Lack of broadband causes a dilemma in the House of Marv

I can feel the January blues creeping up on me. I hate January. It should be spent in hibernation.

I was very bad today and yesterday. I didn't go to work. This means I have two days' leave left for the next three months. I will regret this. I spent the two days hibernating.

Broadband arrives on 6th January. I don't know how anyone manages to blog without broadband.

Tomorrow is Jerome's New Year party. I am looking forward to it with excitement and fear. Parties are rather stressful affairs. After all, if you invite a gremlin to an event where the gremlin is meant to enjoy itself, the gremlin will feel obliged not to.

On New Year's Day, it is traditional to meet for a fry-up, pop quiz, and a curry in the evening. I enjoy the first and third items on this list, but I am truly rubbish at pop quiz.

"Surely not!" you cry. "You are Marvin, with the amazing memory."
"But I am!" I reply without any false modesty. "I am rubbish beyond belief." While I can tell you a great deal about The Lord of the Rings and quote large chunks of Anne of Green Gables verbatim, questions about who sang which song in what year pass me by. Sometimes, if it's a Bob Dylan song, I might recognise the words and be able to sing the whole thing, but the title or the album - no hope. We have Halliwell, do we not? We have Q magazine? Look it up.

So this year, I thought I'd do a little quiz of my own, just to give everyone an insight into the World of Marv. They could read my blog of course, but that does require unnecessary commitment, since it isn't very interesting. The quiz is a Musicals Quiz.

"Hurray!" you all cheer.

I have done the quiz. It took ages. I need more convenient technology. I have taped lots of bits of what seem to me to be incredibly famous songs sung by people whose voices are so distinctive it's an insult to ask who they are. If I decide to go ahead with this, I will ask people to name the title of the song, the singer, and the film it comes from.

The thing is, I am not sure whether I should go ahead. There are only two people in the group who know anything much about musicals. James does because he's watched them all with me - it's amazing what people do for love - and Clare F might know...um... one or two of the titles. But that still leaves about eight or ten people who wouldn't know Gene Kelly from Fred Astaire. And it isn't very interesting to do a quiz when you have no hope of knowing any of the answers. But I do this every year, and I always get picked last, like the fat kid on the rounders team, so maybe I should. But I don't want to bore anyone; I have two years' worth of blog entries to bore people with.

So I am trying to give people lots of clues. But I am not sure that my clues will be very helpful, considering the ignorance of my audience. I have given the first letter of either the song title, singer, or film. But this isn't really very helpful: if you dont' know who Bing Crosby is, it isn't really much use to know that the chap who sang White Christmas had a first name beginning with B. So I thought I'd print out some of the posters from the films from the internet. But we have dialup at the moment...

So I am in a bit of a dilemma. On the one hand, the temptation to do the quiz, even if nobody knows the answers, will be worth it for the chance to say, "I can't believe you don't know that!" as L will inevitably say during her pop quiz. On the other hand, the whole thing might be a bit futile and annoying. On the other hand, any chance to annoy one's closest friends is worth taking...You didn't know I had three hands, did you?

I think I'll look up a few posters and see how slow it really is. Watch this space for a full report in the New Year, if I decide to do it.

Happy New Year and thanks for reading. (By the way, I don't like tea, coffee, or parsley)

Overwhelmed by this historic moment...

This is the 700th post I have written.

So here is the blogging equivalent of my Oscar acceptance speech.

I have a number of people to thank:

First, James Lee Pig, who has kindly supported me through three years of blogging by writing several sets of idiot-proof instructions which explain how to turn the computer on and off.

Second, my family, who have given me a solid grounding in the English language and the works of AA Milne, which I recommend to any aspiring blogger. And for reading my blog. Very kind.

Third, my friends who have encouraged me to write, particularly Clare H, Hilary, and Alasdair, who remind me that blogging is a way of keeping in touch.

Fourth, my friends who have become bloggers, particularly Daniel Bashford and Jonathan Hall. The Web would be a colder, duller place without you.

Fifth, Pete Ashton and Jez Higgins for showing me that a blog can be more than a load of dull gibber if you can be bothered.

Finally, Jerome, for effortlessly giving me material that simply has to be recorded.

And, once more, I would like to remind the world that I don't like tea or coffee or parsley.

What we did at Christmas.

Happy Christmas!

We had a good time. We had lunch with my family at a hotel in Shropshire on Christmas Eve.

On Christmas Day I stayed in bed all morning. Pete Ashton (our Christmas Fairy) visited and saved us from sitting in the house boring each other to death. Very kind of him. He came bearing delicious fudge and cake made by his mother and a pudding he made to Jez's recipe, which we lit with lots of whisky. It burned very satisfactorily (not sure if this is a proper word, but it should be).

I made meatballs for our main course, which turned out rather well if I say so myself.

We went for a walk in the park after dinner, then we opened our presents. My mum and dad gave me the Strictly Come Dancing book, which Pete seemed to find slightly horrifying. Then we ate some cheese and biscuits. Then we watched the news followed by Doctor Who.

Then we wanted to play a game. Well, I wanted to and the others were prepared to indulge me. Unfortunately the games were still packed in a box in the spare room, so we were left with cards or something on the computer. We played a car racing game. You have to drive the car as fast as you can into lots of traffic and cause as much damage, measured in dollars, as you can. I felt I saw a brief glimpse of Pete and James's adolescent selves. Surprisingly, I wasn't completely rubbish. We all got a bit addicted and played until midnight, when I went to bed.

Maps are pants.

Some dull gibber

Hello, everyone. We're still living in our new house. It hasn't fallen down or blown up. We've unpacked quite a lot of stuff.

We got our old washing machine back from Pylon View. It's much better than the one we had in our old flat, so much so that the power of prose fails me and I am forced to turn to verse:

Slumber softly, dear clothes
While you rock in the Miele
It will wash, rinse, and spin
In record time

(to be sung to that famous lullaby tune by Schubert)

It took half an hour!! We were both very excited about this because we are sad.

The boot situation is unchanged.

I dreamed that all my teeth were falling out. The front one came out and it was a funny shape. Horrible.

We are not ready for Christmas. Is it really Christmas?

Some kakapo news for your delight and edification

Injured kakapo chick goes home

You may remember that an adult male kakapo attacked one of the new kakapo chicks.

Priorities

We moved. It was OK. Now I don't have to worry about it, I realise how worried I have been.

Here are some of the things we've done so far.

I've had a bath. I've gone to work and come home again. We put up the curtains. We made the bed. I unpacked the kitchen. James has connected to the Internet. I have played the guitar and broken a string (sniff). We haven't cooked a proper meal yet and have been living on pizza and ready meals. We put the furniture in the front room and decided it would be better in the back room. I can't find my nail scissors and my nails are driving me mad. We forgot to pack the stuff in one of the wardrobes so half my clothes are still in Muesli, but it's easy enough to go and get them and that is the only thing that has gone wrong so far. My family has visited and given their approval.

Today I saw a book called "Is It Just Me or Is Everything Shit?" I considered buying it for James, but then I thought he could probably write and draw one himself. I hope my loyal readers realise the seriousness of the situation I mentioned in my last post. I am of course referring to the sole of the brown boot parting company with the upper. It is possible that the three pairs of satisfactory shoes might be reduced to two. I know how concerned everyone will be about this stressful situation and I promise to keep you fully informed.

I apologise for my bad handwriting in this year's set of Christmas cards.

We have packed our living room into boxes. I have packed half the kitchen into boxes.

James feels tired.

The sole of James's brown boot has come unglued from the upper.

I must go and pack the rest of the kitchen.

Our new house has a beautiful oak floor downstairs.

I must go and pack the stuff in the bedroom and the cupboard.

I need to have a bath.

It's the Strictly Come Dancing Grand Final on Saturday.

Fingerpicking good

I am teaching myself some picking patterns and very pretty they are too.

