Friday, October 31, 2003
Winter's coming on and my blog is suffering. (Thankfully it doesn't seem to be mine only, there is a certain...tiredness to be detected pretty much all over the place.)
I don't have much to say at the moment, I guess I have cuddled up for the winter, to re-emerge sometime next spring.
'Cause, see, I love winter.
I enjoy the cold, when it bites the nose and smells so wonderfully chilly. I adore coming into the house, and it's all warm and cosy. I revel in baking and making tea or hot chocolate. I love smelling spices from cakes and gluh wein. I grow fat and lazy and smug.
So there might not be too much to see around here for the coming months, but keep checking in, because I'm sure that I won't be able to stay away for long.
Oh, and I got a job. Which is nice.
I don't have much to say at the moment, I guess I have cuddled up for the winter, to re-emerge sometime next spring.
'Cause, see, I love winter.
I enjoy the cold, when it bites the nose and smells so wonderfully chilly. I adore coming into the house, and it's all warm and cosy. I revel in baking and making tea or hot chocolate. I love smelling spices from cakes and gluh wein. I grow fat and lazy and smug.
So there might not be too much to see around here for the coming months, but keep checking in, because I'm sure that I won't be able to stay away for long.
Oh, and I got a job. Which is nice.
Thursday, October 30, 2003
Well, I had been warned.
The film The Scarlet Letter is the worst pile of s*** I've almost seen in a long time. I write almost, for after Arthur Dimmesdale's skinny-dip (sacrilege! The good Reverend would never - never, I tell you - swim naked), I simply gave up in exasperation and fell asleep. And so missed the apparent happy ending (Yet again sacrilege! What were they thinking?)
What happened to the masterpiece of American Gothic that is the novel? Okay, so you decide to rearrange and reimagine, but in this case it has been done on a scale that truly begs for a title-change. It has been turned into a Romance!
Hawthorne is spinning in his grave.
*Shakes head, walks off, plans to torture Roland Joffe and Demi Moore with an array of spiked and painful instruments.*
The film The Scarlet Letter is the worst pile of s*** I've almost seen in a long time. I write almost, for after Arthur Dimmesdale's skinny-dip (sacrilege! The good Reverend would never - never, I tell you - swim naked), I simply gave up in exasperation and fell asleep. And so missed the apparent happy ending (Yet again sacrilege! What were they thinking?)
What happened to the masterpiece of American Gothic that is the novel? Okay, so you decide to rearrange and reimagine, but in this case it has been done on a scale that truly begs for a title-change. It has been turned into a Romance!
Hawthorne is spinning in his grave.
*Shakes head, walks off, plans to torture Roland Joffe and Demi Moore with an array of spiked and painful instruments.*
Wednesday, October 29, 2003
Although I'm not really a great fan of reality TV, this is a must-see:
Jade Goody from Big Brother and the cheating Major Charles Ingram from Who Wants To Be A Millionaire in a special celebrity edition of Wife Swap.
Jade Goody from Big Brother and the cheating Major Charles Ingram from Who Wants To Be A Millionaire in a special celebrity edition of Wife Swap.
Monday, October 27, 2003
Well, I was actually considering a longer rant on adoption, due to a silly review of a forthcoming program, but then I bumped into this: 50 Years of Bodies 1953-2003. And especially this caught my eye:
1997 Kevin Wright becomes the first person to have a healthy leg amputated on the NHS. He suffers from a condition called apotemnophilia, causing the patient to be so repelled by a limb he wants it removed.
This Apotemnophilia, which at first sight seems only deeply disturbing and sad, turns out to be a sexual paraphilia which makes it even weirder.
There's interesting things to read here and here.
Re. the Observer-article: check out also in 2000:
Emma Richards, 16, has her legs broken and stretched on the NHS at a cost of £12,000 to make her tall enough to be an air hostess.
1997 Kevin Wright becomes the first person to have a healthy leg amputated on the NHS. He suffers from a condition called apotemnophilia, causing the patient to be so repelled by a limb he wants it removed.
This Apotemnophilia, which at first sight seems only deeply disturbing and sad, turns out to be a sexual paraphilia which makes it even weirder.
There's interesting things to read here and here.
