You are viewing blamebrampton

17 May 2020 @ 01:04 pm
Hi Friends, LJ Users, Nigerian Scammers, Russian Bots and sundry others!
Thanks for taking a moment to read my sticky post on friending.

On the whole, there's no need to friend me if you just want to read my fics, since they are posted unlocked. In fact, most of my locked posts are me ranting about the state of the world (usually from a politics or media slant) or some such.

Generally, I am a ready friender. If you friend me and you have entries in your livejournal or have commented on some of my posts, you can usually expect to be friended back, unless:
* There are no entries in your LJ.
* I do not recall us ever having 'spoken' online (given how selective my memory is, you should probably assume this.)
* Your LJ is written wholly in a language I do not speak (pretty much anything that is not English, or French or Italian (both of which I speak poorly), or German, Spanish, Latin, Dutch, Danish, Swedish, Norwegian, Welsh or Irish (all of which I have a smattering of and enough reference books to get the gist.) (Though if your journal is in actual Latin as opposed to Lorem Ipsum, I will probably immediately friend you on principle.)
* Your journal consists of several entries a day concerning My Little Pony, school and whether your hair looks better in plaits, pigtails, or with a fringe pouf. You are probably adorable, but should not be subjected to my occasional flocked rants.

SO, if you've friended me (thanks!) and I've not friended you back, just drop a brief line saying 'Excuse me, oh vague and neglectful one, could you friend me back please?'

I can't guarantee that I will ever have time to be a good lj friend, but I will try and provide you with amusing content and I always try to read my whole flist. Well, the stuff before the cut at any rate.
01 January 2020 @ 04:42 pm
For me to keep track of!Collapse )
23 May 2015 @ 09:43 pm
Would it be wrong to open by saying the dangling balls are spectacular? Maybe you had to be there.

We open again with our three hosts, or Austria's Charlie's Angels as the Australian commentators are calling them. Nice dresses all round tonight, including one that looks like a Klimt painting. And Conchita is wearing tonight's pantsuit! I am reading this as a loving homage to Hillary Clinton. (Go Hils!)

The contestants are parading again, it's a bit of a shambles and there was a bit of an accidental flash from Malta. Memorable, madam, very memorable.

(Side note, there was a woman on the bus today who had minimal English and wasn't sure where to get off, others had tried in English, I tried French and Italian, non parlare, and was about to give German a go, when I realised that I can pretty much say 'Do you speak German?' 'Please', 'thank you' and 'Can you direct me to the lavatory'. So I mimed where to get off and retreated, defeated.)

They're still excited about Australia being there and there is a lovely audience shoutout, Good Evening, Vienna, you're lovely! The hosts quickly check the pyro effects and wind machine, and we're off!
The songsCollapse )
22 May 2015 @ 10:34 pm
My life has been reduced to actively not murdering the ad department and wrestling with our prepress people as they all fail to understand the notion of deadlines. But I am taking out a couple of hours between now and when our guests arrive for the weekend to recap, because EUROVISION! Ignore all typos, it's more than my sanity is worth to read it over.

We open with the lovely Conchita and her beautiful winning song from last year, leading into a parade of contestants traipsing across the bridge to the stage, followed by what looks like a raid on the props and costumes from Amadeus. We love you, Vienna, you're so groovily wacky.

The three main hosts appear, all women, one dressed like a Greek goddess, one like a '90s power dresser and one like a Kardashian. They're all multilingual and fun, and the one in the Kardashian frock looks as though she's planning to murder her dresser, so they can stay.

Three minutes and we've already had our first French joke. Bless.

I did miss the chance to vote during the live broadcast, because I was sleeping. I may well miss it again tomorrow, and possibly even in the final. I really need to sleep, or ad reps will die at my tiny, bloodsoaked hands.
The songsCollapse )
23 April 2015 @ 12:13 am
It isn't raining. I can't hear any wind. The storm may finally be over! Touch wood … (*pats head*)

I did lose my Barbour hat. I hope someone found it and is making good use of it. One hat, a dozen dahlias, a few pots tipped over but not, I think, broken. I'm calling it a win.

And that ship was allowed to dock this morning. Poor bastards!
21 April 2015 @ 11:18 pm
There is a very stormy storm hovering over Sydney this week. It blew in on Sunday night, picked up speed yesterday, and has spent today pounding the ever-living crap out of the city.

Now while I don't wish to cast aspersions on the storm itself (a few have been calling it Cyclone Shazza, but it doesn't meet the Australian criteria for a cyclone, which are all along the lines of Catastrophic and City Flattening), it hasn't actually been that bad here. It's been bad up in the Hunter Valley, where floods have ripped away houses and lives, which is a genuine tragedy. But down here where the population densities are much higher, most of the city is built in rational places, accepting that winds will blow, waters will rise, and there could well be the odd bushfire around the edges. So we've lost some cars, some roofs and some beachfront so far. It could be much worse.

