Mmmmeat

Emma, despite being a vegetarian, gave me a Christmas present of fine pate, cassoulet de canard and a fine saucisson de canard. Finer friends would be impossible to find. All hail Emma!

I shall have to find an appropriate gift in response. I'm currently considering a sack of potatoes. Any thoughts?

A taste of Wolverhampton

This was one of several 'party buses' which cruise the West Midlands, saving revellers the bother of having to wait for a drink until they get to the pub. These are from Hallowee'n

This is Neal, washing off the blood after another successful murder.

And this is how Neal and Emma ended the night:

  

Monstrous Monday

Hello all. Survived the trick or treaters? I live in an apartment block, so didn't get any (slightly disappointing - I could have abused them via videophone. Anyway, Iustin and Laura, Emma, Neal and I all toddled off to Howard's haunted house in the woods, which he'd customised: body parts, werewolves and electrical devices all over the place. The less said about the sex doll in the driver's seat of Howard's matt black '69 Cutlass, the better…

I was dressed as the priest from The Omen, complete with cross (constructed by Neal), and my massive, brass-bound 19th-century Bible. In Welsh. It's still there - someone snaffled it, but I trust Howard to find it. We drank rough wine, chatted to lots of students and colleagues for as long as we could stand, danced a little, and like good old people in our 30s, were sound asleep by 3 o'clock. Well, Neal and Emma were snoring away in my armchairs, very uncomfortably, while I watched The Thick of It before retiring. All hail Howard!

I didn't take photos, as I left my camera at work, but Emma did take some, which I've posted here. Don't be scared!

Sunday was therefore a bit of a washout. I fed the animals, we all sat round reading The Observer and The Irish Times, then I went to bed, having completely lost my voice. This is still the case - I'm at work, slaving away, but won't be starring in Tosca (or any lectures) for a while yet…

Friday conundrum again

Courtesy of Emma:
Using ten words or fewer, how would you change the world?

I offer you this:
Got a hairstyle? Then step this way into my camp.
or
Voting Tory? Take this pill, it'll all be over soon.
or
Try reading books. You'll soon be a better person.
or
The Daily Mail was closed and its editor shot today.
or
Leave the car at home. Walk to work. Plant trees.

Tuesday's grey and Wednesday too…

Moin moin! (As they say in Schleswig-Holstein). I'm starting to wonder about the wisdom of moving in to a flat within 100 yards of four nightclubs… though I must say that I thought the weekend started on Friday, not Tuesday!

The flat proceeds apace. Last night Emma came round and we put together two sets of drawers, some CD storage and a bookcase, which towers above us. It was stunningly easy, and the two shelves put in backwards may be ascribed to the bottle of fine Chianti with which we wetted our whistles. Still unsure about where everything's going…

Busy day today - 3 meetings, a party, my mum might come down with furniture, rugs and some plates. No more eating off a copy of Grigson's English Food… Then it's off to the Civic Hall for some posh lefty Radio 4 ranting tonight, courtesy of Marcus Brigstocke.

Went swimming today… with a full escort from Sea Shepherd (give them your money) and ploughed through the necessary lengths with very little enjoyment.

Of cardboard and paper

I'm definitely moving house to a decent enough flat in the town centre, getting the keys a week on Friday. Now I'm overwhelmed with thoughts of the packing, the shelving required (70-80 metres for the books and records) and the cold hard cash… frightening. Next week will be spent alternately teaching and packing! Obviously I should cut down on things which need moving, but I called into the bookshop to order the poetry course textbook and ended up buying four more books: Andrew Brown's examination of Sweden, Fishing in Utopia: Sweden and the Future that Disappeared, a new translation of Y Mabinogion (my fourth), Michel Faber's satirical The Fire Gospel, and some bracing polemic, Slavoj Zizek's Violence.

Neal, Emma and I went to the Hogs last night - watched Manchester United grind out a dull win and lost in the pool competition - me in the first game, Neal in the second.

Until Monday, Farewell!

Further to The Culture, Cheese and Pineapple, Neal's cooking a Mussaman curry for Emma, Mark and I tonight. Then tomorrow it's Ho! for the British Fencing AGM. I couldn't face dinner with the buffers, but I'll turn up for the business and the mini-conference, hand over my UKSG welfare report and go home, hopefully unentangled by the politics. Ho ho ho.

Have a good weekend.

Yet more historical news

Despite the constant round of parties, tourism and fetes available to the Victorian middle and upper classes, life in the city was nasty, brutish and short, even for these delicate flowers, as Michel Faber's and Sarah Waters's books depict.