Re. the Observer-article: check out also in 2000:
Emma Richards, 16, has her legs broken and stretched on the NHS at a cost of £12,000 to make her tall enough to be an air hostess.
Saturday, October 25, 2003
Friday, October 24, 2003
The thing about London Film Festival is, that it is so darn friendly. The atmosphere is lovely, people are really up for it and dress up for the occasion. There is no competition as such, although awards are given out for outstanding achievements. The best shows are obviously in the evenings, where there usually is a Q&A with directors, actors, and whoever else decide show up.
One of the highlights was good, old Danish actor Henning Moritzen, who crawled on stage aided by a walking stick to thunderous applause by the delighted Festen-audience.
Then there was Roger Avery leading a riotous crowd, who just loved Rules of Attraction.
And of course Ed Harris and Amy Madigan, who were both incredibly graceous and interesting.
It quite difficult to get tickets to the most high-profile films at the festival, so this year I've not even bothered trying. (Although Lost in Translation looks ever so cool).
Instead I've opted for the lesser-known films, which means that tonight I'm going to see Life Kills Me, of which I know nothing else than what has been written in the program. The trick, I guess, I to try to watch films that are good, but unlikely to go on general release. I'd like to see Sylvia (although the reviews have been less than kind), but I'm pretty sure that will be possible soon anyway.
Next week it's Off The Map, mainly because I'm terribly fond of Campbell Scott, and whatever else the Festival newsletters throw my way.
I'm ever so excited.
One of the highlights was good, old Danish actor Henning Moritzen, who crawled on stage aided by a walking stick to thunderous applause by the delighted Festen-audience.
Then there was Roger Avery leading a riotous crowd, who just loved Rules of Attraction.
And of course Ed Harris and Amy Madigan, who were both incredibly graceous and interesting.
It quite difficult to get tickets to the most high-profile films at the festival, so this year I've not even bothered trying. (Although Lost in Translation looks ever so cool).
Instead I've opted for the lesser-known films, which means that tonight I'm going to see Life Kills Me, of which I know nothing else than what has been written in the program. The trick, I guess, I to try to watch films that are good, but unlikely to go on general release. I'd like to see Sylvia (although the reviews have been less than kind), but I'm pretty sure that will be possible soon anyway.
Next week it's Off The Map, mainly because I'm terribly fond of Campbell Scott, and whatever else the Festival newsletters throw my way.
I'm ever so excited.
Thursday, October 23, 2003
The TV Edition:
I completely forgot to mention that I was watching Pornography: the Musical the other night. The things you can learn from television!
1. Bukkake (oh dear)
2 Watersports: not of the surfing-variety
3. Porn stars should not really sing
4. There's a musical waiting to happen in every profession
Which brings me to: Men in Tights
Weren't they sweet?
Which swiftly leads me to the the opposite, the most appalling thing I've ever seen:
Racism in the police force.
Obviously the most chilling moment was when a PC pulled a hood over his head, pretending to be a member of the Ku Klux Klan, but also the way these men spoke to each other and defended themselves, was a sure sign that many people in this and many other countries think like they do. Hopefully they will never become part of any police force.
Finally: whatisname is out of the box. Whatever. Adding to the surreal carnival taking place in front of this box and his girlfriend throwing eggs at the people who were thowing things at Blaine, was Harmony Korine filming the entire thing, this film having been show to mark the grandeur of the feat. Or something like that. The film was typical Korine, grainy, handheld and full of naked women. I'm not sure what these women had to do with the brilliance of Blaine, especially as he didn't really do anything with them other than show them card-tricks. Come to think of it they weren't even tricks, he was just flipping cards and grinning, while the women were swaying and cooing in an appreciative manner. Great.
- If anyone wants to come with me at a two-for-the-price-of-one deal at the Film Festival to see Wonderland tomorrow night, let me know (although it's quite late and I'll probably fall asleep).
I completely forgot to mention that I was watching Pornography: the Musical the other night. The things you can learn from television!
1. Bukkake (oh dear)
2 Watersports: not of the surfing-variety
3. Porn stars should not really sing
4. There's a musical waiting to happen in every profession
Which brings me to: Men in Tights
Weren't they sweet?
