Hoovering the Roof

So this week I can finally hold in my carefully washed hands an actual, published book featuring my work alongside that of the wonderful writers of the East Dulwich Writers' Group. SO EXCITING! I can safely say from personal experience that the anthology
- looks lovely on the shelf
- has a very charming cover as above (and a very superior back cover also with blurb by yours truly)
- really does include something for everyone and is perfect for reading in small bursts while commuting and the like.

I also gave my first public reading at our launch event at The Bookseller Crow on the Hill, which was nerve-wracking but apparently I did succeed in reading s-l-o-w-l-y which is very difficult and very important, especially for a poem.

For further information about the group and sales of this magnificent volume visit the EDWG website .

This is it

I probably never would have chosen to see 'This is it', but went with my friend to a mother and baby screening. It's a good film to watch around babies - no plot to follow and some of them at least seem to enjoy the music.

Personally, I've always been in two minds about Michael Jackson. On the one hand, I don't believe he ever hurt a child. On the other, I was definitely on the Jarvis Cocker side of the whole Brit Awards debacle. But this film is genuinely special.

There's the poignantly double-edged title (of the planned tour & the film, echoed in the words of one of the dancers at the beginning - 'I was looking for something, to give meaning to my life - this is it').

The mini-interviews with dancers and musicians give a real sense of excitement at performing with their hero - it's wonderful to see them whooping and applauding Michael's rehearsals, and you wonder what has become of them since it all ended so abrubtly.

But most importantly, it is truly a pleasure to see someone who so often seemed out of place in the world working in his natural element. The music and video backdrops are sensational. I still loathe 'earthsong' (cos big music tours are so, er, eco-friendly? but maybe Michael was rich enough to offset it all...), but who can resist the classics - personal favourites are 'beat it', 'billie jean' and 'smooth criminal'. It would have been a great tour - but the film gives even more, as it shows Jackson the professional, a musical perfectionist with confidence in his perfomance and opinions, working behind the scenes to ensure the music 'nourishes', 'sizzles' and is 'drenched in moonlight' - not to mention being in the right key, the right tempo and so on. This is surely the way to remember him.

And finally for today - a note to drivers

I applaud the fact that drivers sometimes stop for me when they don't have to, really I do. Notably when the traffic is so busy that I would never get across otherwise. Or when I am obviously hanging off the edge of the kerb in a tearing hurry.

BUT... when I am stood stock still at a junction, a safe distance from the kerb, and there are few or no cars behind yours, and you are slowing down but you'd have to anyway for the junction, and you might be saying something or waving your arms at me but you're behind a window that is catching the rain or the sun or whatever, and your intentions are therefore very very hard to read... I would really rather you just carried on driving and let me cross the road in peace once you have gone by. Sorry.

This is probably all wrong but...

...after seeing the Anish Kapoor exhibition, I hastened next door to Laduree for some macaroons. Their shop is sculptural - the entire (tiny) place is coated in thickly spread golden splodges and squirls. Which got me thinking about the macaroons themselves.

These are not just food (or even M&S food - a category unto itself). Yes, they have some calories and they taste delicious, but they are clearly not designed for survival or nutrition. Nourishment, perhaps, taken in the widest sense and considering their sculptural qualities.

There are the colours, and the way those fade to paler or darker fillings. There are the colours that are appropriate to the flavour (rich golden mango, sadly a summer edition now passed), the colours that are at least traditional to the flavour (green pistachio), and the colours that are just a little post-modern - date and fig macaroons are an appealing purply pink which is only tangentially related to their content.

Then there is the texture. Just to look at, the tactile qualities of biting one of these are apparent. They have crispy, transparent, fragile edges. The centres are just visible, soft and shiny and waiting to be discovered.

OK, it's no good, I have to go and have tea and a macaroon...

Anish Kapoor

Having seen only two Anish Kapoor sculptures before (that I can remember), but liked both a lot, I went to the Royal Academy exhibition. There is something very mentally spacious about going to an exhibition where there are really only seven or eight exhibits, albeit some of them groups of pieces.

