Faerie Lady's Circle

One step forward, one step back.

2008-01-02T23:27:00.000Z

I've been wondering over the past few days about whether you can know if you are moving forward if you have stayed in the same place. If only the wrinkles on your face or the pages on a calender are the only things that show time marching inexorably on.

2007's current finally overcame me. My attempts to swim upstream into 2008 have ended with me gazing from the mouth of the ocean to the rapids inland. All I have to show for my efforts are some extra scars, inside and out. That and a return to my Circle.

Final score?

Jobs gained = 1 (+ the chance be a part of something special)
Jobs lost = 1 (+ the knowledge that you cannot trust anyone in an office)

Boyfriend gained = 1 (+ red roses on Valentine's Day)
Boyfriend lost = 1 (+ 5 page diatribe with dates and times of my perceived infidelities - like I had time between two jobs and a PhD)

No. of unavailable men I love = 1 (+ irrational hope)
Chances of being with unavailable love (assuming he feels the same) = slim to none (+ irrational hope)

No. of cats going missing = 1 (+ 1 threatening phonecall in response to missing posters)
No. of missing cats being found in a derelict building = 1 (+ 1 severely gashed leg)

Debt overcome = No point even going there.

No. of surgeries had by Lazarus = 1 (+ fear of him needing another open heart job)
No. of surgeries due to be had by Lazarus = 1 (+ fear of him not surviving his sixth open heart job)

Overall a pretty woeful performance. The only positive I can find is that at least I didn't stop swimming - I'd definitely have drowned. Now I just need to decide if I'm going to try for upstream this year or be content in the shallows.

My Circle is still here though. Maybe I'll do a few practice laps.

I fugging love this

2007-07-23T12:43:00.000+01:00

Between the last and greatest installment in a what has been a magnificent series and gofugyourself.com I've been a little preoccupied this past week.

The former aside, the latter does not, as may suggest chronicle the weird and wonderful 'alternative' swearing habits of a certain Egyptian shopkeeper but rather the weird and wonderful fashion faux pas that those who have the money and the stylists but clearly not the sense.

Not only does it have fabulous pictures; not only do its writers model themselves on Dynasty's Alexis and Beverly Hill 90210's Brenda (Both my favourite characters incidentally); not only is no one sacred but its has a fabulous editorial line that makes those immortals of us with less than pixie-thin feel better about ourselves. Underneath the waspish prose there is a very important message at the site's heart: having a healthy body fat percentage is the fashion must-have of any season.

Plus they've come up with fugly:

fug•ly (adj.)
frightfully ugly; of or pertaining to something beyond the boundaries of normal unattractiveness. Ex: "That 'Kabbalists Do It Better' trucker hat is fugly."

fug (n.)
1. A state of extreme ugliness. Ex: "The level of fug at the Video Music Awards is always hard to stomach."

2. A proper name for someone possessed of eternal heinousness, as Chloe Sevigny: "Oh look, there's Fug, looking all miserable and dour in her black turtleneck and white frilly farm dress."

fug•ging (v.)
The act of posting on one's blog in order to identify something excruciatingly ugly. Ex: "Hey, I am fugging Li'l Kim again for wearing only a tiny piece of cloth."

I'm hooked.

Missing: Black Cat

2007-07-13T22:18:00.001+01:00

MILOS (mee-losh).

Last seen: Tuesday night, 26th May.

Distinguishing features: meows a lot (likes to chat); eats with his paw; has a ‘mane’ (v. fluffy).

V. much loved and desperately missed. His brother and I want him home. Please email us through Faerie Lady's Circle if you have seen or found him.

Thank you.

The Faerie Lady and Kolya

I'm baaaaaack! (Part Deux)

2007-07-13T15:06:00.000+01:00

Now I could begin by attempting to explain my extended absence but let's be honest - whatever I say is still going to sound feak and weeble. Those who cared enough made discreet enquiries and suffice to say, I am not dead (although not for lack of my employment's inadvertent trying) but it has struck me on not too few occasions in the past months if I might not be better off being so.

Today is not however one of those days. I'm actually quite pleased to still be filling my faerie chest with Four-Seasons-In-One-Day Land's freshest brew. It's a Friday for a start and thanks to the Fair Weekend I have Monday off. Giddy with excitement, I can't decide whether to head off to Indian Summer, Optimo or simply curl up in bed and refuse to do anything except sleep, eat and read.

Decisions, decisions, decisions...

P.S. In summary since my last:

I met a man who I thought was too good to be true and then found out he was;

Started a new job;

Saw Gaia off to Rains-All-Day Land;

Decided my not quite so new now job was perhaps going to kill me;

Returned to waitressing almost more for the instant validation than for the money;

My got old really fast job nearly did kill me;

Mayhem's disappearance just about finished off what my job didn't.

Plus I bumped into a certain person last week and was dismayed to find that my tummy still dropped when he smiled at me. I may yet be dead soon.

I'm baaaaaack!

2007-03-15T19:13:00.000Z

Yes, please don't fall off your toadstools in shock. This is just a test to make sure this whole blog hasn't crumbled into nothing.

New posts on their way...

Worst of three

2007-01-07T02:46:00.000Z

Your Love Style is Agape

You are a caring, kind, and selfless partner.
Unsurprisingly, your love style is the most rare.
You are willing to sacrfice your world for your sweetie.
Except it doesn't really feel like sacrifice to you.
For you, nothing feels better than giving to the one you love.

What's Your Love Style?

See? Doormat.

There is no escape

2007-01-07T02:39:00.000Z

People Envy Your Compassion

You have a kind heart and an unusual empathy for all living creatures. You tend to absorb others' happiness and pain.

People envy your compassion, and more importantly, the connections it helps you build. And compassionate as you are, you feel for them.

What Do People Envy About You?

This has got to stop. Grrrr.

As always, scarily true.

2007-01-07T01:37:00.000Z

How You Are In Love

You take a while to fall in love with someone. Trust takes time.
You tend to give more than take in relationships.
You need your space and privacy. You don't like to be smothered.
You love your partner unconditionally and don't try to make them change.
You stay in love for a long time, even if you aren't loved back. When you fall, you fall hard.

How Are You In Love?

What's really been p****d me off recently though is a certain person that was lovely, amazing and who appeared to have stepped out of my most blissful dreams. And who, after making me fall hard for them (and helped me wash a muddy West Highland Terrier for crying out loud) pulled the rug out from beneath me with as much thought as they give to breathing. Knowing that possession of a Y chromosome = total emotional retardation isn't the same comfort it used to be.

My resolution this New Year was to be a LOT more selfish in matters of the heart (i.e. stop being so 'understanding' and wearing said heart on sleeve). No more Mrs. Nice Faerie. Haven't started too well so far: sending a Christmas present (bought before Rug Pulling) to aforementioned Rug Pulling Dream Man after Rug Pulling isn't quite the empowered stance I was going for. Nor is accepting drunken phone calls from Rug Pulling Dream Man's best friend at 3:30am who then adds insult to waking me up by not buying me a coffee to apologise in case it upsets their girlfriend. Right, like calling me (who they've only met once before) in the early morning hours isn't going to bother her. Anyone would think I'd never read The Female Eunuch.

I am now channelling Bette Davis, Gloria Swanson and Joan Fontaine and working on my rudeness, aloofness and general misandrism. Next time I meet a Dream Man made manifest, I shall walk away. Next time a Dream Man's Best Friend calls, I shall hang up. I only wish I had other options but the truth is I'd make as successful a lesbian as I would anorexic.

Walk of the Paper Princess

2007-01-04T19:59:00.000Z

The Paper Princess began her daily stroll through her grounds...

... laughing as she went at the flutterbys gambolling around her...

... and the Orchid turning down Hummingbird's offer of a drink...

... before returning contentedly home to her beautiful castle.

There is beauty in the Everyday.

Irish 'digital' clock

2007-01-04T19:41:00.000Z

Only the Irish could design something so labour intensive.

Bless their wee souls.

Educational Aid

2007-01-04T03:25:00.000Z

I can't help it - I love the French. Especially because they do things like this.

Off to practice my bof and moue...

Just sign it.

2007-01-04T02:12:00.000Z

Normally a very placid and gentle creature, this Faerie found herself shouting at tonight's Channel 4 News (and scaring the plumber in the process).

Apparently the government feels that signing up to the European Convention Against Trafficking in Human Beings is unnecessary as ID cards are the best protection against trafficking. The sheer stupidity of this stance found me stamping my twinkly toes, flapping my wings VERY HARD and close to foaming at the mouth.

That a Conservative Shadow Home Secretary endorses the Convention on 'moral grounds' (Hell must have frozen over, I'll have to check with the Devil) while ministers claim that it will encourage illegal immigration just highlights the moral corruption endemic within the higher echelons of the Labour party.

Yes, the majority of those this Convention seeks to protect will be sex workers. Yes, it could be argued that they brought their situations upon themselves (if you follow the logic that they knew the dangers when they planned to enter countries illegally - I don't). Those who the Convention would apply to number in the thousands, not hundreds of thousands or millions. It's a small price to pay for saving fellow adults, children and immortals from the vilest forms of cruelty.

It's not even as if the Convention is suggesting anything incredibly radical; it guarantees trafficked people

A breathing period (or reflection period) of at least 30 days during which they can receive support to aid their recovery, including safe housing and emergency medical support

Temporary residence permits for trafficked people who may be in danger if they return to their country, and/or if it is necessary to assist criminal proceedings

I very much doubt that women and children (of those not kidnapped or sold and sent abroad against their will in the first place) will be drawn to enter the UK and suffer hideous abuse for the privilege of being allowed to stay here for 30 days as the government suggests. For all our faults, at least the Land Of Milk And Honey didn't have to think twice about putting pen to paper. It's not all that hard for us all to do the same.

Britain passed the Abolition of the Slave Trade Act on March 25, 1807 and lobbied hard for other countries to follow suit, going as far as considering any ship transporting slaves akin to pirates and therefore subject to the same penalties. It would be pretty shaming if the UK had not signed the Convention by the Act's 200th anniversary. How can the British possibly consider themselves to be as enlightened, progressive and pioneering as their nineteenth century counterparts if they do not do all that they can to outlaw modern slavery?

It would appear that the deaths of voluntary British sex workers matter more to this government than saving what's left of the lives of non-British forced sex slaves.

Do-Overs

2007-01-04T01:22:00.000Z

Remembering with pleasure the days when I and my cohorts at a now defunct ~~juvenile detention centre~~ boarding school used to curl up en masse in the darkness after 'lights out' and watch This Life enraptured, it was with great excitement that I sat down to watch Tuesday's This Life +10.

And boy did it not disappoint! My friends and myself ended up living their lives North of the Border with the same heartaches, loves and losses. The characters may be seven years older than this good Faerie but they, their trials and tribulations are mine and my generation's. The reunion episode showed this just as clearly as the original did 10 years ago.

Amy Jenkins' writing remains as fresh, insightful and honest as it did back then. The characters circled one another, fell into one anothers' arms and despite their individual hesitancies and bugaboos, found the cohesion that helped them survive their first 'adult' years. I pity those who didn't have the friends to do the same with.

My three standout moments?

1. Egg asks Miles whether twenty-somethings are getting older younger (mulling over the fact that documentarian Claire made and sold her first film at 17). Miles' response? Poor b******s.

Damn right too. What's the point of achieving it all so soon? That means that there is no time to truly f*** up. It's the f***ing up that teaches you who you are. It reminded me of the Sex And The City episode where Samantha throws a bat mitvah for a very precocious thirteen year old. She realises that while the girl and her friends are as highly sexed at 13 as she is at 34, at least she had a childhood (which we all know extends way into our twenties).

2. Millie tells her video diary that motherhood is the best kept secret of her generation.

The speech itself is near perfect but it is that line that nails it for me. I called a couple of girlfriends the following day and asked them if Millie was right and (after checking over their shoulders for the FemiNazis) admitted that it was true. Motherhood was a shock to them at first appearance but they agreed that we were never told about the fulfilment that it gives. Motherhood is to us what orgasm was to our grand-mothers apparently; a dirty word. I think it's about time that we reclaimed it in the same way our mothers reclaimed c**t.

3. Miles tells his video diary that there is nothing unique about men - they can work but women can work and have children.

Coming from the most homophobic and chauvinistic of the group, this observation shows how far he has come. He and Anna were the two that seemed the most hopeless - their mutual emotional retardation jinxed them but by the end they both found a way out of their self-imposed personal exiles.

I think perhaps this is what This Life - past and present - offers to us: there is always a chance, a hope.

The best way to start the New Year? With a Do-Over.

I will find them dammit!

2006-12-20T00:52:00.000Z

According to my SETI@Home I have now completed 4320.89 credits. That this is only 0.000028% of the Top Participant (153,866,904.00 - go Nez!) is by the by.

I know they are out there. It's too painful to consider the fact that it is possible to be alone in the universe as well as this world.

How Many More?

2006-12-19T22:28:00.000Z

Before I defer to an excellent article by the infinitely more knowledgeable Belle there are a couple of things I'd like to say about the Suffolk murders:

Firstly, Jack the Ripper killed his first known victim in 1888. Queen Victoria called for better lighting, increased police presence on the streets of Whitechapel and assistance to those working on the streets. Nothing much has changed since then and Victorian 'values' still dictate how the oldest profession is managed, tolerated and (un)accepted in this country. Why has it taken the deaths of five women who could have been my sister, cousin, mother, aunt or friend to force debate?

