Chaoskitty

On Wednesday I got my spending money haul of books. So this is my current reading list:
• The Weather in the Streets by Rosamond Lehmann
• A Lost Lady by Willa Cather READ 7 July
• The Old Man and Me by Elaine Dundy READ 3-7July
• My Brilliant Career by Miles Franklin
• Blaming by Elizabeth Taylor
• All Passion Spent by Vita Sackville-West READ28-30 June
• Elizabeth and her German Garden by Elizabeth Von Arnim READ 1 -3 July
• The Passion of New Eve by Angela Carter READ27-28 June
• The Return of the Soldier by Rebecca West -STARTED 7July realised too upsetting resumption date tbc
• Union Street by Pat Barker READ26-27June
• English Passengers by Matthew Kneale
• White Teeth by Zadie Smith READ 11-13 July
• How I Live Now by Meg Rosoff READING
• The Impressionist by Hari Kunzru
• The Other Side of the Story by Marian Keyes READ 10-11 July
• Adrian Mole and the Weapons of Mass Destruction by Sue Townsend READ 13-15July
• Notes on a Scandal by Zoe Heller
• Regeneration by Pat Barker
• Everything is Illuminated by Jonathan Safran Foer
• A Short History of Tractors in Ukrainian by Marina Lewycka READ 16-17 July
• How to be Good by Nick Hornby
• The Accidental by Ali Smith
• What a Carve Up! by Jonathan Coe READ 8-10 July
• Any Human Heart by William Boyd
• Bodily Secrets by William Trevor
• Doomed Love by Virgil
• The Women Who Got Away by John Updike READ 17 July
• First Love by Ivan Turgenev
• Eros Unbound by Anais Nin
• The Virgin and the Gypsy by D.H. Lawrence
• Magnetism by F.Scott Fitzgerald
• The Kreutzer Sonata by Leo Tolstoy
• The Seducer's Diary by Soren Kierkegaard
• Of Mistresses, Tigresses & Other Conquests by Giacomo
• Cures for Love by Stendhal
• Bonjour Tristesse by Francoise Sagan
• Forbidden Fruit by From the Letters of Abelard & Heloise
• The Eaten Heart - Unlikely Tales of Love by Giovanni Boccaccio
• A Mere Interlude by Thomas Hardy
• Giovanni's Room by James Baldwin
• Mary by Vladmir Nabokov
• A Russian Affair by Anton Chekhov
• Deviant Love by Sigmund Freud
• Something Childish but Very Natural by Katherine Mansfield
• The Resurrectionist by James Bradley
• In Xanadu: A Quest by William Dalrymple READ May-July (I could've done the journey quicker than I read it)
• Paradise Lost by John Milton
• The Art of War by Sun Tzu
• Southern Cross by Patricia Cornwell

I'm a massive fan of immunisation. As much as you can be a fan of people prodding needles into your body (is vaccine day the best day on the calendar for needle fetishists?), or of having to pin your screaming infant down whilst some strange lady pokes him with a stick. Herd immunity is great, Andrew Wakefield needs kicking in the bollocks, Edward Jenner and Louis Pasteur were fab, and measles parties are stupid etc etc.
But why oh why does having a tetanus jab mean I have up end up looking like I have the plague? Clearly this is preferable to tetanus itself (its not for fun that they call it lockjaw), but bejeesus I look hideous. I think my arm has turned to stone too. There must be a better way of getting the stuff in the body, aside from the bizarre sugarlump technique they used for polio vaccine when I was about 13 (I know I was born in the Chinese year of the horse, but really I'm not that equine).

