"When I get a little money, I buy books; and if any is left, I buy food and clothes"- Desiderius Erasmus 1466-1536

Books are brilliant, aren't they? Where else, how else, can you travel through time and space and walk alongside the great and the good? Where else can you stand next to a hero as they battle to save the world? Where else can you learn arcane secrets and long forgotten recipes?

Right now, I'm in mourning. I've just finished The Night Circus by Erin Morgenstern and it's one of those books where I've regretted finishing it, because I'll never again have the pleasure of reading it for the first time. I'm looking at the cover and I know all the secrets now and I wish I didn't. I wish they were still ahead of me.

I didn't read this book, so much as have an affair with it. I started it and quickly realised that it was something very special. And my behaviour altered accordingly. Instead of sitting reading it nicely, with a cup of tea, I became secretive and sly. I've always been the kind of person who's happier doing stuff once the sun has gone down, but this book turned me nocturnal.

For three nights, I didn't even try and pick it up before 2am. Then, when the house was quiet, when the world was quiet, everyone else in bed with lovers, husbands, teddies or dreams, I'd pick it up. I'd sit in bed with chocolate cherry liqueurs and read it. Devour it. Over three nights, I sat in the dark, in The Night Circus. I watched Celia and Marco's battle, knowing how it had to end, willing it not to. I became a rêveur, following the Circus around the world, my metaphorical red scarf floating behind me on a caramel-apple scented breeze. I marvelled at the Wishing Tree, The Ice Garden, The Contortionist.

And now it's over. And I miss it.

The point of this blog isn't to introduce you to my sordid night-time habits, though I assure you I have many. The point is... Well, books.

When I was little, I genuinely thought I was Matilda. Not least helped by the fact my granddad called me Matilda (whether he thought that was my name or was just being funny is, as yet, undetermined). But I was her! I lived in a bookless house for years! My parents saw no value in reading! They found it amusing when I got lost in a book. 'Ah, she's reading,' they'd say, in the same way someone might say 'She doesn't speak English,' or 'She's in a coma,' when I didn't respond to a request. I had a lovely teacher at school and she encouraged me to read AND join the library. I had an evil headmistress whose sole joy in life seemed to involve reducing children to tears.

Uncanny, isn't it?

All the pieces fit. And never, never did a child spend so much time as I did trying to levitate a piece of chalk. No child ever invested so much mental energy into trying to develop telekinetic powers. I'm not going to lie, I still try it now. Sometimes, I'll look at a pen and will it to come to me. And I still reckon, one day, it will happen.

Books are everything. K-Rob once gave me a pen with 'She found her family in a book,' on it (and I bloody well did). SophieSoph gave me a brooch which reads 'She has read too many books and they have addled her brain,' on it (and it's bloody well true). Books bind people in a way that no other form of media can do. Because no other form of media gives you the freedom to create a world that a book does. A book gives you a little detail and then demands that you imagine the rest. It nudges you towards a place where you can let your mind loose with possibilities. To have a book is to have infinite, glorious potential, the potential to step entirely into another place without ever leaving your home. They are waking dreams.

I'm not, by any stretch, some kind of literary voice of authority either. While I'm a prolific reader, I'm not especially discerning. I like fiction. Pure, whimsical, intangible fiction. When I read, I don't want to learn anything other than what it's like to be somewhere else and see through someone else's eyes. It's a form of escape, a break from my own life when it's not appropriate or convenient to take a nap.

My whole life, I've prized books above almost everything else. I had to stop going into charity shops for a while, because seeing the copies of Harry Potter on the shelves made me sad and I'd be compelled to buy them. I couldn't understand who didn't love them enough to keep them.

I worry about people who don't read. That's not to say I judge them, any more than I expect to be judged because of my point-blank refusal to indulge in sports (I don't do sweat). But I worry they're missing out on a part of the world that they could so easily have, if they would open themselves up to it. I think readers dream bigger than most people, because we're exposed to the idea that the impossible is, in fact, eminently possible if you have enough nerve. Because if you can take some words, a few letters, and arrange them in the right way, you can make magic happen. And in that sense, every book is a spell.

The next book I expect to captivate me is Ali Shaw's 'The Man Who Rained'. I'm actually scared of this book, because I loved his first book, 'The Girl With Glass Feet', so much. Probably too much, if I'm honest. I bought a copy for K-Rob for her birthday last year but didn't feel as though I could part with it. She got her own one, in the end.

There is so much pleasure in books. The smell of new pages, the feel of them in your hands. I fold the corners down on mine, sacrilege to some, but to me it feels right. I don't get sad if I spill tea on them, or open them to find my lap suddenly covered in biscuit crumbs. I use my books and it shows and I love them more for it. I like to see them wrinkled, it feels as though we've grown together. I'm leaving my mark on them, in the same way they've left their marks on me.

We're battle-scarred, me and my books and I wouldn't have it any other way.

For the love of all that's good and great in the world, please don't ever stop reading. Because, to bastardise a popular quote, 'to tire of reading, is to tire of life'. 

2.8 Hours Later

So, it's been an amazing week. I made a lot of jewellery, bought a sewing machine and spent 2.8 hours last night running through south London from zombies.

2.8 Hours Later is a city-wide game that takes place over the course of 2.8 hours. You, as one of the last surviving members of the human race, are released in a city with a map, complete with grid reference. The object of the game is to find fellow survivors, get their stories and the next grid location, where another survivor and grid location wait for you. You make your way across the map, avoiding the zombies, who are ready, willing and able to attack you until you finally make it to Resistance HQ. If you are tagged by a zombie, you are Infected and you're destined to become one of them.

We arrived at the launch base where we were given our maps and arm-bands. Covering south-east London, from Waterloo East Railway station to Shortwave Films in Bermondsey Sqaure, we had 2.8 hours to travel the 1.5 mile square contamination area. Sounds easy? Wrong.