Which swiftly leads me to the the opposite, the most appalling thing I've ever seen:
Racism in the police force.
Obviously the most chilling moment was when a PC pulled a hood over his head, pretending to be a member of the Ku Klux Klan, but also the way these men spoke to each other and defended themselves, was a sure sign that many people in this and many other countries think like they do. Hopefully they will never become part of any police force.
Finally: whatisname is out of the box. Whatever. Adding to the surreal carnival taking place in front of this box and his girlfriend throwing eggs at the people who were thowing things at Blaine, was Harmony Korine filming the entire thing, this film having been show to mark the grandeur of the feat. Or something like that. The film was typical Korine, grainy, handheld and full of naked women. I'm not sure what these women had to do with the brilliance of Blaine, especially as he didn't really do anything with them other than show them card-tricks. Come to think of it they weren't even tricks, he was just flipping cards and grinning, while the women were swaying and cooing in an appreciative manner. Great.
- If anyone wants to come with me at a two-for-the-price-of-one deal at the Film Festival to see Wonderland tomorrow night, let me know (although it's quite late and I'll probably fall asleep).
Wednesday, October 22, 2003
Annoying things:
People who consequently refer to themselves as "crazy". As in: "Don't mind me, I'm just crazy," or "I was never like everyone else, I was always a bit crazy," or "crazy me, dancing in the moonlight".
Why would you want to be crazy?
I believe it is linked to the misconception that if you're crazy, you're different, and if you're different, you are not like everyone else. And everybody want to be an individual as opposed to disappearing in the crowd.
Except that I suspect that if you have to draw attention to your alleged craziness like that, you're not crazy at all. And you have an inferiority complex.
Hey, it's Catch-22 all over again: if you're sane enough to realise you're crazy, you're not crazy at all.
So there. Rest in yourself. Forget about what other people think. Be as boring as you like, or as interesting as you like, but stop telling me what you're like. 'Cause it's likely that I won't believe you.
People who consequently refer to themselves as "crazy". As in: "Don't mind me, I'm just crazy," or "I was never like everyone else, I was always a bit crazy," or "crazy me, dancing in the moonlight".
Why would you want to be crazy?
I believe it is linked to the misconception that if you're crazy, you're different, and if you're different, you are not like everyone else. And everybody want to be an individual as opposed to disappearing in the crowd.
Except that I suspect that if you have to draw attention to your alleged craziness like that, you're not crazy at all. And you have an inferiority complex.
Hey, it's Catch-22 all over again: if you're sane enough to realise you're crazy, you're not crazy at all.
So there. Rest in yourself. Forget about what other people think. Be as boring as you like, or as interesting as you like, but stop telling me what you're like. 'Cause it's likely that I won't believe you.
Tuesday, October 21, 2003
I don't really like living in a country in which I have to have a carbon-monoxide alarm.
Mine just started making a weird sound, I think the one related to in the manual as a 'chirp' - this is not dangerous, only means that the batteries need changing. (As opposed to a full-blown alarm, due to the loudness of which, "we suggest you place your fingers over the sounder opening when testing". I hate loud noises.)
"What To Do If The Alarm Sounds:
Immediately move to fresh air outdoors or by an open door/window. Do a head count to check that all persons are accounted for. Do no re-enter the premises nor move away from the open door/window until British Gas has arrived, the premises have been aired out, and your alarm remains in its normal condition."
Anyway, mine was just a chirp, but now I feel faint and dizzy and is that a headache building up?
- Ohmygod! I live in a death-trap -
Mine just started making a weird sound, I think the one related to in the manual as a 'chirp' - this is not dangerous, only means that the batteries need changing. (As opposed to a full-blown alarm, due to the loudness of which, "we suggest you place your fingers over the sounder opening when testing". I hate loud noises.)
"What To Do If The Alarm Sounds:
Immediately move to fresh air outdoors or by an open door/window. Do a head count to check that all persons are accounted for. Do no re-enter the premises nor move away from the open door/window until British Gas has arrived, the premises have been aired out, and your alarm remains in its normal condition."
Anyway, mine was just a chirp, but now I feel faint and dizzy and is that a headache building up?