The 'out of sight, out of mind' policy clearly hasn't worked. Do the British still have such a superior attitude to the Australians that they cannot bring themselves to admit that decriminalization works as best as anything is going to? You would think that with this country's long history of trade unionism we would appreciate a system where the working girls determine their working conditions.

Secondly, may I also offer a warning regarding that 'rare' creature, the female Middle-Class Puritan Pundit. Recognisable primarily by their bright plumage, similarity to squatting toads and honking voices characterised by their particular 'More English Then The Queen' lilt, the shy and retiring uxor Conservativoris has of late been found far from their familiar Home Counties grounds nesting cuckoo-like on television chat show couches around the country .

DO NOT APPROACH ONE UNDER ANY CIRCUMSTANCES. When cornered by rational argument, they have been known to resort to vicious sniffs of disapproval and open-mouthed disdain. Studies have shown that ignoring them is the best way of avoiding unwarranted, baseless character assassinations in the Daily Mail. Not easy considering that their foghorn tones could serve in place of Trident as an early warning system but crucial to surviving an encounter.

Finally, why is it that your class and location depend on whether or not you are a prostitute, hooker, call-girl, escort, courtesan or mistress? A Rose by any other name still gets paid to go down.

And now Belle:

I know Ipswich. Not as well as the streetwalkers whose work exposed them to perhaps the one thing every sex worker most fears, and least wants to talk about – a potential murderer. But I know Ipswich, and now I know that if these murders can happen in Ipswich, they can happen anywhere.

When I heard about the first murder investigation, I gave it little more than a moment’s thought, in spite of my own background in sex work. When I heard about second body, of course I paid attention. When news of a potential third murder came through, I wondered about the women who walked the streets in my own town and if they were safe. I wished I had a car to cruise the red light district myself, offering a place to stay or even just keeping a lookout. When I heard about the missing fourth and fifth girls, I was stopped cold with the thought of how many families will have more cause than usual to worry about their daughters this Christmas.

From the comfort of a warm, safe living room, watching the news, it might be a mystery why any woman would expose herself to such risks on a regular basis, much less while there may be a murderer in the vicinity. You might think that violent crime is an occupational hazard of streetwalking, in the way that RSI is an occupational hazard of office work. You might ask what sort of person would put herself in the sort of danger, even once, that a streetwalker does every night.

The answer is complex and not easily simplified. Sex workers do not conform to a single stereotype. Some are be driven to the streets because of addiction, because of debt, or because of a few bad choices that send them inextricably into the darkness. Others are there because they thought they were coming to this country for legitimate work. Some have abusive boyfriends who force them into it. Some have no other profitable skills. The reasons don’t much matter. These women are using whatever they have to survive. There may be some risk of attack, or worse – but on a daily basis, the risk from not working is greater. For whatever reason they are out there because they do not have a choice. To give sex workers an alternative to playing roulette with their lives and health every night, we need to accept the fact of prostitution.

The fact is that it is not just perverts and criminals who use prostitutes, but a sizeable number of the male (and increasingly, female) population. Few families in this country are untouched by sex work, either as providers or as consumers. Streetwalkers would not be out if there were no customers. Somewhere in East Anglia there is probably a bank manager or a small businessman who saw something that may help the police – a girl being forced into a car, perhaps, or a fellow kerb-crawler who just looked a bit odd. Will he come forward? Would you?

A friend of mine, a middle-class professional man who is a frequenter of sex workers, prefers kerb crawling to meeting call girls in hotel rooms. He says he never picks up a girl who hesitates to get in the car, because she’s probably an undercover policewoman. He doesn’t want to be caught paying for sex any more than a girl wants to be seen taking money for it. The girls don’t argue with this logic. Vetting a customer puts you more at risk of being seen by a police officer than getting into a stranger’s car without asking questions.

The sad irony is that the police advice to women in Ipswich – travel in groups, don’t go out solo, stay in safe, well-lit areas – directly contradicts the way streetwalkers are forced by law to work. Women in groups soliciting money for sex are more in danger of prosecution than those who work alone. They operate in dangerous areas because no one wants to see them at their work. Rather than letting women (and men) work in the relative safety of a brothel, we throw them out to whatever horrors await them on the street and turn a blind eye. We run them out of city centres, into the commercial districts and underpasses where there are none of the bright lights and CCTV that could save lives. We trot out statistics about the percentage of sex workers who are foreign, or drug-addicted, as if this is a reason to treat them as less than human.

To many women in prostitution, staying in for the duration is not an option. There are habits and babies that must be fed. Bills and debts that must be paid. A suspected killer on the loose is not enough to keep the working girls of Ipswich, or indeed any city, in of a Friday night. And at any rate, given the amount of publicity, any clever killer will have gone to ground. He may be staying somewhere else, outside of Suffolk. He may be keeping his head down and biding his time. Staying off the streets this week does not make you safe the next.

I am not the most religious person, but I would pray tonight, for the women who ply a dangerous trade on cold and hard streets where few people care about their fate. I would wish for a state that is so keen on invading every aspect of our lives to do it where it counts – register these girls, test them for diseases, free them from pimps and traffickers, give them safe places to work and the means to leave streetwalking behind, if that's what they want. I would pray for lights and cameras, and for the killer to be found and brought swiftly to justice.

The cases in Ipswich should remind us that even in a safe county in a safe country, there is no such thing as enough protection for women out alone at night. Whether walking home from a party or working the streets, everyone deserves equal protection. There needs to be an amnesty for sex workers in Suffolk while the investigation of the murders continues. And once the investigation is over, the amnesty needs to continue, so this never happens again. We need to face up to the reality – that prostitution has and always will exist in some form – and give the most vulnerable women in society the means to safe livelihood.

P-P-P-P-Pesky Peri-Peri-Peri-Peri-Pericarditis

2006-11-27T22:33:00.000Z

It's been a while I know but I've been somewhat indisposed. Seems the pain in my chest wasn't due to my broken heart but rather a nasty virus that migrated to it. Idiopathic Pericarditis to be exact. After giving my family something of a massive shock (the words 'heart' and 'virus' in the same sentence don't go down well amongst us), Gaia flew over and I've spent the last six weeks asleep or drugged up.

Still recovering - it's amazing how tired pain makes you. Should you ever find yourself with consistent pain in your chest not dissimilar to that of a double-articulated lorry slamming through you DON'T wait two weeks and then mention it offhand in a completely unrelated out-patient appointment. The speedy plugging into IVs and hospital mainframe that ensues can take you somewhat aback.

I must thank everyone at the Glasgow Royal Infirmary. Everyone from the auxiliaries, cleaning staff, nurses, doctors and consultants as well as the security guys were amazing. Nothing was too much trouble and I was adopted as something of a mascot (they obviously don't get many faeries admitted). As hospitals go I give it ***** (and I've experience of quite a few).

Posting will still be light for the time being but to everyone who has taken care of me, called, written and emailed I want to let you all know how grateful I am.

Music Mood

2006-10-04T01:29:00.000+01:00

(Re)Listening to Green Day's Dookie earlier today I realised that a line in 'She' encapsulates my current mood:

Are you locked up in a world
That's been planned out for you?
Are you feeling like a social tool without a use?

Okay, for years I did think that it was 'feeling like a sexual toy without a use'.

Fits either way.

Iconic?

2006-09-29T11:53:00.000+01:00

Now I'm no way near as articulate, splenetic or spectacularly derogatory as the Fallen Angel on Cami's Caring Conservatives but I really have to wonder about this latest attempt to 'get down' with the kids. On paper it sounded great:

1. Take a picture of the Universally Adored Boris, national treasure in the mould of Stephen Fry and all round lovable, forgivable rogue.
2. Get one of Dave's pals to jazz it up in homage to Andy Warhol.
3. Print thousands of posters.
4. Hand it out to students during Freshers Week in the hope that they will be seduced into joining the Conservatives.

For every 100 youthful, gangly teens that stuff it into their bag along with the free condoms and club passes, 60 will probably use it for toilet paper when they are caught short; 24 will smoke it when they've run out of Rizlas and roaches; 10 (male or female) will use it in place of porn (he really is rather lovely is Boris); 5 who will use it to cover up holes/stains/graffiti when they move out of halls leaving that lone student (who was a member of the Young Conservatives from birth) to set up a shrine around it before he graduates to torturing animals.

Initially I was quite excited. The God that is Boris can grace any part of me (sorry, my house) any day. I also thought that I may 'collect' a few extra copies and sell them on eBay as a Warhol-esque poster of the Boris was sure to be a collector's item.

Sadly, the pig's ear they've made of this poster is such that I'd much rather stick with watching my videos of his Question Time appearances than have my walls sullied by this monstrosity.

Simply put, it's a bad picture. You can't see that wondrous visage with his hand hiding half his face. Yes, I know that lovely fringe does that but that's different: you want to brush off his face before leaning in and ... sorry, must focus. Where's that puppy dog gaze; that sheepish grin; those dimples all creating a look that says 'Yes, I know I'm a buffoon but you wouldn't say no would you?'.

The colours are awful - Warhol knew how to use colour (see Marilyn's wonderful acid tones) but this looks like someone leached out all that is vibrant in colour and Boris. By flattening and simplifying the image Warhol forced you to consider the image's depth and its subject's (probable) lack of. Colours that didn't co-exist naturally were juxtaposed to emphasize the sense of 'unreality' that celebrities engender - that 'not quite real-ness'. I don't think whoever designed had any idea what they were doing. Play with pop-art and culture by all means but if you are going to do a pastiche, do it properly or you'll end up with a crapische.

Jim Fiztpatrick's Che this ain't.

Infinity Dress

2006-09-29T09:26:00.000+01:00

A free pattern to make a copy of the dress of the season that can be adapted for the (ahem) Fuller Figured Faeries out there.

Now all I need to do is buy some fabric; learn how to sew; get a sewing machine; find the time...

The perfect P-test?

2006-09-26T12:12:00.000+01:00

Before I begin, a major disclaimer (so I don't get panicked phone calls from my family):

I do not think I am pregnant.
I do not plan to be pregnant.
I AM NOT PREGNANT! (Okay Lazarus?)

Now that's dispensed with, I can explain. Not only have Clearblue come up with the Daddy (or more appropriately Mommy) of all pregnancy tests, the new Clearblue Digital Pregnancy Test, they have also produced one of the most wonderful television ads I have seen in a long time.

It glides into view, a majestic behemoth not dissimilar to the Imperial starship in the opening scene of the first Star Wars. Its mission: to seek those Rebel cells that are fomenting a revolution, which, given the chance, will realign your universe beyond all recognition. Will you be forced into that titanic struggle between good and evil: the (eventual) teenager versus parent?

There's the dramatic concept/tagline:

... the most advanced piece of technology you will ever pee on.

I think what they mean to say is that it is the most advanced piece of technology you will ever choose to pee on that requires peeing on. I can think of a quite a few advanced pieces of technology I'd like to pee on which wouldn't tell me I'm with child but would, far more satisfyingly, short circuit and/or explode.

Then there's the great arc of blue pee, defying all laws of physics and biology, that makes its way across the screen before splashing bouncily onto the 'Absorbent Sampler'. I think I'd be a little more worried about blue pee than being pregnant but that's by the by. If any female could produce an arc of pee like that then I don't think 'she' needs a pregnancy test. Plus dealing with the mess the bouncability of said blue pee causes.

I wish that this beauty had been around when I went through that (in)famous female rite of passage, the "Oh Holy S***/F***/God/Bo*****s Where The Hell is my Period" moment that is quickly followed by the "I Haven't Touched/Kissed/Sh****d A Boy Since My Last One Have I?" countback before the surreptious buying of a test from Boots; hiding in the toilets of a multi-national fast food outlet/work/school; waiting, hoping, praying and promising never to touch a boy again so help you God as long there aren't two blue/pink lines after the longest two minutes a girl will ever have.

The little screen on this magic number comes up "Pregnant" or "Not Pregnant". A little hourglass even flashes while you are waiting to see if your life/relationship/job is over. Egg timers don't even do that.

And it just looks so cool. It the medical test equivalent of an iPod. Forget your CSI-type clipping of a Q-Tip, putting it into a whirlygig and waiting for a print out. This is the real deal: the LBD of pregnancy tests. Sleek, sophistacted and idiot proof. Well, as long as you don't try to get a result using apple juice. Or are illiterate. Oh Dear. I think I may have spotted a major flaw there but let's not dwell on that little chestnut.

Fab that it may look however, no amount of rebranding/redesigning can alter the fundemental problems inherent within such a test. According to Clearblue's Press Release, this is the

... easiest pregnancy test ever... the clearest, simplest to use...

As any girl who has been through the above described rite can attest, these tests are not easy to use. They require acrobatic skills worthy of Houdini; the yogic abilities of a swami and a flexibility that you can guarantee will not be shown by 'Daddy' when you break the 'positive' news.

Or how about

... the display [that] shows an unambiguous result - ‘Pregnant’ or ‘Not Pregnant’ in words... [that] eliminates uncertainty about the result interpretation, which can be a cause of anxiety for many women... now the result remains on the display for ~24 hours.

Unfortunately this is patently untrue: the result of one of these beauties, regardless of whether it is depicted in coloured lines, words or fireworks, is not unambiguous. As you stare at it, it morphs, shimmers and shimmies; switching between one answer and another like an oasis in the desert or Tony Bleah on when he will quit. The result could be etched in stone or projected on the moon but you can be assured, no one is ever convinced that this test has told you the truth which is why you buy the pack of three in the first place - 2 out of 3 is all you can count on.

