but whose aquiline face haunts my dreams
I am sitting here listening to Neil Gaiman read and answer questions and Having Much Too Much Fun Doing It, an experience I would recommend to anyone, because it is most amusing. I had also never really thought of The Day The Saucers Came as a primarily comic poem before, which, when read, it most certainly can be. Prespective is everything.
(This also cropped up in a fascinating conversation I had with Helen earlier about the nature and purpose of scientific - and indeed, all academic - endevour, as did induction hobs and football players.)
Also on a literary level, I finished off Riddley Walker, by Russell Hoban. (#14) I was lent it just before Christmas by Debbie (one of the Cool Babysittees) because we'd had a conversation about For Whom The Bell Tolls and the fact that I'd recently obtained Brave New World; it took so long to read because the language in which it was written makes it incredibly hard work. ("the sarvering gallack seas and flaming nebyul eye" is the spelling of 'sovereign galaxies and flaming nebulae', and it frequently makes far less sense.) Nonetheless, I found I quite enjoyed it, even if I didn't understand it.
(I should point out that there is no connection between Riddley Walker and the real Mr Walker. I should also relate another Mr Walker anecdote, because it amuses me:
Mr Walker: “Bradley, you worry me.”
Bradley: “Why sir?”
Mr Walker: “Because every time I look at you, you look absolutely terrified.”
This was overheard in a corridor, and probably epitomises Mr Walker quite concisely.
He also once introduced himself to his class by simply announcing 'I am Walker.' He makes me giggle. Enough said.)
I seem to be talking about nothing very interesting rather a lot recently, which is very sad, so I shall mention that I am currently playing with a small lump of blue-tack, and playing with icons, and am now going to bed. Aren't I interesting?
(This also cropped up in a fascinating conversation I had with Helen earlier about the nature and purpose of scientific - and indeed, all academic - endevour, as did induction hobs and football players.)
Also on a literary level, I finished off Riddley Walker, by Russell Hoban. (#14) I was lent it just before Christmas by Debbie (one of the Cool Babysittees) because we'd had a conversation about For Whom The Bell Tolls and the fact that I'd recently obtained Brave New World; it took so long to read because the language in which it was written makes it incredibly hard work. ("the sarvering gallack seas and flaming nebyul eye" is the spelling of 'sovereign galaxies and flaming nebulae', and it frequently makes far less sense.) Nonetheless, I found I quite enjoyed it, even if I didn't understand it.
(I should point out that there is no connection between Riddley Walker and the real Mr Walker. I should also relate another Mr Walker anecdote, because it amuses me:
Mr Walker: “Bradley, you worry me.”
Bradley: “Why sir?”
Mr Walker: “Because every time I look at you, you look absolutely terrified.”
This was overheard in a corridor, and probably epitomises Mr Walker quite concisely.
He also once introduced himself to his class by simply announcing 'I am Walker.' He makes me giggle. Enough said.)
I seem to be talking about nothing very interesting rather a lot recently, which is very sad, so I shall mention that I am currently playing with a small lump of blue-tack, and playing with icons, and am now going to bed. Aren't I interesting?