Weather.
I am looking out at a scene of total dreariness. I got back from London a few days ago in the middle of a massive whirlwindy storm, the worst in June for fifty years, and it has made the garden look like cr@p. Up until then we had had about six weeks of perfect sunshine so there were roses everywhere and things had even emerged from the vegetable garden, without being slugged back to ground level before you could remember what you had sown.

My son had luckily been staying for three of those weeks and left reluctantly saying that maybe he could just live here for ever. Even the swimming pool temperature had climbed from my husband's preferred mountain spring level (maintained by somehow wedging the gage on 'low') to what the pool man, and we, describe as 'normal', by the power of the sun alone. My son and I were bronzed and carefree. Had started minor exercise programmes to hone our flabby exposed bodies and were living on large numbers of melons. The strains of cool South American j@zz drifted from the many open windows.

Why do we never learn? This is NOT what gl0bal w@rming means. Those charming weeks were just a random fluke. After the storm there were ripped off branches and bent double or fallen trees everywhere. There was hardly a flower left in the garden or even in the grass out in the fields and the swimming pool temperature had fallen fifteen degrees. The forecast is 'blustery showers' for the foreseeable future - about the most dispiriting weather you could conceive when you are trying to do Summer things. As we speak it is so dark in this room that I need the light on.

Naturally my son and older daughter have just arrived for a two week holiday. We spent yesterday crouched round the kitchen table, moaning. It was exactly as I imagine the lives of three toads based under a large stone. The word 'dank' sums it up. And this is pretty much normal for here but as soon as the sun comes out you seem to forget, instantly, and skip about happily as if the rain was just some momentary interruption of our golden world. Is this a trick of Nature to ensure an even spread of the earth's population? That northern peoples have some kind of switch in their brain which stops their short-term memory? Tell me - it's a world-wide conspiracy of silence isn't it. So that we don't all suddenly wake up and head south.
- posted by Iris @ 6/30/2004 09:39:00 AM (0) comments comment

 
School.
Reading Jo's post today brought back memories of my own children's time at 'baby school' and how one seemed to live constantly in a state of worry about 'crucial' things, like their not grasping the four times table quickly enough. Why was it so hard to have a sense of perspective? I lived constantly in the present and each new problem, tiny in the great scheme of learning, was vast and desperate. You would think that by the third child you would learn to relax - but no. As each one managed to have a new and untried set of difficulties.

It started off very differently as I was living in remote N0rfolk when my two daughters were tiny and, for fun, started my own minute school in my house for them and about five friends' children. It had a playing with dolls quality and I especially liked setting up the 'classroom' and making timetables and choosing what they would eat at break. I had been to an 'Etre et Av01r' type school myself for a year when I was seven and wanted to re-create it for my own children. I often try to imagine how they would be now if they had never moved on to competitive, class ridden London private sch00ls. But then again, in England it isn't very comfortable to be a complete outsider and their now huge network of school acquaintances has given them a lot of social fun and job opportunities.

When I taught my son at home for the year that he was twelve we had a really good time and were very tempted to keep on with it but we were too isolated and sanity prevailed. (He had started trying to live as a cat and also spent hours lying with his face a foot away from an ants' nest, totally involved in their world - 'Get him away from here, now!', said my daughters). When he arrived at boarding school he was unnervingly unlike the general run of boy. His housemaster assumed he was two years older than his actual age because of his mature attitude and that he must have been put down into a lower class because he was stupid - not an ideal start. He found the other children horribly babyish and couldn't understand the jockying for position and macho posturing. 'Why on earth do they all have to be so NASTY to each other?', he said in naive wonderment. He got used to it in the end and even learnt to be a little bit nasty himself. He often says that he would rather have stayed at home, with some extra tutors and a lot of foreign travelling but I think he might have become a total misfit with no friends of his own age.

How I long to be able to go back and bring them up all over again. How relaxed yet tough I would be. How unhysterical about their learning their times tables and how firmly I would refuse the sobbing requests for cello lessons. How I wouldn't insist on two years of basic German 'Because it is not a language you will ever teach yourself' but go with Spanish instead. How I would encourage every single outside activity including 'f1ves' and pottery and not say 'But have you got time for that when you should be studying?'. How I would not see Oxbridge as the ultimate goal as everything has changed so much since I was young and Oxbridge is so watered down and dreary now that there are many better places. Anyway, I am boring myself and someone is creaking up the stairs towards my hunched figure.


