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September 30, 2005
Paul McCartney Yay or Nay?
To think this post was inspired because I was trying to write about Elizabeth Rigby but kept calling her Eleanor instead.
All my life I seem to have cultivated this love/cringe relationship with Paul McCartney. Well not in the reciprocal sense of the word but then you’d probably gathered that anyway.
It all began back in 1982, when I trekked off to Woolworths with my hard earned pocket money and came away with ‘Ebony and Ivory,’ it was the first single I ever bought. I had just acquired my mum’s old hand-me-down record player and as I sat there in my bedroom I nearly cried because the lyrics seemed so deep to me. That was it! The man had the answer! All we had to do was live together ‘side by side’ like the keys on a piano and the world would be OK! He was my hero from then on.
I can laugh at my six year old self, because now I’m older and wiser and I know that the world is just a little more complicated than that. Oh and the piano metaphor is just not working for me because doesn’t he know that a piano is an inanimate object without history, emotion, feelings or money and it is OK for the keys to do that buddy buddy thing because, well they can. Sometimes however the idealist in me, tired of all the debating, arguing, whinging, moaning, fighting and apathy, wonders if it was that simple after all, maybe if we were all a little nicer to each other?.... Well it wouldn’t do any harm to try now would it? And besides if you want hard-line politics then didn’t he release a song called ‘Give Ireland back to the Irish.’? Ouch! You don’t get more specific than that.
Mr PE has been going through some of his old vinyl and for the past few days we have been listening to Band on the Run. Now I’m no musician really and so I don’t understand all the terminology but I had forgotten how much that album rocks (well I’ve been tapping my feet along anyway.) It may be a lot more ‘cool’ than his ‘Ebony and Ivory’ period but the lyrics don’t mean anything. I kind of always want ‘Jet’ to turn out to be some feminist anthem but however many times I listen to it I still can’t make head nor tail of the lyrics.
‘I thought the major Was a lady suffragette.’
Let’s face it, he was a serious drug user at the time.
And then there was ‘We All Stand Together.’ The Anti-Paul camp never fails to start humming ‘bom bom-bom’ as if that settles it. As far as I am aware though no-one was ever claiming that this was supposed to be anything more than a Rupert the Bear theme tune. Considering some of the pitiful attempts made to entertain our kids these days (hello Hi-5) can we really send him to Room 101 for a couple of (oh OK maybe quite a few) throwaway songs.
Well what is it I don’t like about him? Well you see it’s his demeanour. He cannot seem to be able to hold a photo shoot without raising at least one of his thumbs aloft, or pulling some sort of ludicrous face. We all like to have a laugh sometimes but Jesus guy have some decorum at least half the time. And then there’s that thing he does with his eyebrows when he sings. We saw him at Glastonbury last year it was the only time I’ve ever seen him live and I had to stand right at the back where I couldn’t even see the screens because I knew that as soon as those eyebrows started moving and his head started shaking from side to side I wouldn‘t be able to be impartial to the music. So due to my positioning I managed to keep an open mind and for anyone who is interested, I was suitably impressed, especially with the bulging Beatles back catalogue he attempted to tackle. Someone did suggest that if I had seen the Beatles perform then I wouldn’t have found Paul’s solo set that extraordinary. Who knows, maybe they were right.
Yet I approve of his choice in female companionship; his first wife invented arguably the best veggie pies ever cooked and his second wife was in the press recently for campaigning against fur. If they are prepared to overlook his irritating eyebrow habits (maybe, horror of horror, they actually find them endearing) then maybe I should too. Oh and more importantly he is a fellow left-hander and we should stick together in these hard times.
Perhaps I should take heed of those wise words sung by the good man himself (or was it Stevie Wonder) when he warbled,
‘We all know that people are the same where ever we go There is good and bad in everyone.’
Gosh I’d never looked at it that way before.
So there you go...
Posted by purple elephant at 09:46 PM |
September 29, 2005
Favourite words...
On watching Bear in the Big Blue House this morning.
BEAR; ‘Those words were written by a man called William Shakespeare. I hear he was very good with words.’
I don’t know why I found that so amusing.
It also set up a most thought provoking response from my daughter.
BEAR; ‘What is your favourite word?’
LITTLEONE; ‘A’
You go girl, let your imagination run wild..
So what would I have answered if I was attracted to the idea of conversing with a TV screen?
There are so many to choose from that my favourite word changes from day to day. Right at this very moment I like the sound of the words Chocolate and Coffee - I can’t decide which.
So do you have a favourite word?
Posted by purple elephant at 09:26 AM |
September 28, 2005
Damned Socialists!
Via Geeky Mom
Click on the extended entry to see my OK Cupid Poltics Test result....
| You are a Social Liberal (81% permissive) and an... Economic Liberal (5% permissive) You are best described as a:
Link: The Politics Test on OkCupid Free Online Dating Also: The OkCupid Dating Persona Test |
Posted by purple elephant at 06:20 PM |
Signs of autumn
If I was feeling poetic I would rejoice in the changing of the seasons and celebrate the brisk wind and the turning of the leaves. But I’m not so I bring you the domesticated, feet firmly on the ground version of;
You know Autumn is coming when;
1) There are more conkers in your pockets than sweet wrappers.
2) You go upstairs mid-afternoon and discover you have forgotten to draw the curtains in one of the bedrooms. You ponder whether it is worth opening them for surely it will be dark again soon.
3) You start craving veggie stew, soup and pie, plenty of pie. Salad sits in the fridge all week and starts going off, round about the end of October you cotton on and stop buying it.
4) You discover that last year’s winter coat doesn’t fit your daughter any more, even though you had got one at least two sizes too big in the hope that it would last more than one year.
5) Kid’s can’t use the ‘ but it’s not dark yet’ excuse for not going to bed.
6) You have to turn the light on first thing in the morning.
7) Your sleeves roll down and get wet when you are doing the washing up. You start reminiscing over those summer days when you could wear short sleeves.
8) They do the same when you lift your daughter out the bath..
