1 April 2010

Stephen sent me a text to tell me that "April is the cruellest month ... "

I called him back and muttered something about hollow men. Then he meowed like a cat.

This is the link the the delightful piece that won this year's competition, although I will tell you now it's a bit too delightful for me. Delightful, shall we say, in the sense that it ticks boxes, and ticks them none too quietly.

http://www.bnz.co.nz/binaries/2009-KMA-The-Windmill-Premier.pdf

And I think that short stories are a charming art, but the form is too boring surely? I wonder what Chloe thinks. I've emailed her to find out. It was brilliant when Katherine did it. Only the other day I read The Signal Man by Mr Dickens, and that was brilliant, spooky and I recommend it. I found it in one of the second-hand stores down Mornington Crescent Way; it's in a collection of British short stories that cost me a pound. Speaking of Dickens, I'm working on an agreement in relation to the installation of a piece of public art down in Holborn. It's called the Harmonic Tree and it recalls Bleak House apparently. It's a great, swirling affair. One of the residents commented on the choice of design, pointing out that it would be much more appopriate to have a statue of the great man. Well, I don't know about that. Much more bleak, I suppose, but must we see his great Victorian figure bearing down upon us and the pidgeons. Surely it's enough to have that great thing in the yard of Buckingham Palace mounted by Victoria herself just down the road.

Back to short stories. I think I'll write one. I won't even have to look at the book on how to write short stories as I do for the screenplays (although you'd think that watching a few movies and putting two and two together could have sufficed). I just have to read the Katherine Mansfield back-catalogue. And perhaps the Penguin? Or are they a little more avant-garde? And now what springs to mind is that I read The Destructors by Greene recently. I bought his collected short stories the other day at the book shop (not for a pound). Moved me to tears actually. It's the one that they reference in Donnie Darko.

Yesterday, I went to the hairdresser. I asked for dark brown. Crazy, I know! Next time I'll be back to black. Why? Oh, I don't know - it's just not as nice and even when it's brown. I want people to see the infinite dark matter of the universe when they look down upon my head (that's generally the vantage point, isn't it?). Actually, I'm quite sure that my lovely hairdresser who I like so much and keep dreaming about, messed up. I guess no one is perfect. My hair is almost perfect though, so I mustn't complain.

And whilst I was sitting in the chair and he was ruffle-drying my hair and trying to figure out how to turn on the new straighteners which have supposedly surpassed the humble GHD, I composed some lines but, without a pen and paper to hand at the time, I forgot them. So, for your pleasure, I've composed some new ones and set them out for you here even though the meter is just a fright:

You pull my hair straight through the tongs,
I think your eyes are like a song.
Then you fiddle with the on-off button,
Whilst Vogue exposed a piece on stewing mutton.

You talk about the theory of lost socks,
But I just wish you'd focus on my locks.
You run your fingers through my hair as I,
Recall the ugly dips and lumps on high.

(Such is the formation of my scalp)

And I baulk at the fact that you are thinking about that too.

Does daylight saving mess with you as despicably as it messes with me? Alright, I've had some kind of illness. I keep getting an awful sinking feeling and find myself short of breath. I've discussed it with others and we're throwing around the idea of a chest infection. That's quite a debilitating problem and might be the reason for my nine hour long sleeping marathons every night and the chest pain. Probably nothing to worry about, but thank goodness there's four days of holiday to convalesce. I also intend to attend church this weekend. I'll throw in a prayer for you lot. There's one just around the corner from me off Cally Road. Speaking of the spiritual, I'm reading Hesse's Siddhartha at the moment. I just love where he's coming from. I also love that I can smash this book within days, it's so small. Perfect really. Discrete.

Tonight, I'm having dinner with Nicola. She likes Thai, so I've suggested Thai. But, there's the issue of my new dietry regime. As of Monday, I've been on an all non-processed food diet so lots of fruit and steamed vegetables and the like. I've looked at the menu. I can do rice, salad, tea (at a stretch)... there's a steamed broccoli side dish... the mouth waters... Tofu is, I think, off the menu because although I enjoy it, it's processed like cheese apparently and that seems like a lot of processing to me. Nick was kind enough to wiki it for me to find out just exactly how it was made - the subject line of his email to me read "It's kind of like cheese". What an intriguing subject line. Really tickles. Nick also mentioned that he had a hankering for some fried chicken. No, I think his exact words were "dirty fried chicken". I reminded him of the chickens and how they were treated and suggested that he buy some nicely treated chickens who had had a good run of it and were fed on actual food and bugs and things that chickens ought to eat and then he could make an extra special home-style coating for it out of natural ingredients. Well, I persuaded him in the long-term, but in the short term he's taking his chicken the dirty way. Apparently it was hard to enjoy once I'd reminded him of the terrible animal cruelty that he was supporting.

I'm sure I've already mentioned that I'm off animal products for the moment. And yes, I know you're wondering - it is hard being this pure of heart.

I've branched out though. I've managed to down some kiwifruit. Only a couple of slices, but it's enough to get my body responding - I'm mildly allergic so consumption brings on a slight redness of the skin and puffery around the glands. Why do I torture myself? It's just such a pretty fruit... sigh. I was at Borough markets one weekend and we picked up some kiwiberries. Miniature kiwifruit! So tiny! Argh! Swoon.

This weekend, I'm having fun with lentils and wild rice. I'll keep you posted on the results.

Oh, and well done Arsenal for smashing Barcelona in a brilliant come-back. Nicola's going to Barcelona this weekend. Have fun lady! Enjoy the Gaudi.

Sandra's considering Cuba this year. I piped up, quite randomly, that Tom was in Panama at the moment on a boat and so it sprung to her mind. Doesn't that sound fantastic? Better than sitting here in the office with the rain beating down. It's so late now, even the cleaners are leaving. Anyway - I told Sandra to just book it! Just do it! Whim follow!

That's a grand imperative.

She looked up a couple of deals and then decided to flag it for the moment. Not the way I roll, but each to their own, I guess. Cuba. How nice would that be? And that Panama traveller referred to above is on his way there too. I watched a smidgen of Che - Part I last night before I was too tuckered to continue. It's very lean cinamatography and it requires, I think, the right mood. I'll revisit it over the course of the weekend.

For now, I have a bus to catch and some tofu to avoid...