(Ab)normal Sunday Summary service has resumed -- as you'll probably have worked out given you're, er, reading this. Whoa. Everything just got a little self-referential.
Apparently there's a technical word for when a book cover (or any illustration really) features an image within, of the image itself... which features the image of the image... If anyone can enlighten me on this term please do!
I also only gave it two stars to begin with, but realised I could not hold the poor dead Kafka responsible for my lack of intelligence, which led to my lack of attention-span and my frustration over how long it took me to read this bad boy.
So I bumped it up to three stars.
I enjoyed the more surreal moments (which were, of course, Kafka-esque...) but could not grapple the two-page-long paragraphs full of legalese. Which, ahem, comes with the territory in a book about a legal trial.
**SPOILER** The ending was horrific.
I'm now flitting between Swimming Studies and Will Grayson, Will Grayson (by John Green* & David Levithan).
Walking | back to Happiness whoop-ah-oh yayeeeah Clapham
On Friday Evie and I braved the weather and the potential sartorial awkwardness of us both wearing pink cagoules (didn't happen, sun shone, no need for them!) to walk a slightly amended route from Shepherd's (is there an apostrophe? I don't even know any more) Bush to Clapham Junction.
The walk which took us about two hours at a comfortable pace was only slightly stymied by sudden-onset relay sneezing (chronic, localised hayfever around Bayswater) and our ability to get lost in Clapham. Again.
Highlights: reaching the river and choosing our bridge (we went for the Albert Bridge this time), randomly bumping into one of my Voicerox friends on Holland Park Road and rewarding ourselves with a delicious malted milkshake in a hipster bottle (strawberry flavour for Evie, Minstrel for me) at Brew on Northcote Road in Clapham. (When we finally made it back to civilisation.)
Oh and we clocked up 6.81 miles. Go team us! I logged our route on MapMyWalk (you need to be a member to view).
Watching | the Eurovision Song Contest
I resisted. But then social media (and my very entertaining friends and their commentaries) lured me in and it was all downhill from there.
{Winner Conchita Wurst... as Lego. Yep.}
I was rather partial to France's entry. They came last. Pity.
And the whistling Swiss man...
I won't mention our entry. Best not to. We really shouldn't enter -- we take ourselves far too seriously.
Recovering from Easter
Maybe it's old age (...it's almost definitely old age) but I came away from a particularly gluttonous weekend (in a good way) hankering, actually physically craving,greens. I've always been pretty good on the green-eating front -- with the exception of those 20 years of my life in which I took after my father and refused to eat peas (I still won't touch the mushy variety but I'm partial to petit pois). But craving veg to the point where I ran to Sainsbury's and stocked up on all the greenery I could fit in my trolley? That's new.
I've been loosely following David Bez's admirable Salad Pride blog recently, and it's very tempting to follow his example and go green/raw especially when you see a tasty treat like this posted:
But then I find one of these little blighters in my treat tin and all resolve goes out of the window:
Eh. Everything in moderation.
That said, in just over two months (egads) I'm performing onstage in my rock 'n 'pop choir's annualcelebration of awesomenessconcert (OK, ignore that strikethrough, it really is going to be awesome). And I'd like to look 'stage-ready' (i.e. slightly less stumpy than I did last year).
So maybe subbing in one of those Creme Eggs for one of these:
{I'm really trying to like these blighters but they're so temperamental...!}
wouldn't be a bad idea. Except Creme Eggs are so much easier to get into.
Watching | Jamaica Inn-comprehensible
The Beeb in all its wisdom crammed the entire novel into three consecutive days' viewing so I missed episodes two and three as broadcast, but have since caught up with episode two and am going to delve into ep three later...*.
The BBC came under considerable criticism after it was deemed that much of the dialogue was incomprehensible -- here and here :
I found this wasn't necessarily the case for all the actors, mostly just the drunken menfolk (notably Joss Merlyn). I'm sure Sean Harris is a fine actor but he was just not right as Joss. Joss is supposed to be a huge, swarthy, commanding brute of a man with a mop of dark hair, bright white teeth and dark, leathery skin. Not a mumbling, shaven-haired next-coming-of Robert Carlyle.
Likewise, Mary's Aunt Patience is supposed to be a limp, grey-haired, brutalised mouse of a woman but Joanne Whalley plays her with a lot more gumption -- and red hair -- than she ought to be credited with. (Not that Patience having more gumption is a bad thing but it negates the influence Mary has on events and the frustration she feels that her aunt is being maltreated.)
The BBC have taken some considerable liberties with du Maurier's text in this adaptation, not only in the casting but also the plot, undoubtedly to move the story along within a limited time frame, but oftentimes this has meant compromising key plot points.
That said, there was definitely some lovely, filthy chemistry between Mary Yellan (a nicely ballsy Jessica Findlay Brown latterly of Downton Abbey) and Jem Merlyn (a splendid Matthew McNulty). And where the Mary of the book is also quite limp and a little passive, Mary in this adaptation knows her own mind.
You go, girlfriend.
Reading | The Trial.
STILL. This book won't go away.