Clearblue's UK Marketing Manager, Lesley Foster (bless her) promises that

This enhanced test now offers women the greatest level of certainty in one simple step. We have listened to what women want from a home pregnancy test and used our expertise to further improve our digital product to make it easier to test, and provide women with the reassurance they need, as well as the opportunity to test earlier.

Certainty is one thing a pregnancy (test) never promises (I'm not talking about being 99.99% on the Baby here). And if they'd really listened to what women want, about a home pregnancy test or otherwise, I'm not sure this would be the answer. Although at least it may be a test that a man won't mind buying under duress - it's gadget-ish after all (Tampax you taking notes?).

I (almost) wish I was in the position that I would need one. But, knowing my rather unpredictable and ridiculous imagination, even if I did one now, secure in the knowledge I'm not expecting a Spawn of Satan due to my infallible birth control, those two minutes would still be the longest a girl has to go through. And I'd do and get 2 out of 3.

Just in case.

Oh Richard!

2006-09-21T07:11:00.000+01:00

My heart goes out to my favourite Top Gear presenter (after James May), Richard Hammond who is critically ill in Leeds Hospital following a crash. The thought of his lovely cheeky Hobbit face criss-crossed with tubes and wires and machines pinging and beeping all around him is a bit much to deal with this morning.

Mind you, are far as that lot are concerned, if you are going to have an accident then I suppose that somersaulting a few times and crashing a jet powered dragster on camera is one way to do it. I know he'll recover and they'll repeat the film over and over again whilst Clarkson and the darling James take the piss out of his driving skills. And inevitably blame his height too:

"You couldn't see over the steering wheel and that's why you crashed!" etc.

Get well soon my daft dear. TV needs you!

Welcome Arabella!

2006-09-15T06:40:00.001+01:00

Speaking of growing up, here's one of my closest school friends and her new best friend.

Reunions

2006-09-15T06:24:00.000+01:00

School reunions were one of the more contentious topics covered over Merlot last night.

During one of Lazarus' hospitalizations during December of last year I had the (mis)fortune to be in London for a Reunion Lunch. Held, I think, at Edwards near Leicester Square. I took a cab anyway.

Nana was there (the only reason I went apart from my own curiousity) and I don't believe that it has ever been more true that just because you went to school with someone, doesn't mean that you are going to have anything in common. Further encounters at the last ever Old Girls Day in May (at what will remain an unnamed boarding school) only served to reinforce this.

Why, if these reuninons happened so long ago, is this pertinent? Because a few glasses of red can bring on a spate of "Oh. My. God. Where is my life heading?!". Thinking of the friends that are growing up and realising that my own mother had already been a mother for 8 months by the time she was my age brought on a moment of introspection and a reminder of the inferiority that kicked in at said reunions.

Forget the fact that I am still able to go out unencumbered and dance/drink/drug the night away. Or spend an evening/morning with a gentleman. Or continue learning and writing as my mood takes me.

Pixie G reminded me that one can only be made to feel inferior with one's consent.

I refuse to give it.

Excuses

2006-09-15T05:54:00.000+01:00

There are excuses and there are excuses.

Shame I don't have any particularly good ones for not posting. A lot of things have been going on but all in all, there is no excuse. Or perhaps there are. In a nutshell:

1. Lazarus is dying.

In my more morose moments I have pointed out that every breath we take is a breath closer to death but that doesn't help in this most present of situations. If his blood chemistry holds (and by that I mean his Hb/Haemoglobin) then we are doing well. If not, then the only option (apart from accepting death and falling inexorably towards it) is a further open heart operation which has a less than 30% chance of survival.

Not to mention that there is not only the inevitable grief to deal with but Gaia, the Merman and the Banshee's suspicions that the Wicked Wife Wannabe is only after his money. And then dealing with his business/employees/friends etc.

There are times when I wonder whether being the only one the man listens to is worth it. Then he comes up with ridiculous names for paramours and I remember why I bother:

* The fact that of everyone I've ever met, he's never let me down.

* That I love him, despite all his faults (of which there are more than a few) and you can't help who you love.

* That I have never felt safer anywhere else except then when I am with him.

A love like that can fall into your life or always be there but once it's gone nothing measures up.

2. I am unemployed.

Okay, to be fair, I am employed in feeding the Gruesome Twosome; rescuing the Malevolent One from trains (pictures and story to come); trying to keep the cat hair at bay and attempting (very badly) to work on my PhD but there is only so much borrowing one can do on one's credit card to pay the mortgage before you realise that this can't go on. B*****d lottery numbers still haven't come up.

3. I am single.

Why being single should be an excuse needs a bit of understanding and perseverance on all your parts (ye faithful few). Normally this particularly wouldn't bother me but there have been a few incidents over the last week that have made this a rather undesirable situation.

Firstly, when dealing with doctors, insurance companies and relatives in what can only be described as not the easiest of situations, it would be really lovely to be able to curl up and have your bottom patted bu someone; have tea made for you just right; be held and be told that it will all be all right. Nothing will alter the inevitable but I would be more than grateful for the lie and pretence.

Secondly, when everyone you know is moving in/getting married/having babies it would be more than desirable to not be the token single. Helen Fielding explains it far better than I ever could. Plus she coined the best phrases.

Thirdly, there are certain needs of a more carnal nature that desire to be met. Having a boyfriend means they are on tap; it takes too much effort otherwise. I'll say no more.

I haven't mentioned the PhD as an excuse for not writing as it just wouldn't be true. I've done no work on that front for the above reasons (although not sure that the PhD Supervision committee that I am presenting to on Monday wil be so forgiving).

Life isn't great at the moment but it could be far worse. At least I have Pixie G and the Polar Bear to keep me company. The three bottles of red wine we polished off earlier tonight didn't hurt either.

There will be life after Lazarus. It's just hard trying to see it.

Go Toad Patrol!

2006-09-07T13:03:00.000+01:00

Found a newspaper cutting as I have been procrastinating and although it's the wrong time of year for it (although who knows here in Four-Seasons-In-One-Land? Spring is due for about 4pm this afternoon by my calculation) I just can't help sharing this.

Say you're a toad (as I often am according to Lazarus) living in North Somerset. You need to cross that oh-so-wide country lane so that you can go and hook up with other like-minded amphibians. Think Toad Speed Dating. And do you hop across the road in an attempt at last minute toning of that x-pack? Nah. Not when there is the Toad Patrol to carry you over. Not only that but if you do want to hop your way across, the road is closed for three months between January and April.

A Toad:

Sorry. Insulting to Toads. Here's a toad:

Shuttling toads across the road so that they can shag. What better way to spend your evening? It's so well organized (and peopled) by the local council (I mean, why spend your time improving say education or medical services when there are toads that need crossing) that there is a shift system in place.

There are over 600 official toad crossings and some 300 Toad Patrols around the United Toad-dom with Froglife maintaining a database for the Department of Transport. There are even special fences in some areas guiding the toads to tunnels.

Even on a major LSD trip you really couldn't make this up. God, I love the British sometimes. But only sometimes mind.

Do you remember...?

2006-09-07T07:40:00.000+01:00

Due to an inability to sleep thanks to some (even for them) incredible behaviour from the Grusome Twosome that shall be explained later today, I entertained myself by thinking about what I think may well be my most favourite cartoon creation of all time (except for Gaia. Well, she's not technically a cartoon. But she should be.): Count Duckula.

A vegetarian vampire? With a lisp and delusional thespian ambitions? Inspired. Plus he looks a bit like the Dark Angel in evening gear. If he smiled. And was green.

P.S. Any and all DVDs of this comic giant will always be much appreciated...

Time Waster #1

2006-09-07T07:32:00.000+01:00

Yet another new series (bored of these yet?)!

Courtesy of Money Martin, Saviour of this Faerie's Finances (such as they are), this is a very good way to waste time. Dare I say it [whispering and glancing around furtively], even Tetris-like good. All hail my new addiction.

Try it. Especially if you are at work...

Vale

2006-09-06T01:17:00.000+01:00

Australian Bug/Croc/Dangerous Animal afficionado Steve Irwin's death made headline news in this Kingdom's 'fine' press (all headlines involving the word Crikey by the way) and rightly so. Here's a man who (however annoyingly) was in love with everything the natural world had to offer. And boy do I mean everything.

What's not to love about a chubby, over-enthusiastic man-boy bounding around in shorts with massive sweat patches under his armpits? No matter that he is as enraptured with a spider the size of a dinner plate that holds the world record for hairiest arachnid/creature with lots of legs or the cuddliest little koala (although we all know which one he preferred). A man with such derring-do and of such a perversely cheerful nature that sending him off to the Tora Bora caves to hang out with Bin La La would have had the turbanned one running gratefully into the arms of the nearest Green Beret?

If you're gonna go (and could choose), I very much doubt that Steve Irwin would have wanted to die peacefully in his sleep surrounded by grandchildren/bugs/close family crocodiles. I'd go so far as to say that as he was pulling out the sting from his chest his famous last words would have been something along the lines of "What a bewdy!" before he moved on to that Great Outback in the Sky.

Thankfully he shall live on in endless repeats on the Discovery Channel/ITV/Animal Kingdom etc. and the countless hours the Cheeky Cherub, Senor McK, O'Brienster and I spent watching in fits of hysteria (bought on alternately by the sheer comedy genius that was Steve or by the sheer terror of the creatures he, ahem, adored) shall be replicated by millions. As, I am sure, will numerous of our future offspring work on emulating his lovable yet quite obviously certifiable self through their devotion to sharing each and every creature they find hiding under every rock with us. Though to be fair, even Steve drew the line at exes - there are some rocks you just don't want to lift.

So farewell Steve. I know heaven will be full of all the (thankfully for this faerie) extinct creatures the size of a house/hairier than Chewbacca/more poisonous than Kitty Kelley that will keep you in raptures for all Eternity. You can remind God of some of his more interesting creations in the process - a 'What Not To Create Next Time Round' guide if you like).

Rest In Peace ya bewdy.

(Apologies. It's what the man would have wanted. Really.)

Caught with their hands in the Wiki jar

2006-08-31T00:23:00.002+01:00

The thought of a collective intelligence based initially on human experience but which also relies on software that 'learns' from its users can bring on vision of a technical apocalypse resulting in a Matrix/Terminator world run by machines. Personally, I think reality and the future are much more prosaic. Whilst the cream of our intellectual endeavours may rise, so too will our collective idiocy. That's the beauty of Wikipedia.

It's a simple and effective idea: a place where anyone can collate, edit invite and share information on any conceivable subject which is available to anyone with access to a computer and a modem. So called hacking and vandalism of the site, I see as a natural extension of the editing process. As soon as it is reported or spotted by a contributing editor it is dealt with. Content disputes are settled through an egalitarian form of peer review . Mistakes, typos etc. are dealt with in much the same way. A recent Nature survey found Wikipedia to be as accurate as the Encyclopaedia Britannica not to mention a lot lighter and with many fewer professors in tweed jacket with leather elbow patches floating about.

As with anything that depends on a variety of individuals educated and raised to different standards, not to mention vastly differing motives and priorities, there are inevitably some pretty wonderfully creative entries, beautifully satirized here by The Onion.

It has also become a forum for the expression of opinionn through 'selective' editing by some very committed individuals:

One saboteur, codenamed Thruston, changes the same sentence in Blairs entry on an almost daily basis to accuse him of setting out to destroy civil service neutrality... [That'll be the PM's Private Secretary on his tea break then.]

Another hacker regularly removes whole sections of Gordon Browns biography and replaces it with one word: tax. [The culprit? I'm guessing Gordon Brown's Mandarin of the Month.]

Apparently Tony B's entry is changed on average 25 times a day. I dread to think how often Georgie Wubblewoo Borgia's is. Of the three full-time employees, one poor sod is probably hired to watch that one entry day in and day out trying to deal with the constant barrage of 'truthiness' hitting those pages.

It was only a matter of time before politicians, celebrities and anyone whose anyone with anything to hide got in on this editing malarkey. Shame they didn't think it out just a little bit more before they got typing. If you are going to edit your entry to make yourself look good (and in most cases that has meant creative writing worthy of a Nobel Prize for Literature) try not to make it too obvious.

Take the Senators, Congressmen and MPs and their attendant aides, hand-holders, brains etc. There they go and give themselves some clever alias only to have their IP addresses give them away because they've logged on from their own desktop computers in the House of Commons, Capitol Hill, Bundestag etc. (Rumours that the daily 25 'edits' made to Tony B's entry have been made from 11 Downing Street have yet to be confirmed.)

And if they have considered and dealt with that thorny little problem by trekking to the nearest internet cafe (replete in the requisite mac and sunglasses so as to be incognito) the next thing to do is not admit it a la Marty Meehan.

Still, you gotta admire the reaction of a certain John Yarian, spokesman for Rep. Gil Gutknecht, R-Minn. (he would have to be a Republican wouldn't he?) after they were caught deleting his 1995 pledge to only serve a 12-year term and replacing it with a self-penned 'official' biography:

"We're concerned when anyone looks to Wikipedia for factual information...This is the same source that called former Assistant Attorney General John Seigenthaler a murderer in his official Wikipedia entry ... I would encourage people to find a more trustworthy place to do their research."

