Small but significant points of realisation in the ageing process

I am now the same age as Steve McQueen was when he made Bullitt.

This was not sent from my iphone

Because some c***s***ing motherf***** nicked it. There's a special place in hell reserved for you my friend...

And in other ereading news:

On Discovering Anne Carson's Burners Go Raw...

I found a copy of the LRB on the floor in my flat. It had been kicked under the sofa but the plastic wrap was still on so I blew the dust off and tore into it. A glance down the contents revealed an essay by Michael Wood on Roberto Bolano's books 2666 and Nazi Literature in the Americas.

I turned to the relevant pages and saw the LRB had done what the LRB tends to do and stuck a poem in the middle of the review. My usual reaction to these poems is to read a few lines, yawn, shrug and then read the review. But this poem was different.

It was called Burners Go Raw and it was by someone called Anne Carson. The poem was like no poem I have read before. I read it. I read it again. I have since read it five more times and can't get away from it. I am beguiled. I even forgot to read the Bolano reviews for a few days - each time I turned to those pages I found myself reading the poem again...

On further exploration it seems some people feel Anne Carson is hardly a poet. She herself says she is more of a visual person and hesitates to describe herself as a writer. What she does with words is different. It's better. It's poetry, that's for sure. Or music? What her writing really reminds me of is hearing fragments of several different conversations whilst walking round a supermarket. Lives and situations hinted at. Glancing blows. Adverts for mental states that are best avoided. Hospital waiting rooms. Theatres after everyone has left. Carousels on the rubbish dump. Naked mannequins queuing for the No 12 bus. All the things you never quite remember to say to the people you say you love. The exhausted hiss of breath that was going to be those famous last words...

(She's one of those discoveries I feel compelled to share. Forgive me if you are there already!) Sometimes language can and sometimes it can't I suppose.

Bother That Cat...

I was awake at 2am last night. Finn was upset and writhing around. Mary was upset and saying we needed to take him to A & E. But thankfully I am EXTREMELY lazy at that time of night/morning and managed to calm everything down. We chatted about motorbikes and biscuits until we were all soothed. Then we all piled in the "big" bed together.

After several hours parched on the extreme edge of the bed too scared to move in case Finn wakes up and wants to play football the cat makes his usual appearance. In other words he jumps on the bed and starts telling us it's about time he was fed. I tell Mary to hit the cat. She refuses (this happens a lot when he's out of my reach) I pick up a pillow and try to wallop the cat. I miss and knock a glass of water off the bedside table and all over Finn who wakes up and is rather pissed off and confused.

"You idiot" says Mary.

Yes indeed...

9 out of 10

'More than nine shoppers out of ten have more confidence in the internet than in retail staff when researching purchases, according to new research.'

Huzzah!

How I feel most of the time...

From the New Yorker