Bowyer's · Brief · Life

West Wing is back on tonight! Frabjous Day!

Yesterday, whilst G was running amok at a birthday party, I retired to my dad's house, lounged on the lounge and read "Jill the Reckless". It's from quite early in his career (1920) so he had only been writing professionally for a mere 20 years. It's from a time when he wrote more romantic comedies rather than out and out farces. There are actual references to real life in it! Like derelicts sitting on the Embankment.

Lots of it is set backstage of a Broadway musical, which is something Wodehouse knew a lot about, so it was interesting to see into that world. The requirement to be a chorus girl seems to have been just to look pretty. No one ever questioned the heroine if she could actually dance!

Our heroine Jill is a very independent girl,glowingly straight and honest. She has lost all her money, however, and is forced to make her own living. All the male characters, however, are quite horrified at this and want to make sure that she is safely married and well looked after. And being a comedy, she is duly married by the end of the proceedings but, being Wodehouse, not to the wealthiest nor the handsomest, nor the tallest, but the one she feels most comfortable with.

Four Stars Mr Wodehouse!

Dear Friends

Because in the past people have only been able to access my friends locked postings by specifically going to my journal, I am making this public posting.

I have put a party invite up on my journal, so if you are my Friend, please go and look it up.

Hope that this works

Jason and I are trying to get a table together for the PMH quiz, which is trying to attract more than 1000 people to it. It is on Wednesday 14th June.

The catch is that it is $30 a head with tables of 10 (Ouch!)

On the other hand it could be a chance to participate in much quiz glory! Please let me know asap if you want to come. I apologise if you get the email too, but I am trying to cast a wide net to get our mega team together.

Managed to grab a ticket to see Ross Noble's live stand-up at His Majesty's on Friday. His style reminds me a lot of Billy Connolly, only without the childhood angst or dodgy banjo playing. Lots of him going off on tangents, so that we didn't get to find out the conclusion to some of his routines until the encore. Buckets of laughter all round. I laughed till I had tears running down my nose! He went from 8 till ten to 11pm with only a 20 minute interval, so also great value for money. I'll make sure that I catch him next time around too.

A Happy Mother's Day to all for yesterday. Especially for Gina, who experienced her first one. I hope that Rosalie got you breakfast in bed.

When I was in England, I bought an anthology of Hilaire Belloc's Cautionary Tales. I've come across some of them, such as Henry King, who chewed on bits of string and died in dreadful agony, but this one had the whole lot! The first collection is the best with horrible deaths and dreadful doggerel. Many of the other collections aren't so funny, until you reach the alphabet at the back. Learn from these tales and be wise.

It’s been a while since you were all privy to my inmost thoughts about literature but I went away on camp and then got on a plane to England. This meant that we were able to see the first episode of the new Dr Who on the evening it was broadcast. It was well worth the 5 grand in airfares! I wriggled with glee throughout it, it was so enjoyable. Werewolf episode also bonza and the shorts for the evil schoolmaster ep looked excellent. And when we get back home we’ll be able to watch them all again! Life is good, good, good and good.

On the way down to camp I finally managed to finish ‘The Scar’ which should be made compulsory reading for the human race. Mieville somehow reminds me of Gormenghast, only with things actually happening. I think it comes from the fabulous names everyone has, like Uther Doul, Tintabbulam and Coldwine. But although everyone has cute names, life is very hard and peril is everywhere. Nobody seems to die peacefully in their sleep in his world. It’s always brutal and sudden, or brutal, slow and torturous. It’s also on such an ambitious scale that you can’t but admire the mind which concocted it.

Whilst I’m here I must tell you how gorgeous the Lake District is. It’s Gorgeous. Wall to wall daffodils and lambs with burbling brooks and rolling hills thrown into the mix. Arthur Ransome’s grave has the best view in England. Roads perilously narrow, however, so you know you haven’t died and gone to heaven, because you take your life into your hands round every hairpin bend.

Finished reading "Psmith Journalist" by PGW a couple of days ago. It has the unique distinction of being a Wodeshouse novel with a social conscience. Psmith battles against a slum landlord in New York aided by a cat-fancing gangster, a boxer calle Kid Brady and the deputy editor of Cosy Moments magazine. I love it.

"Psmith Journalist" is a mere breeze of a novel, compared with what is next off the shelf. It may be a while before I post again because I've just started "The Scar" by China Mieville. I've already read 250 pages which means that there are only another 450 to go. It's got that great mix of Gormenghastian landscapes (or in this case seascapes, extreme violence, mystery, action and fabulous names like Cumbershun. I thought that Peridido St Station was just fantastic and this one is shaping up to be just as good.
Looks like my Year 8 assignments are going to have to learn to mark themselves this week...