When caught with your Wiki down, the best defence is a good offence. The fact that Gutknecht's office was 'editing' his entry precisely because people did look to Wikipedia for factual information aside, his argument falls flat as John Seigenthaler is a journalist who was an assistant to Attorney General Robert Kennedy and whose Wikipedia entry had too been the target of some rather unusual editing.

Master criminals these guys ain't.

My World View

2006-08-31T00:08:00.001+01:00

Identifying my 'World View' shouldn't be all that difficult. I tend to wear my heart on my wing and am definitely not shy about sharing my opinions with all and sundry. Still, there is something seriously spooky about Blogthings - I'm becoming convinced the site authors have some kind of extra-sensory, out-of-body mindreading abilities as a result of the CIA's MKUltra tests during the sixties. They get it right way more often than not...

Your World View

You are a happy, well-balanced person who likes people and is liked by others.
You question whether many conventional views on morality are valid under all circumstances.
You are essentially a content person.

Sometimes, you consider yourself a little superior.
You are moral by your own standards.
You believe that morality is what best suits the occasion.

What Is Your World View?

Conspiracy theorist, moi?

Facelift

2006-08-29T00:52:00.000+01:00

Being AWOL for so long has put me just a bit behind with my planned revamp of this ever so 'umble blog's appearance. Still teaching myself HTML/CSS and making important design decisions (rounded corners as opposed to squared off took me about six weeks to decide - pity the poor boys who've taken me out to dinner; you can just imagine how I do with a menu) but I though there was no harm in changing the fascia for a bit of variety.

Bear with me. The end result will be fabulous dahlinks! I'm designing a logo and everything (no prize I'm afraid for spotting the unemployed faerie who is avoiding writing her PhD thesis and majorly avoiding doing her sums - she's just too obvious). There will be some pretty schizophrenic costume changes over the next few weeks I would imagine...

The Bike Booty Boys

2006-08-28T23:31:00.000+01:00

I've always maintained that the best forms of exercise are sex and drinking. Sadly I'm not getting any of either at present and that, allied with the fruits of the sea I partook of whilst away in the Cradle of Democracy, means that I am not as insubstantial as I used to be. Being half-woodland, I cannot expect to be as svelte as some of my pure-bred sea sprite cousins but even I accept that the current curve status (and that's the kindest description I can think of) is ridiculous.

Solution? I finally took the Banshee's advice and resigned myself to the fact that I would have to purchase a bicycle. Being an old soul and with a very well defined design aesthetic, I suspected that finding something I would actually not feel like a total helephant/escaped lunatic/[insert your own description here] riding would not be easy. I'm hardly going to follow her lead and get some carbon alloyed thingy that could probably launch me into space if I pressed the right levers (the freak does triathlons so you can guess the kind of bike I mean) so I was not overly-optimistic about finding a nice wee bike that is simple to use and had a basket on the front.

So you can imagine my surprise when on a pointless visit to see Pixie G (pointless because due to my current state of unemployment, I had nothing else to do) at her place of work, I passed the new Bike Booty premises with the most lovely old Triumph bicycle waiting just for me!

Lovely Bike Booty Brian even got me a basket for the front and Even Lovelier Bike Booty Niall attached a second basket (stolen from the cats admittedly) to the back. Plus they let me sit on their couch and made me copious amounts of tea whilst the Land was having its Daily Deluge.

I'd forgotten how much fun cycling about is. Not to mention being able to retort that "I ride bikes" and am not a bike that is ridden (just pre-empting Senor McK; proof positive if any was needed that just because a species produces a few intelligent individuals, doesn't mean that the whole species is intelligent).

So should anyone need an alternative and environmentally friendly form of transport, give the Bike Booty Boys a phone on 07772 784 049 or pop round to their wee unit at 1103 Argyle Street (down the lane). Mentioning my good self would be much appreciated too; between referrals and the cakes and cookies I bring them, I'll hopefully be kept in free service/Stupid Question Answers^TM for some time.

Isn't she lovely? She seems like a Tilda to me. I only need a straw hat, freshly cut flowers and white gloves to complete my 'Cycling Miss Faerie' look. Or a baguette and a beret for 'French Faerie Stylee'.

Magic Space #3

2006-08-27T22:44:00.000+01:00

Trudging along Londinium's Baker Street to catch the autobus after a long day hanging out with Lazarus and his IVs and BAM! The sun broke through the clouds and let me see just a sliver of the lives lived in this building. It doesn't happen often but sometimes there is beauty to be found in destruction.

(It also sent my tummy rumbling due to its iced cake appearance but that's by the by.)

The Prodigal Faerie returns!

2006-08-27T22:02:00.000+01:00

According to Blogger it's been 19 days since I last posted. Finally back in Four-Seasons-In-One-Day Land (although let's be honest,it's hardly civilization), I can explain my absence as a result of the following:

AWOL or Absent WithOut Laptop

and

AWOT or Away WithOut Tweezers

Being AWOL is pretty self-explanatory. May I advise anyone planning to go to a completely flat place replete with military bases, say Norfolk or the Netherlands (or not, I mean, why would you?) to ensure they take this ever so slightly useful piece of hardware. I know I could manage pretty well in the wilds or alone on a desert island. At least on a desert island or in the wilds there would be something new or different to see or deal with everyday. In Norfolk the highlight of my day was trying to figure out which way the wind was blowing (hint: looking at the direction the trees are leaning doesn't help - they grow sideways, not up).

Being AWOT may not be so obvious. For the uninitiated, tweezers aren't just for Christmas, they're as vital a piece of travelling kit as a passport and bribe money (it's not like the bribees keep the money - Faerie Gold disappears quickly, at least in my hands). There's no point having a laptop with you if you can't see it. A mono-brow, however unattractive, at least allows for easy viewing of a VDU. Eyebrows growing so out of control that you can't see the keyboard let alone the screen kinda nullifies having said laptop. It also means that what passes for totty in the Flatlands runs screaming if they spy you thus wasting another rare opportunity to pass the time.

Suffice to say I am beautifully tweezed and re-connected with my Powerbook so shall resume my initial flurry of prolific posting. Erudite and witty commentary on world affairs and such pressing issues as Mel Gibson's tirade against the Santa Monica PD or Posh's new haircut (yeah, like I'm really going to waste valuable Faerie Time on that one) will be arriving forthwith (once I've eaten something without gravy and managed to find Mayhem and Kaos).

P.S. Lazarus is doing surprisingly well. He hasn't had to imbibe any blood for nearly five weeks but he's in the care of the Wicked Wife Wannabe now so fingers crossed - who knows what she will/won't do. Still waiting on operation details/dates; at this point arranging a bar-mitzvah in Mecca would be easier but we persevere.

A cry from the wilderness

2006-08-09T17:13:00.000+01:00

Hello? Anybody out there?

Still esconced in my Aunt's converted barn in Norfolk with Lazarus. I can tell you with all honesty that massaging spasming leg muscles and giving anti-coagulant injections has never been fun. Her food is good though and that helps a faerie who is feeling pretty sorry for herself. A bitter and angry father (and frankly, who can blame him), recovering from his latest round of anaesthetic as well as the mother of all disappointments is not exactly the best company. Still waiting to hear from the Fabulous Fi although it appears that Sir Magdi Yacoub (he of Lazarus' third chest cracking fame) will be leading one of the teams in this latest adventure, Victor Tsang (Lazarus' fifth craftsman) the other. Nominated by Professor Jane Somerville aka Super Somerville. When, where, is it going to happen? Who knows.

Wish I'd brought my laptop with me however. I write this from the Watton (as in "Watton earth?" - sorry, couldn't resist, it's such a dumbass name) village library. Currently surrounded by screaming kids and Polish farm workers playing very bad death metal on the computers. Where am I? I have no idea. So in honour of my complete lack of geographical knowledge here is today's special game - Find the Faerie! The rules are simple; find the nearest township of any size, send me the details and maybe I can get the hell out of Dodge. Or Norfolk.

Special feature in progress - Nutshells. Seeing as I haven't got the luxury at present of immersing myself in current affairs of the heart/state/world, I am drafting my nuggets of wisdom/opinion/general babble and shall do my utmost to post them as soon as possible.

One little thing that did give me a glow of happiness that has brightened up the face of this pining faerie: Brother Sheridan's win. He may be orange, shouts a lot and calls everyone brothers and sisters even more that Fidel but I believed him. Although according to the Trotskyist, this win means that he and his fellow SSULers (that's Scottish Socialist Ultra Left to you and me - yes I know, I didn't think such a thing was possible either) which include that imbecile Rosie Kane (I'm sorry but she can't string a sentence together) and Caroline Leckie (who I think is rather nice as I recall from the time when she organized a strike I took part in) will be expelled.

I'm guessing that means a lot more latenight/early morning knocks on the door as he (the Trotskyist) does his utmost to seduce me while incoherent and competely paralytic. Hmm. Maybe Tommy should have lost after all...

At last! Money for old rope (well, phones)

2006-08-02T21:20:00.000+01:00

For those of you living in the United Kingdom of Ga-Ga, here's a wee site that has certainly helped this faerie conserve some of that faerie gold (well, conserve enough to go to the taverns with anyway). Run by a wonderful gentleman with a truly altruistic bent the Money Expert is definitely worth a perusal.

One of his more excellent suggestions (he does all the leg-work so we don't have to): Envirofone. You checks your phone; you sends your phone; you gets your cash. Received a lovely wee cheque myself t'other day for 39.95 of those Great British Poonds. I cannot recommend Saint Martin of the Money Saving enough.

Don't mention hearts

2006-08-02T20:46:00.000+01:00

I think I've sussed out why my heart gets so easily broken. It's genetic. I know, I know. It's often used as a cop out for all sorts of things (murderous rages; malco-ordination; bad dress sense) but believe me this is the real thing.

My proof? Lazarus, the mortal half of my parentage (immortality is like Judaism, you get it from your mother), has just had his seventh heart operation which failed. So just for a change, he's going to go for another. His fifth open-heart surgery but eighth overall.

Now I could bore you with the technical terms and describe exactly which bits are being repaired/replaced/poked/prodded and generally messed about with but that would really distract me from my main point. He has congenital aortic stenosis although today's current problem is paravalvular leak in the aortic valve and pretty severe mitral regurgitation (that's the condensed version); I have a porcelain heart that cracks if someone even looks at me funny.

The most important man in my life is dying and even I, with all my magical skills, can do sod all about it.

All this translates as me making my excuses for not being particularly interesting or prolific and for that I apologise.

Am collecting Lazarus from the Heart Hospital tomorrow and heading to deepest darkest Norfolk (not sure if they have flushing toilets let alone internet up there but we'll see) to stay with the Queen of Roasts (Queen of Roast Dinners for all you with sick minds) until we get a date for this latest foray into my father's chest. Once the Fabulous Fi (cardiologist extrordinaire) sets the date I shall be back at my ICU post in Londinium. I shall endeavour to get (somewhat) back on track and regale you all with my wit, charm and incisive opinion but please forgive me if I am somewhat sporadic.

May you all never live in interesting times.

It's a hard life

2006-07-28T02:50:00.000+01:00

As you can see, I have been working really hard of late...

Some advice for boys

2006-07-23T22:43:00.000+01:00

I've always believed this:

...loveless men whose beds are forever relatively empty - forget the six-pack, get to work on the science; throw away your contact lenses, put on glasses; make theorems your tattoos and wisdom your weapon. There is chemistry in all the best chat-up lines and no better foreplay than physics.

Intelligence is the best aphrodisiac.

Know anyone?

Movie Health Warnings

2006-07-23T22:24:00.000+01:00

Apologies to you faithful few who hang on my every word. I have been in the land of olives licking certain wounds and partaking of the respite that only home can bring. Sun and Sea work magic that only the oldest beings can summon. Not to mention the company of the Dress Diva and Conservata. Good friends of long standing have their own special magic too. Still some ways to go though. Broken hearts don't heal overnight.

Which brings me to my main point. Certain movies should come with a health warning. In fact, it's imperative. I'm not talking about the usual sex, drugs, swearing and violence - that's part of my everyday. Not the violence part obviously but you get the idea.

I'm talking about the movies that you shouldn't watch during certain moments of crises. Like watching Steel Magnolias when someone you love dies before their time. Or Beaches when you've fallen out with your best friend.

So here's a word of advice:

Don't watch The Break Up when you have done just that.

Broken up that is. (So y'all don't worry, Lazarus is having elective surgery but is expected to be fine; Pixie G, Nana and I are still going strong.)

You'd think that is self-evident. But let's face it. You certainly don't expect any movies with Jennifer Aniston and the god that is Vince Vaughn to leave you sobbing. But tonight it did. And there was NO WARNING.

There are plenty more things that I could say. However, Gaia's response has been to put on Ferris Bueller's Day Off. I highly recommend it. Already feeling a bit better. Till the next time I see a movie where some idiot censor didn't actually do their job properly.

Normal service will be resumed shortly.

Italians and football

2006-07-15T22:50:00.000+01:00

I could write about corruption, racism and the poisoning of the beautiful game in Italia but it would depress me too much particularly after their superb performance in the World Cup. Instead, I would like to share this joke with you.

A young man visiting Rome wins a ticket to attend the city's (in)famous football derby. On arrival at the stadium, he finds his seat and looks forward to the game. Between him and a rather somber looking elderly gentleman dressed in black is an empty seat which remains so for the entire game. Once the final whistle has blown, the home team victorious, he approaches the man and asks why the seat remained empty when there were queues around the block for the game.