We were given our first location and began to make our way there. Within two minutes of release, we saw our first zombie, lurking on a corner we had to walk past. We watched some brave souls try and run past, seeing one zombie and then another pelt after them. We turned and ran the opposite way, circumventing the corner and travelling in relative safety. This was to be the pattern for the rest of the night.

We skirted along side streets, running through the alley ways between blocks of flats, sidling down past cars. Every shadow was an enemy, every footfall potential death. What started out as a fun game very quickly became an immersive fight for survival.

We made it to the car-park, our first location, easily locating it from the sounds of shrieks and snarls slashing through the air. The few people passing by looked nervous enough. And they didn't have to go in it.

We had to make our way to Level 14, the very top. The first nine levels via the stairs, the remaining five through the car-park and up the ramps. Every few moments, we'd hear shrieks above us, the fluorescent lighting showing the abject fear on everyone's faces in stark relief. Footsteps and screams echoed around us. We made it, so slowly, up the stairs and out onto level nine. We saw another survivor, hiding behind a pillar. He gestured upwards, indicating one of the Infected was close. We ran over, realising quickly that in such a narrow space, even outnumbering the creature, one of us would be Infected if we tried to take on the zombie. So we climbed the car park, hauling ourselves up over railings and concrete barriers, squeezing through gaps a foot and half wide. In utter silence, save for the snarling. Using this method, we got to the top, quickly locating the sweets we needed to use to bribe the next survivor into telling us where to go.

We began to make our way down the stairwell when from above us came a scream. One of the Infected was inside. We ran, our group separating in a bid for survival. Lee and I climbed our way back down through the car park, not trusting the paths. Finally, after what felt like forever, we were out. We'd made it. Minutes later, Brian hurtled out. He'd made it too.

On the way to the next grid location, we passed a number of pubs, all of which had other armband-clad survivors in them, chugging back drinks, looking shaken and relieved. It was truly harrowing, reality completely suspended. We all genuinely went to a place in which we believed our survival depended on not getting tagged. It was awesome.

We got to the next location easily, a church with a priest chained to the fence outside. We were all veteran enough to know a chained man was not going to be a friend so we kept well back, working hard to coax him into the next location...

The Priest. Even the Infected love Mountain Dew. 

The butcher.

Using our stealth tactics, we came at this one backwards, so were treated to the sight of the zombies waiting stealthily for the unsuspecting survivors to leave the relative safety of the location. We were also warned by those that had made it through that these two were fast and unrelenting. Girding ourselves, we went around and entered the butcher's lair, where a blood spattered man, surrounded by limbs and blood fed us the next location... Before herding us right out onto the street where the two ruthless zombies were waiting. Thankfully, by chance we were in a huge group... and when mob mentality took over it proved useful. The doors had been opened for a few seconds when suddenly everyone was screaming and running blindly, me included. I had no idea where my friends were, where the Infected were. It was just running and screaming. We poured out onto the next street, finally slowing and laughing. We'd made it. Again. But how much longer could our luck hold?

The pub. Sounds nice. Swift pint at the Winchester and wait for it all to blow over? Wrong. We were herded inside a dingy, abandoned pub inhabited by a mad woman with a genre-appropriate pool cue. And when 'Don't Stop Me Now,' started playing, apparently of it's own accord, we knew we were screwed. One of the Infected lurched out from behind the bar. More running. 

Our next stop was to find a wise man on the streets, which we did... (and we bunged him £1.50 for his awesome one-stringed violin skills) and he gave us the next location. To find the Mad Scientist... who had the location of Resistance HQ. If we could make it there, we were safe. We'd come so far, two hours, on foot, in the dark... To get to the Mad Scientist we first had to navigate our way through the Zombie Hen Party, a group of slow moving, staggering, undead chavettes. Who spat at you. We didn't see the one behind the car, pelting madly past her. At the end of the streets we scoured our clothing. 'Did they get you?' we called, inspecting ourselves. 'What about me, my back? Can you see anything?'. Grateful to have once again survived we moved to our next location. The final hurdle before safety. 

Sluts of the Dead. Bringing a whole new meaning to 'Lady of the Night'.

The Mad Scientist stood on a corner, surrounded by the Infected. He beckoned us over, telling us as long as we stayed within 3 metres of him, we'd be safe. I called bullshit but the boys ran over and weren't attacked so I went for it. I did not stay within three metres. I was so close to the man that I may need to do a pregnancy test. Even if he didn't knock me up, he definitely owes me dinner and a movie for services rendered. All the while I was glued to him, a zombie circled, smelling us as the Scientist told us about a serum he'd invented, which made the Infected disinterested. This was how he could stand amongst them and be unhurt. He gave us the location of the Resistance safe-house, where the serum was housed. And then we had to run the gauntlet of the Killing Fields. Between 8 and 12 Infected stood on the narrow street, behind us, 3 more had blocked the way back. We had to run. I was tagged almost immediately, Lee a few moments later as two converged on him. Brian managed to evade them a bit longer but they got him too. We stood and watched a group of 15 tried to run the field too. Only one made it.

We were let into a building, where very scary and bio-suited men screamed at us, herding us into a lift to see if we were Infected. Then we were sent to make-up and then disco!

Your intrepid losers. Luckily, there is still booze in the afterlife. That's a Win in my book.

Honestly, it was hands down one of the best nights of my life. Even on the way back to the car, north of the river we were still unconsciously pausing to peer around side streets and scanning for scrub-clad demons. So much effort and time and planning must have gone into making it. And it was so authentic. The last time I got that involved with a game was playing Jurassic Park in the fields near where I grew up. As a small child. There were genuinely times when I felt my life was at stake, when I forgot I was playing a game. Whether you love zombies, or whether you just fancy a challenge, do it. I can't advocate it highly enough. Today I am shattered, achey and an emotional wreck. But I'd do it again tomorrow if I could.

It was the very best way to celebrate Halloween...
... Much aided by the fact we got home and Jules had made a Pumpkin Pie and there was a bottle of red for me. No brains though.

In which I attempt to learn a language using Heath Ledger and Television!

