Friday, May 29, 2009

Beyond my control

I have in my mind an image of a quite short person, seething with indignation, almost fit to burst with anger, one more tiny annoyance likely to send them right over the edge, to make them literally pop with fury, like an over-inflated and especially red balloon - an especially red balloon full of fury.

Their much taller antagonist looks down at them. With a maddeningly indulgent smile he or she perkily intones: "Oh, don't be such a Grumpa-Loompa!"

The short person explodes.

My brain came up with that word earlier today, 'Grumpa-Loompa', apropos of nothing. I think it may be trying to kill me. It knows I won't be able to resist using it, should I ever be in that situation - it'll be the one urging me on. It knows it will. My brain is not a good person.

Another pun probably best left unsaid: As a mother, you're 'fair to meddling.'


Might be good in the right short story, though.

DISCLAIMER: Happily, I've never had to use that pun, and doubt I ever will :) So don't worry, if you're reading.

DISCLAIMER THE SECOND: My brain probably isn't trying to kill me. It's perfectly aware that I'm so short that the height differential between myself and virtually any other adult human will never be inappropriately comic enough to get me murdered by a Grumpa-Loompa. But I can daydream (and sometimes talk to the cat).

Friday, May 22, 2009

Sixth Sense & Sensibility

Make up a clever title for a SEQUEL to a famous movie (e.g. "Reforrest Gump"), it said on Twitter. It seemed like a good idea at the time...

Monsters vs. Aliens vs. Predator

Aging Bull

The Man Who Wasn't There (But Came Back Again)

The Universe According to Garp

The Princess Memoirs

Pride & Diversity Training

What's Eating Gilbert Raisin?

Attack Of The Killer Passata

Million Dollar Toddler

Paris - When It Drizzles

Gosford Park: The Lost World


Deconstructing Harry (& The Hendersons)

April Of The Penguins

The Huge Lebowski

A Nightmare On Wall Street

American History XI

Brief Encounters Of The Third Kind


A Solar-Powered Orange

The Lion, The Witch, And The Strongly Worded Letter To Ikea

And that's more than enough of that.

Sunday, May 17, 2009

An assortment of unsorted thoughts (of sorts)

Today, I bought baking potatoes with a blank Best Before Date. It wasn't so much the potatoes I wanted as a little unpredictability. (But only a little).

Is it safe to put unpredictability in a microwave?

Lately, I've been reading a lot of webpages written by people with a positive "can do" attitude. It's very inspiring.

Lately, I've been reading a lot of webpages written by people with a positive "can do" attitude. It's very annoying.

The web's very polarising like that.

So are people, though.

And mood swings.

It's long been a mystery to me - and to anyone else who's ever been optimistic enough to ask - what exactly it is that I do all day. I'm still not 100% sure what the answer is, but I'm starting to narrow it down.

I think it involves a sort of metaphorical gardening.

Metaphorical gardening and coffee.

(Come back when the flowers are starting to bloom - I'll be the one trying not to sneeze. But at least I should have a better answer by then).


JAMIE CARRAGHER: "We were a bit like a daisy today... [LONG PAUSE]... Lackadaisical."

Thursday, May 07, 2009

Sometimes I actually do post cat videos here...

Well, sort of:

A collaboration between
Richard Dinnis and Michael Page.

Monday, May 04, 2009

Chicken coop for the soul...

So, I'm assuming there's no-one here. Poetry can have that effect. As can disappearing for a couple of months without the faintest explanation.

Actually, I think it was the silence that drew me back here: the thought of a quiet little corner in which to mutter pointless grumpinesses at myself for a while, while no-one's looking...

But I'm not really grumpy, it turns out; I'm disappointed. What about, I'm not sure (I tried to work it out, but didn't get anywhere, which was a bit of a let down and hardly helped matters); as much as I can tell, it's just free-ranging and general.

I prefer the battery-reared kind.

You know where you are with battery-reared disappointment. It doesn't run around. It probably would, but it's just not bred for it, and it's wings have probably been clipped. Instead, it just sits there and lets you steal its eggs, which aren't fertile in any case. All round, it's much the safer emotion.

God knows where I was going with that. I don't even approve of animal cruelty. Emotional cruelty, on the other hand... apparently I'm all in favour.

(I'm going to just stop writing now, before I discover that I'm in favour of self-help seminars for turkeys. I'm fairly sure I'm not, but it might be one of those nights).