Slavishly outraged

I have been wondering upon my facility for outrage recently as I appear to have passed through several months without anything really incensing me. In fact, in terms of these blog posts, the last post detailing an occasion that measured as highly as this on my Outrage Richter Scale (ORS) was the Madonna adoption blog I suspect.

But it seems this week is the week for outrage blogs, so I will add to frenzy too!

So what is this occasion that registers a clear 6 on the ORS, Natalie? You say.

Free will. Or the [mis]conception of. I reply.

And to elaborate, the difference of opinion on the issue of: can we control our emotional responses to circumstance?

It was posed to me that we CHOOSE our emotional responses. We can CHOOSE to be happy, sad, angry etc. when an emotive circumstance presents itself.

If my mother dies, I CHOOSE to be grief-stricken...apparently.

(that was the crunch moment when my gauge started its incline)

And not just grief. Any emotion in fact. WE CHOOSE to respond to Incident/Cause A with Emotion A or Emotion B or Emotion C.

I of course have to dwell on what this would say about love.

And I have have never yet met anyone who able to MAKE themselves fall in love. Indeed the mere expression itself connotes the fact that it is an unintentional, uncontrolled occurrence.

Or rage. In what circumstance could someone sit and say ‘And now, I choose to be enraged’ You simply can’t FORCE an emotion. You feel it/ it is there – or it isn’t. You can’t force a feeling that isn’t there.

Philosophers have spoken about free will for generations; most of us have a deep conviction that we live our lives with “free will”. Free will, hard to define, but loosely in the sense of a human beings’ faculty for making and acting on reasoned choices.

Ignoring for the moment issues action choices (i.e. when a cause C event happens – can we REALLY ever be said to have CHOSEN action A or action B – and whether is it not instead the case that whether A or B ensues, it was NECESSITATED by who you are and the forces acting upon you at the time of your ‘choice’. No free will at work – only an inevitable outcome caused by who we are. You can’t avoid doing other than what you end up doing. You are the person you currently are and cannot respond in any other way unless you were to be someone other than you.) for now let us just deal with emotions. Because to me self-determinism in respect of emotions is even more self-evident a truth self-determinism in respect of actions.

Emotional responses are utterly beyond our control. Emotions present themselves to us as ‘knee-jerk’ reactions. When Cause A occurs – emotions do not sit on a waiting bench within us to be called up when the being owning them decides which emotional response he would like to carry out. Emotional responses are immediate – they AUTOMATICALLY ensue from A. The response occurs spontaenously –the emotion is nothing more than a mechanical reaction.

To say that you could have felt, or acted otherwise, is a fallacy. We can’t do anything other than what we end up doing, our behaviour and emotion is utterly determined by circumstances and biology i.e who we are. In a same molecule-for-molecule situation, we would always respond in the same way – why would or could anything else change it?

If this were not the case – where does the ‘part’ that makes a different choice or response come from – where does it sit? If not in the mind – the genes the molecules, then where? A supernatural element, a ghost in the machine?

And if this supernatural or ‘other non-biological, circumstances’ based element exist – how does it make its choices? Utter chance? Random chaos. How is that then a free choice?

Some quotes from guys thinking about lack of freedom in respect of emotion:

“You are free to do what you want, but you are not free to want what you want” Arthur Schopenhauer

“I suppose it’s possible that you might have acquired this want because you wanted to. It’s theoretically possible that you had a want to want to have a want. But this is very hard to imagine, and the question just rearises: where did THAT want come from? You certainly can’t go on like this forever. At some point your wants must be given. They will be products of your genetic inheritance and upbringing that you had no say in. In other words, there’s a fundamental sense in which you did not and cannot make yourself the way you are” Galen Strawson

For more discussion on Self-determinism – check out Steven L Converse: ‘Free Enough: Doing what come naturally’... who I plagiarised pretty much everything from...

Except for my outrage. That was determined ;)

Mr Camus' pearls of wisdom

Am very much enjoying my current read at moment and thought I'd share part of a particular passage that amused and resounded with me. I do try to remind myself of my existence and by doing so, appreciate it, though believe it's not perhaps necessary to do it by such afflictive means!