Hej! Guess who just got back from Sweden? Well, obviously it’s me or this would be a blog about someone else, in which case I wouldn’t be here. And you shouldn’t be either.

I love Sweden. So much. I’ve spent a lot of time this year screaming ‘GAMLA STAN!’ in a manner usually reserved for bellowing ‘FOR GONDOR!’, if that’s any indicator of how much I like it there. Everyone is just so NICE. They really are. People smile at you in the streets and it’s not a precursor to a stabbing. And the food… so much cheese! And cake! So imagine my joy when I got to go back, only this time to Gothenburg (or ‘Gotham City’, as I like to call it).

Flew out last week with Easyjet, my first experience with them, and I was apprehensive. BUT NO NEED! It turned into my joint-first favourite flight ever. The flight attendants were ace, lovely, cheeky, charming and very whimsical. Not everyone likes a bit of whimsy when they’re 33,000ft up but I’m quite the fan, So thanks to Kevin for the best sales pitch of a bacon roll I’ve ever seen and thanks to Duncan for just being a sweetie. I giggled in an unseemly fashion for most of the flight thanks to them.

We landed and I promptly got us lost in the wrong bit of Sweden. So I texted our Swedish Liason for advice:

Me: Hi! Do we need to get off at Mölndal Centrum?

Elvira: NO! NO! It’s near Elisedal!

Me: TOO LATE! We’ve gone past that! We’ve committed to Mölndal!

Elvira: BUT THAT’S TOO FAR!

Me: It’s ok! It’s an adventure

Mikey: ._.

Eventually we found it, checked in and had some tea before heading into Korsvägen to meet Elvira for dinner. She took us to Skojarbacken, which is a restaurant near the Lorensberg part of Gothenberg. I loved it. I have a thing about quirky and off-the-wall places, I’m not one for chrome and clean lines and this had none of that. It did have a massive stuffed moose, lots of lace, wall-mounted tuxedos and fairy lights. And a disco ball. Perfect. After a delicious dinner, we went on a moonlit tour of Gothenburg before heading back to the hostel for a cup of tea and the Deathly Hallows audiobook.

The following day, we went to the Universeum and got to wander through an aquarium, see an octopus and some sharks, walk over a ray lake, meander through a rainforest, do some horse riding, race a cockroach and try and escape a laser maze. I can’t explain how much fun this was so I suggest you go. Leave your dignity and adult perspective at the door. This is one for your inner-child.
The afternoon brought a quick mooch around Gothenburg (including visits to 7 bookshops) and then Mikey and I went out for an amazing dinner at a local restaurant and got pally with the local mafia. Sorted. Then I took it upon myself to learn Swedish from the telly. Namely, the subtitles on Casanova. Here are my learnings:

Vad? = What?

Adjö = Goodbye

Nej = No

Latrin = Cesspit

Bok = Book

Drag = Pull

Tryck = Push

Bra = Good

More words later…

On Friday… I SAW A MOOSE! We went to a park with seals and penguins and deer and MOOSE!

And we worked out that one British penny = one Knut, and so the amounts of Knuts to Sickles and Sickles to Galleons is not the arbitrary use of random numbers, but something deeper. We should have known. Then we went shopping and on a boat. 

And back to Skojarbackan for dinner, where I ate moose:

Saturday: Mikey, Binbags and I broke into a beach so we could see the sea. This involved walking through a forest, climbing some rocks, scrambling under two fences, climbing more rocks and then finally getting caught by a man whose major concern was that we’d snuck there to kill ourselves. After hasty reassurance, he pointed a window to the sea out to us and left us to our non-suicidal business.

In the evening we went out to Frölunda to watch the Wizard Wrock, where we were treated to acetastic performances by The Pumpkin Pasties, Romilda Vane and the Chocolate Cauldrons, Solitary Snape, Lockharts Beundrarpost, The Deathly Hallows and Siriusly Hazza P, all of whom had the crowd jumping around like nutters. Except for those of us who’d broken into the beach, who were knackered from the law breaking. Instead, we sat down nicely like the X-Factor judges and viewed it. Still danced in my chair though. I also fell hopelessly in love with Solitary Snape. They had me at the immortal line 'Stop biting kids'. I want them to play my wedding.

The next day was Sunday. Home time. I don’t want to talk about that. Except the bit where I was allowed to have a look in the cockpit of the plane. Easyjet rule. It was a den of debauchery in there though, all the controls are called things like 'thrust' and 'flaps'. This made for ten minutes of hilarity and 'that's what she said' jokes as they explained to me how the plane worked. 

Here are some Swedish swearwords I learnt:

Fan  = Fuck

Slampa = Slut/Whore

Sat Mara = Bitch

Fjant = Twat

Din Javel  = You bastard!

Tjenare snygging = Hey good-looking (not a swearword but needed just in case)

And there you have it. Sweden. I love it.

In other news:

I saw Iron and Wine in Shepherd’s Bush and they were amazing;

I booked tickets to go to Leavesden Studios on opening day

I’m going to a Labyrinth Masquerade Ball and film showing next month

I have started making jewellery… whether this turns into a money-making thing is still up in the air but it’s fun.

And that’s all for now.

Are you jealous?

Pottermore: House Identity Crisis

Two days after my last post, my Pottermore email arrived. And in a classic case of 'Be careful what you wish for, you might just get it', I don't want it anymore.

The reason: Sorting.

Now believe me, I'm already feeling horribly ungrateful enough, without vomiting another splurge of neurosis at you, but I can't help myself. Proving what a spoilt little brat I am, instead of being concerned with the situation in Libya, or the potential devastation Hurricane Irene may be about to wreak on the East Coast of America, I'm having sleepless nights over the possibility I might not get sorted into the house I've always felt aligned with.

In my heart, I'm a Slytherin. Not because I think I'm evil, or dark, or a bit of a bad gal. But because of their ambition and ability to get the job done, come what may. I am the person you come to if you need to find a way to do something. Because I find a way. You might not always like my methods but I get it done. I'm also very good at getting my own way. I can be cunning. Very cunning. Possibly manipulative. I have traits of other houses, sure. I can be reckless about things, I'm ridiculously loyal if I care about someone and I like to understand the concept behind things. But Slytherin is home. I live in a metaphorical dungeon of scheming.

