Panda facts

A few weeks ago a book of 100 Facts about Pandas arrived on my desk (I say my desk - I share it with a few others). So each morning I've been having a quick flick through, learning a fact or two, sometimes sharing a fact with a presenter, guest or celebrity paper reviewer, or whoever is wandering around in the office.



The best thing about this book is the lovely pictures, illustrating each fact. For example, did you know that a panda hears with its nose and smells with its ears? Or that agressive pandas were responsible for the injuries of 8 cavers admitted to emergency rooms in China between 1995-2000? And that you are never more than four hours away from a panda?


I've always loved pandas, and so having this book really meant a lot to me. And I thanked whoever had put it on my desk. That was, until I shared another classic panda fact (did you know, a group of pandas is called a cupboard? And they only ever live in even numbers - should another panda join the group another must leave, or they need to find another one) with a colleague. Who burst out laughing. And informed me that the book had been deliberately planted on my desk, and that all these so-called "facts" were complete and utter rubbish.



The thing that upset me most was not the number of people with whom I had shared these facts (although, yes this was a little embarassing - there are definitely a few MPs who may be sharing incorrect panda facts at this very moment), but that there wasn't a little panda hospital, that in fact they do not weigh up to six times more when wet, and that you cannot comfort a baby panda with a fax machine.

St Boris's Hospital for sick Pandas

On second viewing, I am faintly embarrassed that I fell for the book for so long (in my defense, some of the facts are definitely feasible, nowhere on the book is there mention of it being humorous, and it is full of some very convincing photos). Perhaps the most ridiculous (although my personal favourite) fact was that due to a bureaucratic error, the panda is in fact classified not as a mammal, but as a nut.

Jedward

I must confess that on the X-Factor front I have been a little lax this year. I loved it last year (and was a Diana Vickers fan through and through), but it wasn't until the contestants went to the judges houses that I started to watch it this time round.

And straight away I felt an animousity towards John and Edward. They were cocky, rude and egotistical. And their hair really is ridiculous.

But after they butchered Britney, I have to confess that I came to love them. Yes they can't sing, can't really dance, and are still incredibly arrogant. But they are so entertaining, especially compared to other contestants (who I can only describe as nice - they are inoffensive, have nice voices, nice faces, nice personalities, but they are all just nice. With the possbile exception of Olly).

But Jedward are hilarious. And when they put on a show, yes they are out of tune and out of time (even with each other), but they are the only act that I really look forward to. And it seems that the rest of Joe public feel the same, as despite Jedward's poor comments from the judges, they have yet to be in the bottom two.

I know they seem like the John Sergeant of this year's competition, but in some ways I feel that their farcical entry not only mocks the competition itself, but also the entertainment and pop world - we no longer appreciate talent and talent alone. We always want the drama and the entertainment that comes with it.

Although, in the words of David Frost, television enables you to be entertained in your home, by people you would never have in your home. And when it comes to Jedward, I could not agree more

The power of context

I've recently discovered (and finished) an incredible series of books. They have been published posthumously by a Swedish author, Steig Larsson, and the first in the series is called "The Girl with the Dragon Tattoo".

These books are incredibly good. They are intricate, thrilling, gory, and yet have a depth to them that can often be lacking in crime thrillers. Possibly the weakest part of the book is the title (in it's original language, the book was titled the far more apt "Men who hate women").

Throughout the trilogy there are many literary references that have spurred me on to try authors I had not yet read, or indeed in some cases, had not even heard of. A very rewarding one has been Sara Paretsky, a crime novelist who also favours a strong female loner for her main character.

On doing a little more research I discovered that there were plans for as many as 10 more books in the Lisbeth Salander series, and it seems that the loss of Larsson may well be a profound loss to the literary world (he was named the second best-selling author in the world in 2008)

I also discovered that Larsson never married his longterm partner, meaning that at the time of his (untimely) death, she was not named in his long-outdated will. And because they had never married, she was left with nothing. Yet they never married because (apparently) in Sweden, if you marry, you are obliged to publish your address, and due to the nature of Larsson's work, this was not a very good idea.