Working from my least favourite upwards, and with almost no reference to the proper names of the pieces nor to any proper artistic analysis:

1. Extruded concrete - no, I am just not feeling it. Too scatological. Lacking the visual and tactile pleasures of the other work somehow. Though there are a few small pieces that have fallen off, which you might be tempted to pick up if the guards aren't watching. No-one will believe you if you try to sell them on ebay though, they just don't look impressive.

2. Fibreglass 'marble' coils with shiny red trumpet / vulva - mildly intriguing, but not very.

3. Hall of mirrors. Ok they don't call it that, but that's what it is - very shiny and nicely done. Not nearly as much fun as the stack of mirrored balls in the courtyard which have sky and buildings to play with.

4. Crimson wax - monumental block which moves along a track. carving itself out against the arches of three galleries, + the cannon which shoots cyclinders of the same wax through a doorway every 20 minutes. It is great to have something in a gallery that moves and that you can return to and see in a different way each time. And these are undeniably powerful pieces. After seeing the cannon shoot, people make pointless comments like 'Well, there you go' and 'We've seen the splodging machine now we can move on'. It is obvious that this is because at least some of them are deeply unsettled.
The wax isn't actually like anything in the body as such, but is undeniably visceral when splattered or spread. Whether by accident or design, the person 'firing' the cannon when I was there was profoundly androgynous, dressed in overalls with a poker face, very pale and thin. This added somehow to the sense of violence. Even so, I found the moving block (about the size of a double decker bus - ish) harder to take. There is something about the way it completely moulds onto the arches as it moves through them which makes it harder to breathe, and makes me want to consume things that are good for my arteries. It has all the uneasiness of seeing inside someone, or of deep sea creatures, writ large.

5. The hive - rusting (or rust-coloured, though smooth) monumental shape, open at one end to allow a glimpse of the enclosed space at the other. Everything about this was pleasing to me - scale, tactile appearance, the lines that follow its curves where it has been made (whereas many of Kapoor's sculptures have had the signs of making deliberately removed), the fact that it was made in a shipyard, the fact that it is suggestive without being red! It is everything that number 2 was not.

6. Yellow - a giant, sunny, optical illusion. I have a deep desire to climb inside it.

7. The room of pregnancy and powder paint - the paint is pleasing, the way it gives a saturated, soft colour. The pregnant wall, however, is by far the best thing in the whole show (bit of a shame this is actually the first room). You barely notice it at first, in a room full of colourful things. You look at it from the side, and it's a clearly delineated bulge, full of promise. You look from the front, about a meter away, and you just can't see anything properly at all. It is utterly mysterious. Somehow, the curve and the shadow mean that you can't focus on the texture of the white wall itself, you just get a kind of blurry glow. I could look at it all day, except it makes my eyes go funny.

Lagerfeld confidential

Finally got round to watching 'Lagerfeld Confidential', a very interesting comparison to 'The September Issue' the other week. While the latter is an entertaining advertisement for Vogue, which reveals that Anna Wintour is a stellar business woman but not (whisper it) very interesting, Lagerfeld Confidential is remarkably light on Chanel, and big on Karl and his personal myth.

Having seen various rather sensationalised Karl quotes, i was ready to find said myth deeply irritating, but in fact warmed to the man who 'detests' people who can't be alone; values his photography, music and reading as much as the clothes; keeps his private life private even when sharing himself on film; hates to be dependent; and can contemplate his own death with the comfort of philosophy but not of religion. Not so fond of his penchant for off-colour jokes, but at least it makes him human. Love seeing him at work at his photography and illustration - the man is essentially an artist. And totally envious of his huge library.

Plaudits also to whoever chose the Lightning Seeds' 'Pure' as the opening song - reminded me yet again that it is possibly the most perfect pop song ever recorded - catchy, bouncy and ephemeral, with lyrics of love and rainbows but heartbreak in a minor key at its core.

Pepper & jasmine

I wish I was one of those people who find a signature scent. There's something very classy about it, and with smell being such a powerful memory trigger I do love the fact that I can always associate some of my friends with a particular perfume. But the fact is that I am a perfume whore - at the present count I appear to have 2 pillow sprays, 1 eau de cologne, 3 body sprays, 2 body splashes, 5 scented oils and 11 perfumes - not to mention untold scented unguents (or 'smellies' as my unimpressed family would call them) and a tendency to borrow my husband's aftershave...