- Ohmygod! I live in a death-trap -
Monday, October 20, 2003
Can that really be the 21 best loved books in Britain?
Since they have a rule that no author can be represented twice in the top 21, obviously this list is not entirely truthful. Surely, there would be at least a couple more Harry Potters in there?! Anyway, this is after all a poll for the best loved titles, not the best, and so the scope of the excercise changes and the winner will surely be on par with Robbie Williams being voted the best singer/musician/whatever of the millenium. Which is just rubbish.
I mean, Captain Corelli's Mandolin?
So I have decided to forget about reason and Britain and the communal best-loved tag and have voted for my favorite in this sea of (mainly) entertaining, but mediocre blah, Catch-22, which I think is a fantastic, intelligent, poignant tale of human suffering the need to question status quo. I did consider The Catcher in the Rye, which is also wonderful, Winnie-the-Pooh, which is unfortunately marred by the publishing of Benjamin Hoff's double whammy of existential, philosophical bestsellers, that is actually a behavioural conduct code, Great Expectations, if nothing else because of Ms Haversham's barmy old maid and To Kill A Mocking Bird because it has a certain significance, but out of these 21, my best loved book, is Catch-22.
Since they have a rule that no author can be represented twice in the top 21, obviously this list is not entirely truthful. Surely, there would be at least a couple more Harry Potters in there?! Anyway, this is after all a poll for the best loved titles, not the best, and so the scope of the excercise changes and the winner will surely be on par with Robbie Williams being voted the best singer/musician/whatever of the millenium. Which is just rubbish.
I mean, Captain Corelli's Mandolin?
So I have decided to forget about reason and Britain and the communal best-loved tag and have voted for my favorite in this sea of (mainly) entertaining, but mediocre blah, Catch-22, which I think is a fantastic, intelligent, poignant tale of human suffering the need to question status quo. I did consider The Catcher in the Rye, which is also wonderful, Winnie-the-Pooh, which is unfortunately marred by the publishing of Benjamin Hoff's double whammy of existential, philosophical bestsellers, that is actually a behavioural conduct code, Great Expectations, if nothing else because of Ms Haversham's barmy old maid and To Kill A Mocking Bird because it has a certain significance, but out of these 21, my best loved book, is Catch-22.
Sunday, October 19, 2003
Saturday, October 18, 2003
I love games.
Tinka asks about romantic films, and has had me obsess about these for a while now. An entirely romantic film, that is also, well, good? What constitutes a Romantic Film?
Does it have to be romantic through and thorugh?
Is it a person-meets-person, persons-go-through-troubles, persons-get-back-together traditional structure type thing?
I can think of many films with romantic scenes in them, but an entirely romantic film, that I also like, is difficult to find. I wholly stand by Tinka's choices (Moulin Rouge, The English Patient, Roman Holiday, Breakfast at Tiffany's), have come up with A Room With A View as well, can see John's point of Beautiful Girls and Say Anything, but can mainly think of romantic parts of films that are not necessarily romantic. Such as:
* Robin Williams and Amanda Plummer having dinner in The Fisher King.
* Jake Gyllenhaal and Jena Malone walking down a set of stair in tune to the music in Donnie Darko.
* Rutger Hauer saying goodbye to Daryl Hannah in Blade Runner.
* Woody Allen and Diane Keaton chasing lobsters in Annie Hall.
And then there's the films which I probably would, in the end, shove into the Romantic Film category:
My Own Private Idaho, Out of Sight and True Romance.
There must be more. Must try to come up with others.
Tinka asks about romantic films, and has had me obsess about these for a while now. An entirely romantic film, that is also, well, good? What constitutes a Romantic Film?
Does it have to be romantic through and thorugh?
Is it a person-meets-person, persons-go-through-troubles, persons-get-back-together traditional structure type thing?
I can think of many films with romantic scenes in them, but an entirely romantic film, that I also like, is difficult to find. I wholly stand by Tinka's choices (Moulin Rouge, The English Patient, Roman Holiday, Breakfast at Tiffany's), have come up with A Room With A View as well, can see John's point of Beautiful Girls and Say Anything, but can mainly think of romantic parts of films that are not necessarily romantic. Such as:
* Robin Williams and Amanda Plummer having dinner in The Fisher King.