Yet the new science of detection was all the rage, and ex-coppers were available to hire, just like Hauk in the The Wire:

PRIVATE INQUIRY OFFICE, established 1852, Eldon-chambers, Devereux-court, Temple, under the direction of CHARLES FREDERICK FIELD, late chief inspector of the detective force of the metropolis. This office has had the conduct of some of the most remarkable cases of the day–namely the Smyth and Worcester forgeries, the Rugeley murders, horse poisonings, incendiary fires, &c. Agent for New York, Mr. G. Hays, Bank detective police.

Still, if you survive into comfortable middle age, you can indulge yourself:

SMALL YACHT, for £20, with sails complete, or with anchor, chain cable, dingy, sweeps, and all stores, £25. Apply to W. C., 51, King William-street, E. C.

MR. GLADSTONE.–A beautifully-executed PORTRAIT of the Right Hon. W. E. GLADSTONE, on toned paper, with a biography and a review of his recently published edition Homer, will be given with the CRITIC, weekly literary Journal of August 7. Price 4d., or 5d. stamped. A copy in return for 5 stamps. Office, 29, Essex-street, Strand.

PICTURES.–To collectors and Connoisseurs.–An original, by Berrittini ; one by Van Heemskerke–both on panel ; six others on canvas. The largest an Italian landscape, by Stuart, 3 ft. 10 in. The whole for immediate cash, £50 ; cost £400, On view, after 12 o'clock a.m., at 20 Queen-street, Camden-town.

That's enough for today. I'm off to celebrate Emma's birthday - say happy birthday everybody - then home to see the Aged Parents and all my happily married siblings for a couple of days, then it's the UK School Games for a week. I'll check in once a day probably, but will be spending most of my time making children happy and safe. And not in an Austrian fashion. I'm the Welfare Officer.

Brotherly love and the cuckoo clock

Welcome to a site that's going to become a favourite of mine: Awful Library Books.

Emma, Gary and I went to see The Third Man at the Light House last night. I can't add anything to the superlatives already applied to this film, so I won't. It was great to see a lot of people there, one or two dressed in what they fondly and mistakenly thought was 1940s style. No trailers, no special effects, no stunts - just people acting, rather than mugging and emoting for the camera. It was such pleasure to be treated by a director like an adult for a couple of hours.

It's also the origin of this bleak little aperçu:

Like the fella says, in Italy for 30 years under the Borgias they had warfare, terror, murder, and bloodshed, but they produced Michelangelo, Leonardo da Vinci, and the Renaissance. In Switzerland they had brotherly love - they had 500 years of democracy and peace, and what did that produce? The cuckoo clock.

None of this stopped Emma describing the movie as 'the original bromance'.

Sticking it to the man

Facing a £5-10 million deficit, Management is apparently fixated on a tidy desk policy. Well, they'll never take me alive! And in any case, my desk is organised psychologically. Location of any item is determined by proximity to me. Also - a picture of Nun Bowling, taken on my mobile phone.

I returned to the pub last night to meet Kate and Emma, which was most convivial. For my birthday, Kate presented me Dark Was The Night, a great US indie compilation, and some home-grown courgettes. Mmmmmmmmm

Irina has posted a few more photos here. She took this better one of Nun Bowling - click for a larger version:

Living the high life

I've often teased Emma for being a typical Man U fan: foreign, lives a long way from Manchester etc. Now I know it's true because I've just received this text:

Just boarded. Drinking champagne. It's a hard life.

She's not flying with Ryanair, that's for sure.

What are you all doing this weekend? I'm going for a walk around Bridgnorth tomorrow, in the company of the Map Twats. Then we're going to find Birmingham's finest indie clubs to celebrate Dan's birthday. On Sunday, I'm going to finish all the marking. Then on Monday I'm off to Aston Uni for a conference on how to get an academic career. I always thought 'career' was what happened when your brakes failed…

Then on Tuesday it's off to Walsall to explain to the PGCE external examiner what a brilliant teacher I am (ho ho ho).

More fresh meat

Emma has started a blog. Only one introductory post, so encourage her. You MUFC fans may find it a more genial place to hang out while you eat your prawn sandwiches and discuss motorway routes to Manchester. I believe that Newton Heath is short for MU's first incarnation as Newton Heath Lancashire and Yorkshire Railway FC.

The Spirit of St. Patrick

Despite the best efforts of the Pioneers, this is the true meaning of St. Pat's. Thanks to Emma for working out how to transfer them from a mobile phone.

We said 'what', you said… 'whatever'.

Emma, to contradict previous commenters, is real - perhaps hyper-real. More of me? There isn't anything other than a node on the cultural nexus, a collection of influences hosted by some rather unwholesome meat, and politics is a large part of what makes me so tediously sententious… sorry.