That Big Damn Update (aka I’m So Vain I Probably Think This Blog Is About Me)
So how long’s it been? A few months, right? Maybe longer. I’ve been off in a corporate fugue, working working working, but other stuff has happened as well, so let’s go through some of that.
Working Nine to Five
More like Six to Six, but I couldn't resist quoting a Dolly Parton classic. I still work for the mean green corporate machine that is Marks and Spencer. I run the womenswear floor in Watford, manage 80 people, and have a damn good time doing it. I’m pretty good at my job, and proud of what I do.
I think if you’d asked people who knew me at school or university, they’d have been surprised that I wound up in retail. After all, I did a degree in Economics, which meant three years of slicing my way through great tangles of equations and matrices. I’ve always been regarded as academic, methodical, and probably quite dull.
And it may surprise those of you who know me well that the words most used to describe me at work are ‘sensible’ with a side dish of unimaginative and predictable.
So retail - which is a haywire world of loosely controlled chaos - might not seem like the ideal career for me. But...actually, I love that unpredictability. I love coming in and having to think on my feet. And in a crisis, I’m your girl. I’m at my best when things are at their worst.
I’d be bored stiff if I was stuck behind a desk all day. Instead, every day is different and new and exciting and challenging. Even that small core of customers who exist solely to make my life difficult (I got my first flame last week! A customer told me to ‘get lost’. Nice lady.) are few and far between.
As for the other half, he retains his job. Whether by luck or design or sheer administrative incompetence, the News of the World never got round to making him redundant. So he remains a grumpy butterfly in the world of the glitterati and twitterati. (as shown by his twitter feed).
Calling Doctor Jones…
Speaking of, the Hack was taken to hospital two weeks ago after ten days of crippling abdominal pains. It turns out man cannot live on pizza alone: he has diverticular disease (don’t google - suffice to say it ain’t much fun) and has had to completely revamp his lifestyle. After all, champagne and canapés are not exactly full of nutrition.
In true manly style, he’s demanded I join him in his quest for redemption. So my diet is now 100% free of chocolate, pizza and other junk food. Well. 90% free. I don’t function well without chocolate.
Give Me The First Taste
We went to the premiere of Up not so very long ago on the South Bank. I love the South Bank: in the summer, it’s bright and packed and a great place for a cocktail in the sun. In winter, it has the wonderful Christmas Fair, full of quaintness and mulled wine and the kind of overpriced baubles that bring a tear to the eye and an emptiness to the wallet.
But what I love most about the South Bank is the Sunday book market. It’s brilliant.
I digress: we went to see Up. Everything you’ve read in the reviews is right: it was an amazing film. I cried off my mascara, and the Hack cried off his masculinity. The first half hour is funny, moving, and heartbreaking; without a doubt the best part of the film. That’s not to say the rest of Up isn’t very very good - it is - but merely that the opening sequence is one of the best pieces of kids’ cinema anywhere.
The 3D on it was amazing. I forgot I was wearing the glasses most of the time.
Unfortunately I can’t say the same for the 3D version of Coraline we got on DVD. I adored the film - for sheer creepiness, it made my skin crawl, and not just because I already have a weird dislike of buttons - but the 3D effects on it were horrendous. I had to watch in 2D because I had such a headache after half an hour. Still - quirky, eerie film, but not one I’ll watch again soon. There’s something about it I find quite disturbing.
Picture This
I’m not a fan of having my photo taken. I don’t photograph well. A boyfriend once described me as having a ‘shot deer’ look. He was quite right: that is my default expression when you aim a camera my way. Thus the dual goals of avoiding photos and finding one where I look okay have formed part of my life.
So I was delighted when my best friend H bought me a studio day for my birthday. H has known me for thirteen years. She is that rarity, a person who is good and sweet and entirely selfless, and deeply unappreciated by too many foolish people.
Despite her undying devotion to Jenson Button, we get on like a house on fire. We share many things: a love of cocktails, a passion for F1, the ability to shop for each other, and even a shoe size. So it’s makes sense that she’s the one person I’d trust to turn a generally traumatic experience - a camera pointed at me - into a fabulous one.
So it was. We turned up at the studio in pelting rain: shedding our dignity, we ran down the streets looking like lunatics with jumpers covering our heads because umbrellas are for people who plan better. After ten minutes of hard sell from the studio reps (all part of the experience; just nod and smile, nod and smile), we were made-up, hair-styled, and packed off for photos.
And at last, at last! I have a photo of myself I can actually bear. Voila!
