Saying goodbye in foreign is so much better, don't you think?
Till we meet again, is so much less final somehow...
Tomorrow we're off to Paris, where I am thrilled to be going to the wedding of someone whose au pair I was half a lifetime ago. Last year I blogged about meeting up with her wonderful parents after an absence of many years, and now I'm off to see the whole family again for her wedding. It feels like a real privilege and honour to be invited, and apart from a slight angst about how utterly crap my French now is, I can't wait...
After Paris, we're off to Germany, staying overnight at Worms to break our journey (many years ago we were travelling through Europe and needed to stop for the night, and I made us stay in Worms on the basis it was Historic - there were many Diets of Worms, if sixteenth century religious politics turns you on - it's a beautiful Rhineland town, so we're going back for a night, before embarking on a whirlwind tour of northern Germany catching up with mil's rellies. After about eight visits, my German just about stands up to muster, but it's bloody hard work I can tell you. Spouse always accuses me of speaking in thoughts, not sentences... (and he's not wrong).
So, maniac mum is going quiet for a while.
Which is a pity.
As...
I was going to blog about my dodd (dear old departed dad), whose anniversary it is tomorrow, but hey, I''ll spare you the misery fest and just say, I wish he were here now to know that I was about to be published. Words is my business and words is what he taught me... I miss him more than I can say, even after all this time. One day, I'll do justice to that thought.
I was also going to blog about the madness of my day, trying to get packed and ready, and the stress of standing in a queue at Waitrose, when I wanted to be exchanging something at M&S, and I only had about ten minutes to make it back to school. But you're spared that too...
I will just say that I made it out again with Lovely Friend on another celebration of her birthday, except we were so sodding busy packing Spouse and I missed eating... The bottle of wine we drank was very nice though. And...
Eleanor Roosevelt once said something along the lines of you meet many people in life, who you like, but very few leave footprints on your heart. Lovely Friend is one who's left her footprint on mine. There are a few others too. I hope they know who they are. I certainly do.
It's late. We mistakenly thought we'd booked Eurotunnel for 11am and it turns out we were mistaken and it was 10 am. So we have to leave earlier then I imagined.
There've been a few more people coming to my blog of late, and I am immensely grateful to you all. Sometimes I feel like I'm pissing in the wind, so it's nice to know that somewhere, someone's bothering to read this...
See y'all in a week or so.
Be good now, why don't you....
Thursday, May 24, 2007
Monday, May 21, 2007
Supercalifragilisticexpialidocious!
We've had the greatest weekend.
In fact, I think I'd go as far to say its one of the best family weekends we've ever had.
Some months ago, when I got news that I was finally after eight years of trying going to be a published author, apart from thinking Waahahaaaaaay!!!! I also decided that rather then fritter all my well earned dosh away on boring things like school shoes and gas bills, we ought to go and celebrate as a family.
Now the kids are bigger, a trip to a London show doesn't present the scary prospect it once did (though my bank balance is somewhat dented), so I decided that's what we'd do. I really wanted to go to The Sound of Music, but being as tickets are like gold dust and you need to be far more organised then I am and book about a hundred years in advance, I couldn't get hold of any, so I went for Mary Poppins instead.
Mary Poppins for my generation = Julie Andrews, and though I've enjoyed revisiting the film with the children, I don't know... she seems a bit TOO prim and proper for me, and I've always struggled with Dick Van Dyke's atrocious accent.
So it was a nice surprise to find this Mary Poppins was somewhat more fun then the film version. In fact, I'd go as far to say that the stage version was heaps better. It brought depth, and poignancy to the story, in a way I wouldn't have imagined from the film. Plus the kids who played Jane and Michael were much much better.
I also really liked Bert, who was portrayed as a kind of guardian angel, and seemed to have as much magic at his fingertips as MP herself.
The kids were completely enthralled (despite no 4's initial reluctance to come as she was missing out on a party), so much so that no 3 turned to me in awe after the scene in which Mary arrived and picked things out of her carpet bag (including hatstands/lamps, sheets etc) to put up in the nursery - That's REAL, she said. Being nearly seven, I suspect the artifice/magic divide is beginning to slip a tad, but here we were, somewhere where she knew the magic was pretend, and yet... it might actually be true...
I know how she felt really. The whole production was so spellbinding, the dancing and singing so magical, the sets so imaginative, for a precious few hours I really could imagine a world in which a mysterious nanny comes blowing in when the wind changes to set right the domestic chaos of the Banks household.
Heaven knows, I could certainly do with her from time to time....
Another charming aspect of this production (and one I think probably missing from both the books and the film) was the portrayal of Mr Banks. To me he seemed the epitome of modern man in a way - desperate to keep some order while the chaos of an unfair world howls at the door. The scene where he finally showed his true colours at the bank, by denouncing a scheme he had failed to invest in as being shallow and false, and Mrs B comes rushing in to stand by her man, brought tears to my eyes. As did their realisation together that what they had as a family was more precious then the outward show of the house and the job, that others thought important.
Plus ca change...
At the end of the show, the whole family realise they don't need Mary Poppins anymore (a little bit like the family in Nanny McPhee) and she flies off with her umbrella, in what has to rate as one of the most spectacular things I've ever seen on a stage - they didn't just fly her off the stage, they took her up into the gods. The kids (and us grown ups too) were all sitting their with their mouths open.
It was absolutely wonderful - feel good theatre at its very best. And while it was punishing on the pocket, I hope we've given the kids an experience they will treasure forever.
Afterwards we wandered through Covent Garden and watched the mime artists, before heading on for TGI Fridays for something to eat. While we were waiting for our table the kids were sufficiently distracted by the big TV screen for us to have a quiet drink at the bar - although there was a collective Oh No! moment when they realised they were about to miss Dr Who.
We wandered back to Victoria through St James Park - a walk I took with the kids at half term. One of the joys of London I always think is its parks - vital green lungs in the heart of the city. And when we got to the Buckingham Palace end and looked back down the lake towards a fabulous old building (the which I cannot recall having seen before and I have no knowledge of what it is), I felt that happy ecstatic leap of joy that always comes to me on trips to London. It is just such a privilege to live close enough to visit, even if we don't do it often.
Yesterday we had to rouse the kids much earlier then anyone would have liked, as no 2 was in a gym competition, so we had to be at Guildford Spectrum at 9.40am, which was a bit grim for a Sunday morning.
