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October 29, 2006
So much for that extra hour in bed....
Ok so who, despite being reminded by Darren Jordan on the Ten o' Clock News last night, still forgot to do the clocks and so got up a whole hour early and then didn't realise that they had done so until an hour later when it was time to get up anyway.
No me neither.
Posted by purple elephant at 08:55 AM |
October 25, 2006
Bounce!
A sure sign of adulthood is that you no longer 'fall over' (as kids do) but instead you 'have a fall'.
'Having a fall' sounds so graceful doesn't it? Like something old ladies do when their legs finally give up on them and they wither softly to the ground like a drifting leaf. There is absolutely nothing about my piece de resistance yesterday that could be described as graceful. It was as if that loose paving slab projectile vomited me over the pavement as I and my shopping were spewed over the entire estate. Oh and if only that had been the end of it, but no sooner had I hit the concrete when there I was flying through the air again.
I thought at this point that maybe I had died (of embarrassment, no less) and I was being heaved back up to heaven to meet my maker, but alas no such luck, I was simply bouncing across the pavement on my right hip and shoulder. Bump bump bump.
To add salt to my wounds the kafuffle provided the night's entertainment for the local Tesco's Express Hoodie Gang, who all instantly collapsed in laughter (give them their due it probably was funny) which left only a sole young man with a walking stick to hobble over and offer his assistance. The thought of what sort of tragi-comic slapstick might occur should I have taken the man's only spare hand to help me to my feet was enough to force me to silently vow that even if I had broken every bone in my body, I was going to yank myself off the floor, insist that I was OK and drag myself home before I collapsing again.
'I'm fine!' I declared to anybody who cared, 'I think my coffee took the brunt' and true to my word, the jar was shattered into pieces smaller than my pride.
The thing is that paving slab has been loose for months now and every time we walk past it, I always shout out to warn my daughter, 'Mind the loose slab!' NOT ONCE has she ever tripped over it. Last night because I was on my way home from work, she was not with me, it was dark and the rest (or should I say my dignity) is history.
Quite how I got away with not breaking any bones, I shall never know - my wrist, hip and knee are quite the most revolting colour I've ever seen and I had to fish a bit of coffee jar from a wound in my hand, but thankfully with the aid of a little facial grimace, everything seems to work satisfactorily.
Though I am mourning the loss of a WHOLE JAR of coffee. That does seem a little unfair.
Posted by purple elephant at 08:55 PM |
October 23, 2006
Jane Eyre
At Overdue Books Michelle has been pondering how to review Jane Eyre and what with the new BBC dramatisation, and the fact that I can waffle about Jane Eyre to my heart's content (ah! my heart) I thought I'd put in my ha'penny's worth over here.
My first encounter with Jane Eyre was with yet another TV series, the one with Timothy Dalton. I sat and watched it with my mum and then asked for the book. She bought me the Ladybird heavily-abridged-for-kids and devoid-of-passion version which I read and then asked if I might not borrow that nice hefty old-fashioned blue hardback on my mum's bookshelf.
'Oooh it might be a bit heavy for you...' my mum suggested but I demonstrated that I could lift it perfectly well and she didn't have the heart to explain that it wasn't quite what she meant.
I read it one half term for a sponsored read-athon where the emphasis was supposed to be on quantity rather than quality, needless to say I never made it to book number two on the list but everyone was so impressed that I'd read Jane Eyre that they gave me lots of money anyway.
I'm not sure how much of it I understood, but I admired Jane's sprit, her courage and her determination, was disturbed by the animal woman in the attic who made Mr Rochester go blind (what was she doing there?) but most of all I was of course in love with Rochester and dreamed that one day I too would marry his dark, brooding modern day equivalent.
After that I was presented with Little Women and Lorna Doone and I never looked back. My Famous Fives were banished to the loft for evermore.
And with each reading it held something new for me. In my early teens I learned whole passages off by heart. For instance;
'I tell you I must go!' I retorted, roused to something like passion. 'Do you think I can stay to become nothing to you? Do you think I am an automation? - a machine without feelings? and can bear to have my morsel of bread snatched from my lips, and my drop of living water dashed from my cup? Do you think, because I am poor, obscure, plain and little, I am soulless and heartless? - you think wrong! - I have as much soul as you, - and full as much heart! And if God had gifted me with some beauty, and much wealth, I should have made it as hard for you to leave me, as it is now for me to leave you. I am not talking to you now through the medium of custom, conventionalities, nor even of mortal flesh: - it is my spirit that addresses your spirit; just as if both had passed through the grave, and we stood at God's feet, equal as we are!'
And then as I got older it began to make me feel just a little uneasy, that woman in the attic again, who had to die so we could have that happy ending. Oh and while we are on the subject of that happy ending, as much as I sigh every time I read the words 'Reader, I married him', wouldn't it really have been so much better if she had started that girls' school after all?
But there is so much more to Jane Eyre than romance. Let us not forget Jane's rant on the battlement about the lot of women; let us not forget her refusal to be dressed up and jewelled like the odious Blanche Ingram; not to mention her rebellion in the Red Room I am barely scratching the surface.