"Ah," said the man "it is my wife's seat. We come here together always and never miss a game."

"Where is she?" the visitor enquired.

"She's dead," the man replied with tears in his eyes.

"I'm so sorry," said the young man kindly. "Was there no one else that could come in her stead? A friend or relative perhaps?"

"Si, si," the old man sighed, "someone could have come but they are all at the funeral."

Moral of this story? Nothing will keep a true fan away from a game.

Magic Space #2

2006-07-15T22:35:00.000+01:00

This company has been in business since before I was even a blink in Gaia's eye!

(Kifissias Avenue, Athens, Greece)

Faerie Lady's Hall of Hero(in)es

2006-07-14T19:51:00.000+01:00

I believe in hero(in)es. Not only do I believe in them, I actively seek them out. They are people I admire or wish to emulate. They stand for something and accept the consequences of that stand. They don't participate in the back-peddling /deal-making /skin-saving antics of the vast majority (led of course by our 'leaders') but take the praise or opprobrium they inspire, not with automatic grace or dignity but always with no apology.

My criteria are few. Sadly they are also present in few. Sometimes what inducts a person into the Faerie Lady's Hall of Hero(in)es ^TMis nothing more than a gut reaction - my equivalent of knowing what I'm looking for when I find it and cannot necessarily explain in a coherent argument why they are there; they just are.

They appeal of course to my nature and beliefs, however deep down I may hide them. I would no more expect a chorus of agreement in my choices anymore than I would agree with the choices of others.

My inaugural Hero is known to very few in the great grand scheme of things. Of those who do, he is either a meddling middle-class mandarin that just won't learn his place or an honest, decent man who has traded his future, safety and possible liberty for telling the truth, however unpalatable and 'inconvenient'. His claim to Hero-hood hasn't involved any special powers or skills. He is an ordinary man, moved to do, and keep doing an extraordinary (yet glaringly obvious) thing. I'll bet he gets in a right grump if the kids have left the living room in a state or the dog has shredded his newspaper. I'll bet that he freaks out at the thought of having to visit the in-laws and does anything to avoid mowing the lawn.

His name is Craig Murray. He was the British ambassador to Uzbekistan. He's not the British ambassador to Uzbekistan anymore because he alerted the Foreign Office to the gross violation of human rights in there and who, when they ignored him, went public. Despite threats of legal action and fighting serious ill-health, he has continued to highlight the human rights situation (sample case: the boiling to death of two members of Hizb ut-Tahrir) and using the FOIA, produced evidence (eloquently summarized and provided here by Ministry of Truth) to support his claims of collusion between Britain, the US and Uzbekistan President Islam Karimov whereby torture is imported and tacitly approved.

Why is he a hero, indeed, one of my heroes? Because he tells the truth. Not because it is easy, but because it is hard. He's no Cassandra; people believe him. They either have the power to act but fail to do so or lack the power to make an immediate difference so do what little they can.

If you ever have the good fortune to meet this ordinary man, shake his hand; give him a hug; kiss him; tell him that you too have stood by and repeated a painful truth. Doing the right thing is almost always unpopular and painful. Moral satisfaction rarely feeds your family, provides for your old age or makes for a quiet life. He needs your support, even if it is only a touch or a smile. Doing one of those things will help him . So show that you appreciate him. Try to follow his example. Not just his but those of all the Hero(in)es you know.

Just a thought

2006-07-11T23:01:00.000+01:00

I'm supposed to be packing for my sojourn in the land of olives and feta but it just occurred to me. That saying about keeping your friends close and your enemies closer? What if we've all (immortals included) have been looking at it from the wrong perspective? Instead of keeping our enemies close so that we can keep an eye on them and outwit them, what if we're to keep them close so that we can make them our friends?

Elwood P. Dowd

2006-07-11T22:39:00.000+01:00

I was reminded over the weekend of the sayings of a philosophical giant. That he was a contented drunk who hung out with a 6'3 1/2" rabbit is neither here nor there. Freud took coke for God's sake (explains a lot doesn't it?) and Nietzsche was a real barrel of laughs.

To give you all some pause, consider the following pronouncements of the venerable Elwood P. Dowd's:

I've wrestled with reality for 35 years... I'm happy to state I finally won out over it.

Now I don't know about anyone else but my very existence is a victory over what is generally considered to be 'reality'. The world would be a much better place if we all tried to overcome reality.

This little gem of an anecdote encapsulates this faerie's raison d'etre - being good and kind (however hard I find it; yes, I admit having been hit with the cynical stick).

Years ago my mother used to say to me, she'd say, "In this world, Elwood, you must be" - she always called me Elwood - "In this world, you must be oh so smart or oh so pleasant." Well, for years I was smart. I recommend pleasant. And you may quote me.

Nothing will get you so far in this world as saying please, thank you, Sir and Ma'am. Yes it does cost nothing to be pleasant but the riches you reap can never be counted.

What Elwood and Harvey do of a day should best be left to him to explain:

Harvey and I have things to do... we sit in the bars... have a drink or two... and play the juke box. Very soon the faces of the other people turn towards me and they smile. They say: 'We don't know your name, mister, but you're all right, all right.' Harvey and I warm ourselves in these golden moments. We came as strangers - soon we have friends. They come over. They sit with us. They drink with us. They talk to us. They tell us about the great big terrible things they've done and the great big wonderful things they're going to do. Their hopes, their regrets. Their loves, their hates. All very large, because nobody ever brings anything small into a bar. Then I introduce them to Harvey, and he's bigger and grander than anything they can offer me. When they leave, they leave impressed. The same people seldom come back.

I've never known anyone to bring anything small into a bar and leave with it. Such is the camaraderie ambrosia brings. That and an ear.

We could all do with taking on board this wonderful man's thoughts. After all, he's best friends with a Puca!

Birthdays

2006-07-10T13:34:00.000+01:00

You'd imagine that being immortal, after a period of time, one birthday is like any other. After all, what's 1031 or 1047 to a faerie? (Note: not yet that old.) The biggies, you know, 18, 21 or 500 are obviously celebrated with aplomb but the rest? A few ambrosias with the gang; some flowers; maybe dinner. Nothing fancy.

When you are a young immortal (the Merman, the Banshee and I being of a very recent vintage) the novelty takes a while to wear off. At least 100 years. Even then, there's still this frisson about the day you first crept out of a dew-covered blossom, burst forth in a hail of bubbles from a deep sea vent or were expelled screaming from the dark abyss. Which in some cases last for aeons (not mentioning any names Gaia).

Unfortunately, since we have been forced to adapt and assimilate into this modern mortal world (with greater success than our more ancient brethren I hasten to add) we can't help but pick up some of their habits. You know, the more material kind. So when your entire immediate family celebrates their creation in July it really socks it to your bank balance. (As I've mentioned before, faerie gold just doesn't go as far as it used to.)

After a quick straw poll in the offices where I have currently been biding (or should that be skiving) my time, apparently there is a month for all where gifts and wishes come all at once. Still, I suppose I should count my blessings. Despite having to procure items for Gaia, the Merman, Lazarus and the Banshee (in that order over 24 days), at least it is more or less in the middle of the fiscal year. Think of those poor schnooks (good word, heard it for the first time yesterday) who have to buy natal and Christmas gifts in the same month. Their balances will never recover.

The Man from Islay

2006-07-08T05:13:00.000+01:00

Whilst I have a perfectly serviceable pair of wings (I checked the other day: despite all the pollen pies I've had recently I can just get airborne), I generally take planes. I don't want to attract attention to myself you see. Problem is, I do just that by not paying attention.

To summarize: this faerie was born and raised in a warm and generous land. We'll call it the Land of the Gods and Cradle of Democracy (guessed what mortals these days call it yet?). Travelling between the United Kingdom of Ga Ga and there involved those nifty contraptions y'all call 'planes'. With me so far?

My finest moment where these mechanical miracles are concerned came when I went to the wrong airport. Yes, you read that right. I went to somewhere called Heathrow as opposed to Gatwick (it may have been the other way round, I can't remember) and consequently missed my plane. Rest assured, I got the next one from the airport I was at (after a lot of tears and backup from my countrymen - BA staff hate that kind of thing) but it has taught me that these metal beasts are not to be tamed.

Simply put, I wasn't paying attention. i.e. I didn't check my ticket. Easy mistake to make when in those days I was taking planes like other people take buses (don't ask). A lot of trouble (and money) could have been saved if I'd flown myself but I don't quite fancy being the target of anti-'aircraft' fire.

The point of all this? I'd like to tell the Man from Islay that I cherish meeting him and I hope that he managed to get himself onto his plane to Germanica. It's so rare that you meet someone that can make you laugh, think and relax all at the same time.

Perhaps this faerie will cross a different ocean one of these days.

My Strange Subconscious

2006-07-07T10:38:00.000+01:00

From Lunanina, whose tagline

"Love as if your heart isn't fragile"

is one of the most empowering things I've heard in a long time, these Unconscious Mutterings. First answer to pop into your head stays. Be interesting to see other people's results as well as their opinions on mine... (there's a comments box you know!).

That :: Girl

Fishbowl :: Lens

Church :: yard

All about :: Eve

Fist :: i-cuffs

Tagline :: Conga line

Agree :: to disagree

Leak :: and Potato soup (I know, I know)

Jessica :: Simpson (?)

Superman :: Lois Lane

I worry about myself sometimes I really do.

Blondes and geometry

2006-07-07T10:27:00.000+01:00

You can't argue with her logic:

Courtesy of Michael. Check him out - he's got some pretty neat stuff and a lovely sense of whimsy.

In Memoriam

2006-07-07T08:54:00.000+01:00

I was lucky. My friends and family weren't hurt.

My sister, the Banshee was in Greece taking care of our Dad so was not on her usual bus, the one that blew up in Tavistock Square. My best friend from school, Nana, had taken the day off to go find an apartment so wasn't on her usual subway train, the one that blew up near Liverpool Street. My brother, the Merman, was in the middle of the Thames at the time, probably the safest place in London that day. His girlfriend Sulis, a nurse, spent most of the day treating the walking wounded.

Today is not a day to discuss politics, theories, reasoning or retribution.

Today is not a day for anger.

It is a day to remember that 52 people lost their lives because they were the 'enemy' and who weren't able to say goodbye.

It is a day to remember those who lived but who died a little that day.

It is a day to remember everyone, everywhere who woke up one morning, not knowing that that was the day they were going to die because they didn't know they would be caught in Destruction's wake.

It is a day to remember heroes.

It is a day to think about how to do something little, something small: a smile or a nod that breaks down a barrier just a little and which helps build a bridge.

JP

2006-07-06T21:32:00.000+01:00

Just spent a lovely few hours with Pixie G and the Polar Bear. Chilling, partaking of some ambrosia. Talked about a lot of things: boys, school, boys, work, boys, partying, boys. You get the drift.

One thing we did not cover was John Prescott. For the following reasons:

1. He's repulsive
2. We don't get it. He's repulsive. On SO many levels.
3. We just don't care.

If we did care, one thing we would all agree on... this picture proves he's lying.

As I am sure Pauline, Tracy Temple et al will attest, there's no way he is that well endowed.

For writing that actually deals with the issues not the smut (well, just a little) check out Unity (AK Ministry of Truth), Chicken Yoghurt, Ian Dale, Devil's Kitchen (for those that enjoy the more profane argument) and any others these good gentlemen recommend.

Chicken

2006-07-06T10:58:00.000+01:00

Ever play that game chicken? You challenge someone to a course that will put you both on track for a head-on collision and the loser is the one who swerves first?

Well, North Korea's challenged the rest of the world to an almighty game of it.

Timing is everything and they certainly didn't fail on that score. Want to upset the Americans? Interrupt the President's Fourth of July by test-firing missiles of various ranges. There's nothing any President (especially this one) hates more than being called away from his BBQ (additionally in Bush's case, pretzels) and fireworks to hunker down in the Situation Room.

The Koreans insist that such missile launch drills are their "legal right". Unfortunately, regardless of how specious this argument is, they're not exactly wrong. Moral and ethical considerations aside, they are entitled to use the 'national sovereignty' argument, however distasteful.

And therein lies the rub. The Americans can't dismiss that particular defence without being blatant hypocrites. They are not so popular right now that they could get away with it, even if they tried. A.C. Grayling breaks down the problem excellently in yesterday's Guardian:

... critics... argue that in the arena of weapons systems with extra-territorial reach there is no right of unilateral action; international agreements, controls, treaties and responsibilities oblige countries to respect the security interests of neighbours and indeed the international community at large. Disregard of these constraints... is risky and destabilizing.

He's absolutely right. Except that

... the United States' stance is, at the least, hypocritical. What it rightly censures others for doing it wrongly does itself, and with almost total impunity. The attitude of the Bush administration to a whole raft of international institutions and measures... is consistently negative and unilateralist. It pleads national interest and national sovereignty just as North Korea does, despite the fact that the hollowness of North Korea's appeal to the concept is proof positive that claims of national immunity from international obligations are unacceptable.

Classic double standard situation: do as I say, not do as I do. Sadly the Americans aren't the only ones that can play that particular tune. The Russians and Chinese have a number of variations on it along with the French, Israelis, British etc. No wonder the developing world is pissed off. You lead by example; any parent could tell you that. Instead the world went in for Doublespeak forgetting that it is North Korea's lingua franca.

The USA expressed their displeasure saying that

... The international community does have at its disposal a number of tools to make it more difficult for North Korea to engage in this kind of brinkmanship and to engage in the continued pursuit of its nuclear weapons programmes...