Query: How to contrive not to waste one's time? Answer: By being fully aware of it all the while. Ways in which this can be done: By spending one's days on an uneasy chair in a dentist's waiting room; by remaining on one's balcony all a Sunday afternoon; by listening to lectures in a language one doesn't know; by travelling by the longest and least-convenient train routes, and of course standing all the way; by queueing at the box-office of theatres and then not booking a seat. And so forth.

Note to the pusillanimous: a lexiphanic blog

I am yet again at a loose end at work so thought I would engage in a little bafflegab as a mithridate to my boredom until the hour to absquatulate arrives.

I have nothing that is not picayune to discuss but am hoping to fistigate my personal challenge to use fifteen words from www.worldwidewords.org/weirdwords in one small post. This is not so mattoid as it may on first sight appear, I've been lollygagging for almost three long hours on various retro clothing website but, have found myself full of floccinaucinihilipilification in respect of most items I came across.

As may be obvious, I am a hyperpolysyllabicsesquipedalianist and admit to being twitterpated with using sesquipedality to squabash people in debates.

It is a pinchbeck trick which smacks of the sciolist but, neverthless, I admit freely to it.

Given this fact, I thought application of wordlwidewords to this pages as an oyez so that I may use them to vellicate my sister when next I meet her so that she may accuse me of fanfaronade more so than she usually does. I do not mind. She is nought but a jobbernowl and should know to be more fidimplicitary when I am around.

On the Superiority of the Structured Hat

OK, clearly we need head and hair protection given that we live in Grey, Pissy-Little Britain. True, true. Thus, our protection-mechanism is of some import to us.

I'd like to point out therefore something that may have eluded your attention in this respect. The Structured Hat.

And I'd like to suggest you give it a try (on).

The advantages of a Structured Hat over an Umbrella:

1. It doesn't break in the wind.

2. You are less likely to forget it.

3. It looks 'fetching'.

4. It doesn't imperil the eyes of your fellow pedestrians.

5. It doesn't require constant opening and closing.

5. It doesn't impinge on your bodily-freedom

6. It's longer-lasting.

7. It acts as an eye-mask to aid sleeping on the morning train journey.

8. It retains warmth.

Thus: quite clearly superior to the Umbrella.

High Tea

OK. So... High Tea... a HUGELY important issue for the past four weeks.

Normally it's me who obsesses about fine details of event organisation, this time is has been my beloved elder sister.

The High Tea fascination started last summer when Caroline and I attended the Sunday 'Tea and Cakes' held in Ribchester Parochial Hall. Hamming up our parochialism, we drunk tea in fine bone china cups, sticking our little fingers out, sipping noisily and giggling whilst saying in lilting tones, 'Oooo, that's a lovely cup!' or 'Is the pot still warm?' or 'I might just have another drop' ... anything we felt would make us sound like sixty year old quaint ladies.

We eventually progressed from the parochial hall to the pavement outside my Mum's house complete with fresh tea pot and cups (my Mum lives in a very quaint village with very little movement or traffic and mostly just walkers passing through the streets - it's not like we set up on Oxford Street) ... and a game of dominoes which we felt added to the whole theme of the affair. Both Mum and Caroline's husband were highly embarrassed at our antics and refused to join us, but truthfully we put a smile on all passing villagers' faces and drew lots of complimentary and friendly comments. People were LOVING our respect for the High Tea.

So, Caroline decided this Easter we should devote an good portion of an afternoon to a full High Tea ceremony. Dainty sandwiches, scones, clotted cream, jam, tiered cake stand, fine bone china, napkins... the lot. We are recreating the Ritz in 1910 essentially.

Caroline and I disagree over quite a bit, whilst we all share the same sense of humour and idea of fun and silliness, certain issues divide us... High tea has proved to be one of these.

So here, I am setting down MY idea of how High Tea should be held.

I have to accept that Caroline is the originator of the event and so she WILL get the final word, but that doesn't stop be publicising how I think High Tea SHOULD be held...and how it could be held IN THE BEST WAY.

