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.

The finals are here! Twelve hours or so after they were there! The blessed ABC has not spoiled me, my social media blackout for most of the day and not checking any news sites has seen me reach this evening with NO IDEA WHO WINS! I am even ignoring Twitter. It's lovely.

Opening sequence is delightful, with a little caterpillar creeping through Europe (did the Minuscule team help there?) And now he spins a little cocoon and pupates into a beautiful Eurocaterpillar! Flying across the Orison Bridge and into the bright lights of Malmo in time for the anthem of the contest, which is surprisingly good – perhaps not that surprising given it was mostly written by half of ABBA. The choir is rich and sweet, just a lovely sound!

And now the contestants march in behind their national flags in a sort of EuroOlympics moment. Krista from Finland shows her knickers in her spin, bless. Birgit is still wearing her shower curtain. Oh Estonia, never change your brilliant oddness. And Armenia partying down the walkway, still in double denim. The Hungarians are apparently already drunk, the hottie from Iceland popped on a formal jacket for the occasion, because they know how to show respect for a big occasion in Iceland. And the tiny little man whose name I forget is making love hearts with his hands. He really is the sweetest.

And Petra Mede is in a giant fuchsia formal coat dress with thigh split and matching ankle boots. I do not pretend to understand her fashion choices, but I have been endlessly entertained by them! And another shout-out for Australia! Hi Petra! Great Australia joke! We love you guys!

And here we go!

( 26 songs, three years of voting …Collapse )

Has it been a year? Really? AH well, here we go again with the annual Europop Appreciation Weekend, where Australia screens both semis and the final over one long weekend.

I say this every year, and every year one of you bloody Europeans spoils me, but for the love of bunnies, PLEASE PUT YOUR LIVE EUROVISION COMMENTS UNDER A CUT! I will be so pleased if I can get through one year without knowing the winner beforehand.

And now, on with the show:

( I really don't know how two and a bit hours can seem so long …Collapse )

I was about to have a nap, but melusinahp had a post, which I can't link to because I am typing this on the iPad, which is CRAP for flicking between windows (though good at other things) and although I am certain I have dealt with this briefly in another fic, this suddenly popped into my head and so I have postponed my nap and well, Mel, we may not always agree, but I am with you on the important things in Potter:

( A short story of Ron and Draco and apologiesCollapse )

I have in the past broken hands, arms, fingers and thumbs, due to a lifetime of flinging myself off horses, bikes, rollerskates, the odd small cliff … (Gravity reliably works, alas!) So you would think that I would remember things one can and cannot do.

Nope.

Every morning for the last 3 and a bit weeks, I have put my bra on as usual, then had to take it off, do it up at the front, then swing it round to the back, as you can only do up bras with two thumbs, or considerably more practise.

You CAN weave, albeit very slowly and more clumsily than usual. I have been working on some narrowares for a class on the weekend, and it is doable.

You can sort of crochet, but it's probably best not to.

Millinery is right out, as you need a thumb to keep everything well formed. Knitting likewise. Sewing is not very possible, unless there's no need for tension and involves no short stitches, so frame embroidery with long stitch is about it

Drawing on the other hand, not hard at all!

You would think this would mean I had managed a lot of drawing practise this month. Alas, I have instead done a lot of failing at other craft. I am never going to pass my Jane Austen Accomplishment Test.

HAPPY BIRTHDAY rabidsamfan, you're just exactly the sort of person who I hope has a long and happy life so that you can continue to make the world a better place! And I also hope for cake. There should always be cake!

If you are working in a job that manages four magazines that all have their deadline in the one week and the new person is starting in that week, do not spend your three handover days respectively going home at lunch because you feel unwell, getting drunk at your goodbye lunch, and hungover. And do consider at least warning the new person that you've done no useful work for two weeks. SO stabbity stabbity! Still, deadlines met. Dark circles under eyes epic.

You can ride a bicycle with a broken thumb! Unless your roads or paths are very smooth, you shouldn't.