Translation: You are forgetting your place Kim. We harass the Iranians for less but let you exist so that we can scare Congress into giving us money and the UN into doing what we want. Don't ruin the beautiful thing we have going here.

The Russians said that the

... provocative action significantly complicates the situation around Korea's nuclear programme [and] obviously run counter to moves to build trust in the region.

Translation: We won't be able to keep selling you stuff unless you stop showing it off.

Whereas the Chinese

... are seriously concerned about the events that have occurred. We hope that all sides will maintain calm and restraint.

Translation: Don't even think about destabilizing North Korea because the last thing we want are a whole load of refugees flooding over the border.

Tokyo "strongly protested" by banning North Korean ferries, flights and officials and calling for sanctions.

Translation: There isn't one. They have a right to freak out seeing as they are the only nation that has ever suffered nuclear attack. In diplomatic terms though, banning things mean that they are very angry - "Mummy will slap!" (Apologies to Helen Fielding).

All of which may (though probably won't) lead to the ultimate censure - a security council resolution - an option I'm sure has Kim Jong-il quaking in his boots. Good one guys - real scary. It worked SO well for Saddam, Israel and co.

Don't misunderstand me: I do not believe that there is any other solution to this current state of affairs other than diplomacy. Punitive measures which cut off the North Koreans succeed only in further validating their behaviour and goading them into more confrontation. Such measures increase their siege mentality; bolster Kim's insane military spending and cause even greater suffering to the North Korean people.

The other problem is the lack of parity (it's back!) between North Korea's treatment when compared to that of Iran but that thorny issue aside, the fact that the international community is fracturing under the weight of their differing responses and solutions just gives North Korea greater satisfaction and encouragement. When Mommy and Daddy don't put up a united front no wonder the kids get mixed messages. Do what most parents do - work it out privately in the bedroom first (okay this analogy isn't the greatest, I admit - Gay Dads Bush, Blair, Chirac, Putin, Jintao, Moo-hyun and Koizumi getting it on is a VERY scary image but work with me here) and then make your decision. Don't have it out in public and then expect everyone to believe you when you say that you've come to the same conclusion.

The South Koreans, (and everyone should follow their lead here as they more than anyone are directly in the line of fire - I mean, come on! Does anyone really believe that the Taeopodong-2 can reach Alaska?), want to work with the North. Of course the Japanese are nervous (major understatement there) but unless they provoke the North they are not at the top of Kim's 'Who shall I annihilate today?' list.

Engagement with North Korea, if on humanitarian grounds alone if nothing else is the only option. A people so downtrodden and starving to death is hardly going to rise up against their oppressors; they can barely stand up. Much as I loathe Henry Kissinger his realpolitik worked with the Soviet Union and it's working with China. The doctrine is essentially

... a return to the principles of the Cold War... appropriate when dealing with states regarded as a threat... contain the activities of such states abroad and work or wait for their eventual collapse at home.

Both countries still have a long way to go, particularly where human rights are concerned (the notion that they can't persecute, torture and murder their citizens as they choose without risking international opprobrium chafes but again, they are not alone in doing any or all of those things) yet through discourse comes understanding; through understanding, change.

As a bona fide Faerie I can tell you that there is no magic wand to cure this world's ills (see last). We can only light ways to follow; we can't force people to go down them.

40 things you'd love to say out loud at work

2006-07-06T10:15:00.000+01:00

Courtesy of the Banshee who even this early in the day clearly doesn't have anything better to do than bomb my inbox with inanities:

1. I can see your point, but I still think you're full of shit.
2. I don't know what your problem is, but I'll bet it's hard to pronounce.
3. How about never? Is never good for you?
4. I see you've set aside this special time to publicly humiliate yourself.
5. I'm really easy to get along with when you people learn to see it my way.
6. Who lit the fuse on your tampon?
7. I'm out of my mind at the moment, but feel free to leave a message.
8. I don't work here - I'm a consultant.
9. It sounds likEnglishsh, but I don't understand a damn word you're saying.
10. Ah. I see the screw-up fairy has visited us again.
11. I like you. You remind me of myself when I was young and stupid.
12. You are validating my inherent mistrust of strangers.
13. I have plenty of talent and vision - I just don't give a damn.
14. I'm already visualizingng the duct tape over your mouth.
15. I will always cherish the initial misconceptions I had about you.
16. Thank you. We're all refreshed and challenged by your unique point of view.
17. The fact that no one understands you doesn't mean you're an artist.
18. Any connection between your reality and mine is purely coincidental.
19. What am I? Flypaper for freaks?
20. I'm not being rude. You're just insignificant.
21. It's a thankless job, but I've got a lot of karma to burn off.
22. Yes, I am an agent of Satan, but my duties are largely ceremonial.
23. And your cry-baby whiny assed opinion would be?
24. Do I look like a f..King people person to you?
25. This isn't an office. It's hell with fluorescent lighting.
26. I started out with nothing and I still have most of it left.
27. Sarcasm is just one more service we offer.
28. If I throw a stick, will you leave?
29. Errors have been made. Others will be blamed.
30. Whatever kind of look you were going for, you missed.
31. Oh, I get it. Like humour. Only different.
32. A cubicle is just a padded cell without the door.
33. Can I trade this job for what's behind door number 1?
34. Too many freaks, not enough circuses.
35. Nice perfume, but must you marinate in it?
36. Chaos, panic and disorder - my work here is finally done.
37. How do I set a laser printer to stun?
38. I thought I wanted a career; turns out I just wanted a salary.
39. I'll try being nicer if you try being smarter.
40. Wait a minute - I'm just trying to imagine you with a personality.

Not phrases I would ever use (just all sweetness and light me) but I imagine both the Banshee and the Fallen Angel could have some fun with these...

Just to begin with...

2006-07-06T09:08:00.000+01:00

Before I start on the North Korean Fiasco, which I know will depress me, I have something for all those England fans out there, courtesy of this morning's Metro (look, I've got to read something whilst the bus driver stops no way near a bus stop to pick up his mate for FREE then stops two blocks later to let him off but only after the bus has been stationary for ten minutes while they chat):

A Scottish football fan has put the English team up for sale on eBay - and been offered £19.66. Craing Maclagan, 22, is selling the squad after their quarter-final exit from the World Cup in Gernmany, billing them 'a perfect cure for insomnia'. The Dundee United fan's web listing received more than 500 hites within hours of being posted.

That's initiative. Probably didn't put Sven up though - he'd have to pay someone to take him. Oh wait, the English FA did.

Prediction

2006-07-05T19:52:00.000+01:00

Now I haven't used my clairvoyancy skills for some time (it's never been my strongest suit) but I'm going to go out on a limb here...

Portugal 2 France 0

I have a real soft spot for Les Francais but I'd like to see the Portugi do it. This has absolutely nothing to do with the fact that I have always adored the magnificent Vitor Baia (no longer playing *sob* but here's a picture to make up for it *sigh*).

About to kick off...

Update: Vive La France! Still, it could have been worse. And I get to see some Zidane. Ultimately though my heart's with the Azzurri (nothing to do with Del Piero of course)...

Knowledge

2006-07-05T18:56:00.000+01:00

There are times when I hate knowledge. Not necessarily the general knowledge/useful stuff knowledge. More the self-awareness and understanding type knowledge.

e.g. Knowing that the pain in head is a brain tumor does make it stop hurting any (not that I have cancer understand).

So knowing why I hurt doesn't make it hurt any less. Good thing about us faeries (and something I notice we share with mortals): unlike fruit, once we're bruised we don't stay that way. Bruises and pains fade. Eventually.

I blame First for this latest bout of grumpiness/introspection. Even though they were on time today.

Office decoration #1 & 2

2006-07-05T09:52:00.000+01:00

Not only did this guy's workmates think this up, think of how long it must have taken. The sheer effort involved must be congratulated. There are pranks and there are pranks. This one is genius. Who thought the Czechs had it in them?

Conceptually perfect. Its author is wasted in an office - get thee to an Art School!

Someone REALLY doesn't like football...

2006-07-05T09:21:00.000+01:00

Perusing today's Metro on the bus (it came on time this morning by the way although I wasn't able to scam my way on with an expired ticket - damn those eagle eyed jobsworths) I noticed the following wee story:

A prankster has caused injuries to football fans by filling balls with concrete. Six footballs were chained to fences in Berlin, with sign saying: "Can you kick it?"
Two men, aged 21 and 23, were treated for foot injuries after trying to do so. "The balls could have been left by who is sick of the World Cup," said a police spokesman.

Whatever the creator's motivation, be it environmental art, anti-football sentiment or just an innovative way of testing people's stupidity, I have to admire their creativity and the effort involved in setting this one up. There's something rather delicious about the whole thing and certain to cause not just the maker but their victims and carers a not insubstantial amount of hilarity. It you are going to hurt yourself, you might as well do it in a funny way. Bit like if you are going to have a dramatic death, you might as well be innovative (see The Darwin Awards)

This Faerie Lady would have tried to kick it.

Independence Day

2006-07-04T18:43:00.000+01:00

Ooh! Aah!

Shame America's not really free. Oh well, one day.

Drip, drip, drip...crash!

2006-07-04T11:36:00.000+01:00

There's no point in being alive if you can't laugh and see the funny side of even the most depressing situations. Except now I have found something with no funny side and it is sapping my will to live.

Civil liberties are one of the few things I take seriously and to see them being not just eroded but calved a la polar ice caps sends me spitting with the type of rage that only a faerie can muster (it may look a like sparkler spray to you lot but believe me this is hardcore fireworks where I come from).

Warning: I am about to have a full-blown Faerie Freakout ^TM.

Today's simple #*!*#?! concept No. 3: if you suspect someone of a crime, collect your evidence, arrest them, charge them and let them defend themselves in a court of law. Don't throw them in jail/put them under house arrest while you take as long as you need to build the case against them/fail to build a case against them or keep them locked up 'just in case' they commit a crime. I mean, fine, if you want to do this go to Burma or some other such paradise otherwise please note that the burden of proof is on the accusers, not the accused. At least in this democracy it is.

Unfortunately for those pathetic excuses for legally trained individuals who are currently in power, in the UK there is a little something called the presumption of innocence. Not the "we think you are guilty so we are going to lock you up without due process and go and search for/make up/never find (delete as appropriate) the evidence against you but still keep you under lock and key" principle.

Or there was. A presumption of innocence that is. At the rate this government is going it may well be a legend by the time this faerie has her own little faeries to look after.

"Mommy, is it true that once upon a time you were innocent until proven guilty; tried by a jury of your peers; judged by an independent judiciary in a court where the burden of proof was on your accusers?"

"That was just a dream my love. Hush now, the walls have ears..."

*crash of splintered door and Baby Faerie screams as Mommy Faerie is dragged away for treason against the State*

Over-imaginative? Perhaps. My imagination does have a tendency to run away with me but it's not as if there isn't precedent. The 20th century is full of them.

So the latest brainwave to increase the 28-day limit that terror subjects can be held for without charge to 90 days has so upset this faerie that her normally temperate, indeed Zen-like demeanour is shot to hell (it started with the bus this morning by the way). Apparently because terror investigations are more complex, the police/spooks/nincompoops need more time to liase with other security organizations, investigate and so on. I thought modern communication and technology would make this an easier,faster endeavour. Isn't that the point? If the Mossad, CIA or whoever don't want to share their tidbits and it takes the security services 3 months to get them out of them, don't take it out on some(initially presumed innocent) guy.

At least the (currently) independent judiciary is seeing sense and protecting what civil liberties remain. Mr. Justice Sullivan struck down the government's control orders last week saying that they were

"the antithesis of liberty and equivalent to imprisonment"

and breached Article 5 of the European Convention of Human Rights which outlaws indefinite detention without trial. I'm sure the subjects of these control orders are pretty unsavoury characters but if a court does not impose them they do not have validity. Why doesn't didn't a court impose them? Because there wasn't enough evidence to go to court and the government know that until there was, no court would lock these guys up so TB (nasty disease that he is) and the rest of his crew decided to bypass the rule of law altogether. And judges don't like that, no they don't.

Of course the government is going to appeal. The tenor of Home Office Minister Tom McNulty's statement is ominous to say the least:

"We think in the balance between public safety and the right to liberty and security for the individual, the public safety outweighs the individual."

That sounds familiar... who was it that said something along those lines? Hmmm. Stalin? Hitler? Pol Pot? Mao? Sorry, just being a little over-imaginative again.

I'm ready to slash my wings, I really am. Again, these laws affect me here in Four-Seasons-In-One-Day Land so I have to care. Even if they didn't apply to me, I'd still care because these are fundamental principles of democracy and the rule of law. Injustice and unfairness are some of the worst of crimes because while their initial effects may be relatively innocuous, they have the capacity to grow exponentially into the most horrific.

Which brings me finally to Gordon. I was a fan. I really was. But Trident? More nuclear power stations? And now he supports this? My desolation c'est complete.

Quid pro quo (or not)

2006-07-04T09:58:00.000+01:00

Free-market libertarian though he may be (that's Old School Tory to you and me), I do occasionally agree with the Fallen Angel. Who in turn, very occasionally agrees with those of a more liberal persuasion. What do Menzies Campbell, the Fallen Angel, anyone with a modicum of sense and fairness and I have in common? We all agree that fast-track extradition to the US must stop until the reciprocal agreement is actually reciprocal.

It's those pesky Natwest bankers.

