So, it would appear that this fine day is Just Because Day.  Sounds nice.  If a little vague.  Yesterday was Toilet Paper Day.  And tomorrow is Race Your Mouse Around The Icons Day. 


Oh, wouldn’t it be groovy to be the person who gets paid to come up with wacky theme days.


Surely no hint of sarcasm there?


We toddled off to the cinema on Wednesday night [we’ve been toddling off to the cinema a lot on Wednesdays since we moved in together – must be something to do with Orange Wednesdays] and saw The Village.  We weren’t sure if we fancied seeing it.  It’s supposed to be a trifle scary but is only a 12A certificate.  Hmmm.  But we went.  And it made me jump.  It also made me cry.  And I loved the ending.  I wasn’t expecting it at all.  I would have been gutted if I’d already known what the ending was … when I first met The Blokey he told me that he hadn’t seen The Sixth Sense and he’d rather I didn’t tell him about it.  So I respected his wishes.  Then it was on the tellybox.  And shortly before it was on I, in general and totally innocent conversation, nattered on about how I hadn’t realised that Bruce Willis’s character was dead and it was finely done and all that malarky.  The Blokey was just a tad pissed off. 


Me bad.


So I won’t tell you that the creature in Covington Woods came and gobbled up all the villagers apart from the blind girl, who then had to go and sell her wares in the desert to make money for the creature.  Or that his name was Alfred.  Or that they became lovers and had a hybrid baby who was sent to London for testing when it was discovered that it loved the colour red.


But, suffice to say, it is a film that had me questioning society, that made me think about the things we’re never told, an idea that will haunt me and make me wonder if it’s true.  Yes, when Cabin Fever came out I was one of the sad souls who searched on the Net for the inbred people of the mountains.  Well, you never know … these things can happen.


Hey!  It’s Friday.  Not a day for humping, but how can we resist when the questions are so utterly delightful? 


1. If you were to nominate a celebrity (or their screen character) to the Presidency, who it would it be and why?


*cough*Alan*cough*.  Just because I’d get to see his sexy face whenever the president did something.  Somebody more substantial?  Presumably American?  Gosh.  Um.  Rikki Lake?  She’d sort everybody in the US of A out in fifty minutes tops.  *Go Rikki, Go Rikki* … [not that I am in any way implying that everybody in the US of A needs sorting out … as if!]

2. If your best talent were an Olympic event, what it would be? Instead of a gold medal, what would first prize be?


Sleeping.  And the prize would be a pillow.  But if I failed to win that I’d put myself in for Day-Dreaming.  First prize?  A castle full of translucent glass jars in which to store my day-dreams, lest I ever forget them.

3. If you had a warning light on your forehead what would it warn people of if it were flashing?


That I was about to get muddled.  Sometimes I get very confused.  My brain often refuses to work, particularly when it gets tired.  When this happens I become incredibly vague and often stop listening to what people are saying.  My mind goes off to its own weird and wonderful stratosphere and it may take about five minutes to return.  I can’t help this and I don’t know why it happens. 


Oh, and the warning light would be pink.  With glitter effects.

4. You live in a cage…what are you? Do they ever let you out?


I’m a Bloody Massacre.  For a few days every month I snarl and scream and throw my toys around the cage.  Once the tantrums are over, the men let me out.  How kindly of them.

5. Scientists have discovered a way to bottle the essence of you. What does it smell like?


A dash of vanilla, a hint of CKOne, a sprinkle of baby talcum powder and lashings of fudge.  Ooh, how yummy.  And it would be packaged in a busty bottle designed by Jean-Paul Gaultier.


I can hear an ice-cream van.  They’re a dying breed these days.  I want to be five years old again so that my mumsy will give me ten pence and I can go rushing out, with a manic grin on my face and plasters on my knees, to buy a mini-milk …


Please God bless the belly of me xxx Elsabeth

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6 comments

  1. Ooh!  I’d compete against you in the daydreaming or sleeping olympic event (or maybe we could team up).  Because I’m great at them both, and because the prize sounds fantastic.  It reminds me of Roald Dahl’s The BFG. 

  2. hehe…I do hope Ashley comes to see the Cabin Fever comment. I made her go see it with me. “Don’t drink the water!”I’m not sure if Rikki Lake would be my choice if I were choosing talk show hosts to be president. I think I’d have to go with Oprah, but she doesn’t really talk about her politics on her show so I’d have to get to know that side of her better.Plasters on your knees? What are they?The ice cream truck went out of style way before I came along. It went to my parents’ neighborhoods, though. I feel like I missed out.

  3. Oh, and I had no idea English people didn’t write in cursive. I guess I’ve never thought about it. I just assumed all English-speaking people did it. I’m not sure why.

  4. I totally forgot to mention…I know how the Blokey feels. Someone ruined the Sixth Sense for me too. I was so upset. Then when I finally got around to watching it like two years later (I was hoping I’d forget but I didn’t) it was totally ruined. I still liked the movie but not nearly as much as I would have if I hadn’t known.

  5. You always make me laugh!!!  The pink warning light with glitter effects and the cage question just gave me the chuckles…That’s difficult to make me laugh at 5:30 a.m.  Especially when I have a cat on my lap that is aiming the wrong end at my face…Well, I suppose either end is the wrong end…Poop or tuna?  Poop or tuna?  Decisions, decisions…nasty animals!

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