So the only adventures have been getting to and from work (and school for those super-cute kids on the bus this afternoon) wihtout being soaked, blown away, or whacked by a falling tree. All it requires is adaptability and keeping an ear and eye out. And an acceptance that some of the garden will need significant work in the near future.

Unless you're one of 4000 unlucky people who are currently on a cruise ship, outside Sydney Heads. With the harbour closed to shipping. For probably another 24 hours minimum, maybe 48. And there are 800 kids in that lot, two thirds of which will be having The Time Of Their Lives, the remaining third of which will be vomiting like bastards. To put it in context, the ship is not in any real danger, aside from uncomfortable pitching and some breaking glass as things go flying, their power and lavatories are all functional (unlike that ship in the Caribbean the other year) and there is plenty of food and drink.

But as I watch another dahlia topple, through the glass doors, I am profoundly grateful to be here, in my watertight if somewhat wuthering house, not there.
17 April 2015 @ 12:14 am
Let's just pretend it's before midnight …

A very very Happy Birthday to the marvellous astardanced77. Your talent, your kindness and your engagement that lifts everyone around you shine as brightly as any good stellar body. While you may have noticed my consistent failure to visit you (I had such plans for Christmas, then Mr B bloody well worked the days we could have come, and then there were teeth, and … basically I'm crap) I DID get a load of orange chocs to the lovely Mr S, so fingers crossed you have had them in time for your birthday. Naturally, I forgot the card … I will get down there soon and deliver it! May everyone else have been every bit as wonderful in their appreciations of you as I am tardy and feeble!

And a very Happy Birthday, too, to the indefatigable 17catherines! I know of no-one who can get as much done with so good a will and bright a mind as you. I wish my Katharine Hepburn impersonation was better so that I could shout 'More power to you!' in the right tone. I hope the present fairies basically exhausted themselves couriering grateful giftage from your populace.

Lastly, though anything but leastly, Happy Birthday inamac! At least I've got in under the wire for your actual day. May all your furry creatures be delightfully well behaved, your loved ones be plying you with treats, and your enormous brainful of knowledge and talent continue to bring light to a bonkers world for many decades to come.
12 April 2015 @ 11:08 pm
I have been running around like a headless chicken for most of this year, and will not get a chance to rest for another month or two. This is probably going to be OK, I am ticking off a lot of things on the to-do lists and have A Plan for the psycho work months that are about to leap on me. But I am failing at fandom. Two stories begun, and then left. Oh well, there's a second half to the year!

Walking is interesting at the moment: Easter was spent traipsing up hill and down dale, and I have needed to have a feet-up day since then. But Mr B gave me a fitness tracker for my birthday, and so I feel obliged to walk at least 10,000 steps a day, and then there has been a lot of gardening to do since I got back from Easter camping … The result is that I have a new theme song, which goes 'Stiff, stiff, stiff, I am so very very stiff!' Naturally, Mr B thinks this is hilarious. I keep reminding him that this is knee, not penis-related.

Easter was mostly good fun. I had a moment of feeling like the worst person ever when I shouted at a kid who had done something dangerous, but to the kid's enormous credit, she accepted that she had done something dumb and listened to me going through the safety rules and then followed them. I was impressed. I like kids, they don't mind the fact that rules exist and they don't begrudge you trying to uphold them.

Over the coming two months, I am going to think on that child and compare her favourably to my ad department. It will hopefully stop me murdering anyone in the ad department. That and the fact I can't possibly catch any of the bastards if they try to outrun me.
05 April 2015 @ 11:32 pm
You don't look a day over 34.

May flocks of blonds deliver peacocks to your door. Or vice versa.
13 March 2015 @ 09:17 pm
There are only two sensible things to do. Tonight I begin my Terry Pratchett Reread with The Colour of Magic. Tomorrow, I repot my bromeliads.

Very possibly there could be a spot of Oggish drinking and singing about hedgehog nonsodomy in between …
26 February 2015 @ 11:39 pm
Twenty years ago come May, I was hit in the head with a taxi and major thoroughfare in quick succession. I broke several bones in my face, scraped off a lot of skin, bruised myself to buggery, broke my hand and a few ribs and cracked some other bits besides.

In a way it was good that I had the broken hand because I had very obviously been in an accident. There were some nice things, like the woman who followed me down a long street until we neared the police station and then gently sought my attention to tell me that I deserved better and that she would come with me to the police if I wanted to make a complaint. I made sure that I told her I thought she was wonderful and brave before I told her I'd been hit by a taxi. I still wish I'd felt up to hugging her.

There was a little girl in the pet shop who lifted up bunnies and kittens for me to pat because they made her feel better and she guessed I needed something cheering. When her mother told her to stop bothering the lady, I confess I may have laid on the 'But it's really helping me, what a lovely child!' a little more thickly than a good person would have.

