Fear

Around about Halloween the Bard and I were discussing his new hobby of tiger bating. This is the name I have given to his practice of finding the largest stranger in the vicinity, approaching him, and seeing if he can infuriate said chap to the point of violence without actually getting punched. Now, I have always seen the bard as a gentleman, a sweet chap who would go out of his way to keep things calm and placid. You can see how wrong I was.

I hypothesise that this, apparently, self destructive steak in our young friend is caused by evolution. Yes.

Deep in the murky depths of our history our ancestors survived against quite staggering odds without great strength or speed and completely lacking in the tooth ‘n’ claw department. Nothing stood between our plucky forerunner and almost certain death but his intelligence, his inventiveness and his ability to get rather handy with variously shaped pieces of flint.

Imagine life on primordial Earth. When he wasn’t actually asleep his existence must have been one of constant nervous tension:

The excitement of the hunt
The terror of being hunted
The anxiety of wondering when (and how) the next hunting based event would play out

Our ancestors’ bodies must have been positively awash with adrenaline. I believe that we evolved so that our bodies became accustomed to this increased adrenaline activity. In modern safe, sedentary societies few of us ever experience truly acute fear or excitement but our bodies still have a craving for adrenaline. This, I put it to you, is the reason behind the rise in extreme sports. This is why so many freaks - sorry I mean people - ride on roller-coasters and watch horror movies. We don’t really want to give up our safety but we ache for that old adrenaline rush.

You may surmise - from my little slip of the finger above – that I do not enjoy roller-coasters or horror movies. You would be right. I do not. But I too have the craving. My method of feeding the ancient habit? Travel. I buy a ticket, I go somewhere foreign where I don’t speak the language or have anywhere to stay, and I travel. Ah! Even the thought of it makes my heart beat faster.

And the Bard? He bates tigers.


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I saw this link on jaffers site. I got quite a good score - I think I only messed up on the word 'peruse'.

Your Vocabulary Score: A-

Congratulations on your multifarious vocabulary! You must be quite an erudite person.

How's Your Vocabulary?

Cobwebs

You are quite correct, my dear jaffers. This blog is dusty and sadly neglected. The problem is, I’m going into hibernation. Like all small, furry creatures, I find this time of year best for eating, sleeping and, er, eating. When not at work I spend my days wearing large cardigans, sooking butter-mints and planning future pizza-eating events. Where, in my hectic schedule, can I find time for blogging? I ask you?

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I was disappointed to miss being involved in that ‘day in the life of the world’ mass blog thing on the 18th. Did any of you publish anything? Subsequent reports of the event imply that, on 18 October 2006, ‘the world’ was either bored, dull or suicidal. Perhaps it was better not to be involved after all.

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I am doing very badly in my grand campaign to decorate my abode. I was relying on being able to hire chaps to come in and do the stuff I’ve been putting off. Not as easy as I suspected. Bunch of unreliable b*stards, the lot of them. You’d think the use of clocks and calendars wouldn’t be beyond a time-served tradesman. Apparently it is.

The garden’s coming on a little better though. Frog just had the vast expanse of her grounds covered in turf. There were some left over bits which she kindly donated to me. I now have a tiny lawn in my pixie-sized garden. It’s just adorable. I am happy to say that the weather has been abominable for the last few days. The lawns, both large and small, are doing well.

This morning dawned misty and grey. I have three of the most glorious spider’s webs strung around my shrubs ‘n’ stuff. The low sun, slanting across my land, lit them to perfection. (BTW the photo above is not my own. T’is but an illustration)

I spent all day yesterday singing an advert song to myself. I couldn’t get it out of my head. Now that I’m in a position to find out what it is – who sings it, etc – I can’t remember it! I can’t even recall what it advertises. Grrrrrr.

Okay. That’s quite enough of that. Cheerio for now.

Mental torture

My soul is being wracked by the cruellest of harpies! My heart is crushed and shrivelling in my breast! In other – and slightly less emotive – words: I am not allowing myself to go travelling – ANYWHERE - until I have decorated my house (the ‘harpy’ is me by the way).

This doesn’t seem like much, except that:
1. Since I decided this I can think of nothing but taking my pack, jumping on a train and heading South.
2. I am the laziest creature in the known universe. Ever. (ask Mutley or Frog…or indeed, anyone who knows me). So the decoration is unlikely to happen any time soon.

The thing is, I’ve been in this house for years and haven’t really done a lot to it. I’ve always meant to do-it-myself but (see above) I haven’t. So, I’ve decided the best thing is to hire tradesmen to do-it-for-me. Therefore, since I can’t afford to travel and pay a joiner, the gallivanting must be put on hold.

Friends and work colleagues have been less than supportive I’m sad to say. Young Ricardo has stated, quite plainly, that he doubts I can stick to my guns. Others have questioned the need for such stringent measures. But for me it’s the ideal solution. The quicker I can get the house in order the quicker I can claim my prize: free use of my passport and full tenting privileges.