And here I am, faced with the prospect the last ten years of my life have been a lie.

How do you cope with that? Because, to the outside world, all the Sorting House Trauma must seem a bit silly. It's only an online quiz, after all. A set of questions teamed with random codes and algorithms which, depending on your answers, allocate you a house. It doesn't look into your soul. So why on earth would it cause an upset?

Because Jo wrote these questions. And that makes them pretty darn definitive in almost everyone's book.

Over the past few days, I've seen my friends go though the Sorting process and so many of them are confused about where they've ended up. Houses they've never had any affiliation with before. How is this possible? They are literally going through the Kübler-Ross grief model.

Denial: This is wrong. It has to be. This can't be right. This is not who I am.

Anger: What the fuck is this? It's fucking wrong. I am not this. This is bullshit.

Bargaining: Does anyone have a spare account? Does anyone want to swap? Please!

Depression: I'm not doing this anymore. I'm not interested. It's ruining the HPverse for me. 

Acceptance: Well, I guess I’m stuck here. Shit.

And it’s completely understandable that people are reacting this way. Unless you’re very new to the books, the chances are you’ve spent years identifying with a house. It may have even shaped how you’ve grown as a person. You’ll have spent hundreds of pounds buying merchandise that reflects your house. You’ll have been drawn into arguments, some fun and some serious, about each house and their qualities. You’ll have been to meet-ups and logged into forums and told people proudly where you’re from. You've bought and worn the school uniform. Imagine after ten years of thinking something is true, it’s suddenly not. You’ve been living a lie. You are not who you thought you were. And, bearing in mind that for a lot of people, the HPverse is the only place they feel truly accepted, this is a very traumatic experience.

Imagine suddenly finding out you were adopted. The family you thought were yours, aren’t. I know Pottermore isn’t even on a par to that level of life-altering news, but the emotional response is still the same. People are having to cope with the fact that there is a possibility they’ve misjudged themselves. That they don’t know themselves. Could you handle that?

Because I couldn’t. So I’m not sure I’m going to go through with this Sorting thing. I don’t want to discover that everything I think I am is a lie.

In the books, the hat looked into your mind and saw not only who you are, but who you could be . People were often placed in the same house as their family members had been. In Pottermore, it seems that your wand firstly allocates your house, and then the following questions work from that to narrow the field down and confirm it. It’s an interesting system.

I don’t want to lose faith in this part of my life. So I’m either not going through with it, thereby remaining blissfully unaware of any secret parts of me, or I’m going to give someone my login and let them do it for me. That way, it’s not me. I don’t have to torture myself with the result.

ADDENDUM: After deciding I could not face another sleepless night I very quietly went through the Sorting process and got Slytherin. For this, I feel so lucky.

Pottermore aka WaitCon2011

I haven't updated in two months. Mostly because I'm lazy. And so here I am... blogging.


But I'm not going to tell you about the AMAZING time I had in Florida (though I will do soon) And I'm not going to tell you about being in a Harry Potter Poster, or being a model, or any of the numerous and wonderful things that have happened.

Instead I'm going to rant at you about Pottermore.

Pottermore is stressing me out. Genuinely. It's the kind of stress that's normally associated with exam results. You know, you think you've done all the groundwork, Merlin knows you stayed up all night to get it right and you couldn't have tried any harder. But suddenly it's out of your hands... Firstly... an announcement was made saying something new was coming and we'd have to solve clues to find out what it was. Naturally, we're Harry Potter fans. It took all of an hour for people to realise the letters on the map either spelled MOREPOTTER or POTTERMORE. A quick search of registered patents revealed Warner Bros has taken one out on the site Pottermore. So we waited for an official announcement to come.

After 5 days of watching a YouTube channel fill progressively with owls, we had our announcement. Pottermore was coming. It would be a website in which we would track through the books alongside Harry and the gang, from Sorting all the way through to The Battle of Hogwarts, and to top it off, new content revealing background info on all our favourite characters. All we had to do was register our interest...

It took me thirteen and a half hours to sign up my email address.

The site was insanely busy and crashed repeatedly. And then we discovered that this process was a little meaningless and we'd have to ACTUALLY sign up by solving clues. So we waited, with some people sitting up all night on Day One to get to solve the clue. At 9.15am, Mikey texted me with the single word 'POTTERMORE'. I leapt on my computer and got myself in. We then set up a cats-cradle on Twitter to make sure all of our friends were in too. We did it. And then we waited...

The screen changed:

We were going to be amongst the first allowed in! Rejoice!

Then we waited some more... mid August, they said. Mid-August came... and we were sent a 'Congratulations' email.... confirming we would definitely be allowed in some time between mid-August and the end of September. So... back to waiting.
The news began to trickle in that people were being allowed in. Suddenly, my Facebook feed is filled with people listing their wands, the houses they'd been sorted into, the cauldrons they had melted trying to make potions to earn House Points.

I'M STILL WAITING.


And it's driving me nuts. Honestly, it's horrible. I'm not having any fun. It's making me anxious. I was already anxious enough about sorting but the waiting is horrendous. I'm constantly trapped in this maelstrom of fear. What if they forget me? What if they've accidentally deleted my email address? What if they don't let me in until the day before it opens to the public? It's the kind of neurotic behaviour I normally associate with first dates. Constant, low-level panic and feelings of failure and inadequacy. I'm almost surgically attached to my computer and phone, my F5 key is considering taking out an injunction against me. I wake up in the night, heart pounding, scrambling for my phone. We went out on a nice day-trip to Brum last week and all four of us spent an obscene amount of time checking our emails every half an hour. Like we could do anything (We'd have gone to an Internet Cafe, make no mistake).