- posted by Iris @ 6/29/2004 09:47:00 AM (0) comments comment

 
L@yne.
I have finally read through just about every comment and speculation around and before the whole thing disappears into the sunset I wanted to make a note here. This is for me. I said already in a couple of other places, but not in my own blog, that the first time I read L@yne a year or so ago I immediately assumed that it was written by a man. And luckily commented about this on another blog so I have proof. As no one else seemed to think this until quite recently I wondered if it was because I'm not American, so I was reading it in an outsidery more objective way which made the slight oddness stand out ... ? And speaking of which - O. S.'s description of his heart problem has a ridiculous similarity to the story that a Spanish boy told me on holiday years ago when he was desperate to get me to sleep with him on my last evening. I was really young and didn't but cried all the way home on the plane over the fact that he only had a few months to live. I felt quite annoyed when I got a postcard from him four years later saying he was thinking of coming to England.
- posted by Iris @ 6/27/2004 11:34:00 PM (0) comments comment

 
Odd.
Synchronicity alert. Yesterday I was thinking how much I would like to talk to an incredibly upbeat and positive old friend. Who I haven't seen for about ten years as she lives in N.Y. and we have drifted apart to the point that I don't know her address or phone number and she was once quite famous so I feel dull about reapproaching her. So, as a lead in, I made a Search for her and read a long interview she had given to the N.Y. T1mes where in fact she sounded a bit desperate and silly. Still ... Two hours later I was talking to my husband on the phone when he said, 'Do you have any interest in seeing M.. again? She's in London for a few days'.

In the same vein. Years ago I had a romantic interest in a family friend which was not returned as the friend seemed to have been stuck in a '30's time warp and treated all women as fragile 'ladies'. When I drunkenly revealed my feelings he sprang back and said in a shocked voice, 'But .. you're married!'. We compromised by silently agreeing to never mention this sordid episode again and to remain platonic friends. This was made easier by his then leaving for Eth10pia for five years to be a c@ttle vet in the middle of some vast, empty plain. We started to write to each other, in an unemotional sort of way, and as a joke I sent him a collection of books by John repwoC sywoP. He is not generally read much now but is quite (unintentionally) amusing as he is obsessed by the p@gan spirit in man and writes flowing prose about youths stripping their shirts off and plunging into sparkling ponds in the dawn, crying out to 'N@ture'. Maybe it was the loneliness or the lack of more suitable reading matter but to my horror I got a letter raving about the brilliance of J.C.P. and begging me to send anything else that he had written. I didn't, obviously, as the joke had already backfired horribly.

In fact I also let the correspondence between us tail off and eventually had not been in touch with him for more than a year. One night, however ... , I had a long and exceptionally vivid dream about him. And in the morning was remembering how much I had liked him and thinking I must find out where he was now and write again. I went into the kitchen to make coffee but instead of putting the kettle on, I, for no reason, went idly to a drawer where we kept bits of broken things, ancient bills etc. and which I had not opened for months. I pulled it right out, sharply, - also unusual as it was very heavy and stiff - and at the back was a pile of unopened letters from months before. All I could think of was that the person who had looked after our house while we were on holiday had swept them into the drawer in a moment of mad tidying. Two of them were from Eth10pia.

The first was a normal rambling account of the variations in c@ttle fly infestat10ns but mentioned that his tour of duty would soon be coming to an end and he wasn't sure what to do next. The second was written in a jerky style and seemed to have poured out of him as he couldn't contain his excitement. He was writing to me as I was the only person who would understand - he had found, OMG!, that J.C.P. had a much younger brother. Who was not only still alive but lived as a sort of hermit in Africa ... just a few trivial hundred miles from his own lonely tent on the great plains. His plans for his future were now clear - he was setting out to find the lost C.P. brother. And, as a token of his respect and awe, he was going on foot. He knew that I would feel the same wild happiness as he did himself and longed to hear my reply; which must be rapid as he was leaving within a few weeks and would then no longer have an address.

I rang the only two mutual friends who still kept in touch with him. They both said the same thing, 'No, it's funny, we were getting the odd letter but about six months ago they suddenly stopped and we have never heard from him again. I hope he's all right'. So did I. Was he sending me some thought message through the vivid dream? There was nothing sad or significant about it, like the last message of someone who'd died. It was happy and peaceful - more like the feelings of a person who had finally fund their personal h0ly gr@il ... or their personal member of the C.P. family.
- posted by Iris @ 6/26/2004 09:04:00 AM (0) comments comment

 
Diet.
Two of my children are coming to stay here for a week or so and I was making a shopping list ... and then thought 'Wait. I'll have to ring up and see what they are eating at the moment'. 'When I was a girl' we all ate the same food at the same sort of times and 'Diet' meant vaguely giving up cake. Also everyone liked practically everything, apart from the odd squeamishness over serving dishes full of something that just looked as if it was asleep.