Come on I’m getting desperate now. Can anyone think of some more?
Posted by purple elephant at 03:03 PM |
September 27, 2005
Youths of today..
I’m not very good at comebacks, I usually think of the perfect thing to say about 5 minutes after the opportunity has passed. Yesterday however I was quite proud of myself as I didn’t stop to think before it was rolling off my tongue and it wasn’t even a Blue Peter job (one I prepared earlier for such an occasion)
So I was coming back from the Post Office when these two kids, couldn’t have been any more than about 9 or 10 (and coming to think of it, should have been in school) jumped out from behind a van and started walking alongside me,
‘My mate wants to know if he can pinch your arse.’ said one of them.
‘Honey’ I reply ‘He couldn’t even reach my arse.’
I don’t mean to sound old but were kids this bad on ‘our’ day?
Posted by purple elephant at 04:25 PM |
September 26, 2005
One of those posts without an identity
Many thanks for all your suggestions over the weekend. I’m pursuing them all believe me. Over the weekend I very thoughtfully relieved Mr PE from a great wad of his Paypal money by going on an E-Bay scary book spending spree. Well it was only sitting there and they charge you for transferring it over to your bank account so I might as well do exactly what they want me to do with it. That's my excuse and I'm sticking to it.
All in all a productive weekend, I went to a tutorial which cleared up the whole exam process, so that I now know what I’m doing and where I’m going with the whole revision thing. Oh and she also put my mind at rest about my essay, I haven’t got my mark yet but she said it was ‘excellent’ which makes me feel like the world’s worst drama queen for making such a fuss about the godforsaken thing. I feel like one of those really irritating skinny people who are really fishing for compliments* when they say,
‘Oh God I feel soooo FAT!’
To which I roll my eyes and try to say with feeling,
‘Don’t be silly, you’re not fat.’
‘Oh yes I am. I got on the scales and I’ve gone up to a whole 7 and a half stone.’
‘Well blow me...’
At this point they usually start puffing their recently blow dried hair,
‘and my hair is just like rat’s tails.’
Yawn
‘and I didn’t get time to apply my make up his morning..’
‘Hmmm’ I say as I look into their carefully parted eyelashes....
Go on tell me you know at least one of these people.
Oh and Satan's assistant, you know the cat who was responsible for the Marvin Mouse and Bertie Bird (one with a happy ending and one with a sad ending) fiascos, is walking around the neighbourhood with one of those funnel collars looking like he has been in one hell of a fight..
If I wasn’t so much of an animal lover I might just find that funny.
*I am of course not including those with eating disorders with whom I have every sympathy. You usually don’t get them commenting in public about how ‘fat’ they think they are because they are so cut up inside that they don’t want to draw attention to it.
Posted by purple elephant at 03:55 PM |
September 24, 2005
Go on scare me...
Hello to anyone visiting from Michele’s or Blog Explosion, this post involves you too.
It’s no use, it is that time of year again and NaNoWriMo fever has hit me. I know I said that I probably wasn’t going to do it this year and that I should really aim to finish last year’s piece but Pewari and Kate keep writing about it. Please Miss they made me do it.
Anyway I have the bare bones of a plot and it seems that this year I am going to attempt something I haven’t done since I was at school. Yes I am going to write a supernatural ghost story.
The thing is I need some inspiration. I haven’t read anything like this for many years. Last night I began dipping into the Virago Book of Ghost Stories (the twentieth century version) which then caused me to realise that there is also a Victorian version. (Perhaps this might be a more valuable investment than the signed Andrew Marr photo - oh hang on a sec wait there while I go and have another look *melt*)
Anyway where was I? Oh yes, this is where you come in. I want you to recommend me some scary reading matter. It can be a novel, short story, maybe even a ‘true’ local myth, anything really. If you think it will scare me then mention it. Books are fine but there will no doubt be bonus points from my bank manager if you can link to something on the internet. In particular I want ideas for some pretty nasty curses.
And anyone who suggests that a signed Andrew Marr photo is all the scaring matter I need, gets blocked from visiting this site ever again. Do you understand?!
Go on then, see if you can make me sleep with the light on tonight.
Mr PE started the ball rolling by suggesting HP Lovecraft...
Next?
Posted by purple elephant at 09:08 AM |
September 23, 2005
I’m chavin’ it...
It really takes a special bus load of people to remain seated for an entire journey whilst an elderly man WITH A WALKING STICK, a heavily pregnant woman and a four year old child, hold on for dear life in the standing area.
I never know what to do in that situation, I really want to shout a the top of my lungs,
‘Oi Chavsters, remove your Burberry glad arses from the seats and at the very least let the guy with a stick sit down.’ but I’m not sure if that would embarrass the poor old soul even more. So today I kept quiet and clocked their faces, vowing that when I become dictator they will all be first against the wall, every single last one of them.
It was almost as if Fate was having a little wink in my direction as when I got home I fired up the PC, read some blogs and stumbled across this site (via Lori) For instant laughs read the what they say section, and I’d love a McDonalds ‘I’m chavin’ it’ shirt but something tells me I’d get my head kicked in for wearing it round here.
Oh and look what I found while surfing Ebay. *drool* Just what I need to fuel my Andrew Marr addiction.
If only I were a rich girl.
Posted by purple elephant at 07:38 PM |
September 22, 2005
Help! My Daughter Wants a Barbie for Christmas..
Parenting was so Goddamn easy before I gave birth. My kids were never going to be allowed to play with guns and boy was that whore Barbie never making it past my doorstep.
What with Littleone hanging out with boys the whole time, the gun issue has come up. I caught her a while back firing her two fingers trying to shoot me from behind the sofa. So I went through that whole ‘When people die, they don’t ever get up..’ talk and thankfully it seemed to work and I thanked my lucky stars that seeing as she is a tomboy I probably wouldn’t have to go through the whole Barbie thing.