One man's meat is another man's poison

One obvious memory optimisation for DOM trees is string pooling. In any reasonable XML document, there will be a lot of repeated element and attribute names. Rather than every Element node in your tree having its own copy of that name (and quite possibly a namespace URI too), you keep all the names in a common table with the nodes can then point into.

I do like reading Jez's blog. The recipes are really good.

But he must live in a very strange world. In this world, there are pools full of pieces of string. Trees don't have branches and leaves, they have nodes. Nodes point at tables lacking in social graces.

Move

I have, at last, felt excited about our new house. We painted two of the bedrooms this weekend.

James just told me that the new King Kong film is 187 minutes long. I wonder how they fill the time. After all, the story is quite simple: large gorilla lives in tropical jungle, meets beautiful girl, is captured by explorers, climbs up the Empire State building. The end. Quite short.

Here are my suggestions for padding it out a bit:

• the story is framed by King Kong in therapy explaining about his bad childhood, when he was a little gorilla, if he ever was
  
• the story is reinterpreted in dance, like in an American in Paris or On the Town. There's nothing like a good dance interlude

House update

We're still planning to move a week on Friday.

I'm still waiting to feel happy about it.

That's why this blog is called Gremlins Online.

 

James really suits this jester hat

 

James's friends are cool.

I hope one day we will meet and "hang out" as Americans say and have laughs.

New species

New mammal discovered in Vietnam.

New cat-like animal discovered in Borneo. May become extinct before it's documented.

New bag update

James's new bag has a useful pocket, perfect for his umbrella.

He lost his umbrella last weekend.

Cloud discovered in silver lining

Why isn't that nice boy Chrissy Wissy married yet?

New house/orphans Christmas

We've been to the house.

It's very nice. The kitchen is particularly good.

If we get the floor mended in time, we will be hosting Orphans Christmas. If you are in or passing through Birmingham on Christmas Eve night to 27th morning and you want to drop in/escape from your family/stay, make yourself known to us or come unannounced and surprise us. I mean it!

New house blues

James picked up the keys to our new house today. This should be a joyful, exciting moment. But I feel:

1 freaked out
2 slightly flat
3 annoyed with myself for not being more excited.

"Well, hello stranger!"

Two male kakapo could be living in the remote Fiordland region of New Zealand. A search has started. They've chosen to do the search during beech fruiting season becasue that's when male kakapo boom, so they might hear them. If they find them, they will add much-needed genetic diversity to the kakapo population. Most kakapo come from a different part of New Zealand.

link

When making trifle, do not:

Use fruit cake for the base;
Forget that jelly takes 5 hours to set;
Forget that the jelly needs to set slightly before it's poured onto the fruit;
Leave the cake and the peeled fruit out all night so the fruit goes dry;
Make the custard and then leave it so it goes cold and lumpy with skin;
Mix the cream with low-fat fromage frais that tastes horrible;
Try and whip single cream, failing to read the writing on the side of the pot that tells you it won't whip;
Assume that because you've done all this wrong, the trifle will be horrible.

Book group report

My book group met this weekend to discuss Cloud Atlas, by David Mitchell. It was a very unusual meeting because we spent quite a lot of time talking about the book and everyone agreed that it was quite clever but not worth the trouble in the end, even me and PR, who normally hates everything I like and vice versa.

Usually no-one reads the book and we spend about five minutes talking about it.

Very unusual.

Next time we will (not?) read Tinker, Tailor, Soldier, Spy, by John le Carre.

Cloud Atlas reviews

My work continues

I will not be taking the last ship to the Undying Lands. Jerome has told me that he will make occasional "guest appearances" on his blog.

So I am going to recruit some more contributors because it's hard to write about someone else's life when you don't see them very often.

If anyone would like to contribute to The Blog of Jerome, please get in touch.

Child of Our Time

Sunday 27 November 2005 at 7.30pm Adrian Boult Hall, Birmingham.

Fantastic. You'd be mad to miss it!

Being a gremlin is so inconvenient.

We are going away for a charming group weekend in the country tomorrow. We have shared out the catering and I have offered to make a pudding and a simple Sunday lunch. Yesterday I buoght all the ingredients to make trifle. Tonight I came home fully intending to make it.
Instead I spent an hour playing the Strictly Come Dancing Game (on their web site. I haven't put a link, to save you from similar trifelessness). I only got to Level 3, the cha cha cha.

Why am I so utterly useless? Why couldn't I make the trifle first, then play the game for half an hour?

Please do not answer either of these questions. They are rhetorical.

New bag is satisfactory

James has bought a new bag. It's green. This is exciting because James usually uses black bags. It's big enough to carry several large books, vitally important. It also has a very convenient zip pocket along the outside and convenient smaller zip pockets at each end. On the opposite side to the zip pocket are two smaller pockets with elasticated tops instead of zips which are not convenient and will not be used. So far it is satisfactory and he feels very jolly walking down the street with his cheerful green bag.

You will also be fascinated to know that he owns 3 pairs of comfortable shoes.

Daring fashion experiment is successful.

I have bought myself one of those new trendy cardigans, the ones that are too small and don't keep you warm. It's brown. (Everything I buy is brown.) I wasn't sure how to wear said garmet, so I tried it out today with jeans and a longsleeved top. Two people at work commented on it, so I was very pleased.

Incidentally, I wanted to comment on the strange reasoning behind the word 'wearable,' as in 'It's very wearable.' How can an item of clothing not be wearable? Particularly when you're talking about something you're wearing already. It's like saying food's good cos it's edible.

Funny vegetables

James and I went out for dinner last night. It was a fairly posh but eccentric restaurant. They gave us vegetables on the side. Nothing unusual about that, you might think, until I explain that the vegetables were: one very small potato (about 2 inches in diameter); a pool of pureed carrot about 4 inches in circumference; and a pile of about 8 green beans, served on a very small blue side plate. I wanted to lie on the floor and laugh. I had to cough a lot instead.

A poem, with variations

Sadly the pig goes on his way,
Sadly the pig goes on his way,
Sadly the pig goes on his way,
The sad little pig.

or

Pig lee the way sad on he goes
Pig lee the way sad on he goes
Pig lee the way sad on he goes
The sad little pig

or

goes pig the lee way sad he on

Harry Potter and the Goblet of Fire - the film. A short and rubbish review

It's pretty good. The child actors are better than they were in the last films. There are some funny teenagers-at-school moments. Mad-Eye Moody wasn't like my idea of Mad-Eye Moody. I wonder what they'll do with Book 5 (sometimes crap books make good films).

Unfortunately for this film, the last film I saw was Return of the Were-Rabbit, which was cinema champagne. So nothing compares. Regular readers of this blog may notice that my outlook on the world verges ever-so-slightly towards the despairing and cynical. After Return of the Were-Rabbit, I was walking on air. I felt better about life cos that film had been made. And was number one at the UK box office by miles. This may be a slightly exaggerated reaction to a film about a bunch of plasticene characters, but there you are. Go figure (skate).

Jenga

Emily, who lives here, has reminded me that I hate Jenga.

I am a pessimistic sort of person. I find most social occasions slightly nervewracking (if that's how you spell it) and I usually expect everything to collapse round my ears. When you play Jenga, everyone watches to see if you will be the one who makes the tower collapse.

A nice game of Word Association would be so much better.

Red-letter day

I have been keeping Jerome's blog for him for over a year, with help from Messrs Bashford, Riggs, and Kinsey. Today Jerome finally signed in to Blogger and posted something himself.

My work is done. I can take the ship to the Undying Lands, like Gandalf at the end of Lord of the Rings.

Bet he doesn't post anything...

Some proper content at last. Dull.

What a strange evening I had on Saturday. My cousins were staying with us and we took them out on the town. We ended up in the Rainbow pub/club. It's where Mr Francis goes out on the pull.

It was not quite what I expected. The music wasn't techno computer sick or juggernauty heavy metal or boring singer-songwriter mush or cheese. It was fifties tunes played by girls wearing flowery dresses with tight waists and floaty skirts. They had plastic heads stuck on a couple of turntables going round and round. Like the gates of London in Tudor times without the movement.