And it's only going to get worse. SORTING. I know Ravenclaws who've ended up in Slytherin, Slytherins who've been sorted into Griffindor, Griffindors that found themselves in Hufflepuff. So even if/when I do get in, I have to go through the Wizarding Spanish Inquisition to find out how well I think I know myself. The tumultuous pressure of living in this limbo is making me batshit. I AM NOTHING. I AM NO-ONE. I AM A GHOST

I don’t understand what I did wrong

You haven’t done anything wrong, sweetie
Why me? Why am I not in? Am I not a big enough Harry Potter fan?

You’ll just have to be patient. It’ll happen in time.

But I did everything right. I didn’t do multiple registrations. I was there, Day One. I was in. Hell, I even made sure all my friends were in too. Does that mean NOTHING to these people? Karmically, I’m owed a shit load. Where is my payback?

Good things come to those who wait…

FUCK OFF AND STOP PATRONISING ME WITH YOUR TRITE PLATITUDES AND CLICHES. I WANT TO GET INTO POTTERMORE, NOT BLOODY HEAVEN.

The Night DJ

I suck. Today ought to be Day 28 of The 30 Day Harry Potter Challenge and I stalled at Day 4. Slack, Mel. To make up for it, I'm probably going to do the whole list with less detail in one post on the 30th. Bet you're excited about that.

I also need to tell you about my recent adventures in Middle Earth and Westeros... This will come in the future too. But today, I want to introduce you to my friend, the Night DJ.

The Night DJ is a chap that lives in my head who plays the music I'm going to listen to as I fall asleep. Except as soon as I realise he's spinning his tunes, he turns them off and I wake up fully. As I fall asleep, every night, I get to hear songs as long as I don't concentrate on them. He always chooses the songs. Sometimes they are songs I know, other times not. Sometimes I wonder if they are songs from the future or songs that he's written himself. But he plays for me every night. Sometimes he goes a bit VJ and I get to see images. Last night, I got to see myself with white hair and blood pouring from my mouth.

Imagine this but with white hair and not as happy about it...
Ok... that doesn't work...

Imagine *this* with white hair and a huge gaping maw gushing forth a fountain of viscous blood.
Yeah.

So cheers for that, Night DJ. Sometimes he just shows me flashing lights, or a mini-slideshow of the day. But he always gives me the music.

I like the Night DJ a lot. And I think despite his shyness, he likes me too.

Irelande... Douze Pointe!

Dea-lá! I'm back from Ireland, where I spent a fab and fun four days with Snow and K-Rob. Getting there was pretty tense, thanks Ashcloud. I barely got any sleep the night before, due to my obsessively checking the BBC website to see if I'd be able to fly. It looked good. I got to the airport and it was looking fine. Went through security, no special massage. I had a gate to go to. A plane was there. They let us on the plane, after the inevitable Hunger Games-esque battle that is getting a seat on a Ryanair flight. We put seat belts on... they locked the doors... we did the jump to hyperspace... one hour later... HELLO IRELAND. 
I have no recollection of anything that happened on the first night as I was beyond exhausted. I suspect it involved wine and lots of chats... I think we may have watched some Home and Away too...

Now, before I go any further, I wanted to apologise. I did take photos while we were there but I forgot to bring the software with me to make them get from the camera to the computer. So, to liven up this post, I have used a very sophisticated program to recreate some of the events. You'll like it. Or not. 
Wednesday dawned and we got up and went into Cork City. I love Cork City, there are lovely shops and things and O'Conaill's chocolate shop is there and so I started work on my chocolate baby. And then lovely Orla came over for dinner and Snow made a scrummy pie and we ate it and then it was off to meet Martha and watch Alan Carr at the Cork Opera House.

The show was part of his warm up tour, testing out the material for his UK tour later in the year. It was pretty funny, my favourite line was him saying about living under a pylon and having a seagull for a leader. It was very London centric though, which took some of the lols away for the majority of the audience. What with them being Irish. And us being in Ireland... 
Then we went to Sin E for a supposedly swift drink. We weren't swift. We had a drink, decided it was imperative I moved to Cork and then celebrated by going dancing in Crane Lane to Sexrock. Seriously Sexrock. 
Here we are, dancing. 

Me, Snow, K-Rob and Martha getting down with our bad selves

We were dancing to the sexy tunes of Lord Bishop, a trio of degenerate sex-Gods from America, the leader of which was a seven foot tall wizard man. They were ace. All the songs were about sex or God and the singer kept trying to pour Jack Daniels into the gobs of his dancing minions. Some random American man started twirling me about all over the shop before lifting me right into his arms and spinning me about. He then vanished... I assumed I'd inadvertently broken his back but no! He'd gone to the bar. He came back and apparently went in for a kiss, but I missed this. Martha told me about it later whilst we were eating the World's Best Pizza. Thereby proving that I am a hot piece of ass in Cork. And also oblivious to a lot of things.

After he was done spinning me, a nice man called Adem from Morocco decided he'd have a go, but I was far too interested in spinning K-Rob and Snow around. Then we got a shout-out from the band who said 'This song goes out to these beautiful ladies here....' He then said something about having sex with all of us. We didn't like that bit so much. He was very sexually potent, we were a bit worried we might have got pregnant by osmosis. 

The following day, we went into town for a bit so Snow and K-Rob could do some biznizz. K-Rob's amazing jewellery is now stocked in Ruby and Peacock in Cork City. But if you can't get over there, you can always check out her Etsy shop, which she'll be restocking soon. We're also working on plans for general world domination but you'll have to wait and see for more on that. 

Then we went home and watched Tangled, which instantly became my second favourite Disney film of all time! Flynn Rider is a babe, Maximus is a dude, Rapunzal rocks and Pascal is a sweetie. 

These are my favourite Disney films:

Hercules

Tangled

Robin Hood

Beauty and the Beast

Friday was Zoo Trip Day! We met Mary for breakfast at The Mill and bullied her into joining us and then we (Snow) went and made pie and then we drove to the zoo! 