As we speak, however, every single person in my family is eating a different and separate range of foods. Including myself. Which means that instead of a couple of weeks of earthmother-like Tusc@n peasant summer cooking, which I might normally drag myself to do, there will be several people messing about the kitchen at all times making little bowls of weirdness. No wonder family life is breaking down.

After his health scare my husband is on his own version of the H@y diet which involves him eating and drinking like a gourmet pig while in London but being prissily restrained while here and giving me snake-like glances when I take an extra potato. Also leading to farcical meals where I have thoughtlessly made something like spaghett1 b0lognese and find him sitting with a plate of plain pasta and saving the sauce part for 'later'. My middle daughter who is not coming, thank god - in food annoyance terms only , obviously - lives on tuna salad and herbal tea with the occasional ice cream eaten at top speed in the street.

My older daughter has been unable to put weight back on after travelling in 1ndia (On no ... how awful) and although this is not an actual problem she has given up wheat, sugar and meat and lives on organic oatcakes, corn pasta (disgusting) and soya milk. This is fine in London but down here they still have a rather last century attitude to food and finding these exotic items means a long drive to the town. My son has the opposite problem , exacerbated by long hours spent in bed, and is now on a high protein diet suggested by a friend, so that he will look gorgeous for university. This means that he only eats meat, fish, eggs and oranges. While my daughter only eats fruit, vegetables and pasta. And my husband is on the stupid H@Y diet so can't eat anything which combines anything normal, apparently, except when in an expensive restaurant when, strangely, all dishes are fine.

My own diet - which I will reveal immediately DOES NOT WORK so don't bother to try it - involved 'being sensible'. This means eating exactly what you would normally so as not to make yourself feel deprived but taking much smaller portions than usual. All that happens is that you take a small portion and then quite soon afterwards you go back and take another .. and if still hungry, another. The one thing that DID work, but only in happiness terms, was that I stopped weighing myself. One morning I was skipping down to breakfast humming because I had just found that I had lost two pounds. I then thought, 'How cr@p is this? If I had GAINED two pounds today I would be dragging along depressed. THIS IS NO WAY TO GO THROUGH LIFE, SON'. That was about six months ago and instead I judge the fatness by looking in the mirror. I sometimes feel drawn irresistably towards 'that' corner of the bathroom but I have been strong. It is worth it too for the huge pleasure of beng able to answer truthfuly when someone says 'How much do you weigh?'. I don't know!!

Anyway - I am returning to the shopping list with its totally random range of foodstuffs. And wondering if I could see the two weeks as a culinary challenge and invent futuristic new recipes so that we could all eat together. Hmm ... I could go the Ch1nese way and have a table covered with little dishes and they could make tiny piles of different things on their individual plates and my husband could save the sauces for 'later'. Or .. they could all cook their own anal food for themselves while I watch TV. Yes - that sounds the most appealing.
- posted by Iris @ 6/25/2004 09:08:00 AM (0) comments comment

 
What?
I don't understand - is it official now that those two lawyers ARE L@yne? Or is it a possibility? Or is it just a joke?
- posted by Iris @ 6/25/2004 09:06:00 AM (0) comments comment

 
Scam?
I am writing two things about my computer from the viewpoint of someone who understands nothing.

1. I made a big fuss here about my blog being placed on a hard core nrop site and getting masses of searches from it. I also tracked one regular back to his office (in Sw1tzerl@nd) and sent an e-mail to the manager of that office complaining (but not naming). This e-mail came from my other account and is not connected to this blog. Very soon after that all searches from the porn site ceased. But on my s1temeter it said Referral bl0cked a few times although I had not blocked anything.

So - apart from that e-mail I have done nothing but the nuisance is gone after I wrote about it here. What does that mean?

2. MORE INTERESTING. I have an adware virus in this computer but I have got rid of the worst bits of it, amateurishly, and am living with the rest of it for now. BUT ... the other day I was buying a book on Am@zon and the checkout kept flicking off. I pressed it quickly several times and as it came up I saw, for a second, that there was someone else's e-mail address in the box. Then it was gone - but I had noted it. I typed it into Search as the person's name was very unusual. AND ... it came up under a computer repair company in Cal1fornia. Exactly the sort of place which might contain a person who would hack into other people's computers ... I thought.