But I've also started reading Leanne Shapton's memoir, Swimming Studies,after seeing a recommendation for it, randomly, on artist Lisa Congdon's Instagram (quick segue: check out Congdon's blog, artwork and Instagram):
In Swimming Studies (which I'm only a short way through) Shapton documents her time as a competitive swimmer -- a very different lifestyle from that of the casual swimmer (hello, that would be me) and features some of her swim-inspired artwork.
If anything drives me back into the pool on a more regular basis it'll be this book. And maybe this Guardian Swimming blog, just discovered via my friends over at Did You Swim Today on Facebook.
Playing | with my new baby
No, not a flesh-and-blood offspring-type-baby, that'd be a step too far even in the realms of QB credibility -- but a technology baby.
A small (positive) change in fortune, plus five years of accumulating Nectar points, plus a well-timed special offer on the Sainsbury's website, meant I could treat myself to this little nugget:
This be the Samsung Galaxy Tab 3 (16GB, 8-inch, red edition). It's a beauty, it really is. I've always been about five years behind the rest of western society when it comes to embracing new tech and trends but this seemed too good to pass up. Start-up was far easier than I could imagine -- I synced the tablet with my Google account and it automatically downloaded all the apps I've bought on Google Play, even the paid ones. Nicely done.
I've downloaded the BBC iPlayer and 4OD apps so * (yes, that's the asterisk reference from above) I could watch Jamaica Inn on it (not to mention old eps of Nathan Barley and the excellent, stellar Easter episode of Rev. starring Ralph Fiennes as the Bishop of London, and, yes, apparently that was Liam Neeson as the jogging 'God'. Whoa. Mind blown.)
I'm hoping to download a few programmes to watch on the plane to New York in September (gosh, have I mentioned that lately?) -- for long-haul flights I can see the logic of e-books, but I still can't bring myself to read one. Paperbacks and in-flight films all the way, babies.
I've also downloaded the very sweet photo editing app by Elsie + Emma of the blog A Beautiful Mess:
Y...eah, I don't think I've exploited A Beautiful Mess app's full capabilities yet but it's so darn cute that, given time, I certainly will.
I had downloaded The Sims: Freeplay but after I couldn't even fathom out how to buy my poor Sim a toilet and get her to use it I gave up and uninstalled the game.
...Good job I don't have a flesh-and-blood baby, really.
Amusing myself on Photoshop
After my excitement over Frozen last week and after I'd finally exorcised Love is an Open Door from my earworm chamber (in spite of my friend Clare alerting me to this brilliant video -- this couple's little girl is priceless to watch):
...I was greatly amused to clock the name of a street near our office. And so I felt the need to create this little homage:
{Apologies to Disney... I had a quiet ten minutes earlier, thought this was a great idea. ...}
You are welcome.
Voici! Weekly Weblinks
Last week in my haste to post (post-haste?) I neglected to mention that thousands (90,000!) of archive British Pathé films have been added to YouTube. Some have been dubbed by John Humphrys, some are silent, but many still have their original soundtrack. Genuinely delightful to discover. Especially gems such as this:
Yes, 'fraid your weekly dose of Bethy's Brain Deposits has been shunted back a day but good things come to those who wait, n'est-ce pas, especially if you've been observing Lent and yesterday was the first day in two months that chocolate has entered your digestive system...
Anyway.
This week (and a bit), I have mostly been...
Reading | The Trial (still)
The clue to the ease of reading of this novel is in the title...
Finishing | The End of Everything
An enjoyable yarn, though everything fell into place around Evie's disappearance much too easily; and Evie's family needn't have got the police involved at all because Evie's best friend Lizzie was apparently psychic enough to dream and sense Evie's fate and whereabouts. Or something. Still, I recommend The End of Everything as well as Dare Me, Abbott's catty cheerleader novel which reads a little like Bring it On Gone Bad. But in a good way.
Watching | Frozen
and
Untouchable
Both very different films.
Both superb.
I don't need to roll out the plot intricacies of Frozen for your good selves, do I. ;-) It did remind me greatly of Return to Oz in parts -- the frozen landscapes, Sven the reindeer/the Gump, the lavishness of Elsa's/Mombi's palace..., Marshmallow/the Nome King...
And my heart belongs to Olaf the snowman. Sven's cute 'n' all, but Olaf won me over. (Closely followed by Oaken.)
Untouchable is something else. Based on a true story and a true friendship, it focuses on the unlikely friendship and mutual respect of two very different men: millionaire Philippe, paralysed in a skydiving accident, and his reluctant new live-in carer, Driss. It's French, subtitled, and its lead man, Francois Cluzet has more than a touch of Dustin Hoffman about him. It's also charming, funny, and has a delicious soundtrack by Ludovico Einaudi, one of my favourite contemporary composers. Win-win.
All right so maybe I did clock up my first live post in seven weeks at 8am on Easter Morning, as if I couldn't wait to break the Lenten fast. The post simply said Happy Easter -- I didn't try to encapsulate seven weeks in one post, don't you worry. What would be the point of that, eh?
