own conversion. Oil is great because skin can recognise it. You need very little so it lasts ages. I will say this only once - it does not make skin oily. It does make it soft and lovely and prevent wrinkles. And because of the texture you do spend a minute or two massaging it in which is also really good for your face. My failsafe is Rosa Mosqueta oil - the only downside is that is doesn't smell as good as the name sounds. To be honest I get it from the healthfood shop and have no idea what its credentials are, but you could also try Es'pa or Darphin for more mainstream alternatives.

6. Eye cream - you know you should. I have been told (by a therapist at Champneys) that I have a very good eye area for a 30-something. I've tried dozens of creams but my favourite is Weleda's rose eye cream. It's extremely simple and pure, just what I feel happy having close to my eye. Half a pea of cream rubbed in gentle circles round the bone of the socket and tapped in under the eye morning and night is a good feeling. And the tiny tube in pretty pink is great for taking on holiday etc.

More ranting on this subject later...

A victory for sanity...

Thank goodness the 42 days proposal has been defeated - for details including a great campaign by writers including Ian Rankin see Liberty - I can't really put any of it better.

Extra time - addendum

Something else I have learned about writing - to read aloud is critical. There is nothing that will expose flaws faster. Reading aloud to yourself is ok, to others is better, and having someone else read your work aloud to you gives yet another dimension of understanding.

Autumnal

Autumnal is a lovely word, I think. This year, what with the (relatively) free time, I thought it would be nice to experiment with a new hair colour for Autumn. Nothing too dark - having gone black for many years I know how bad it is with my pale roots (nobody likes to look at if they are balding) and my 30-something skin tone. And nothing too red - I have enough of that in my cheeks. I was thinking of a nice mellow brunette - ok, I admit it, I was thinking about Carrie's tranformation in the Sex & the City movie.

Lack of funds was a problem, but a kind friend pointed me in the direction of the Vidal Sassoon Academy in Davies Mews, where cut and colour can be obtained cheap or sometimes free provided you have several hours to spend.

Here are the things I knew before I went to the academy:

- They call their customers 'models'. This is because 'guinea pigs' just doesn't have the same ring to it.
- It takes ages - they say around 3 hours for a cut. I was booked for a full day for cut and colour, though in the event it was faster.
- The time taken is partly because supervisors must be consulted at every stage. This is a Good Thing.
- They will press you to have something new and exciting done to your hair. New and exciting for them, that is. Be firm. To be honest, if you just want a modest trim you may be better off elsewhere.

Here are the things I didn't know:

- If you are having a cut and colour (and, I suspect, if you are fairly young or your hair looks a bit tricky e.g. curly, very thick, very trendy) you can be sent down two streets to the Advanced Academy. This is good because they will do the cut and colour by c.1.30 pm rather than taking all day. It's not so good because those advanced students really, really, really want to put into practice their advanced skills. The modest trim is not really an option.
- The Advanced Academy is more spacious. When you arrive, you may think it looks a lot like a traditional salon. Then it fills up with people and is just as manic as the usual academy.
- At the Advanced Academy, you are likely to be looked after by people who are already fully fledged hairdressers. However, my lady was Spanish. Which is fine, but it is disconcerting and even slower than usual when all communication between the person actually dealing with your hair and the supervisor is via an interpreter. Still, it's nice to know the place has an international reputation.
- There was, on my side of the room at least, one supervisor for colour and another for cut. They don't appear to get on too well... this too is disconcerting.
- When the supervisor for colour says he is going to dye half of your hair one shade, and the other side another, do not be alarmed. The effect is more subtle than the words suggest and blends in very nicely thank you. You will not end up looking like some kind of cartoon villain.
- When the pre-colour used to even up your previous dying experiments comes out a crazy neon orange a la Dame Vivienne Westwood, do not be alarmed. This stage will pass.
- On the other hand, when the don of colour shrugs off your request for a modest brunette by saying it will turn your hair green, and suggests that a zig zag of copper will look very nice, do assume that he is completely ignoring your request not to go red. Be aware that this innocent-sounding suggestion will result in your hair emerging a deep auburn.

So I have red hair. The cut is shorter than I am used to, but quite pleasing and very manageable with the aid of a handful of mousse. Suddenly lilac make-up and jewel-colour clothes look great. It's not quite what I went in for, and it's going to be horrifically high maintenance or hard to phase out again, but it is very autumnal.

Extra time

So, as of today I have officially finished my original 6-month sabbatical (April to September) and am into the 3 months extra time I have managed to scrounge from my employers and my savings account...and what have I learned?

1.This is the life. I like my career - it's really pretty great the majority of the time - but if I could afford not to go back I have to say I wouldn't hesitate. Am I bored, writing alone in the kitchen? Not likely. I am quite good at keeping my own company, but also I have way more energy to go out and see people than when I'm at work. I am also reveling - within reason - in domesticity. Cooking is so much more fun when you aren't already knackered and starving. The single biggest hint that this is the life is how well I am - not a days illness in the six months I've been off. To put that in perspective, I usually catch every bug going, at least four a year. I think my new-found health is partly due to less rush-hour exposure, but primarily to less stress.

2. Notwithstanding point 1 - writing a novel is bloody difficult. Wonderful, exciting and a great learning experience, but not to be undertaken lightly. Especially if you and everyone else has high expectations of the outcome. Needless to say, the difficultly is not unexpected, but it can be very tortuous for a well-read person to experience the manifold shortcomings of their first novel-writing attempt.