Or is this just a coincidence? Is it normal for another e-mail address to appear in your account or have I uncovered a world-wide scam?
- posted by Iris @ 6/24/2004 09:58:00 AM (0) comments comment

 
Claim.
I was thinking that maybe we could re-create that scene from 'Sp@rtacus' and that if everyone came out and admitted that they were L@yne it would free her to carry on.
- posted by Iris @ 6/23/2004 09:34:00 PM (0) comments comment

 
Family.
I have just got back from London where I spent part of the time at the Hundredth B1rthday P@rty. As usual it wasn't as I expected as I didn't feel upset at all because I had imagined such dark things but my children, although warned a thousand times in advance, were totally shocked by their gr@ndfather not knowing who they were. A certain amount of suddenly leaving the room and random bouts of sobbing in the bathroom occurred but really it was better in the end that the person they knew no longer existed - as he must obviously be 'gone' fairly soon. He spookily looked extremely well and quite vigorous and not at all the shrivelled wreck that I had been expecting - his walking stick had been confiscated by the 'home' as he was prone to lashing out at the legs of members of staff who he thought were maddeningly incompetent.

The children's cousins are much older than they are as my husband's family is arranged so bizarrely (?) across the generations. The cousins all have several young children which made the whole day easier. (Words I never thought that I would say). I was gazing at the merry throng thinking, 'You are all perfectly nice in your rather dull way but you have nothing to do with me as we are not blood relations ... of which I now have none except my children', and feeling quite smug and cool and aloof. But then thought that as my children's blood is made of mine and all of theirs then they are some sort of blood relation - or are they? It was rather exciting being this lone creature rather than a part of some huge Qu@ker soup.

I went to look at the 'home', which was nearby, out of curiosity and it was a genteel mock-Tudor '30's mansion with palm trees in the garden. It looked uncannily like the setting for an Ag@th@ Chr1stie story so I cunningly refused an invitation to inspect the library.
- posted by Iris @ 6/23/2004 09:04:00 PM (0) comments comment

 
HA!
I have finished the Ph1l1p Pu11m@n trilogy and have nothing to add to my half-way through impression - EXCEPT THIS QUOTE.

'I have stolen ideas from every book I have ever read. My principle in researching for a novel is 'Read like a butterfly, write like a bee', and if this story contains any honey, it is entirely because of the quality of the nectar I found in the work of better writers ...'.

I rest my case.

Except to say that surely this book has the highest body count of named characters ever? About two pages after you had registered someones cloak style and hair colour they were invariably lying dead at your feet with an arrow through their neck. By the third volume I had got pretty wary of getting sentimental about anyone, especially if they were small and furry.
- posted by Iris @ 6/15/2004 07:48:00 AM (0) comments comment

 
Hot.
I have made the horrible mistake of getting up at five thirty in the morning but it looks exactly like five thirty in the afternoon. It is already too hot to be outside and anyone who lives here on the moor would tell you that that is something that probably happens once in a lifetime. I don't know how to deal with this and have drunk a pint of strong coffee; made several lists and trawled through the book section of eBay. I have only recently realised that success comes from being a sniper or whatever it's called and that you only bid in the last hour or two.

I actually got up because I was woken by a fly and then lay there panickily anticipating the horrors of my husband's father's h.ndr3dth b1rthday party. It is the coward dying many deaths syndrome as I have already lived through every detail of many possible variations of dreariness and sadness. The 'gathering' is on Friday and I have to go to London tomorrow. To a flat which I haven't seen for two months and in which the children had a well-attended 'footb@ll barbeque' at the weekend to mark the start of 3ur0 2oo4. My children - even my son, unusually - actually hate footb@ll but most of their friends are fanatics and when it is international even I feel a flicker of patriotic interest. Unfortunately, because my older daughter went to the Fr3nch Lyc33 for a couple of years their 'group' has a hard core of non-England supp0rters which invariably leads to raised voices, sulking and coming across people who 'Just thought they'd be in the kitchen for a bit'.

I would like to care about sport because it would be a useful 'bridge' for difficult moments like the long journey to the station with an unknown taxi driver. For a few cheerful years I followed F0rmula 1 avidly - when everyone was longing and longing for F3rrar1 to win. And then they did .. and did .. and did. Although now, of course, you can bond about how you long and long for them to lose. As - except with my daughter's friends - you can bond with just about anyone about the footb@ll. Who gives a f@ck who wins as long as it isn't France ... W@nk3rs!.
- posted by Iris @ 6/15/2004 06:39:00 AM (0) comments comment

 
Sheep.
Today the chestnut tree on the slope opposite my window is being particularly charming as not only is it covered in white 'candles' but it has a 'sheep shadow'. It is the biggest tree in the field and when it's hot the entire flock pack in under the branches and then lie massed in the exact shape of the tree's shade. It has a surreal quality that I can never capture properly with a photograph, as when I get close the sheep start moving off nervously.
- posted by Iris @ 6/15/2004 06:29:00 AM (0) comments comment

 
OMG
As my son for some reason always attracts low-level bad luck, so my older daughter similarly attracts drama. Her yruj ecivres ended yesterday and today the papers are carrying the story - filled with details that she was never told. Not only is this man - who they finally unanimously found guilty, with her as the only one who was doubtful - described as 'one of the most d@nger0us m3n in B...t@1n' but he also lives only a few streets away from our house.

