Creative Corner #6

Got pretty bored on Sunday, so bored in fact that I decided to translate a poem from Old English - my favourite olde poem going, which has suffered some truly baaaad translations over the years. I'm feeling a little big smug about my effort though!

Leodum is minum swylce him mon lác gife willað hy hi
ne aþecgan gif he on þreat cymeð ungelic is ús . wulf
is on iege icon oþerre fæst is þæt eglond fenne bi
worpen sindon wæl reowe weras þær on ige willað hy
hine aþecgan gif he on þreat cymeð ungelice is us
wulfes ic mines wid lastum wenum dogode þon hit wæs
renig weder & ic reo tugu sæt . þon mec se beadu cafa
bogum bilegde wæs me wyn to þon wæs me hwæþre eac
lað . wulf min wulf wena me þine seoce gedydon þine.
seld cymas murnende mód nales mete liste gehyrest þu
ead wacer uncerne earne hwelp bireð wulf to wuda þæt
mon eaþe tosliteð þætte næfre gesomnad wæs uncer giedd
geador

Wulf

To my people, it is as if one has given them a gift.
They will consume him, if he comes with a threat, but it is different with us.
Wulf is on one island, I on another, fast with a ring of fen.
There are men of slaughter on that island, who desire
To consume him, if he comes with a threat, but it is different with us.
Wulf, like a dog at your feet, my expectations have journeyed long.
When, in rainy weather I sat lamenting, he who is battle-bold
Took me in his arms, and it was a comfort of sorts, but also
A great sorrow. Wulf, my wolf, the thought of you has caused me sickness.
Your infrequent visits made me anxious, not any lack of food. Do you hear?
Eadwacer, our wretched cub is born to the woods by a wolf.
Man easily tears apart that which was never made, our song
Together.

Frig

Lost 1-2 to Blackburn. And pretty abject with it. Only Sonks (aside from one or two glaring errors) didn't look completely ham-strung by Blackburn's second half "rocket-up-arse" performance. And though Doyler ran a hundred miles, the service was largely woeful, and so his task fruitless. And it was cold. And I spilt more coffee down myself. And I didn't win Golden Gamble for the nth time. Booooo!

But on the plus side, celebrated Pedro's twenty-ninth year, had a mulled wine or two, exchanged a reasonably pleasant word or two with Burnley (damn that embarrassment thing!!), and generally felt rather pleased with myself about being a house-owner (well 1/5th of a house owner). Me and Schwesty picked up the keys this morning, and gave "Cutthroat Cottage" (Thanks Troy for the name suggestion) the once over. Minus furniture it looks a little shabby, and it's frightening how much money will need to be laid out to get it house-fit, but.... it's mine! And it's got a garden, which is just brillig. If only the previous owner had remembered to leave the keys for the back door (doh!), so today we could only peer out at the sorry looking winter shrubbery, and rickety old shed. I love it! Scummy E17 here I come!!

Quick Link to Some Good Tunes from Some Young Talent

Take a listen to these (whilst the link is still in existence) - particularly Ruth Notman and Bryony Bainbridge, to enjoy some folk talent for the future:

http://www.bbc.co.uk/radio2/events/youngfolkawards2007/listen.shtml

Scandalous

Well it's interesting to learn things about yourself that you never knew (or remembered). And to find out that gossip does spread fast. Shaggy has been on my case all day trying to squeeze information out of me. But I am determined to stay stum. Not least because the "juicy gossip" that she thinks she knows, but wants confirmed, seems to be completely way-off! I can't believe the real stuff went completely unnoticed but just in case I am the luckiest so-and-so alive, I'm not gonna be the one to spill the beans. And Monky, Troy and Choc Chip - neither can you (I know I can trust you people!!). Haven't had to do the face-to-face with Burnley yet. But exchanged a pleasant off-topic email. So all is not completely hopeless.

Other Things in the News this Week...

Apart from my Christmas Party slapperdom (and for those who misread my slightly mangled prose in the last post - I have NOT added another notch to my practically flawless bed-post):

• I now part-own a house! Yes!! I am soon to be resident in the borough of Waltham Forest, and hanging out with dubious has-been pop stars, who manage to run themselves over with their own cars. Clever.


• I've discovered that days off work are actually quite dull. Had to go to hospital today, and endure a doctor with the bedside manner of Attila the Hun. Now I'm just lounging on the sofa ... well blogging, because I have literally nothing better to do...


• Ibrahima Sonko has signed a new four-year contract with the 'ding. For those not in the know, this is a six-foot-something man mountain of French-Sengalese loveliness, who just happens to be a mighty good footballer. Brilliant!!

The Amazing Art of Christmas Partying...

I am only just feeling capable of movement, and typing is still a struggle. Yes, I am suffering the inevitable shame and pain of the morning after the office christmas party. What makes a perfectly normal and sensible human being abandon all dignity at this once yearly event??? A copious amount of free wine certainly doesn't help. Nor (inexplicably) does choosing this occasion to take horse tranquiliser for the first time either.

Firstly, someone I have a lot of time for suffered from over-imbibing, and thought it wise to tell me of his affection for me. I feel very flattered, but I don't consider him in that way. So I started the evening with some damage limitation, trying to let him down without hurting his feelings too much. I hope I didn't do too bad a job.