However, after watching her compete (she tried her best but sadly forgot a part of her routine involving a bridge, and her cartwheel went in her words, totally pearshaped, so she didn't win anything. Still it's the taking part that counts...),we then spent an hour in the pool, which has several water slides and a wave machine. Just the place for a neurotic mum like me to spend a Sunday morning, especially as no 3 will insist on doing her own thing (like trying to go in the diving pool when she can barely swim 5 metres). However, the kids had a great time, and it reminded me of something I don't take notice of too often. Viz... when we're all together we do generally have a really great time.
It was too late for them to watch the repeat of Dr Who last night, so we videoed it for them and told them they could get up early to watch it this morning. Spouse even made popcorn.
So, when I came down this morning they were all fully dressed, and ready to go, having spent a happy half hour in front of the box.
And all the popcorn had gone....
I moan a lot about my life, but really.
Sometimes it is just great being a mum...
In fact, I think I'd go as far to say its one of the best family weekends we've ever had.
Some months ago, when I got news that I was finally after eight years of trying going to be a published author, apart from thinking Waahahaaaaaay!!!! I also decided that rather then fritter all my well earned dosh away on boring things like school shoes and gas bills, we ought to go and celebrate as a family.
Now the kids are bigger, a trip to a London show doesn't present the scary prospect it once did (though my bank balance is somewhat dented), so I decided that's what we'd do. I really wanted to go to The Sound of Music, but being as tickets are like gold dust and you need to be far more organised then I am and book about a hundred years in advance, I couldn't get hold of any, so I went for Mary Poppins instead.
Mary Poppins for my generation = Julie Andrews, and though I've enjoyed revisiting the film with the children, I don't know... she seems a bit TOO prim and proper for me, and I've always struggled with Dick Van Dyke's atrocious accent.
So it was a nice surprise to find this Mary Poppins was somewhat more fun then the film version. In fact, I'd go as far to say that the stage version was heaps better. It brought depth, and poignancy to the story, in a way I wouldn't have imagined from the film. Plus the kids who played Jane and Michael were much much better.
I also really liked Bert, who was portrayed as a kind of guardian angel, and seemed to have as much magic at his fingertips as MP herself.
The kids were completely enthralled (despite no 4's initial reluctance to come as she was missing out on a party), so much so that no 3 turned to me in awe after the scene in which Mary arrived and picked things out of her carpet bag (including hatstands/lamps, sheets etc) to put up in the nursery - That's REAL, she said. Being nearly seven, I suspect the artifice/magic divide is beginning to slip a tad, but here we were, somewhere where she knew the magic was pretend, and yet... it might actually be true...
I know how she felt really. The whole production was so spellbinding, the dancing and singing so magical, the sets so imaginative, for a precious few hours I really could imagine a world in which a mysterious nanny comes blowing in when the wind changes to set right the domestic chaos of the Banks household.
Heaven knows, I could certainly do with her from time to time....
Another charming aspect of this production (and one I think probably missing from both the books and the film) was the portrayal of Mr Banks. To me he seemed the epitome of modern man in a way - desperate to keep some order while the chaos of an unfair world howls at the door. The scene where he finally showed his true colours at the bank, by denouncing a scheme he had failed to invest in as being shallow and false, and Mrs B comes rushing in to stand by her man, brought tears to my eyes. As did their realisation together that what they had as a family was more precious then the outward show of the house and the job, that others thought important.
Plus ca change...
At the end of the show, the whole family realise they don't need Mary Poppins anymore (a little bit like the family in Nanny McPhee) and she flies off with her umbrella, in what has to rate as one of the most spectacular things I've ever seen on a stage - they didn't just fly her off the stage, they took her up into the gods. The kids (and us grown ups too) were all sitting their with their mouths open.
It was absolutely wonderful - feel good theatre at its very best. And while it was punishing on the pocket, I hope we've given the kids an experience they will treasure forever.
Afterwards we wandered through Covent Garden and watched the mime artists, before heading on for TGI Fridays for something to eat. While we were waiting for our table the kids were sufficiently distracted by the big TV screen for us to have a quiet drink at the bar - although there was a collective Oh No! moment when they realised they were about to miss Dr Who.
We wandered back to Victoria through St James Park - a walk I took with the kids at half term. One of the joys of London I always think is its parks - vital green lungs in the heart of the city. And when we got to the Buckingham Palace end and looked back down the lake towards a fabulous old building (the which I cannot recall having seen before and I have no knowledge of what it is), I felt that happy ecstatic leap of joy that always comes to me on trips to London. It is just such a privilege to live close enough to visit, even if we don't do it often.
Yesterday we had to rouse the kids much earlier then anyone would have liked, as no 2 was in a gym competition, so we had to be at Guildford Spectrum at 9.40am, which was a bit grim for a Sunday morning.
However, after watching her compete (she tried her best but sadly forgot a part of her routine involving a bridge, and her cartwheel went in her words, totally pearshaped, so she didn't win anything. Still it's the taking part that counts...),we then spent an hour in the pool, which has several water slides and a wave machine. Just the place for a neurotic mum like me to spend a Sunday morning, especially as no 3 will insist on doing her own thing (like trying to go in the diving pool when she can barely swim 5 metres). However, the kids had a great time, and it reminded me of something I don't take notice of too often. Viz... when we're all together we do generally have a really great time.
It was too late for them to watch the repeat of Dr Who last night, so we videoed it for them and told them they could get up early to watch it this morning. Spouse even made popcorn.
So, when I came down this morning they were all fully dressed, and ready to go, having spent a happy half hour in front of the box.
And all the popcorn had gone....
I moan a lot about my life, but really.
Sometimes it is just great being a mum...
I Don't Like Mondays
Are you having a bad day?
It could be worse...
You could be this poor chap...
I'm fretting this might happen to me, after all I'm here all day on my own. I am rather hoping though, that my husband might notice when he walks from our bedroom to the office to go to the loo.
On the other hand...
It could be worse...
You could be this poor chap...
I'm fretting this might happen to me, after all I'm here all day on my own. I am rather hoping though, that my husband might notice when he walks from our bedroom to the office to go to the loo.
On the other hand...
Thursday, May 17, 2007
All in One Piece
I actually went out last night. Goodness. That's two weeks on the trot. Any more of this gadding about and I might lay claim to having such a thing as a social life.
The reason I don't get out much is because of course I am the mother of four children. Apart from the fact that I am often too knackered to even think about it, just the effort of getting out even now makes it sometimes seem not worth the candle.