Both this fact, finding out the original title, and Larsson's sudden death have all combined to deepen the appeal of the Millenium trilogy. It struck me that by giving this additional context to the book, many aspects of the Sweden that is represented seem darker, and events of the novels all the more tragic.

It's funny what little things can do for the understanding of the whole.

Height isn't everything

I have a confession. After years of holding out, denying the benefits and refusing point blank to accept any positives about them, I have gone over to the dark side.

Yes. I am talking about Uggs. I remember when I first saw them. They looked like furry wellies. I thought they were hideous. As you may well know, I am a firm advocate of the heel. The higher the better. And yet, in the last few years my opinions have mellowed, and then, this winter, I finally took the plunge and am the proud owner of a pair of tall, black Uggs.

And they are AMAZING. They are like walking on carpet. Or on a cloud. They are like having paws. I can't take them off. I have even managed to reconcile myself to their appearance. And now, after the first true day of winter (cold, clear and crisp) they are about to become permanently fused to my feet.

The only down side has been the number of people that have said "Gosh, you're so small!"

Halloween

Halloween is a funny time of year. Essentially it involves dressing like an idiot, and then knocking on stranger's doors and asking for sweets.

This year halloween was combined with the lovely Dan's housewarming (he has been in the house 6 months, but who's counting?)

Bit of background on Dan. We lived with him during the undergraduate years at Warwick. In my house there were 7 of us - 5 girls, a camp and a gay (not very PC but a more than adequate description). And Dan was the camp. And also the only one able to save us from the hazards of bugs, electrical dilemmas, plumbing problems, TV tuning situations, and the scariness of living down a very dark alley.

So. Dan is having a house warming/halloween. I am going as a pink santa. Not scary I know, but cheap, reusable, and goes perfectly with lots of glitter. Dan was a scary clown. And given any other day, I would put this down as the scariest of scary outfits. But not this year.

Another friend turned up wearing a suit. And a black wig. Not very scary (unless he was going for the banker look - scary in some contexts I suppose). And then he pulled out the finishing touch. A BNP badge (made himself - for the record, no he is not a racist).

And after that, the scary clown was no longer the most feared person - he had been usurped by none other than Nick Griffin.

Now I say a lot of this tongue in cheek. He did not look like Nick Griffin. Not even a little bit. But the concept was definitely far scarier than any other at the party.

Because Nick Griffin, while held in low esteem, ridiculed, and openly hated by many (you only have to see the riots outside TVC before Question Time to agree) is the head of a legal political party. And it is a party that have got not just 1 but 2 MEPS. It is a party that seems to be enjoying better success than it has done in previous years (although, incidentally, not because it has more supporters, but because of the complacency of other voters. If anything BNP support has declined, but fewer people voted in the last election, hence the entrance of BNP members).

It seems to me that the only people who vote for the BNP are

1. Racist

2. Stupid

3. Seriously disillusioned.

I think that 3 is probably the most likely. At least, I hope so - I'd rather live in a Britain full of lost, and disillusioned souls, rather than racist idiots.

But regardless of the motivation for voting for this bigotted party of racists (and yes, there can be no other label for a party who only allow white, indigenous - whatever that means - Brits to become members. Sorry Ashley Cole, Lewis Hamilton, Amir Khan, Meera Syal, to name but a few prestigious and valued members of the British celeb culture - no, you may hold a British passport, be allowed to vote, be third generation British, whatever, but that is not enough for the BNP to see you as a Brit) the voting has been a success. And this is really frightening.

If indeed, they were voted in by people that feel lost and disenfranchised by the British political system (and sadly a lot of this comes down to those MPs that claimed for bath plugs, blue movies and duck islands) then what can we do? Surely there is an option that is less radical than voting in racist holocaust deniers?