Cups and saucers
Fine bone china without a doubt. This is not up for discussion. Anyone planning High Tea cannot call it High Tea without fine bone china which is fundamental to the ceremony earning its title as such.
Drinking form
The cup should be held with three fingers, with the little finger sticking out. Tea drinking should be carried out with pursed lips and a light sipping sound as the tea is sucked between the lips and into the mouth. A soft 'Ah' or smile is requisite after the sip. If the tea is hot, gentle blowing whilst maintaining eye contact with your companion is a must.
When the tea is returned to the saucer, the eye must follow the movement and the cup should be placed back upon the saucer with a slight 'chink' sound.
Conversational topics
Polite conversation on topics such as; weather; tea blends; the health of mutual friends, are to be had.
Serving platters
A three tiered cake stand is de minimis.
My mother has a lovely wooden 19th c cake tier for just this instance upon which doilies will be placed.
Bread variety
Sandwiches are where Caroline and I really fall out. For me - it is obviously white bread only. The upper class in 1910 ate white bread with their high tea, not brown or wholemeal. I don't care if health concerns prefer wholemeal these days, observance of old-norms take priority. White bread is also softer than brown bread. Soft genteelity is the key to this affair and thus only white bread is acceptable.
Sandwich shape
This is the KEY to mine and Caroline's disagreement... she is creating FINGER shapes i.e. thin rectangles. I find this totally abhorrent and fear that my entire enjoyment of the event will be marred by the sight of 'finger-shaped' sandwiches.
CLEARLY triangles are THE only option. EVERYONE knows it is triangles. Try telling Mrs Eldridge this. I simply cannot understand that she fails to comprehend this crucial matter.
That the sandwiches must be crustless of course is accepted by both of us. Anything else would be ludicrous.
Sandwich fillings
Cucumber...naturally.
Salmon... accepted and approved of.
Being a veggie, Caroline suggested cheese as a cucumber alternative... a variety of sandwiches is, of course, key to pleasing your guests and a sign of indulgence. Caroline was suggesting sliced cheddar. I was quite defiant on this score. I can't imagine sliced Cheddar in Brideshead Revisited. I have insisted on cream cheese.
I know I am right.
Scones
Clotted cream and jam being the accompaniments, scones must be plain. Raisin and cherries are for butter. To load cream and jam and cherries would be gluttonnous in the extreme.
Jam
Strawberry jam is indelicate as the strawberry pieces tend to be large and clumsy. I advocate a finer blended jam such as raspberry or blackcurrant.
Butter
That's it. Butter. Not margarine (the prospect of which makes me faint with anxiety)
Butter must be served ina matching butter dish of course. If you want to really impress, cut into small cubes.
Napkins
Cloth. White. To be unfolded and dropped over the knee.
I support the use of the napkin as a finger cleanser throughout the eating process. Suggesting that the finger tips can be pressed lightly against the material if they should become sullied. Caroline disagrees and feels the napkin should be used for one purpose only, the dabbing of the corners of the mouth after the guest has finished eating. She recommends rubbing the finger tips together over the plate to any occasion where crumbs or melted butter/cream interfere with the guests fingers.
Whilst I appreciate the picture of crumbs falling lightly onto a plate beneath finger tips, I also feel the napkin 'dab' to be both practically more effective and just as quaint.
In this instance, we can both pursue our own actions as we feel appropriate at the time.


So that is the basics as I see it for a proper and genteel High Tea.

I am most concerned by the sandwich shape issue and will report back on whether rectangular shapes do indeed marr the occasion.

I shall of course be wearing a 'tea dress'. That goes without saying.

Some random recommendations

OK - some random recommendations :

I advise watching the following films:

The Notorious Bettie Page
Lovely film in both colour and black and white.
Most fascinating part of this is appreciating the complete naiveity of Bettie's attitude to her work. Or, in complete opposite, her absolute broad-mindedness in relation to nudity and 'costume poses'. I can't make my mind up on that - the two seem to meld together oddly.
Apparently Dita Von Teese went up for the role and was refused. I think this was a good call, both for the film and Dita's career. Bettie was clearly an original and fell into her position as Pin Up Queen; Dita has consciously developed a similar status and positively courts comparison with Bettie. Had she taken the role, she risked being labelled as a mere Bettie-wannabe and thus lose credibility.. rather than earning the position as a modern Pin Up in her own right.

