My beloved monster.

Our long Bank Holiday weekend culminated in a trip into maC to see Eels on Monday night. 

It was a surreal experience and a good night, apart from Mr Tosser and his friends [Mr Alcoholic, Mr Loud and Little Miss Under the Thumb] who were sat next to us.  I’ve certainly never been to a concert where I had to sit through a documentary instead of a support act before, and I doubt I ever will again.  He’s a funny chap though, and tragic, and pickupable [in the place in pocket sense, not the pulling sense, although maybe he’s pickupable in that sense too … ] and did I mention that he was funny?

My photo opportunities were limited.  I had my trusty little Fuji with me, but since she’s been replaced with the Canon I’ve had little need to use her, so my brain took a while to fathom out how she works.  Of course, we were way back in the heavens so that didn’t help either.  I could give you Blue Blur.  I could also give you Orange Blur.  Instead I shall give you E Blur …


And Stage Blur …


If you ever have a need for Blurry be sure to call me and my Fuji, eh?

The documentary was the BBC Parallel Worlds, Parallel Lives one.  I’m not really a documentary kind of gal, unless there are cute baby tigers or similar, so for me to sit through an hour long programme when I would normally find something else to do would usually be quite taxing.  Except it wasn’t because of the topic. 

Oooh!  Parallel Universes!  If you know me at all, you know my view on parallel universes.  Oh, the excitement!  Sliding Doors?  Absolutely!  I find the parallel universe theory to be something that seems so obvious.  How can anyone not believe in parallel universes?  I wish I was Mark Oliver Everett because having a dad who came up with the theory of PUs would be so damn cool. 


I sound like a teenage idiot.

I think that in a PU I’m a Quantum Physicist.  I may not understand the quirky symbols and the scientific chat, but the whole theory just makes sense to me.  It’s nice when things make sense to me as it doesn’t happen too often – my standard response to something I see on the tellybox is I don’t get it

I amaze myself sometimes.

please God bless my little brain xxx Elsabeth

Remember Remember the Fifth of November.

[a little bit early]

We supported our local Rotary Club last night by toddling down to FlatHickTown Community College and ooohing and aaahing at the fireworks.

Except there was no ooohing and aaahing because nobody seems to oooh and aaah in FlatHickTown.  When I was little I liked the ooohing and aaahing – I enjoyed the way that everybody knew that everybody else was going to oooh and not aaah, and then aaah and not oooh.  But things are all electrified now and there just doesn’t seem to be the time for ooohing and aaahing

And crikey! When I was a nipper you could stand so close to the bonfire that it scorched your face.  These days health and safety dictates that one must stand at least three miles away [or so it seems] from a bonfire.


And it wasn’t even cold!  Bonfire Night is the start of winter, when everybody wraps up in scarves and woolly hats and annoying mittens.  Somebody forgot to tell God to turn the heating down this year.

But despite all the above, and the lack of soup [Bonfire Night without scalding hot, and very cheap, tomato soup?!], and the extortionate price we had to pay to traipse across a school field and view some lights in the sky whilst having our hearing impaired for all eternity, it was a remarkably Good Time.  Guy was burned, unfortunately, and toddlers screamed whilst teenagers grumbled and the smell of fried onions wafted into our noses. 

I even video’d a bit of the Grand Finale so that you could all share in the joy that is the celebration of the non-destruction of parliament.  It’s not particularly impressive.


please God bless Guy xxx Elsabeth

[This post was brought to you in association with the Society for the Appreciation of Ooohing and Aaahing]