Delicious! Mrs. Henderson Presents

I found myself at home, on a Friday night, the house to myself. Determined not to feel too sorry for myself as is my wont from time to time, I thought it a prime opportunity to watch TV, a rare occurence of late. Both the TV watching and the home on a Friday night.

I settled in, and prepared to be dazzled by my choices: BBC 1 & 2, ITV 1, Channels 4 &5. Wow. Delighted I was when I saw that not only was I just in time for the start of a moo-vie, but that it was one which I was pleased to be watching.

My favourite piece of dialogue in this moo-vie and possibly one of my favourite ever, is in reference to boobs. I have those and so it's always nice to see some and hear what other people think/say about them. Those with boobs will understand. I hope I'm not alone here.

It goes something like this:

Mrs. Henderson to the Old Guy What Makes The Rules: "You're thinking bosoms, but I'm thinking breasts!"

Old Guy What Makes The Rules: "And what, my dear, is the difference?"

Mrs. Henderson: "Ah, the difference is in your soul."

Mrs. Henderson rocks.

Many Ways To Cook A Duck

If you were expecting this posting to be a profound philosophical proverb, look away now for you will be disappointed. Vous serez déçu for you fluent French speakers out there. Because after four days in France with my newly appointed French family, I am of course now fluent in The French. Ha!

Phrased as a question: How many ways are there to cook a duck? Really, how many? In four days, I ate duck in many many more than four different forms. I shall attempt a list:

1. Foie gras. You may gasp in horror, but it's true, I sampled the liver of the duck. The fat liver at that.

2. Duck pâté. "Is this not the commoner's version of foie gras?" I ask tres innocently. "Non!" my French family vigorously defended, en masse, the subtle difference. I never quite got to the bottom of what the difference is as I was too busy ducking (ha ha) the Viva le Frances being fired back and forth across the table.

3. Confit de Canard. That be Confit of Duck. Essentially McDuck is marinated in its own fat. For days. And then cooked. In its own fat. Delicious. Served with my new favourite: little bits of fried potatoes, name unknown. Not pomme frites, smart arse. I did ask. I forgot.

3. Margrets de Canard. I think. It's fried (of course) duck breast served with pepper sauce and the little fried potatoes of goodness. Very very good.

4. Gésier salad. Gizzards. Yes siree. Fried. I think I'm repeating myself. Yum.

5. Duck Proscuitto. I made that name up, but it was like proscuitto. Of duck.

Only five. It seemed like lots o' ducks. A raft of ducks. A team even.

Related posts: Fortnums, Stansted, Langoustine

Not your average Friday night

So there I was sitting in the pub with my friends, drinking a Peroni and talking about Stuff, and the next thing I knew I was looking at a penis. With a metal bar through the tip. In the pub. A penis. It's not really par for the course on any given night out, hence this specific mention. You will be clamouring for the whowhatwhenwherewhy detail, and I shall oblige.

Dellboy: "Everyone, my friend (let's call him) Al is joining us. He has a penis piercing."
The rest of us: "Really? How interesting and well, quite gross, but thanks for introducing us to his name and his penis in the same breath."

Later that evening.

Dellboy: "Everyone this is Al. Al, this is everyone."
The rest of us: "Hi Al, we know about...you know, your penis. Do tell."

And he did.

The rest of us: "Can we have a lookie?" Not thinking for one second he would. Again, he did.

So many levels. Wrong.

Dear Goddess Who Sends Men for Women,
When picking out the man for me, please ensure that the Unpierced Penis box is ticked, bolded and underlined.
Thank you in advance. A lot.
P.S. Please, no penis piercings. I hope you understand.


Here's the bit for my fellow Fact Geeks:

Palang involves piercing the glans of the penis horizontally and
the insertion of a barbell. This item of jewellery is called an ampalang. It originated in the tribes who inhabit the island of Borneo. The term palang translates as "crossbar" and can be related to the timber roof supports of the longhouses of the tribes of the area, and symbolises the protective power of the male over the family.

(I assure you this is not the explanation Al provided as to the Why Would You?)

And for your visual pleasure, in case you were having trouble imagining it.