The only way we managed to get out last week was because our Lovely Friend came to babysit, and she is so lovely I don't feel too guilty about dropping everything and running, which is pretty much what we did. (Though in order for us to go out at all, the kids had to miss tennis and no 1 didn't go to Guides). It was the first time in nearly five years Spouse and I have been out in London together - our last attempt ended disastrously as I was called home to deal with no 4's first asthma attack, and ended up taking her to hospital at 1am, the thought of which still fills me with Big Guilt...
If you like me, are a fan of Jill Murphy, you may know a story about the Large family called All in One Piece. The Large Family are elephants and they have four children so not unnaturally I have rather a feeling of kinship with Mrs Large. In All in One Piece poor Mrs L tries to get out for the evening while the children cause merry mayhem around her. I know just how she feels....
As it was Lovely Friend's birthday, it was one of those occasions when being a lazy arse who can't be fagged to have a social life simply won't do. Lovely Friend not only babysits for us, she is the kind of friend who will drop everything for us in a crisis. I lost count of the times she's helped out when we've really needed it. I would go over hot coals to be at her birthday party if I had to.
And I nearly did....
Everything conspired against me from the off.
Spouse begged leave to go for a quick early pint, which I gave on the strict understanding he'd be back by 8pm.
Nos 2&3 were brought back from Brownies around 7.15, by which time no 4 was heavily ensconced watching The Lion King. When I became evil mum extraordinaire and turned it off, No 3 burst into paroxysms of IT's NOT FAIR type weeping.
I chased the littlies up to bed, and tried to get changed while no 1 fired rapid questions at me about downloading music from a cd onto the computer, so she can save it on her new MP3 player. It is a truth universally acknowledged by all parents that sooner or later your tweenie will start understanding new technology much much better then you do.
Nos 3&4 then launched into world war three, which I had to calm down while still half dressed.
Then no 2 decided she HAD to practise for her gym competition on Sunday. As this involved doing cartwheels in our rather small family room, and she has history of injuring herself, I thought it wholly advisable to watch her...
Cartwheels completed it was back upstairs to finish getting changed and sort out the latest barney between the little ones.
No 3 then announced she was hungry, and I told her she just had to wait.
By 7.50 there was no sign of Spouse, no 1 was still shouting at me, nos 3&4were stilll shouting at each other, no 2 had moved onto handstands and I hadn't even started wrapping the present. I also couldn't find my handbag, and when I went to switch on the dishwasher realised we'd run out of dishwasher tabs.
By the time Spouse arrived at 8.10 (he had got sidetracked watering our friends' allotment) I was screaming that No 3 was going to have to go hungry and wondering how on earth I was ever going to get out of the house. Thankfully Spouse dealt with the hunger pangs, while I wrapped the present and remembered that my handbag was still in the car.
I eventually left the house at nearly 8.30. As I passed the Co Op en route, I not unnaturally went to buy dishwasher powder... always thinking domestically me, even on a night out.
Lovely friend was there with very Drunk Work Colleague. VDWC is highly entertaining, so it was enjoyable sparring with him, given that I was totally stone cold sober. Mind you, that state of affairs didn't last long.
We were chucked out of the bar we were in at 10pm, so we wandered back up to the local Spouse and I have been drinking in since time immemorial. Aaah... the stories I have about that place. It seems to currently be working its way into the wip somehow. All I'll say here is that it is known locally as The Stranglers on account of a previous landlord having come to a sticky (and strangled) end at the hands of his wife's lover. It also has ghosts, or so I'm told, and is one of the few pubs I've ever been in that I don't mind walking into on my own.
Before I knew it, time had gone all elastic on me and it was midnight - which is way past my normal bedtime. Oh dear.... I rang Spouse to say Oh Dear, but I think he was feeling so bad about having got in late he didn't tell me off. I'll be back soon I said...
Soon turned into nearly 1am, so it was very oh dear this morning.
Particularly as I had promised to go swimming with another lovely friend...
It was a sharp shock I can tell you, but not a bad way of getting rid of a hangover...
And I've just reminded myself that sometimes it's worth the effort of getting out, even if I'm not quite all in one piece the next day...
To lovely friend, hope you enjoyed your birthday as much as I did....xxxx
The reason I don't get out much is because of course I am the mother of four children. Apart from the fact that I am often too knackered to even think about it, just the effort of getting out even now makes it sometimes seem not worth the candle.
The only way we managed to get out last week was because our Lovely Friend came to babysit, and she is so lovely I don't feel too guilty about dropping everything and running, which is pretty much what we did. (Though in order for us to go out at all, the kids had to miss tennis and no 1 didn't go to Guides). It was the first time in nearly five years Spouse and I have been out in London together - our last attempt ended disastrously as I was called home to deal with no 4's first asthma attack, and ended up taking her to hospital at 1am, the thought of which still fills me with Big Guilt...
If you like me, are a fan of Jill Murphy, you may know a story about the Large family called All in One Piece. The Large Family are elephants and they have four children so not unnaturally I have rather a feeling of kinship with Mrs Large. In All in One Piece poor Mrs L tries to get out for the evening while the children cause merry mayhem around her. I know just how she feels....
As it was Lovely Friend's birthday, it was one of those occasions when being a lazy arse who can't be fagged to have a social life simply won't do. Lovely Friend not only babysits for us, she is the kind of friend who will drop everything for us in a crisis. I lost count of the times she's helped out when we've really needed it. I would go over hot coals to be at her birthday party if I had to.
And I nearly did....
Everything conspired against me from the off.
Spouse begged leave to go for a quick early pint, which I gave on the strict understanding he'd be back by 8pm.
Nos 2&3 were brought back from Brownies around 7.15, by which time no 4 was heavily ensconced watching The Lion King. When I became evil mum extraordinaire and turned it off, No 3 burst into paroxysms of IT's NOT FAIR type weeping.
I chased the littlies up to bed, and tried to get changed while no 1 fired rapid questions at me about downloading music from a cd onto the computer, so she can save it on her new MP3 player. It is a truth universally acknowledged by all parents that sooner or later your tweenie will start understanding new technology much much better then you do.
Nos 3&4 then launched into world war three, which I had to calm down while still half dressed.
Then no 2 decided she HAD to practise for her gym competition on Sunday. As this involved doing cartwheels in our rather small family room, and she has history of injuring herself, I thought it wholly advisable to watch her...
Cartwheels completed it was back upstairs to finish getting changed and sort out the latest barney between the little ones.
No 3 then announced she was hungry, and I told her she just had to wait.
By 7.50 there was no sign of Spouse, no 1 was still shouting at me, nos 3&4were stilll shouting at each other, no 2 had moved onto handstands and I hadn't even started wrapping the present. I also couldn't find my handbag, and when I went to switch on the dishwasher realised we'd run out of dishwasher tabs.