The fundamental point we agree on? That the Extradition Act of 2003 is stupid and totally ill thought out .

The US can demand the extradition of a UK citizen without making a "prima facie" case (that is , clear evidence of wrongdoing) yet will not extradite one of their own citizens to the UK unless the UK can show "probable cause". Sounds about the same except that it isn't. Probable cause is a chance to go fishing. Prima facie is your cut and dried "please give me a guilty verdict". Not to mention the fact that what is happening in practice is that if the US want someone they show probable cause; if the UK want someone they go to a US court and make a prima facie case.

Back to front, asymmetrical and unbalanced. That's the polite way of describing this treaty. The Fallen Angel has a few more, shall we say, imaginative phrases when dealing with this matter.

Originally set up in the wake of 9/11 to enable the speedy extradition of terrorist suspects, this 'treaty' has yet to be ratified by the US Senate. According to Ming the Merciless this is because

the Senate, largely under the influence of the Irish lobby which is determined to prevent any question of suspected IRA terrorists being extradited back to the United Kingdom, simply refuses to sign.

It's quite simple; we all learnt this in kindergarten. If Hank says he will give William his apple in return for his candy and then doesn't, the deal's off. The teacher returns the foods to their rightful owners and everyone's happy. Except maybe William who wanted the apple. So if the US won't hand over those demanded by the UK, why should the UK hand over those demanded by the US? To paraphrase the Romans (or Hannibal Lecter for those who don't know who the Romans are) where is the quid pro quo? You certainly wouldn't catch the French agreeing to anything as silly as this.

I don't care about the bankers. White collar crime is not victimless. Thousands of people (all non-executives) lost all their pensions and savings when Enron collapsed and have no recourse to get them back. They worked hard in the belief that they were providing for their future and that of their families. If these bankers had anything to do with the destruction of that future then they should stand trial. However, until there is parity, I don't believe in handing over every Abdul, Mohammed or Omar let alone Crispin, Piers or Miles that the US demands. The UK wouldn't agree to these terms with any other country so why should they do so with the US?

Being a faerie undercover, this bothers me because I have to be seen to follow the laws of this land as well as insulting my sense of fair play. I have no intention of doing anything that would get me thrown into US penitentiary but should they want to, I'd like to know that I'd have some kind of defence.

F*****g First

2006-07-04T09:24:00.000+01:00

It's not a difficult concept to understand: if you provide a service to the public (which people pay ridiculous amounts for) then you have a duty to that public to actually do what you say you will.

So if, say, a bus is meant to be oh, I don't know, every 9 minutes, you'd expect it to be every 9 minutes or so. Not an immensely complex system. It's hardly chaos theory. So it would be lovely if someone from that august institution called 'First' could explain to me (I understand big words so they don't have to use words of one syllable) how it is that I waited 45 minutes this morning for a bus that is supposed to be every 9? Especially seeing as how I was at the bus stop a whole hour before I was meant to be at work (0730 for those of you who know me; yes, yes, calm down; I know it's not usual but there's no need to pass out in shock). So I was half and hour late (and I'm not on flexi-time); frustrated because although that is usually around the time that I arrive (fashionably late dahlink) when I do make the effort I'd like it to be noticeable and getting really steamed up (which as you all know is hardly good for either my ethereal complexion or my general usefulness).

I would say that this was discrimination against immortals except that all citizens of Four-Seasons-In-One-Day Land are suffering. It's just not fair. I could use my wings but I try to save them for special occasions these days where they won't be so noticeable (like Halloween). And, as I've said before, I like them where they are and don't quite fancy being a faerie guinea pig. Knowing my luck, Tony B would want to use me to develop an alternative to Trident. I'm sure genetic engineering would be cheaper.

Plus they (the enemy that is First) don't give you change. But that's a story for another day. In fact, I rather suspect that this theme is going to run and run.

My real thoughts

2006-07-03T15:04:00.000+01:00

What You Really Think Of Your Friends

French Cellist is your soulmate.

You truly love Cheeky Cherub.

You consider Nanna your true friend.

You know that Senor McK is always thinking of you.

You'll remember Elpida's Mom for the rest of your life.

You secretly think Pixie G is creative, charming, and a bit too dramatic at times.

You secretly think that Polar Bear is colorful, impulsive, and a total risk taker.

You secretly think that Trotskyist is loyal and trustworthy to you. And that Trotskyist changes lovers faster than underwear.

You secretly think Fallen Angel is shy and nonconfrontational. And that Fallen Angel has a hidden internet romance.

What Do You Think of Your Friends?

Scarily spooky these Blogthings I'm telling you. Though I'm not totally sure about the Fallen Angel...

Help this man!

2006-07-03T11:35:00.000+01:00

A girl to love, and cuddle tight,
A love to snuggle with in the night.
Someone to dine with, and chat tonight,
Through the shimmering candle light.

A girl to love and treat so well,
Make sure she’s looked after when unwell.
A girl to give the finer things in life,
A love to laugh with, never strife.

Someone to take places they have never been,
A love to show things thev’ve never seen.
A girl to hold hands with and feel the thrill,
Never feeling unsure, only feeling brill.

Romatic days a bottle of wine,
Sitting in the the park the sun does shine.
We talk, and laugh, I massage your feet,
The bottle is gone, as we gaze at Arthurs Seat.

I kiss you long before we rise,
Looking deep into your beautiful eyes.
I tell you I’ve never loved like this before,
Through my heart your beauty has tore.

I help you up, we head for the Old Town,
A wee place to eat, and have a sit down.
We talk for hours, enjoying the food,
We talk about how the day's been good.

We arrange to meet the very next night,
We don’t want to part ,I hold your hand so tight.
I walk you home and when we are there,
I hold you so tenderly, to part I can’t bear.

I run my fingers through your hair,
A slight hint of your perfume, you are so fair,
I tell you you're beautiful , and kiss you with love,
Then you are gone, you wave from the window above.

I walk away being carried by your touch,
Knowing tomorrow I’ll see the girl I love so much.
Till the wait and the hours pass long,
I’ll dream of my girl, maybe write her a love song.

Anyone that can write something so heartfelt deserves to find this girl. Let's see what we can do to help him.

America's True Voice

2006-06-30T09:02:00.000+01:00

I'll begin by admitting that I did not vote for Dubya (faeries have special voting rights in certain lands their mothers come from). The man turns my stomach and I fear him. I fear him because he believes. I maintain that it is always easier to predict what a corrupt man (see just about all politicians, particularly Mediterranean ones), will do: they can be trusted to act in their own self-interest. A believer is unpredictable. How they will react to a given situation is not, by any means, certain. So we err on the side of caution and expect the worst, becoming ever more disillusioned and removed from the political process and slowly turn numb to the acts perpetrated in 'our name'.

When less than 50% of the population vote and a president is elected by just over half that, no one can argue that he has either a popular mandate or that he is truly America's choice. America's real leader is the Supreme Court. Yes, it's face changes every generation but more importantly, it evolves with that generation. Presidents may appoint justices who 'follow' their ethos but here's the peculiar thing about the judiciary: they consider, interpret and then judge. Because of the very nature of their profession; because each case they hear is different, they have to put their own political beliefs aside (as much as any one can), take the argument on its merits and place it in its legal context as defined by the Constitution. There have been mistakes, judgements that were later reversed but again, they need to be taken in the context of the time they were made. Even judges like Antonin Scalia, generally considered to be the most conservative justice, have made decisions that defy their supporters because their judicial, not political, philosophy leads them to. Their impartiality lies in the fact that it is Congress, not the President, who can limit its power and that it is the federal government that enforces their decisions.

Thursday's ruling that the Bush administration had overstepped its authority in the establishment of military tribunals for inmates at Guantanamo Bay demonstrated once again why the Supreme Court is the True Voice of America. In essence it ruled that that the administration In essence, it ruled that the administration could not order military trials for Guantánamo detainees without their being protected by the Geneva Convention and American Civil Law; and, rejected the President's assertion that, as a wartime president, he has legal authority that supercedes that of international treaties, US courts, and Congress.

Marty Lederman in the excellent SCOTUSblog explains this ruling far better than this little Faerie could

... it is hard to overstate the principal, powerfully stated themes emanating from the Court, which are (i) that the President's conduct is subject to the limitations of statute and treaty; and (ii) that Congress's enactments are best construed to require compliance with the international laws of armed conflict.

Even more importantly for present purposes, the Court held that Common Article 3 of Geneva aplies as a matter of treaty obligation to the conflict against Al Qaeda. That is the HUGE part of today's ruling. The commissions are the least of it. This basically resolves the debate about interrogation techniques, because Common Article 3 provides that detained persons "shall in all circumstances be treated humanely," and that "[t]o this end," certain specified acts "are and shall remain prohibited at any time and in any place whatsoever"—including "cruel treatment and torture," and "outrages upon personal dignity, in particular humiliating and degrading treatment." This standard, not limited to the restrictions of the due process clause, is much more restrictive than even the McCain Amendment. See my further discussion here.

This almost certainly means that the CIA's interrogation regime is unlawful, and indeed, that many techniques the Administation has been using, such as waterboarding and hypothermia (and others) violate the War Crimes Act (because violations of Common Article 3 are deemed war crimes).

This ruling does not however demand the release of inmates or Guantanmo's closure meaning that if all of the Bush administration's avenues fail, the prisoners can be held indefinitely until a more 'amenable' Court is in place. It also leaves room for the administration to look at other ways of pressing ahead with military tribunals, namely returning to Congress to apply for such authority. Abrogating from the Geneva Convention, though an option, is highly unlikely as it risks open warfare with the military who have an abiding belief in its principles, at least where they pertain to their own personnel.

Whatever their next move, it is clear that the Bush administration will not only have to make concessions to the more moderate members of the Republican party but may also be forced to negotiate with the Democrats if it wants to pass legislation pertaining to Guantanamo. It will almost certainly be facing a rash of legal challenges as a result of this ruling, not least because some believe it also applies to the surveillance of financial transfers and phone calls which White House insists is necessary to the security of the United States.

If there was a Supreme Court cheerleading squad I'd so be trying out.

Only in the UK!

2006-06-29T09:48:00.000+01:00

Everybody loves to complain - it's an integral part of human nature and a habit I seem to have picked up. Not a native of Four-Seasons-In-One-Day Land or of the parallel island universe of which it is a part, I often find myself frustrated by rules, regulations, opinions and general behaviour of its citizenry. Conversely, there are some things that make me SO happy to be living here.

Take animals. Only here in the United Kingdom of Ga Ga can a cat surviving a digger attack on its home be headline news. Said cat was missing for two days causing its owners and companions (five cats and a dog) extreme distress until it reappeared, sunning itself on top of the rubble.

Ashley the cat (responsible for getting the UK press into a lather).

You've got to love a place that does not let a day go by without some broadsheet, tabloid, public or cable television channel, radio station or any form of public address system taking animals (individually or collectively) as seriously as they do politics, sport or current affairs. Scratch that, they take them more seriously.

An epiphany and a new love

2006-06-28T15:05:00.000+01:00

I have only ever fallen completely and unconditionally in love twice in my life. The first time was when I was thirteen and attended an after school pottery class. I made a beautiful pile of mud on the wheel and was hooked. Out the window went Oxbridge, Classics and the Law (although I will do the Classics degree one day, just for the fun of it) and in came Art School, ceramics and critical art theory. The second time was when I moved to Four-Seasons-In-One-Day Land to attend said Art School; I fell in love with the people, the city, the way of life.

To fall in love once is lucky. To fall in love twice is blessed. To fall in love a third time is inconceivable not to mention greedy. But I have and I am not going to apologise for it.

The Fallen Angel aka Devil's Kitchen is to blame. For introducing me to blogging which in turn has enabled my to meet my Third Love, Code. One of the most amazing creatures I've ever come across. Another immortal but one with the power to evolve into something greater than the sum of its parts. Not just through what it does and represents but also through what it teaches. So far it has taught me beauty and elegance as well as helping me, as a friend would, to understand why relationships don't always work. And that's just after three days. Exaggeration? Mais non.

To explain: this faerie met an old friend of yesteryear (well, okay, an old beau) and proceeded to pick up where she left off (albeit in a slightly less chaste fashion than before). Feelings grew; declarations and promises were made. Then came the slow but inexorable diminution of those feelings and the declarations and promises faded. Initial reaction? Devastation. Then Code explained.

Emotions are code. My beau and I, running on opposing operating systems, could not read it identically. What one browser saw as bold, the other saw as normal; what one saw as love, the other saw as friendship and so on. Our defaults kicked in and we ignored what we could not understand or flashed error messages at one another.

The moral of this story? Code is pure. It's not that it's wrong, just that our browsers aren't always right. Find someone with the same browser and you'll never read alone again.

All of which means that I am no longer devastated. In my beau, I have lost a lover but found a friend. In Code, I have found understanding, hope and peace.

It also means watch this space!

It makes sense...

2006-06-28T11:47:00.000+01:00

One of the more interesting conspiracy theories about this latest World Cup which, on a number of levels following the risible refereeing, spurious off-side decisions, ridiculous red cards, screwy Sven substitutions (need I go on?) makes a lot of sense:

Diego Maradona is the Daddy of at least five of Argentina's World Cup Team.