3. The nice effect of point 2 is that I am a more attentive and appreciative reader. All the lovely stuff that seems so smooth and easy in a good novel - sub-plots, character development, tension, 'eureka' moments and so on - are not easy at all to write. I now notice what authors are doing a bit more than I used to, and understand how cleverly they are doing it.

4. Writer's groups - I am now in two - are a Good Thing. They give me perspective, but most of all they are fun gatherings of like-minded people, and it's constantly exciting to see other people's work in progress. There may also be food involved, never a problem for me.

5. I am capable of writing a great many words in a day - somewhere between 1,000 and 4,000. Pac Man is the enemy of this productivity, but that won't be a problem any more when I finish the final set of levels on my downloaded game... Can't be long now...

6. If in doubt, go out. To a course, or an exhibition, or a cafe, or a book group, or a writer's group, or dinner, or even the gym. It's all inspiring stuff. I have become the weirdo with the notebook who is secretly recording your conversations, appearance, mannerisms... you have been warned.

Pedal your own canoe

A pedalo has a turning circle to rival the London taxi... if the taxi were driving in custard, on rails,with a giraffe attached to the back... While not a useful mode of tranport, though, the pedalo is at least a very superior way to get some exercise on a sunny afternoon.
A shame that the boating area in Battersea Park is not large - in your allotted half hour you can probably fit in around five circuits, which is frankly plenty. But the pedalo also provides the opportunity for schadenfreude over the poor souls who thought they could manage a rowing boat. There is one particular narrow area where most come to grief, while pedalos queue up behind them or demonstrate their superior ability to stop, go backwards and so on. The rowboats have a staggering turning circle in the right hands - they go round, and round, and round, and round, and round...

I rather wish there was mystery shopping for pedalos, but sadly the only 'assignment' I have taken recently was a very prosaic visit to a bank. I have become a mystery shopper in the name of research for a future novel, but am quite enjoying it. Despite the claims of various websites, you will not make your fortune. You'll be lucky if you make £20 per month, before tax. But you will get to lie, mildly, in a good cause. For someone as pathologically, occasionally insultingly, honest as me this should be uncomfortable, but it's oddly liberating. The best performances, of course, are based on truth. I am moderately interested in changing my current account (aren't we all?). But it's fun to be so strongly aware of what someone is saying to you and how you are being treated. Attention to detail is just what usually doesn't happen on either side of that kind of transaction. It's a tiny lesson in human interaction and the things that sustain it, or don't.

Cafe society

I can concentrate better in a cafe. Honestly. I'm not yet one of those who can write in cafes - the laptop is a bit too old and creaky plus I would feel rather visible - but reading / research in cafes is definitely the way forward. Frank's Bar in Norwich forcibly reminded me of the joy of a good cafe, which is why I was so delighted to find that Dulwich's Blue Mountain cafe has a 'cousin' opposite Gipsy Hill station. They're not entirely flawless - they make most of their money from morning and lunchtime commuters, not from writers in search of tea, so they close at four which is far too early. But they do provide a splendidly quiet but welcoming place to read, replete with nice tisanes and caramel shortbread squares.

I am clearly not the only writer to enjoy cafe society, as having finally tracked down a local writing group I discover that they too have a 'cafe caucus' as well as evening / weekend meetings - I look forward to discovering them on Monday.

While I'm here, I can't help but put in a plug for my other current excitement, Uniqlo. Specifically, their cord trousers. A few years ago I had a pair of cords from Gap. The cord was fine and soft, they fit like a glove and were the perfect smokey grey. I wore them until they died, then mourned. Finally I have a fitting replacement - in fact I have five. You may call that excessive, but I'm making certain I never run out again! I have black bootcut cords for work and green bootcut cords for lazing / country walks. In a more radical departure, I also have skinny cords. In case you are wondering, although happy with my figure I have never been able to get a skinny jean past my thigh, let alone my bottom. But Uniqlo's skinny cords are miraculously accomodating. And they don't cut off my circulation or give me a muffin top. This is why I am now the proud possessor of one pair in black and two in dark grey. I have worn them four days out of every five since purchase. They have single-handedly revived various shirts that I have ignored for years, as well as adding a whole new twist to most of my shoes and boots. Best of all, they were a mere £24.99 each (less in fact with a discount card I came across). Uniqlo also stock the perfect on-trend plaid flannel shirt to go with them, but that's another story.

Norwich rocks

Topped off an idle August with a really great wedding anniversary weekend in Norwich. Which officially rocks - apparently they have won some kind of international 'liveability' award. I can now see why.

We went there because we spotted a random hotel offer in the newspaper - I have been before but only when too young to notice or working too hard to see anything, but it's a great pocket-city. More shops per square inch than anywhere else I can think of, great culture that they actually make the most of (e.g. the riverwalk), fascinatingly diverse and huge castle museum, lovely deco-style hotel (St Giles House), and a fantastic dinner and live blues at 18 Bedford Street.

Special mention goes to the public art trail of decorated elephants (just finished sorry), particularly the Mondrian stylings of the Parallelephant... The other entrants to the pachyderm parade though didn't make as much effort with naming as the pig parade currently on in Bath. OK pig jokes are probably a bit easier but there are surely plenty of words that could be tacked on to 'elephant' for humorous effect? Just for starters I'm thinking Jellyphant, Elephantom, trunk call... you get the gist.

Extra special mention goes to Frank's bar. We stumbled in for tea & cake on Friday afternoon, went back for Hendrick's gin with cucumber before dinner, thought we might as well have a light lunch their on Saturday, failed to find anywhere better for tea so were back for more cake, and then had Sunday lunch there to round it all off. Their chocolate mandarin cake and sunday blueberry pancakes are out of this world, their ethical policies seem sound, their musical choices are varied but always mellow and their decor and service relaxed. Oh and they were showing the film Labyrinth on Sunday afternoon, which holds a special place in my heart (Bowie in tights... mmm... ok it's wrong but honestly this film had a profound effect on the young me!). Basically I want to live there.