As for benefits for the film, merely because Dita knows Bettie perhaps more than anyone else on the stage at the moment, and of course sported the famous Bettie haircut for some years, doesn't give her the requisite skills for conveying the role. They were right to use a bona fide actress for it. Perhaps people would have seen 'Dita' rather than 'Bettie' in the celluloid too.

Once
Being a sucker for romance and musicals, this was high on my to watch list. It disappointed in no way except that
*SPOILER*
they DIDNT end up together :(((
But actually... despite the fact I was wringing my skirt the whole way through due to my pre-sentiment they may not in fact end up in a lover's bliss, I was kind of appreciative of that the writer hadn't gone for the easy ending. To such an extent he even chose to deny us a tearful farewell!
If you are a fan of acoustic singer-songwriters, I'd be surprised if you didn't love the score. The protaganists/singers voices are PERFECTLY suited and for an UK film, a lot of which I find stressful to watch, it was very relaxing. There was raising of the fact of hardships that Eastern-European immigrants suffer but the film managed to balance social realism with an essentially idealistic and romantic purpose. France always seems to do this better than the UK . UK films I find tend to be clumsy-handed and can only ever acheive one over the other.

FOOD

Chilli Chocolate
Yes it's old-hat and I'm sure most have tried it but I recently went to a Harvey Nics 'Chocolate and Wine' evening and was blown away by a dark chocolate and chilli variety (of a producer/ label I am afraid I can't remember). If, like me, you had not tried it before, YOU MUST! It REALLY brings out the dryness of bitter chocolate in a most excellent manner.

James Bond 'Scrambled Eggs'

Essentially, you cook the eggs over a low heat for about fifteen minutes, with the addition of disgusting heart-attack amounts of butter. The eggs must never catch, and they must be stirred pretty much CONSTANTLY. OBVIOUSLY add salt and pepper, and then a choice of parmesan (about two mins before service) OR finely chopped garlic (it DOES actually do well in here - about eight mins before service) OR herbed cream cheese (same as with parmesan for addition timing) OR fresh cut herbs OR nothing!... depending on your taste buds... Christ, I have lived with someone who added lemon curd to fried rice and tuna once with the explanation/indefensible defense it was equating to 'sweet and sour'!!!! Who am I to judge your culinary delectation?

('James Bond' eggs BTW as Fleming gives a full description of Bond making eggs this way in the short story '007 in New York' - it has now been included in edited versions of Octopussy and The Living Daylights. Fascinating!)

Final recommendation is

High Tea

High Tea will be blogged soon - it is amusingly serving as the cornerstone of my family's Easter and an absolutely inappropriate amount of conversation has been had on the intricacies of this. It thoroughly deserves a posting in its own right.

Numbers 12 - 14 of 357 things that annoy me

Misuse of word 'tapas'

This is driving me crazy.

I get excited everytime a new 'Tapas Bar' sign comes up as my favourite food is tapas but invariably upon perusing the menu I discover it is not at all a tapas restaurant, just an establishment owned by a restauranteur with no respect for his product or own integrity. Normally you find dishes such as 'bowl of olives with herbs' alongside 'foccacia bread and hummous'.



This Friday was the worst instance of misrepresentation I have thus far come across. Under a huge 'NEW TAPAS BAR' sign, came a short list of example dishes...



'Lattes, croissant, panini'



For FUCK'S sake. No even at a STRETCH could you claim it to be tapas.

Women with large prams



Like this one.




It's entirely, unnecessarily large. It's about five or six times as big as its inhabitant. It's my belief this trend of oversized prams stems from the same place that the urge to buy a Porsche four by four does. Which I also have no truck with.


It's not necessary to cosset a baby in a truck or drive one unless you are moving large mounds of earth.