By the time Spouse arrived at 8.10 (he had got sidetracked watering our friends' allotment) I was screaming that No 3 was going to have to go hungry and wondering how on earth I was ever going to get out of the house. Thankfully Spouse dealt with the hunger pangs, while I wrapped the present and remembered that my handbag was still in the car.
I eventually left the house at nearly 8.30. As I passed the Co Op en route, I not unnaturally went to buy dishwasher powder... always thinking domestically me, even on a night out.
Lovely friend was there with very Drunk Work Colleague. VDWC is highly entertaining, so it was enjoyable sparring with him, given that I was totally stone cold sober. Mind you, that state of affairs didn't last long.
We were chucked out of the bar we were in at 10pm, so we wandered back up to the local Spouse and I have been drinking in since time immemorial. Aaah... the stories I have about that place. It seems to currently be working its way into the wip somehow. All I'll say here is that it is known locally as The Stranglers on account of a previous landlord having come to a sticky (and strangled) end at the hands of his wife's lover. It also has ghosts, or so I'm told, and is one of the few pubs I've ever been in that I don't mind walking into on my own.
Before I knew it, time had gone all elastic on me and it was midnight - which is way past my normal bedtime. Oh dear.... I rang Spouse to say Oh Dear, but I think he was feeling so bad about having got in late he didn't tell me off. I'll be back soon I said...
Soon turned into nearly 1am, so it was very oh dear this morning.
Particularly as I had promised to go swimming with another lovely friend...
It was a sharp shock I can tell you, but not a bad way of getting rid of a hangover...
And I've just reminded myself that sometimes it's worth the effort of getting out, even if I'm not quite all in one piece the next day...
To lovely friend, hope you enjoyed your birthday as much as I did....xxxx
Monday, May 14, 2007
The Auditors Are In...
I may have mentioned once or twice, that I am a big Terry Pratchett fan. Did I say big? I mean HUGE...
The guy is a living genius and should be up there with Alan Bennett et al as one of our National Treasures. I can't think of a single living author who so relentlessly and comically exposes the failures of our age (Soul Music - takes apart the pop industry; Moving Pictures - Hollywood; The Truth - the media; A Monstrous Regiment - the nature of war, with a strong empathy for the plight of the common soldier as well as a brilliant understanding of what makes women tick). He writes the most perfect satire, but because it is dressed up in the mad fantasy Discworld he's created (a world that travels through space on top four elephants supported by the great Turtle A'Ttuin), no one notices.
TP fans will know of course that at Christmas the first attempt to film a Discworld book was made by Sky. Being the season to be jolly, and everything else rhyming with olly (that line alone brings joy to my heart. Oh the sublime brilliance of the man), they not unnaturally chose The Hogfather, loosely translated as the story of how Death (who speaks in capital letters, has a horse named Binkie and tries very hard, and fails, to get humanity), saves the Discworld equivalent of Christmas.
Sadly, we don't have Sky, so we've had to wait till now to get the film on DVD. To our delight it was well worth the wait, being absolutely fabulous, incredibly true to the book, and very very funny.
The key premise to The Hogfather is that the universe is run by Auditors (that sounds familiar). They are shapeless beings (portrayed in the film in shimmering cloaks) who find humanity rather distasteful, and imagination awkward. So they hire the Guild of Assassins to kill the Hogfather, thereby destroying belief and ensuring the sun won't come up in the morning. Ultimately creating a world that is ordered and right, but without stories and heart and soul.
Terry Pratchett's big on stories, and I think he's right to be worried about the Auditors.
They've moved in to all areas of our lives, not least those of our children.
This week nos 1&3 are sitting the dreaded SATs. No 3 fortunately hasn't quite twigged what they are, but no 1 has been pressurised about the wretched things for months now. I have blogged before about how I think our current education system is just painting by numbers, so I won't go there again, but it does frustrate me that these poor kids are tested over and over again for no apparent educational purpose, but just so the Auditors can tick boxes.
I am lucky in that both my offspring are likely to do well in the tests (though quite frankly I don't honestly care if they don't), but no 1 never does as well in her writing assessments which she hates. Unfortunately THAT test is scheduled for tomorrow, which also happens to be her birthday.
Now I appreciate I am not a teacher and probably know diddly squat about education, but I was staggered a couple of years ago when one of her teachers showed me a tick box list of all the things that these kids are supposed to be able to put in their writing assessments. The list had about thirty five things in it, including use of adverbs, pronouns etc.
I'm all for them being grammatically correct and all that, but this seems to take the soul out of the bloody thing.
The main purpose of teaching our children to read and write is not so they'll all go on to read War and Peace (or even write it), but so that they can communicate with others when they eventually go out in the big bad world. So the essential points of any written work they do should be: does it make sense? Have they communicated their thoughts clearly and coherently?And if they're writing a story has it got a beginning, middle and end?
My inner editor was screaming as loud as loud can be, you're missing the bloody point here! Storytelling isn't about ticking boxes, it's about taking us some place out of ourselves into an imagined world created by a writer. Kids have the best imaginations in the world, and should be the best storytellers.
By breaking the act of writing down into so many disparate elements, the education system (I'm NOT blaming teachers here) has taken the Auditors' approach, and in doing so in my view they're destroying our kids' imaginations. No 1 regularly writes brilliant and wonderful stories at home, and yet time and time again I'm told that her writing is her weak point.
Is it her?
Or is it a system which is bleeding her imagination dry?
At the end of The Hogfather, with the help of his granddaughter Susan, and his butler Albert (gleefully played in the film by David Jason), Death defeats not only the Auditors, but Mr Teatime (pronounced Teah- tam- eh) the psychotic Assassin who's trying to kill Death just to see if he can.
He tells Susan that human beings need fantasies - or as he puts it the little lies: the Tooth Fairy, the Hogfather, so we can believe the big ones: justice, mercy, duty and so on. When Susan protests that it's not the same thing, Death points out that if you ground the Universe down through the finest of sieves you wouldn't find one atom of justice or one molecule of mercy. But we have to believe they exist to make them happen. Otherwise there's no point.
I understand that SATs are on their way out (at least in their current form), and if that's so, I certainly won't mourn their loss. Because there should be a place in education where the Auditors don't go, where children can learn to think and play and imagine. Otherwise, they'll never ever learn the big lies.
And then the sun really won't come up in the morning.