Wrong! Sometime over the holidays she discovered that she was a girl after all. I think it started when someone got her a jewellery box for her birthday. Anyway it all came to a head yesterday when that bloody advert for Barbie Pegasus came on the TV and she gasped, clapped her hands together and out came those all too familiar words,
‘Can I have it? Oh purleeeeessssssse?’
So instead of putting my foot down straight away I found myself struggling to remember what it was I despised so much about Barbie in the first place. True her body is not exactly natural, we all remember that article where someone with too much time on their hands sat and worked out what Barbie’s vital statistics would be in real life but do I honestly think that Barbie and Barbie alone is going to coerce my daughter into becoming an anorexic cocaine snorting loser (I-will-not-blog-about-Kate-Moss. I-will-not-blog-about-Kate-Moss) Where are the studies that prove that most Barbie fans end up with eating disorders? Surely this problem is not only with the media (of which Barbie is a small fish in a very big sea) but also ourselves and the kind of messages we project to the young girls around us. Even at the school gates I hear mothers ranting on about how they are jealous because so-and-so is back in her size 8 jeans and her baby is only six weeks old. Could it be that we are using a lump of plastic as a scapegoat for our own insecurities?
Or could it be I am making excuses because I’m a mother now and a smile on my daughter’s face is worth more to me than any of my long held principles?
I think that since those heady days when I had time to philosophise about such matters. I’ve discovered that there exist in the world far worse toys than Barbie. All those garish light-flashing, tune playing, monosyllabic-voiced monstrosities for instance and that tacky plasticy rubbish that falls apart before you’ve even got it through the door. (I was looking for a nice mirror the other day to go with the jewellery box and gave up looking in the toy department because I couldn’t find one that didn’t flash.) Oh and guns I’m still adamant about that.
If Littleone had to have a Barbie then I’d rather she had the Pegasus than any other, I can just see it sparking her imagination as she makes up these tales of myth and fantasy. Oh and she’s only having this or this but certainly NOT this because it scares me too much; I’ve had a phobia of decapitated heads ever since I was really young but that’s another blog post altogether.
So there you have it, I stuck with the gas and air only birth plan, I stuck with the breastfeeding past the recommended six month mark and I stuck with those cloth nappies until potty training. Perhaps I’m about to make the biggest U turn of my parenting career?
Watch and weep, it doesn’t happen often
Posted by purple elephant at 10:40 PM |
September 21, 2005
When I grow up I want to be....
Because we are incredibly pathetic, we have a little game we play when watching TV. We like to look at the little definition/ job description that comes up under the name when people are being interviewed. (Is there a name for this?)
The local news has the least inspiring of all, a measly ‘victim’ or ‘neighbour.’ They start to get a little more interesting when you watch the ’proper’ news; ‘political editor’ or ‘Middle East correspondent’ The best are saved for Newsnight or Newsnight Review such as ‘Feminist Author.’ (admittedly nearly always Germaine Greer.)
So last night at the too-tired-to-get up-of-the-sofa-and-go-to-bed point in the evening Mr. PE found us a nice programme called Tales From Europe presented by Kirsty Wark. So there was our trusty Newsnight presenter stripping off and leaping into a pool of Hungarian culture (no really) when all of a sudden she came across , get this,
a gastrophilosopher (yes it was all one word, no hypen - deal with that o spellchecker)
I announced instantly that I want to be one when I grow up.
I’m not so sure it sounds like a job description, more like an excuse to bunk off work.
‘Sorry boss, I will not be making it in today .... yes that’s right.... a touch of gastrophilosophy’
My excitement lasted all of about five seconds, until I noticed that together they were tucking into a meal of pate de fois gras (ew!) So then I realised that I would have to be a little more specific in my quest for gastrophilosophical knowledge, I would need to be a vegan gastrophilosopher. Then when I got to bed I wondered if I could narrow it down to be even more appealing, perhaps a vegan chocolate gastrophilosopher.
Now that sounds like the best job in the world.
I’m off to do some - errr- intensive training.
Posted by purple elephant at 04:00 PM |
September 20, 2005
Curse For Peace!
Just as I was worrying (amongst other things) about the amount of expletives that have found their way into my blog, I discover that it was good for me all along,
Some quotes from an article in the NYTimes entitled Almost Before We Spoke, We Swore (found via a blog I stumbled across while surfing Blog Explosion.)It is quite interesting if a little obvious in places, click to read in its entirety if you so wish.
‘In some settings, the free flow of foul language may signal not hostility or social pathology, but harmony and tranquillity.’
and in case you didn’t know already;
‘The investigators have found, among other things, that men generally curse more than women, unless said women are in a sorority, and that university provosts swear more than librarians or the staff members of the university day care center.’
and while we are on the subject of women;
‘In societies where the purity and honor of women is of paramount importance, (Dr. Deutscher) said, "it's not surprising that many swear words are variations on the 'son of a whore' theme or refer graphically to the genitalia of the person's mother or sisters.'
and finally Shakespeare was the most foul mouthed of all don't you know?
‘The title "Much Ado About Nothing," Dr. McWhorter said, is a word play on "Much Ado About an O Thing," the O thing being a reference to female genitalia.’
Zounds I feel so much better now.
Posted by purple elephant at 05:59 PM |
September 19, 2005
You take control - I sure as Hell can’t...
...or when Purple Elephant’s Corner became a choose-your-own action adventure story.
When I submit a piece of work, I fret about it not being good enough for all of about three and a half minutes, then after that I slip into celebration mode, that huge sigh of relief at having finally got rid of it.
This time it is different. One week on I still have The Fear. I’m convinced that my essay isn’t worthy of a pass, that I didn’t even answer the question, in fact The Fear has worked itself up to a point beyond rationality. I think what is bothering me is that I’ve been doing fine all year, I got my best mark for the first one which wasn’t worth very much at all, it would be just like me to cock up on the last one worth double the marks.
You see if I was rational being then I would be able to brush it aside and move on but not I, it has got to the point where last night I was having the cold sweats and - oh God - the nightmares.
I think I like being rational the best.