Urgh my brain hurts

It's just as well I've never succumbed to the tempting lure of the frightfest festival pass - just three films in a row on Sunday made my head go funny, although oddly a sneeze seemed to fix it.

'From Within' was a cool, bleak teen horror. A nice and simple creepy premise about a supernatural suicide virus. However the final couple of minutes, showing the deaths of various townsfolk, were really not necessary. It would have been better to leave it at the point where you realise the curse has not been lifted and still have just a tiny chance that the heroine will stop it in time. Plus, without wanting to go into too much detail, why would the curse creature blow out the fire that the heroine is lighting to burn the spell book, when destroying the book would only ensure it could never be destroyed? A little work still to do, but hopefully as they hadn't finished the credits they will fix this before wider release.

'The Broken' was the third film we watched, so I may have been all out of adrenalin, but it was a bit of an anticlimax. The 'mirror self' is not a new idea, though used here to very creepy effect. It almost worked, but the fact that the heroine was the mirror self was too predictable by far, and more to the point why would a bang on the head make her think she was the 'good' self for so long? And why, when only her short term memory was affected, would she apparently have forgotten her own address so that it would be a big surprise to find out that she lived in Pembridge road?

To be fair, though, few films would stand up to following 'Let the Right One In'. This was the highlight of this year's festival for me and I can't wait to read the book. A totally unconventional vampire tale - as writer John Ajvide Lindquist said, he doesn't even like vampire stories, but found the idea that you have to invite in something that might kill (or save) you compelling. Also a sweet / sad Swedish coming of age story with some very funny moments - as the bully holds our hero's head under the water, we see the feet of one of the others being dragged at supernatural speed through the water behind him as the vengeful vampire comes to save him. One slightly curious point - apparently Eli, the young vampire, is supposed to be a boy - but I'm fairly sure when he peeks at Eli changing those are not boy 'parts'... really do need to read the book...

Scary edamame

Two blogs for the price of one, to make up for my neglect.

Another August Bank Holiday, another Frightfest! Which means the usual congregation of lovely weirdos in a corner of leicester square, the usual struggle with the Odeon's booking procedures (even in person, you can only get tickets for one film at a time - really good plan for a film festival guys...), and the usual excessive consumption of meals at Satsuma. What could be more comforting that prosaic and salty green edamame beans before the nerve-shredding tension of a films such as 'The Strangers"?

The strangers is not fun. Particularly if you are not a fan of scary masks. It is however an excellent film which avoids trite explanations. A couple return home late, somewhat fragile as she has just refused his proposal. A creepy girl knocks on their door, and it all escalates from there, never letting up for a second. Mid way through I discovered that my shoulders were nuzzling my ears and had to force myself to breathe and think about those wholesome edamame beans. A very good suspense movie, so much so that I almost wish I hadn't seen it - when the neighbours knocking in shelves makes you jump you know you're in trouble.

'King of the Hill' is also an excellent (Spanish) suspense movie. Not quite so painfully tense, maybe because it's open air and daylight, but with really excellent character acting. Our handsome hero 'encounters' a girl in a petrol station bathroom then gets lost while attempting to follow her car. They are both hunted by mysterious gunmen all over a very beautiful hill. The cinematography does full justice to the really stunning autumnal landscape, as our 'hero' falls to bits in a convincing and sometimes funny way. Initially when the shooters are revealed as children I was not impressed, but the film manages to carry it off. And kudos for making the dog, whose barking has heralded terror throughout, a big soft family pet in the end!

The first film we saw was 'I know how many runs you scored last summer'. This one was a world premiere and to be honest it's not really ready for a wider audience. Barely full length, and barely a plot, it still manages to be a horribly gory but often extremely funny film. They could make even more of the cricket motif, but their use of 'howzat' had to be seen to be believed. The main plot flaw, though, is that if just one of the characters screamed when they ought to, all the rest would have been forewarned. Oh and the directors are very proud of their soft porn shower scene - personally, I think that their body double for a british / aussie cop should have had real breasts...

Warm lemonade

Aargh, sorry, neglect of blog for almost a month very bad. In my defence, for at least the final week of that month I have been ignoring all modern technology in favour of the decorous delights of Bath.

The Thermae Bath Spa is one of those projects that went on far too long, costing far too much money, so that it's a real surprise to find that it is finally with us. I've been twice now, and struggle with my feelings towards it. The problem is this:

1. It is GROSSLY overpriced. Or rather, in market terms obviously they are pricing it just right but in any kind of philosophical sense £22 for two hours swim and steam + £9 for hire of robe, towel and slippers is just a massive rip-off. Residents of Bath do at least get £4 off - which they can then sacrifice to obtain a towel (robe be damned).

2. The design of the place is... problematic. It's tall and narrow, meaning that you have to walk up and down an inordinate amount of stairs to get anywhere (there are lifts - well, two - but I just feel wrong taking a lift in my bikini). And changing is a total nightmare. I can see how their high-tech, unisex changing room plan seemed excellent on paper but it's just no fun in real life. You can only reach the lockers or leave at the end through a changing cubicle, severely restricting your ability to see where you are or find your companions. The lever to open the cubicle doors is subtle enough that several people a day must lose fingernails trying to pry the doors open before they find it. The space between cubicles and lockers is too narrow for people to pass freely up and down, but pass you must because there never seems to be a locker free close by. You then have to move again to find the magic pad that locks and unlocks your locker using your wristband... which remembers your precise locker number but woe betide you if you can't remember at least the rough area it was in. The showers are on a different floor and have shampoo but no conditioner. The whole thing is bizarre and nightmareish.