The guy is a living genius and should be up there with Alan Bennett et al as one of our National Treasures. I can't think of a single living author who so relentlessly and comically exposes the failures of our age (Soul Music - takes apart the pop industry; Moving Pictures - Hollywood; The Truth - the media; A Monstrous Regiment - the nature of war, with a strong empathy for the plight of the common soldier as well as a brilliant understanding of what makes women tick). He writes the most perfect satire, but because it is dressed up in the mad fantasy Discworld he's created (a world that travels through space on top four elephants supported by the great Turtle A'Ttuin), no one notices.
TP fans will know of course that at Christmas the first attempt to film a Discworld book was made by Sky. Being the season to be jolly, and everything else rhyming with olly (that line alone brings joy to my heart. Oh the sublime brilliance of the man), they not unnaturally chose The Hogfather, loosely translated as the story of how Death (who speaks in capital letters, has a horse named Binkie and tries very hard, and fails, to get humanity), saves the Discworld equivalent of Christmas.
Sadly, we don't have Sky, so we've had to wait till now to get the film on DVD. To our delight it was well worth the wait, being absolutely fabulous, incredibly true to the book, and very very funny.
The key premise to The Hogfather is that the universe is run by Auditors (that sounds familiar). They are shapeless beings (portrayed in the film in shimmering cloaks) who find humanity rather distasteful, and imagination awkward. So they hire the Guild of Assassins to kill the Hogfather, thereby destroying belief and ensuring the sun won't come up in the morning. Ultimately creating a world that is ordered and right, but without stories and heart and soul.
Terry Pratchett's big on stories, and I think he's right to be worried about the Auditors.
They've moved in to all areas of our lives, not least those of our children.
This week nos 1&3 are sitting the dreaded SATs. No 3 fortunately hasn't quite twigged what they are, but no 1 has been pressurised about the wretched things for months now. I have blogged before about how I think our current education system is just painting by numbers, so I won't go there again, but it does frustrate me that these poor kids are tested over and over again for no apparent educational purpose, but just so the Auditors can tick boxes.
I am lucky in that both my offspring are likely to do well in the tests (though quite frankly I don't honestly care if they don't), but no 1 never does as well in her writing assessments which she hates. Unfortunately THAT test is scheduled for tomorrow, which also happens to be her birthday.
Now I appreciate I am not a teacher and probably know diddly squat about education, but I was staggered a couple of years ago when one of her teachers showed me a tick box list of all the things that these kids are supposed to be able to put in their writing assessments. The list had about thirty five things in it, including use of adverbs, pronouns etc.
I'm all for them being grammatically correct and all that, but this seems to take the soul out of the bloody thing.
The main purpose of teaching our children to read and write is not so they'll all go on to read War and Peace (or even write it), but so that they can communicate with others when they eventually go out in the big bad world. So the essential points of any written work they do should be: does it make sense? Have they communicated their thoughts clearly and coherently?And if they're writing a story has it got a beginning, middle and end?
My inner editor was screaming as loud as loud can be, you're missing the bloody point here! Storytelling isn't about ticking boxes, it's about taking us some place out of ourselves into an imagined world created by a writer. Kids have the best imaginations in the world, and should be the best storytellers.
By breaking the act of writing down into so many disparate elements, the education system (I'm NOT blaming teachers here) has taken the Auditors' approach, and in doing so in my view they're destroying our kids' imaginations. No 1 regularly writes brilliant and wonderful stories at home, and yet time and time again I'm told that her writing is her weak point.
Is it her?
Or is it a system which is bleeding her imagination dry?
At the end of The Hogfather, with the help of his granddaughter Susan, and his butler Albert (gleefully played in the film by David Jason), Death defeats not only the Auditors, but Mr Teatime (pronounced Teah- tam- eh) the psychotic Assassin who's trying to kill Death just to see if he can.
He tells Susan that human beings need fantasies - or as he puts it the little lies: the Tooth Fairy, the Hogfather, so we can believe the big ones: justice, mercy, duty and so on. When Susan protests that it's not the same thing, Death points out that if you ground the Universe down through the finest of sieves you wouldn't find one atom of justice or one molecule of mercy. But we have to believe they exist to make them happen. Otherwise there's no point.
I understand that SATs are on their way out (at least in their current form), and if that's so, I certainly won't mourn their loss. Because there should be a place in education where the Auditors don't go, where children can learn to think and play and imagine. Otherwise, they'll never ever learn the big lies.
And then the sun really won't come up in the morning.
Friday, May 11, 2007
He rocks...
... It's official.
I have died and gone to heaven.
Ray Davies is a god.
Wow.
What an evening. What a bloody brilliant, fantastic wonderful evening.
Sorry you are in for some hyperbole...
Spouse and I arrived at the Albert Hall last night with minutes to spare (you try getting out of the door by 6pm when you have four kids and a husband who's walked in at 5.30...) and seeing that we hadn't a clue who the support was, decided we needed a bit of a breather before entering the fray.
So we got a drink and some nibbles (the frantic dash up to town having not left time for food), and sat in nervous anticipation of what was to come.
Suppose we don't like him, said Spouse.
Maybe he'll be a disappointment, I said.
Is it wise to go and see your idols? we both wondered anxiously. (This mainly from me, remembering a time when I went to see Margaret Atwood at the National. Given that she is only one of my two living literary idols - Terry Pratchett being t'other - I was nervous as hell. I queued up hours to get her to sign a copy of Cat's Eye, trying to think of something witty and incisive to say. And then when I got there, all I could do was babble incoherently about how brilliant she was... )
We needn't have worried.
We were sitting in the Arena in row 23, and in an aisle too boot. So we had a great view from the start.
From the minute he walked on stage, the atmosphere was electric. He launched straight into: I'm Not Like Everybody Else, which I forgot to mention yesterday. It's another of my favourites... and one I play to the children to give them the idea that they're individuals who should carve out their own niche in life (though I would kind of like them to get jobs...)
It was spine tinglingly good. I fell in love with that song when Spouse was given a live Kinks CD called To the Bone, but to hear it actually live... was, just amazing. What was so great about that, and pretty much everything else he did, was that it exceeded my expectations, and was BETTER then I could have thought possible.
Cheekily he fed into Where Have All The Good Times Gone?, which given the news that the long goodbye had finally been announced, I'm sure was not uncoincidental... And you realise just how bloody good he is, because the song is just as relevant today as when he first wrote it. And that goes for Dead End Street too, which came later. The original black and white video for that was banned for being too shocking, and now looks almost quaintly archaic, showing a glimpse into a world that no longer exists... At least not in that form. The two rooms, apartment on the second floor are now likely to be on a council estate rather then a tenement block, but sheesh, does that song still resonate. As did Celluloid Heroes, which I've always found incredibly poignant, and seems more true then ever before.