I can at least pride myself on a certain consistency of unusual taste. In the collection above, there are only a handful (courtesy of Chanel, Calvin Klein, Clarins and the Body Shop) that most people would recognise, and they'd be the first to go if I had a cull.

My favourites in type are probably the scented oils, which last better, especially the body shop's old 'woody sandalwood' (bought in Italy after they stopped selling it here) and the Egyptian lotus oil. Hakansson's curious lotion-perfume 'The Scent', though too leaky to take on holiday any more, will always remind me of my wedding and honeymoon with a cheerful, light formula of bergamot and flowers. The kings of odd perfume are of course Comme des Garcons, and I am proud to have converted at least one of my friends to their lovely and subtle rhubarb confection, though not surprised to have few supporters for the industrial no.73. I have winter scents by Lalique, Anna Sui, Kiehl's and Korres, with a preponderance of exotic woods, fig, pepper and jasmine. In summer the winner is alway's Fresh's 'Hesperides', by far the nicest citrus scent I have come across, or one of the floral oils. Maybe I won't provoke strong memory triggers in other people, but at least I have a smell to associate with every place and season.

Hello again!

How nice to see you - it's been too long. How was summer for you? I know I had a summer lull at work. I know this by the fact that it is now over. But I can't say I noticed it at the time. They did invite me to another, less surreal dinner the other day though. Hoss Intropia may have the oddest name of any shop but they sure can shape a wonderful little, black, velvet, backless, waist-whittling, leg-lengthening dress. Sadly, these things can have a sting in the tail - literally, as they appear to have sewn a small drawing pin into the hem. Gonna have to work on that one...

I was very amused the other day when I had a meeting with someone in the margins of a training course, where they had been learning about cats and dogs.
The dog says:
'You feed me, you give me somewhere to sleep and lots of love and attention - you must be a god!'
The cat says:
'You feed me, you give me somewhere to sleep and lots of love and attention - I must be a god.'
For a seminar on personal impact, the message is an interesting one. I think the point was to do with how you adapt your style to 'cat' or 'dog' people, but what happens when two cats meet? Just as in nature, it could go either way...

The awards will a-begin in a-FIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIVE a-minutes!

So last week saw my first ever black tie work-related event as our contractors sponsored a table at the National Business Awards south east regional final. It was at the Park Lane Hilton, with that Katy Dearham off the telly and the voiceover man from the weakest link... the mind boggles as to what they do for the national ceremony.

There is something very surreal about voiceovers with dinner. Likewise about being the only female on a table of eight random men, all representing different enterprises including software, police data and, err, turning cremated remains into diamonds...(they won a prize - a reasonably elegant trophy with small circles within a hoop).

That said there were some very charming and interesting people, widely worked and travelled. We had an interesting debate about the profit motive, which my neighbour viewed as about success not money - to me that's somewhat missing the point that it defines success as money, but we agreed to differ. On the bright side, my admission of my connections with tax did not result in a lynching, and I was declared to have the best hair of the evening, at least for a tax person - always a good result when not actually entered for any awards. My colleague actually had to present a prize, an ordeal full of bright lights, opening of envelopes and giant close ups of his face on a big screen, not to mention photo opportunities. I was happy to applaud politely, and toast the winners with the rather good free wine. Enterprise is a wonderful thing.

Egypt overwhelms

So, having said I had loads to talk about after our Egyptian holiday I then got writer's block - the truth is I just can't begin to capture it. There was so much there that it's fused into a single big blob in my head. I've said to a few people since we got back that I had no idea how many monuments there were, or the scale of them. The only comparison I've been able to think of is if Stonehenge appeared every few miles along the Thames... and was covered in astonishing carvings. Not to mention the 63 tombs or rooms so far in the Valley of the Kings and all the more 'minor' stuff that they don't bother dragging the tourists to or that's drowned under lake Nasser.