3. I use the word 'swim' above loosely. One bathes here. There is no room for anything more active. The minerva pool indoors is just a bit dull - the currents that float you in gentle circles are fun for about five minutes but there are two many pillars, stairs etc for any meaningful movement.

BUT - then you get to the rooftop pool. The water is a glorious body-temperature. The long blue floats are like the arms of your favourite chair. The patch of bubbles like warm lemonade is heaven to float in. The views of Bath are spectacular. And so all is forgiven.

The four very large steam rooms are nice too (though the foot spas are pathetic). To the roof! Always to the roof.

Visa Swap

I have been so shelf-obsessed lately (no pun intended - honest) that I forgot to blog about visa swap, the ultimate in credit-crunch fashion, or at least in fashion for the low key high flyer not presently drawing any income...

I would include a link but to be honest the visa swap website is terminally dull - probably the oddest of several odd things about the occasion. Now that this year's event is over, all they seem to have left is a page to sign up for updates. How about some photos and commentary to whet our appetites for next time guys? The choice of Lindsay Lohan as figurehead is also questionable - not so much because of her recent plummet from grace generally, but more because a London event deserves a London face. Personally, my choice would be Erin O'Connor but I'm sure there are dozens of possibilities.

So what is visa swap? You take in your unwanted clothes, bags and shoes and are awarded points per item depending what they are and whether they are designer, mid-range or high street. It's pretty easy to build up points - I had about a thousand and only used half in the end. Then on the final weekend you are let loose to spend your points on everyone's donations at the visa swap 'loft' (er, it's mostly on the ground floor).

It's a really great idea provided you ignore the more excitable rumours about designer goods and recognise that it's a giant rummage sale - in a good cause because the leftovers go to Traid. Yes ideally they would get more shops and celebs to donate really good stuff but I only saw three or four designer pieces (I was about 20th in the queue on the first day) and wouldn't have wanted any of them - too small, too stained or just in a foul colour.

Those in the know also bring a massive shopper or bin liner to carry their booty - the rest of us dragged it around in our arms and had post-shopping elbow for days. Patient scouring of the rails, trying not to hate the girl who reached the green coat before me, came up with an armful of 13 items, some for me and some for friends. Not bad when you consider its basically free. My highlights were shoes with red roses on, a brand new St Martin's toile de jouy summer skirt, a gorgeous indian kaftan (purchased in the market in Rome according to its former owner who I bumped into) and a very cool little t-shirt featuring a businessman and a pirate. Truthfully, I might not have paid full price for any of these things in a shop, but part of the fun is that you can take whatever you like and see if it works later - great for those who are nervous of experimenting or wasting money on things they won't wear. I'm already stacking up stuff to donate next year...

Shelf love

From the moment we first viewed our house, I knew we had to knock through between the lounge and the kitchen, and from the moment the hole was made I knew it needed to be framed with fitted shelves. After several months dreaming, a couple more finding the right affordable carpenter and a few more still waiting for this rare species to finish other commissions, the shelves are here! I can almost forget the two dusty days it took to fit them and the entire weekend during which we cursed our decision to paint them ourselves for reasons of econ0my. All that is history - I can walk through a wall of books!

I had fitted bookshelves around me as I grew up and something inside me just feels better about them being there. There's just one problem... by my calculations we have enough space to accommodate another 2-3 years books, cds and dvds - after that, it's back to the drawing board, or possibly we'll just have to move house, to somewhere that already has fitted shelves...

Blood and prevarication

Yesterday I finally got around to giving blood for the first time - following the good example of my husband and aunt and also because I want to know my blood group (not had the letter yet and I'm sure it will be deeply dull but doesn't everybody secretly want to have special blood? Just me then...).

There is genuinely so little to it that I feel even more guilty for having left it so long - it just feels like getting holiday jabs, and with free bourbons afterwards! So if anyone else out there has been putting it off, go now and revel in the sugary rewards of virtue.

It is also a great excuse for idleness. Yes, technically you are fine to work, play and really do anything except operate heavy machinery or drink more than about a glass of wine - but it does make you kind of hungry and sleepy and is a great excuse to have a Sunday-ish time relaxing.

Coincidentally - or it it - I have just discovered a great new way to kill time. Yes I am very late to discover the phenomenon that is Threadless T-shirts, but I have made up for it by ordering seven Ts and rating about a million designs. Yes I have spent about three hours in the last two days on a T-shirt website... For those like me who wallowed in ignorance of this great cultural phenomenon, Threadless is a kind of ongoing design competition for T-shirts (and now also prints). If you join you can rate designs and the most popular are printed and sold - leading to the best selection of Ts I have ever seen at very reasonable prices (ah that weak dollar... but even without that and with the international postage it wouldn't be too bad). You can also vote for reprints of designs that have sold out.

I hasten to add that before I found Threadless, I did finish the first draft of my first novel - it's rather short and frankly not very good, but with lots of good stuff in it waiting to be rescued in draft 2...

Skin & Bones

Skin & Bones as in the exhibition - 'Parallel Practices in Fashion and Architecture' - now on at Somerset House.

This was tricky for me. There is some mind-blowing fashion in it that I love. In particular, the sculptural, fantastical yet wearable clothes from Boudicca's Invisible City collection and Alexander McQueen's Widows of Culloden - which gets points for name alone.