"If I knew you were coming, I'd have baked a cake" was my favourite tune.

My brother couldn't contain his joy at the sheer bizarreness of it all and went into manic happy dance mode.

We got home at 2am and the others decided that they wanted to get a kebab. They returned with some greasy half-cooked chips and the worst kebab I have ever seen.

This Saturday I'm staying in and watching Strictly Come Dancing. I would like to take this opportunity to present an honorary Gremlins Online award to Patsy Palmer. Patsy, you rule.

It's good to feel that you're doing something well.

 

Our new digital camera has a slight time delay.

 

This site made me laugh. Motivational posters for the idle and dim.

I am a Wallace and Gromit rabbit. Not a were-rabbit, the small ones.

Middle of the pond

Said Marv to a perplexed James, "They had a meeting, but it turned into a bit of a bun fight."
Said James to a perplexed Marv, "I feel a bit draggy."

Munchkin (not yellow brick road style)

I've bought a new game. I saw it at the Lucca Comics Convention. It's called Munchkin. It's a role-playing game but without the stupid pretending or the GM or the difficult rules. It's two packs of cards and a die. It looks silly and fun and it's by Steve Jackson - of Warlock of Firetop Mountain fame, I hope?

James doesn't like playing games, so I wonder if there is anyone out there who would like to play it with me. It looks like it needs three people. Most people I know wouldn't like it.

James says I'm a nerd. It's true. I am a nerd. But I can dress up so I don't look like one.

Where is Kester when I need him?

Bad blogging - you saw it here first.

Alasdair has posted a link to a list of blogging sins. As soon as I saw it I hoped to find that I have committed most of them.

I think I have. Very satisfactory.

Some photos from our holiday in Lucca

The facade of the cathedral (I think it was a cathedral).

A lion. 

A tower with trees growing on the roof. Weird. 

What a horrid little dog. 

Lucca is a beautiful medieval walled town. We walked round the walls and basked in the beautiful Tuscan sun. There were lots of armed bands of roleplayers on the walls who would go into battle at the slightest provocation. It was like the Capulets and the Montagues in Romeo and Juliet. 

The convention was really a role-playing game convention and people came in costume. I tried to take pictures of some of the best costumes. This is quite a good one. 

Cartoonists at work

 

We stayed in a beautiful villa. Here's the view

 

Mushroom mania

 

what's going on and when can I escape

what's going on and when can I escape
Originally uploaded by Marvin Marblesons.

Celebrate two years of glorious Marvin blogging at The Marvin Oscars

A biased but highly critical judge chooses these blogging gems.

The award for Most Popular Post goes to:

Working in archives rots the brain

The sins of the letter writers are visited on the archivist.

The award for funniest post goes to:

Mr Fix It All Up and His Incompetent Assistant star in "Pylon View Pandemonium".

A true story of moving mania. More to come on this subject too!

The award for wittiest insult towards a close friend goes to

Why Jerome does not look like the Crazy Frog

I write another blog. It would be much more interesting than Gremlins Online, if I posted more often. It's a record of the life and achievements of Jerome, with a little help from a few of Jerome's friends.

The award for best photo goes to:

Marvin standing in a field next to a post

The award for Most Amusing Account of Gremlinacious Mishap goes to

Hairdresser picks wrong gremlin

Ecosanctuary for kakapos and other wildlife who need it less.

Hello, loyal readers.

Happy Hallowe'en to you all. I hope the nasty little kids don't sneer at your chocolates.

James and I have been on holiday in Italy. I am in love with Italy. I am going to learn Italian. It's like heaven or Rivendell/Imladris. I will post some pictures to show you what I mean.

James is showing my brother his portfolio.

Today I put lots of cash analysis books in date order. Very satisfying.

I'm getting the flu.

I have posted some pictures of pumpkins. One is slightly pixellated for which I apologise.

Very good pumpkin carving

Crack librarians

Ever wondered what's in that archive? Who looks after it? It turns out there's a huge database that's been carefully tended by a gang of crack BBC librarians for decades.

Here is a database of lots of other catalogues tended by all the other gangs of "crack librarians" all over the country, who send their catalogues to the National Register of Archives and have been since before there were computers and here's a link to the A2A project, which puts the full text of these catalogues online.

Here's a database of file formats produced by the National Archives.

Fashion faux pas

Today I am wearing my red choir sweatshirt, with the Birmingham Festival Choral Society motif. I feel very patriotic.

James doesn't like it. He says it makes me look like a cranberry. Usually he doesn't offer fashion advice. I like it because it's warm and I feel the cold.

Leaf

Leaf
Originally uploaded by Pete Ashton.

A nice photo of an autumn leaf.

News flash

We have exchanged contracts on our house and might complete in mid-November.

What a pointless load of waffle. Even worse than usual.

Some thoughts, prompted by Chrissy's very amusing post about hell freezing over.

The more I think about this, the less I understand.

When Almanzo Wilder and Cap Garland go after the wheat to save the starving townspeople of De Smet, as nobody except the future Mrs Edwards who does not read this blog will know, they say they will go on till they find wheat or till hell freezes over. I have always assumed that this means they will go on forever, since hell, which is supposedly rather hot, will never freeze over.

It just strikes me that it would be very devilish of the devil to make hell freeze over. All the things that people swore wouldn't happen would come true. We'd have to get back together with oafish exes, and fail to find wheat to feed starving people and all sorts of other awful things.

But if the devil did make hell freeze over, it might destroy some of the huge stock of coffee walnut cake he keeps down there for his minions to inflict on an unsuspecting world. That would be all right.

What does 'there is more chance of Hell freezing over' mean? And why are there stupid italics all over the place

Stolen from Chrissy Wissy's blog because it made me laugh:

'She told me, "You should have heard me! I was brilliant! I said to him, 'Do you want to know why there is more chance of Hell freezing over before the two of us get back together? Because there is more chance of Hell freezing over before the two of us get back together.' He didn't really have anything to say after that."

She crossed her arms, pretty pleased with both herself and her fait a'complit.

After a pause, I said, "Well I'm not surprised he didn't say anything. What you said doesn't actually make any sense."

"What do you mean? I was saying that there is no way we're getting back together."

"Well, it seems to me that what you actually said was that the seemingly high chance that Hell will freeze over before you get back together means that you do actually think you'll eventually get back together again. That is providing the Hell Ice Age occurs before you both die. Either way, the high-chance of Hell freezing over doesn't in itself validate the high chance of Hell freezing over, before you and Mark get back together. To be honest I don't really know what you said." '

I always thought that I knew what the phrase 'until Hell freezes over' meant. Now I'm not so sure.

Child of Our Time.

My choir is performing a Child of Our Time in the Adrian Boult Hall at 7.30 on Sunday 27 November.

I can't sing in the concert so you won't be able to laugh at me in my hideous choir blouse, should you choose to come.

choir web page

I know someone called Xerxes

My friend Jonathan's wife Sam had a baby a couple of days ago. The baby has four names, not counting the surname, and one of them is Xerxes. Wasn't he a despotic Persian king?

It makes my suggestion - Siddharta Jesus Democracy - look almost reasonable.

Extremely dull post.

Today I went to the dentist and got the tartar scraped off my teeth. I feel like there are huge holes between them.

The dental nurse said I smell of garlic - in a pleasant way. There is no pleasant way to smell of garlic. Last time I went she said it was a shame my previous dentist hadn't straightened out my wonky teeth. (she didnt' use those words) . I wonder what she'll say next time I go, to dent my fragile ego.

My teeth were straight once. I wore braces for several years. I gave them names (you will be unsurprised to hear). They were called Boris and Horace. I think I abandoned the braces when I was about fifteen and over the intervening years my teeth have moved back to a wonky state. So that was a waste of NHS resources.

Must go and watch Strictly Come Dancing: It Takes Two...what a joy to see it back!! That's my kind of reality TV.

I love to hear Pete talking to Jez. Particularly when they've drunk a lot of beer.