The reason that I was having a tetanus jab was that my delightful cat very kindly reminded me (with her claws), that I haven't had the full tetanus schedule. In theory, unless you are exceptionally unlucky, the 5 tetanus innoculations that are on the NHS schedule, and have been since the 70s should be enough to cover you. If you make a habit of impaling yourself on spikes, or travelling to less well innoculated places then you might need more. Otherwise most people will be okay. Which is a good thing, as it is at best a rather unappealling disease, and in 11%(ish) of cases fatal.
In the UK (and the US, and several other places) the first three of the five tetanus shots come when you're theoretically too small to remember at 2 months, 3 months and 4 months. It's part of the DTP (now DTP-hib in the UK as the antigen for meningitis c is now included) jab. DTP protects against not only tetanus (the T), but also Diphtheria and Pertussis (whooping cough). Diseases which were responsible for infant mortality in the west for many centuries (and still are in other parts of the world where access to vaccinations is limited), diphtheria alongside typhoid thrived in the emerging Victorian cities. They aren't of the past though. Not in the least.

Though the DTP had been around quite a while by the time I was born I didn't have it. So I'm now 2 (after yesterday) behind everyone else. The reason I didn't have the DTP is because my GP when I was a baby decided that it wasn't appropriate, due to a study which led many people (including medics) to believe that any history of problems with the brain were contraindications for pertussis. In fact later studies showed that some flawed logic had crept in, and that only one very specific neurological condition might cause brain damage. So I and several thousand other children didn't recieve the DTP (apparently for much of the 70s the uptake was under 50%). Thanks to having a great grandfather with a history of mental illness I got whooping cough (and so I imagine did many other children with similarly spurious family histories). Some doctors were able to offer the D and T bits as single vaccines, much as some now offer separate MMR jabs (and make a fortune from the paranoia of middle class mummies). I didn't have any though, so am now just catching up.
I'll have had my full schedule just before I turn 50. Just about the age when some doctors consider your risk rises again(!)
Fortunately I do try and avoid being bitten by grumpy cats or slashing myself open with dirty metal, but you never know.

I'm loving the not dying of some hideous disease, I'm just not such a big fan of the lumpy neck.

I'd like you to try a little experiment, just so I know I'm not the odd one out here. This may of course go horribly wrong and prove my oddness beyond doubt, but that's a risk I'm willing to take (and heck it'd hardly be a new experience being the odd one). Have ibuprofen handy though if you want to participate.

So you need two pieces of furniture close to one another at a sort of L shape angle, not antiques or anything precious just incase. Preferably wood. Certainly not metal, just incase you do experiment I don't want you to blame me for ensuing damage. A wall would work as one furniture replacement, but ensure that if you are sat up that your back is to the wooden thing and the wall to your side. No radiators though.

Now sit so your back is to one piece of furniture and the other item is preferably on your right [ if on left instructions in square brackets]. Then lie down so that your head is about a head and a half from the back item and your body about a body width from the item on your right [left].
Now stick both your arms so they are pointing to the right [left], and gradually roll onto your right side [left side]. Next bring your knees up to your chest so they practically touch your elbows. Now start to jiggle upwards, in a sort of bouncy motion, do about three mini upward (towards the other piece of furniture) jiggles. Then with as much force as you can muster fling yourself over your arms rightwards [leftwards] onto your chest. Your knees should still be bent against your chest, and your arm depending on length may well be jammed through your wall. Now jiggle again, rocking back from knees to ankles to propel yourself forward.
At some point your head will meet the other piece of furniture, don't let this deter the rocking, just gradually turn your head to the right [left] so you're almost looking at your bum. Then slump down in that position.

Now do all that asleep.

Tell me seriously could you sleep like that? Could you? I cannot fathom out how on earth the offspring spends half his night headbutting himself and yet happily asleep, with apparently no damage.

So anyone sleep in a weirder position?

Fear One: The fear that you haven't quite counted out the money for the milkman right and he'll grumpily bang on the door in the morning. Solution: Either pretend you aren't in, or send someone else to answer door.

Fear Two: The fear that you will feel stuffed if you eat all four cupcakes. Solution: Ignore fear.

Fear Three: The fear that the entire dental industry are wrong and the disclosing tablets won't wear off overnight. Solution: Practise coquetteish hand over mouth moves in front of mirror in preparation.

Fear Four: The fear that you will invest over an hour watching Taggart only to miss the last bit where you find out who done it, because your onions will burn. Solution: Develop a taste for burnt onions and be good at cleaning saucepans.

