I’m not a big fan of Rebekah Brooks and one or two things have been written about her already, BUT… why, in every single article, in every broadsheet, is she always “flame haired”? Is Rupert Murdoch always “balding”?
Reading about her and the Cameron set is like reading Jilly Cooper and I love Jilly Cooper. But I like Jilly Cooper writing about made up things. I don’t like newspapers adding this soap opera thing to the news…
In families, everything is a false dichotomy.
You are the clever one, your brother is the caring one.
He’s the practical one while you pale at the sight of blood.
You have a butterfly mind, you take things too personally.
“You ran here? You?!”
You absolutely, definitely cannot cook.
Yes, yes and flippin’ well no to all of it!
You become Mrs Prickle-ooh-Touchy, as you serve your four course Michelin starred gourmet meal while bandaging up the finger which got caught under the steak knife. There will be a raised eyebrow, an appreciative murmur. But you’re still a terrible cook and you still nearly fainted when you were 12.
I sulk at this. I close off. I am Mrs Touchy-pants.
But I do it back. I tease my mum about her headmistress glare, my dad about his terrible puns, my brother about his awful shorts. I don’t like it when my mum goes into custody suites to check prisoners aren’t being mistreated – I thought she wanted to throw away the key! I thought she was campaigning to bring back the workhouse!
It’s such a huge anchor – in our family, at least – the set in stone “funny one, academic one, rebellious one”, even if only to take the opposing path (“she used to be quite shy, now she never shuts up”… I was only shy in Church when you told me to ‘shh’ when I was 5. I haven’t been shy in 30 years…)
Your family know how to press your buttons, they say, because they sewed them on.
It could just be the weather but yesterday’s Federer – Nalbandian match was a bit like watching a soft porn movie…
First, rugged looking Argentinian Nalbandian gets a groin injury which calls for a reassuring looking physio in shorts to do a bit of gentle but firm thigh massaging. The camera zoomed closer and closer and higher and higher – it must have been quite something in HD.
Then as play resumes there’s McEnroe’s lazy American voiceover wondering “how that groin’s feeling now.”
Next Federer changes his top. Slowly. Cut back to more physio on South American tennis player action…
(Actually when Nadal took off his top after his match – standing around topless for a while and packing away his kit before he put on a new one – it seemed a deliberate attempt to draw attention from Muller leaving the court. But – me being a fan of Federer and not Rafa – I took Roger’s top switching as timely moment to freshen up and in no way an attempt to steal the focus back from his injured opponent…)
My riding school has this motivational poem tacked up outside the schooling ring:
The Victor~by C. W. Longenecker
If you think you are beaten, you are.
If you think you dare not, you don’t.
If you like to win but think you can’t,
It’s almost a cinch you won’t.
If you think you’ll lose, you’re lost.
For out in the world we find
Success begins with a fellow’s will.
It’s all in the state of mind.
If you think you are out classed, you are.
You’ve got to think high to rise.
You’ve got to be sure of your-self before
You can ever win the prize.
Life’s battles don’t always go
To the stronger or faster man.
But sooner or later, the man who wins
Is the man who thinks he can.
.it Isner!
Really sad I missed Isner and Mahut’s match yesterday. I so wanted to see them again after last year’s epic. Lynne Truss claims that it’s the “emotional repression on display that attracts the female heart,” that us women can’t help doing the feeling in cases of gladiatorial stoicism. Perhaps she’s right – I, for one, was enthralled by every minute gesture and, although I’d been rooting for Isner, was almost in tears when Mahut didn’t win.
It was the same kind of feeling when I was inexplicably invited to watch the Cambridge University bumps last weekend. I could feel the adrenaline flowing and a lump in my throat when the starting gun went. And there’s a really satisfying aesthetic and other worldly quality about people who are so focused on doing something well.
Anyway, couldn’t watch Isner and Mahut because we were meeting builders at our new house. Well, still no contracts exchanged and the sellers have slowed up but fingers crossed, please, please etc!
It’s the weird limbo thing of not getting too excited in case it doesn’t go through while simultaneously planning what needs to be done.
They say it’s one of the most stressful life events, moving home. In that case I’m justified in taking the afternoon off for another dose of emotional repression, right?
Just had my first taster lesson in Western riding today.
I came away shaking, teary and euphoric, just because of the roller coaster of emotions and amount of adrenaline going on…
It was something like:
ooh, this is exciting…This is different…Oh, god, heels again, I always get nagged about them… This horse is playing up… Actually, that one was my fault… That one wasn’t, though!… (mutters) I hate this instructor, I am never, ever, ever going to get this and I want this lesson over…. Oh, that was OK actually. ..Actually not too bad… Bugger, lost it again… One handed reins, hand on the swell like a real cowboy – this is cool! Ohmigod, I’m loping! Love it!… Oops, where’s he going? How do I stop this thing?… Wanna go again, cool!!
Here’s how the professionals do it…
I’ve just been awarded The Irresistibly Sweet Blog Award.
Thank you, Pippa. Nice photo of you and Sylvester!
Here are the rules:
1. Thank and Link To the Person who Nominated You (that’d be Pippa here)
2. Share Seven Random Facts About Yourself.
3. Pass the Award on to 15 deserving blog buddies.
4. Contact those buddies to let them know.
A lot of the blogs I like have already been awarded The Irresistibly Sweet Blog Award!
I’m tempted to give them another award – why not, after all?
But no, I shall keep my remaining awards safely in a cupboard until I stumble across new reads.
Here are the first round of awards:
Things I Learned From My Horse
Mark Yarwood – A Struggling Writer
My seven random facts:
(Photos from Photobucket)
I don’t seem to have a practical bone in my body.
I can’t cook, forget to fill up with petrol and will always let someone else volunteer to do the tricky bits.
This must change. From now on, I’m going to throw myself rashly into life, looking for problems to solve.
All my heroines to date have been quite modest, gentle creatures like Jane Eyre. Lisbeth Salander or Scarlett O’Hara she is not.
Any suggestions on who my new female role models could be?
We went to France this weekend and revisited some old caves hidden away in the middle of a forest. They are dark, cold and stretch for miles underground. It was used by soldiers during the first world war.
J took a picture and on checking it noticed an odd mist-like substance in the camera. He took another and it was clear.
He didn’t tell me at the time, correctly assuming I’d want to run away as fast as I could. It’s a spooky sort of place anyway and the forest is alleged to be home to several angry wild boar so I was anxious enough as it was.
I’m sure it was either J’s breath, or some odd trick of the light. But part of me doesn’t want a logical explanation….
My bro made this for me a couple of weeks ago. Delicious!
Preheat the oven to 180 and grease a cake tin.
Melt 115g butter and 85g dark choc.
Beat in 2 large eggs. Add 225g granulated sugar to the choc mix.
Sift 55g self raising flour and add a finely chopped red chili.
Mix it all in and bake for 20-25 minutes.
Serve cool with cream.
(Not tried making it myself yet, so blame my brother if it doesn’t work).
Charlotte Bettsworth 