And it’s working. Sort of. I have already purchased (environmentally friendly) paint for kitchen and bathroom, made a definite decision on flooring and I may even have found myself a joiner. Also, I feel I’m getting very close to actually doing something. It’s coming. Any day now. I know it.

I am currently attempting to quiet my wanderlust by planning a trip to Andalucia next spring – it’s like window shopping. While looking for suitable campsites in the region I came across El CAMPING LOS GAZULES. Look at the absolutely glorious description included in the English version of their site:

“The CAMPING THE GAZULES this located in the hearth of the Natural Park of the ALCORNOCALES, Which allows its outdoors practices it numerous activities, lide senderismo, scaling, exits in mountain bicycle, strolls to horse, kaying, ornithological routes, fotografic in the nature, ect. Ideal for the lovers of the sun and the nature.

Ample parcels of facil acces, equiped to welcome caravans all the year, are distributed next to modern facilities that include bungalows, swimming pools, hot water showers freee, infantile areas of game.

In our restaurant it can eat the tipica food of the zone.”

I am most intrigued by the ‘ample parcels of facil access’ and long to frolic among the ‘infantile areas of game’. ‘Ideal for the lovers of the sun and the nature’. Can you think of anything more romantic?

You must excuse me. I think I’ve found the energy to go and do a bit of stripping in the spare room.

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Oh! Before I go, be sure to check out my new movie blog. You'll find a link on the right there. Cheerio.

Working

I like my job. It has just the right balance of mental application, physical activity, and utter lack of real responsibility. I work nine to five, five days a week and never have to do overtime or take stuff home. If I must have a job it’s a good one.

The problem is…I HATE WORKING.

Given the opportunity – such as a lottery win or large bequest from some wealthy yet, hitherto, unknown relative - I would turn on my heel and walk out. Without a second thought or a backward glance.

When I read of lottery/pools winners saying, “I plan to keep working”, I think: Don’t give the money to them! They have no imagination. They won’t appreciate it or put it good use. Give it to me!

People have told me that they’d be bored without a job. I scoff at that. *scoff, scoff*

There is a whole glorious world out there full of things to do and places to see. There are books to read, artworks to admire, people to meet. Given my mythical windfall I would enrol in mixed and multifarious classes. I’m a great fan of ‘ologies, for example:

Monday: Ecology
Tuesday: Psychology
Wednesday: Geology
Thursday: Egyptology
Friday: Holidology – long weekend – woohoo!

I would have the time and money to travel in the ways I enjoy - by train and boat. Unhurriedly, like in the good old days.

Incidentally, I think the Industrial Revolution was a really bad idea. In my opinion, the only worthy product of industry was the locomotive (although they should have stuck with steam). Arguably, it was all necessary to enable us to arrive here, in the Communications Revolution but, are steam powered computers actually impossible?

I love the idea of ‘renting a villa for the season’ but would be just as happy to stay in my trusty old tent. I don’t need luxury and am not fond of excess. I just want to see some of the beauty and wonder that the word has to offer. I want to learn as much as I can. All I need is to be a lady of independent means. Donations welcome.

*****

This test takes a little while to do but it’s interesting, I think: http://www.personaldna.com/

I’m a ‘freewheeling inventor’. Cool.

Volcanoes

Yesterday was the 123rd anniversary of the cataclysmic eruption of Krakatoa. This reminded me of a pet rant I have. Tourists. No, not Festival ones this time. The ones who take day trips in order to peer into active volcanoes. FOR FUN.

“But”, I scream at them (silently of course. I am British) “It’s an active volcano. Are you mad?”. They seem to think that flip-flops and SPF 15 will protect them should the mountain decide to hiccough molten magma all over the vicinity.

I have realised that they’re not (in the main) actual lunatics. They’re just ignorant and/or arrogant. Recently someone said to me. “…but they don’t just explode”. They’re volcanoes. That’s exactly what they do. Ok. To be fair there would probably be some warning. Some smoking, a rumbling quake or two but my understanding is that active volcanoes do these things all the time. Even if there is some warning there’s a good chance there would be insufficient time to get clear. Pyroclastic flow anyone? If you don’t know about this please look here: http://volcanoes.usgs.gov/Hazards/What/PF/pcflows.html

I’ve seen, first hand what volcanoes can do. We've all heard of the city of Pompeii. The people there were overwhelmed when pyroclastic flow swept down the mountainside, enveloping them in burning dust and gasses. Death came fairly quickly but with oh, so much pain. And we also know that the city was buried so completely, by falling ash and pumice, that it remained undiscovered for centuries.