In a way it was wonderful to get so close to the monuments, and I can see what a huge task it would be to protect them all fully, but it was also alarming to see the darkening on places where tourists and guides touch the carving to point something out. The most depressing thing I saw was a blob of gum on one carved block at Philae temple - unbelievable philistinism. At least some of the tomb paintings are behind sheets of perspex.
It was also troubling that, although I am sure archaologists and egyptologists the world over are working on cataloging and interpreting the miles and miles of carvings and paintings on the temples and tombs there was very little evidence of any such systematic process. Aside from some book shops in Cairo, it's hard to get any record besides some very shoddy tourist guides and postcards, although doubtless amazon could oblige.

The thought that the bright colours still visible in many tombs would also have covered the temples is truly staggering - I can't think of a building that would create such an impact, or at least not in the same way.

Fun fact of the day - there were seven cleopatras. The one we all know about was the last.

And another thing that hasn't changed....

... is the crocodiles! Yes that is my hand on the right, holding today's version of the ancient carving on the left. It had rather alarming teeth but was pleasantly cool to the touch on a hot morning. We're told the larger version nowadays are all up behind the High Dam in Lake Nasser...

There, doesn't that make it all better?

Ok so this is just a ludicrously cute kitten. But one of the reasons I could spend so long watching Egyptian cats, besides the cuteness, is the way they clearly haven't changed since pharaohnic times. They are all skinny - not unhealthy, just right for the heat and for an un-pampered, un-western existence. Their small bodies, big ears and lined eyes are an exact match for the statuette of Bast in the British Museum, or in the Gayer-Anderson House in Cairo. They stalk the same birds close to the river.

It's sometimes difficult to get a real sense of history in the temples and tombs when they are full of people, but the cats have it. Watching the banks of the Nile as we cruised was a similar feeling. Palm trees, small farms, mud brick houses, cows and water buffalo, all more or less as they would have been at least hundreds if not thousands of years previously. The weather seems to add to the continuity in very practical ways - it helps to preserve both the monuments and a certain way of life, at least outside the cities.

So May was silence month - again...

Sorry about that. But I have now been to Egypt and am therefore flooded with stuff to talk about. I could mention the Cairo traffic, the numerous amazing monuments we saw, the heat, the various maladies, the sheer filmic glory of the Nile cruise... but first I should discuss the ancient egyptian art of towel origami.

You heard me. It's a nice touch by the cleaners on board the MS Stephanie (and, for all I know, every other boat out there). You return to find your beds made and your quarters adorned with a cunningly constructed towelling sculpture, occasionally finished with your sunhat or some other helpful item. I was very impressed. I applauded the swan, the lotus, the monkey-bat (we have a domestic disagreement about this one - it swung from the ceiling and had bat ears but it wasn't upside down), the rabbit-dog and the beautiful peacock (as above - crest artfully fashioned from toilet paper).

I am surely not the only person in the world, though, who found the towel 'mummy' more than a little disturbing:

He was right inside the door, very much life size, but worst of all he just looked so sad!

Next - adorable Egyptian kittens to heal the trauma...

Writer's dilemma

So having 'finished' my novel while on sabbatical last year, I am now wrestling with the conundrum of how to know when it is really finished, to the extent that I will be happy to send it out and be judged by it.

One criterion was length - I had in my mind a minimum word count for credibility, below which it was feeling more like a novella, but I have now passed that magic figure.

I don't want to be one of the people who does 17 versions of their novel over almost as many years - and in fact it's rarely in my nature to re-write anything too much, the patience wears off. But I take it as a good sign that if anything my interest in 'Mother of the World' is increasing - I still keep having good ideas to flesh out the characters, having been told be several people that I may be 'under-writing', and they are definitely real people now who haunt my head whenever they get the chance.

I'm also having fun reading over each of the main characters' stories separately to check for internal consistency. And then of course there's the fact that I'm actually going to Cairo in May, having written about it from second hand accounts, so that's bound to give me ideas.

Guess it might be a month or two yet...

Mayor alert

Saw Boris Johnson on the escalators at London Bridge this week, with just one companion. This almost makes me believe he could be a fit mayor of London after all - I do love a politician who is not afraid of public transport, not to mention the public. I'd still bring back Ken though...

Me-tal-li-CA!

