It's Friday....

...it's five to five; it's Crackerjack! Except this isn't a 1970's kids TV show, it's the random outpourings of my brain which masquerades as a blog, so actually only one third of that title/opening line combination is true. Wot - as the Yoof of today would say - EVS.

But yes, it is Friday which means only one thing: another *exciting* installment of the Lust List. It was hard to narrow down today's contender for the honour (so many men, so little time, right Lee?) but after much deliberation and an acknowledgement there are still another fifty weeks in the year to come, I realised there could only be one submission...

Now he may not be conventionally gorgeous, but as I wholeheartedly find convention to be an often dispiriting, disquieting and occasionally irritating concept, such vanities have never bothered me. He is, however, a poet; a troubadour and an all-round Nice Bloke, whose song lyrics speak to my heart and whose voice makes my knees weak, my eyes fill with tears and my soul tremble. I can withstand almost any *funny* comments about my taste in men - most of which I'm bound to agree with because even I know how eclectic and, er, strange it can be - but I will not hear a bad word said against this man EVER, on pain of being cut out of my life completely. He is, in short, amazing. Ladies and Gentlemen of the Blogsphere, I give you...Mr Gary Lightbody.

This song is beautiful and the way he sings it makes me want to sob. Leona Lewis can stfu and step away from the song because her version could never in a million billion years ever compete. And because I don't need an excuse (although I'll give you one: this second song is about Seamus Heaney, one of my favourite poets), here's another video for you...

*sigh* Please excuse me, I have some swooning to do...

I Can't Think What To Call This Post...

...a witty and erudite title, no? Well, tough cupcakes, Blogverse, because I am currently watching Earthflight and imagining being a bird who is read to by David Tennant.

In all seriousness, though, while watching said programme I am v. V. glad not to be a frigging bird. I mean for one thing I hate flying, so unless I was gonna be a penguin or something I'd pretty much suck as a bird (also if I was a penguin I'd spend the entire time convulsed in hysterical laughter because - duh! - penguins are way cute but make me giggle, so I'd be leopard seal food in no time). And for another thing, they have to fly for bloody miles! I mean seriously, look how wee and teeny and small a swallow is and then factor in the eight thousand-odd miles it's flown to reach the UK...just the thought of it makes me want to go and lie down in a darkened room. Although seeing the cranes flying over Venice is quite awe-inspiring (I love the city, and I bet they don't have to pay for breathing on their flights unlike us mere mortals), and the whole way they've filmed the series is beautiful. So no, I don't think I DO want to be a bird, thank you very much, but I quite like watching them while they do all the hard work...

Oh, For The Love Of...Literature

Every so often, usually at the end of a decade or if there's some big literary anniversary coming up, someone somewhere in the world gets the bright idea of compiling one of those "Hundred Books You Must Read" lists.  These are either voted for by Joe Public or some snooty bunch of literati, but they always provide interesting reading.  Mainly at the ridiculousness of some of the entries (every single Harry Potter book ever written?  Seriously?  Thank God none of them have Twilight on them or I'd have to turn in my library card).  Sometimes, however, I feel the smug glow of literary satisfaction when I realise just how many of the books on the list I've actually read; on the BBC Big Read in 2003, for example, I worked out that I've read exactly half of the books on the list, have read different books by three of the other authors on the list, and have either bought or plan to buy in order to read eight more.  That's theoretically sixty-one books out of the hundred.  Not bad going...

However.  Ohhhhh, but however.  One of these eight books which I have bought and plan to read is the one which remains the bane of my life.  Not Tolstoy or Dostoevsky, although I fully intend to settle down and read both War and Peace, Anna Karenina and Crime and Punishment sometime before my death, and will go out and buy/borrow them in order to do so.  No, the book which is the bane of my very existence, the one I am determined to read just because it's such a challenge but which I keep picking up and putting down again and which is on every single one of these stupid lists is Ulysses by James Joyce.  And despite owning said book for almost ten years, I've never got further than the first few pages.

I bought Ulysses when I was eighteen and in Ireland for the first time.  I found it in a sweet little secondhand bookshop in Dublin, decided I *must* read it (because you don't get much more Irish than James Joyce and I was - and still am - besotted with all things Irish) and bought it at once. It has sat on my book shelf ever since, occasionally being picked up and leafed through before I decide it's either too complex or that I'd rather read something else, and back on the shelf it goes.  I have several books which I've picked up over the years which I've started and stopped - mainly more 'theoretical' ones like Robert Graves' "White Goddess" or James Fraser's "The Golden Bough", which require you to be in the mood to read something which resembles a text book in all but name, but bloody Ulysses haunts me.  It sits on the bookshelf right next to my bed and it mocks me.  I wake up some nights in a cold sweat because I think Leopold Bloom and Stephen Daedalus are calling me, waiting to lure me to some horrible and untimely death - possibly a death which involves being beaten severely with copies of Ulysses.  You may laugh, Dear Reader, but such is the substance of my dreams...

