All Shakespeare needed was one word more.


...I have of late—but wherefore 
I know not—lost all my mirth, forgone all custom of 
exercises; and indeed it goes so heavily with my 
disposition that this goodly frame, the earth, seems to 
me a sterile promontory, this most excellent canopy, 
the air, look you, this brave o'erhanging firmament, 
this majestical roof fretted with golden fire, why, 
it appears no other thing to me than a foul and pestilent 
congregation of vapors. What a piece of work is a man! 
How noble in reason, how infinite in faculties, 
in form and moving how express and admirable, 
in action how like an angel, in apprehension how like 
a god! The beauty of the world, the paragon of animals! 
And yet, to me, what is this quintessence of dust? Man 
delights not me—no, nor woman neither, though by 
your smiling you seem to say so. Bastards.

(Hamlet, Act 2, Scene 2 + one word)

Yep. That's how I feel right now.
People are just a pain in the arras...

My thoughts after watching the England v Germany match as expressed by someecards

Sounds like a plan. *weeps stoic English tears of stifled disappointment*

The Rhodes Not Taken (with Ian McEwen)

Wandering through "Teh interWebs" I encountered this piece of brutally honest reflective writing/lit crit:

On Chesil Beach by Ian McEwan.
Sometimes it helps to read a book that is relentlessly terrible. It’s energising to have something to fight against, and knowing you aren’t the worst writer in the world can lift the spirits. This book is a pile of dog’s mess. The ‘themes’ aren’t so much spoon-fed to the reader as bellowed at them with a loud hailer, the characters are dull people dismally written, their world is devoid of even the possibility of humour, and don’t get me started on the spunking scene… or the ending, for that matter — the main character’s life turns out so unsatisfactory that he ends up owning only a share of a house in France, unlike McEwan, who owns a whole house in France. Holy smoke this is a bad read. But what really makes me angry isn’t so much the book itself, it’s the way the literary establishment queued up to kiss its dreary arse. “Oh Florence.” “Oh Edward.” This book is the enemy.

I have a strange suspicion I might like Dan Rhodes. I think I might even buy one of his books. (And yes, I also felt thoroughly exasperated by the dreadfulness of On Chesil beach and dismayed at the lit establishment lapping it up... Could you have guessed that?...)


Poet Laureate Carol Ann Duffy writes for injured David Beckham -

Let's face it, the Achilles myth is just too tempting to use...

World of Pub - brief update!

1. Carol Ann Duffy has gathered together some of the finest contemporary poets for this in Edinburgh: Poets for Haiti

2. The team behind "The Thick of It" are also the brains behind "In The Loop".
     -And they've only gone and got Oscar nominated! (So the lovely Tony Roche who I knew at Uni is now an Oscar nominee... Hurrah for Big Tone! And... "Oh. What have you done with your life?" to me...).

That is all.

World of Pub*

Carol Ann Duffy's lament for the pub, for those (like me) who missed it on the Culture Show. Lovely stuff, as ever...

* World of Pub was a sitcom written by an old uni compadre of mine, Tony Roche. He now writes as part of The Thick of It team. *sigh* The pub seems like a decent place to go right now... and I don't drink. *sigh*

Ah, Britain....

Forced to choose eating or heating, family burns furniture to keep warm |The Guardian

I bloody hate winter, but at least I can more or less afford to heat our home and eat.

Happy new-ish year. So far, so fuck-awful...

PS: And if the utility companies haven't got you over a barrel, well, then probably the banks have, but Billy Bragg has an answer. Wearing badges is not enough in days like these, indeed.