Us driving to the zoo

We saw lots of animals including giraffes, cheetahs, pelicans, kangaroos (complete with freaky baby kangaroos upside down inside them) gibbons, a tapir and some lemurs.

We saw three lemurs sitting having a cuddle... then a fourth one arrived... then a fifth... then a sixth! It was Cuddle O'clock in Lemur Town. And then the sixth one started grooming his gentleman parts in front of us... We left them to it... 

Then Snow took us on a tour of Ireland and we went to Garryvoe and Ballycotton and Midleton and Douglas and we had a look at where Rachel Allen has the cooking school in Ballymoloe and we ate some chips and went on a beach and had some tea and it was lovely. And later that night we all got drunkened and sang very loudly and tried to write our own song... which mostly consisted of one liners from the previous few days... it's got 'HIT' written all over it...

Then it was Saturday and we went back into Cork for lunch at Eddie Rockets and a final glimpse in all our favourite haunts before we had to fly home. We were very subdued on the flight, though K-Rob tried to keep my spirits up by telling me about all the wonderful things we shall see in Disney World in a few weeks.

On Sunday, K-Rob and I watched Southend Air Show and oooohed and aaaahhhhed at all the fancy planes and then she left too. So I now had no Snow and no K-Rob. Nightmare! It was especially bad as Snow had been taking brilliant care of us all week and now I had to make my own tea and sandwiches. DISLIKE.

And so here I am. I still need to catch up on Doctor Who and Game of Thrones, as well as knit a laptop and camera case.

And from Wednesday I'll be re-reading all of the HP books and watching the films in prep for the finale. I'll also be doing the 30 Day HP Challenge right here on my blog throughout June, so stay tuned. 

Finally, as a little treat here is a pic of K-Rob sliding down a pole in the play park at the zoo... just you wait until I can get the real pictures up...

One life. No fear.

Addendum: I've just read this back and I used the word 'Sex' a lot... that's the power of the Irish for you. They're a sexy bunch. 

From Stoke to Stockholm

Greetings and Salutations! I am KNACKERED. For the past few weeks I've been indulging in one of my very favourite things to do - MOOCH. I like mooching. I'll pretty much mooch anywhere too. I live for invitations and opportunities to pack a bag and bugger off. Urban Dictionary would have you believe that 'mooching' means taking advantage of someone. WRONG URBAN DICTIONARY. It means 'going for a wander.'  That told you.

Who looks stupid now? You do.

Anyway... so yeah... mooching. On the Tuesday night I went on a brilliant date with two of London's foxiest ladies, the lovely Caitlin and Asma. We watched Your Highness and then went out for waffles and milkshakes. The film was ace, not my usual taste at all but funny as you like. And Rasmus Hardiker is in it! Rasmus Hardiker is currently number one on the LL (Lick List for the uninitiated). He was one of the stars of the zombie film I did a few weeks back and I thought he was yummy. And then he rocked up in Your Highness! Not only did he rock up, but he stole every single damned scene he was in. He was brilliant. And I'm not just saying that because I want to lick him. He's funny and beautiful - my favourite kind. Although, it's hard going to watch the man you currently like best get dry-humped by a minotaur...

Ignore the silly haircut. I promise he's lovely. And talented too. Totally stole the show. 

The following day, whilst still recovering from any and all things involving minotaurs, I hot-footed it to Stoke and spent three glorious days hanging out with Emma G. And Neily B came all the way down from Scotland to see us too! Emma and I drank a lot of wine, fangirled the cast of Merlin and watched Harry Potter. On the Friday, we took Neil out, originally planning to go to a gay bar as Neil had never been to one... sadly after luring us in with Katy Perry and Lady Gaga, the music went all weird and dancey so we staged a revolt and covinced Emma to take us to an indie rock place... where the drinks were 'buy one get one free'. Get in. We danced and talked and it was all very cool. A boy bought me a drink and danced with me. Lovely.

Emma and I pre-clubbing. With a ghost. Definitely a ghost and not sunlight. Ghost. Fact.

Then I nipped into work for a few days before heading off to Sweden! Here's how that happened.

[Twitter]

James: I need an adventure

Me: I'm your woman!

James: Ok... where shall we go?

Me: Don't care as long as we go on a plane

James: When shall we go? Are you free 6th-7th May?

Me: *checks diary and realises that is one of the two weekends she has free before September* YES! 

James: Skype?

Me: YES!

So we went on Skype and decided that seeing as flights to Norway were cheapest, we'd go there. And then there was that awkward moment when you discover that your flights to Norway are actually taking you to Sweden... yeah. 

But it was fine! We figured out the nearest town to the airport was Nyköping and they had a hostel so we booked some rooms. Job done. We flew out on the early-bird flight on the Saturday morning and were there by 9am (after a very tense moment at airport security when I realised I'd misspelled my own name... Fail). We went off and had a look around the town... it was a nice town! So clean and quiet! And I think I can add Nyköping to the list of cities I'm attractive in as EVERYONE stared. I'd noticed I was getting more than my fair share of glances but it was confirmed when James pointed it out too. 

List of places where I am considered attractive:

1. Cork City

2. Nyköping

We had a look in the shops; I bought a copy of Deathly Hallows in Swedish. James and I marvelled at how the TARDIS was translating the book for us... only to realise we weren't suddenly fluent in Swedish but had read it so many times we knew it off by heart. We then went and played mini-golf and I won! Not really. Of course I didn't bloody win. I got my arse handed to me on a plate. But in my defence it was my first ever go. 

Then James chased a goose off a jetty and we sat by the water for a while before deciding to go and check in. And on the way back we saw a bloody Arctic Tern and a hare! An actual hare! It was amazing. I love nature. They have jackdaws over there in the same way we have pigeons. I’d never seen a wild jackdaw before. We then sat by the train tracks for a bit, marvelling at double-decker trains before going up town to some pubs. We had a quick drink in English pub Oliver Twist’s (seriously) followed by one in Cocktails and Dreams and another in a place I’ve forgotten the name of. Then we went to the supermarket and got some beers before heading back to the train tracks to drink them there, James in his hoody. English people are dead classy.