The gig got better and better. He had us jumping and clapping and shouting and singing... It's so great when you go to a gig and you KNOW all the words. I haven't sung so much in years. And even Spouse joined in. He was trying hard to be all English about it, but it was impossible not to get into the swing.
What was also fabulous about it was, that the new stuff, I didn't know was all wonderful too. His last album features a fantastic song called The Tourist which so perfectly encapsulates the way we travel and look at the countries we visit, and can only ever see a fraction of what is really there, and the song he ended his first set on, Twentieth Century Man, proves Ray Davies still has the capacity to write thought provoking songs that speak so eloquently of the times in which we live.
In between he was witty and urbane, moving smoothly from heavy rock numbers, to softly silent solos. We came out of the first half almost speechless, from the sheer dazzling brilliance of it all.
After a quick drink and excited cool down, we went back to a second half which, if such a thing could be possible ,was even better...
I can't remember the name of the song with which we were launched into the second set (I think it was called No One's Listening to Me) but it's new and deals with the aftermath of an incident three years ago when Ray Davies was shot. There was clearly a lot of personal stuff going on in there, but clever old Ray, he goes from the personal to the universal in the blink of an eye and has written a brilliant indictment of today's society, where no one listens, and those in power ignore the horrors around them. I am absolutely going to have to go out and buy his new album whenever it arrives. How wonderful to still be churning out such songs, even now... what a genius. What a star... What a god...
The hits then came so thick and fast, that I can't remember everything, but he had us all toe tapping to Come Dancing (which I don't actually like) and by the time he'd reached Set Me Free by way of Sunny Afternoon, Tired of Waiting For You (THAT was the song that featured in the last episode of Green Wing) people at the front were beginning to get to their feet. We were a bit too far back for my liking, and apart from a game couple to the left who were straining at the leash to get going, no one else around us was joining in sufficiently for me not to feel at total twat for leaping up.
I want to dance, I said.
Not yet, said Spouse, all English and self conscious.
Bugger that, I said, as Ray launched into The End of the Day, and I jumped up, and dragged him down the front.
And do you know, we were both so glad I did. I have never been so close to a stage before, we could have probably jumped up there with him. It was amazingly intimate, and very funny, as Ray Davies was interacting with the crowd in a hugely enjoyable way. And the songs. Those bloody marvellous unforgettable songs.
He saved the best till last.
A brilliant one, I've never heard before about his brother Dave - it summed up exactly how I will feel in a few years when no 1 goes out into the big bad world, another new one called The Getaway (God, I MUST have that album...) and then, oh joy, Lo-lo-lo-lo-lo fantastic wonderful witty Lola. Oh the joy. Had he ended there, my cup would have runneth over...
But he didn't.
We got an encore.
And then we got another one.
And STILL we hadn't had I Really Got You.
But finally it came. And boy was it worth waiting for. For anyone who has his album The Storyteller, you'll know that Ray was playing the first few bars on his piano in one room and he called Dave into listen. I don't get it says, Dave, till Ray ratchets it up a notch, and then another, and then another...
By the time he'd exploded into I REALLY GOT YOU, I doubt that there was a single person in the Albert Hall not on their feet. It was absolutely brilliant. Spouse and I dancing to our favourite song, practically touching the legend who wrote it. It doesn't get much better then that.
And then it did.
Because having got us all screaming, he quietened us down with a wonderful rendition of Waterloo Sunset, which has to be about Waterloo Bridge because there isn't a bridge at Liverpool Station...
Then he brought Mick Avory and another Kinks member whose name I forget back on stage to finish off with an anthem thumping Victoria. Not my favourite song. But it worked.
As no 1 would say, Ray Davies rocks.
And for two and a half perfect hours.
So did we.
I have died and gone to heaven.
Ray Davies is a god.
Wow.
What an evening. What a bloody brilliant, fantastic wonderful evening.
Sorry you are in for some hyperbole...
Spouse and I arrived at the Albert Hall last night with minutes to spare (you try getting out of the door by 6pm when you have four kids and a husband who's walked in at 5.30...) and seeing that we hadn't a clue who the support was, decided we needed a bit of a breather before entering the fray.
So we got a drink and some nibbles (the frantic dash up to town having not left time for food), and sat in nervous anticipation of what was to come.
Suppose we don't like him, said Spouse.
Maybe he'll be a disappointment, I said.
Is it wise to go and see your idols? we both wondered anxiously. (This mainly from me, remembering a time when I went to see Margaret Atwood at the National. Given that she is only one of my two living literary idols - Terry Pratchett being t'other - I was nervous as hell. I queued up hours to get her to sign a copy of Cat's Eye, trying to think of something witty and incisive to say. And then when I got there, all I could do was babble incoherently about how brilliant she was... )
We needn't have worried.
We were sitting in the Arena in row 23, and in an aisle too boot. So we had a great view from the start.
From the minute he walked on stage, the atmosphere was electric. He launched straight into: I'm Not Like Everybody Else, which I forgot to mention yesterday. It's another of my favourites... and one I play to the children to give them the idea that they're individuals who should carve out their own niche in life (though I would kind of like them to get jobs...)
It was spine tinglingly good. I fell in love with that song when Spouse was given a live Kinks CD called To the Bone, but to hear it actually live... was, just amazing. What was so great about that, and pretty much everything else he did, was that it exceeded my expectations, and was BETTER then I could have thought possible.
Cheekily he fed into Where Have All The Good Times Gone?, which given the news that the long goodbye had finally been announced, I'm sure was not uncoincidental... And you realise just how bloody good he is, because the song is just as relevant today as when he first wrote it. And that goes for Dead End Street too, which came later. The original black and white video for that was banned for being too shocking, and now looks almost quaintly archaic, showing a glimpse into a world that no longer exists... At least not in that form. The two rooms, apartment on the second floor are now likely to be on a council estate rather then a tenement block, but sheesh, does that song still resonate. As did Celluloid Heroes, which I've always found incredibly poignant, and seems more true then ever before.
The gig got better and better. He had us jumping and clapping and shouting and singing... It's so great when you go to a gig and you KNOW all the words. I haven't sung so much in years. And even Spouse joined in. He was trying hard to be all English about it, but it was impossible not to get into the swing.
