24/10/2009
It’s almost time for the next London episode of the Literary Death Match, and in addition to this fab lineup of judges and readers, I’m delighted to say that I’ll be co-hosting this one with the LDM founder, Todd Zuniga. So, you know, do join us.
Photo posted at 17:28
20/10/2009
On what this morning's breakfast made me think of
Alpen tastes like breakfast at my grandmother’s house in the 1980s: we are only allowed to eat it in small doses, after the hardier Weetabix or Shredded Wheat, a cereal dessert. The metal of the spoon (pre-war) is thick and slightly rough in my mouth. It plashes milk and clinks against the sides of the porcelain bowls that can be smashed; at home, they’re unbreakable polycarbonate that bounces when they slip from your hands when you are supposed to be helping with the washing-up.
This is jetlag: my mother takes to her bed. Flying makes her ill, or perhaps just exhausted from wrangling small children across the Atlantic. Granny takes us in to town to do some shopping; here, an activity that requires no car. It is astonishing. Also astonishing: in the garden, there is no grass, only grey-white pebbles. They are not to be picked up or kicked in sprays. Especially not at your older brother.
Granny and Arthur and I walk forever and Granny nods hello to strangers. A man in a newspaper shop gives us small bags filled with puffs and gums and we take them back to the bungalow where they sit on her carved sideboard, to be doled out in dribs and drabs after tea, a meal that does not exist in America.
Text posted at 11:14
19/10/2009
Unsurprisingly, morale at the West End's best post office (1990/91) is low
- Jean: I'd like to send this to Switzerland, please [brandishes postcard]
- Post Office Man: That will be 56p. [Pause] You stood IN LINE for that?
- Jean: Um, yes.
- Post Office Man: Are you going to pay with a credit card?
Conversation posted at 15:35
Stories gleaned from Google Analytics: Episode 2
For mid-October, the sun is still hot, and Elisabeth and Francesca are taking the opportunity to flirt with melanoma and burn off their hangovers by the pool at the centre of the condo complex.
Frankie, says Elisabeth. She is playing with her Treo. Do you think that Nigel will call me?
No, says Francesca. I don’t think he will call. When did you meet him?
A week ago now, says Elisabeth. But it feels like yesterday – I can still hear that musical English accent in my mind. Essex, he said he was from. What a sexy-sounding place.
Because it has the word ‘sex’ in it? says Francesca.
Yes, says Elisabeth. Yes.
So a week ago? says Francesca. He’s not going to call, Bets. Get over it.
I don’t understand why, says Elisabeth. Why? Why wouldn’t he call me?
Maybe, says Francesca, he just don’t like women.
- ‘british man don’t like women’, Pensacola, Florida, USA, 18 October 2009
Text posted at 11:03
Alexander Linklater on David Vann’s Legend of a Suicide, which is probably my top book of 2009 (unless something else makes me gasp in the next two and a half months).
Quote posted at 10:34
18/10/2009
Balloon boy: parents of Falcon Heene face charges | World news | guardian.co.uk Who are these people and how do they have the time to make models of the balloon out of their stovetop popcorn makers? It’s very White Noise.
Quote posted at 10:47
17/10/2009
On cheese at Borough Market
Reliably, the cheese stand at Borough Market is staffed by Gallic dreamboats: dark and broody-looking, sporting old jumpers and scarves, looking like they would really rather be reading Sartre (I really did once see one of them in a cafe reading a philosophy book). Such has been the case for the six years I’ve been buying cheese here. The men working today are new to me, but they are still lovely, dark and deep.
Lauren and I ponder the selection in the sale bin. It is not labeled.
That, says one Gallic dreamboat, is a very runny cow. That, he says, is goat.
Lauren and I smile. We nod.
Is any of it unpasteurised? I say, not because I want some, not especially, but because it is the only intelligent question about cheese that I know to ask.
Is there any unpasteurised? the Gallic dreamboat asks the second one.
No, says the other Gallic dreamboat.
We hand the first one our cash and as he fiddles for our change, the second Gallic dreamboat pulls him aside. They turn away and whisper, en Francais. They turn back, and regard us.
Sorry, says the first one. We were making some naughty associations between cheese and love.
Text posted at 16:27
16/10/2009
Konichiwa! A stylish Harajuku fashionpoodle!
This photo made me very happy, and not because I have a similar bow.
Photo posted at 11:46
15/10/2009
The cover of my next book.
(Not really - rather, a charming gift picked up by Ben on his business trip to Mexico, for writing down my most important thoughts.)
Photo posted at 13:50
13/10/2009
Maybe I will write a collection of short stories based on search information gleaned from my Google Analytics statistics.
You just don’t understand, says Eleanor. I have to put on the right shoes to go with this dress and I cannot find them anywhere in my suitcase.
You’re being ridiculous, Pablo replies. We are going to be late for our visit to the site of the Battle of Okinawa.
Ridiculous? says Eleanor? That is so unfair. Especially after I was so patient with you after you spent all of that time faffing around the electronics shop, and now you won’t give me ten minutes to sort myself out. She locks herself in the hotel bathroom. Muffled sobs.
God, Pablo thinks to himself. This holiday in Japan is not turning out to be nearly as fun as I had hoped, and it’s all Eleanor’s fault. I’m so annoyed. Why are women so irritating? He pulls out his iPhone.
- ‘why are women so irritating’, Okinawa, Japan, 13 October 2009
Text posted at 13:41
12/10/2009
On vintage pumpkin puree
In 1974, the Canadian government mandated that food labels from Quebec must be bilingual.
In 2009, to mark Canadian Thanksgiving, we made a pie out of this tin of pumpkin puree, imported from Montreal.
That the label on the tin was monolingual was not promising. Might it be 35 years old? we wondered. Quite possibily. But pumpkin puree is not frequently available in the UK. And so far, at least, none of us have botulism.
Video posted at 07:30
10/10/2009
The Copenhagen Bike Culture Blog Copenhagenize.com (via somethingchanged)
New favourite verb! I also hope the Copenhagenization process involves the consumption of more fish paste as well as more cycling.
Quote posted at 10:41
09/10/2009
JHE Solves Your Relationship Problems: Small World
Dear Jean,
(read more: )
I was wondering if you could advise on a sticky situation I seemed to have embroiled myself in - about a month ago I broke up with my boyfriend, and to try and get back out there, I was signed up to a certain dating website that helps you find love through friend recommendations. On there I began exchanging emails with, an engineer with a penchant for motown music. When he mentioned the engineering firm he worked for, I realised I had two friends who also worked there. It quickly became clear that not only did he know them, but we have actually met! What’s awful is that we met at a party where he tried to grind innappropriately with all the girls there (including some with boyfriends present), vomited out the third floor window, and passed out in a corner in the fetal position. How do I tell him I’m not interested without humiliating him or bringing up any of these gruesome details??
- I Wish I Could Forget
Text posted at 14:42
On two of my oldest friends
Amy and I met when we were seven; Liz and I became friends more than a lifetime later, when we were 15 and appearing in our school production of The Music Man. Had someone told us in those halcyon high school days when, amongst our small, tight-knit group (alas, the others did not make it to Porto) we sat on the floor outside our lockers at 7 am and tried to cram in a last bit of studying for an AP US History test, or danced about the school computer lab in the midst of editing the weekly paper, or drove to the mall in Liz’s ancient maroon van, that just about another lifetime later we would happen to converge in Portugal, I think we would have been quite amazed. I feel very fortunate that I had such good taste in people when I was young.
Photo posted at 14:28