So, it turns out that Metallica really do exist! They are not just a figment of my fevered imagination - how exciting. They delivered a storming performance as expected, though seeing them at the O2 is just a little bit like watching on a really really really big TV, or perhaps inside a space ship that could take off and you would never know. Their clothes are an entertaining span of several rock decades (70s cut off shirt and drainpipes; 80s-90s basic blacks; 2000s baggy shorts and socks...). Sad but True was the highlight for me - even made it worth further transport battles with the absent Jubilee line. Replacement bendy bus to Stratford after midnight, anyone?

Lost in space

Oops, so March came and went then... In my defence, I have been stuck either at work on on public transport. RANT ALERT...Southern Railways were not my most trusted people anyway, but what really beggars belief is that last Monday they left me anD a train full of commuters in total absence of information for over an hour and a half after the train lost power. Eventually, in desperation, people took matters into their own hands and started climbing off and walking along the track, thus precipitating a slow official progress off the front of the train. When asked why they had said nothing, officials said that 'the communications were down' - first of all this certainly wasn't true in the first half hour, when we were told there was a power cut. Secondly - it's a train full of people. They have voices. If you can't walk down (and frankly they could have though it was a little crowded), ask people to pass a message on! So far as I know, no-one was hurt, but no thanks to Southern. Oh and the best part is that the front of the train was a foot into Balham station the whole damn time...

Alphabet Month - Zat's all, folks

"Z"zzz is to sleep, perchance to dream...


Or for those who think I am copping out of the tricky letter,
Z is for zoology,
the study of the human, being.

Alphabet Month - Y

"Y"? Why not?

Alphabet Month - X

"X" is for things that we have lost.

In other ex's:
'And if the man you've grown to be's more Morrison than Morrissey
I'll tell you straight as we undress that things got better since you left
and though I've banned your name since then
I'll call it with my dying breath' - Dubstar

Alphabet Month - V & W

"V" is for ventriloquism - this V is brought to you by Tuesday 24th.

V is also for vegan - unexpected delights of vegan food are what kept me from the computer yesterday at Saf restaurant near old street. It's mostly raw food but they do such intriguing things with it you would never know. The chive caviar was a highlight as were the puddings but the real winner is the cocktail list - mmmmmm, jasmine pearl martini...
My other favourite raw and vegan discovery is Conscious Chocolate - gorgeous dark, truffly chocolate bars which are practically a health food!

"W" is for words, what else?

Alphabet Month - U

"U" are everything to me.

Songs about U:

'and if you don't love me now, you will never love me again, I can still hear you saying you will never break the chain' - fleetwood mac

'you were there dressed in green, saying something obscene. But that's why I came here in the first place. Oh well that and the tea.' - pulp

'Are you living for love? I've been under the gun, I'm lost and I've won.' - sisters of mercy

Alphabet Month - Tea

"T" is a suitable break in the afternoon of the alphabet.

Alphabet Month - R&S

"R" is for arrrrrrgh, I missed a day. Not quite sure how that happened, sorry. Although it was one of those days when I overslept and my head melted - I narrowly avoided pouring juice on my cereal and wore my watch upside down for about four hours before noticing.
To be honest, I wasn't certain of my plans for R - it might have been rampant, rampaging, rambunctious and rumbustious, or it might have been retiring. Either way, it would have been richly relevant. Or I might have succumbed to temptation and just written 'ooh R'...

By contrast, "S" is simple - it stands for serendipity, my favourite thing.

Alphabet Month - Q

"Q" is for questions, essential to disrupting the Plan.

Alphabet Month - P

"P" is for the Plan, which is necessary but not sufficient.

Alphabet Month - O

"O"

Step 1 - select:
a) ...say can you see
b)...baby, baby, how was I supposed to know
c) ...lift us up where we belong
d) ...joy

Step 2 - select:
a) !
b) ?
c) ...
d) .

Alphabet Month - N

.
.
.
.
.
.
("N" is for nothing. Nothing matters.)

Alphabet Month - M

"M" is for the middle of Alphabet Month, which is more or less upon us.

M is also for music, what else.
It's time to play the music, it's time to light the lights,
Play that funky music, the music of the night
Music is my hot hot sex
Music to watch girls by
Thank you for the music
Without the music we would die
I'm lost in music
The music sounds better with you
Antmusic, exit music, guess that's why they call it the blues
'There may be trouble ahead
But while there's moonlight and music
And love and romance
Let's face the music and dance.'