So my dilemma is this: Should I open up the file of my last essay and read it through? In my opinion it could go one of two ways I would either;
a) Read it and discover it wasn’t so bad after all. Then rejoice and get on with my exam revision...
b) Read it and discover it was worse than I thought and either work doubly hard for the exam or give up entirely depending on just how bad it is..
Or is it better not to read it at all because there is nothing I can do about all those glaring errors now?
So for the first time at Purple Elephant’s Corner, you get to control my life. I’ll have a vote, round up your answers at some point in the not so distant future and obey your instructions.
So to make it clear the question is;
Should Purple Elephant read her all important essay, even though there is nothing she could change at this point?
Over to you...
Posted by purple elephant at 06:52 PM |
September 18, 2005
Sometimes it is best to just go with the flow
I thought I’d interrupt the sudden and uncharacteristic seriousness of Purple Elephant’s Corner to bring you the surrealism of a conversation I overheard at 7am this morning.
Background; The nutters next door had a party last night, thankfully at 1:30am everybody decided to leave. (lightweights - the kids today just don’t know how to party) There was some commotion as one of the cars broke down at the junction and all his mates thought it would be funny to queue up behind him revving their engines and holding their hands on the horns.
Needless to say I didn’t see the funny side as it brought Littleone into our bed, demanding to know what was going on. Finally at last they took it upon themselves to bump start the old banger and they all disappeared and silence reigned once more. Except that an hour later Littleone woke up screaming and pointing at the wall.
‘I don’t like the wall in here. Take me back to my room.’
You should note that this is highly unusual, once she has come into our bed for the night, it is hugely difficult to get her back.
‘Whey hey! Off you go then!’
Cut to 7am this morning, Mr PE and I are dreaming of Sunday morning lay-ins of yore, when we are greeted with that all too familiar sound of pitter patter, pitter patter THUD THUD THUD!
A child’s face leans over my side of the bed.
‘Daddy?’
*snore*
‘DADDY!’
‘WHOAH! What? I mean it’s Mummy’s turn.’
‘Turn?’ I mutter under my breath, ‘since when did turn come into it?’
‘I don’t want Mummy. I want you.’
‘What do you want?’
‘I need to ask you a question.’
He sighs without opening his eyes, ‘Fire away...’
‘Did you put those blue spots there?’
‘What blue spots?’
‘The ones on the wall.’
‘Which wall’
‘The one behind you.’
He opens one eye, passes a glance at the wall, looking suspiciously like he is raising one eye to the heavens.
‘I can’t see any blue spots.’
‘That’s because they are only there in my dream. Right now it’s daytime....’
‘By your definition of the word.’
‘...and they are not there anymore.’
Confused silence. Maybe she’ll go away...
‘So did you?’
‘What?’
‘Put them there?’
‘Geez, didn’t Mummy do it or something?’
‘No.’
‘Why?’
‘Because she was asleep. You must’ve done it.’
‘Perhaps I did. Oh yes I remember now. Yes I did! That settles it, can I go back to sleep now?’
Silence.
‘Well I don’t like them.’
‘Why?’
‘They’re too scary.’
‘OK - well - er...’ he suddenly looks rather chuffed with himself.. ‘I’ll take them down then.’
Littleone almost collapses on the floor with laughter.
‘What now?’
‘You can’t.’
‘Can’t what?’
‘Take them down?’
‘Why on earth not?’
‘Because they are not there...’
‘Huh?’
‘I told you. They were only there in my dream and dreams aren’t real.’
‘Right so why are we having this conversation now then?’
‘Because I kept asking you in my dream but you wouldn’t answer, so I’m asking again now.’
It was right at this moment that I gave up being able to cope, I leaped out of bed announcing that it was time to get up.
I don’t know what they were smoking at this party last night but I’m sure it must have seeped through the walls.
Posted by purple elephant at 08:25 AM |
September 17, 2005
The Island Cambridge Arts Theatre
What's this? Two reviews in the space of 24 hours?
Steady yourself. When I had a lot of work on, Purple Elephant’s Corner descended into the gratuitous realm of genitalia, cash machines, children's TV and high swear-word counts. For the time being, at least while I deal with a backlog of blog fodder I am about to go all high-brow and serious on you. I’ll try not to disappear up my own arse (dammit there I go again) by pretending I do this sort of thing all the time. I don’t and others do it better but I’ve been to the theatre to see The Island and if you do nothing else with your life I want you to go too. (Follow this link for an extensive list of future dates)
The older and more cynical I get, the less likely I am to be blown away by anything, be it music, literature, theatre whatever (cue a teenage Purple Elephant staggering out of her
GCSE English Literature class having just reached the end of An Inspector Calls) but Thursday night I made it home on the bus, fell in through the door and when Mr PE nonchalantly asked how the play was, I pressed a ticket for the following night in his hand and breathlessly muttered, “Go!”
The Island was created by Athol Fugard, John Kani and Winston Ntshona in the early seventies, right in the middle of apartheid South Africa. The story is of two political prisoners Winston and John (Mpho Molepo and Thami Mngqolo) incarcerated on the notorious Robben Island prison as they rehearse and then perform a two man production of Sophocles' Antigone.
In this Live Theatre and UK Arts Production the set and props are as minimalist as can be expected (watch how the two cups crop up in a whole array of amusing and poignant situations) which means that the emphasis is on the energy as Winston and John bounce off one another in the performance. I really do not want to give too much away as part of the appeal was that I went along barely knowing what to expect but I feel the need to mention John’s imaginary phone call, I’m not gushing when I say it was one of the most astounding scenes I’ve seen on stage in a long time. In the space of about two minutes the audience went from holding their sides with laughter to a stunned gutted silence. Yep it even stifled the group of teenage lads behind me who muttered to each other all the way through the performance, bringing themselves to giggle like Beavis and Butthead only when the actors used the words ‘titties’ or ‘pussy’ but to them nothing was quite so funny as when their mate’s mobile phone went off (why do these people bother buying a ticket and why do they always find me?)