... Carlos Tévez, the bull, charging through the world's finest defences...
... that irrepressible speedster Javier Saviola, who was once cited as the new Maradona by none other than ... Maradona
... Lionel Messi (despite the prettiness)... currently being touted as the new Maradona by none other than ... Maradona
... the supreme playmaker, Juan Román Riquelme, a dead ringer for Diego
... Maxi Rodríguez, scorer of the wonder goal in the wonder game against Mexico

Think about it. Low centre of gravity? Check. Breathtaking ball handling? Check. Unnaturally clairvoyant game play? Check. Turns and tricks of such deception that the CIA are dying of envy? Check. Not to mention the fact that Maxi Rodriguez' goal against Mexico has blasted its way into this Faerie Lady's Top Three Goals Of All Time (first obviously being His Maradonaness' second goal against the English in 1986; second, Roberto Carlos' all natural and unnatural laws of physics defying free kick in 1998) which pretty much seals it for me.

Anyone who needs further convincing consider these salient points

It can't be coincidence...that most of these boys were born when Diego himself was approaching his prime... his most prolific - in every sense. Perhaps, in those heady days of coke and roses, he was more giving than even he had imagined.

Or, for the more literary

A million Argentinians made love to the memory of Maradona, went to sleep with pictures of Maradona on their pillow, dreamed him into existence... a triumph of collective desire. Perhaps this Argentinian side is magic realism writ large, One Hundred Years of Solitude in the footballing flesh.

It's growing on you isn't it? Come on, be a believer!

So true!

2006-06-27T14:30:00.000+01:00

You Should Spend Your Summer at the Beach

You're a free spirit who is always thinking of new ways to have fun.
And you don't just love summer... you live for it.
So, you really should blow off your responsibilities and head to the beach!

Where Should You Spend Your Summer?

Can't argue with the Omniscience that is Blogthings. *Sigh*

It's an 18...no, a 42...ah no, I've no idea what number it is

2006-06-27T09:09:00.000+01:00

It's a little thing...which has buggered up my morning. A tad.

I take the bus. I like it. I get to chat to old ladies, read the paper, listen to my iPod and watch the world go by. Don't particularly care where I go except that other people (such as employers and the like) do (needs must - Faerie Gold only goes so far these days and people have been very remiss about leaving offerings of late). So I'd really rather they didn't change the bus number and route after you have embarked on your journey. And then lie about it.

Hardly the 'First' service in Four-Seasons-In-One-Day Land.

I suppose I could use my wings. Except that I'm not too keen on being captured and used as a lab rat by curious scientists or mistaken for a WMD (Wila of Mass Distraction) and shot down.

Not to mention the fact that I'm not totally convinced my wings could carry me (few too many Pollen Pies recently) but that's another story...

Resquiescat in Pace

2006-06-26T15:41:00.000+01:00

Poor, poor thing.

Familiars

2006-06-26T14:20:00.000+01:00

Like witches, we faeries have familiars. They are our emotional counterparts, expressing emotions that we can't. Existence is Balance: even we immortals need counterweights. They keep us warm (dandelion clock cloaks just aren't what they used to be); listen to our woes; protect us from enemies and generally accompany us on our various quests (it's a lonely life, being a faerie). That said, they are also notoriously fickle; quixotic and not a little stroppy. Depends on the moment.

Their form depends on the faerie; many, such as mine, The Gruesome Twosome (Mayhem and Kaos to their friends) are feline. Currently camera shy (they're in a huff and have taken on invisibility for the past few days), I have had to resort to a mortal's representation:

N.B. Real Feline Familiars don't have wings. They don't need them - they are too lazy.

Popular Faerie Misconception #1: Dust

2006-06-26T13:50:00.000+01:00

There are a lot of common misconceptions, myths and quite frankly obnoxious rumours about faeries floating around these days. We just don't get the respect we deserve anymore. Still, in the spirit of mutual cooperation that we have entered into with the mortal world, I shall endeavour to correct some of the most prevalent 'facts' beginning with...

Dust. Yes, it's messy; your mother-in-law always seems to find it even when you've had Kim and Aggie in and it makes you sneeze. A lot. Not to mention the horrible dark streaks it makes on your wings when you brush against it after having been caught in Four-Seasons-In-One-Day Land's Daily Deluge. And that's just your common garden human dust. Faerie dust? I'll let you into a little secret...it doesn't exist.

Yep, you read that right. It's not real.

What of the glittery, sparkly, floaty stuff you sprinkle around when making things happen you ask (having recovered sufficiently from your shock to decide to argue faerielore/biology etc. with a real Faerie Lady)?

It's a light show, a distraction. We make you believe it's there. Why? To be blunt (something I am loathe to do but which is on occasion necessary), mortals just don't believe we have any powers unless we manifest them physically then and there. It's all part of this short-attention span/instant gratification thing you lot have going on. Yes, I know...it can't just be a light show as Faerie Dust is where our powers reside right?

Wrong. Thing about being a faerie is that you have to learn to work (with often) very little. That means no equipment (Potion Petals, Binding Webs), energy sources (backup Glowworm generators, Aurora batteries etc.) or support. These things are bulky - there's only so much room in a Horse Chestnut Hold-all you know. Besides, they are just tools (like computers or blenders). Without them spells (like admin) just take longer is all (except when they break down).

Our powers are in our words, our songs, our actions. Nothing all that magical about it really. More Derren Brown than anything else. Our real strength is in making others believe in themselves. Unfortunately we can't use our powers on ourselves; it's part of Existence's self-regulating mechanism. Which is why I want to thank Pixie G, the Banshee and Gaia for using their powers on me. Today is better than yesterday; tomorrow will be better still.

And they didn't use Dust.

Insurance Companies: not all bad

2006-06-22T19:33:00.000+01:00

As anyone who has ever tried to insure a pair of wings will know, insurance companies are not our friends. I don't care what those little people in the electric box tell you, they are only out for themselves. Which is why, with some surprise, I find myself warming to Britishinsurance.com. In what I can only imagine to be compassion for the loonies from up north, since 2000, they have insured the virginity of three sisters from Inverness in case one of them should have a virgin birth. And then donated the annual £100 premium to charity!

Apparently the burden of proof that any such child was indeed the Son of God would be on the sisters but should they be successful in their claim, they would receive £1m to help with the costs of raising God Jr. Except that a result of complaints from Rome (yep, the Catholics again) amongst others the policy has been cancelled. Which I think is more than a little unfair: charity loses out; the sisters lose whatever peace of mind they had (in whatever's left of the mind they had) and someone else is going to have to foot the bill for raising Jesus Mk II.

Cancelled or not, I'm confused as to why the sisters felt that they would need to take out a policy to ensure financial security in the event of one of them bearing the Messiah in the first place. It's hardly as if God is going to be a Deadbeat Dad is it? Perhaps a little more of the authoritarian type and not averse to a bit of corporal punishment but hey, who's perfect? And even if he was, let us say, derelict in his financial responsibilities, surely every major religion as well as all those hoping for a one way ticket on the Rapture bus would do right by them?

And how on earth did they come up with a figure of £1m anyway? Did some poor shmuck have to work overtime to work this out? I mean, it's not as if the Kid would be expensive to raise. Sure, it would be sneakers instead of sandals; tracksuit instead of loincloth but think of the saving on groceries. With his skills you would never need buy in bulk again. Schooling? He'd be playing hookey every day to go and argue with a priest. The council would provide a very nice house I'm sure, especially if it is for the Saviour of Humanity so there'd be no rent to pay. Security costs would be somewhat prohibitive I grant you but again, I'm sure there would be a line a lot longer than five thousand clamouring to offer these services for free.

As for the Catholics getting into a furore, what's new? If it's not abortion, women priests or those nasty films that disparage the Holy Mother Church (see The Da Vinci Code and anything by Peter Mullan) there's nothing the Holy See likes better than to be outraged. You'd think they'd be grateful to these women. After all, if (and I'm only suggesting that this might happen in the most hypothetical of circumstances just in case a thunderbolt does come down from the sky), if God wasn't quite the responsible parent we all know him to be, the lot from the CSA would be round St. Peter's Basilica in a flash. This insurance policy would save the Pope from having to find the Child Support every month (although I understood that the Nazarene would return in adult form at the Second Coming so this is all really a moot point anyway).

Britishinsurance.com I implore you with all of my faerie being, reinstate the policy and let these women away to prepare for the birth. After all, the nine months leading up to the birth of any baby, let alone the Messiah, are very stressful and this added worry can hardly be helping any.

S******e

2006-06-21T22:28:00.000+01:00

I don't wish to be all pathetic but I have been having a bit of a difficult time at Scrabble recently. I don't want to suggest that that I am a genius (though being a faerie and therefore immortal not to mention all knowing should make me so) but I've not been doing so well recently.

I'd like to blame this on the Despair. It's been growing on me for some time and I haven't quite sorted out how to deal with it. Particularly where word games are concerned. Best I could come up with in today's game was apogee. Didn't give me a whole lot of points though it did give me an opportunity to use a not oft used word (and some level of smugness). Which I have somewhat of an affinity with (using opportunities, not smugness that is).

Managed to lose to Pixie G by 4 points tonight. Not to mention that the Fallen Angel kicked my faerie butt over the weekend by so many points that I have begun to doubt my abilities to form words, let alone sentences.

There's a purity in losing. Not that this faerie doesn't have a competitive streak (such as it is) but when the Despair (or lack of practice) hits her, she is not the same wordsmith that she has always believed she is. On a more neutral note, losing is not such a bad thing. Losing makes it harder to take but how you deal with defeat (from this faerie's perspective) says more about you than how you deal with success.

A teacher at a school in the Land of Four-Seasons-In-One-Day (Bill of the B) told this faerie that the 1% that works is not what you learn from, it's the 99% that doesn't work that does. Ergo, it's your mistakes that teach you, not your successes.

Not ready to talk about the mistakes that this faerie has made yet. There are plenty of them and where to start is so overwhelming I just want to curl up under the nearest cobweb. Loss is something that I have yet to become used to. Loss of literary ability. Loss of friends. Loss of love.

Beginnings are always the hardest. How to begin a story. How to begin a lie. How to begin to tell someone that while there is love it is not always forever.

And all this from a game of Scrabble.

Magic Space #1

2006-06-20T22:38:00.000+01:00

The first in a series...a canopy of stars over the Gallery of Modern Art in Four-Seasons-In-One-Day Land.

(Courtesy of Ian McLean)

Ambrosia vessels

2006-06-20T22:07:00.000+01:00

Now whilst my personal preference for beverage containers is of course acorn cups (although large ones are hard to come by), there has been a little debate going on here in the Land of Four-Seasons-In-One-Day about whether or not glass should be banned in pubs, clubs etc. and replaced with toughened glass in order to reduce the number of glass attacks.

My initial feeling on the subject was that any action to reduce glassings could hardly be a bad thing. After all, if one person could avoid being disfigured, regardless of their own behaviour leading up to the attack, the ban would have worked. Glassing is one of the uglier forms of violence; its intent to humiliate and permanently scar individuals, never allowing them to forget their attack, or, if they are unlucky enough, die from it. Drinking out of plastic rather than glass in such circumstances makes little difference to me.

Following a rather heated conversation last week (kicked off by ambrosia served in plastic glasses), with the Fallen Angel and Pixie G where I was roundly condemned for not being particularly bothered, I have been giving this some thought the more I consider it, why should I be forced to drink out of plastic? Wine tastes better out of a glass; bottled beers out of the bottle (not to mention ale as I have recently been discovering). Just like pizza tastes better cold the next morning, Asian when eaten with chopsticks and food you eat with your hands.

I behave in gatherings (mostly) and would certainly never attack another creature. Not to mention as the Fallen Angel so eloquently points out

1. the "plastics" that they want to use are those hard ones which can be "broken" (or "snapped" is probably a better word) and used just as effectively as a glass, and

2. if someone really wants to do someone damage, they will find something to use: a table, a stool, a knife, the "Niddry bat" (a baseball bat with two large kitchen knives gaffa-taped, bayonet-style, to the end of it), etc.

So today plans were shelved (boom, boom) to a mixed reaction. And to be honest, whilst it was not a issue that incited massive amounts of emotion in me, I'm pleased. There are better ways to police this behaviour: stiffer charges and longer sentences for these ghouls. The Fallen Angel and Pixie G will be happy and we can all enjoy our ambrosia as the Gods intended. Now if I could just find a large enough acorn cup...

Why an introduction where a fairytale will do?

2006-06-20T01:24:00.000+01:00

Once upon a time, in Four-Seasons-In-One-Day Land, there was a Faerie Lady. Her dearest wish in all the world was to seek out Magic and Beauty in all its forms and to share it with all those who would look past Reality's curtain. Yet she found Sadness and Despair and (as all faeries do), absorbed it. Her wings began to thin; her faerie light grow dim.

Now whilst there are many cures for Despair, each is specific to every creature. She brewed herbs, potions and tonics; she sang spells and chanted incantations; she danced under moonlight and in the dawn. Yet to no avail: the Despair remained.

So she summoned up a new magic, The Great Blogger, and entreated him to build her a Circle (for she was only a young faerie), where her kindred spirits could join her in her quest and share in her journey. He took kindly on her and taught her to lace and sew this new magic into a safe and sacred space. And in the twilight her Circle took form and she blessed it with hope.

In this pioneering spirit, the Faerie Lady decided to fill her Circle with her all her discoveries, those of Magic and Beauty, even those of Sadness and Despair. She bound herself this way because if her earlier maladies had taught her anything, it was that Light needs Dark to shine ever brighter.

So enter the Circle and join her quest for the Happily Ever After...