The Mobius strip dress by Meejin Yoon, complete with pictures of how zips transform it from an A-line cocoon to a dress to the famous strip (and there's a stripping pun in there somewhere that they all seem to have missed or turned up their noses at) is very clever.

Yohji Yamamoto's 'Secret' dress from his 1999 Wedding collection is truly ingenious - the dress is beautiful but the best part is the video of the catwalk display. A model comes in, looking around her as if surprised by all the people. As she walks, the hoops in the dress make her seem to float and sway as if walking on water. Just as you think she's made her final turn, a look of mischief comes over her face and she unzips a pocket in her skirt, pulling out a pair of sandals. She puts them on using just her feet, holding up the big skirt, with endearing clumsiness. Then there's more. She opens another pocket and extracts what looks like a complete parachute - two assistants help her don this long robe to cover her shoulders. Out comes a vast hat, and a sort of lace posy to hold. Not one of these things spoiled the original line of the dress in any way. Magic.

But what does this really have to do with 'Shelter', or any of the other rather tenuous linking themes? I can't argue that both fashion and architecture DO have to do with skin & bones, with shelter, with volume, with deconstruction, identity, pleating etc etc. But this exhibition does not provide me with any further information on how, beyond what I could have thought up for myself. The labeling is sparse - most information is saved for the (free) brochure, some items receive next to no explanation even there. In the thematic category 'Weaving' there is plenty of architecture, but no fashion at all... is weaving just too obvious for them to need to display it? I can't help but feel cheated.

The whole show smacks of very stylish laziness, relying on the genius of some of the creators to excuse the curators. I entered, ready and eager, to discover that 'This exhibition takes the early 1980s as a starting point'. But the next - the first - tangible exhibit is from the (late) 1990s - the 1980s are represented by a schoolgirl montage of pages from magazines. Most of all, the show told me nothing at all about technique. It did not, for example, show me how cantilevering can be used creatively in architecture, or how fashion designers have learned from this. Nowhere, in fact, was there the suggestion that any specific designer or architect had been directly inspired by the other discipline or tried precisely to emulate its techniques. I suppose that's just about ok given that we are examining 'parallel' practices, but I still craved at least some actual information.

The booklet explains a little about the architects and their buildings, but I get no sense of architectural history and development, of parallel movements. Yes I too could put a pleated dress next to a photo of a 'pleated' building, but so what? I could throw in some origami too, and some examples from nature, art, cookery - and it might look very pretty but it just doesn't mean very much. Also, in all honesty, the difference in fashion terms between 'volume' (ruffles in this case), 'pleating' and 'folding' is not very great.

Go and see this if you admire sculptural, clever fashion - or perhaps if you are a connoisseur of architectural drawings and photographs (I am not) - but expect to find fabulous wallpaper, not a great novel.

Life's little questions - part 1

What does a combine harvester actually combine?
Apparently, harvesting and threshing. Not sure that I am much the wiser. I should have paid more attention at Cogges Farm Museum but where there are pigs and rabbits it is pretty much guaranteed that informative posters will remain unread.

What is the weirdest crossbreed on the British road system?
On the way to Cogges, the bus goes over a crossing which is designated a 'humped toucan'. This presumably means there are also humped zebras (well with all those camels around what do you expect) and, still more intriguingly, humped pelicans!

What would happen if Mr Whippy met Miss Whiplash?
Thankfully we shall never know.

Lure of the East

Went to the Tate Britain the other day, possibly for the first time since it became the Tate Britain rather than simply the Tate - very remiss, I know. Found the Lure of the East exhibition very beguiling. Like my favourite annual exhibition, the BP Portrait Award, it shares artistic interest with human interest. And, of course, in this case authorial research interest, shedding another kind of light on Cairo for me.

It's fair to say that the pictures are of mixed artistic merit, but most are interesting in one way or another. The galleries are thoughtfully arranged in themes that are not too wearying - opening with portraits in Eastern dress is inspired, though I have to say for me it just showed how wildly incongruous most of those who 'went native' (at least for a portrait) would have looked, particularly those of a celtic complexion who look almost blue in colourful silks that clash with their hair. Apparently, though, it's not unusual for the Afghans to be pale also. Jean-Leon Gerome's small portrait of Napoleon near the Cairo cemeteries was my favourite here - very much in his own dress and looking all the more striking for it.

Room 2 'genre and gender' is really just about the outside - and so male - spaces, with an occasional incursion by women, as slaves or as customers. Some lovely market scenes and a very good commentary on these available on the bench in the centre, but the most unusual room 2 picture for me is the cock fight where the cocks have been blurred into invisibility leaving only the audience.

Room 3 centres on Jerusalem, but also has some lovely paintings of mosques and churches in Cairo and Istanbul - not the most compelling room for me as few of the paintings contain people, and it leads into the really rather dull room 4 which has a rather too small screen of photographs from the three cities, and a rather too large screen with a map showing the movements of some of the painters and patrons, with the occasional scattergun historical event.

Room 5 is devoted to Harem and Home, with a very lovely screen casting evocative shadows all over the walls. Although, as ever, this exhibition fails to reproduce all the most interesting paintings as postcards or prints, they did choose wisely for their poster with a section of Arthur Melville's limpid Arab Interior, definitely my favourite image from an artistic standpoint. Why you can only get a postcard size reproduction of this (or the poster with writing etc) is beyond me - anyone else care to join the campaign to improve gallery shops? Their selection of 'Eastern' paraphernalia is also largely lamentable - yes the turquoise bowls are pretty but one can get them far cheaper elsewhere.

