Right. I haven't even peeked inside the new Dan Brown book yet, know absolutely nothing about it (apart from it featuring Robert Langdon); about the plot, about the events, nothingDespite that, I'm placing my bet now; the opening passage will feature a murder of "distinguished" or "famous" or "renowned" something-or-other, the second chapter will ( Read more... )

Oh, good grief.

I really thought I'd done all my crying about Jack and Ianto, barring actually watching them on screen (particularly in Day Four), but then I read this, which is absolutely brilliant, and just completely heartbreaking:

What You Forgot by harmyjoBecause a thousand years is something we can't even comprehend; it's too fantastical to be ( Read more... )

Fuck, I'm all over the place. Look no further than the tags.

Listening to I Cried For You by Billie Holiday isn't helping, either, yet I'm still doing it. I'm clearly a bit of a sadist.

I'm going to have a bath and read Northanger Abbey, I think. Or possibly Maurice.

Just in case I'm not around tomorrow (as I leave in the evening); see you all in five days! I'm off on a mini-adventure to Brussels and Paris, complete with a stuffed-to-the-brim suitcase, an extremely dorky waist-bag, and a fresh new copy of Pride and Prejudice and ZombiesWhen I come back; imminent Pride! And imminent Torchwood! Eeeep ( Read more... )

May I present, for your delectation, a picture of me trying to cut a birthday cake whilst ever so slightly inebriated?

( In which there is a party. )

I swear, I am going to make John Barrowman Mr Joyboy in my future adaptation of The Loved One, or die trying.

Right, back to the stream of work. Argh.

I've just finished reading The Book Thief.

I know it sounds like a cliché, but I feel like Markus Zusak has ripped out my heart. My chest aches. I haven't been so weepy at a book for a long time. It is absolutely brilliant and I don't think I'll read anything like it again. It's vivid and detailed and realistic and lyrical and emotional and angry ( Read more... )

Today, I met Stephen Fry.

( Happy, happy blatherings under the cut. )

Stephen Fry's book Stephen Fry in America is like enjoying a Christmas present very slowly, so that it'll last longer, and you're filled with glee to know that there's more to go. It's a great chunky hardback (so big it won't fit on my bookshelf), filled with pictures and factoids and portraits about his travels through all fifty states, and the ( Read more... )

A very random thought I have to quickly put across:

I'm halfway through The Loved One by Evelyn Waugh and have been giggling like a fool; it's deliciously dark and deadpan and a brilliant book to be curled up in bed with after a hard day ( Read more... )