What was also fabulous about it was, that the new stuff, I didn't know was all wonderful too. His last album features a fantastic song called The Tourist which so perfectly encapsulates the way we travel and look at the countries we visit, and can only ever see a fraction of what is really there, and the song he ended his first set on, Twentieth Century Man, proves Ray Davies still has the capacity to write thought provoking songs that speak so eloquently of the times in which we live.
In between he was witty and urbane, moving smoothly from heavy rock numbers, to softly silent solos. We came out of the first half almost speechless, from the sheer dazzling brilliance of it all.
After a quick drink and excited cool down, we went back to a second half which, if such a thing could be possible ,was even better...
I can't remember the name of the song with which we were launched into the second set (I think it was called No One's Listening to Me) but it's new and deals with the aftermath of an incident three years ago when Ray Davies was shot. There was clearly a lot of personal stuff going on in there, but clever old Ray, he goes from the personal to the universal in the blink of an eye and has written a brilliant indictment of today's society, where no one listens, and those in power ignore the horrors around them. I am absolutely going to have to go out and buy his new album whenever it arrives. How wonderful to still be churning out such songs, even now... what a genius. What a star... What a god...
The hits then came so thick and fast, that I can't remember everything, but he had us all toe tapping to Come Dancing (which I don't actually like) and by the time he'd reached Set Me Free by way of Sunny Afternoon, Tired of Waiting For You (THAT was the song that featured in the last episode of Green Wing) people at the front were beginning to get to their feet. We were a bit too far back for my liking, and apart from a game couple to the left who were straining at the leash to get going, no one else around us was joining in sufficiently for me not to feel at total twat for leaping up.
I want to dance, I said.
Not yet, said Spouse, all English and self conscious.
Bugger that, I said, as Ray launched into The End of the Day, and I jumped up, and dragged him down the front.
And do you know, we were both so glad I did. I have never been so close to a stage before, we could have probably jumped up there with him. It was amazingly intimate, and very funny, as Ray Davies was interacting with the crowd in a hugely enjoyable way. And the songs. Those bloody marvellous unforgettable songs.
He saved the best till last.
A brilliant one, I've never heard before about his brother Dave - it summed up exactly how I will feel in a few years when no 1 goes out into the big bad world, another new one called The Getaway (God, I MUST have that album...) and then, oh joy, Lo-lo-lo-lo-lo fantastic wonderful witty Lola. Oh the joy. Had he ended there, my cup would have runneth over...
But he didn't.
We got an encore.
And then we got another one.
And STILL we hadn't had I Really Got You.
But finally it came. And boy was it worth waiting for. For anyone who has his album The Storyteller, you'll know that Ray was playing the first few bars on his piano in one room and he called Dave into listen. I don't get it says, Dave, till Ray ratchets it up a notch, and then another, and then another...
By the time he'd exploded into I REALLY GOT YOU, I doubt that there was a single person in the Albert Hall not on their feet. It was absolutely brilliant. Spouse and I dancing to our favourite song, practically touching the legend who wrote it. It doesn't get much better then that.
And then it did.
Because having got us all screaming, he quietened us down with a wonderful rendition of Waterloo Sunset, which has to be about Waterloo Bridge because there isn't a bridge at Liverpool Station...
Then he brought Mick Avory and another Kinks member whose name I forget back on stage to finish off with an anthem thumping Victoria. Not my favourite song. But it worked.
As no 1 would say, Ray Davies rocks.
And for two and a half perfect hours.
So did we.
Thursday, May 10, 2007
You Really Got Me
As a girl of the eighties, I shouldn't by rights be into sixties music. Indeed. Until I met my husband I wasn't. As a teenager I spent rather alot of time bopping to the Beatles at the end of parties which rather put me off the whole decade.
I tend to think of music as adding the soundtrack to my life (which is why I always use it to inspire my writing).
Roxanne represents the moment I suddenly got pop music - coincidentally the first time I heard it was also the first time I got asked to dance. I had no idea it was about a prostitute, but hey, what the hell. Every time I hear it now my thirteen year old heart does a little leap - he asked me to dance, thereby fulfilling the most important desire of a girl's teenage years...
All that ska stuff, like Ghost Town and UB40 makes me think of strikes and pickets, and rocking against racism; the new Romantics took me through the trials of my late teens when I learnt that boys not only asked you to dance, but then they stopped asking you, too; Madonna, King, U2, Frankie Goes to Hollywood, Everything but the Girl exploded into my life as I experienced freedom for the first time, mainly on the dance floor late at night in Liverpool's seedier drinking holes...
But sixties music. Now in the main that had passed me by till I got together with Spouse. He introduced me to the Zombies, the Animals, the Mamas & Papas, loads of stuff I'd never heard of. And I haven't been able to enjoy the Beatles since, as there was so much more that I like far better.
California Dreamin' by the Mamas & Papas remains a favourite of mine (indeed, I used it for mood in Pastures New), as does She's Not There by the Zombies (which I haven't used yet, but I certainly will).
But the band I am most grateful to Spouse for introducing me to are the Kinks. Ray Davies in my book is a living genius. I love his storytelling capacity, his ability to poke fun, his wry social comment, and above all his ability to produce great simple songs that you can not only dance to, but which stick in your head forever...
My role of honour for Kinks' songs goes to:
Waterloo Sunset - two things coincide there for me. Waterloo Bridge happens to be my favourite bridge in London. I used to walk across it every day when I was commuting, and I love the grand sweep of vision you get from being on a bend in the river which means you can see London laid out in all its glory on both sides. Every time I hear the song I can picture that view.
All Day and All of the Night - encapsulates love's young dream so perfectly. And let's face it, who wouldn't want Ray singing to them he wants to be with them all day and all of the night... That will no doubt make its way into a book one day too.
Lola Bearing in mind I was a lot more innocent the first time I heard this song, I can remember the moment of revelation when I suddenly realised, that the singer not only knew he was a man, but so was Lo-lo-lo-lo-lo-Lola... I love that song. It is so funny and Ray Davies at his mischievous best.
But my favourite Kinks song is probably their simplest.
It's You Really Got Me and its the only song I can guarantee will drag my husband to the dance floor.
When I first met him, he had recently had the disappointment of driving all the way to Southampton to go to a Kinks gig which was cancelled. So last year I managed to book us tickets to see Ray Davies at the Royal Albert Hall only for that to be cancelled too.
Tonight, however, all things being well, we are finally going to get to see the man himself.
Here he is.
Isn't he lovely? (OK, not a patch on David Tennant, but David Tennant doesn't have a voice to make your soul sing).