And I love to hear them disagree. It's very entertaining.

Jez doesn't like the Guardian columnist Zoe Willliams. Pete likes her.

James doesn't like her and dislikes most of Guardian Weekend. I don't know as usual, but I am veering towards not liking her.

What does anyone else think?

Extinct New Zealand bat worthy of love and devotion.

List of critically endangered species.

I found this link at the end of the fantabulous kakapo article. It's a list of critically endangered species. It makes very depressing reading.

I think I could be a zoologist. It probably has a lot in common with archives: a lot of it is quite boring and requires meticulous care and attention to detail, for the sake of something precious and unique.

Wikipedia article with lots of cool kakapo information

Delicate "whiskers" surround their beaks, which they use to sense the ground as they walk with their heads lowered. The ends of their tail feathers often become worn from being continually dragged on the ground.

One behavior that has not recently served Kakapo well is their reaction to a predator or threat. When Kakapo feel threatened, they simply freeze, hoping to blend in with the vegetation that they so resemble. This was a good strategy to foil their main native predator, the giant eagle Harpagornis, but does not protect them from the newer predators who rely on their excellent senses of smell (and remember kakapos have a very strong and distinctive smell, like air freshener or the inside of a violin case).

"Not on my watch, blue hair!"

Perhaps you are feeling sad. Perhaps you are feeling that no-one makes good films any more. Perhaps you haven't laughed for a while.

There is an answer.

Go and see Curse of the Were-Rabbit. Then go and see it again. I defy you not to laugh at least once.

Talking about Love

Here is Christopher talking about Love

Here is another post about Love

Here is ee cummings talking about Love

somewhere i have never travelled, gladly beyond
any experience,your eyes have their silence:
in your most frail gesture are things which enclose me,
or which i cannot touch because they are too near

your slightest look will easily unclose me
though i have closed myself as fingers,
you open always petal by petal myself as Spring opens
(touching skilfully,mysteriously)her first rose

or if your wish be to close me, i and
my life will shut very beautifully ,suddenly,
as when the heart of this flower imagines
the snow carefully everywhere descending;
nothing which we are to perceive in this world equals
the power of your intense fragility:whose texture
compels me with the color of its countries,
rendering death and forever with each breathing

(i do not know what it is about you that closes
and opens;only something in me understands
the voice of your eyes is deeper than all roses)
nobody,not even the rain,has such small hands

If James met Trinny Woodall...

What Not to Wear returned to our screens tonight. Naturally I was glued to it, although I wish they'd cut out all the psychological stuff at the beginning and spend more time choosing the clothes.

James came out from cartoon land to say hello to me and told me that he fancies Trinny Woodall. I was rather surprised. James likes big-eyed waifs, preferably European, like Juliette Binoche and Maria Callas and Audrey Hepburn. Trinny is thin, I suppose, but she's extremely cutting and bossy in what she claims is a caring way.

James qualifies this by saying that he would not like to be married to Trinny, but he likes to admire her on the TV. At a safe distance.

I think Jerome would survive better in a relationship with someone as outrageously bossy as Trinny Woodall. James doesn't like being told what to do. And he wouldn't like to be told what to wear either. I suspect Trinny might have a few complaints about some of the items in James's wardrobe. She might say harsh and unkind things to him in an effort to improve him, for his ultimate good. James disapproves of such behaviour.

I think Jerome would be better off with Trinny. It would be a straightforward fight. I don't know who'd win. It would be a bit of a Captain Jack/Barbosa undead duel in the cave, for those of you who are fans of Pirates of the Caribbean.

Anyway, enough of this idle and tedious speculation.

My friend Alasdair has started a new blog. But he says that nothing happened today, so there is nothing to write about. So here's my tip. Blog about cooking. Everyone loves posts about cooking. Well, they get record numbers of comments on my blog. 7, I think.

Lately at work, I have been feeling like an insane genius whose plans for world domination are finally coming together. I'm rearranging boxes into reference number order and everything is where it should be and I haven't lost anything. Ha, ha, ha, haaa.

Interesting news story about kakapos.

Pete says that this is a new trend in blogging

Tumblelogs are, apparently, stream of conscious blogs where folks unload their brains without worrying about formatting, links, or any of the structured stuff that makes up your traditional blog.

Mr Fix It All up and His Incompetent Assistant star in "Pylon View Pandemonium"

A gripping adventure story starring James Lee Pig as Mr Fix It All Up and Marvin Marblesons as His Incompetent Assistant...

with special guests: Powerful Pete as The God of Common Sense and Clarence Clodpole as The Little Brother.

Dawn breaks in sunny Brum as our dauntless duo rise at the painful hour of 7.00. Their mission: to transport all the junk left in their former home, Pylon View, to a storage facility in darkest Walsall.

They don their ugliest clothes (they have plenty of choice) and leap into their Fadesmobile to pick up Powerful Pete, who has kindly offered extra and much-needed common sense and lifting power.

8.00 Our heroes arrive at Powerful Pete's flat in Quakerland. He leaps into the Fadesmobile and they hurtle up the motorway towards the glamorous land of Walsall.

8.45 The Fadesmobile blasts through the ravaged wasteland of North Birmingham and reaches the warehouse in good time. The obliging warehouse staff fill out the required forms, their ballpoints travelling over the carbon copy forms at a hypnotically slow speed. This feeble attempt at mind control is nothing to our trusty trio, and they leap into the scary white van with great courage. Their intelligence is temporary defeated by the lack of seatbelt catch, but their collective mind power is enought to break its invisibility spell and force it to reappear underneath the driver's seat. At 9.30 Mr Fix It All Up bravely takes the wheel and they speed off down the M6 towards the ex-marshlands of their former home.

But powerful forces are working against our heroes. The petrol tank warning light comes on. The gods of unsatisfactoriness have struck their first blow. They turn off the motorway. Will their powers of observation be enough to find a petrol station? The motorway network has them in its power, sucking them ever deeper through roundabouts and junctions. "God damn!" exclaims Mr Fix It All Up, calling on the powerful idiom of his native land.

9.45 At last, our resourceful hero steers the scary white van into a petrol station and fills up. Powerful Pete prescribes chocolate all round, and fortified by the power of cocoa, our brave band soldiers on.

10.15 The power of calculation comes into play. The warehouse closes at 5pm. We need an hour to unload. The gods of unsatisfactoriness have already stolen two hours between leaving Quakerland and arriving at Walsall. Therefore, if it takes us an hour and a half to get to Pylon View, we will have an hour and a half to load before we must leave. Things seem possible. What can go wrong?

12.16 We hit traffic outside Christminster. Little Brother phones and we delay him.

12.30 We arrive at Pylon View. The grass is overgrown. It looks sad and neglected. We feel glad we don't live there any more. The driveway is blocked by a lorry. The obliging owners move it. Fix It All Up sprints into town and retrieves the keys from the estate agents. We open the front door. It gets stuck under a huge heap of newspapers, big enough to fill an entire dustbin bag. Incompetent restrains her archival instincts to sort them out.

We have an hour to empty the shed and loft, and move the fridge and washing machine. The tension builds.

Little Brother arrives. They move the washing machine. They move the fridge. Incompetent begins to empty the shed. The others climb into the loft and discover the tenants have stolen the loft ladder. They throw the boxes of rubbish out of the loft. "Do you really want all this rubbish?" someone asks. Pictures of Incompetenet and Fix It All Up in their careless youth cause much amusement.

Incompetent works on the shed. It is full of empty pots of paint and screwed up bits of newspaper. There are also some useful rubbish bags.

1.25 The van is loaded. After a quick trip to the shop for pasties and drinks, they say a fond farewell to Little Brother and leap into the van. To avoid the traffic on the way back, they take the country route. Powerful Pete's mapreading saves the day. They wind through the beautiful Oxfordshire landscape, like a garden not a wilderness, and join the motorway near Banbury. Sleep overcomes Incompetent and Powerful and they sweetly doze as Fix It All Up steers the van with by now, complete confidence.