It's an extension of our label-obsessed culture, conspicious-consumption society and its entirely selfish. You can't MOVE down the street for the things. And to add salt to the wounds.. mothers inevitably get cross and make some snidey remark at other pedestrians for getting in THEIR way!!


A particular question posed by a waitress at Negresco restaurant this Saturday


It was the inaugural 'Hen night without a hen' and my chosen restaurant was the fantastically decorated Negresco... chosen because the decor matched with my latest corset purchase :))))))

Fortunately the food was excellent so I wasn't berated for my ridiculous basis for choosing.


An excellent restaurant in all respects with the exception of the fact the waitress asked Meghna, who had ordered swordfish, 'How would you like that done?'


Meghna... after an understandable period of perplexedness responded haltingly, 'Medium??'.

Someone needs to take the nice waitress in hand.


And now, lest you harbour the erroneous belief I am only filled with conniption ( :)))) ) I shall detail those things which have pleased me of late.


The women with the sling


Today, I travelled back from Manchester and was gladdened in my heart to see a sensible lady hoiking her infant around in a sling. It wasn't even a specifically-designed baby sling. It was just a large rug-type affair she has wrapped around her allowing her to strap the infant on her back, thus enabling her to move with minimum intrusion throughout the public highways of the City of Manchester.




My inability to network


This should perhaps come under the banner of 'things that annoy' me but the latest exemplification of my ineptness in this corporate skill made a colleague and I laugh so it has to come here.


Usually finding it difficult to engage on an acceptably 'corporate-level' I dread attending networking events and the trauma of honing in on a suitable topic of convrsation I can genuinely enjoy engaging in (I think this is my downfall - I think you aren't meant to enjoy it, only PRETEND you do... I'm pretty awful at 'pretending' too though, so even that realisation doesn't help matters.) UNusually, I came across someone who I did have an interesting conversation with. A young psychotherapist specialising in existential psychotherapy.


So we had a nice chat about Camus and Sartre (and of course Freud - you just HAVE to) and how their ideas are applied in a psychotherapeutic way.


Upon exiting the networking event, I spotted the therapist so went over, tapped him on his shoulder, told him I was leaving and that it was nice to meet him and good luck in his latest endeavours (was setting up a business of his own) I left feeling especially pleaseed with myself at how smooth I had been, not only in engaging a 'colleague' for half an hour pleasantly but also being so careful as to 'finish' the network professionally.


I turned to note to my friend/colleague Claire, who had accompanied me as I said my professional farewell, that the therapist had looked strangely at me when I went to say goodbye and pondered on why this could be. Claire indulgently explained that my networking efforts were much noted but that perhaps next time, I should make sure I said goodbye to the same man I had been taking to in the first place, and not some random stranger who didn't know me from Adam.


Much unprofessional giggling ensued.

A wordy website

Drawn to my attention by a fellow linguaphile:

http://www.worldwidewords.org/weirdwords/

Isobel Faye Higgs

My new little cousin. And I'm so PLEASED it's a girl! MORE girls in the family! Whooo-hooo!

The Lost Myth of the Venus-child

Dear Imogen,

You speak of the delicious Mr Depp.

Perhaps I should recount a little known myth that it is imperative your classics students become familiar with. I cannot reveal from which source I came to know of this myth..... only that it is true, and if it not be so, may the knarled hand of The Fates cut short the very string of my too, too sullied life and send me winging to the very bowels of dark Hades........

As the end of the Golden Age of the Gods approached, all-mighty Zeus, tiring of the jealous ways of his wife-sister Hera, bid Aphrodite, goddess of love and beauty, to fashion a mortal male from the very core of her ambrosia-being. This mortal male, so delightful in looks and in radiant beauty, would serve to enchant the eye of Hera, turning her watchful gaze away from the adulterous mischief of her all-powerful and salacious husband. In return for her efforts, Zeus promised to free Aphrodite from her bond to lame-footed Hephaestos, and to unite her for all eternity with her true love, the war-like Ares.