Also, I must just pause to extol the virtues of Urban Decay Primer Potion, which I have newly discovered. I know, I know, behind the times, right? But it’s the first thing I’ve found which keeps my eyeshadow on all day and means I can finally go for those glorious, outlandish looks which never lasted longer than ten minutes.
Like A Good Book, I Can’t Put This Day Back
I continue to be a prolific reader. I’m running out of room in the flat now, so I’ve put a hold on book-buying until we figure out where to put them all.
I retain my fascination for the Tudor Period. I posted some time ago about a book that mixed the Tudor Court and faeries. To my surprise and delight, The Perilous Gard is not alone in this combination of two fun genres. Marie Brennan has written a very good book called Midnight Never Come. It has a clever blend of politics and history, all written nicely. A touch wordy at times, and the romance between the main characters left me a little cold, but I loved the premise, and the world-building was awesome.
Also on my list of guilty pleasures (don’t hurt me ”vinaigrette”) is Phillippa Gregory’s ‘Tudor’ series. The Other Boleyn Girl is the best known. They take tremendous liberties with history, and have rather a soap-opera atmosphere, but are compelling and highly enjoyable.
Urban fantasy is my other love. While I wait for Ilona Andrews fourth book in her excellent kate Daniels series, I picked up Vicki Pettersson’s latest. I was a little disappointed if I’m honest - there wasn’t much in the way of resolution, and there were some sequences that went on far too long, but I’m hooked enough to pick up the next - and penultimate - in the series when it arrives.
Kathleen Duey’s Sacred Scars came out a few weeks ago, and I snapped it up as soon as I saw it. It’s the second in her Resurrection of Magic series, and damn, is it amazing. It’s grim and gripping, and ties together the two intertwining stories - one in the past, one in the present - wonderfully without ever giving too much away too soon.
I see the new ‘Robert Jordan’ book is out. And yes...I succumbed. I've invested enough time in that gigantic series to at least find out the end. And...I was pleasantly surprised. While the queasy gender issues remain, the new guy has toned them down substantially. There was actual plot! Stuff happened! Issues were resolved! There were bits that actually made me squee!
All right, sometimes the writing is a little lacking in grace and the voice for one of the major characters is off, but these are very forgivable sins when set against the fact that STUFF HAPPENS. Believe me, there are at least two preceding books which served no purpose but the slaughter of thousands of innocent trees. Robert Jordan was literally using up our valuable oxygen in book 10.
I haven’t gone into great detail about the books because reviewers on Amazon and Goodreads have said it better than I can.
More on books in another post, as I could easily go on forever.
Here’s Where The Story Ends
Or not. Writing is obviously a big hobby of mine. I still do it, if slowly. My love of the Night World series remains - the fandom’s having a bit of a revival over on FFN at the moment, which is great to see. My current fic is ongoing, and involving a lot of research into the AD 500 era and Arthurian legends, which are many and entertaining.
I’ve also sort of fallen into Harry Potter fanfic, or rather that subset of it known as Dramione. It’s like a drug, I swear. What took my fancy was an AU world where Voldemort won and the tattered remnants of a resistance were trying to pull themselves together to overthrow him once and for all. Fun times.
And I’m also writing something original on the side.
Chasing Cars
That’s something I was doing in July: looking for a new car. And I now have one. It’s a Suzuki Alto, and it’s pink. I love it! The Hack was a little horrified when he first saw it, but now he hardly feels at all emasculated by riding round in the pink awesomemobile.
It’s a word. Honest.
Smooth Criminal
That spot of credit card fraud I had got resolved, though M&S Money were frustratingly slow about it. It turns out my fraudsters had ordered a fridge from Boots and ordered it to an address in Bolton. Fortunately, Boots were on the money and when I rang to let them know, they stopped the delivery.
I also had the joy of the following conversation with M&S Money: "So you didn't purchase it?"
Me: "No. As I told you three days ago when it appeared on my statement, it's nothing to do with me."
M&S Money: "You're sure you haven't forgotten?"
Funnily enough, I think I'd remember buying a £300 fridge for someone in Bolton! Aie. But still: 'tis resolved.
Now I'm Awake
As you can probably tell, I'm going through a bit of an insomnia phase at the moment. On the downside, the lack of sleep is a pain. On the plus side, I rather like the dead of night - it's wonderfully still and silent and secretive. With the added bonus of a cup of chai at my side, the rain battering on the windows yet again, and a good few hours to write.
I think that’s probably about it. Or it’s all I can remember off the top of my head at 2 in the morning. Hope you're all well! Bonus points if anyone can name all the songs lyrics shamelessly thieved.