Fear Five: The fear that the precariously balanced cupcake will fall onto the floor, squidy bit down. Solution: Regularly practise not looking utterley devestated, learn to cry quietly and quickly whilst in the loo.

I did say I would. Whether you want to know or not. So John Nettles was number three in my list, when he was Bergerac, but number one?

1. Brian Cant. For Doctor Who fans he's a sixties bit part player, for children of the eighties he's the voice of most of our viewing. Mostly for me he was my Bric a Brac hero. A programme that made my ownership of junk legitimate, presented by a lovely friendly man. What's not to love. So I did. I adored him. His voice is marvellous.

2. Alan Bennett. Even from an early age my gaydar was lousy. I was doomed to be a faghag at some point wasn't I really? I first came to enjoy his voice, from reading the Pooh stories, but by 9 I'd discovered his writing and was smitten.

4. John Le Mesurier. Given that I started fancying him from watching Dad's Army the Old Man aspect couldn't get much older. Sophisticated, a bit camp and that wonderful voice. What's not to fancy?

And just because it's you

So, we covered the "people I randomly like for no apparent reasonable reason" and in that I alluded to some of my televisual lusts. Some that I perhaps should keep to myself. But I can't, I like sharing. Heck I wouldn't have a blog if part of me didn't positively revel in seeing my dirty laundry strewn across the garden. So I'm going to share.

Are there people (and by people I mean famous people not the local policeman or the nice lady in Sainsbury's) that you like but can't quite explain why? Or that you randomly adore and no matter what awful piece of trash they appear in you still will adore?
I'm going to assume that just then there was a chorus of yeses, so am going to share my list of random adorees with you.

I should preface this by telling you that I already know that some of these are not people I should really admit to liking in public...

For a short while Chasokitty is taking a break. For various reasons I can't blog about the stuff that's in my head, and world, at the moment. I will however, keep reading and commenting on the blogs I read.

I'll be back soon (and hopefully have something a bit more meaningful to discuss!)

xxx

I've lost my Celine Dion album. I can't find it, and I know I've lost it because no depressed gay men $ have been around the house lately.

Bum. I'm not sure Martine McCutchen will annoy my fellow gym goers to keep them away from me enough.


$Frell courtesey of V, who apparently got it from Farscape, which I've not seen in aaaages.
$Yes it's a stereotype. I could've put depressed gay men, or middle aged women who think antimacassars and Albert pattern china are chic, or children who like squeally music, or people like me who just have records in their collection that they shouldn't admit to in public. In practise however, of real life people I'm the only non-gay non-man who owns a Celine Dion album I know.$
$ Which goes for quite a lot of things in my CD collection (why does no-one else I know in real life know all the lyrics to all the songs in Cabaret $, or sing pieces from La Cage aux Folles in the shower, apart from gay men). And quite a lot of things in my wardrobe too.
$ Actually depending on how you define 'know' since a girl the year below me at school was Sally Bowles in the WE a couple of years back. Yeah I'm stretching it.

Dollar signs because it keeps bolding stuff between stars, somehow I stoppd it doing that and now it's restarted it.

What does it say about me that I keep misreading someone's eBay ID as "ladyboy" (it isn't, though it does contain the word "boy")?

Why do I keep becoming utterly famished, horse eating hungry, at about quarter to midnight?

Why when I find a shop that sells what I want (Patou Enjoy 30ml) at a reasonable price does their website go 404-y the next day?

Why is my sleep lately punctuated by very disturbing vivid dreams (though on the upside I drop to sleep in seconds)?

I think I may have slipped into a Kafka novel, or at least the train service has. I want to go one stop up the trainline, to go shopping (somewhere with actual shops rather than a collection of charity shops). In my head this is a simple operation, sadly I'm not the one operating the train service-simple as I may be.

Before the pictures of my not terribly elegant food I thought I'd address a question which might occur to you. It also might not, but then you might well be thinking about something much more interesting such as what to have for dinner, or whether you've recharged your iPod. I digress though, and return to those of you who may well be wondering: "Why is a woman who doesn't celebrate Christmas, and isn't Christian doing the Easter thang?"