Day two! We got the train to Stockholm and spent the entire journey peering out the window for moose. Sweden have a lot of moose, apparently (at least according to the gift shop at the airport) and we were determined to see one in the wild. We did not. We arrived in Stockholm, had a mooch about by the City Hall and the river and then headed into Gamla Stan (that’s Old Town to you lot). Gamla Stan is NERDTASTIC! Within seconds we’d stumbled across a toy shop, a comic book shop and some underground (literally, in vaults) coffee houses. Out came the Krona… 

An elusive Swedish Moose. You would think having a population of between 300,000 - 400,000 would increase the chances of seeing one. Well, you'd be wrong if you thought that. 

Gamla Stan is a beautiful medieval town, full of windy avenues and tall buildings. It’s so incredibly picturesque and cool that nothing I write here will do justice to it. I could quite happily spend a couple of days just wandering around and stopping for coffee. In fact, I’m going to. We also found the Swedish equivalent of Forbidden Planet and spent a good hour marvelling at stuff. I bought a copy of Ali Shaw’s The Girl With Glass Feet (and my very favourite book) in Swedish and marvelled again at the TARDIS’s ability to translate for me… To celebrate I ate meatballs with cream sauce and lingonberries. Like a native (or someone that visits IKEA regularly. Weirdly, my friends and I used to go to IKEA just for daytrips as we liked it so much. We referred to that as ‘Going to Sweden’. And my bed in the hostel was made by IKEA. Hmmmm…)

Then it was time to get back on the train and head back to Nyköping to get the flight back home. All we wanted was a double-decker train and to see a moose. Well… WE GOT THE TRAIN! We got to sit upstairs on a train speeding through some of the most beautiful countryside on the planet. No moose though. We saw some deer but no moose. Next time…


And then we had a few brief moments back by our train tracks with the last of the beer (which James manfully opened without a bottle opener) before it was time to come home. Sadface. I hate the bit where you have to come home. Luckily, I've learnt that the best way to get over the heartbreak of one adventure ending is to already have another one lined up for the future... more on that later.


And that was my week. Yesterday I met my lovely friend SophieSoph for burritos and margaritas and secret dress-making plans... I've 'commissioned' a dress for Deathly Hallows Part Two and SophieSoph is my master seamstress on this endeavour... but I'll say no more... Spoilers, Sweetie... 

I'm not just a Timelord... I'm the last of the Timelords... sort of...

Bad blogger! What the hell am I playing at - not updating?! BAD MEL.

I apologise for the lack of updates about my world - I'm sure all three of my subscribers have lost faith in me... I've let you down, guys. But, if it's not too late, allow me to try and fix it... by telling you all about the day I flew the TARDIS.

It was a Saturday, I'd spent the day before frantically making a TARDIS skirt...

Behold the TARDIS skirt - and don't even consider asking if it's bigger on the inside, I've been dieting like a crazy woman for Leaky and will not take kindly to your cheek. 

There it is. That's 6 hours of hardcore gluing right there. And I'm sorry about the terrible picture quality but I took it on my phone. I'm not even sure if the function I used was a camera or the sheer power of my mind channelled through it, but I *think* you get the gist. Hopefully, there will be better photos and then I'll whore them out to you properly.

So, I've got my skirt on and my The Whos t-shirt and I'm heading off to meet my friend Sophie so we can go to Forbidden Planet for Doctor Who day and get some free Timelord swag. After that I'm off to The Doctor Who Experience in Earls Court, followed by a party at Jigglypuff's (all whilst dressed as the TARDIS).

DISASTER! Jiggles got all mullered up the night before and has cancelled her party... The TARDIS must go home. Sadface... but wait... what's that on the horizon..? It's my knight on a white charger. AKA Sophie, who is having a BBQ and will let me go as long as I don't try and speak to any of her friends or try to be funny or witty. Job done!

So we went into Forbidden Planet and got our goody bags (mine contained a badge with a Dalek on, a Cyberman figure and most bizarrely... Dalek napkins. I kid you not. I am now the proud owner of some Dalek napkins...)

Then I went off to the DW Experience... and it was awesome!

We were taken onto The Starship UK and a Node was just in the middle of giving us a tour of some of the charming things they have collected (a very large telescope, a Van Gogh picture of the TARDIS) when BAM! Shit got real. The Doctor popped up on a screen, looking for Pond. Pond was not amongst the party so it was down to us to save the earth. Again. Cue the fworp-fworp signifying the TARDIS is coming and then we all went aboard. That's right - I went through the blue door into the TARDIS. And it really is bigger on the inside. We approached the controls, I had to elbow some little kid out of the way to get to one. Matt Smith said to make sure the kids were at the controls as adults were boring and drank coffee. I rarely drink coffee and we all know I'm secretly an eleven-year old boy trapped in the body of a hella sexy lady. So I ignored him.

We took off. The TARDIS was shaking and rocking everywhere and The Doctor was bellowing instructions and it seemed to be going brilliantly. And then it's not going brilliantly and we are in trouble. Big trouble. We have to leave the TARDIS, Christ knows where she's taken us. We rush down a corridor into a flight deck, it seems we're on a spaceship. And then a door opens and a Dalek comes out. We turn, horrified, only to realise our mistake a split second later when two emerge behind us. We're trapped. And they're pissed off. Bad times. It was genuinely scary to be faced with a Dalek screaming EXTERMINATE! Seriously, I felt the fear. Luckily The Doctor rocked up to try and talk them down. And promptly failed. So we're all braced for immediate and excruciating death when we're suddenly attacked by some other Daleks. This makes the original Daleks very angry and while they're freaking out we leg it.

The effects for this part were incredible. To suddenly see a spaceship loom up outside of a window and start firing was brilliant. But we had to go whilst we could and so we did. Right into a graveyard full of Weeping Angels. NOT OK. My eyes were almost bleeding from the effort of not blinking whilst we passed by them. I think we all made it.