4.00 They arrive at the warehouse. Once again, the time-guzzling powers of staff form-filling eat away 30 precious minutes.

4.30 They have half an hour to unload the van.

5.00 The catch closes on the warehouse door. They've finished.

Our tired trio jump into the Fadesmobile and speed off through the wilds of Brum for a restorative curry.

Watch this space, folks, for more tales of moving mayhem!

Curse of the Were-Rabbit...

is a delight

I am still glowing like the Ready-Brek kid.

I managed not to bounce up and down on my seat and giggle too much.

I think I will have a party when the video comes out. I will make cakes with pink icing and a cherry on the top and arrange them in pairs. We can watch the video and giggle and dig each other in the ribs and eat cheese.

We know how to party here at Brogue Towers.

Mobile phone loss shocker

I have lost my mobile phone. Don't try and ring me up.

Apologies for dud claim to fame

James informs me that Patrick Swayze did not go to his high school.

Humble apologies and regrets.

A claim to fame for use by others.

Patrick Swayze went to my husband's high school.

Bit close.

Rence: Patrick Swayze went to my brother-in-law's high school. Much better.

Ice skating could be the new football.

England has qualified for the World Cup. We have to endure the misery again.

I caught the end of their last match and the pundits' commentary afterwards.

"We've always said in the past that we haven't won the World Cup because we haven't got any world-class players," said one pundit, gloomily. "Now we haven't even got that excuse."

Even when we win a match, even when we have good players, we are still rubbish.

So, I repeat my suggestion. Let's give up playing football and fund ice skating instead. Now there's a proper sport. Everyone remembers Torville and Dean.

ban bullying at work

Ban bullying at work day is on 7 November.

A brief update about Nasty Boss. I heard recently that one of my ex-colleagues blew up in a meeting with Nasty Boss, refused to take on the extra work Nasty Boss was making her do, and walked out. The doctor signed her off for 2 weeks with reactive stress.

Shortly after this, Nasty Boss resigned.

I feel that life has taken its revenge. I feel guilty for not complaining; I could have saved my colleague months of misery.

Things I need to do but don't want to:

I pay pension contributions to the Local Government Pension Scheme, quite a good pension scheme so I am told. While I worked for the university I paid into the university pension scheme. I worked for local government before, so I transferred my credits from that scheme into the university pension scheme. Now I'm back in local government, I've got to transfer them back again. And I really should try and understand a bit more about pensions.

Practise A Child of Our Time. We're learning it at choir this term and I'm finding it very difficult. And I'm not singing in the concert so there's no incentive to learn it.

try and sell my shoes on Ebay

take our huge bag of stuff to Oxfam

do the washing up

get my hair cut

ride my bike

join a yoga class

make sandwiches

Dull, dull, dull...

Terrible twos.

On 6 November, this blog will be 2 years old.

I wonder how I should celebrate. Perhaps I will buy myself a present for being such a good blogger.

Perhaps I will choose my best ever posts.

Perhaps I will imitate Chrissy Wissy and make a list of things I have learned during my life.

Perhaps I will do nothing and let the anniversary pass without drawing attention to it.

You'll have to wait a few more weeks to find out what I'll do, kids. Can you stand the excitement?

Controversial but nonetheless sensible suggestion

I have a suggestion. I think it will make things better. I suggest that England should withdraw from the football World Cup. The last five minutes of tonight's game have convinced me. Even when we win we're rubbish. It's always the same. A brief period of hope followed by crushing disappointment. So I think we should be decisive about this. We should state, calmly and sensibly, that we are never going to win and that the Italians, Germans, Brazilians, and other footballing nations are better and will always be better and we should give up. It will save a lot of agony in the long run.

You all know I'm right. Rence thinks I'm right. Most kakapo chicks probably don't care.

Autumn

I got my colours done today. I am an Autumn.

Every so often, James and I have a converstaion that goes something like this:

"You talked in your sleep."
"Oh no, what did I say?"
"You said, in a sarcastic tone, "Oh, that's very clever, Marv.""

Even my subconscious thinks I'm called Marv.

Perhaps I will have a reclaim the name campaign. I will force everyone except my little brother to call me my real name for an entire....week.

Poor James

PA030002
Originally uploaded by Marvin Marblesons.

The weird world of school songs

Here's a song we used to sing at school.

I went into a restaurant to buy a loaf of bread, bread, bread,
I wrapped it up in a five pound note,
And this is what I said, said, said:

"My name is Elvis Presley,
Girls are sexy,
Sitting in the back seat, (at this point you gesture your thumb over your shoulder)
Drinking Pepsi."

I have always been very puzzled by this song. Imagine the situation it describes:

Elvis goes into a restaurant.

"I'd like a loaf of bread, please," he says (of course he would speak with a Southern American accent, but I can't represent this, so you'll have to indulge me.)

"We usually do sit down meals, sir," replies the restaurant owner, "but if you'll wait a moment, I'll see if we have any out the back."

He disappears.

"Yes, we do have some bread, sir. Here you are."

Elvis pays.

"Would you like it in a bag, sir?"

"No thanks, " says Elvis, "I have this handy five pound note in my pocket, perfect for wrapping up bread. That'll do fine."

"Very good, sir," says the restaurant owner, slightly surprised, noting that the five pound note is far too small to wrap up even a small roll and wondering whether he should explain the workings of the cash economy.

"By the way, " says Elvis, "There's nothing I find more attractive than a cute girl drinking Pepsi on the back seat of a car."

He leaves the restaurant. "Ha, ha, " he thinks to himself, "That crazy exploit will be recorded in the folk tradition forever."

Plieting like mad

Plieting like mad
Originally uploaded by Marvin Marblesons.

Here we are dancing in Wales.

My blog is nearly 2 years old. What happened? How did I keep it up for so long? I didn't mean to be a blogger, yet here I am with 2 years of crappy whingeing (how do you spell whingeing?) posted for the world to see.

Digital preservation is in its infancy, so I hope all will be lost.

Not quite Swan Lake

Time for a little bit of blogging.

I have something bad to confess. I am afraid that this man and this man will be disappointed in me. I have been making a web site that uses Flash. You can't print it. You can't turn it into HTML. (Due to technical ignorance, my sins may not be described correctly)

Sorry.

But this man was quite taken by my impressive drawing of lines of footprints. He said they made a nice shape. And as all committed kakapo chicks may know, I am not very interested in drawing.

Misty's Big Adventure

I hardly ever go to gigs, but very much enjoyed this. We all sang 'The Bear Went over the Mountain'.

Misty's Big Adventure

Some thoughts about Chrissy Wissy's list

Below is a link to 33 of Chrissy Wissy's thoughts about life, published to celebrate his 33rd birthday.

Here are some of the things I agree with:

• There is no shame in not knowing something and asking for an explanation. It's much more shameful to pretend that you do know and then get caught out.
• Lying to a PR is a waste of time: don't bullshit a bullshitter
• Good taste is highly overrated.
• Other people don't annoy me. I allow myself to be annoyed by other people.
• It is necessary to back up your hard-drive.

particularly these ones:

• "I always (I would say usually for myself) know what is best for me. I'm just not very good at doing it.
  
• You can't do anything you set your mind to. I will never be a dancer for Madonna on one of her world tours." (And it is not 'empowering' to think you can and tell other people you or they can. If you are the sort of person who can give yourself realistic ambitions you are really in business.)
  

Here are the ones I disagree with

• "Rent is the worst musical I have ever seen". I haven't seen Rent, but Blood Brothers was pretty bad. Silk Stockings has to be a contender and Brigadoon is so extraordinarily bad that it is somehow good.

• "If you live in London you should own a small umbrella and carry it with you at all times. " Couldn't you wear a coat with a hood or are hoods too uncool?
• "You only need two pairs of shoes: one brown pair, one black pair. And you only need two pairs of sneakers: one white pair and one pair for the gym." In my devout vegetarian days, I used to wear canvas or fake leather shoes; ever since I left the true path I have loved buying shoes and I only need one pair of sneakers for sport. I don't like wearing trainers. This goes against all my complaints about choice.
• "Nothing is ever as bad as it seems. " I agree that it's good to be optimistic if one can manage it, but occasionally things are much, much worse than they seem.
  