Kurt Fearnley won the lad's wheelie part of the London Marathon! Yay! STUPID organisation whoever let the women runners go out before the chairs, thank goodness there were no serious injuries in that crash.

I am sure there was much more, but five hours a night is nothing like enough sleep …

So, years ago, New Zealand introduced Civil Unions for everyone. And yesterday, they decided that GLBTI marriage should be legal and removed all the restrains on gender from its marriage laws.

It's easy to forget how progressive New Zealand is. They beat us all for giving women the vote, they had a treaty with their indigenous peoples and have mostly abided by it, and they are pretty damned good on carbon reduction, too.

As is so often in the Southern Hemisphere, it was the party you didn't expect who brought the reforms in. Howard the Great Conservative launched gun control in Australia, Hawke and Keating, the classic Labor unionists, brought about economic reforms that had all of the pros of Thatcherism, but without the cons. You will note that Australia's economy remains thriving!

Here it was the Conservatives who held the balance of power. The bill was introduced by Louisa Wall, a gay Labour party MP, and made it through 77-44 with serious support from the government.

Here in Australia, we can't even get a similar bill through with it being Australian Labor Party policy (they are the party allegedly in government here, but … look, I need to get over this broken thumb and new job exhaustion so that I can properly write up the lunacy …)

The lovely sly_girl linked to this masterpiece of a speech by Maurice Williamson. Everybody should be linking to it. He is my new favourite politician. The woman the camera cuts away to who is clearly filled with joy is Louisa Wall.




And HAPPY BIRTHDAY catsintheattic! I hope that everything for you is as good as Maurice Williamson! And may your cats shower you with purrs!

May it be filled with loving cats, good friends bearing gifts and fine wine, and quality admirers!

While it is well known that I think astrology is bunk, I can sometimes understand why people get the idea that it must be true, because fabulous people share birthdays so often. And today is a prime example!

VERY HAPPY BIRTHDAY to tinofbeans, I will bring the cake the next time we catch up!

And HURRAH for the natal day of astardanced77, you delightful young woman! I hope your husband passed on the wild hugs that were sent your way at Easter.

HAPPY BIRTHDAY, too, to 17catherines! I hope that it has been filled with delicious ingredients and an entire university full of presents and cheer! If anyone who is a foodie or music person is not following her, hie ye hence! She is as lovely as she is erudite!

And on the topic of erudition, HAPPY BIRTHDAY, too, to inamac, who will actually get this message on her day (sorry Australians!) You continually inspire me with your posts and images of your world. I hope the animals are all beautifully behaved for you and that you are showered with gifts!

Yesterday I made my friend Suzanne promise to cheer for Kurt Fearnley at the Boston Marathon. Kurt is one of my fave athletes and I usually only get to see him at the Paralympics and Sydney Marathon, so whenever possible I send my friends out to shout inappropriate things at him (he's a bit of all right). I recognise that other people show more respect, but my peer group is more fun.

She was going to be at Mile 25, she told me. I went to bed and woke up early (for me) to check the results. I swtiched on the news at the same time as opening my iPad, and felt a sick horror as the news emerged, relieved only by the knowledge that Suzanne was some distance away, and Kurt would have finished well before, because the rollers are faster than the runners.

Social media once again showed that its true strength is in times of crisis. Suzanne and Kurt had both tweeted that they were fine. Most of my other Boston friends checked in on Twitter or LJ. The only one who hasn't is unlikely to have been there. This many miles away there was nothing I could do except send a few tweets of support and make the traditional donation to the American Red Cross.

Other people used Twitter to better effect. Emma, whose surname I missed, is an Aboriginal runner from somewhere out in the middle of the Northern Territory. She was taken over as part of the Indigenous Running Project last year to run the New York Marathon, and thwarted by Hurricane Sandy. So this year, she made it through injury to be ready for the Boston. But with about 10 minutes left in her race, she found herself caught up in a wave of hurried  redirection as the racers were sent away from the end where their friends and their belongings were waiting.