And it was lovely to be welcomed back onto the platform! While my FB Fast may not have been the most enlightening move a person has ever made on a journey through Lent, it has given me some much-needed perspective. As has deleting every post and almost every photo I've posted in seven long FB years. I just don't need to be that present on Facebook any more.
And yes, admittedly, there is a dreg of truth in this meme:
but I see nothing excessively self-indulgent in making a pinboard of one's aesthetic pleasures. We're appreciating the inherent beauty and creativity in the world -- is how I justify spending hours poring over another 'Nostalgia from the 1980s' board that has somehow managed to unlock a gallon of suppressed memories.
Four Weddings and a Funeral was released... TWENTY YEARS AGO.
That is right.
Two whole decades have slipped by in the time we've taken to recover from those 15 weeks spent at the mercy of Love is All Around.
SCARY.
At the time the film was out I was a lank-haired, spotty, bespectacled 15-year-old, albeit one enjoying the heady freedom that came after sitting GCSEs.
Look upon my 15-year-old self and be bemused, friends:
I saw the film at least three times at the cinema and it truly was the most hilarious thing my friends and I had seen, at that time.
Hugh Grant was still a cute, posh, bumbling romantic back then (pre-*cough* Divine Brown *cough*) and we crushed on him for a while in the aftermath. (Or was that just me? Don't worry, I recovered. At least until About a Boy and Bridget Jones: the Edge of Reason and then I had to wean myself off him again...)
It was hilarious that Fiona only ever wore black.
It was hilarious that Scarlett rocked this look as a bridesmaid:
{Screengrab from DVD}
It was also very cute hearing her explain 'bonking' to a young bridesmaid.
It was hilarious that Rowan Atkinson's trainee priest Gerald couldn't pronounce 'St John'. Sijjun... Sijjun...
{In the name of the Father, the Son, and the Holy Spigot...}
And even now I can't go to a wedding and keep a straight face whenever the 1 Corinthians 13 reading is given:
If I speak with the tongues of men and of angels, but have not love, I am become as sounding brass, or a clanging cymbal.
Good point. I also anticipate the reading to be followed directly by a folk duet murdering Can't Smile Without You...
Anyway. I digress. In honour of this dubious anniversary I decided to revisit 4WAAF. These days I tend to emit a wry knowing smile at the moments above, rather than a 15-year-old's guffaw of naive laughter.
But over the last twenty years, and maybe in the last two of those years in fact the film has taken on new resonance.
It's flawed -- of course it is. For one thing it plays up to the myth of British film identity that we Brits are all very well off and very posh (and all Caucasian for that matter...) and we all live in grand houses and can afford to marry in cathedrals and invite the mayor along.
For another thing, the more I watch the more it seems Carrie's dialogue was not written for an American actress -- some phrases cloy a little. Or maybe that's just the fault of A MacD's static delivery. (Miaow.)
But, that aside...
It is a truth universally acknowledged that Gareth's funeral is The Very, Very Sad Part. But only now can I appreciate that it is handled with great empathy not just towards Gareth, but towards Matthew, even if the vicar at the funeral refers to him only as 'Gareth's closest friend' -- even in 'progressive' 1994 acknowledging Matthew directly as Gareth's partner or lover seems to have been a step too far...
{The adorable John Hannah., making grown men and women everywhere cry...}
It also occurred to me watching the film yesterday that while I labour under the potential misconception that most wedding films portray a bride (and often groom) in the flushes of 'youth' in their 20s, as if this is the prime time in which to conjugate, Charles, Carrie, Fiona, Matthew, Tom, and certainly Gareth, are all in, or past their 30s.
Actually, their ages are never referenced, but I'm going on the ages of the actors at the time: John Hannah was 32, Hugh Grant and Kristin Scott Thomas were 34, Andie MacDowell was 36, James Fleet as the ever-hopeful dolt Tom was 40 (all according to IMDb anyway!).
And while the focus of the film is Charles' reluctance to commit to marriage until he meets Carrie, neither he, nor Carrie, nor Fiona or Tom for that matter, are shown to be excessively pressured into marriage because they're a certain age. It's irrelevant. What's shown to matter is that this group of friends are looking for that one true love.
And that for me, now, twenty years on, is refreshing.
I will never, however, favour Carrie for Charles over Fiona. C'mon. She's insipid. She's ruthless. She's a tease. I'm Team Fifi all the way. This fleeting moment of vulnerability after Fiona admits her love for Charles? Just... g'argh. So many feels, as the young folk say.
(Never let it be said that I can't overanalyse a rom-com...)
Reading | two books on the go again...
I'm keeping this brief this time (for your sake, Alun!):
My commute read:
My (slightly less cerebral) bath-and-bedtime read:
Watching | George and Jason's villa and cabin on t'telly!
Yes -- at last, my friends Georgina and Jason's most excellent Chulilla villa (which only slightly rhymes, sorry, Evie!) was featured on BBC2's Escape to the Continentlast week, presented by Anita Rani (who favoured G & J's property over the others -- rightfully!). And the house and grounds look terrific. If my previous photos and George's previous short feature weren't enough to tempt you (and why the heck not?), do watch the programme on BBC iPlayer here.