So here I am, having come full circle again, watching yet another BBC adaptation of Jane Eyre, which wasn't at all bad really. I cannot deny that Ruth Wilson's awkward gawkiness was perfect for Jane and I was faintly impressed with the way in which Toby Stephens played up Rochester's humorous side, even if I felt that this was a little overdone at times. I could even see what they were doing with that erotic 'beating of the flames' scene. That was very clever and arty and stuff.
You see, Michelle was right, it is immensely difficult to write a review of Jane Eyre. I know that when I tried to write an essay on the novel I ended up with one of the lowest marks of my degree, I think because I cannot detach myself from my own emotional response to the work.
Posted by purple elephant at 10:43 PM |
October 11, 2006
That'll teach me for having no faith in myself...
So I had this really crappy day. It had been a week since my interview with the Library and I'd heard nothing, so I spent the morning traipsing round the town in the pouring rain, dropping off CVs in places I really didn't want to work. I then spent the afternoon in the Job Centre filling out form after tedious form. I got home just in time to drop the shopping on the kitchen floor, neck a glass of water and head straight back out the door to collect the Littleone from school.
It wasn't until I got back home again that I bothered to check the answer phone...
Time of message; 10.55.... at that time I was only just at the bus stop 50 yards from my front door.
To cut a long story short. As from Monday I will be working full time at Cambridge University Library.
I then went to see Seth Lakeman to celebrate.... Review to follow...
Posted by purple elephant at 09:59 AM |
October 08, 2006
Sorry - More Fuel to the Jack Straw Debate
I can't help it. I really wanted to stay out of the Jack Straw Deputy Leader Anyone? Veiling debate, because it seems to me that the debate has been claimed by the most extreme few on both sides of the coin and as always, with a little help from the media, the whole thing gets blown out of all proportion. (If you haven't already, start here and follow the links)
Of course Jack Straw only said that he'd prefer Muslim women to uncover their face; at absolutely no point did he ever say that he'd refuse to speak to any woman wearing the veil. In what follows I am not pointing the finger at Jack Straw personally; it is just something I've noticed in many responses during any question relating to the Veiled Woman.
What niggles me about the whole debate, and it was the same when The West apparently 'liberated' Afghanistan, is that slightly patronising attitude that all a non-Muslim has to do is approach a Muslim woman and say 'It's OK I'm in charge now and I say you can lift your veil,' and she will heave a sigh of relief, throw back her cloth and express eternal gratitude.
What we need to consider is that there are many reasons why a woman might cover up, of which enforcement plays only a small part. There are several cases where a young woman chooses to wear a niqab when the rest of her family remain uncovered. In addition there are those for whom it is a long-held tradition going back through generations. Either way I think that debates as to whether the Koran says you must or must not cover up are verging on the irrelevant.
Bearing this in mind, what exactly are we asking a Muslim woman to do when we ask her to remove her veil? I would argue that it is nothing like asking her to remove a baseball cap, or a crucifix (as has been suggested) but more like a foreigner storming into our country and saying that we are all free to walk around naked. I for one, believe that we should be free to strip down in public if we so wish, but I very much doubt that I would do so, if the law allowed.
You may snigger at my analogy but imagine you had roused the courage to speak to your MP about a pressing local issue, imagine you walked in there in a pair of baggy combats and an old sweatshirt and he said, 'I could communicate with you better if I could see the outline of your body - how about a pair of tight jeans and a crop top?' Creepy, no?
Since when has viewing the mouth and nose been so essential to communication anyway? Speaking to a niqab wearer always reminds me how much can be conveyed by the eyes alone. At this point I'm reminded of Bruce Parry's Tribe series whereby he lived amongst communities that were so far removed from his own and yet he still managed to bridge huge lingual and cultural divides.
What about us? Well if we cannot reach across a small flimsy piece of fabric in order to communicate with our next door neighbour, then I'm seriously concerned for our multicultural future.
Posted by purple elephant at 11:40 AM |
October 06, 2006
84 Charing Cross Road Helene Hanff
If you love books then why not take a look at a new (ish) group book blog Overdue Books, started by Shelle of Ya Gotta Believe fame. You will find some interesting reviews and some great reading suggestions. If you are feeling brave then you could even take part in some of the reading challenges.
Oh and you may find a review of 84 Charing Cross Road by me, but don't let that put you off.
Posted by purple elephant at 07:12 PM |
October 03, 2006
I'm sorry - are we talking about the SAME Cambridgeshire here?
If there had been one, just ONE journey in the past week that I could class as mildly satisfactory then perhaps I would understand ... but who the hell are these people and have they ever actually caught a bus in Cambridge? Obviously they have never read this blog.
CAMBRIDGESHIRE SHORT LISTED FOR NATIONAL BUS AWARDS
I don't even want to think about the state of the busses in the towns that were NOT shortlisted.
Posted by purple elephant at 05:26 PM |