Just read some Anthony Horowitz short stories during library period with my 8s. They were very good! Horowitz is famous for his Alex Rider books which are James Bond for teens. These stories were Roald Dahl for teens. Same black sense of humour, good twists but again written for teens. This is a very clever strategy for Mr H. As his books are trifficly popular, hopefully his readers will start on the more adult versions of his work, when they graduate from teenhood. Though do I want people to be reading Ian Fleming? Yes, because they can learn about bridge and wine-tasting in between the sex and violence.

I was listening to Triple J yesterday when the culture report came on. Craig Shufton spoke learnedly about Proust and A La Recherche de Temp Perdu. Then he said that it was just like Boston's massive hit "More than a Feeling" which he proceeded to play for us. To think that Proust wasted 10 volumes describing the essence of memory when he could have condensed into a three minute big hair band ballad.

Had an excellent day meeting up with Edmund down in Freo. It's pretty special that we are still so close despite being so far apart. If you're reading this Edmund, I hope that you mum gets well soon.

The two and a quarter hour bus ride back from Freo to home did give me ample opportunity to finish reading "Psmith in the City", the sequel to "Enter Psmith", which I polished off during the week. Dear PG! You may have written it when Edward VII was on the throne and you still had hair on your head, but the clarity of your style shines through.

Wodehouse based the book on his experiences at the Hong Kong and Shanghai Bank, where he worked for a couple of years after he left school. He maintained a small account with the bank right throughout his life, but I, outraged by the description of life in the bank, swore many years ago never so to do. The HSB still manages to flourish, despite my lack of patronage, but I'm sure that it's only a matter of time before the impact is felt.

It's been a while since I posted but I've been reading books which clock in at kilos so I'm allowed to take a bit of time on them.

I almost didn't buy "PG Wodehouse: A Life" because I thought that I had enough bios of my favourite author, but Dymocks didn't have the book I really wanted to buy and I had to have SOMETHING. (I'm not a book addict. I could give up any time I like.)

It's the bee knees and then some of biography. It's so insightful, balanced and comprehensive. I learnt much eg, that Ethel had been widowed twice before she married PG.

The author doesn't shirk the war broadcasts controversy, but he clearly is a fan of the Old Master. When he starts a paragraph with the phrase "The psychology of the individual..." you know that he has spent many an hours with Jeeves and Bertie et al.

I had to jump ahead to the death chapter when I was only in the 1930s in an effort to avoid crying lots. I thought I might not have got attached enough and could read of his demise with equanimity but it just meant that I cried a lot twice instead of once.

PG would have to be the big hero of my life. To start writing novels just as Edward VII was finally getting his chance to wear the fancy crown, and then 70 years and 97 novels later to have your final novel on your typewriter the day you die is a superhuman achievement. He makes Terry Pratchett seem reluctant to publish.
And the best thing is that "Aunts Aren't Gentlemen" which was published in 1974, is just as good as "The Mating Season" which he wrote thirty years before. The guy gives you unprecedented quantity and quality. And he could still touch his touch his toes on his 90th birthday.

Anyone who has read a good selection of his stuff will realise that half of my conversation is gleaned from his fabulous use of metaphor, simile and quotation. It was always my intention to marry the person I found closest to being Psmith in real life because I just loved the way he talked so much. It's a bit ironic that Jason is renowned as the strong, silent type.

Finishing the book, and mopping up the tears meant I had to immediately start reading "Enter Psmith" which ends with
"Shall we stagger?"
They staggered.

Wodehouse's obsession with inventive verbs for 'walk' means that Genevieve, at five years old, says "I was toddling along, when..."

Hmmmm seem to have got a bit carried away with my love of Peeg. Will briefly mention that the other tome was Stephanie Alexander's "Cook's Companion". Just browsing through this book is an exhausting process, even if you skip the sections on tripe, offal and chokos as I did. She told me more about gelatine than I ever thought it could be necessary for a human to know.

Don't worry folks, I'm not suicidal. It's just the title of the latest book I've read. And it's hilarious!

"I Hate Myself and I Want to Die" is an analysis of the 52 most depressing songs of all time. Amazingly no Smiths' songs made it on to the list. Cure fans will be comforted to know that "Prayer for Rain" is listed as being monumentally depressing.