Aphrodite, unable to resist such an offer, left Mount Olympus alone, leaving even her favourite behind, the light-winged Eros, to seek peaceful and concentrated refuge on the Island of Cyprus, which island she was fond of more than any other place on mankind's earth. There she began her work in creating a male more beautiful than even that most beautiful of all mortal beings, Helen of Troy.

So consummed with her work did Aphrodite become, that she failed to hear the call of Zeus for the gods and goddesses of his realm to leave Mount Olympus and to abandon mortal men and women to their fate forever.

Aphrodite, alone in the world, continued to work as if in a timeless trance, as she fashioned her most sublime personification of her nature. More inspiration and thought had Aphrodite never before bestowed into one single task. Her spirit and mind was absorbed for centuries with the perfection of her incandescant male. All her essence of being was poured forth over these long years, ensuring that Aphrodite's child-of-mind would be forever filled with the very quintessence of empyrean beauty.

In the year 1963, Aphrodite's work was finally complete. The sublime mortal man was ready for unveiling to mankind and to the now-vanished eye of Hera.

Her creation was sent forth from the Island of Cyprus to the unlikely town of Owensboro, Kentucky, his care being charged to a simple-born man and woman.

The god-child grew into his fated beauteous form as simply as a leaf swirls in the gentle breath of restless Eurus.

And now, though the time of the Gods has passed, men and women of the mortal kingdom can still recall the supreme power over beauty of this most lovely of all goddesses, by gazing upon the pinnacle of male exquisiteness that is Aphrodite's swan-song, Mr Johnny Depp.

'Twenty questions' (or at least some of them)

I haven’t written a list in a while and given that I bored to an extent previously unknown to man, woman or sentient being, I shall fill my final forty-five minutes in the office ‘listing’.

What to list though…..

I am creating some lists at work at the moment actually, based upon the personalities of our team. Our team has just doubled in size and as the ‘Initiator for the creation of team joy, unity and a happy, inspirational work-place’ I have decided to create a booklet for new starters and trainees etc that will give them an alternative introduction to the team… beyond the usual age, extension number and work history crap you normally get.

I’ve basically presented the team with my favourite ‘twenty questions’ list that I like to bark at strangers who accost me in bars, in place of normal conversation.

Anyways, I suppose I could recount the list that staff members are currently filling in – not with their responses of course. That would be unusually indiscreet even for me. No. I could, for my own amusement, fill them in myself. This prospect equally bores me though. I know my answers already and could recount them in my sleep.

OR, in fact, I could list my already installed Eclectic Initiatives to Personalise the Office, Create Staff Unity and Harbour Laughter and a Lightness of Soul never before experienced in a corporate law department ….and develop more. THEN I am, whilst blogging, also working! No guilt here then.

Just let me turn on my ‘Non-chargeable’ clock… this is clearly ‘New product development’….

On second thoughts. So good are these inspired ideas, they would clearly be stolen by the raft of rival law-firm fee earners who daily visit the spaghetti junction that is my blog. I cannot let this be.

Additionally, Roll On Friday have recently been spying into the affairs of close Manchester colleagues of mine and I am aware of the insiduous gaze of the legal profession into areas you never expect them to intrude or discover.

Crapola.

OK, in no particular order:

Ideal three dinner party invites:
Bill Clinton, Johnny Depp, Alan Bennett

What other job would you most like to do:
Zoologist at the Virunga Mountain Research Facility

What did your school report typically say about you:
Natalie needs to put as much effort into her written work as she dos into her oral work

If you were a jungle animal what would you be?
A bonobo

Which literary creation do you most identify with/would most like to be like:

Scarlett O’Hara OF COURSE!!! – for COUNTLESS reasons. She was independent, headstrong, passionate, ground-breaking (for clarification here – she was a female from the deep south in 19 century who owned and ran her own businesses, created a cotton plantation, physically defended her own territory and negotiated with the enemy at a high level of authority to protect her own family – not of this was ‘acceptable’ for a mere woman at the time) authoritative and intelligent. ‘Tis a height sincerely to be aspired to.

