The Unforgivable Angel Clare

I have just finished watching Tess of the D'Urbervilles and cannot believe how relentless it is. I've read the book (twice) and still find it shockingly, hopelessly bleak. It is not the cruel, insatiable Alec D'Urberville who is the villain of the peice, but Angel Clare. And it is not his leaving of Tess which is the betrayal of the book, but his love for her, when he does not have the moral fibre or courage to see it through. That is what leaves me in tears, the inevitable truth that it will be those who love us most that will wound us the worst.

Some people don't like Hardy, because his work is flowery and heavy going, but he is an author that deserves time and effort. His stories may be somewhat fantastical, but the emotional depth is authentic, and he was a man that championed women and the under-priviledged, at a time when to show decency and morality in a "fallen" woman was scandalous.

Career Change

Oh dear, where did the blogging go??

Anyhoos, Pa Ding has started his prep, and is now on the road to (hopefully) curesville, UK.

And I have been looking at the news, and found this little story:

http://news.bbc.co.uk/1/hi/england/7609330.stm

This may be of limited interest to most folks, although I know at least one (ahem Monky) who cares for this kinda stuff. But what made me take notice is that I heard a rumour a while back that this lady once attended the very same school as I. Anyone who knows that school will realise that this probably wasn't the career they were looking for, for one of "their girls". Well HA HA HA is all I can say.

Tick Tock Time

Papa Ding is coming over tonight, having recently fallen to a new low by forgetting Ma Ding's birthday and then, apparently, accusing her of being overweight. Think he might get away with it, due to his illness, but still ... what an idiot, and poor Ma Ding.

Also suddenly feel very strange about seeing him for the first time since I learnt he's having the TX. It's a subject that I've thought about logically in my head but which I have avoided emotionally. It seems an inevitable cruelty that when time is precious, it is also pre-occupied with anxiety about it running out. These are times to enjoy not endure, and yet they are almost unbearable.

Papa Ding

It is finally happening. Papa Ding is booked in for his Bone Marrow Transplant, and the next few months are going to be a big ol' fight to conquer the dreaded lurgy. I know too much about the toll of this process to be filled with joy about it, but I also know that this is a potential life-saver, and could well give poor Papa Ding a few more years on this earth, which he surely deserves. And how amazing that a complete stranger should give him this chance. I don't know who they are, what they do, or even what part of the world they live in, but they (probably some ordinary Joe working 9 to 5) could well be saving a life, by donating a few days of their life, and a few stem cells that they don't need in any case. I just wish more people overcame their scaredyness, ignorance (or in some cases pure bad attitude), to sign up for the same thing. How many times in your own lifetime are you handed the opportunity to potentially, and directly, save a person's life? I think (and I thought this before Papa Ding was diagnosed) that I would feel immensely priviledged to be given that opportunity.... I can't do anything directly for Papa Ding, except be around, support, and keep all my fingers and toes crossed. This is going to be a tough time, but a necessary one.

Folk You One and All

There's been a bit of a gap in the old blogging, mainly for the yearly event that is the Cambridge Folk Festival. Twas a bit rainy but excellent, as always. Luckily we were saved by Mac and Willy bringing a "sitooterie" (Scots for gazebo, apparently, or so a fellow drunken camper informed us). This year's highlights, for me, were:

Chris Woods - http://www.bbc.co.uk/music/release/v4mq/
Back to basics Kent singer-songwriter, bit political, and very profound. Sung a song about pushy parents and teenage suicide that had me and Choc Chip feeling a bit "emotional".

The Imagined Village - http://imaginedvillage.com/
Pretentious sounding collective re-examining "Englishness" through traditional music, that turned out to be crazy genius, and brought the house down on Saturday.

Laura Marling - http://www.lauramarling.com/
Apparently from Reading (originally) which made me feel some big old Berkshire solidarity, but also oh-so-sickeningly-talented-and-only-18. Her styling suggests she might be one of those annoying teenagers that is too cool for school, but her songs are really rather intelligent and beautiful. Also had a band member whose beautiful blue eyes had nearly all of us (boys included) feeling a bit swoony. Yum.

The Cherryholmes - http://cherryholmes.musiccitynetworks.com/
A proper rhinestone-bedecked redneck family band from Nashville... bearded papa, strangely moustachioed sons, unfeasibly glamourous mama and daughters, and some very impressive clog-dancing in unison. What is there not to love!?

And honourable mention to Seth Lakemen, who need only turn up and wave his fiddle about a bit, to make me smile, these days. Top folk totty for the nth year in a row....

Got back home and promptly set off for hospital, where MG was still recuperating having had a "funny turn" following his operation. He is a terrible patient, and seems to have passed out at the mere thought of what they'd done to his broken ankle. When they finally let him out, he vowed never to return, before having a panic attack about a rash he'd developed (not meningitis or septecaemia, me and his female housemate firmly assured him) and then wigged out that he'd got his cast wet and it had "warped" (a couple of drops of water that had clearly had no effect whatsoever) before finally panicking that his foot was swelling up and sticking to his plastercast (also happily untrue). But however bad a patient he is, it does make me rather happy (and immensely more patient than I would normally be) that he was so grateful to see me, and was instantly brightened by a simple thing like a hug. A silly, but rather lovely, man, methinks. He also had me smiling like a Cheshire cat this morning when he said that me being clever was one of the many things he loved about me. For a girl that takes great pride in not being a dumb barbie, he couldn't have hit the spot more sweetly!

Gone Done Broke Himself

Just as summer gets well into swing, MG has gone done broken his ankle. He was doing something "heroic" during a game of baseball, and got his studs stuck in the ground. The astounding part was, that despite hearing a crack and seeing his foot turn the wrong way, it took him two days to go to hospital (after some gentle persuasion from moiself). So all those summer adventures planned: the boating, the inevitable sinking, and the folking (no pun intended), have had to be put on ice, and MG is now all plastercasted and melancholy. Watching him painfully ascend the stairs, on his knees, and then back down again on his bum, was half hilarious and half tragic. One advantage of being stuck in the house is that MG took the time to teach me Texas Hold 'Em poker, and I now feel the gambling bug a-growing. Don't think I'd ever want to bet real money but it would be nice to start playing with friends, and seeing if I can perfect a cast-iron poker face (unlikely).

The Inner Fat Person

Oh boy, need to get to bed on time, need to stop getting fat, need to not slouch at my computer like Gollum. Moaned about being fat to MG yesterday, and explained how I was ramping up the cycling to work / swimming (inspired by Troy "swimming the channel"). Wearing the expression of someone walking below an avalanche prone overhang, he gave me his helpful diet tips - basically not eating dinner EVER. Now I'm sure this works very well, but the idea of not eating dinner makes me sad. And the whole notion of being told not to eat dinner by a very skinny person riles the inner fat person in me. He was just trying to be helpful and I did bring up the subject, but my increasingly terse facial expression gave away that he was not required to reply to my mumblings about weight, merely nod sympathetically and tell me how lovely I looked. You would have thought men would have learnt this trick by now, shirley!?!