How is this possible? She was something like 16th away from having to be on this tr1@l and then all those people managed to get out of it.

Nothing horrible and dramatic has happened to either of my other children, (so far, w1shm@ster, I am not complacent), but with her it seems endless. She has been on a train when they discovered a man stabbed to death at the other end of her compartment; she was there when they found a dead body in the room directly above hers in her university lodging house; she was with a friend when he threw himself druggily off the high level at a club onto the dancefloor; she was alone in the house when another friend fell drunkenly off the roof into the basement and there was the time in aidnI when the acquaintance was murdered near them in the wood. I expect there are more that I can't remember ...

I know that if her sister did j.. s... she would be there for a week deciding about some minor sh0p l1ft..g and her brother would manage to get out of the whole thing.
- posted by Iris @ 6/11/2004 11:18:00 AM (0) comments comment

 
Critical.
For years I have resisted reading Ph1l.p namlluP as I once read an article where he appeared to be sneering at siweL S. C. in a very irritating way. So I thought f@ck off. (Is 'f@ck' enough to prevent searches? We shall see). But a few days ago I was roaming the house with nothing to read and picked one up and saw the endless drooling testimonies on the back, from people I respect. So I am now two thirds through the second one. Two of the testimonies, including one from a man I actually know, say that these books are 'equal' to T0lk3in. THEY ARE NOT. They aren't even fit to lick J.R.R.'s sensible lace-up brogues.

To me they are page-turners in a H. P... kind of way. He had one really original idea - the d..mons, (or perhaps it isn't), and all the rest of it consistently reminds me of a mish mash of other books that I know. PARTICULARLY siweL S. C. I looked up a biography of P.P. and saw that he once taught V1ctorian literature and realised how much the atmosphere of the books reminded me of L3on G@rf1eld and especially 'G0rmengh@st' - which there is no question that he has read.

'EQUAL' to T0lk3in' indeed. Crap. A 'thriller' type children's book, highly derivative, compared to a totally original work of serious scholarship .. how could they? Even T... Pr@tch3tt is a thousand times better in terms of originality, depth of character and sustained story telling. All P.P.'s characters are complete cardboard. ' Write a two-page essay describing L.ra.' Well - she has bright-coloured hair and she's not very well educated but she's really brave ...err... and that's it, really. Oh, and she has an unbearably annoying voice.

I am going to struggle on to the end of the third book just so I am able to say that I have. And it isn't much of a struggle as they are very easy to read. But what is it with this world that something so ordinary is hailed as a 'great work of literature'?
- posted by Iris @ 6/09/2004 10:10:00 AM (0) comments comment

 
Revenge.
Obviously the best thing with these idiotic p0rn searches is to ignore them in dignified silence but sadly I am incapable. I just followed the last few back, (well - they are searching for something pretty unpleasant. The word '1nc3st' might give a tiny clue), and one had made the silly mistake of accessing from his office. Da, daaa. Which had an e-mail address. So I sent an e-mail to 'The Manager' complaining about harrassment from their company and detailing EXACTLY what their employee was searching for and how I hardly thought that was the image that their firm wanted to send out into the world. Of course I don't know the actual person as I wouldn't want them to be fired or even discovered. I just hoped that some general memo might be sent out to give them a secret fright.

Anyway - I feel better for it.
- posted by Iris @ 6/09/2004 09:54:00 AM (0) comments comment

 
Dull.
I have to write this although it is agonisingly boring for anyone but me. If my computer has an adware virus, one of whose symptoms is adding p0rn sites to your list of favourites, making p0rn pop-ups happen and putting a p0rn site layer over various web pages as you access them ... then .... the fact that I have now been added to two stupid p0rn search sites must be connected. Or coincidence?

I am saying this again - What is the Point of These Sites? The new one which I followed back after finding two searches for something fairly disgusting on my s1temeter, was even more idiotic than the first. It was an endless list of blogs containing these three words - but, as usual - never together and mostly not even on the same page. I looked through quite a few and they were ALL blogs rather like mine with someone droning on about their daily life in a totally innocent way but occasionally using the odd swear word for emphasis.