The play is only an hour and fifteen minutes long and they performed it straight off without an interval, the right decision as a break would have killed the momentum. On Thursday night we were treated to the theatre equivalent of a late night lock-in where Mpho and Thami came out to answer the audience’s questions. This was informative as we learned a little more of their background in radical South African theatre, the Market in particular.
So in case you missed them above, here are the dates.Go!
Posted by purple elephant at 10:15 AM |
September 16, 2005
The Cambridge Curry Club by Saumya Balsari
I actually read this a couple of weeks ago when we were in Dorset and have been meaning to write about it ever since. Last week I went to a lecture by Saumya Balsari, an event put on by Cambridge Writers. I am glad I went because it reinforced some of the views I had on the book as well as writing in general.
The Cambridge Curry Club takes place in IndiaNeed a fictional charity shop on the Mill Road in Cambridge, as four female volunteers deal with a snowballing of extraordinarily bizarre events which build up to a chaotic denouement. Balsari’s characters are intricately portrayed by their speech and their actions which makes them natural and instantly believable. Take for example the mildly neurotic Swarnakumari and her charming but slightly seedy husband Mr Chatterjee; or the over educated Durga who speaks in needlessly long sentences using words those around her fail to understand.
Being a bit of a word snob, it is not often that I read a book and actually hope to see it on the screen but Balsari’s talent for strong characterisation, fast pace and comic timing mean that I could easily picture The Cambridge Curry Club as a short film or if expanded, a sit-com. I’m thinking of a charity shop Open All Hours - with women.
Go on, it would make me laugh.
It came as no surprise then to learn that The Cambridge Curry Club started life as a play which was successfully performed by the Kali Theatre Company. Balsari was then offered an advance to extend it into a novel and (take heed all ye NaNo-ers) she completed this mammoth task in eight weeks, needing only one draft!
If I’m brutally honest this is where the novel falls down, I was left feeling that a little more attention to the structure of the work wouldn’t have gone amiss. Eileen appears to be the fourth charity shop worker and certainly in the first few chapters she is given as much potential as the others, yet somewhere half way through she fizzles out almost as if the author lost interest and couldn’t decide whether to drop her or not. In addition the explosive ending is deadened somewhat by an over-long Epilogue (27 pages) in which the details failed to convince me of their relevance. It surprises me that an editor didn’t pick up on these two points.
The Mill Road is one of the places in Cambridge in which I feel quite at home and Balsari sums up its unique spirit persuasively. Last week she spoke of tying to captivate a part of the city that normally gets pushed aside by gown and mortarboards. She certainly succeeds in this respect and I think it is a crying shame that her agent dissuaded her from setting her next novel in our home town.
The blurb refers to The Cambridge Curry Club as ‘an ironic postcolonial romp’ and certainly it would be difficult to mention the novel without making at least a passing reference to race and immigration. Balsari explores complex issues such as traditionalism, multiculturalism, alienation and integration without being didactic or over simplistic. Nor does she hold up the ‘arranged marriage - yay or nay?’ debate as if it would answer the world’s problems in a flash, something I find immensely irritating in lesser authors.
Apparently Blackamber books have gone under so unless you are lucky you might find it difficult to get hold of a copy. I got mine from Brownes which is, yes you’ve guessed it, on the Mill Road! Last time I checked they still had a few copies left, failing that it’s always worth checking your local library and seeing if they can order you a copy.
You never know, if you are ultra nice to me and ply me with whiskey I might even lend you mine!
Posted by purple elephant at 09:27 PM |
Some thoughts on starting school: End of week 2.
Kidnapped! To My Daughter’s Teacher.
You ordered me to leave her at the door today,
seized her from my arms and told me she’d be fine.
Where do you get off, waltzing into our life
after only two weeks
and telling us what’s best?
We’ve been together for almost five years,
her and I.
I carried her for nine months,
non-stop, without a break.
Full time, as opposed
to this nine-till-three,
five days a week nonsense.
Pushed her out,
nourished her with my own milk,
held my breath as I
scrubbed body fluids from her nappies
(and later from the floor)
and then hung them up to dry.
From me she learned to walk, to talk
to sing to dance, to write her name
and to make biscuits with icing on top.
You force her to copy a few sounds
some ‘uhs’ some ‘ahs’ and some ‘muhs’
Then you think you can steal my thunder
by snatching her away
and slamming the door in my face?
Just you wait, she’ll struggle with her shoes
won’t find her peg, or her chair
and then she’ll be asking for her Mummy
or at least
a kiss
goodbye.
I don’t go home straight away, none of us do.
On tiptoes we bustle for a place at the window.
On call, waiting for when it all falls apart
at your smug little feet.
The children hang up their coats
change their shoes
(even putting them on the right feet)
and then flock through to the classroom
and sit, waiting patiently for their name to be called.
One or two of us try to wave
but not one of the fragile monsters
even glances up at the window.
Redundant, I turn away and begin the journey
back to my silent, empty nest.
Posted by purple elephant at 10:41 AM |
September 15, 2005
Purple Elephant's Corner; Woman of the Week.
This week's award* goes to Heather Mills McCartney for kicking J.Lo's fur-covered ass:
Paul McCartney’s wife was limping in agony yesterday after her false leg was knocked loose in a scuffle with Jennifer Lopez’s security guards. Heather was at the New York offices of J.Lo’s clothing company Sweetface – which uses fur in its designs – to drop off a DVD showing horrific footage of animals being skinned. But guards there told Heather to “Get out of here, you’re not invited” – and when they tried to physically hustle her away, they twisted her prosthetic limb in the process.
Full story here.
*What do you mean you've never heard of the award? Duh! Where have you been?
Posted by purple elephant at 03:49 PM |
September 14, 2005
Would you trust your kids with this dodgy lot?
I know I’ve written many posts about children’s TV but they have mainly been from the why do they have to shout at/ patronise my kids viewpoint. Another reason I don’t get on too well with Children’s programmes is that my wannabe logical brain desperately tries to make sense of them all. Essentially I’m a realist.