Tractors Schmactors

I still haven't started reading the Book.

Tomorrow I fly. To the France. A Worrie took up Residence for some days in my Thoughts of the Fog. This Worrie has now lifted with the Fog. And so I say again, I shall spend Christmas in France, so there! French wine, French cheese, French bread, French Christmas presents, French family, French air, French dogs, French walks...I could go on. Housemates have requested that I bring back French People. Good-Looking Ones. They were quite specific about that bit.

The Science of Book Reading

I am, or certainly have been, an avid reader. One or two books per week was my staple. Pretty much anything goes as long as it holds my interest for a bit, and from there on in it's a sure thing that I will probably be able see it through to the end. There are a few books I have started but have been unable to pursue. I can't think of any right now, but there are a few. I have spent many years and many books pressing on to the end despite extreme boredom or confusion or a combination of both.

I should come up with a formula to a) ensure I never choose one that's a non-starter, or b) enable me to put it down with less umming and aahing about whether or not to give it a chance.

This formula would have to consider:

1. Choosing a book by its cover. Is this wrong? A good cover covers a multitude of literary sins. And looks good on the shelf. Especially if it matches your colour scheme.
2. Level of excitement and/or interest within the first say 10 pages. A good first paragraph is hard to find, but when it's there it can buy another 20 pages at least.
3. Did someone recommend it? You would have to be able to report back to them, not only knowledgeably but also truthfully. Truth is important I think. Particularly if they're your friend. Yes indeed. Perhaps this could be manipulated a bit if they are say just a colleague.
4. If it's required reading for a course of some variety can you get away with watching the movie adaptation? This worked very well for some of my classmates, especially as Mel Gibson made for very worthwhile Hamlet eye candy (though much less so since the "sugar tits" episode).
5. How easy it is to skip to the sex bits, if any.
6. Everyone's talking about it.

Having thought of those off the top of my head, I now have no idea how to create a meaningful formula. So I'll move on to my next point. Or go back to it. For various reasons, I have not read a book for some months now. Either partly or wholly. The time has arrived. I am ready. I am willing. I bought one from ASDA for £3 and I am determined to keep still long enough to read it through, with or without scientificated formula. It's called A Short History of Tractors in Ukrainian by Marina Lewycka. Here's to getting lost.

Full dancecard

I have truly embraced the party season. Lots of Eating, lots of Drinking and much Being Merry. The inevitable office Christmas Party has been had. No horror stories to admit to. At least none involving me personally. To this Christmas Party I wore a Dress. Yes, you heard me, a Dress. But wait, that's not all. I wore Shoes. You know, ones For Girls. With the Heel Bits. Is a transformation in progress? Because, picture if you will, the Dress and the Shoes with Heels, and then close your eyes tightly and to this picture add some Make Up. For the Face. To make the Face look all Nice and Smooth. Flawless some might say. Aye. Watch out world.

Smoke and mirror lockdown*

I have oft been told that I am a straight talker who calls it as she sees it, and I pride myself in that. I am mildy annoyed when people favour the beating around the bush approach; spit it out! As a consequence of being frank by nature, I often give myself a hard time for not speaking my mind more freely in this space (see Yellow-bellied decoy). I reread my postings from time to time and each one of them is truthful and factually correct, but there are several that only vaguely hint at what lies beneath. They're more footnotes for me to remember what I probably will never forget. In spite of not baring my soul and dark thoughts, what I say, I mean, even if it lacks detail and emotional gravitas. And so I accept that I will carry on doing what I do, because this is what it is.

*REM: Bad Day

This time last year...

...I was dreaming of change. So nothing's changed in that respect, yet everything has changed since then. Happy Birthday to me.