Oh wait - Christmas cards! If you'd like some season's greetings, send me a private message via LJ or drop me an email. I have a stash waiting, and a Post Office down the road :)
Much love,
Ki
Working Nine to Five
More like Six to Six, but I couldn't resist quoting a Dolly Parton classic. I still work for the mean green corporate machine that is Marks and Spencer. I run the womenswear floor in Watford, manage 80 people, and have a damn good time doing it. I’m pretty good at my job, and proud of what I do.
I think if you’d asked people who knew me at school or university, they’d have been surprised that I wound up in retail. After all, I did a degree in Economics, which meant three years of slicing my way through great tangles of equations and matrices. I’ve always been regarded as academic, methodical, and probably quite dull.
And it may surprise those of you who know me well that the words most used to describe me at work are ‘sensible’ with a side dish of unimaginative and predictable.
So retail - which is a haywire world of loosely controlled chaos - might not seem like the ideal career for me. But...actually, I love that unpredictability. I love coming in and having to think on my feet. And in a crisis, I’m your girl. I’m at my best when things are at their worst.
I’d be bored stiff if I was stuck behind a desk all day. Instead, every day is different and new and exciting and challenging. Even that small core of customers who exist solely to make my life difficult (I got my first flame last week! A customer told me to ‘get lost’. Nice lady.) are few and far between.
As for the other half, he retains his job. Whether by luck or design or sheer administrative incompetence, the News of the World never got round to making him redundant. So he remains a grumpy butterfly in the world of the glitterati and twitterati. (as shown by his twitter feed).
Calling Doctor Jones…
Speaking of, the Hack was taken to hospital two weeks ago after ten days of crippling abdominal pains. It turns out man cannot live on pizza alone: he has diverticular disease (don’t google - suffice to say it ain’t much fun) and has had to completely revamp his lifestyle. After all, champagne and canapés are not exactly full of nutrition.
In true manly style, he’s demanded I join him in his quest for redemption. So my diet is now 100% free of chocolate, pizza and other junk food. Well. 90% free. I don’t function well without chocolate.
Give Me The First Taste
We went to the premiere of Up not so very long ago on the South Bank. I love the South Bank: in the summer, it’s bright and packed and a great place for a cocktail in the sun. In winter, it has the wonderful Christmas Fair, full of quaintness and mulled wine and the kind of overpriced baubles that bring a tear to the eye and an emptiness to the wallet.
But what I love most about the South Bank is the Sunday book market. It’s brilliant.
I digress: we went to see Up. Everything you’ve read in the reviews is right: it was an amazing film. I cried off my mascara, and the Hack cried off his masculinity. The first half hour is funny, moving, and heartbreaking; without a doubt the best part of the film. That’s not to say the rest of Up isn’t very very good - it is - but merely that the opening sequence is one of the best pieces of kids’ cinema anywhere.
The 3D on it was amazing. I forgot I was wearing the glasses most of the time.
Unfortunately I can’t say the same for the 3D version of Coraline we got on DVD. I adored the film - for sheer creepiness, it made my skin crawl, and not just because I already have a weird dislike of buttons - but the 3D effects on it were horrendous. I had to watch in 2D because I had such a headache after half an hour. Still - quirky, eerie film, but not one I’ll watch again soon. There’s something about it I find quite disturbing.
Picture This
I’m not a fan of having my photo taken. I don’t photograph well. A boyfriend once described me as having a ‘shot deer’ look. He was quite right: that is my default expression when you aim a camera my way. Thus the dual goals of avoiding photos and finding one where I look okay have formed part of my life.
So I was delighted when my best friend H bought me a studio day for my birthday. H has known me for thirteen years. She is that rarity, a person who is good and sweet and entirely selfless, and deeply unappreciated by too many foolish people.
Despite her undying devotion to Jenson Button, we get on like a house on fire. We share many things: a love of cocktails, a passion for F1, the ability to shop for each other, and even a shoe size. So it’s makes sense that she’s the one person I’d trust to turn a generally traumatic experience - a camera pointed at me - into a fabulous one.
So it was. We turned up at the studio in pelting rain: shedding our dignity, we ran down the streets looking like lunatics with jumpers covering our heads because umbrellas are for people who plan better. After ten minutes of hard sell from the studio reps (all part of the experience; just nod and smile, nod and smile), we were made-up, hair-styled, and packed off for photos.
And at last, at last! I have a photo of myself I can actually bear. Voila!
Also, I must just pause to extol the virtues of Urban Decay Primer Potion, which I have newly discovered. I know, I know, behind the times, right? But it’s the first thing I’ve found which keeps my eyeshadow on all day and means I can finally go for those glorious, outlandish looks which never lasted longer than ten minutes.