1)The Tweenines;
What the hell are they supposed to be? I can’t match them up to any animal, I did think ‘horse’ once but then couldn’t place the colour of their faces. Neither are they human, well if my kid got skin that colour and a mouth that protruded I’d have her straight down the hospital. When they go out into the real world all the humans are ‘normal’, why don’t the Tweenies notice that they are not like everybody else? Also that must be the most expensive day-care in the world with it’s one carer: 2 kids ratio. Perhaps it’s a special daycare for ugly kids with funny colour skin and that would explain why there are only four of them.
2)While we are on the subject of people looking after kids, I’m sure I speak for other mothers when I say that there is absolutely no way I’d ever let someone so obviously senile as Miss Permanently-bad-hair-day Hoolie in Balamory care for my daughter. Littleone has been watching that programme ever since it started and still at the beginning Miss Hoolie looks dopily into the camera and says,
‘Hello. Who are you?’
‘Littleone!’
‘Ah Yes! That’s right. I remember’
No you obviously don’t though do you Dearie. The Balamory Nursing Home is at the top of the hill. Be off with you.
In real life wouldn’t the immensely irritating Josie Jump be diagnosed with hyperactivity? Just smoke some weed and slow down for Christ's sake and please Dear God change into something that doesn’t hurt my eyes.
3) Ever since she was a baby Littleone has absolutely adored Bear in the Big Blue House. I have to say as kids TV goes I quite like Bear. I like the way he looks at the camera, at us parents and rolls his eyes or makes the odd sarcastic comment. That doesn’t mean I understand what is going on there. How did they all get to be living in the Big Blue House? By the way they act they are all children, Tutter goes to school and Ojo was being potty trained the other day but they are all different species and none of them call Bear ‘Dad’ so they can’t be his progeny. It must be a foster care home for disturbed and abandoned small mammals, a kind of Pre-school Tracey Beaker with fur.
I do have a theory about Ojo though, she is at least a bear, so she could be Bear’s daughter. Now every few episodes we meet Ursa, Bear’s ‘friend’ from Spain. Every time she comes over she showers Ojo with gifts and Bear floods Ursa with torrents of affection. So what if Ojo was Bear and Ursa’s love child and there was some sad reason why Ursa has to live apart from her family.
Just a thought! But then there was a moment when I was convinced that Bear was sleeping with the moon, so perhaps I’m not the one to ask.
Isn’t it all a bit dodgy anyway? Run the name through your head for a moment ’Bear in the Big Blue House.' *Shudder* Just because he is cute and fluffy it doesn’t mean he’s fit to look after youngsters, if you don’t believe me just swap the words over a bit. How about ‘(Nameless) Man, in the Pebble-Dashed Council Semi.’
Just as willing to drop your babies at the door now?
Mind you, I don’t just do this with kid’s TV. If I ever get around to giving birth again there is absolutely no way I’m being taken to Holby City Hospital. Statistics guarantee that either me, my unborn child or my marriage will be at death’s door by the end of it. Boy am I not taking that risk.
Posted by purple elephant at 11:00 AM |
September 13, 2005
My morning thus far,
I start the day with my daughter telling me she hates me because I wont let her wear her fairy dress to school, I finally get her to understand that in big school they have to wear school uniform but it takes half an hour, which means we are running late.
I search high and low for her school bag, finally find it with a letter in it explaining that the children will be having PE on a Monday, there is no need to buy special kit because they wear their underwear, so could we please remember to send our kids with a vest on a Monday. I know I’m never going to remember on Monday so as we fly out the front door and down the stairs I announce that despite the fact that it is still blazing hot, perhaps Littleone should start wearing a vest to school from now on because she’s going to start having PE on a Monday.
It took a four year old to remind me that Monday was in fact yesterday and that it was OK because she borrowed a vest. I don’t ask where or who from, it’s probably best I don’t know. Ditto to how long the said letter had been sitting in her bag.
When the kids get to school they are supposed to take off their outdoor shoes and change into a pair of plimsolls for the classroom. As luck would have it my daughter’s plimsolls have disappeared from the pocket on the back of her chair, I mention this to her teacher who smiles politely and insists that she’s sure they’ll turn up and I did put her name in them didn’t I?
Silence.
‘Please Miss. I swear to God her plimsolls are the only item I forgot to name. I’m ever so sorry Miss. It won’t happen again.’
She smiles sweetly again and her mouth says,
‘No worries, these things happen, I’m sure they’ll still turn up.’
But her eyes glare at me,
‘For fucks sake I spend all day looking after your bastard kids but none are quite so bad as their useless mothers. You, YOU really take the fucking biscuit Madam. If you can’t even remember to name your daughter’s shoes then how in Christ’s name do you remember to feed, clothe and wash her? And besides weren’t you the twat who didn’t send your kid to school with a vest yesterday. Might have guessed! I’ll let you off this time but if you put one foot, yes I said ONE more foot wrong again over the course of whole year, your daughter will be out on her arse. Do you get me?’
I backed away feeling the need to remind her that the plimsolls were black, size 9 and had an Adams label in them. In the process I nearly tripped over one of 25 kids with size 9 feet wearing black plimsolls from Adams.
I had the disc and envelope with me to go straight back down to the library to attempt to print off my essay again. I get to Arbury square at 9.10 only to discover that the library doesn’t open until 10:00. At this moment I can’t face the thought of walking all the way home and back out again and after all we need some shopping from Budgens that should kill 50 minutes.
Well 15 actually, the two numbers do sound alike I guess.
I think about buying a paper and a drink and sitting and waiting but I only have a little bit of change on me, the only cash machine charges 1.50 for the privilege of accessing your own money. Bollocks to that I’ll wait.
I manage 7 minute before I start rummaging in the flowerbeds for some broken glass with which to slit my wrists. Enough is enough I’m going home. If I take the short cut through the college it should only take about 10 minutes. Of course the gate will be open, it was after all still open at 6.15 last night. I walk across the car park and the field only to discover a big friendly padlock wrapped around the gate and its corresponding gate post. I can’t face walking all the way back round again so I head back to Arbury Square.