Maybe we need to suspend opinion in our voting system. Maybe the only way, not only to banish the BNP, but also to restore faith in the entire political system is for us all to follow the example of a certain Tony in Norwood - a texter I came across this week, who suggested an inspired approach to voting. We should interrupt our usual voting policy by voting, not for the party and the policies that we believe in, but the people that we feel we trust. For the MPs that didn't swindle the public. For the MPs that truly seem to be in the job to make a difference, to look out for their constituency, to do their job not solely for financial gain, but also on an ethical level?

Although, the one loss for us if we were to lose Nick Griffin is that poor Pearse would have just been another guy in a black suit. And lets face it, compared to a scary clown, that is poor.

A rite of passage

One of the brilliant things about having a job is

a) having money (at least theoretically)
b) having less free time to spend said money (ok, so not a great bonus, but you should see me with a bit of freetime... topshop ransacked in a day)

It makes me feel better that with my usual shift at work, due to starting at the godforsaken hour of 6am, my break is at 9am. Good time, as there are no shops open (at least no good ones, although saying that, I even managed to spend the best part of £20 in Boots last week).

This week, however, I am having a lunch break at the proper time for eating lunch - 1 until 2pm. And being based in the very central point of Leicester Square, I cannot avoid the delights of shopping. It's only an hour, I can't do much damage in an hour.

Oh yes I can.

Under the guise of getting the father a birthday present I've ventured out every lunchtime this week (don't actually need a guise - my father's list is so appalling that without browsing he will be getting only a card. His list consists of 2 items: Trips to fun and exotic places eg. The Ukraine, Blackpool, and secondly Books about fun and exotic places, eg. The Ukraine and Blackpool).

So three days into the week, and I have managed to buy myself 4 skirts (all black and of a similar style, but essential to my wardrobe - especially as a favourite northerner has "borrowed" my favourite black skirt, hence the necessity of replacements) and three dresses. I have also bought a pair of shoes, three pairs of novelty tights, a pair of earrings and three books.

By wednesday. This is not good.

And so today I reconciled myself to being a responsible adult. And I actually TOOK THINGS BACK!! It pained me. And I did actually snatch a skirt back from the assistant (it has layers of black lace, and is virtually completely different from most of my other skirts). And kept a dress (very practical - has given me an opportunity to wear my new gold belt) and the earrings (can't return those) and some tights (but those are really important, what with the onset of winter and all) and a book (need to keep the mind educated). But aside from that I took everything back.

I felt the need to share this. If only for the congratualtions I'm hoping to receive from fellow shopaholics. It really felt like a rite of passage.

I rewarded myself on the way home with a necklace. But at £7 , and with all the money I made by taking things back, I practically made money by getting it.

Letting the side down

Apologies. I have been beyond abysmal at keeping up this blogging malarky. In fact, I totally forgot that I had one. Until a wonderful friend mentioned that she was starting one, and suddenly, from the darkest, deepest depths of the memory, I remembered this one.

So. I've decided that actually keeping the blog going was fun. And I will now make a conscious effort to do it more. It also forces me to plan activities that I can catalogue on said blog.

As a brief update on the last 18mnths (gasp!) of my life I am:

1. No longer a student. Sigh.
2. Now in the world of work (getting paid - yay!)
3. Have graduated to more grown up work, and no longer at pub. Sigh.
4. Am still living in Brixton (although in times of snobbery I say Clapham - don't want to scare off potential guests)
5. Still have the boyfriend (touch wood)
6. But have lost the Wiganer to, well, Wigan. Sadly she returned to the northern roots and pie shops.
7. Shoes are still my biggest weakness.

I also live in a nicer, although hazard strewn flat (currently fighting the landlord in an effort to get the 14ft pit beneath the flat filled, and the door to said pit sealed off. Yes, there is a door in my flat to a giant hole. Great talking point for visitors).

Anyway. This is to be the concerted effort to be more conscientious on the old blog front.