In other music:
'Before you get sold, you get bought for a song' - Fountains of Wayne

Alphabet Month - Valentine Special

Are you in Love,
Lust,
or just
in "L"?

Alphabet Month - K

"K" keeps me guessing, it's beyond my ken.
Is it a kamikaze licence to kill?
A kaleidoscopic kiln of karma?
A knees-up knave
or a knight in shining armour?
Kiss me, K!
K is the key,
the Kyrie Eleison,
the kernel of knowledge.
K is knotty, knockabout, knuckleheaded, knurled, a knowall thrown out of college.
K is not quite Kosher.
K is not OK.
Oh, K.

Alphabet Month - J

"J"ay is to sparrow
As tank is to arrow.

J is for jaaaaaaam hot!

J is also for Jasper Maskelyne, magician, who inadvertantly and posthumously inspired my first novel.

Alphabet Month - I

"I" will lift up mine eyes unto the hills,
from whence cometh my strength.


(disclaimer: this is not a religious message. I just like hills.)

Alphabet Month - H

"H" is to have and to hold.

Alphabet Month - G

"G" is for the Great North Wood,
which is still here if you look hard enough.

Alphabet Month - F

"F" is for the Facts,
which sometimes aren't.

Alphabet Month - E

"E"rrrrr......


(to err is human)

Alphabet Month - D

"D" is for the diverse delirium of Doubt, from doubt-full (doomed to dyspeptic dithering) to doubt-less (distinctly damnably dictatorial).

Alphabet Month - C

"C" what I did with B, there? I'll stop it. Promise. For now.

C is for the not-quite-circular cycles of chance and change
Also for chocolate, which is much more important.

Come up and C me sometime (that wasn't me - it's a quote...)

Alphabet Month - B

"B" gentle, reader, it's my first time.

In other B's:

'He believes in beauty, he's Venus as a boy' Bjork

'If the apocalypse comes - beep me' Buffy the Vampire Slayer

Alphabet Month

26 days left of February? Must be Alphabet Month. Please do join in with your own suggestions in the comments. I'll try to do this every day unless I really can't get to the internet, in which case there may be the odd two-letter day:


"A" is for anthropology,
The study of the human, being.

Snow snow snow snow snow

So, this work thing really takes it out of a girl. But thanks to the snow, I have a longer weekend in which to reflect on the positive aspects of my career. There is undeniably a satisfying sense of competence about work which can be all too elusive in the writing. I don't particularly enjoy being sent to Glasgow at short notice, or having to stay late to finish things, but it does make one feel wanted. My colleagues are (for the most part) as lovely as I remember. Also, lets be honest, it is very nice to see my bank balance halt its relentless downward slide. I have celebrated solvency with a self-gift of a beautiful silver pen - by way of reminder not to stop writing. So far, so good - still making reasonable progress on the corrections to novel no.1 and finished another short story the other day, although I have decided to let various competition deadlines slide without my input.

Snow = being at home, ought to = productivity, but snow engenders that 'being off school' feeling which prevents any substantial activity. So I went to the park and took pictures of the happy sledging people, and felt good about it.

Last night of freedom

Tomorrow I start work again. That's OK. It will be pleasant to have an income, and the writing is now at a stage when I can realistically hope to push it forwards in my spare time. As of today, the opening chapters of novel number one are at (joint) no. 20 on the youwriteon charts - a satisfying position for a first attack. I just wish the whole sabbatical wasn't already starting to feel rather distant, like some myth i once heard...

Byzantine audio blight (oh and Christmas and all that)

I still love Christmas. It really helps to have a small family who are sane about the important things (albeit quietly barking about the other stuff). New Year at the Mexican Ovaltine Factory, dancing amid the plastic cacti, was also a blast (for the confused - it was just a friend's flat. In an old factory. With a mexican theme - ish).

But I failed to make any resolution not to rant, so here goes. Audio guides for exhibitions - not exactly a major evil of our time. However...