After another 3 minutes I’m willing to pay the 1.50 in order to keep my sanity.
Beep beep beep beep! I’m not happy about this but there is my pin number you thieving lump of metal.
‘Very well. How much would you like?’
‘Ten pounds you shit.’
‘Please wait while we deal with your request.’
Three and a half minutes later
‘Please wait while we deal with your request.’
‘Look OK I’ve given up all hope of seeing my tenner but could I at least have my card back you fucker?’
‘Please wait while we deal with your request.’
‘I said CANCEL you bastard.’
‘Please wait while we deal with your request.’
‘Cancel? Please?’
‘You have requested 10 pounds. You will be charged 1.50 for this transaction. Do you want to continue?’
I was going to give up and get my card back but the cans of Budgen’s Diet Cola were beckoning alluringly from the shelves.
‘Yes.’
‘Please wait while we deal with your request.’
and again
‘Please wait while we deal with your request.’
and again
‘Please wait while we deal with your request.’
Oh what the fuck?! The library is probably open by now. You have helped me waste some time when you thought you were winding me up. I don’t even want your stupid money now. So ner!
‘Cancel’
‘Please wait while we deal with your request.’
‘Dear God. I said CANCEL.’
‘Please wait while we deal with your request.’
Right I’m getting the manager.
‘Your session had timed out. Here is your card. Please try again later.’
‘Try again later? You have got to be kidding! If I find you have deducted from my account and not given me the money, all hell will let loose. Do you understand.’
Two minutes later I’m at the till with my cola and the new format Guardian paying by card and getting cashback, wondering why the hell I didn’t think of this 10 minutes ago.
The kid on the checkout smiles and says
‘Forget something?’
‘Look mate. any other day of my life I wouldn’t mind being mocked by someone almost half my age. But today if you want to see your sixteenth birthday I suggest you just give me my cash without asking me why I just spent 10 minutes talking to a cash machine.’
Outside the library I bump into the mother of one of Littleone’s school friends I ask how it’s going and chat for 5 minutes about how he is having a hard time at school.
I now have three minutes to down my coke before the library opens and as I’m in need of a caffeine buzz I manage quite well.
Only problem is I spend the next ten minutes in a silent library trying not to belch like a hag.
Well blow me! It actually appears on the screen with no problems and I managed to print it out without blowing up the library.
I have to borrow a stapler to clip the sheets together and a pen to write an apologetic note to my tutor and the librarian does look at me and with a ‘Weren’t you in here yesterday.... ?‘ look but thankfully thinks better of voicing her opinion.
So it is now at least in the post, in one piece as far as I know. I’m not even going to go into whether I answered the question or not. It was a bit different from anything I’ve written before. I hope it’s OK.
Now you see why I don’t even want to begin explaining why I wasn’t using the printer at home.
Oh and I told my tutor it was a slight ‘technical hitch’ I hope that is enough.
And no! I never got round to reading the paper.
Posted by purple elephant at 12:54 PM |
Phew! Thank God that’s over!!
Well what a weekend it’s been. There are times that I thought we weren’t going to make it but now thankfully it’s done and dusted and hopefully life can get back to normal again, perhaps I can have a conversation with my husband that lasts longer than the time it takes to say ‘Wow! Look at that!’ and more importantly I can start watching Richard and Judy again.
I am of course referring to the cricket. What else did you think I was on about?
Ah yes! The small and just so insignificant issue of the es**y. Well that was done and dusted and save to disc as of yesterday but due to a small technical hitch (well OK a series of large ones. This is me we are talking about here) I couldn’t print it off. No seriously, my day yesterday would make a hilarious blog post one day, perhaps at some point when I start seeing the funny side. Right now I’m saving it for my tutor, only problem is it was one of those snowball days that I couldn’t believe was happening to me when I was in a phone box in the middle of Arbury Square (with no credit on my phone) trying to get my husband who was on the internet at home to pick up his mobile, which he wasn’t doing because the number looked suspiciously like that of someone he didn’t want to talk to...
That my friends, was barely a fraction of the story but I think you see my point.
The worse thing is that it’s sitting here and I’m so tempted to open it up and give it one last read through to check for errors but seeing that I was supposed to have posted it yesterday that seems just a little dishonest. Don’t you think?
Wish me luck!
Posted by purple elephant at 07:51 AM |
September 11, 2005
Sensitivity
Is it just me or does anyone else find it difficult to decide what to write about when at least part of the world is in the midst of some nasty tragedy? There was a moment yesterday when the PC lost my post that I thought about not writing it again. It seems a little inappropriate to warble on about how stressful my life is right now when some people the other side of the world barely have a life left to stress about. Should I whinge about being in demand from my family when some people would give their right arm to see their family again? In the end I did post because I hoped that most people who know me would understand that I was not for one minute suggesting that the state of my life is in any way worse than anybody else and of course perhaps I should mention that I the pleasure of seeing my family was worth the little extra work I had to put in late into the night and starting again at 5am this morning (and no doubt tomorrow too)
The thing is where do you draw the line? If I don’t allow myself to whinge about the insignificance that is my life, then is it just as insensitive to blog about lighthearted matters too? For surely there is nothing to laugh about right now. I haven’t got it in me to blog about the politics of what happened day after day because so many other people (and even some of the newspapers) have done it better than I ever could.
So I put myself in the shoes of the families who lost someone four years ago today, or those who are now homeless as a result of Katrina and I thought that certainly where words are concerned I would probably want the rest of the world to carry on pretty much as they were. It is after all the deeds that count and in my actions I will do all I can.
So I have already donated and I will donate again. Barely a minute goes by when I am not thinking about the those in New Orleans and certainly even today a cold shiver still runs along my spine when I remember the horrific footage of what happened four years ago.
So yesterday’s post remains and I’m truly sorry if I offend and if you decide not to read what I’ve got to say then that’s your choice and I totally understand.