If you could have one super power what would it be:

See Super power blog below.
That, or immortality.
Saying that - I recently came across a beautiful but fated idea somewhere recently that I can’t identify in my memory. Something is saying in Jack Nicholson and Morgan Freeman’s latest film that I recently went to see (In place of Johnny Depp!!!!! THATS how much I love Morgan's voice) but I’m sure it’s not that. Anyway, the idea was: Would people accept immortalty if offered? To prompt consideration, this story was told……A woman was offered a vial of liquid that would make her immortal. She decided she would accept immortality, but she only drank half - saving the rest for her future lover that she immediately embarked on a search to find. She realised immortality alone was no fun and so her key to beating the immortality Achilles’ heel was to find the person she could spend the rest of her life with and give them the potion. Unfortunately, so important did finding the right man become, that as time passed, it became more and more impossible to find the person worthy of the immortal liquid. After all, this would be the only person to could exist in eternity with. After the passing of centuries of disappointment and finding all men lacking to her ideal, she began to view all men as failures and resigned herself to a life of lonely immortality.
‘Tis the age-old vampire problem. Part of what adds to their romantic stature I guess. (Poor Lestat….)

What colour best represents you:

Yellow – loud, happy but sometimes overwhelming…..
‘Tis also the colour of the mighty leo Lion.

Would you rather have a face for a bum or a bum for a face:

Face for a bum. :)That cracks me up every time. Surely NO-ONE says ‘bum for a face', though’???

Lose a leg or lose an arm:

Leg definitely. You can cover up the leg and leg prosthetics are developed enough to mostly replace the natural leg function. Not so with an arm as the hand and fingers are so dextrous and complex and technology hasn’t advanced to replicate this yet.
(Also – you could get one of those legs the Olympic runner has that is made of sprung steel or something that means you can bounce along the road at high speed.)

If you could one one of the four major talents; Musical ability, Literary ability, Artistic ability
Mental ability, which would it be:

Musical ability. "I think music can express subtleties that neither literary nor visual artistic endeavours can."

If you could save one item from your burning house, what would it be?

My Victorian pearl and ruby lavaliere. That sounds odd as it is jewellery based and I am not a jewellery fan – not real ‘gems’ anyway. I find real gems gauche, for one – I am not someone who would be delighted by the presentation of a diamond necklace for example. Gems/modern jewellery are a minefield of ethical implications so it is best just to stay away – it’s not like I’m missing out on much either, a small bead of glass looks just like a diamond – why does it HAVE to be a diamond? It’s only social snobbery/vanity that distinguishes one from the other.

No. The reason why is 1. Because I do have objections to jewellry, being ‘second-hand’ it’s the few/one piece of ‘real’ jewellry I am happy to wear. 2. It was my Grandma's and is the only item of hers I have. 3. I have another sentimental attachment to it beyond it being my Grandma’s – my sister wore it for her wedding and I was soooo touched by this. I know I shouldn’t take it personally – lavalieres are beautiful (and no longer made really – it was the Victorians and Edwardians primarily who loved them and they went out of fashion with them. Lord knows why.) so of course she should want to wear it. It was a perfect fit with her dress too. But I was still chuffed knowing Caroline was walking down the aisle having chosen to wear, of all pieces of jewellery, my favourite. (it was of course her something borrowed and something old)

What would be the best aspect of being a member of the opposite sex?

Childhood games. Boys games are sooo much better than girls. Cowboys and Indians, tree-houses, camping, digging for treasure/insects. They are all also all more out-doorsey than girls. They have adventure at their heart too.

OK. The class-room bell has rung and I am free.

Disclaimer:
Any reference to time zones or physical location at the time of writing (“the Time”) is purely fictitious and should not be viewed as a genuine reflection of the writer’s actual status at the Time.

It Is Like It Ought To Be - A Pastoral

I recently attended THE MOST BIZARRE theatre experience I have ever been 'exposed' to.

I don't even know how to explain what I witnessed for seventy minutes.

Probably best is just to explain the rough sequence of events:

Upon entering the theatre, we were greeted by five actors in 19 century clothes, most playing folky-tunes on instruments (accordion, cello, violin/trumpet... yes, it was violin-trumpet COMBINED.. I didn't understand it looking at it and still don't) who stopped playing every so often to hand out glasses of cider...and to invite us..... to apple bob.