I'm really looking forward to it.
I do hope he doesn't cancel.
Because I'm looking forward to a dance with my husband...
PS. A very kind friend has pointed out that apparently Waterloo Sunset was originally supposed to be Liverpool Sunset, and was about Liverpool Station, not about Waterloo at all... Although according to Wikipedia it IS about Waterloo Bridge... http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Waterloo_Sunset
The truth is out there I'm sure...
I tend to think of music as adding the soundtrack to my life (which is why I always use it to inspire my writing).
Roxanne represents the moment I suddenly got pop music - coincidentally the first time I heard it was also the first time I got asked to dance. I had no idea it was about a prostitute, but hey, what the hell. Every time I hear it now my thirteen year old heart does a little leap - he asked me to dance, thereby fulfilling the most important desire of a girl's teenage years...
All that ska stuff, like Ghost Town and UB40 makes me think of strikes and pickets, and rocking against racism; the new Romantics took me through the trials of my late teens when I learnt that boys not only asked you to dance, but then they stopped asking you, too; Madonna, King, U2, Frankie Goes to Hollywood, Everything but the Girl exploded into my life as I experienced freedom for the first time, mainly on the dance floor late at night in Liverpool's seedier drinking holes...
But sixties music. Now in the main that had passed me by till I got together with Spouse. He introduced me to the Zombies, the Animals, the Mamas & Papas, loads of stuff I'd never heard of. And I haven't been able to enjoy the Beatles since, as there was so much more that I like far better.
California Dreamin' by the Mamas & Papas remains a favourite of mine (indeed, I used it for mood in Pastures New), as does She's Not There by the Zombies (which I haven't used yet, but I certainly will).
But the band I am most grateful to Spouse for introducing me to are the Kinks. Ray Davies in my book is a living genius. I love his storytelling capacity, his ability to poke fun, his wry social comment, and above all his ability to produce great simple songs that you can not only dance to, but which stick in your head forever...
My role of honour for Kinks' songs goes to:
Waterloo Sunset - two things coincide there for me. Waterloo Bridge happens to be my favourite bridge in London. I used to walk across it every day when I was commuting, and I love the grand sweep of vision you get from being on a bend in the river which means you can see London laid out in all its glory on both sides. Every time I hear the song I can picture that view.
All Day and All of the Night - encapsulates love's young dream so perfectly. And let's face it, who wouldn't want Ray singing to them he wants to be with them all day and all of the night... That will no doubt make its way into a book one day too.
Lola Bearing in mind I was a lot more innocent the first time I heard this song, I can remember the moment of revelation when I suddenly realised, that the singer not only knew he was a man, but so was Lo-lo-lo-lo-lo-Lola... I love that song. It is so funny and Ray Davies at his mischievous best.
But my favourite Kinks song is probably their simplest.
It's You Really Got Me and its the only song I can guarantee will drag my husband to the dance floor.
When I first met him, he had recently had the disappointment of driving all the way to Southampton to go to a Kinks gig which was cancelled. So last year I managed to book us tickets to see Ray Davies at the Royal Albert Hall only for that to be cancelled too.
Tonight, however, all things being well, we are finally going to get to see the man himself.
Here he is.
Isn't he lovely? (OK, not a patch on David Tennant, but David Tennant doesn't have a voice to make your soul sing).
I'm really looking forward to it.
I do hope he doesn't cancel.
Because I'm looking forward to a dance with my husband...
PS. A very kind friend has pointed out that apparently Waterloo Sunset was originally supposed to be Liverpool Sunset, and was about Liverpool Station, not about Waterloo at all... Although according to Wikipedia it IS about Waterloo Bridge... http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Waterloo_Sunset
The truth is out there I'm sure...
Wednesday, May 09, 2007
Dr Who Wed Em Bed Em or Shed Em...
As my Wed Em, Bed Em or Shed Em game proved so popular at my party, I've been talking about sex and Dr Who and several people seem to want a Dr Who version, I thought oh what the hell!
(Btw to find out who won my competition and for news of my next running exploit you can go over to the Other Blog).
Ok.
Your starters for ten are...
Evil Davros... where those
pesky daleks began (and frankly
a lot less risible then the human
variety we saw the other week)
It's the tin dog...possibly the
most irritating dog in tv history
Ahh, now. How could I leave him
out?
Lovely, lovely, lovely David Tennant
(Did I mention he was lovely?)
And boys... for you we have...
Rose Tyler. The woman who
made being Dr Who's assistant
cool.
Leela. Well she had to be there really
didn't she?
We all know why they employed her
in the non pc 80s!
And finally... oh look what the future can bring.
Be careful what you wish for, Cassandra...
Enjoy!
(Btw to find out who won my competition and for news of my next running exploit you can go over to the Other Blog).
Ok.
Your starters for ten are...
Evil Davros... where those
pesky daleks began (and frankly
a lot less risible then the human
variety we saw the other week)
It's the tin dog...possibly the
most irritating dog in tv history
Ahh, now. How could I leave him
out?
Lovely, lovely, lovely David Tennant
(Did I mention he was lovely?)
And boys... for you we have...
Rose Tyler. The woman who
made being Dr Who's assistant
cool.
Leela. Well she had to be there really
didn't she?
We all know why they employed her
in the non pc 80s!
And finally... oh look what the future can bring.
Be careful what you wish for, Cassandra...
Enjoy!
Thursday, May 03, 2007
Dr Who and Sex.... the solution
Yesterday I woke up to hear Sarah Kennedy talking about the mass of betting that had been taking place that a hitherto unknown actor called Julian Walsh was going to replace David Tennant as the next doctor. Apparently he and his agent know nothing about it...
I couldn't find any reference to it anywhere, and thought I must have imagined it until I found this....
http://www.gallifreyone.com/news.php#newsitemEEZlEplFplYQzbVqxm
Apparently Mr Walsh is both bald and small....
That'll put paid to sex in the Tardis then....
Marie Philips has come up with a brilliant scenario as to how the Doctor and Martha will part company, which you can read here...
http://strugglingauthor.blogspot.com
I do hope she's wrong....
I couldn't find any reference to it anywhere, and thought I must have imagined it until I found this....
http://www.gallifreyone.com/news.php#newsitemEEZlEplFplYQzbVqxm
Apparently Mr Walsh is both bald and small....
That'll put paid to sex in the Tardis then....
Marie Philips has come up with a brilliant scenario as to how the Doctor and Martha will part company, which you can read here...
http://strugglingauthor.blogspot.com
I do hope she's wrong....
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