The Doctor came back and told us he was going to get us out of there but then we were sucked into a vortex... Cybermen grabbed at us, Daleks fired at us, Sontarans glared, three Weeping Angels lunged at us... All in 3D which made very scary but very cool. Luckily, The Doctor managed to do some fancy trickery and get us out of the vortex and safely back to earth.

And then it was time for the exhibition. Which is stunning, You get to get very close up to two previous TARDIS sets and all of the major character costumes, as well as get to really pour over the details of some of the best-known and loved aliens and monsters. My personal favourite was the Vashta Nerada exhibit... think about it. And obviously the now-famed "Toilets located behind the Pandorica" sign.

Yup

It was just amazing. If you love Doctor Who, you have to go. And there are rumours it's being located permanently to Cardiff once the London run is done. Also - if you do go, don't just get a regular ticket but upgrade to at least the Silver package as I did and got £35 worth of merch for free... not bad when the ticket alone cost £31...

And then onto the BBQ, which took place in a park in Camberwell, Sophie and I, ever the classy ladies chugged back some violently blue alcopop stuff and talked about dresses (You can take the girls out of the City of Villains yada, yada, yada). We then went back to hers and looked at fabric for a bit. And then I was going to go home but my friends Rachael and Nathan invited me round for supper so I nipped in there and drank a lot of wine and ate stir-fry.

All whilst dressed as the TARDIS. Good times.

Oh... And Happy Star Wars Day... May the Fourth be with you xxx

Diary of the dead

Dear diary,

Yesterday I was dead. And then I died again. Nightmare.

That's right. Yesterday I fulfilled a dream and got to be a zombie. Not a real one obviously, as we all know in the event of a zombie apocalypse I'm staying alive. I have a plan and I'm a survivor. But in the interests of balance I've always wondered about how the other half live.

And now I know. For I have been a zombie for the film, Cockneys vs Zombies. Yesterday, I had to get up at 3.30am, a mere three hours after going to bed. I was on the train to London by half four and arrived at Canary Wharf at quarter to 6.

I was terrified. Walking into a room full of people who'd been on set the day before and who knew the ropes was so daunting... but everyone was so nice! I met a man named Simon who (after referring to me as 'Fresh Meat') took me to wardrobe, where I was complimented on my outfit and told I'd be covered in blood. 'Brilliant,' said I. I then signed a disclaimer form and popped off to make-up.

'How bad do you want to look?' Jess, my make-up artist asked.
'F**k me up,' said I. 'I want to make myself physically sick when I look in the mirror. I wish to repulse myself.'

Hide yo wife, hide yo kids. No seriously. Hide them. Or I'll eat them.

Judging by my barely concealed smirk, I'm not that repulsed. But I can see how you would be.

Then it was time for Zombie School. At Zombie School, we learn about the modus operandi of the zombie. Which is flesh. Zombies cannot see very well but they can hear and smell humans and will stop at nothing to get them. Zombies don't go around objects; they go through them... or bounce off them 'til they can go around. Zombies hold no prejudice. Regardless of gender, sexual preference, skin colour, religion, football team affiliation or Hogwarts house, if you are alive and close enough they'll eat ya. In a way, they inhabit an almost Utopian state. It's a weird way, but it's a way nonetheless.

After Zombie School I had to prove my walk to the zombie coach. So myself, Tanya and Alicia (other new blood [ho hum]) staggered around a car park for a bit, dragging our feet and grabbing each other.

Then it was time to go to set!

Things they never tell you about film sets - there is an awful lot of hanging around. Especially if you weren't there the day before and so therefore can't film the current scene due to continuity. But we had a blast, hanging out with Jules (who'd died the day before) and drinking tea, stealing Simon's camera and taking photos of ourselves and watching the action. Alicia, Tanya and Jules got to do some fancy photography stuff which was ace. And then it was lunch. Which was fully catered. Back of the net.

Then the afternoon and I got to do my first scene! It involved staggering towards a man wielding a machine gun with live rounds in. This does not mean actual live rounds, but blanks. But they still banged when he fired.  And we had to wear earplugs. It was cool. People actually yelled 'Action' and 'Rolling' and that stuff, the director called me 'My Dear', some famous people spoke to me.  And if that scene makes the cut, you'll almost definitely see my legs in that shot.

Then we were taken away to do some close-up stuff. This was AMAZING. We had to stand in a line and lurch on the spot and the scene became progressively freakier. At first we stood in a line, shambling, staring at the floor. Then they asked Tanya to look at the camera. And then they gave her and Jules white contact lenses. And then they shot blood guns into our faces  (this was as literal as it sounds - they filled a pump gun full of blood and fired it at us. Repeatedly). And then they made Tanya spit blood at the camera. It looks insane. If it doesn't make the film, it would such a waste. Tanya looked incredible. Even after being shot in the eyes with the blood gun, she managed to open them and glare. With her whited-out eyes covered in blood. You've no idea.

Me, Tanya and Jules. Yup. Shit scary.

And then they bought us some sandwiches. Yay!

Finally, we thought we'd been wrapped, but Tanya and I were called in to be corpses in one of the final scenes. This is where my DH premiere training from last year came in handy. I can totally lay on the streets of London in comfort. Hell yeah!

Also. you've no idea how weird it is to have someone check your make-up all the time. Ladies just came up to you and started peering at you and then dabbing away with sponges and brushes. It's scary how used to it you become, but I suppose if I'd done such an amazing job on someone, I'd want to make sure they stayed that way. The make-up ladies were fabulous. And I've really missed them today. No-one has come up to me and flicked blood in my face. or poured it down my front.

And that was that. Time to get the make-up off and go. I couldn't get half of it off and so got on the Tube looking like this:

You've got red on you

Only one lady asked me if I was OK. Everyone else avoided making eye contact. And on the train home, no one would sit by me, despite the fact it was packed. Amazing.

It was a brilliant, brilliant day. I got to meet some amazing people, get covered in blood and stumbled about. I even did some moaning. And if my shots aren't cut, I might even be in a film.

How about that then.