Now as I've stated previously I don't much go in for New Year's resolutions, on account of my spectacular failure to maintain them for more than a week.  This year, however, I will swear a solemn and binding vow to rid myself of this monkey on my back: by the end of the year, come hell or high water, I will have read, finished and maybe even understood Ulysses.  There.  I said it.  And put it down in black and white.  It's as good as binding now.  So while I have other literary needs, wants, desires and necessities this year - the Great Big Song of Ice and Fire Re-Read Project, for example, and all the books on my book club reading list - I am also going to finally plough through James Joyce's literary millstone-round-the-neck.  Even if it kills me.  

Look out, Ulysses, for I am coming.  Eventually.  I just need to to watch this very interesting spot of paint drying over here first.  Hey, I never said I was going to start it as soon as I finished this blog post, did I?!!

Jean Genie...

There are some things about being a woman that are a complete and utter nightmare.  Childbirth, for example, or the pressure of a patriarchal society to look 'nice' at all times.  But one of THE most irritating and frustrating things about being female is the buying of jeans.  Now I know any bloke reading this is going to go "what?  How hard can it be, ffs; surely you just pull a pair off the rails in your size and Robert is indeed your mother's brother?!!"  Any woman reading this, however, will be nodding their heads and punching the air screaming "YES!  A thousand times yes; thank you for acknowledging my pain!!"  Well, I might be exaggerating that bit, but when it comes to buying new denims it is a strange woman who doesn't give even the teeniest of shudders at the thought.

Now I have several pairs of jeans, some of which fit me better than others - because of that weirdly female combination of small waist, big hips, bigger bum - but I've been after a pair of lighter blue ones for a while, to try and alleviate the black, black, dark blue and more black which seem to make up my collection.  Buying jeans, however, is like going on a Grail Quest; you have to psyche yourself up for it, prepare to spend hours on it and, unless a miracle occurs, be prepared to very disappointed by the end of it.  Only twice have I ever found *the* perfect pair of jeans and both were complete flukes because I found them in charity shops; when I set out on my lunch break in search of my own denim grail today, I wasn't exactly hopeful.  Mainly because the current fashion for jeans appears to be so super-skinny and skintight that you can't breathe - it's a sure sign you're getting old when your first consideration when buying jeans is not "are they fashionable?" and "are they sexy?" but "are they comfortable?" and "can I sit down in them without feeling like I'm cutting myself in half?"  C'est la vie...

Today, however, the Gods were smiling.  After trying on several pairs I found not one but two almost perfectly fitting pairs of jeans that didn't cost the earth.  Mission Impossible?  HA!  More like Mission Accomplished...

Of course this is probably my quota of jeans-buying good luck for the next twenty years...

I Don't Like Mondays...

Sorry - brief Boomtown Rats moment.  But I have officially decided that Monday's suck - that's just what happens when you've had a week off and then have to drag yourself back into the office, especially since I know my job looks likely to go due to budget cuts.  Then I went back to the doctors and have to be referred  to the hospital again - oh yes, Monday's are just frigging delightful.

That said, however, I refuse to allow any doom and gloom to bring me down.  Life's too short, even for Little Miss Misery Guts here; sometimes you just have to take the sunshine where you find it.  And I have found the odd shaft of sunlight today, admittedly in the weirdest places.

1) First thing this morning, as I was going off to work, I saw a kestrel going after the starlings in the tree.  It didn't get any, but just watching it swooping down in pursuit of its prey was absolutely breathtaking.  I almost felt bad that it missed...

2) On the way into work, I saw a bee.  This is weird because it's, well, January, but nevertheless a bee there was.  It was buzzing around quite happily doing its thing, and for some reason t made me feel positive.  If a little bee can brave the January chills, I can weather whatever storms are coming just the same.

3) http://birdsinhats.blogspot.com  There are never enough words to describe my sheer childish delight at the idea of birds wearing hats.  Alice Tams is a genius and you should all follow her blog immediately.  It will make you feel better, I promise. 

 

4) My awesome mother bought me THE greatest present ever - look at my cat mask!! 

Rawr, Pussycat!!

5) The 'antiquarian and collectible' books on the Oxfam secondhand bookshop site.  Even if I never buy any of them, I could literally spend hours going through all the listings and seeing the weird and wonderful things that appear.  Today's gem - A Dictionary of Chivalry.  I am sorely tempted...

And lastly but never ever in a million years leastly - Richard Madden reciting Shakespeare.

Suddenly all is right with the world...*sigh*