Clouds really do have silver linings

Today started abominably. Many many much too many late nights and far too much drinking-imbibing-consuming of the Alcoholic Liquids is truly starting to take its toll. The mirror reflects a wrung out rag. Tired and grumpy, accompanied by a raspy voice and thick head, I managed to make my way to the kitchen for some tea. I thought I should eat something too and decided at this point to be sensible and have some Scott's Porage Oats. With raisins. Good Wholesome Food for Soaked Livers. I sat at the table watching the squirrels; chewing carefully and swallowing slowly and planning my trip back Up the Stairs to the Good Place Beneath the Duvet. Enter Scottish Housemate. I have no recollection of how I ended up participating in the planning of a Roast Dinner and a Trip To The Shops. Well and truly roped in, I was forced to abandon warm and cozy bed thoughts in favour of a hot shower and the task of Getting Dressed.

Let me skip to the best bit. Alannah, this Primark. Primark, this is Alannah. Never have I been so thrilled to bits with a bargain. A few coins for like a zillion pairs of knickers, Ally McBeal clouds-all-over pyjamas, and Other Pyjamas and Stuff. Throw in a handbag and glittery belt and call me Pleased as Punch. The roast was rather good too. And, inadditiontoaswellas&also, I have the day off tomorrow so I can Recover Properly.

Fortnums, Stansted, Langoustine

What do those three have in common? My Christmas in Brittany! I decided. Not a very hard decision it has to be said. My flights are booked, my luggage is to be checked at £7 per piece and my arms are to be full of my gift for the French family. I thought a very English hamper from Fortnums would do the trick.

That leaves the langoustine. Now, this one deserves some discourse. In the past when I have had houseguests or indeed been a houseguest, the question one asks and gets asked is something like "what don't you eat?". Or if you had a menu in mind "do you eat such and such?" Such and such usually being brussel sprouts (no) or cranberry sauce (yes). This must be the first time that I have been asked if I will eat langoustine! Sadly, the answer is no. What! you cry in disbelief. It's true. Tuna and cod is my fishy lot. I'm a food Philistine, I know. But I'm going to France for Christmas, so there.

Write it down: my favourite song lyrics

:)I may have mentioned before: I love music. This is the place where I will write down any song lyrics that have an impact on me, not ones that run round in my head, those annoying ones you can't get rid of, but the ones where I know, just know, that actually it was me who wrote them. They, those artisty musically musical people, sucked them from my brain and put them to a tune. Some of them are meaningful sentences (to me obviously), some are just words that I think are nicely strung together...or uniquely descriptive...or funny. I'll put a link on the sidebar for continuous updating.

Ani Difranco (Adam and Eve) - "So I let go of the ratio of things said to things heard, and I leave you to your garden and the beauty you preferred."
Arcade Fire
(Neighbourhood #1 Tunnels) - ...then I'll dig a tunnel, from my window to yours."
(Crown of Love) - "Your name is the only word that I can say..."
The Bravery (Give In) - "All I want is everything."
Charlies Amp (Lights in LA) - "...it's staying out 'til 3 with people that excite me."
Cooper Temple Clause (Waiting Game) - "...I promise I never meant to turn you away. Why did you trust me with your heart?"
Counting Crows (A Long December) - "All at once you look across a crowded room to see the way that light attaches to a girl."
The Cure (Just Like Heaven) - "I kissed her face and kissed her head and dreamed of all the different ways I had to make her grow."
Feist
(Mushaboom) - "It may be years until the day, my dreams will match up with my pay."
(1243) - "Sweet heart, bitter heart, now I can't tell you apart."
The Fratellis
(Cuntry Boys and City Girls) - "I love the way you city girls dress, even when your head's in a mess."
(Whistle For the Choir) - "So if you're crazy, I don't care, you amaze me."
Guillemots (Annie, Let's Not Wait) - "I found something crying; it was my soul."
Interpol
(NYC) -"It's up to me now, turn on the bright lights."
(NYC) - "I had seven faces; thought I knew which one to wear, but I'm sick of spending these lonely nights training myself not to care."
The Killers
(Sam's Town) - "I know that I can make it as long as somebody takes me home, every now and then."
(Read my Mind) - "...with magic soaking my spine."
Neko Case (Hold On, Hold On) - "I leave the party at three a.m., alone, thank God."
The Ordinary Boys (Talk Talk Talk) - "Tell me all your secrets, I'll never tell you mine."
The Psychedelic Furs (Pretty in Pink) - "The one who insists he is first in the line is the last to remember her name."
Puggy (Sorry) - "Sorry you didn't notice what this meant."
R.E.M.
(All the Way to Reno) - "Your Achilles heel is a tendency to dream."
(Aftermath) - "And you've worked it out, and you see it all, and you want to shout how you see it all."
(Leaving New York) - "It's easier to leave than to be left behind."
Roddy Woomble (My Secret is My Silence) - "You approach land without a harbour to find your way home."
The Shins (Phantom Limb)
"Follow the lines and wonder why there's no connection."
"This town seems hardly worth our time."
Stereophonics (Hurry Up and Wait) - "Wait to get there, and when we get there, we wait around for anyone to tell us what we even got there for."

