The universe was pleasingly joined-up this week. OK, as an opening line to a blog post of pretty disparate things that’s rather bad, but hear me out, because it extends slightly further in truth than the fact that I came out of seeing Blade Runner in the cinema to see a ‘Bladerunners’ hairdressing salon opposite, and smiled at the neatness. Ah, Blade Runner. I’d never seen it before, and this was apparently the newly re-edited version with the ‘happy ending’ removed. To be perfectly honest, it’s hard to imagine the original crying out for more bleakness in the first place. It’s not exactly a cheery romp, and although it’s good (in fact it’s very good) Blake references always make me edgy. I half expect him to pop out behind me, offering me up more poetry to despair at before gallivanting off to worship a hallucination of the Virgin Mary. Why oh why must all dystopian futures be set in a big grimy city? Remember Hot Fuzz? I liked Hot Fuzz! That was really on the right lines. Big grimy cities really aren’t so bad, and at least you don’t have to live in a parish.
My grandparents live in a parish. I went to see them with dad on Tuesday, and it occurred to me that their names have probably never been published on the Internet at all: not even on a single Facebook page. But I won’t break that now. Suffice to say, growing old isn’t easy, is it?
We dashed back from Suffolk to make the QPCS Winter Concert, which was (as it usually is) really very good. In fact, why not go all excitingly multimedia and check out a video or two? I am always rather in awe of the people who get up to perform – especially to sing – but they pull it off with gusto. In the interval, I saw Clare again, who always gives flatteringly warm greetings, and then span round as Saoirse appeared to slam a large, fat book into my hands. The Women’s Room, by Marilyn French. I’ve got to read it by New Year, too. No worries, though, because I’m really enjoying it so far. (Perhaps ‘enjoying’ is the wrong word, but you know what I mean.)
The only downside is that Marilyn French – or rather Saoirse, because I’ve never met Marilyn French and they seem to be largely identical aside from bracket usage – has now taken up semi-permanent residence in my brain at the slightest provocation. So when watching Enchanted today (what do you mean it’s aimed at young children? It was a grandparent – grandchildren trip, alright! And I got a free meal out of it!) I spent the film mentally complaining about reinforced gender roles and a terribly stifling view of marriage. Even though it was tongue-in-cheek. Largely. On the plus side: some catchy musical numbers. I better move on quickly.
Quickly to bed – and more reading – but politics, politics. No, that’s not an excuse to stop reading. I forbid it. And I’ll be quick. First up is the tragic news of splits in everyone’s favourite association of racist thuggery, the BNP. According to BBC News, ‘BNP leader Nick Griffin is accused of “behaving like a dictator”‘. This made me laugh more than it should do. Soon they’ll be complaining that the party’s equal opportunity policy is getting a little rusty. Over in the Lib Dem camp, newly-elected Nick Clegg got a momentarily glance of the spotlight when it turned out he didn’t believe in God. Hurrah indeed, but then he goes and undoes it by trumpeting the fact that he’s bringing up his kids as Catholics. Presumably, there’s a nice way to put this without wondering outright how wise it is to publicly acknowledge that you’re bringing up your children to believe lies?
Ah, well. I’m all for Ricky Gervais, who put it to the Archbishop of Canterbury that you wouldn’t want an adult to still believe in Santa, so why God? “Belief in Santa doesn’t generate a moral code, it doesn’t generate art, it doesn’t generate imagination”, he said in reply. So there you go. Not only is the Archbishop clearly ignorant of the entirely theology of being naughty or nice, but he’s also keen to defend religion on the basis that belief in it apparently produces nice things, not that it’s in any way true. Fascinating. At the moment, Mira from The Women’s Room doesn’t believe in God either. But then I’m only at page 156. So we’ll see.
I’m trialling out a new feature for this blog’s sidebar: the Feed Mix. The idea is to showcase the latest posts from the blogs of friends and family, in lieu of my ongoing attempt to get some kind of blog network together. There are a few kinks at the moment – most importantly, no Blogspot blogs! The feeds provided unfortunately get a big mangled and don’t work properly at the moment, for reasons I do not fully understand. Sorry. However, enjoy the (however unfortunately limited) mix!
Edit – oh, I’ve finally figured it out! I will now include Blogspot feeds, but you want the link to work to your blog you’re going to have to include a title with your posts I’m afraid 
Double Edit – fixed 
I went to Saoirse’s dad’s funeral yesterday. It’s not really my place to talk much about it, but it was deeply moving and I hope it did him proud. At the same time, it was good to see Emily and Sophia again and I even managed to discuss the meaning of history on the way back to the station with a friendly SWP member. (I can’t seem to avoid doing this.) So, thank you to Saoirse for wanting us there, doing the least we could do.
