Oooh...Spooky!

The air turns chill, the leaves are starting to fall and the long dark nights are drawing in. Merlin and Strictly Come Dancing are back/soon to be back on our screens (there will, no doubt, be more posts on Strictly once it properly starts - I have a weakness for it). It can mean only one thing - Winter will soon be upon us.

All is not lost, however. I love the autumnal time of year anyway; from Mabon (which, by the way, is this Wednesday, so happy Autumn Equinox everyone) through to Samhain, there's a magick in the air that can't be explained. There's also the glorious pleasure of snuggling up on the sofa, hot chocolate in hand, and watching good telly. And - oh joy of joys - Monday's have become bearable again (at least for the next eight weeks) with the return of Spooks. *cue Kate's madly over exuberant bouncing, resulting in a fall from the bed*

Ok, ok, I have to admit it - this is an incredibly shallow post. I could spend hours going into the gritty realism, the brilliant acting, the expansive and gripping storylines and the fabulous special effects (a girl's gotta love those huge explosions, after all). I could tell you that I've learned more about counter-terrorism and the workings of MI5 from watching Spooks than I ever thought I'd need to know, and that because of the show I'm fully fluent in 'techie nerd' and 'computer geek' speak. Or I could just be really, brutally honest and admit that, while I always had a passing fascination with the show thanks to the storylines, explosions and the whole spying thing, it's only since Richard Armitage joined the team that I've really made sure I never miss an episode. Oh sure, I used to watch it, but I never fretted if I missed an episode or two and I was always able to do something else at the same time, like flick through a magazine or tap away at the computer. Since Mr A got his MI5 credentials, however, Monday night has become Spooks night and nothing, not even a half-naked rugby team standing on my doorstep (wait, which half? Oh, it doesn't matter anyway...) can drag me away from my drooling. I mean studious appraisal. Or something. *coughs*

So yes, this post is very, very shallow indeed. So I'm a walking boyband sometimes - a mile wide and an inch deep, that's me. But sometimes there's no shame in it. I mean look at this bloke. Seriously, just look at him...

Ok, ok, you can stop looking now. Seriously, stop. Back off, girls - Lady Nocturna doesn't do sharesies. Not even for you, Mooms...although if Sexy Becks is in your luggage upon your return from sunny LA then I'm open to negotiation...And not only is the divine Mr A single and sexy, he's also *swoon* highly intelligent and according to more than one of my sources, he's an absolute old-fashioned gentleman as well *swoon again* Seriously, ladies, back off. I'll bite...

This will be the last post on the blog for a few days as I'm to the wild and wet north-west of Bonny Scotland and shall be sans t'internet for a while. Sadly I'm not going with Richard Armitage (now there's a fantasy I'm not sharing...) but will no doubt have a thoroughly excellent, if not a slightly soggy time. I shall, however, leave you with another of my current crushes (what?): the always-awesome Black Stone Cherry. I saw them last year at around this time (October, I believe) and it was amazing; they're one of my favourite bands ever and Chris' voice is just...*shivers* The first song is 'Things My Father Said', which makes me howl like a baby because it's so beautiful; the second is 'Devil's Queen', which is my favourite song from their second album Folklore and Superstition. Sorry that the quality on the second one is 100%, but I freaking love this song! Oh, and because I'm a video-whore and a total slapper, I'm putting a Corey Taylor video on here; the beautiful version of 'Snuff' that he played at Sonisphere 2010 and dedicated to Paul Gray when I SAW HIM!! Ahem...it's my blog, I can do what I want. :D Ah, you know you guys are gonna miss me...Till I return from Soggy Scotland, farewell. And enjoy the music!! xx

OH GODS, I LOVE THIS MAN!!!!

This Was Their Finest Hour...

Today marks the 70th anniversary of the Blitz. Naturally, and quite rightly, the Beeb has been mentioning it at every available opportunity. I'm actually really glad they have, because - thanks to the oh-so-reliable One Show - I have learnt something. Apparently, there is no official memorial to the brave men of Bomber Command.