Several people apple bobbed with the help of the cast. (remarkably - mostly women with full faces of makeup and freshly coiffed hair - fair play) Then, volunteers having dwindled, one of the two actresses began to bob herself, with much fanfare, because she could, we were told, fit TWO apples in her mouth at once.

And so she could.

On her final extraction from the bath of water, the actress exploded out of the bath and started SCREAMING, with no seeming reason, in 'tongues' or witch curses... or something. I couldn't really hear as I was too focused on the fact that her cast mate was now, head-locking her, and fully immersing her head in the bath water, before dragging her out - by her throat - to allow her to 'tongues' some more. Several times. Then he kind of flung her onto the floor, where she collapsed...apparently 'unconscious'.

She was then bound up, and the audience was ushered into their seats - by the remaining three actors - swishing branches and long twigs (!) through the air in front of us.... and shouting 'Move along! Move along!' :)))))))))

Then twenty minutes of poetry about living in the country, away from the city, creating your own 'society' hidden in a valley ensued.

Then twenty minutes of the actors interspersing playing their instruments with making FARM ANIMAL noises. They didn't just make the noises, they recorded their noises on little dictaphones... and then walked up and down the stage.... not saying A WORD, replaying the noises....for the ENTIRE twenty minutes...every so often, walking in and out of the audience seats, and playing the noises to the faces of the audience members.

So far, so surreal.

Then, one of the actor went into a suitcase, and proceeded to unload roughly thirty mechanical fluffy white rabbits, set them around the stage, and set them to hop around, blink their red-lit eyes, and make 'squeaky noises'.

This we watched for some ten minutes.

Just sat.... watching the hopping, squeaky rabbits.

Then, poetry again...a storm is coming.

Instruments out again - loud stormy music.

Two of the actors begin disrobing (the advert had said 'Not suitable for children: Contains nudity') the male disrober, produced a bowl of mud, and having revealed his sinewy frame in its entirity, rubbed mud over thia entire, and I mean ENTIRE, body.

He then, got down on his hands and knees, and crawled in a circle like a dog making a bed. :))))))))))))))))))))))))))))
Then he got up onto his hands and feet, and walked around the stage like a bear on all fours.

The female disrober at this point, had revealed her boobs, and was laid out on the floor, rubbing dried leaves all over her clothes and boobs. And rolling.

At some point she started madly eating apples... and spitting and dribbling the mulch from her mouth onto the floor.

I think the other actors were playing music and screaming at this point. I don't know. It was all very confusing for me. :))))))

Then, onto the stage walks a women covered in a long velvet black cloak. She stood on a podium and shouted some brutal, storm-related words. While her cast mates rolled in leaves spitting apples and walked around like naked, muddy bears. (The little rabbits were still going by the way).

Then, with a loud bang, everything stopped (the storm...was over....)

Veeeeeerrrrrry slowly, the cloaked woman turned around.... to reveal her face...which was...a horse's face.

It was very freaky. David Lynch would have been proud. It has given me much fodder for future nightmares.

Then they put their clothes back on... and proceeded to kill a fake horse. It was blugeoned to death. And left in the middle of the stage. The poor horse (previously billed as 'the love horse' that audience members had been invited to 'speak to ' and record messages of love into it... for the love horse also contained a magical dictaphone)

The little rabbits were then set on the fake horse... to 'eat it'.

Then, light folky music came back on.... and all quietly sat down on the stage, got out A KETTLE and made a cup of tea. And just sat quietly for some minutes.

We sat watching them drink tea.

Then they recited nice poetry about rivers and kissing.

And that was it.

They disappeared off stage, and came back on for their applause, wearing plastic animals masks. A hound dog, a pig, a sheep, a horse and an owl.

And that was it.

And I will end this blog in the same way I came out of my surreal theatre experience, with a ????????????????? :)))))))))))))))))))))))))))) ?????????????????????

“The latest show from Uninvited Guests is absolutely brilliant… this is a clever, engaging and tightly controlled show.” The Guardian