Like A Good Book, I Can’t Put This Day Back
I continue to be a prolific reader. I’m running out of room in the flat now, so I’ve put a hold on book-buying until we figure out where to put them all.
I retain my fascination for the Tudor Period. I posted some time ago about a book that mixed the Tudor Court and faeries. To my surprise and delight, The Perilous Gard is not alone in this combination of two fun genres. Marie Brennan has written a very good book called Midnight Never Come. It has a clever blend of politics and history, all written nicely. A touch wordy at times, and the romance between the main characters left me a little cold, but I loved the premise, and the world-building was awesome.
Also on my list of guilty pleasures (don’t hurt me ”vinaigrette”) is Phillippa Gregory’s ‘Tudor’ series. The Other Boleyn Girl is the best known. They take tremendous liberties with history, and have rather a soap-opera atmosphere, but are compelling and highly enjoyable.
Urban fantasy is my other love. While I wait for Ilona Andrews fourth book in her excellent kate Daniels series, I picked up Vicki Pettersson’s latest. I was a little disappointed if I’m honest - there wasn’t much in the way of resolution, and there were some sequences that went on far too long, but I’m hooked enough to pick up the next - and penultimate - in the series when it arrives.
Kathleen Duey’s Sacred Scars came out a few weeks ago, and I snapped it up as soon as I saw it. It’s the second in her Resurrection of Magic series, and damn, is it amazing. It’s grim and gripping, and ties together the two intertwining stories - one in the past, one in the present - wonderfully without ever giving too much away too soon.
I see the new ‘Robert Jordan’ book is out. And yes...I succumbed. I've invested enough time in that gigantic series to at least find out the end. And...I was pleasantly surprised. While the queasy gender issues remain, the new guy has toned them down substantially. There was actual plot! Stuff happened! Issues were resolved! There were bits that actually made me squee!
All right, sometimes the writing is a little lacking in grace and the voice for one of the major characters is off, but these are very forgivable sins when set against the fact that STUFF HAPPENS. Believe me, there are at least two preceding books which served no purpose but the slaughter of thousands of innocent trees. Robert Jordan was literally using up our valuable oxygen in book 10.
I haven’t gone into great detail about the books because reviewers on Amazon and Goodreads have said it better than I can.
More on books in another post, as I could easily go on forever.
Here’s Where The Story Ends
Or not. Writing is obviously a big hobby of mine. I still do it, if slowly. My love of the Night World series remains - the fandom’s having a bit of a revival over on FFN at the moment, which is great to see. My current fic is ongoing, and involving a lot of research into the AD 500 era and Arthurian legends, which are many and entertaining.
I’ve also sort of fallen into Harry Potter fanfic, or rather that subset of it known as Dramione. It’s like a drug, I swear. What took my fancy was an AU world where Voldemort won and the tattered remnants of a resistance were trying to pull themselves together to overthrow him once and for all. Fun times.
And I’m also writing something original on the side.
Chasing Cars
That’s something I was doing in July: looking for a new car. And I now have one. It’s a Suzuki Alto, and it’s pink. I love it! The Hack was a little horrified when he first saw it, but now he hardly feels at all emasculated by riding round in the pink awesomemobile.
It’s a word. Honest.
Smooth Criminal
That spot of credit card fraud I had got resolved, though M&S Money were frustratingly slow about it. It turns out my fraudsters had ordered a fridge from Boots and ordered it to an address in Bolton. Fortunately, Boots were on the money and when I rang to let them know, they stopped the delivery.
I also had the joy of the following conversation with M&S Money: "So you didn't purchase it?"
Me: "No. As I told you three days ago when it appeared on my statement, it's nothing to do with me."
M&S Money: "You're sure you haven't forgotten?"
Funnily enough, I think I'd remember buying a £300 fridge for someone in Bolton! Aie. But still: 'tis resolved.
Now I'm Awake
As you can probably tell, I'm going through a bit of an insomnia phase at the moment. On the downside, the lack of sleep is a pain. On the plus side, I rather like the dead of night - it's wonderfully still and silent and secretive. With the added bonus of a cup of chai at my side, the rain battering on the windows yet again, and a good few hours to write.
I think that’s probably about it. Or it’s all I can remember off the top of my head at 2 in the morning. Hope you're all well! Bonus points if anyone can name all the songs lyrics shamelessly thieved.
Oh wait - Christmas cards! If you'd like some season's greetings, send me a private message via LJ or drop me an email. I have a stash waiting, and a Post Office down the road :)
Much love,
Ki