And there were annoying things, like the shopkeepers who knew me, had known me for ages, recognised that it was me, and yet still treated me as though I was a moron because I couldn't talk fluently and looked bad.

Last Friday, I paid a nice surgeon to hammer out two wisdom teeth and chisel some bone from the roof of my mouth. Since then, I have looked like a lopsided squirrel and had a splendid bruise down one cheek. And I can't talk without gagging on the stitches.

Primed by my earlier experience, I prepared a notebook. It contains multiple useful pages:
* I had an operation on my mouth and cannot talk for a bit.
* It looks worse than it feels, thanks for asking.
* Yes
* No
* Oh For Fuck's Sake!
* Can I put $10 on my Opal Card?
* Ask X, Y, Z (people at work with checkboxes to point to)
* It's very good to see you.
* Can I have a chocolate milk, please?

Armed with those nine pages, I have navigated a surprising percentage of my life, partcularly since going back to work yesterday. This has been helped by hardware changes in my absence, which have allowed me to do a surprising amount of my job with only NO and OH, FFS!

But of course, I occasionally have to talk. And because my left cheek is still swollen and stiff with bruising, and because my tongue cannot hit the roof of my mouth and I don't want to move my lips very much, I sound like a lisping, nasal squirrel impersonator.

Now at work, this is merely a source of comedy. And rightly so. Because it is funny. I'm also still a bit stoned from the general and all the opiates: drugs and I have never mixed well. They know this and were prepared. People laughing is perfectly rational, if cruel ;-)

But four times today other people listened to my lispy squirrel voice and looked at my swollen face and decided 'Oh, you must be stupid!'

Which just shits me. Not because someone thinks *I* am stupid (I'm five feet one and girly looking, people have made that mistake on spurious gender assumptions my whole life) but because it reminds me how needlessly fucking frustrating it must be to permanently have any one of the hundreds of physical conditions that mean you can't talk fluently.

So if this ever happens again (and given my track record, that's not unlikely), I have a new plan. I am going to download a voice synthesiser a la Stephen Hawking (maybe even the same voice) and I am going to program my series of responses, PLUS brief lectures on the mechanics of particle physics*, which I will play while looking at them with touching, swollen sincerity.

That'll learn 'em.

* Cribbed entirely from the work of Professor Hawking (I only 'get' physics up to Marie Curie), who I suspect will grant permission because there are jokes in A Brief History of Time, which means he can find comedy anywhere. Also, on cruising his essays last night when I dreamt up this plan, I found this regular disclaimer:

Note that there may be incorrect spellings, punctuation and/or grammar in this document. This is to allow correct pronunciation and timing by a speech synthesiser.

which is my new favourite example of why appropriately idiosyncratic grammar exists.
24 February 2015 @ 09:24 pm
Someone on my flist recently posted that their LJ had gone completely rogue and was displaying in a wholly unexpected and unhelpful way. They then fixed it, through persistance and brilliance.

It would have been awesome if I could have remembered who, alas, MY BRAIN IS NOT YET BACK since last Friday, it is instead off in wibbly wobbly land, able to concentrate on very little.

If it was you, and you wouldn't mind sharing your brilliance, could you please drop mific a line?

In tooth news, I still look and feel as though I have been kicked in the face by a goat but at least was up to doing the laundry today. Now if only I was up to calculus!

And in other fanfic news, some teacher who did not think things through has set students a project to go and leave critical reviews on fanfics without giving the writers a say, a heads-up or even a box of chocolates. Read about it here. Thank you, inamac, for raising the topic, and the fab insight you had into it.

In real-world news, the Australian government has spent the week trying to discredit the head of our Human Rights Commission because she has had the audacity to call for human rights for refugees. Treating refugees as though they're humans, what do we think we are? Italians?!

(PS Should any members of the Italian government who have done such a sterling job in rescuing and caring for refugees care to say something damning about the Australian government, you will have a lot of support here.)
23 February 2015 @ 12:33 am
Dearest who_la_hoop, I hope you have been having the happiest of birthdays! May this year be filled with fabulosity exceeding reasonable limits!
22 February 2015 @ 02:26 am
ecosopher and lokifan, I missed your birthdays! I blame having wisdom teeth and a torus palatinus removed from my mouth on Friday, which has left me zonked by drugs and gagging on the palate stitches, boo!

I love you guys, and that's not the drugs talking. I hope that this year is utterly splendid for you both and filled with joy and good things.