Then, I said some exceptionally naughty things to Easyjet Boy, and partook in some dirty dancing with said man. I was pretty far gone at this point, but could see I was doing something right, and feeling very hopeful that I mighty get a sneaky kiss later on. In fact EJB had promised me I'd get a sneaky kiss later on. That was before "over-zealous friend syndrome" hit in. Mrs Pedro had already come over once to warn me of EJB's "bad reputation", something that secretly pleased me no end! But some time later, I stepped off the dance floor for two minutes, to return to a party minus EJB. Possibly seeing me looking around with puzzlement and disappointment, Pedro admitted shamefacedly that he'd gone over to EJB and warned him off with "don't do anything with .... unless you really mean it, because I won't have her hurt blah blah blah". It was the second time in my life that slapping Pedro really hard seemed like a good idea. But the fact that he apologised, and I guess did it with good intentions, prevented me. Grrrrrrr nonetheless.

Not that the good times ended there. Oh no. Burnley held the inevitable after-show party in his hotel room. It was he that tempted me with the pill of badness (and people that know me will know that partaking in pills is not at all my style), and come the early hours, I also found myself tempted into his bed. Och. I should add that Burnley does not "know" me in the biblical sense, but, ahem, he does "know" me now. Probably the circumstances aren't ideal, and having a fumble with a work-colleague is hardly sensible behaviour, but certainly no regrets. My three-year long crush on Burnley is the world's worst kept secret, and as I luxuriated in his compliments and admired his smooth lilly-white back, I felt a sense of incomparable warmth. Having a man in your bed after a fallow period just does that to you I'm afraid!

And contary to Pedro's assumption that I need "saving from myself" when it comes to men, I am not going to "go to peices" about Burnley. I am perfectly aware that he was K-ed up, has no intention of taking this anywhere (his taste in girlfriends seems to be pretty, unstable, commitment-phobic arty-types who inevitably hook him in then break his heart). I'm just chalking this one up as a nice night to remember...

Now before you think I'm the only slag at the Christmas do, I'd like to defend myself on that front. Not for the first time, Disney (who hits the big 40 next year) made it her mission to rub herself up against every man in the Trust. Come the end of evening she was flashing her bra, before the peice de resistance - taking off her bra and offering it the various menfolk she was dancing with. Even through the drunken haze I could see this was a bit shameful, so I nabbed the bra off her, and surreptitiously snuck it away. I wonder if she collected it before she left?!

Bum #2

My trainers are still soggy from this morning. There's been a tornado in Kensal Rise (!). And I fancy the walk home, like I fancy stepping on an upturned plug. Bah.

Bum

Oi 3-2 to Newcastle. We were meant to go third. It's "well out of order"!!

Singing the Seasons

Just back from the B'stoke, where I took my old'uns to their early Christmas present - Waterson: Carthy singing a variety of weird and wonderful seasonal stuff, interluded with a 'mummers' play, featuring 'that Dutch boy' dressed as a Victorian quack. Lovely. It was all quite unexpected, but thoroughly entertaining. Even my cynical ol' Dad was moved into mumbling something about how we should celebrate Christmas, with more respect for English traditions, before falling asleep in the second half!

Snoozing on the train...

Fitted in quite a lot this weekend, so much so, I woke up this morning thinking I needed to go to work. I like these moments, as they're always followed by the pleasant realisation that you can snuggle up in the duvet, and snooze a little bit longer. Yesss.

First of all, went to the Young Folk Musican 2006 award, held at at the Union Chapel in Islington. Some really fine musicians, especially a girl duo - Ruth Notman and Bryony Bainbridge - who did very strong and vivid versions of "Dear Billy" and "Cruel Mother". I will definitely be keeping an eye on them for the future. The cutest there (and not in the Seth Lakeman sense of the word in case you think I'm sick) was a young Scottish fiddler, called Ryan Young. He came onto the stage, looking slight, wide-eyed, and completely shell-shocked. And by the end of his virtuoso performance, I wanted to adopt him! My least favourite was a 15-year old called Wilber, who managed to detract from his obvious talents, by uttering a loud "yeah" over-and-over during his blues performance. He seemed rather too pleased with himself than is healthy for one so young - the kind of over-talented home counties clown that I knew well enough at school, to want to endure any more of....

Then, shopping with Choc Chip, where one most lovely 80's jumper was purchased, before rushing down to 'ding, as a late replacement for my poorly Ma, to watch them beat Bolton 1-0. The two Irish'uns were on good form, Doyle scoring another, and the one-that-should-play-for-England'un (Nicky Shorey) putting in a MOTM performance. Only complaint - my cup of coffee - which everytime I tried to take a sip, poured half its contents down my front. Thanks for that, you cheap tasting cup of crap!!

Finally (Lord I am blathering on) a quick visit to Naz and Boo's to celebrate Naz's 26th year. Very nice to see all the lads and gals again (Macca and Basey being on especially good form - Basey soon to go to America on tour hopefully), partook in a few glasses of wine, and as predicted by Deon found myself close to snoozing on the last train home. Perfick.