The book is divided into helpful categories such as "Teenage Car Crashes", "I Didn't Realise that Song was so Morbid" or "People will take me seriously if I sing about drugs". This last category features a song by Hootie and The Blowfish. The last category is "Perfect Storms" and reveals that the most depressing song of all time, for so many reasons, is.... But you will have to read for yourself because you must all buy this book, or at least borrow it from me.

It is $19.95 at your nearest ABC shop. I don't know why it is sold there as I can't see a connection with any ABC programme.

I had never read an adult Anne Fine novel, indeed until Frances lent me this book, I didn't even know that she wrote stuff for grown-ups.

Needless to say it's very good, just like everything else she has ever written. It's like a modern "The Man Who Came To Dinner" only with sex in it, well sex is talked about anyway. I was on Constance's side in the story, but then it would be difficult to be on Oliver's side as he is so utterly selfish, or singleminded as he would put it, but Ms Fine is still able to make you kind of like him. In the way that some people find cane toads lovable.

The denoument is just excellent and extemely funny. Thanks Frances!

(I wrote this last night)
I have just finished rewatching one of my favourite films; “High Road to China” on a very old and dodgy video. The sound wobbled a bit, but that love theme would still have to be one of the most beautiful pieces of movie music I’ve ever heard and Connie Willis thinks so too because she mentions it in one of her books. Until then I thought that no one, except me, had ever even seen the film.

This is the film which made me do one of the most socially criminal acts ever, and possibly why I have forgiven Rick so many times for his actions. I first saw the film when I was still in school with Meredith Blake. She and I went into town to see it, but she was waylaid by some other friends, and I, bored with their conversation, drifted off to the cinema, bought my ticket and went in. The film so entranced me that I completely forgot that Meredith even existed. It was the first film that I recognised had been beautifully filmed. There were all these landscapes the two bi-planes flew over with that music in the background. It was just ravishing. Plus the romance between Tom Selleck and Bess Armstrong really worked. I wanted to see Armstrong in lots of films, but I never did. That’s the 80s film industry for you, Molly Ringwald in everything, real actresses in zip.

I wafted home wondering how I was going to get the money to see it again as soon as possible. I was mildly surprised by Meredith’s nearly hysteric phonecall demanding to know why I hadn’t been kidnapped by white slave traders, the only reason she could think of for my disappearance. I was only sorry that she’d missed the film.

Frances will be very disappointed because it is quite her favourite book ever, but I stopped reading "The Anubis Gates" after 139 pages.

Frances warned be about the heavy going exposition of Chapter One, but as a reader of George Meredith novels, it was a breeze. I enjoyed his 19th century world, especially with the professional beggary, but I did not enjoy Doyle. I found myself completely indifferent to his fate and so I stopped, despite the dramatic revelation that someone in 1810 was whistling "Yesterday" by a certain Lennon/McCartney. I have a pathetic need to identify, or at least sympathise with central characters and Doyle had no attractive qualities at all as far as I could see. Now I shall never know if he made it back to the 20th Century or else if he resigns himself to being William Ashbles in the 18th.

After ploughing through Mr Powers I thought that a good old fashioned detective novel would perk me up no end. "To Love and Be Wise" by sporadically fabulous Josephine Tey was just what I needed. Tey's novels tend to be very dull or else completely marvellous, a bit like Neville Shute who can uniquely glorify a dull character.

Tey wrote the book with the best title ever: "The Daughter of Time" which is about Richard III. Truth is the daughter of time and if you ever wish to see me cry spontaneously over nothing at all, just say that line to me and I'll weep on cue.

But I digress "To Love and Be Wise" is light, witty and well concocted. It should be read in front of a warm fire whilst eating crumpets and tea. What could be better than that?

Having read "Memoirs of a Geisha", "The Tale of Murasaki" seemed an obvious successor. I have a book of paper dolls of famous women and Murasaki is one of them. I've never read "Tale of Genji", though I think that it is definitely on the list now.

"Tale of Murasaki" is a very leisurley read and in fact has no discernable climax at all. Her life drifts on until she decides to become a nun. As a record of noble life in 10th century Japan it's excellent. I want to read more Japanese history as sooon as possible. It's just not a very exciting novel. Filled with poems too which are short enough to read and not skip over like in Tolkein.

Things I learnt: Japanese court ladies blacked their teeth out. White teeth were childish and brash. Women always sat behind screens to converse with men. If there was no screen, then a fan was used to hide their face. Women did however, inherit houses through the female line. Men were meant to make their fortune through Court appointments.

Have just been given my new laptop intended to facilitate my effectiveness as a teacher. So at last I shall be able to watch West Wing DVDs in the bath as God and nature intended.