I’ve also visited the island of Santorini in Greece. 4,000 years ago the island was known as Strongyli (the round one). It must have had springs or rivers since archaeologists, working on the ruined town of Akrotiri, have found evidence of domestic plumbing. Following a catastrophic eruption this once dome shaped island became the ragged collection of jagged islets we see today. Santorini has no fresh water. Residents must rely on distilled seawater for washing and daily deliveries of bottled drinking water.

You may think my fears irrational, my arguments extreme and out of proportion but it boils down to this. If I have to die, I really, really don’t want it to be death by volcano. Do you?

By command...

I have been lazy and blog-free for a week or two but my chum Teo has requested an update. “Just write anything” he said. Well. You asked for it. This one's for you Big T.

*****

The Edinburgh Festival is drawing to a close (thank the Goddess) and I have emerged relatively unscathed. Something happened the other day, which made me realise how blasé I have become about the whole thing.

I was trolling homeward, down The Mound from the High Street, when I came across a group of three tourists. They had stopped in surprise and were pointing across the street at something which they obviously thought wondrous. I looked where they pointed and could see nothing extraordinary. Then, I realised there were three scruffily dressed chaps pushing extra-tall unicycles up the hill. To me this seemed utterly mundane. This is what comes of growing up around the Festival Fringe.

I did see something cool today, though. As I stood in the rain - awaiting a bus, which refused to come – I spied an approaching vision. A tasty young chap decked out like a character from Aliens. Complete with amo belt and gargantuan gun! The coolest thing was how much it suited him. Perhaps he was indeed a visitor from the future, come to save the word from the ghastly Alien threat. I like to think so.

*****

I now wish to present, for your delectation a jingle what was written for me by the Bard of Bib Services:

If you want to live a day that’s really nice,
If you want to know if you
should watch the film Miami Vice,
If you want to eat the best sticky rice,
Then you’ll want to read…
Jazz’s Life Advice!

I hope I haven’t breached any copyright regulations here! The Bard believes I should set up a sideline in ‘Telling people what to do’. I said “haven’t you read my blog?” Incidentally, I’d rather chew off my own arm than ‘watch the film Miami Vice’. Just so’s you know.

*****

I sent out one of those email questionnaires the other day. You know the type?

Favourite colour? – Orange.
Favourite food? – Fried squid and Brussels sprouts.
Favourite Marx Brother? – Zeppo.

That sort of thing. So far I’ve received some wonderful responses. Thanks guys. I’d love to get some more. Don’t be shy. You know who you are.

I really have enjoyed reading them. It’s so interesting to find out these sort of things about your friends, I think. Also, it seems that these questions, although apparently innocuous, lull people into giving more intimate and detailed responses than perhaps they would face to face. Thanks again for all the replies. I love you guys.

*****

Oh, and just for Mutley, if she’s reading this:

Bellybellybellybellybellybellybellybellybellybellybellybellybellybellybelly

hee hee

Beards

I love beards. It is a deep and fiery passion, over which I have no control. If I was a chap I’d grow one of my own but sadly I cannot. At least not yet – give me a decade or two. Until that time, I am forced only to admire the beards of others.

I have been a Pogonophile for many years. I believe this may stem from my childhood love of moustaches and in particular that on the lip of the glorious Mr Boyd.

Mr Boyd was deputy-headmaster at my primary school and a more caring, insightful and dashing gentleman you could not meet. He was a tall, elegant man with thick, dark hair, twinkling brown eyes and the most stupendous moustache. My childish adoration of this man and his wonderful tash has, I believe, blossomed into my full grown, nasty beard-love.

I don’t think I’ll go too far into what the sight (and touch) of a beard does to me. I don’t feel we know each other well enough yet. I will however, give an example of how far my passion goes.

A number of years ago I was in love with a man named Shem. The love of my life. We seemed perfect for each other, similar tastes, the same sense of humour and complimentary personalities. But, somehow, we just couldn’t live peacefully together. Over time, the fiery sides of our natures took over and we fought more and more. I was often unhappy but couldn’t think of leaving him. I couldn’t bear the thought of never seeing his face again. His warm, dark eyes, curly black hair and Che Guevaraesque facial growth. Then one day, for work, he shaved! I looked at his smooth face. That face I’d loved for so long, and I realised. For goddess knows how many months, I’d stayed with him for the sake of the beard!

Even now, I am often surprised by my reactions to unexpected beard sightings. I am privileged to work among many attractive, intelligent and accomplished men who, in the normal course of things, I would have no dark feeling for. However, should one of these chaps suddenly appear, sporting any sort of fuzzy facial growth, I go all a-quiver. I have done everything in my power to advance the spread of beardiness. I have encouraged and cajoled many men into growing their own face-shrubs. I have praised new growth and expressed regret over untimely shavings.

I am fully aware that this is not a passion shared with many woman but I am not ashamed. I am a woman who loves men who have beards.