I was flagging by the final room, which contains some fine landscapes though I am dubious about the merits of aerial perspective in painted form. As you might expect, the gender politics of the exhibition are careful - credit to them for including comment from several Egyptians / Africans. It was interesting, and plausible, to learn that English women admitted to the Harem found it much more a family area and sometimes a retreat than male fantasy had created. I do find the arguments about the liberating impact of the veil harder to understand though - certainly there have been times when veiled women have been able to go where those with bare faces could not, but to argue that this is liberation seems disingenuous. A complex subject though, even without recent years history - I also enjoyed a recent BBC show about modern Muslim women which showed how elaborate and beautiful the veils can be, with colours, embroidery and complex knotting at the back.

Off for a week where I may or may not have internet access - more thereafter.

Words I would like to hear more of, part 1

I am a big fan of words in general. But it's particularly nice to hear one you don't hear so often. This week's word revival chez me is 'farewell'. Somewhere down the line it became all over-dramatic and Heathcliffesque, but it's really rather more friendly than 'goodbye' to my mind. You wish someone a good journey or even life, in effect, rather than saying it's good that they're off. I suppose you could take it either way though cos now I think about it 'have a nice life' isn't a great sentiment either...

As ever I turn for help to the Online Etymology Dictionary, which tells me that 'faren wel' (journey well) was said in Middle English, and the standard REPLY was 'good-bye' which comes from God be with you (godbwye)...

So we should be using both.

Did I mention that I love words?

Doughnut nemesis

And so, as promised, some thoughts on Alton Towers.

Thoughtlessly, Calke Abbey is closed on Fridays so although we had a nice meander around their extensive parkland our attempt at mature culture was thwarted. Likewise at Alton Towers my best intentions to explore the ruined towers and the really rather attractive gardens fell by the wayside in favour of more adrenalin highs (and an unreasonably long wait for lunch).

I have a confession to make. I will ride on (almost) any rollercoaster, but I don't really like the newer ones. They go so fast that my tendency is just to close my eyes, grit my teeth and hope that it ends without my neck compressing itself entirely into my spine. I did manage to keep my eyes open for the beginning of Nemesis this time but failed miserably on Rita Queen of Speed (no idea why they called it Rita but I like it). My favourite rollercoaster is the Runaway Mine Train - it's got sufficient thrills to be interesting but at a speed where you can see them coming; it doesn't cause physical pain; and you get to go round it twice! What could be better.

I am also a big fan of Hex, which makes you feel gently nauseous without moving you much at all - also very funny to watch people who haven't been on it before and don't understand that the room is moving round them not the opposite. And I love the spinning teacups - albeit they have now become piratical rum barrels - which are basically waltzers where you control the speed and direction.

The doughnuts are dangerous in conjunction with rollercoasters, but not to be missed in their soft warm fresh-baked state. Water rides are also incompatible with doughnuts, but very good fun - except that the water really doesn't smell too good... I advise mouth shut and waterproof jacket on. Oh, and the sudden appearance of a giant rubber duck out of the darkness on the flume can be nightmare-inducing if you're of a nervous disposition...

On a more serious note, this week sees the next vote on 42 day detention, which despite government 'concessions' still flies in the face of international human rights and undermines the values it purports to defend. You can see Amnesty's reasons why it's a bad idea here, and sign the 'not a day longer' petition here.

Sex & the City - postscript

Just found someone else who enjoyed S&C the Everyman matinee way - this is officially the top way to enjoy an afternoon off this week.

Also forgot to mention my personal favourite scene, where Big accuses Carrie of being the only person who still gets books out of the library and she says she likes how they smell. Shades of Giles in Buffy the Vampire Slayer explaining to computer teacher Jenny Calendar that knowledge should have texture and 'be smelly' - also in reference to his library books. I couldn't agree more.

Sex & the City - once more with feeling

A topic that cannot currently be avoided. In essence, if you like the series you will like the movie. A movie that faithfully replicates its own series is a lovely (and rare) thing. Very happily, it's a bit like they made another season of the show, which you can watch on the big screen.

The best way to enjoy it, as tested by myself and friend, must surely be as follows:

1. Enjoy some ritual pampering or preparation - I had just-stepped-out-of-a-salon hair, my friend had fabulous painted toenails.

2. Don't even consider watching this at your average cinema. At the everyman in Hampstead, for a price no more unreasonable than Leicester Square, you can have a comfy sofa and put your feet up with a G&T. Bliss. Now I just have to persuade them to stock cakes from their local bakeries...

3. Be comfortable, as above, with the fact that this is like the series. That's to say it's about friendships, fashion and romance. Plot is not really a huge feature - you may have read the outline in magazines e.g. 'Charlotte is pregnant' - that is basically her entire plot line, plus one comedy toilet incident. But friends are still friends, Carrie and Big still have the big dramatic romance (while the others have satisfyingly realistic relationships), and the fashion is inspired. My personal favourite is the stunning purple jersey dress Carrie wears when leaving her apartment, but there are so many to choose from.

4. After your lengthy and relaxing cinematic experience, prepare for a lengthy and relaxing digestion of it - Dim T is minutes from the everyman and does bento boxes (before 6pm) that are cheaper than the everyman's snacks, and can be followed by chocolate fondue - need I say more.

I think the only down side for me was the fur - anti-fur protesters are portrayed in the film, but as screaming frumpy lunatics - hardly Stella McCartney darling. Also, kudos to Carrie / SJP for not sharing her sex life. Yes there has to be some but it felt a bit like we were going round each couple's bed in turn at one point. Let's be clear though, i love this and will see it again, and again, and again...