A nice warm feeling

Today I was invited to France for Christmas. I was lamenting the fact that I was sans family for the first time in many a year (OK, ever) and that I would be the only housemate without somewhere to go for the usual celebrations. Woe is me. And that's when My French Friend said, "Let me ask my mum, then you can come to France with me and spend Christmas with my family." How nice is that? How nice I ask you? There is one small issue I see in this arrangement. She is the only one in her family who speaks English. Problem. Sign language is an option...or at least enthusiastic gesticulating, like some earnest form of Charades...

But France for Christmas. v. intr. pon-der-ing.

We just didn’t connect

Today I wandered the street called Oxford in search of what I thought was a pretty simple request. I’ve read about it, I’ve heard about it, but I’ll be damned if I can find it. A data card: laptop internet connection through my mobile phone. Quick explanation: I’ve moved into my new houseshare (love love love) but we have yet to install wireless broadband. Now, it must be stated as a fact that the internet is essential to my being and I get [insert Latin name here] a.k.a. “the shakes” without it. This posting is quite a naughty one because I’ve hopped onto an unsecured wireless network. What? It’s a medical emergency(ish). Thank you whoever you are.

I was saying. I visited all of the mobile phone shops up the street and down. Whilst every single one was able to offer me a data card on a 12 month contract, only one (brightly coloured one) was able to offer me one without – but I could only get it online! How funny is that? I’m looking to get an internet connection and the only way I can get it is online.

One sales advisor at one of the major mobile phone providers, who I have always regarded highly (the provider not the advisor), informed me that although I was able to get what I was looking for, it wasn’t there, and what’s more he refused to tell where I could get it.

Here’s to piggybacking (but just until I get my own). Thank you.

Putain!

I've had such a sh*t day at work, it deserves its very own posting. That's it, that's all I'm going to say about it, lest I get fired.

Could it be, could it be?

1 x 4-bed house. Check.
3 x friendly housemates. Check.
1 x lovely street. Check.
1 x awesome bedroom. Check.
With en-suite. Check.

Woo hoo! Almost there. To do:

1. Meet landlord.
2. Sign tenancy agreement.
3. Move in.

Easy as 1,2,3? Let's hope so! I do so deserve it.

The beat goes on

I'm back onto my flatshare saga. It's ongoing. Yesterday it appeared to be moving in a good direction. The fabulous Gumtree brought together a whole bunch of seemingly like-minded people looking for a decent place to live at a reasonable price. Outcome? The search begins for a 4-5 bedroom house. At this time of year? Apparently not. 4-5 bedroom houses seem to be very scarce "at this time of year". Why? Students, that's why. They've swarmed the streets of Clapham and nicked the lot of them. Where does that leave us (read: me)? Frustrated. I have the means, I just don't have the end. And I was so hoping to move by the weekend.

Couples. Couples everywhere.

People I know have started inviting me out with them and their friends now that I am Single. I suppose previously they thought that the marital state would mean I already had plans...Nevertheless, it's very thoughtful and I am pleased to be invited and pleased to accept.

There is just one thing that has reared its inconsiderate supremely unattractive head recently and I am finding it very difficult to cope with, particularly when arranging to meet up somewhere public, such as a tube station. Places where Other People arrange to meet up too. Suddenly it seems to me that everyone in London is in a relationship of some sort. Every which way I turn, couples all over the place. Meeting up, going home, kissing, hugging, laughing. Fuckers. I barely lasted until midnight before I finally had to acknowledge my utter misery. My mood crashed and shattered on the floor of the Ha! Ha! Bar. I turned my back on it and went straight home.