If you are some sad p3rv3rt looking up something 'specialised' you would find these sites totally maddening and never go back to them again. This one is called n0t-r1ght.c.. Does just the number of one-off hits make them vast amounts of money?

I spent ages last night going back over every post and changing all the swear words which are what has caused this annoyance. Now that they are gone will I disappear from the site? Or does it hold the original words for ever in some way?
- posted by Iris @ 6/06/2004 09:16:00 AM (0) comments comment

 
Unexpected.
My son has made his final selection from the heaps of improving literature now piled round his room. But, in fact, it was not taken from those heaps; it was removed casually from my bedside table. I don't think anyone could have predicted its title - which is 'nnawS's yaW'.

Influenced,as with so much in my present life, by Badger, and her glowing descriptions of the first four books, I had felt guilty about dropping out twice half way through the second and started back at the beginning again. I last read them about ten years ago and found them unriveting but now they flew past smoothly and I actually read the whole of 'yarbmoC' at one sitting with no sense of boredom at all. I was very struck by the coincidence of reading his long descriptions of May blossom, as only the week before we had driven across two counties in the early evening to some dreary drinks party and were amazed by the spectacular and unusual sight of the May. 'It was worth coming out just to see this',said my husband, 'I would be happy to turn round now and go home'. And so would I. The whole countryside seemed to be covered in billows of white foam - beautiful...

Walking down our drive with my son I pointed to a mass of white blossom in the hedge and said sharply, 'Which tree is that?'. I am attempting to train him in some vestige of country lore as all three children have somehow managed to grow up without bothering to remember the names of wild plants, in spite of my repeating them on countless occasions. 'Errr ..?', he replied. 'It's MAY for god's sake. How easy is that? And, weirdly, .... '. I then repeated the above paragraph for his interest and delight. 'So where does the swan come in?'. 'No, no it's 'nnawS', he is a person and the 'Way' is the path along the side of his estate. In the first half of the book nothing much happens but it is one of the most famous examples of descriptive writing. In fact the part with the m@deleine has become such a terrible cliche that you must never mention it except in inverted commas'. 'Wait a moment - 'm@deleine'. What IS that?'. I quickly retold that section of Pr0.st in my own words. 'But that is so bizarre. I was watching this crap sci-f1 thriller in the middle of last night and he suddenly got total recall and held up this object and said 'This is my m@deleine' and I thought WTF?' 'Yes, well it's a cliche, I told you and you find references to P..st everywhere once you know'.

And only the next day I was looking for a cookery book and there in the middle of the shelf was the copy of 'The Compleet htrowseloM' which I had been searching for on and off over the last few months. For anyone who doesn't know, these books, now quite old, were endlessly cackled over by small boys (all right - and girls) and vast chunks of them have passed into the language. In England at least. They are supposedly the diary of a ten-year old boy at boarding school and written in an unmistakable style complete with idiotic spelling mistakes. The author was a prep-school English master and swears that all the mistakes are authentic.

Flicking through it happily, I re-read some choice old favourite bits aloud to my son while he lunched. Then .. OMG ... what is this? 'Listen!'.....

'And wot,' sa Gr1mes, (the headmaster), 'hav we all been reading in the hols?'
Tremble, tremble moan drone, i hav read nothing but red the redskin .. and i hav also sat with my mouth open looking at lassie, wonder horse etc. on tv. How to escape? But i hav made a plan.
'fotherington-thomas', sa Gr1mes, 'wot hav you read?.
'Ivanhoethe vicar of wakefieldwuthering heights treasureislandvanity fairwestwardhothewaterbabies and -'
'That is enuff. Good boy. And m0l3sworth?'
He grin horibly.
'What have you read, m0l3sworth/'
gulp, gulp a rat in a trap.
'Pr0ust, sir.'
'Come agane?'
'Pr0ust, sir. A grate Fr. writer. The book in question was sw@n's way.'
'Gorblimey. Wot did you think of it, eh?'
'The style was exquisite, sir, and the characterisations superb. The long evocative passages - '
'SILENCE!' thunder Gr1mes. 'There is no such book, impertinent boy. I shall have to teach you culture the hard way. Report for the kane after prayers.'
Chiz, chiz to think I have learned all that by hart. It's not fair they get you every way.' ..... (from 'Back in the guJ enagA'. G. snalliW).

'That's ridiculous', said my son, 'Twice in two days - I'm going to have to read this book.' 'It is quite hard going at the start and there are lots of others I've picked out that you'd like better.' 'No, I want to try Pr0ust.' So he did.