Just think about that for a teeny, tiny second, please. These young men, over half of whom never returned home, were flying deep into enemy territory and, although we can look back with the luxury of the distance of years and some safety and shudder at the terrible bombings of Dresden, Berlin and the rest, they were only following orders. Just because Churchill himself distanced himself from his own commands at the end of the war (kinda ruins the 'saint Winston' image otherwise), the memories of the fallen shouldn't have to suffer; nor should the quiet heroism of the survivors be allowed to slide into obscurity. Apparently, a memorial to the dead of Bomber Command has been given the go-ahead this year - at long last. So as we look back at the heroism and stoicism of the British people during the Blitz - not just in London but all over the country - and at the daring-do of the pilots of the Battle of Britain, let's not forget the quiet men, the forgotten heroes. Their bravery and sacrifice must not be allowed to be swept under the carpet any more. Let us shout from the very rooftops of St Paul's - this was their finest hour, so here's to the Boys of Bomber Command!!

And of course whenever I think about the RAF and the Second World War, there are two family stories that always spring to mind. The first is that of my beloved Great-Auntie Rose, who tragically passed away last year. I loved my Auntie Rosie; she had an absolutely shocking life until she met my Great-Uncle Ron and the rest of his family, but it never made her bitter or resentful. She really was one of life's truly sweet and gentle people and I completely adored her. That said, we did always have a giggle over some of her exploits - her sense of humour was legendary within the family, and she once joked that she was going to get a motorbility scooter "so she could come down and see us". The thought of her bombing down the M25 on her scooter simultaneously made me shriek with laughter and want to warn the traffic police! During the war, while my Uncle Ronnie was was away fighting, Auntie Rosie worked in a factory making Spitfires, and the family always joked that it was amazing we managed to win the Battle of Britain with Rosie making the planes!!

The second family story is the one that makes me fiercely proud of my ancestors, and also goes someway perhaps to explaining my own personality. According to the story, my great-grandmother was walking home one day when one of the Luftwaffe's finest Doodlebug's flew overhead. Never one to back down from a challenge, Great Granny brandished her umbrella in a particularly menacing manner, shook it in her clenched fist at the departing German drone and shouted, "come on then, you buggers!!!" Great Granny versus the Luftwaffe? Please, no contest. If Churchill had sent some of the women of my family in to Germany, Hitler would have whimpered and rolled over within a matter of weeks. You don't mess with my bloodline...

That said, I now need to go in search of a Galadriel dress. My beloved Baby Forumbat and adopted daughter Gemma turns 18 in November, and is having a fancy dress party to celebrate. We all have to go dressed as something beginning with G. Owen is going as Gimli, from Lord of the Rings, and Ryan is going as Gandalf. When I heard that, I immediately dismissed all thoughts of 'gerbils' and 'gooseberries' from my mind and announced I would go as Galadriel. Cue much excitement from the others, and much scratching of my own fair head as to how and where I can transform myself into the luminous Cate Blanchett in two months.

Maybe I should go as a germ after all...

Teenage Kicks...

I don't know if you've seen Amish: The World's Squarest Teenagers on Channel 4? When I first came across it, I was horrified; it sounded like one of those 'point and laugh at the freaks' programmes that make me want to throw things at the telly. However, for once the name of the show doesn't actually do justice to the content. It follows five young Amish teenagers as they come to Britain and spend time with 4 different families; it has been a huge, huge eyeopener. The five young Amish are very engaging and keen to fit in with their host families, and also to learn as much as they can about the hugely-differing cultures. But what is also wonderful to see, especially given the bad press that teenagers in this country get, was the way that the British teenagers hosting them were also keen to engage with themand get to know their ways. It kinda fills you with hope...almost!

Another thing that has given me hope for the fabled 'next generation' was the Palace Theatre Summer Youth Project that I saw today. In nine days, this incredible bunch of kids (aged 9 to 19) pulled together to perform an all-singing, all-dancing version of The Wiz. It was brilliant. You could see how hard they'd all worked (not to mention all the very frazzled 'grown-ups' backstage!) and their sheer enthusiasm and joy at performing was infectious. There are some real talents there, raw talents who one day will be strutting their stuff on the stage in the West End. They can all be very, very proud of themselves for what they achieved, and it's a timely reminder that not every teenager is some knife-wielding hoody drunkenly loitering on a street corner; that there are 'young people'who are prepared to put time and effort into something that they're passionate about. So to Daisymay and everyone else who took part in the show, a huge huge well done. You were all fantastic. xx