There was one highlight of the evening. I learned a new swear word. Putain. Look it up. (Clue: it's French)

Hunting (High and Low)

So it's been a bit since I placed my Pick Me ad for a flat-share so it's time for a progress update.

The Scorecard:
5+ stars = When can I move in (assuming you want me to)?
Double stars for “I like the way you think”
Double negatives for “wrong on so many levels”

Flat 1
Who: Two boys; one girl.
For: I was offered coffee; it’s near to the gym; I know the area well (3 stars)
Against: a lorra lorra stairs (double negative); a dubious snow globe collection (double negative) (-4 stars)
The room: good enough (1 star)
Verdict: 0 stars = No

Flat 2
Who: Two girls.
For: very friendly; they shared their wine with me (double stars) (3 stars)
Against: loud talking, talking very loud make it stop; they gave me an up-down look at the door (double negative); don’t like that particular street = (-4 stars)
The room: good enough (1 star)
Verdict: 0 stars = No

Flat 3 (actually more of a house)
Who: Two girls; two boys.
For: I got lost and one of the boys came to find me, how nice is that? (double stars); really lovely people (3 stars)
Against: living with a couple (double negative); very narrow poky house; busy, noisy area with some dodginess within my peripheral vision = (-4 stars)
The room: not great (0 stars)
Verdict: -1 star = No

What have I learned? In no particular order…
1) Don’t go for places where the rent is suspiciously cheaper.
2) Don’t go even if they say “we’re not a couply-couple”.
3) Don’t ask about the snow globes. Trust me.

Will the rest of the week and weekend brings more treats of this ilk?…I remain surprisingly hopeful that I am close, so close.

So Low

I have a tick. Not the bloodsucking variety, but the variety that you develop in order to cope with some particular stressful circumstance. I recognised my tick today, tipped my hat to it, when I connected two unrelated events and leapt wildly to the conclusion that mine is in fact a bona fide tick.

First someone said: "You're very attached to your iPod of late, aren't you?" I looked up at him, and askance (he's very tall you see, and he was standing to my left) and said something brilliant like "Am I?"

And then a bit later while I was making tea or something equally mundane, I had a rare-but-becoming-more-common-yet-perfectly-understandable-given-my-personal-circumstances mood crash...and the first thing I did when I got back to my desk was select a playlist, pop the little white pips into my ears and sink into it.

Music, my drug.

Would you live with me?

I placed an ad today on one of those free online looking-for-a-room sites.

I spent some pencil-chewing time thinking about how to present myself and what I am looking for. It was harderer than I thought it would be. I started with some lovely descriptive words and strung those together with some sturdy joining words, then I sprinkled in some very sensible words for balance and weaved a magical piece of prose. OK, it was legible and that was good enough I thought, so I pressed Post My Ad Now! (or summat like that).

So proud was I of my published accomplishment that I promptly whizzed the URL to my friend in a show of look-at-me-so-independent-already. She replied immediately-

"Erm, are you sure? I don't really think you should put the word "bedroom" in the same sentence as the word "socialise"...Wrong impression, know what I mean?"

"Urggh, that's gross," I replied with vigourously executed disgustinged-faces.

"...and perhaps you shouldn't use the word "fun" either. You'll attract party animals."

"Oh, boy, we can't be having any animals a-partying in my home, verily no!"

"So, try again and send it to me before you post it, OK?"

She may as well have patted me on the head and gone poor, poor you, whatever is going to become of you in the great bigedness of the world.

She's right of course, I have no idea what I'm doing. So this is the ad, eventually posted after much wordsmithery:

I am looking for a friendly household with a decent size room where I can relax. I am 30 years old, easy going, love music, reading and the internet (wireless broadband would be good). A glass of wine and a chat is also a good idea from time to time. A good shower is important! I am reliable and consistent and I pay the bills on time.

Form an orderly line please! As if. Not one response yet.