I would be the first to agree that audio guides have their place. Alcatraz, for example, has a really great one, and most importantly the space for visitors to enjoy it. The Byzantium exhibition at the Royal Academy, though, has a number of quite small items in a confined area. I have no way of telling whether the audio guide was good - I imagine so - but it cursed the exhibition for anyone who chose not to use it. First, of course, it ensured dense crowds around the choice items as they clustered, determined to hear everything while still in close proximity. Secondly, there is a pernicious tendency to remove all the informative and enjoyable information from the labelling in favour - I presume - of the audio. When I see the extraordinary detail of a micro-mosaic, to take one instance, I long to know how it was made, by whom, over how long a time. Ideally, I want nuggets of anecdote to add to the factual info. What I get is a name - micro-mosaic of the virgin (or similar) - and a date. And the date is often a bit suspect. Come to that, the name can be tricky too - as per the painting of 'Jesus' which looks distinctly female. I urge the curators of exhibitions to consider their readers as well as their listeners - and to provide a bit more space if they are going to encourage hordes of people to enjoy a single earing or coin - maybe even a blown-up image of the thing above it. I surely can't be the only person wondering if Saint Euphemia in the illustrated manuscript is really topless, and if so, why?

The eagle-eyed will notice I'm in catch-up mode...

San Francisco is lovely. Even the Holiday Inn is pretty damn nice. The sealions honking at pier 39 are lovely. The fine and plentiful seafood is lovely. The cocktails are lovely. The views from the municipal pier and the Coit Tower are lovely. The public transport is charmingly various but seems to work. The incessant Obama posters let you know you are in friendly territory. You get the idea.

We went to Alcatraz, where the ranger gave an excellent talk about the military history and how it went from a base to a military prison (built by the prisoners) to a federal penitentiary (bought for $1 and an agreement to continue doing the army's laundry). The SF Museum of Modern Art and the De Young were both sensational - like the best museums in London only a more manageable size. Travellers wrestling with US portion sizes should also note that the museum cafes serve great salads and healthier-than-usual sandwiches. I would happily return to San Fran tomorrow.

So my first trip to the USA was a great success (despite my best attempts to sabotage it before it started by turning off the alarm in my sleep owing to a heavy cold... yes, we still made the flight). It made me realise very concretely what I have formerly known academically but failed to practice - you can't generalise about America or Americans. I can't imagine two more different places that Vegas and San Fran. The only thing they had in common - and I say this in all sincerity - is really excellent lemonade. None of the fizzy crap that passes for lemonade over here. And on that note I must continue my catch-up...

Sponging USA

There are several ways in which Vegas makes me think of sponge.

1. It is the most dehydrating place I have ever visited. After a 10 hour flight, you arrive shrivelled to your air conditioned yet smoky hotel. Whence you depart only for short walks in the desert air or in air conditioned buses. It sucks all the moisture from you. The lovely lovely waitress at the Stratosphere tower said as much, noting that we English would soon need to return to our humid environments. This makes San Francisco, home of London-esque greenery and freezing fog, the ideal place to move on to for comprehensive rehydration.

2. On holiday, I am generally in 'sponge' mode - absorbing all the new sights, sounds and so on. Even for a Londoner, though, Vegas is over-stimulating. The lights! The beeping of the slots! The salespeople! The multiplicity of alarming statistics that prove how Vegas defies nature! The flicking of the callgirl cards in the street! The number of shops! The size of the food!

3. Jet lag makes my brain spongy. Vegas doesn't help with that. It is full of things that make you go 'aaaaargh' and clutch your skull in sheer bafflement.

All of that said, I am delighted to have seen it once. Our friends' wedding was lovely - Vegas appropriate but not tacky. We saw two incredible Cirque du Soleil shows and a great gig by Franz Ferdinand (the less said about Bloc Party who were actually heading the bill the better - we left). We enjoyed siberian nachos at Red Square for my birthday. We gawped at the hoover dam and squeaked in adoration at the antelope ground squirrels who ate from our hands nearby. We shopped, we took endless pictures to prove how mad it all is, I developed a mild devotion to Wallgreen's pharmacy for their range of lotions and potions, and we spent some time trying to calculate how rich we would have to be to stay at the Bellagio and watch their exquisite fountains all evening.

So I had a great time in Vegas, but it's all just so very very wrong. As typified by the timeshare salesman who pointed out that the next big project is a water park and ski slope. In the desert! Right before he drew our attention to the singing rocks on the communal patio...