And yet despite all this I cannot bring myself to blog about the floods (well about three inches) we had round here on Friday. A month or so ago I would have posted pictures of the kids sloshing about in their wellies but somehow it doesn’t seem quite so entertaining any more.
Posted by purple elephant at 07:10 PM |
September 10, 2005
Life? Don’t talk to me about life.
My diary seems to have been incredibly full over the past few weeks, particularly at weekends. So about a month ago when certain members of my family started complaining that I don’t see enough of them I simply ran my finger along my diary and found the first free weekend and booked lunch with my brother on Saturday and the same again with my father on Sunday.
Note to self for future reference; when spotting free weekends in one’s diary it is always with checking the days afterwards too, just in case there is an important piece of work due around that date (like for instance - ooh shall we say - a double length one, worth double marks where absolutely nobody under any circumstances is allowed an extension) and never NEVER let your child nap in the afternoon while guests are still present because a) you will not be able to take advantage of the time and b) said child will STILL be awake at 10:11pm (and counting) c) and besides the guests came to see her just as much as you. Likewise NEVER allow your brother to buy you a pint at lunchtime for however much you convince yourself that the alcohol should have worn off by the time your guest waves his last goodbye, you know that it is never really the case and you will inevitably feel like retiring to bed at around 10:11pm.
Unfortunately cancelling tomorrow is out of the question because we are supposed to be meeting my Dad’s partner for the first time. If I phone now and let them down it will look like a snub.
Just to make my life extra specially worth living Mr. PE is not talking to me because I inadvertently arranged all these gatherings during the cricket. ‘Tis true I sacrificed my own degree just to piss him off because I’m twisted like that.
Oh and for the pedants amongst you who may have noticed the disparity between the time above and the one at the bottom of this post. It was 10:11 when I started writing this but then the PC crashed and lost the whole post. Yep this is the second time I’ve written it but fear not I am used to it because the same thing happened to me last night and that was after the THREE power cuts we had in the afternoon.
At least Littleone has gone to bed in the meantime I suppose.
Ooooh just look at that silver lining. Isn’t it pretty?
*deep breath*
Posted by purple elephant at 10:44 PM |
September 09, 2005
Shameless willy post
So I was writing this essay on Freudian theory and began thinking of writing a blog post about how Freud was completely bonkers. The only time I had penis envy was when I was in the middle of a weekend long labour, oh and perhaps sometimes when I’m standing in the queue for the Ladies and the men opposite seem to be nipping in and out in a flash.
Anyway I was writing the following quote;
'The fetish is a substitute for the penis ... I hasten to add that it is not a substitute for any chance penis but for a particular and quite special penis that had been extremely important in early childhood but had later been lost. That is to say it should normally have been given up, but the fetish is precisely designed to preserve it from extinction. To put it more plainly: the fetish is a substitute for the woman’s (the mother’s) penis that the little boy once believed in and - for reasons familiar to us - does not want to give up. Freud 'Fetishism' (1927)
At that precise moment came a feature on Channel Four news about a naked rambler who has been arrested for ‘causing fear and alarm’ or something. I then thought about writing a serious post about how absurd it is that in this day and age we can be put in prison simply for wearing our birthday suit. We were born with it, if you are religious then you believe that God created it, how can it be offensive?
Well I could have written any of those posts but I do not have the time, so instead I’ve rambled on and giggled childishly about willies and stuff.
Posted by purple elephant at 09:25 PM |
September 08, 2005
Suits you Sir.
A few weeks ago I wrote a blog post on all the little habits that irritate me about users of a certain internet auction site. Well Mr. PE has been having a clearout and selling one or two bits on E-Bay. One item up for grabs was a pair of almost new combats. He followed my golden rules of E-Bay selling; he didn’t charge for Paypal, he didn’t waffle on about pets and cigarettes, hell he even managed to remember to list the size. (Waist AND inside leg)
So far so good. I’d even buy them myself if I wasn’t trying to get them out of my house.
Today he gets an email, it is one of those questions from a buyer and so he opens it up and reads nothing but the following sentence;
‘Are they a good fit?’
I think if Mr PE can answer that question he should change his E-Bay user ID to Omniscience4U.
Posted by purple elephant at 07:14 PM |
September 07, 2005
Essay stress! Help needed!
I’m looking for an English translation of Guy de Maupassant’s ‘Solitude’ I seem to have hit a dead end with the internet. The best I can come up with is this Google translation which is, at best, confusing and quite possibly stripped of any of its original literary quality. (Why change the word ‘Solitude’ to ‘Loneliness‘?) The story doesn’t seem to exist in my four volume so-called Masterpieces of Maupassant either.
Problem is I need it - oooh shall we say - about a week ago.
I’m having a moment of regret for dropping that French A-Level all those years ago.
Anyone?
Pleasey please?
*rips another clump of hair out*
Posted by purple elephant at 08:27 PM |
September 06, 2005
She’s leaving home...
Well not quite but it’s only a matter of time.
Just dropped Littleone and her Dora the Explorer lunch box off for the first day in reception class. She will stays until 1:15 for the first month and after that it will be 3:15. She did look kind of lost. I think it’s partly to do with the fact that they have staggered it so that only a few kids start each day and none of her friends start until tomorrow. She got all flustered when the big scary reception teacher* descended upon her and asked her what her name was, Littleone had to look at the name sticker on the back of her chair to remind herself.
Bless her.
*Sob*
Bah! That’s enough sentimentality for today.
Dorset was great by the way. I went swimming in the crystal clear sea nearly every day and did a lot of steep walking so I am feeling incredibly fit for a change. Alas it all seems so distant all of a sudden.
Unfortunately now I have to throw myself back into reality head first, I have a double length, theory based essay due in less than a week. Oh and of course a pile of washing to do and a load of bills to pay.
Right! Back on the treadmill again.
Is that the pounding of my own head I hear?
*She is of course not at all big or scary she must have seemed that way to an (only just) four year old who was probably expecting to have a massive rough and tumble with all her mates.
Posted by purple elephant at 09:55 AM |