Yesterday was really strange overall, with Lucy arriving in the evening so that she could see a Jack Milroy exhibition this morning. I couldn’t come to that, having a prior engagement with the annual Self Christmas decoration routine (our tree is satisfyingly fat this year!), but I made up for it later by dashing back on the Tube to go out for lunch and then visit the National Gallery. There was an amusing moment where I noticed a Cezanne piece which was beautiful if remarkably familiar, before Lucy pointed out it was familiar because we have it on our wall just above the telephone in the hall. Oh yeah 
SantaCon
Back outside in Trafalgar Square we ran into the delightful surprise of SantaCon: a large rowdy collection of Santas on Nelson’s Column drinking, singing and distributing presents and\or brussel sprouts. Quite wonderful!
This put me in a good mood, and so I was doubly annoyed on the Metropolitan line on the way back home to see a National Front sticker slapped over a Metropolitan line map. Excuse me: that’s not just racism, encroaching into my city on my Tube and appropriating my national flag, but that’s also defacing the simple, smart design of the London Underground! I managed to rip most of it off, which felt good and reminded me of the friendly SWP member again, who laughed when I pointed out that – whatever your politics – you can always have a good chat with the far left, but never the far right. So that act was for you, anonymous man who led me through the dark to the train station. Peace.
I should really go to bed, since tomorrow morning I have to get up and be motivational and inspirational at QPCS (somehow!) to try and sell university life. However, I feel the need to blog since I’ve utterly failed to get through my e-mail mountain and I want to have some success tonight.
As soon as I got home I pursued the thoroughly enjoyable task of seeing old friends: walking to Camden with Joshua and ending up in the The Belgo, having hot chocolate with Saoirse, having further hot chocolate with Sanna and Joshua and also going into school to see everyone there. We also had the prizegiving ceremony at school on Thursday night, where my old History teachers gave me a present! It’s the History of London, which as Lucy points out instantly elevates it to my favourite thing ever
Over the weekend I then extended this jaunt further! I went to Birmingham over the weekend to see Lucy, see The Golden Compass Northern Lights (alright, but not breathtakingly good like the books), go out for Andy’s birthday with a whole crowd of brilliant people, and then moving on to visit Rishal at uni in Leicester. He hasn’t changed, brilliantly
Rishal with his beloved iPod Touch
Some train geekiness now: coming from Leicester, I had to get a train back to Birmingham and then to London because I had two separate return tickets. I was texting Sanna at the time, who questioned the logic of this, and my reply pretty much sums up my thoughts: “What’s that I hear? Why not have an integrated nationalised system with smartcards to pay for each journey separately like on Oyster? Wouldn’t that be good for the national economy in the long run? Why, I quite agree!”. I’m right, though. Sorry, but I am. And it should work on all buses, too, because I’m fed up of paying £1.40 in exact change to TWM. (Talking of Oyster – looks like the Young Person’s Railcard discount is coming soon for it too. Cool!)
Anyway, I was on the first train to Birmingham and as it stopped at Nuneaton I was suddenly struck with a terrific thought: I’ve been here before! On the way back from Birmingham! Hence, it must be a valid route! So I lept off – delighted at the idea I might be back home in time for the pie my dad was texting me about – and it worked! Hurrah, hurrah, thrice hurrah.
I’ll stop talking about trains now, so you can start paying attention again. To be honest I doubt if any of it was worth reading because I’m just back from having three mango beers in a night out with Joshua, Sanna and Abbi. As we were leaving we started discussing blog styles again, and I did a slightly unfair critique of Sanna’s blog (which is really only masking the jealousy I have for not being able to write like that). However! For one night only, I will now conclude this post a la Sanna:
I see you in that chair, perfect skin
Well how have you been, baby, livin’ in sin?
Hey, I gotta know, did you say Hello –
How do you do?
Well, here we are spending time in the louder part of town
and it feels like everything’s surreal.
And… actually, y’know what, I really can’t write like her much as I try. (But go ahead: I defy you to read anything meaningful into cheesy dance lyrics.) I suppose if I was following a pattern I’d start by describing a micro event in great detail, with much reference to nature, so: after prizegiving evening, I waited by bus stop with Jakov eating unsalted chips being slowly crushed in my mouth… interrogated for flavour, like searching for the soul of the restless seas within the stale city. Moving on to refer to people, places or things using only pronouns: oh, you, I hope with all my heart that you take no offence. (Resists the temptation to use an emoticon.) Miscellaneous spirituality: it hurts, sometimes, to see people marooned so far from where I’d desperately wish for them to be. But like you, I maintain the hope of change. Abrupt ending: bed beckons.
Oh, Sudan!
What kind of society places so much importance on the name of a teddy bear at a school? I mean, honestly! They clearly just need to get a grip. There are more important things in life, surely? I’m so glad to live in a more advanced society…
A 15-year-old rock music fan suspended from school for refusing to cut his long hair says he will not back down. (BBC News)
Surely silly, pointless rules undermine the serious questions of discipline and respect in schools? If you’re going to have rules, they have to be rules for a purpose which people have confidence in. So relax, guys… it’s just hair.
Oh, and I’m back home
Helen on It’s (waiting) time.: “Fabulous news, congratulations to you both! X” Jun 8, 21:51