News was piecey and frightening. At what had been the end of the race, her team were being evacuated and frantically trying to track down a young woman whose experience of big American cities mostly consisted of hotels and airports.

But Americans are mostly awesome. Other runners asked Emma where she was from and what they could do for her. They introduced themselves and stayed with her. Race organisers started trying to find her team, locals offered to help her get back to her hotel. Those who had phones put the word out on Twitter and reunited her with her team via social media.

Meanwhile, Suzanne tweeted that while she was shattered, she was also inspired by those emergency workers, military, medical and first aid people who had just run a marathon turn around and run back towards the wounded. She was off to donate blood, because it was something positive that she could do, and she is awesome, too.

Some of the media was dreadful, and some was good. The stories of Bill Iffrig, the 78-year-old runner who fell to the ground near the first explosion and then got up to finish struck a wonderful balance of humanity without schmaltz. His 'stuff em whoever they are' attitude was the only rational response.

And then Carlos Arrondodo, who spends most of his life promoting peace around the country, ran into clouds of smoke and blood and found himself forming makeshift tourniquets for some of the worst injured, and keeping them conscious until the paramedics could take them to hospital.

Most heartening, there was an awful lot of that attitude that some famous thriller author – I think it was Tom Clancy – brought to the CNN coverage after the 9/11 attacks, where he was the voice saying 'Hang on, remember that when things like this happen in America, it's usually because of domestic terrorism.' That attitude is so important, because whoever ends up being responsible, it's vital to remember that terrorism does not come from one ethnicity, it comes from one mindset: the mindset of hatred, and the more we do to divorce ourselves from that way of thinking, the better the world is.

I just don't have any words for the fact that parents from Sandy Hook were at the finish line. The only consolation is the knowledge that everyone around them will be holding them tight.

And because it has been such a grim day,
here is a video of a busy Melbourne tunnel that was closed off so workers could rescue a kitten. In a world where big burly men rescue kittens, there is always hope for a better tomorrow.

Clearly I wasn't satisfied with a broken thumb …


Note the attractive rash beneath the thumb. Allergic to the paper tape that holds my splint on.

Also, iPad: What's with the arm-widening foreshortening? Harsh!

In good news, swelling and bruising well down, gouges healing. Hurrah!

The French cafe down the road sells Carambars! I am unreasonably excited by this!

Having typed that, I suddenly want a Curly Wurly. The shop across the road has them! HURRAH for multiculturalism! (I accept that this is feeble multiculturalism, but I did just have dinner at the Turkish place and respond to a web survey from the Japanese bar, so it's better than my sweet selections make it sound!)

I think this may just get in under the time limit:

HAPPY BIRTHDAY cassie_black12 and schemingreader! You two are both just lovely and I feel terribly ashamed that this week's chaos has left me unable to wish something more than HUGE PILES OF GIFTAGE AND CAKE for you both! Alas, already late for work …

I won't say that it is sad to hear that Margaret Thatcher has died.

In much the same way that you hope for 'merciful release' for an ailing aged relative, it has been cruel to see her physical decline over the last few years and, should her philosophy prove correct, she is back with her much-loved husband.

And while I disagreed with so very, very much of what she did and what she believed, I preferred her to the current mob. At least you knew exactly where you stood with her, and she generally took her policies to the polls. And she was classier than Heseltine or Major.

There, three nice things said about the dead.

Now I would like my fucking milk and industry back.

I forgot to mention that a hairdressing incident saw me start Wednesday with my usual dark brown hair and end it with bright red hair. This is Mr B's fault. Quoth he: 'I think you should go back to your natural hair colour for a bit.' To which I responded: 'And just what do you think that might be?'

Ironically, it actually is the dark brown I usually dye it (my grey hairs refuse to mass in the Sontag-like stripe I desire! So dye it is), with a blue-red touch to it. Definitely not the Florence Welch red I am currently sporting, which was roughly the shade he was talking about.

Which is why when I arrived at work this morning, sans bike, avec sling, the poor receptionist, who is the kindest and most courteous of women, looked at my hand, looked at my hair, looked for the bike, and found that it was all too much and settled on: 'Oooh! Look at you, ginger!'