Coming next...the report from Alton Towers. The life of a low key high flyer is not ALL about guilty pleasures though, honest - I cracked 100 pages on the draft novel this week (though unfortunately this draft is not going to reach 200 - i need some more subplots!)

'Confluence of Sound'

I'll just go ahead and say it - I love the Eurovision song contest. It just makes me happy. Nothing is more guaranteed to provide something that will make your jaw hit the floor, or will make you want to marry Terry Wogan. As the piercing lady presenter said, it was full of unforgeddable moments.

Did Russia deserve to win? Well, skaters and violinists with large noses don't really do it for me, but that's hardly the point. I did enjoy the Shakira-esque stylings of Greece, Armenia and the Ukraine - particularly the Ukrainian lady's 'strike a pose' moments in front of her lightboxes.

And then of course there's the special stuff. France thought they were being weird with Sebastian Tellier's golf cart and bearded backing ladies, but then Bosnia came and blew them out of the water. I have no idea what a song requiring 4 brides, one washing line, a woman with a birds nest on her head and a skirt covered in apples and a man with more blusher than i have ever seen could be about, but it was oddly compelling. Honorable mentions must go to Finland's hair metal (3 drummers, one with a furry cape); Croatia's muppet-style grumpy pensioner in a white hat (could he be described as a rapper? Was he in fact 75 cents as advertised??); Icelands happy house track; Turkeys almost-indie rock & roll (note to cameraman, the long haired one you ignored was the cutest); the Latvian pirates with their total lack of credibility; and the really quite tasteful Norwegian track.

The worst entries? Well lets be honest, Poland and Germany deserved to be at the bottom more than we did - for sunbed abuse and in Germany's case a total inability to sing in tune (with the music, with one another, with the nearest cat - anything). But I am still reeling from Spain's miniature Elvis with his bollywood moves - it wasn't e even so bad it was funny - it was just horrible.

With Terry, I was somewhat mystified by the success of Azerbaijan's operatic angels (and devil with his glass of 'blood') - and by the way it was all too clear in the green room that coloured contacts and special hair have a highly transformative effect - could you see any angels there? Thought not.

Some themes of the evening - cross-dressing, starting with the dancers for last year's winner in the opening number who wore half & half male & female evening dress. Women who all have the same tan, teeth, legs, lips and eyeshadow - Poland and Norway opted for the ironed hair, the rest for curly, Sweden's eyeshadow made her (?) look like an alien, and then of course there was the presenter of the Russian votes who had plaits, a trilby and a lace cravat.

All that can be said about the band who came on during the scoring, and their red and blue painted dancers, was said by Terry - 'you either get buried or married to this.' He also had the last word on the green room shenanigans - 'Is that man taking a photo of the camera?'

On the scoring - 'London calling' still sounds more impressive than when anywhere else tries it; rimless glasses are scary (yes I mean you, France and Albania); Moldova you should read your Fairy Tales before offering the presenters a shiny red apple; Thomas in Germany did you really love Azerbaijan so much that you had to steal their angel wings?; The Czech republic, it's understandable to confuse Azerbaijan and Armenia, but golden haired Bjorn from Sweden, if you can't say Bosnia Herzegovina it's time to back away from the bottle and the autocue.

Altogether now, with Terry - 'Now might be a good time to make yourself a stiff drink.'

Good taste and psychopaths

I am in mourning for the end of Dexter - everyone's favourite psychopath. However although they chickened out slightly from the truly confused Dexter in the books who really came a lot closer to killing his sister, they did set it up nicely for a further series. Meanwhile I await the next paperback. It's the dry tone that's the real joy, like a rather cynical alien observing human customs, then getting sucked in against his will.

Went to the Geffrye Museum the other day, which shows middle class household interiors from the 1600s to the present. Perhaps the most unexpected dimension to it is the very green and cloistered-feeling courtyard which although right on Kingsland Road (by no means a cloistered environment...) has a very peaceful Hogwarts air about it. You can see most of the displays, done as period rooms, in an hour or two - for my money the 30s to 60s have by far the most covetable items, including the Balzac leather armchair and pleasingly the white pottery polar bear also owned by my grandparents. The bear's clean lines including a suitably sharp looking face are simultaneously stylised and menacingly realistic - it used to scare me witless when I slept opposite it in my grandparents' spare room when I was small. There are also some fun paintings, including a great one of the mob observed from the club window - the woman is leaning out in her evening dress to observe the plebs in action but the man doesn't even consider it worth turning his head for.

On a totally unrelated note, in the run up to the China Olympics, do check out Amnesty's China Human Rights pages.

Back to school (via Cairo)

So, a bad week for blogging (sorry this is a little late), but only because last week was very good for the writing.

I'm not sure what mental block prevented me from understanding when I was younger that writing a novel doesn't (for most people) involve having an idea and sitting down to write, but requires rather more research and planning. I have however just finished my first full synopsis of my planned novel, and am very excited to get started. It's fair to say that through my month and a bit of research the plan has changed direction radically, which has been useful, but more to the point it's felt really great to be learning about something new again - my knowledge of Egypt and of the Desert War in the 1940s was pretty much non-existent so it's been a real voyage of discovery. I've also been re-reading the Arabian Nights - I had forgotten how amazingly callous some of the stories are, with plenty of unexpected violent or deadly punishments that are regretted at leisure afterward, not to mention the details like the various importunate lovers who end up locked in a stack of cupboards with their urine falling on those below. No doubt this is why I liked them as a child - they remind me slightly of Roald Dahl's gruesomeness. Plus there are all the magic Djins, fish that talk and other fun things.