After 33 years on this planet, Chris has a few words of advice

Boring ramble.

I find everything very confusing. Today I went round the market trying to find a present to take to C and L. There was too much choice. I would like less choice in life. Then things would be less confusing. Perhaps I should become a vegetarian again; vegetarians have less choice.

Link

this is a good blog

They think they can fly. But they can't.

"Kakapo do not fly," said avian and reptile wildlife specialist, Dr Brett Gartrell. "It is said that they use their wings to parachute down from branches, but anyone who has seen it knows their parachuting skills are equal to those of a brick."

You won't believe what one of the kakapos has done now...

On top of the fussy eating, the three year breeding cycle if they can be bothered, the mating behaviour that might be a turn-off, the smelling like fruit, the ground-dwelling and nesting - this...

Dot loses the plot

New names!

The four new kakapo chicks have been named.

click here, please

When E and N came to visit.

A while ago, my dear friends E and N came to visit me. E, N, and I grew up together so when I am with them I feel I can say the first thing that comes into my head. Most of the time I don't say the first thing that comes into my head because it usually proves that I dont' know what's going on.

We were eating olives and E was having trouble spearing them with her cocktail stick.

"I can't pick them up! " she exclaimed in frustration.
"Perhaps you should choose the ones that don't wriggle, " I said. Then I realised that was a weird thing to say. Then nobody looked surprised.

I hope they come back soon.

Clementine

'Clementine' is song of the week here at Brogue Towers.

Here are the words. It's a spooky song. I think the narrator murdered her and it's a song of remorse. It has three chords. Very satisfactory.

In a cavern, in a canyon,

Excavating for a mine,

Dwelt a miner, forty niner,

And his daughter Clementine.

Oh my darling, oh my darling,

Oh my darling Clementine!

Thou art lost and gone forever,

Dreadful sorry, Clementine!

Light she was and like a fairy,

And her shoes were number nine,

Herring boxes without topses,

Sandals were for Clementine.

Chorus

Drove she ducklings to the water,

Ev'ry morning just at nine,

Hit her foot against a splinter, (a likely story)

Fell into the foaming brine.

Chorus

Ruby lips above the water,

Blowing bubbles soft and fine,

But alas, I was no swimmer, (did you call for help? Don't think you did.)

So I lost my Clementine.

How I missed her,

How I missed her,

How I missed my Clementine,

But I kissed her little sister,

And forgot my Clementine. (so why are you singing the song? Very suspect)

recommended

very funny

Autumn

A conversation:

James: Isn't it cold?
Marv: Yes, it is.
James: It's surprising, isn't it?
Marv (confused): Well, yes and no. It's September. That's autumn. It gets cold in the autumn.
James: No, September's usually quite warm.

Shattered illusions

I am devoted - very sadly devoted - to the Boden catalogue. It seemed to be the perfect solution to all my fashion problems. Reassuringly expensive, models that look a bit like me in a good light when I was a size twelve, suitable for the no longer teenage-looking, lots of nice colours and the occasional not too daring pattern. I thought I could slowly build up my wardrobe until it is completely Bodenised and then I will be stylish without trying.

An article in today's Guardian has shattered my illusions. It points out that the Boden catalogue is full of cardigans: wear them with slacks, wear them with skirts! What a cruel parody of Johnnie's witty captions, which make you feel like you're his best friend. I looked at it again today. The Guardian is quite right. It is full of cardigans. And cardigans just aren't stylish.

Sigh.

Can anyone recommend any other catalogues? I suspect most people foolish enough to read my blog are boys and most of this fashion malarkey is wasted on them.

My job lasts until April 2007. Although I like this job, when it ends, I don't want to do another cataloguing project.

hmmm

Here are some links:

Pete on the petrol crisis

Chris sees this as 'further erosion of our national identity'. It is rather distressing

I feel like crap today. On the way home I realised why. I didn't have any breakfast and ate one roll for lunch. So I bought lots of food to take to work.

Dull thoughts

The pizza we're eating tonight has a 'handstretched' dough base. I don't mind whether the dough was handstretched or not. It won't make it taste any better.

Very much enjoyed last night's episode of Monarchy. History plus thanking the Valar I am not David Starkey. He talks about royalty's sex lives with too much relish.

I was rubbish at tennis tonight. I lost 6-1.

The alphabetical files are driving me round the twist.

James is tired. He's lying on the bed.

We're not doing anything this weekend. I'm going to laze around Rence style.

bla bla bla.

Weird dreams

I have been having even weirder dreams than usual recently.

Last night I was racked with guilt because I arranged for a load of friends to sleep on the floor of my friend Ruth's flat in Sheffield.

Last week I was in a private zoo looking at a very thin big cat of some kind, like a mini leopard but grey and white. "It won't get through the bars, " I thought. But it was thin enough to escape. There was a small child beside me so I picked it up incase the cat got it. The cat ran away into the lift which went down a couple of floors. I ran downstairs to tell security that the cat was on the loose and found that what I thought was a department store was in fact an embassy full of diplomats.

In which Marvin demonstrates why she should never try to take good photos.

This was taken on purpose

431088_13_012
Originally uploaded by Marvin Marblesons.

This was an accident

431088_11_014
Originally uploaded by Marvin Marblesons.

This was meant to be funny

431088_22_003
Originally uploaded by Marvin Marblesons.

This was meant to be artistic

431088_18_007
Originally uploaded by Marvin Marblesons.

What do you say, dear?

You are waiting to cross the street when a crocodile wearing a large hat decorated with fruit pushes you out of the way. What do you say, dear?

A little dilemma for you.

Some time ago, I went out for drinks with some people from work. During the evening, I drank far too much red wine. Yuk. This made me talk too much. While ranting and riding various hobby horses, I happened to mention that I am a musicals fan. But only musicals before 1960, with some honourable exceptions. The very nice chap I was talking to lent me 'Les Miserables' on CD. I thought I probably woulnd't like it.

I have now listened to it and I don't like it.

What do I say when I return it? "It's very kind of you to lend me this but I hate the songs and the way they are sung." (the truth).

Or: "I enjoyed listening to it (not the truth) and I'm thinking about watching the video." (the truth, because things are always better with dancing).

Middle of the pond

'Put your John Hancock on this' is a quaint American way of saying 'sign this'.

John Hancock signed the Declaration of Independence in very big handwriting so that King George, who was short-sighted, could read it.

Enjoy your independence while it lasts, Yanks. One day we'll put the Queen back on your money and give you a bit of civilization.

Dear, dear. The cricket must be getting to me.

They're trying to pamper me again

I was accosted by one of the trendy hairdressers today. Again.

"When was the last time you treated yourself?"

I don't know.

"Where do you get your hair cut?"

I don't know. Stop asking difficult questions. Ask me when the Birmingham Hebrew School was founded or how much it costs to catch the number 50 bus or what distinguishes a sub-fonds from a series or how many kakapos there are in the world.

This time I tried to be more polite. I was feeling a bit traumatised by the school records that I can't seem to finish and by other work stuff...

"I think I've talked to you before." (you didn't sell me this last time so why are you trying now?)

"It costs £50, doesn't it?" (implying I thought that was too much last time)

He didn't pay any attention. He was really friendly and determined to sell. I told him my name; always a mistake.

Then he showed me what you get. There was a huge list of boxes to tick, all beauty things. Full facial. Massage. They have a salon in London (I live in Brum - why would I go to London to get my hair cut?) Two haircuts in six months. Glasses of champagne all day. Your picture taken by OK magazine. The more I looked at the list with the boxes full of scary beauty treatments, the easier it became to say no.