* Jake Gyllenhaal and Jena Malone walking down a set of stair in tune to the music in Donnie Darko.
* Rutger Hauer saying goodbye to Daryl Hannah in Blade Runner.
* Woody Allen and Diane Keaton chasing lobsters in Annie Hall.
And then there's the films which I probably would, in the end, shove into the Romantic Film category:
My Own Private Idaho, Out of Sight and True Romance.
There must be more. Must try to come up with others.
Friday, October 17, 2003
Something for the weekend:
1. Name five things in your refrigerator.
- Milk, oranges, fennel bulb, Jamaican jerk, ketchup
2. Name five things in your freezer.
- Minced lamb, bagels, frozen peas, ice cream, chicken stock
3. Name five things under your kitchen sink.
- Plastic bags, bin, empty bottles, a piece of wood, pipes
4. Name five things around your computer.
- Speakers, stamps, 1 medium-sized Kenny-doll, Linux Complete, cables
5. Name five things in your medicine cabinet.
- It's not really a medicine cabinet; toothbrush, toothpicks, electrical shaver, aftershave, facial cream
1. Name five things in your refrigerator.
- Milk, oranges, fennel bulb, Jamaican jerk, ketchup
2. Name five things in your freezer.
- Minced lamb, bagels, frozen peas, ice cream, chicken stock
3. Name five things under your kitchen sink.
- Plastic bags, bin, empty bottles, a piece of wood, pipes
4. Name five things around your computer.
- Speakers, stamps, 1 medium-sized Kenny-doll, Linux Complete, cables
5. Name five things in your medicine cabinet.
- It's not really a medicine cabinet; toothbrush, toothpicks, electrical shaver, aftershave, facial cream
This, that, and the other. (And a little bit of this and a little bit of that.)
It's been a good week.
Oh, and Teen Big Brother is hilarious and infuriating at the same time. They are crap, minging creatures, but I guess that's what it's like to be a teenager.
Grande finale tonight and I predict lots of tears, a great deal of swearing and perhaps even fisticuffs. Yay!
It's been a good week.
Oh, and Teen Big Brother is hilarious and infuriating at the same time. They are crap, minging creatures, but I guess that's what it's like to be a teenager.
Grande finale tonight and I predict lots of tears, a great deal of swearing and perhaps even fisticuffs. Yay!
Sunday, October 12, 2003
Mrs. Parker cynical:
Theory:
Into love and out again,
Thus I went, and thus I go.
Spare your voice, and hold your pen -
Well and bitterly I know
All the songs were ever sung,
All the words were ever said;
Could it be, when I was young,
Some one dropped me on my head?
Mrs. Parker light:
Superfluous Advice:
Should they whisper false of you,
Never trouble to deny;
Should the words they say be true,
Weep and storm and swear they lie.
Mrs. Parker essential:
Big Blonde
Theory:
Into love and out again,
Thus I went, and thus I go.
Spare your voice, and hold your pen -
Well and bitterly I know
All the songs were ever sung,
All the words were ever said;
Could it be, when I was young,
Some one dropped me on my head?
Mrs. Parker light:
Superfluous Advice:
Should they whisper false of you,
Never trouble to deny;
Should the words they say be true,
Weep and storm and swear they lie.
Mrs. Parker essential:
Big Blonde
Saturday, October 11, 2003
The Guardian has investigated the Danish theatre-world and found it wanting. Today's paper has a scathing review, that transforms into an exploration into the Danish mentality.
Life is good in Denmark, they write, which is why it can't produce any decent drama.
The gist of the article is that although Danish plays address many serious subjects, such as terminal illness and (especially) suicide, Denmark is actually a thoroughly ordered, homogenous, conservative, affluent, bike-riding (...) society in which Danes do not, in actual fact, have anything to complain about. Furthermore, in order to maintain this slice of efficiency that Denmark is, Danes are underlying strict rules and regulations that, in the end, restrict more than they liberate.
