The bright side of life

Because I have developed a rather annoying head cold, my brain has left the building and I have resorted to watching Monty Python on YouTube. Actually, ya know, that’s not so bad a thing. Especially when it includes a grandiose ending which includes superfluous bagpipes.


John Donne made me cry!

It’s all Michael Collins’ fault! It’s his fault, and that’s my story, and I’m sticking to it like the ludicrous sticky tack I found in my kitchen drawer that doesn’t work at all due to age, humidity, and its existence as ludicrous sticky tack. Which of course is to say that not only is that not my story, but that I couldn’t stick to it if I triedl. What I’m about to relate to you is only partially the doing of the delightful Michael Collins, and is really more due to my inability to resist love poetry that’s more than a few centuries old (that, and I am a giant nerd, in case anyone didn’t get that before now).

So, this evening I was left with little planned as a friend had to reschedule plans we’d made for another time. This was unfortunate, I thought, but it also left my night wide open to anything else that might come along. I’m a big fan of “anything else that might come along”, and so as I made supper I pondered the few things that I might most enjoy doing for the next few hours. While eating supper, I was chatting to another friend of mine who was in the thick of researching a paper on sonnets, and I noticed another one of Michael’s tweets about John Donne (he’s been reading a lot of Donne, evidently, and loving it), and at that point I decided to set about finding myself some sonnets, and perhaps some specifically written by Mr. Donne! “But wait!” I thought, “where would I best find these things?!”

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The merit of the nonsense post

Posting every day, even when it’s nonsense or just something foolish, is really rather wonderful for one’s blogging habits. There’s a good possibility there will be a few of those nonsense posts floating around in the next while, but I’ll make them fun, I promise!

For the longest time I have been torn up about always having something specific to say in my posts, but I have recently decided that I’ve been terribly silly to subscribe to such strict behaviour. So, I’ve thrown caution to the wind and now it seems I may post on anything, at any length, at any time! Watch out though — this could be dangerous, and could perhaps demonstrate to you just how unpredictable white-water rafting down the stream of my consciousness really is.

Speaking of strange things going on in the mind though, I saw Inception last night. Do yourself a huge favour and get out to see it. It’s very rarely that I succumb to hype when it comes to a movie, but giving in to this one seemed all but inevitable, and it was absolutely worth it. If the stunning visuals and (also stunning) stellar cast don’t pull you in, the conversation sparkers alone make it well worth the cash.

That said, I really have to ask: is there a film being made in Hollywood that doesn’t have music by Hans Zimmer in it? I mean really, people! Really.

Daisy, Daisy, give me your answer, do!

Daisy, Daisy, give me your answer, do!

I’m half crazy, all for the love of you.

It won’t be a stylish marriage,

I can’t afford a carriage,

but you’ll look sweet upon the seat of a bicycle built for two.

My grandmother used to sing that song all the time.

Daisies were her favourite flowers.

The Owl and the Pussy Cat

I had essentially forgotten this poem existed until I walked up to the poetry section in Chapters the other day (yes, I spend a lot of time at the bookstore, so sue me), and saw a very interesting illustrated copy of this one. I picked it up, read it, scoffed at the illustrations and said, “Huh, I actually kinda like that poem”.

So, here it is. Just because.

The Owl and the Pussy-cat went to sea
In a beautiful pea green boat,
They took some honey, and plenty of money,
Wrapped up in a five pound note.
The Owl looked up to the stars above,
And sang to a small guitar,
‘O lovely Pussy! O Pussy my love,
What a beautiful Pussy you are,
You are,
You are!
What a beautiful Pussy you are!’
Pussy said to the Owl, ‘You elegant fowl!
How charmingly sweet you sing!
O let us be married! too long we have tarried:
But what shall we do for a ring?’
They sailed away, for a year and a day,
To the land where the Bong-tree grows
And there in a wood a Piggy-wig stood
With a ring at the end of his nose,
His nose,
His nose,
With a ring at the end of his nose.
‘Dear pig, are you willing to sell for one shilling
Your ring?’ Said the Piggy, ‘I will.’
So they took it away, and were married next day
By the Turkey who lives on the hill.
They dined on mince, and slices of quince,
Which they ate with a runcible spoon;
And hand in hand, on the edge of the sand,
They danced by the light of the moon,
The moon,
The moon,
They danced by the light of the moon.

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