And now to eat some custard and konk out again …
13 February 2015 @ 12:35 am
That was an unintentional hiatus … Not dead, still in possession of wisdom teeth for another week, at which point I will feel like death warmed up for a few days … Slightly worried that my garden is going to be swept away in the current flooding rains (my lovely tomatoes!) … Australian government continues appalling and morbidly hilarious … So much work still needs to be knocked on the head this month … Have watched TV and am v keen on Bluestone 42 and Sons of Liberty … Absolutely convinced that Actual Samuel Adams was not an eminently shaggable hottie.

Back soon. Summer in Australia = overloaded social calendar or ennervating heat that sucks the ability to type (move/breathe/think) out of you, neither of which is conducive to journalling.
10 January 2015 @ 06:51 pm
Part one

Part two

Part threeCollapse )

End note:
The title is from a Pink Floyd song that started playing in my head early in the writing of this and then wouldn't go away. There is a good chord chart for it here if you have a guitar or ukulele handy, and a mammoth stadium version of it by the band here if you don't.
10 January 2015 @ 06:32 pm
So, last year, in spite of still being worked off my feet and not having finished unpacking and still feeling a bit poorly after Moving Death Plague, I thought it would be a good idea to sign up for not one, but two fests. Because I am an idiot.

I flaked on one. I've never flaked before: in the past I've pulled out of one, been late with many, but never actually flaked. The fic is actually 4500-words written and will go up some time this year when finished, dedicated to the awesome mod who was all 'Meh, you know, it's just a fic, it's not brain surgery, no-one's going to die.' Still deeply ashamed.

However, because I had tried to keep going to the end with that one, I was late starting the second, for hd_erised. Which was going to be fine: it was due mid-Novemberish, I had started it, I had an idea and an outline for most of it, I had a good opening scene, I would just write like the wind for two and a half weeks and it would be FINE.

Which is about when I broke my wrist … Sadly, this was not the worst thing to happen in November and December. There were deaths of people I cared for, there was a close relative who was very ill (I try to be kind to him even though I don't like him), and others who needed to be supported or at least listened to (especially Mum, who I love even though she's a fruitloop). I got sick again, and I didn't have time to be sick. Work was mammoth and then I helped others on days when their work was far more mammoth and vital.

And throughout it all, this fic kept being written. Partly because of the marvellous astardanced77, who, at very short notice, said, 'Of course I can beta that for you!' and then not only did so splendidly (never has the phrase all remaining mistakes are my own been truer), but also bullied me in a loving and wise way to ignore the fact that I felt like physical and emotional drek and just focus on the story.

Which was always going to be about the ways in which we heal, and which ended up being about me remembering that pain goes away, love and kindness stay.

The other thing that kept it going were weird coincidences. melusinahp had a great note on her LJ about Hanukkah, I had a notebook that contained a scene where Draco thought about converting to Judaism, because he thought a ritual of contemplation would be better for him than one of consumerism. VERY HARD not to say 'OH, HEY!'

I had Harry breaking over a dozen bones some months before the story began, there was I with a fresh one. I'd written a long list of potions I wanted Draco to be inventing, they became wish fulfillment items for me as I sat there holding my cast above my head and waiting for my arm to stop throbbing. I had Draco being eye-rolly about Wiccans (sorry, Wiccans, you're lovely and I am a terrible person), JKR was eye-rolly about Hogwarts Wiccans on Twitter (pretty sure she just meant 'well, obviously that's not how Hogwarts Magic works', which Mel again was posting about. Spooky!)

But none of that would have mattered for anything had it not been for the wonderful mods, capitu, gracerene and sassy_cissa, who were understanding, funny and kind throughout. Thank you!

In theory I was going to have another go at this story this year with two hands and some sleep under my belt and time to expand everything. In actuality, I am going to finish other things instead!

Title: On the Turning Away
Author: blamebrampton
Recipient: Squeeka, keeper_of_stars
Rating: PG
Word Count: 25,500-ish
Summary: It's one thing to be good at not making a besotted fool of yourself over a man when he's busy being the most famous wizard in the world and you're tucked away quietly in Wiltshire. It's quite another when you have to see him every morning.
Author's Notes: Dear Squeeka, your prompts were delightful and inspiring, I wish I could have incorporated them all. I hope you like the ones that made it in. An enormous thank you to astardanced77, who beta-ed under the most trying circumstances imagineable – all remaining problems are entirely my own. And great gratitude also to the mods, who were kind, supportive and understanding. No thanks at all to the fates, who conspired cruelly.
Disclaimer:All Harry Potter characters herein are the property of J.K. Rowling and Bloomsbury/Scholastic. No copyright infringement is intended.

Part oneCollapse )
08 January 2015 @ 09:07 am

Will update credits later.


By David Pope.
05 January 2015 @ 11:15 pm
Guess who looks like a squirrel becaues her lower leftt wisdom tooth has turned to the path of darkness?

I have a tube of bonjela and a dentist's appointment in the morning. If you don't hear from me for a few days, it will be because I am sitting with an icepack clutched to my cheek swearing like a sailor!