I have just finished reading Enid Blyton's Magic Faraway Tree books to Genevieve. She has absolutley adored them. We finished Folk of the Faraway Tree just yesterday afternoon and already she has asked that we read them again.

They really are the perfect children's fantasy. Magical adventures with interesting food. Every time they climb up the tree, G wonders who will get splashed with Dame Washalot's water, she worries if the land at the top of the tree will move away whilst they are getting out of trouble. She laughs at Saucepan man's silly songs and wishes that she had a slipperyslip which went all the way down a giant tree.

Very perceptively she has also asked me why it is that Jo, the boy, gets the ideas, and won't let the girls get into fights.

I have loved reading them to her, but can't help having a little giggle at her constant use of 'queer'. 'a queer little man', 'a queer place', 'queer thing'. Everything unusual is queer! Every so often things are gay as well.

Still reading "the Tale of Murasaki", which a very leisurely book, but quite good really. Had to put it down when she has to leave her 5 year old child behind to go to court.

I only began this book out of a sense of duty and because it had drifted to the top of the pile, but I have neglected Genevieve shamefully in order read it.

I kept on having to remind myself that it was not an autobiography, but in fact, fiction and written by a man person too! I just had to read and read and read. "I'll play with you when I've finished this chapter" was my refrain today. Am going to read the "Tale of Murasaki" as a contrast.

The Geisha come across like the ancient Greek heterae. It's like the men spend their real lives with them and not with their families. The geisha are powerful and yet powerless at the same time. Ooh I just loved it and cried at the finishing of it, not because it was sad but because I couldn't bear to say goodbye. Shall have to finish as more tears are here. Shall console self with West Wing and SFX magazine.

It is largely thanks to the works of Gerald Durrell that I can claim any knowledge of foreign fauna. "My Family and Other Animals" is also one of my favourite books. When I first read it as a child I desperately wanted to have an eccentric family like his. Mine seemed so ordinary. Didn't realise that brothers such as mine weren't run of the mill, priests for fathers somewhat unusual and uber-anglophile corgi breeder mothers in a definite minority amongst the species. I have lots of his books and am always on the lookout for ones which have slipped through the net. "The Aye-Aye and I" is one such book.

"The Aye-Aye and I" must have been one of his last books, and although it is filled with his delightful exaggerations and descriptions, goes into the day to day life of the expedition in far too much detail. As he was laid low with gastro and then hip problems, too much is about what he saw in base camp and not enough about going out into the jungle to catch said aye-aye.

Nevertheless a big thank you to Darren and Frances for giving it to me for my Christmas present because I had been looking for it for ages. Also the Frog and Toad books they gave to Genevieve are just lovely!

Whilst at the library with Genevieve yesterday I was seized with a great compulsion to read Alan Alda's autobiography. This was partly because it had the intruiging title "Never Stuff Your Dog" and partly because I used to have the biggest crush on Hawkeye Pierce ever! He spoke just like Groucho Marx but was much better looking, and also had the advantage over Mr Marx by being alive - the perfect fodder for daydreams!

I usually only enjoy reading about the early lives of the famous because once they do become famous their lives tend to become rather tedious: "then I made a film, then I made another film, then I got divorced, then I made another film", but Alda's was interesting right the way through because it concentrated on his emotional and professional devolopment. He comes across as very intelligent, if ever so slightly obsessional - so geek reaches out to geek across the pages.

His earliest memories are of watching his father in the wings in a burlesque show. He was a 'tit man'. This meant that he stood on the side of the stage and sang a song whilst the topless chorus jiggled around. Later his dad got a contract at Warners' and became a leading man, but as he was in the studio system he didn't make much money out of the movies.

Alda's mother was also schizophrenic but he and his father tacitly ignored her increasing madness, because you just didn't talk about things like that then. Mental illness was worse than cancer. He is quite candid about not visiting her for two years at one stage because he just couldn't cope with her paranoia.

Despite growing up amongst strippers and starlets, he doesn't seem to have been at all promiscuous. He was married at 22 and has stayed married, seemingly happily, to Arlene ever since. He lists a lot of women he has kissed, but only on the screen.

He also wrote an interesting chapter on what it was like becoming famous because of MASH, which is just what I need for my new CRAVE unit on the pros and cons of being famous. In his case, he had to devise a form letter for the suicidal people who wrote to him. He found this beyond strange and quite heartbreaking.

Apparently you can buy the book on tape with Alda reading it. One day, when I have the money, I should like to own this.