I hate having my picture taken. Occasionally I read OK magazine and it makes me feel guilty and sick, as if I've eaten too much chocolate, and fills me with despair at the State of the World. It makes me want to live in a hippy commune and eat lentils and vegetable stew. One glass of champagne is fine but an entire day of champagne drinking in the company of overly friendly hairdressers and fashionistas (sorry, Chris) would be traumatic and surreal. And the thought of being made over and then photographed is...well, it isn't quite my idea of hell, but it would certainly count as a lesser torment.

"Oh no," I said, "I can't do all that." And walked off rather fast.

"Bye!" he shouted after me.

I bought a Big Issue to make myself feel a bit better.

Famous clothes update.

I tried to give the purple trenchcoat to Islamic Relief, but they didn't turn up and get our huge bag of stuff.

I wore the brown dress yesterday, crumpled. James asked me what had happened to the nice brown dress I used to wear that looked very nice.

I love James. I love the brown dress too.

previous post about Famous Clothes

Why I wear odd socks

I usually wear odd socks. Today I am not wearing odd socks. I am wearing my favourite pair of red socks with a picture of Shakespeare surrounded by the words 'Will Power'.

But usually I wear odd socks. There is a simple reason for this. I can't be bothered to waste time matching up my socks.

People get very shocked by this. They think it's rebellious. I maintain that it is not rebellious; it is a simple case of laziness, mitigated slightly by the fact that I spend all day matching things up and I'm not going to do it in my precious leisure time. But mostly it's laziness.

This came up in conversation in the pub a few weeks ago and someone, can't remember who, found it surprising that I iron but I don't match my socks. This doesn't seem very odd to me. I work in local government and I feel I have an obligation to go to work looking reasonably smart. 'Reasonably smart' in my book includes ironing, and an unironed shirt is noticeable. This is unfortunate and I regret it, but if I go to work for most of the year they give me money and this means that I can buy food and pay my mortgage. If they gave me the same amount of money for doing nothing I would happily accept it and go around looking scruffy. But if I don't match my socks, no-one will notice. I have worked in my present job for about five months and no-one has noticed that my socks don't match. It took the people I was talking to about a year to notice that I don't match my socks.

I don't mind whether people iron their shirts or wear odd socks. You may remember I posted about fashion tolerance a while ago.

Quick archive moan

i've read several histories of the school whose records I'm cataloguing agonizingly slowly - even more slowly than usual. The histories call the classes the upper school and the lower school. But they are called something completely different in the minutes of the committees that manage the schools and in the admission registers and I can't work out where the people who wrote the histories got their names from.

This leads me to three possible conclusions:

1 They're wrong.
2 I'm stupid.
3 It's all very confusing.

Please don't suggest which of the three might be correct or I will consider using the picture of the little dustbin next to the comments box.

It's very hot today.

Some clever people wot I know like James Lee set up their email to tell them when someone posts on their blog. What an awful sentence. Sorry. I can write proper English, honest. Yes. Anyway.

I hope my readers (ahem) don't do this.

"A post from Marv! Great! " they think.

Then they look and find that I have posted yet another picture of a kakapo or have written something even more tedious than usual.

Sorry. That's why it's called Gremlins Online.

I never said it was going to be interesting.

The Sky Is On Fire Tonight

The Sky Is On Fire Tonight
Originally uploaded by Pete Ashton.

Another Ashton gem.

Yes, this is my blog and I am talkign about cricket

I watched the cricket at the weekend and it wasn't boring.

Now I know who Shane Warne is.

He even looks smug when he loses.

some kakapo pictures surrounded by a load of weird gubbins

Vacuum flask

I'm not sure whether i@m in the middle of the pond or not. I think I know what a vacuum flask is, but I usually call it a thermos. Is there another word for it in British English, something that sounds a bit less Famous Five?

Split-site library plan turned down

Controversial plans for a split-site Birmingham library have suffered a serious blow after the Government turned down a request for a financial lifeline.

Culture Secretary Tessa Jowell refused to approve a city council bid for a £55 million Private Finance Initiative.

A PFI contribution would have covered more than a third of the £147 million cost of the new library and Ms Jowell's decision has left the council facing a major funding crisis.

About page

You have entered the World of Marvin. If you are a friend: welcome! You already know the worst. (I DON'T LIKE TEA OR COFFEE. OR PARSLEY.)

If you are a chance passer by: welcome and be warned.

My blog is Not Very Interesting.

It really isn't.

I'm not being coy or modest.

It's Quite Dull.

Unless you like: The Lord of the Rings; dilemmas of a cataloguing archivist; Kakapos and other tales of near extinction; Anglo-American cultural misunderstandings; laughing at my friends, particularly Jerome; Anne of Green Gables; general dull waffle about nothing; MGM musicals; choral music; match reports about tennis played badly by the unfit and lazy; doleful tales of cartoon widowhood; the unsatisfactorinesses of domestic life as experienced by an expat cartoonist; ignorant moaning and ranting about the state of things, concluding that something should be done, but not by me.

I don't know why I write this blog. I never intended to have a blog. I'm quite shy and don't often say what I really think. Maybe that's why.

Read and enjoy. Maybe.

Or get back on the information superhighway and find something more interesting. Not difficult.

I can't write a profile; the whole idea makes me shudder. But I would like to tell the world that I DON'T LIKE TEA OR COFFEE. OR PARSLEY.

I hate committee minutes

they are too hard to catalogue.

Ent?

Why Dan thinks Jerome is like the Crazy Frog

Although I don't think Jerome looks anything like the Crazy Frog, I feel duty bound to give credit to others who may take a different view. Let's have a mature, grown-up debate here...

Dan says Jerome looks like the Crazy Frog because:

1) He's REALLY irritating but you can't help loving him.
2) Likes pretty rubbish music.
3) He does have warts. One once popped during a particulalry vigorous bout of air guitaring.
4) Strikingly similar smile.
5) He's pretty ugly, but girls are strangely drawn to him.

Here is a link to a picture of the Crazy Frog, in case you need to refresh your memory.

I love blogging.

I have to decide what to have for dinner. I'm scared.

Leaves - this is my mental image of an archive catalogue.

Leaves
Originally uploaded by Pete Ashton.

This is pretty close to my mental picture of an archive catalogue.

A list of reasons why Jerome does not resemble the Crazy Frog

1 The Crazy Frog has blue skin
2 Jerome is not a frog
3 The Crazy Frog has lots of warts. Jerome doesn't.
4 The Crazy Frog has green eyes. Jerome doesn't.
5 The Crazy Frog does not wear O'Neill clothes
6 The Crazy Frog has four toes on each of his feet. Jerome has five.
7 The Crazy Frog has small feet.
8 The Crazy Frog was not born in Stroud.

Please add to this list. I am trying to convince everyone in the world that Jerome does not look like the Crazy Frog.

Ha ha.

Tip 24
Originally uploaded by Pete Ashton.

Another photo

Tip 15
Originally uploaded by Pete Ashton.

More of Pete's photos

Tip 5
Originally uploaded by Pete Ashton.

Matching dates?

The archive I am cataloguing includes a tatty exercise book which contains reports from the Headmaster of the School to a Committee of the Council. But i don't know which committee and so I have been diligently reading the minutes of the most likely committee trying to make the dates of the meetings match. I have been looking at this for so long that I am not sure whether the dates actually do match or whether I am so desperate for them to match so I can look at something else that I am imagining that they match.

How dull.

non-conformist buildings in birmingham

Why blog?

I struggle with this question. I have a sneaking suspicion (ssh, don't tell) that it's all a bit of a waste of time really and I should be doing something more useful.

Here's a link to a manifesto for bloggers like me.

link

Today I saw Jeffrey Lewis in concert. He was very good. I was in a crowd of people who like him too. So I am in two clubs: the Jeffrey Lewis fan club and the Nonentity Bloggers club. It feels weird. I am not in the habit of being like other people.