Perhaps this is why we cannot produce anything other than highly stylised bubblegum pop and, ehm, bacon? (This is not true, I know, I know, Kashmir and jazz music and Arne Jacobsen and Day and all that stuff, but roll with it for a moment.) Is that why the ending of Shake It All About disappears into a cloud of magic? And why Okay happily ends with a cheery sing-song? And why the web-site for new Danish film 2 Ryk og En Aflevering is full of happy, horny willies, not exactly subtle and definitely neither cute nor funny?
That said, I'm happy with the Danish system. Because of this, I have been given a grant for many years, so that I can study and eat at the same time. If I'm in Denmark, I don't have to worry about getting ill, because I can go to the hospital for free. The streets are clean and the food is not full of all sorts of shit that I have no control over whatsoever.
And Denmark produces some of the best design in the world.
Danish theatre is not all rubbish, but it does seem that edgy, inventive stuff is lacking. Perhaps it can be found on the fringes or perhaps the Danish mentality is just not meant for intense, heart-wrenching plays.
We do after all have a long tradition for variety shows (link in Danish, sorry).
Life is good in Denmark, they write, which is why it can't produce any decent drama.
The gist of the article is that although Danish plays address many serious subjects, such as terminal illness and (especially) suicide, Denmark is actually a thoroughly ordered, homogenous, conservative, affluent, bike-riding (...) society in which Danes do not, in actual fact, have anything to complain about. Furthermore, in order to maintain this slice of efficiency that Denmark is, Danes are underlying strict rules and regulations that, in the end, restrict more than they liberate.
Perhaps this is why we cannot produce anything other than highly stylised bubblegum pop and, ehm, bacon? (This is not true, I know, I know, Kashmir and jazz music and Arne Jacobsen and Day and all that stuff, but roll with it for a moment.) Is that why the ending of Shake It All About disappears into a cloud of magic? And why Okay happily ends with a cheery sing-song? And why the web-site for new Danish film 2 Ryk og En Aflevering is full of happy, horny willies, not exactly subtle and definitely neither cute nor funny?
That said, I'm happy with the Danish system. Because of this, I have been given a grant for many years, so that I can study and eat at the same time. If I'm in Denmark, I don't have to worry about getting ill, because I can go to the hospital for free. The streets are clean and the food is not full of all sorts of shit that I have no control over whatsoever.
And Denmark produces some of the best design in the world.
Danish theatre is not all rubbish, but it does seem that edgy, inventive stuff is lacking. Perhaps it can be found on the fringes or perhaps the Danish mentality is just not meant for intense, heart-wrenching plays.
We do after all have a long tradition for variety shows (link in Danish, sorry).
Friday, October 10, 2003
I used to love Duran Duran. I caught them when they were coolest, the boat and the colours of Rio catching my eye. I went back to 'Girls on Film' and didn't mind that too much. I followed them through Seven and the Ragged Tiger and Arena, but lost interest a bit 'round about the James Bond theme. I've even got the wedding album on vinyl. I had a calender, which I ordered via mail order and impatiently expected for weeks. I started out fancying Nick the most, but moved on to John as I got older. (Can you blame me?) I followed their adventures with the girls and the drugs. I envied Danish model Renee Toft Simonsen, who dated John Taylor for zillions of years and presumably had sex with him too (which I presumed was nice, but who knows?).
They weren't the greatest musicians or even the most gorgeous boys around. But they were sooo naughty and looked so rich and glamourous, that I just wanted to hang out with them.
So I'm pleased to see that they've still got it.
They weren't the greatest musicians or even the most gorgeous boys around. But they were sooo naughty and looked so rich and glamourous, that I just wanted to hang out with them.
So I'm pleased to see that they've still got it.
But...but...what are they??? - They're scaring the bejesus out of me! Are they alive?
(Runs behind couch, peeks through fingers.)
(Runs behind couch, peeks through fingers.)
Thursday, October 09, 2003
A bit of poetry on National Poetry Day.
'Let us go then, you and I,
When the evening is spread out against the sky
Like a patient etherised upon a table;
Let us go, through certain half-deserted streets,
The muttering retreats
Of restless nights in one-night cheap hotels
And sawdust restaurants with oyster-shells:
Streets that follow like a tedious argument
Of insidious intent
To lead you to an overwhelming question...
