I Beshrew You

You know who you are. Isn't language brilliant?

Something Pretentious

These words are to be found on the wall of Any Amount of Books on Charing Cross Road. Quite apart from being generally awesome and having an irresistible collection of Penguin Classics (literally; I did not resist), they also have this on the walls. Turns out empyrean comes from the Greek word empyrus (in or on the fire), and means "the highest heaven". I realise it's incredibly pretentious but I don't really mind - we could all do with some quiet and illimitable space in which to spread our wings and explore...Greek things. Providing said wings are not wax and we don't fall to our deaths, of course.

West Wing? More like BEST wing...

"I have wit, I have charm, I have brains, I have legs that go all the way down to the floor, my friend"

"I drink from the keg of glory. Bring me the finest muffins and bagels in all the land"

"Why should we go to Mars? Cause it's next. Because we came out of the cave and we looked over the hill and we saw fire. And we crossed the ocean and we pioneered the West and we took to the sky. The history of man is hung on a timeline of exploration and this is what's next."

If for the sake of argument in some kind of Greek-gods-gift-bestowing-upon-me type manner I could write like Aaron Sorkin but in order to do so I would have to be a crack addict...it would be totally worth it.

Thou Art

Last week I attended the ukelele fest that was Thou Art; an indie-esque festival in the depths of Suffolk. There were a lot of cool people there; I slightly felt like I was soaking it up by osmosis. There were so many brilliant things about it, so here are just a few:

Bunting:

Art on trees:

Face-painted tambourine wielding singers:

But best of all - amusing signage:

Next year you should definitely go.

All you need is Love...and scissors

Rob Ryan is an artist/illustrator who makes sillouette paper cut things.
Rob Ryan is amazing.
Rob Ryan taught me how to love.
Rob Ryan makes me want to be a better man. (N.B. I'm not a man)

This is Rob Ryan:

http://www.misterrob.co.uk/

Sugar and Spice and all things Nice

I stumbled/tripped over/bumped into this place a while ago on what turned out to be a Very Good Day - I interviewed comedians, had dim sum, went to an avant-garde production of Hamlet in a disused office block and met an incredibly drunk chap on the way home who was very impressed by all of the above. Fingers crossed I shall in time meet someone else who is impressed with me and is also able to comport himself in a soberly fashion. In the meantime there's always sweets...

The Sweetshop: Hope and Greenwood

The Comedians: The Penny Dreadfuls

See my interview here

Marginalia Larks

Books are good, right? We're all agreed. But what's...gooderer? Spending thousands of pounds on an English degree and being unable to think of the word 'better' for several minutes? No! Second Hand Bookshops. They, quite frankly, Rock My Socks. I was thinking about making a T-shirt that says "Second Hand Bookshops Rock My Socks" but it's not the snappiest slogan in the world, and there is the inevitable problem that any girl wearing a top with words on has to suffer the indignity of someone basically reading her breasts. I digress.

My Second Hand Bookshop of the Week is without a doubt, Any Amount of Books which can be found in real life at 56 Charing Cross Road, and on the internet here: http://www.anyamountofbooks.com/ . They don't make 'em like this anymore - leather so stiff and battered, fifty years old and you can practically still smell the cow. A couple of doors down, in another labyrinth of libris (Latin and alliteration, get me) I stifled giggles at the incredibly super-posh odd couple proprieters, who could have been performing a Fry and Laurie sketch for all I know, with their disdainful commentary on pretty much everything. Flicking through these second-hand gems, you find things you wouldn't in Waterstones - 50 year-old bus tickets fall out of the pages, inscriptions to long-dead lovers are still marked on the front page.

This message for example - who is Philip? Was Miranda his lover? Why is her name in sarcastic quote marks - is it a code? Were they spies?! Ok probably not. But it's still interesting - is he in the forces, still off on a post-war peace-keeping thing in '49? And if so, is what he really needed a copy of "Three Plays for Puritans"?

What all this boils down to is that my books have had lives and loves before I was even born. Which, in my jobless, loveless state, just makes me feel more inadequate. My books are more accomplished than I am. That is depressing.