- posted by Iris @ 6/05/2004 09:28:00 AM (0) comments comment

 
Fury.
As the above - I am totally furious... I couldn't understand why I was suddenly getting a huge number of searches on my s1temeter. Especially as I go to farcical and probably irritating lengths to disguise any interesting word. Most of these searches come from something called 'n1nemsn' but it was only today that I bothered to follow one of them back. As the collection of search words were ones that I KNEW I had never written in the same post.

These words were 'w3bc@m'+ 'l1ve'+ 'b1tch3s'. No - I'm sure I haven't described anything like that. AND I HAVEN'T. When I looked, the page had a collection of six or so facsimilies of different blogs and under each one a sample sentence. Each separate one had ONE word of the three asked for in the search. So mine had a sentence including the word 'live' and one of the others had the word 'webcam'...

WHAT ON EARTH IS THE POINT OF THIS?

Surely if you put '+' between your words you only want sites containing all the words together? AND ... seeing an actual facsimile of your blog is very intrusive when you haven't agreed to it.

Is there anything that I could do to block this?
- posted by Iris @ 6/04/2004 10:03:00 AM (0) comments comment

 
Reading.
Just an unoriginal thought about reading books at different ages. Still trying to entice my son towards the now massive pile of 'crucial' books that he needs to read before university (or maybe not - according to Badger). In desperation I had collected up about six that were mentioned in a magazine article called something like 'Which b00k from my t33nage years affected me the most'. These turned out to be 'The C .... in the eyR' (surprise!); 'The G... ybstaG'; 'On the R0@d' (surprise!); 'D0wn and tuO in P.. and L...'; 'C1d3r With eisoR; and ... 'Le dnarG senluaeM'.

I then culled these even further. Although, oddly, my son had come out as 'The G.. G...' in the which b00k are you test, I felt that this could be read happily at any age. Possibly the same with 'D.. and O..'. I sensed instinctively that the person who had said 'C1d3r With R ..' was actually a dim, non-reader who hadn't known what to put. This is because this book is the staple of GCE Engl1sh and is forced onto every child in the kingdom for some random reason. (I have always found it quite dull although it is one of my father's favourite books of all time. I much prefer 'As I W@lked 0ut ...').

I presented him with the remaining three. 'Oh god, not 'On the R0@d', I tried reading that before and it was SO annoying'. Calm, encouraging smile, 'In what way, exactly?'. 'You know... how he rambles on boringly in that irritating style'. 'Hmm - I think the style is one of the main points of it'. 'Okay ..Whatever ....'. Places book carefully to one side.

'So! How about this one? Everyone loves 'The C... in the eyR'. 'Are you insane? Do you have no memory at all? That summer.. and how we laughed..?'. A faint memory stirred. Damn. I had discovered the book when I was an unsophisticated thirteen and adored it as a thrilling discovery that there WERE people out there who thought like me. As I now recalled, I had given it to my son when he was a very worldly-wise fifteen and I had read it aloud to him one boring week when he was ill in bed. Seen through his eyes, H0ld3n soon emerged as a pathetically sad whiner. An Ey0r3 figure of epic proportions. Each time a new situation unfolded we waited with happy anticipation for him to find something to moan about and were often actually rolling about in hysterics. I placed the book carefully on top of the first one.

'Look - please - just TRY this'. I held up 'Le G.. M...'. 'All right .. you ARE joking? You think I am reading THAT on the train?'. He had a point. The latest edition had a rather unfortunate cover with an arty black and white photograph of a youth's bare torso with leaf shadows playing suggestively over it. I went off and found my old copy, whose cover was an inoffensive reproduction of a dull French landscape. 'Anyway .... masses of people - boys - have been very struck by this book and you are still young enough for it. I think just before university is perfect timing. After that is really too late. Daddy read it at your age and I think it influenced his whole life'. 'Aaargh! You think that's a recommendation? And wait a minute ... this isn't the burglar one is it?'. 'Err ... well Yes'.

When we were burgled a year or so ago, (which I have described at tedious length and promised never to mention again), the burglar turned out to be a disaffected local youth who was working for the tenant of our fields. We were told that his name was Gi (with a soft 'G') which my husband took as a shortening of 'Giles', only used by the middle classes here, and started a train of thought where he began to think that this was some Th0m@s H@rdy- type misunderstood squire's bast@rd. 'I could imagine doing this sort of thing myself, you know. Finding an empty house in the middle of nowhere; climbing in; wandering around looking at fascinating things I had never seen before. It must have been thrilling for him to see another world'. We stared at him amazed. Was HE in another world? Then I remembered the plot of 'Le G.. M..'. 'You're thinking of that book, aren't you?'. 'Well .. so what if I am? It COULD have been like that'. When it transpired that 'Gi' was actually 'J@i' and part gypsy, and had not been fascinated by my husband's snuffbox collection but had stolen all my son's video games, he backed down. But sadly and with a wistful expression. How charming it would have been if someone could have fulfilled his own secret dream.