Which is my anecdote to introduce the important fact that today is the birthday of at least two fabulous people.

The first is the searingly brilliant shiv5468. I had hoped to be sending you my bits of our first four chapters, but this nine-fingered typing lark is patchy, so I am calling my hair a Shiv Tribute instead, though you are anything but ginger! May Sauron discover she has genital tinea! May there be good chocolate biscuits at work in honour of your natal day! May your enemies choke on them! Happy Birthday, dear! Pages to follow soonest!

Secondly, Happy Birthday to leemarchais! I hope that this year sees you writing like the wind, and with exactly zero family dramas. You're so talented and bright, and then kind on top: I hope the present fairies lose all sense of perspective when it comes to deliveries today!

And as is traditional the day after any kind of off: ow, ow, smegging ow! So many strains and bruises. I sing a hymn of praise to all those engineers through the ages whose work has resulted in piped hot water!

See the cracks and missing chunk in this image:



That would be my head.

If you ride slowly on cycle paths or in Copenhagen, you can get by without one. Over 10kph/6mph and in mixed traffic, just cope with helmet hair. Brains belong on the inside!

I succumbed two weeks ago and bought an iPad, immediately after succumbing to the lure of a full-time job on a mag that puts out an iPad edition.

Despite it being a luxury, I have been able to justify it as it will pay for itself in New Yorkers alone with the year and I have been getting a lot of writing done on it thanks to the little Logitech keyboard cover I also bought. I was in two minds about buying it a travelling case, as they were yet another expense, but I rationalised it with the thought that since I ride everywhere, I would rather be safe than sorry.

Good call, as things turned out.

It was raining this morning and I hit an oily patch of wet road while turning a corner on my newish town tyres (wide-ish, but slick) and my bike slid out beneath me. It was very dramatic sounding, but that was mostly my helmet cracking, which is what helmets are meant to do. Worth every penny spent on it and it will now join the sainted row of Helmets That Gave Their Lives So I Might Live. (Anyone who tells you that helmets aren't brilliant is talking shit or only ever rides under 10kph.)

A young couple came running up to help, as did Suzanne, the lovely woman whose house I stacked outside. I tried to brush it all off as a commuting incident. They were charming and delightful and pointed out that it might be a better idea to pause a moment until the adrenalin stopped flowing, rather than jog my bike up to the nearby shop for a new helmet before proceeding onto work, as was my initial plan.

Wise advice. As I went to peel my gloves off, it became apparent I had broken a thumb. The left one, and up the top, so minimally awful as these things go, but that meant a day spent having X-rays rather than signing contracts at work. Aside from that, a few grazes and bruises, bike was carefully protected by my body and is fine.

However, having walked my bike back home after thanking my genuinely fabulous rescuers, I decided it was time to face the music. I opened up my pannier and pulled out the travelling case. The iPad is FINE! If you are considering an STM case or a MET bicycle helmet, I strongly recommend both!

Sad news this evening that magnificent character actor Richard Griffiths has died after complications from heart surgery.

He is probably best known among my flist as Uncle Vernon in the Harry Potter films, but to me he will always be Uncle Monty from Withnail and I. It came out when I was a wee lass of 20 and was nearly the end of me when I foolishly popped a Malteser into my mouth just before he fruitily declared to 'I' that 'I mean to have you, even if it must be burglary!'

A friend at the time had the misfortune to be called Monty, and after months of being greeted as 'Monty you terrible cunt!' by everyone he loved (I believe even his mother at one point), declared he wished to be known henceforth as Featherstonehaugh-Smythe, or whatever his actual, similar, surname was.

Several friends in the land of Drama worked with him over the years and declared him as charming offscreen as on: he could have tortured orphans on the weekend and I would still be mourning the loss of his talent. I was surprised to learn that he was only 65: I am six years older than Uncle Monty was. Terrifying thought indeed!

Goodbye, sir, you were a great talent and brought much joy to many.