Oh, do not ask, ' What is it? '
Let us go and make our visit.'
(...)
'I grow old...I grow old...
I shall wear the bottoms of my trousers rolled.
Shall I part my hair behind? Do I dare to eat a peach?
I shall wear white flannel trousers, and walk upon the beach.
I have heard the mermaids singing, each to each.'
Not strictly British, but...so lovely.
'Let us go then, you and I,
When the evening is spread out against the sky
Like a patient etherised upon a table;
Let us go, through certain half-deserted streets,
The muttering retreats
Of restless nights in one-night cheap hotels
And sawdust restaurants with oyster-shells:
Streets that follow like a tedious argument
Of insidious intent
To lead you to an overwhelming question...
Oh, do not ask, ' What is it? '
Let us go and make our visit.'
(...)
'I grow old...I grow old...
I shall wear the bottoms of my trousers rolled.
Shall I part my hair behind? Do I dare to eat a peach?
I shall wear white flannel trousers, and walk upon the beach.
I have heard the mermaids singing, each to each.'
Not strictly British, but...so lovely.
Wednesday, October 08, 2003
I was brought up in a household that adored the royal family. And not just the Danish royal family, but any family that was the least bit royal. We would be glued to the screen whenever somebody got engaged/married/had a baby/died/wore a new dress. Magazines were bought and photos dissected.
In my family it was never considered to get rid of the entire thing and give the money to the poor. Robin Hood would have been outraged.
So, as much as my social conscience tells me that it is wrong, I still like the royal family. I can't tell you why, as I don't know any of them personally. I couldn't justify their existence if my life depended on it. I grew up 'with' them, in surroundings that celebrated their existence, and I don't mind. I fancied the Crown Prince when I was a child, for Christ's sake! (Later I realised that he was kinda short and spotty and prone to really crap jokes.) So good on him, this wedding business. I'm no less thrilled because I'm out of the country and in safe distance from the Danish media.
And only two words about this: RONALD REAGAN. So history, I guess, is doomed to repeat itself.
In my family it was never considered to get rid of the entire thing and give the money to the poor. Robin Hood would have been outraged.
So, as much as my social conscience tells me that it is wrong, I still like the royal family. I can't tell you why, as I don't know any of them personally. I couldn't justify their existence if my life depended on it. I grew up 'with' them, in surroundings that celebrated their existence, and I don't mind. I fancied the Crown Prince when I was a child, for Christ's sake! (Later I realised that he was kinda short and spotty and prone to really crap jokes.) So good on him, this wedding business. I'm no less thrilled because I'm out of the country and in safe distance from the Danish media.
And only two words about this: RONALD REAGAN. So history, I guess, is doomed to repeat itself.
Monday, October 06, 2003
A good time was had by all.
Ingredients:
1 DVD (Pirates of the Caribbean)
1 Caribbean lamb curry
1 aubergine stew
1 okra fried rice dish
2 different kinds of Rum Punch
Unfortunately Johnny Depp could not attend, as he was pillaging a medium-sized vessel in the North Sea. Allegedly.
Ingredients:
1 DVD (Pirates of the Caribbean)
1 Caribbean lamb curry
1 aubergine stew
1 okra fried rice dish
2 different kinds of Rum Punch
Unfortunately Johnny Depp could not attend, as he was pillaging a medium-sized vessel in the North Sea. Allegedly.
Saturday, October 04, 2003
Had a coffee with the lovely S. C., who's off to South America next week.
Notting Hill is wonderful, even on a Saturday, and today wasn't too bad - tourist-wise, I mean.
Buying groceries in the market.
Popping in at Electric Cinema to book tickets for next week.
Investigating herbs and spices outside The Spice Shop.
Checking out Mr Christian's , Neal's Yard Remedies, and The Grocer on Elgin next to Graham and Green (and Graham and Green).
I wonder if there's such a thing as an EU relocation grant, for people who deserve to live in a certain part of London?
Later: Tycie and the boys are playing at The Catapult Club - you should definitely drop by.
Notting Hill is wonderful, even on a Saturday, and today wasn't too bad - tourist-wise, I mean.
Buying groceries in the market.
Popping in at Electric Cinema to book tickets for next week.