(I don't mean to sound arrogant. When I was at school, I was the only person who admitted to liking J.S. Bach. When I was walking across the playground, sometime shouted, "There's the girl who likes Bach!" It isn't really that unusual to like Bach. In fact Bach is generally thought to be one of the greatest composers who ever lived. And I couldn't understand why we had to not like him for the sake of being cool. And I couldn't understand why liking him made me boring. And it did, according to the rules of school. But, taking this logic a bit further, if I was the only person in the school who liked Bach, didn't this make me individual and different because I liked something other people didn't? No. It made me boring. And practically everything I liked made me boring. And I couldn't pretend to like the things other people liked or talk about them in the right way. I was only good at the things that made me even more boring. So I decided to be boring with a vengeance. And to say as little as possible, because that would, quite clearly, make things worse. That was my strategy.

So now I am an adult and I've been to university, where everyone wanted to be individual and different (and, to my great delight, pretending to be boring and normal didn't work - people saw through it - and it was OK to like Shakespeare and Bach) and this stuff doesn't bother me as much. Although clearly it does still bother me cos I've written a longer than usual post about it. But it's still a bit strange to go to a gig and listen to a band and love it and be with a load of other people who love it too.)

Perhaps I should go to more gigs.

I am no longer addicted to any soaps or to any reality TV. I haven't even tried to give up. i used to watch EastEnders. Now I can watch an episode, find it moderately interesting, and never even consider watching another one. I occasionally see an episode of Neighbours on the big screen in town that James hates, and apart from thinking that the older ladies' hair looks rather nice and I wish I coudl have a haircut like that and marvelling how well-preserved Stefan Dennis is looking, I have no interest in it any more.

I'm not watching any reality TV either. Big Brother this year was unbearable. What a dull bunch of wannabees. The theme music makes me reach for the off button. The chaps at work discuss it with great glee, but I find it unbearable. Absolutely unbearable. Bored people being horrible to each other.

There's no-one more smug than a recovered addict.

Exercise your neck

A_07_018
Originally uploaded by Marvin Marblesons.

More dreams

What a strange dream I had last night. I was at our house in Hobbiton, with my brother and James and E, Prince of the Shire... A little rabbit or maybe a hare (it had very long ears) with fur like sheep's wool was running around the garden. It rained and the rabbit got wet and started shivering so I caught it and tried to dry it with a tea towel.

Then I was going to an evening class with my Mum and James. We were travelling through France but we had to get on a plane to Damascus. I lost them and wandered round France on my own and met some people who invited me for dinner and to stay the night.

R. Alcona to J. Brenzaida

Cold in the earth, and the deep snow piled above thee!
Far, far removed, cold in the dreary grave!
Have I forgot, my Only Love, to love thee,
Severed at last by Time's all-wearing wave?

Now, when alone, do my thoughts no longer hover
Over the mountains on Angora's shore;
Resting their wings where heath and fern-leaves cover
That noble heart for ever, ever more?

Cold in the earth, and fifteen wild Decembers
From those brown hills have melted into spring--
Faithful indeed is the spirit that remembers
After such years of change and suffering!

Sweet Love of youth, forgive if I forget thee
While the World's tide is bearing me along:
Sterner desires and darker hopes beset me,
Hopes which obscure but cannot do thee wrong.

No other Sun has lightened up my heaven;
No other Star has ever shone for me:
All my life's bliss from thy dear life was given
All my life's bliss is in the grave with thee.

But when the days of golden dreams had perished
And even Despair was powerless to destroy,
Then did I learn how existence could be cherished,
Strengthened and fed without the aid of joy;

Then did I check the tears of useless passion,
Weaned my young soul from yearning after thine;
Sternly denied its burning wish to hasten
Down to that tomb already more than mine!

And even yet, I dare not let it languish,
Dare not indulge in Memory's rapturous pain;
Once drinking deep of that divinest anguish,
How could I seek the empty world again?

Emily Bronte

Our Community Access Officer overheard on the phone, "I don't believe in that strategic stuff. That doesn't mean anything. I want to work with people in the community."

A rhetorical question

Is this a good idea?

James and I played tennis with L last week. Half-way through the game, we swapped racquets. When we exchanged racquets, we kissed. (we've been married for some time and been together for even more, so it shouldn't come as that much of a shock.)

Tonight I spoke to my friend Hav, who had been visited by Jerome who had told her that "James and Marv are very lovey at the moment".

I am rather amused that all my close friends find this so very interesting.

Gammon day

Jerome declared that last Sunday was a Gammon Day. When we went out for lunch, we ate roast beef and mussels. When we got home, we said we'd been for a pub meal and Jerome asked in all seriousness if we'd had gammon.

Jerome really does believe that his underlings will go to any lengths to please him.

Dawdling, such a nice word

Far be it from me to claim that I am good at anything much. But one of the things I am very good at is dawdling.

Dawdle, dawdle.

Lovely.

As You Like It

The story really meanders; loads of characters are introduced for one scene and then their stories are tied up in a rather contrived way in the next, as if the story is a rather boring convention you have to use to get the characters to the to the witty jokes and the wordplay and puns.

I'd like to see another production of the play.

Doom

The permafrost will melt, causing a rise in global temperatures that will melt the polar icecaps, which are melting already anyway.

We're all doomed.

Marv dreams

If you lie down in a field and look at the grass, you can imagine it's a jungle and watch the insects going about their business: trading shares on the Stock Exchange and swapping racing tips and other commercial activities.

Anyway, I dreamed I was looking at the grass like that and I saw a pair of tiny lambs climb through the grass towards their mother, a tiny sheep.

Then the plants changed and they were all white, like cow parsley, and there were lots of spiders underneath the flowers.

Grind those grooves

Why, oh why, in the city of a thousand trades, can't I find anyone who can copy a key? I've tried ot copy it 4 times and got duds three times. I lost the third attempt, the one that worked.

Without the key I have to walk up 4 flights of stairs (or wait for the lift), get the key, walk down 8 storeys to the basement, get what I want, leave tickets for it all, walk/wait for the lift back up 8 storeys to leave the tickets and return the key. Getting the key cuts out the 4 flights of stairs bit.

Girlfriend in a Coma

I tried to read Douglas Copeland for our book group. I didn't get really far. It made me want to read a really good book.

Make some recommendations, lovely kakapo chicks.

Canal Sky

Canal Sky
Originally uploaded by Pete Ashton.

I like this one even better.

We have just been on holiday with a load of my friends plus a new boyfriend of one of them who is Dutch. He taught me how to pronounce 'Broersma' correctly. Finally, after ten years, I know how to say it properly.

I will carry on pronouncing it wrong. James pronounces it wrong too, but differently wrong from me.

Canal Sky

Canal Sky
Originally uploaded by Pete Ashton.

Pete took this photo. I htink it's great so I have stolen it.

Gibber

We're going camping in Wales this weekend. The forecast is quite good. I came home to find all the camping stuff efficiently heaped up in the middle of the sitting room. The efficient heaper of stuff is nowhere to be seen. We haven't got any skewers to skewer our veggie kebabs. Mmm... Veggie kebabs... nice and carbonated from the barbie. Lovely. I'm hungry.

Here's a boring archival dilemma. I want to rearrange the box order of the records into catalogue order and I'm trying to devise a system to keep track of locations. I'm sure I'll mess it up and lose things. So I've made an Excel spreadsheet with all the box nubmers on and, if the things in the boxes belong to more than one category, a list of all the things in the categories, and when I shelve them in catalogue number order I'll put the catalogue reference next to it. Sounds good, doesn't it? But my inner gremlin is longing to sabotage it all. I can feel it.

I wonder where James is. Perhaps I'll ring him up.

I haven't told you about the very satisfactory sink tidy he purchased recently.

Or shared the great news that he currently owns three pairs of comfortable shoes: the brown boots; the blue suede trainers (which I step on, obviously); and the boat shoes.

Or told you that we finally cleaned out the car. James used our Dyson and hung the cable of the exentsion lead out of our kitchen window.

Or mentioned how shocked he was by the bathroom fixtures catalogue. There are some very ugly baths in the world.

See you in a few days, loyal reader(s)