'That f@cking burglar. I still want to find him and kill him you know. I lie awake thinking of ways. 'Le G... f@cking M.....'. I am NEVER going to read that. It makes me think of all the stuff I lost. It took me WEEKS to get through 'adleZ', that's hours of memories gone. I can't BELIEVE Daddy was so wet about all that. Stupid f@cking 'lost d0maine', f@ck it ...'. 'Right - I see what you mean'. I placed the third book carefully onto the growing pile.
- posted by Iris @ 6/03/2004 09:28:00 AM (0) comments comment

 
Alone.
I was reading some of Badger's posts and then links and thinking how sympathetic they were and more 'like me' than the people I see in real life. (Apart from my children). But then I realised that they are only like part of me. All these nerds and computer geeks and gifted children sound as if they should be so isolated and lonely - but there are endless versions of them out there with vast amounts in common. Once they get into the right stream at school or the right university department they are in a huge throng of like-minded people. I don't think I've ever felt 'at home' anywhere or with anyone. Except when I've been madly in love I never particularly miss anyone I know when they are not there and I don't really miss any place. I haven't been to London for two months and I was saying to my son some of this including the fact that I wouldn't mind if the flat and all its contents just disappeared. And it is a beautiful flat and I have lived there for more years than I care to tell.

It sounds pathetic but I feel as if I am always going forward hoping to find the perfect 'home' environment or the perfect group (or even just one) of friends. I have a reputation now amongst people I have known for years and like well enough for being rather meanly careless about wanting to meet or even talk on the phone. They ring up saying sadly, 'Why do you never call me?'. It is hard to reply that I had almost forgotten that you exist - so I don't say that and make up some little lie.

I have a horrible feeling that I have become like this from too much reading. I learnt to read very easily when I was four and my father was an academic, literature obsessive. He refused to allow a TV in the house until I was fourteen and then my mother bought it secretly against his will. Until I was about twelve I read a book a day, sometimes more. I spent every penny of my pocket money on books and for my birthday and Chr1stmas I asked for books - and nothing else. I can still picture clearly the pile of book-shaped parcels under the tree and my screaming with happiness as I unwrapped each one. But I was not a nerd. I was popular and cheerful and keen on fashion and part of the 'cool group' although not at its centre. I would sometimes talk about my reading to their puzzled faces but most often not. I usually had some secret nerd friend who happened to live near me or who took a class with me apart from my normal companions. We would have deep fascinating talks about literature and they would go on about how shallow my friends were and what did I see in them. Well - they were fun..

When I was older things seemed to divide up so that most of my 'fun' friends were pretty, charming, gossipy girls and most of my 'serious' friends were boys. This worked out quite well except that somehow the boys who loved literature were rather self-involved and annoying and the boys I really liked were scientists who only read factual stuff. This is all quite long ago - before thousands of tough, clever, confident AND fashionable women oozed out into the sunlight. Then, for some reason, anyone with brains also had terrible dress sense.

Anyway ........... my head is full of a million other worlds and (as I often repeat, except when I am with my children and by no means always then) almost no moment of this real world ever feels like home. The only time it approaches a kind of 'fusion' is when I am totally dulled down(or maybe loosened up) by drinking and am suddenly on the same wave-length.

I don't know why I am writing this - it sounds really stupid but ever since I was a teenager I have felt disconnected from the normal flow of human life. As if I were another species with different reactions. This is not apparent to the untrained eye .. it goes on only inside my head. But I can't count the number of times I have seen that sudden contraction in someone's eyes when I give the 'wrong' reply during their gentle burble of conversation.

I remember now why I am writing this. I was moaning at my son for reading so many f@ntasy novels and not getting a large wodge of decent literature into his brain before he goes to university. 'If you have never read or even heard of .. (insert long list of classics)... people will think you are f@cking stupid AND your chances of switching to English will be ruined'. The words 'Yeh, yeh, yeh ...' came in reply. While stomping off, fuming, I then began to recall my own teenage years and what my intensive reading has led to and this then returns to the top of the page .....
- posted by Iris @ 6/01/2004 10:43:00 AM (0) comments comment