As well as back to school on the research (or at least to the library), I also went on an excellent City Lit one-day course on writing for picture books for very young children. This was a great chance to workshop some ideas, but also to learn the things that you never think of as a novice - like the fact that rhyme (though popular with kids) does not translate, and that most picture books have a standard number of pages to do with how they are batch-printed. First picture books for the under-3s tend to be deathly dull for adults, because fantasy elements are just confusing at that age, but for 3-6s you can have much more fun - although it turned out my idea had about 3 stories worth of plot in one, which I guess is good news when i come to rework it!

It's not over until the fat man sings - from the heart!

Went last night to see Deadline and Mad Sin at the Islington Academy - which reminded me of the time some years ago when I saw Evanescence and Jane's Addiction over the course of a few days - that's to say, the first band were all about the technically admirable and satisfying in stereo, whereas the second brought the true heartfelt mayhem, charisma and sex, with much more exciting results.

I don't want to be rude about Deadline - I really liked the music and will almost certainly pay money for it at some point and be happy - but someone needs to tell the singer that ironing her hair flat (including the so-now, so-vogue-meets-essex long fringe) and tucking it behind her ear every time it threatens to go astray is just not rock&roll... when she punched the air the fun came solely from comparing it to Evanescence's 'daring' exortation to us to 'rock our asses off' - oooooh, xena warrior princess (almost) swore!

With Mad Sin, however, words cannot really do justice. Their stage preparations included setting up the immense black double bass, which glowed eerily in its border of red fairy lights with a small trail of smoke rising behind it. The double bass player has a red tip to his quiff to match the lights, and at one point managed (slowly) to swing the entire base around his head. Oh, and at a key point in the performance the head of the double base emits a shower of sparks to the ceiling. All of which is fun, but not nearly so exhilarating and confusing as the sight of their behemoth of a singer, belly straining at his braces, scarf turning to limp rag, and quiff turning at the back into what I can only describe a kind of horned tonsure, leaping and kicking as he exercises his vocal range from squeal to gravel. The music is not greatly varied - but it's all about rhythm and pace and appeals on a visceral level. Each time the singer high-kicks or does a 'brrr' wobble with his jowls his entire body vibrates in a long wave, mesmerically. Meanwhile on the left is what appears from his emaciation to be the singer's knawed bone, with a quiff cunningly shaped to bring out the oddity of his head. The double bassist also sings, as does 'elvis' who is brought out mid way for a couple of songs, possibly to prevent the singer from a coronary. Compelling viewing...

Willkommen, bienvenue, welcome...

Greetings.

If you are new to my blogs, you are the most exciting thing ever to happen to me, I love you and I have every confidence that though you are not usually susceptible to shameless flattery you will embrace this blog and everything in it as a discovery of your supreme good taste, link to it at every opportunity, and tell all your friends.

My existing friends, I love you too and thank you for joining me in my new persona as the low key high flyer. It's a description I first came up with on a training programme called 'preparing for top management'. It was a great course, but did highlight to me that I was supposed to have a bit of a one track mind of the 'onwards and upwards - as fast as possible' variety. Low key high flyer seems particularly apposite to my time on sabbatical - best characterised as 'onwards and sideways - with plenty of pauses for tea & cake'. Also of course it's a little more accessible and hopefully memorable to those who have not known me long enough to understand the name hmsankh.

I'll be hoping to post much more regularly than before now that the kitchen table is my empire. Meanwhile, if life is a cabaret, where is my orchestra? Out there somewhere, I'm sure.

The cost of anoraks

'Being one or wearing one?' I hear you ask... but it probably comes to the same thing.

I can truly find no reason for the extraordinary cost of waterproof jackets for walking in Cumbria and other anorak-y pursuits. I find it hard to believe that since the invention of Gore-Tex there have really been any revolutions in the manufacture of water- and wind-proof material sufficient to justify the astronomical prices on show in Keswick's many emporia of outdoor wear. Anoraks are surely not such a niche industry that I should be paying for their entire research budget with a single purchase. So it must come down to design.

Here again though there are certain features which really should be a given - the peaked hood, for example, is clearly industry standard because once you've had one you really never want to go back to the type that lets rain run down your face. Which pretty much just leaves

• colour - a toss up between tasteful 'landscape' colours or noisy 'rescue me' combinations - again hardly requiring vast imagination,
• shape - so called female-fit is to be approached warily as it will either cut off your circulation or make you look like a blimp,
• tactile qualities - OK I have to admit the apparently brushed cotton effect of my husband's astronomically expensive jacket is more pleasing than typical waterproof material, and
• pointless gimmicks - including the ability to zip in a fleece lining (the whole point is you want to be able to add and remove layers easily, not by fighting them apart) and the curious pocket / button hole / tiny loop combination that is supposed to keep your 'entertainment system' in place - am I alone in thinking that my i-pod is primarily for the exclusion of unwanted reality and therefore of least possible relevance when out on the fells?

I suppose there is the truly anorak-y factor of how 'serious' your outdoor kit is. Paying a lot for your waterproof perhaps says that although you come from the safety of the sub/urbs, you know what you are doing in 'real' landscape and weather.

All this aside, I am pretty pleased with my new anorak, which is infinitely more tasteful than my previous green. blue & burgundy number and has nifty little reflective stripes so that I can blend into the mountain in general but still be found. More to the point, there is still nothing to beat the view from Coniston Old Man to put things in perspective - and nothing like the millionaires shortbread at the Jumping Jenny Cafe at Brantwood to enhance your look back across the lake at the peak.

Such are the activities of the low key high flyer...