Investigating herbs and spices outside The Spice Shop.
Checking out Mr Christian's , Neal's Yard Remedies, and The Grocer on Elgin next to Graham and Green (and Graham and Green).
I wonder if there's such a thing as an EU relocation grant, for people who deserve to live in a certain part of London?
Later: Tycie and the boys are playing at The Catapult Club - you should definitely drop by.
Friday, October 03, 2003
Word of the week:
SHINDIG
A strange word, neither here nor there, doesn't seem to allude to anything in particular.
Late 19th century. Origin uncertain.
It's not really a likeable word, way too sharp and smug to be admired.
Up until now, I haven't been following BBC's 're-imagining' of The Canterbury Tales. The first episode was starring Billie Piper (Evans?) and James Nesbitt, which was enough to keep me away. However, last night I caught The Sea Captain's Tale, with the wonderful Om Puri. I like the fact that British television has embraced the different nationalities and cultures that are present in this country and does not veer from using (in this case) Indian actors in a story taking place entirely in the Indian community. What is even better is that this story is not particularly Indian - it could happen anywhere and the themes are universal. Indian actors are not (always) typecast but are allowed to carry a story on their merit. I have been away from Denmark for a long time and maybe things have changed, but I seem to remember only few actors who were not born and in bred in Denmark on the Danish TV screens (the occasional Eastern European, mainly). TV should reflect the society in which it functions and by now there are people from so many different cultures in Denmark that these should not be ignored or patronised.
Anyway, next week Jonny Lee Miller in The Pardoner's Tale. Should be good.
SHINDIG
A strange word, neither here nor there, doesn't seem to allude to anything in particular.
Late 19th century. Origin uncertain.
It's not really a likeable word, way too sharp and smug to be admired.
Up until now, I haven't been following BBC's 're-imagining' of The Canterbury Tales. The first episode was starring Billie Piper (Evans?) and James Nesbitt, which was enough to keep me away. However, last night I caught The Sea Captain's Tale, with the wonderful Om Puri. I like the fact that British television has embraced the different nationalities and cultures that are present in this country and does not veer from using (in this case) Indian actors in a story taking place entirely in the Indian community. What is even better is that this story is not particularly Indian - it could happen anywhere and the themes are universal. Indian actors are not (always) typecast but are allowed to carry a story on their merit. I have been away from Denmark for a long time and maybe things have changed, but I seem to remember only few actors who were not born and in bred in Denmark on the Danish TV screens (the occasional Eastern European, mainly). TV should reflect the society in which it functions and by now there are people from so many different cultures in Denmark that these should not be ignored or patronised.
Anyway, next week Jonny Lee Miller in The Pardoner's Tale. Should be good.
Thursday, October 02, 2003
Winter's in the air.
As much as I like the sun, there something about dark winter mornings, where lights from sleepy high street shops gleam quietly through. The streets are a bit chilly and a bit wet and they smell different - fresh and frosty.
Yoga in the morning is great. A great deal of stretching and energising, a calm way of waking up - I like feeling my body that way.
And then: home for a cup of tea and a read through the newspaper. Preferably while it rains outside and bread is baking in the oven.
On an entirely different note:
Britons fall short on their knowledge of art.
7% thought Australian TV presenter and artist [Rolf] Harris had painted Monet's Water Lillies.
...one in 10 thought Botticelli had painted David Hockney's A Bigger Splash.
What is the world coming to? Can this not be rectified?
As quickly as possible, please!
As much as I like the sun, there something about dark winter mornings, where lights from sleepy high street shops gleam quietly through. The streets are a bit chilly and a bit wet and they smell different - fresh and frosty.
Yoga in the morning is great. A great deal of stretching and energising, a calm way of waking up - I like feeling my body that way.
And then: home for a cup of tea and a read through the newspaper. Preferably while it rains outside and bread is baking in the oven.
On an entirely different note:
Britons fall short on their knowledge of art.
7% thought Australian TV presenter and artist [Rolf] Harris had painted Monet's Water Lillies.
...one in 10 thought Botticelli had painted David Hockney's A Bigger Splash.
What is the world coming to? Can this not be rectified?
As quickly as possible, please!
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