All entries for March 2005
March 29, 2005
The first time I remember it happening on a regular basis was when I was nine. I'd just moved schools and shyly tried to fit in with the other children in the playground. I managed to pluck up the courage to introduce myself to a small group of my peers, childishly lisping 'Hello, I'm new' and then the fatal words 'my name is Layla'.
Now, I knew that there was a song called Layla, I even knew it was written by Eric Clapton (my parents had played it often enough), but what I didn't expect was an out of tune chorus of small children singing 'Diddle-diddle-diddle-der' at me, pretty much non stop for my final two years at the school. Well, maybe not quite 'Diddle-diddle-diddle-der', but that's the general way it goes. How else do you type it?
And in the playground you may think it would stop, slowly dying away along with Take That and pogs. You'd think so wouldn't you? But no. Now I don't wish to sound bitter, but being named after a song is a curse I tell you, a curse! Try having a rational conversation with someone just knowing that they are restraining the urge to sing the part of a guitar at you.
So there, if you know or ever meet a person with such a name, just think before you sing at them. It may seem witty and original to you, but it's not. Trust me on this. It's not.
March 28, 2005
This weekend I have been greatly disturbed, shocked and not a little disappointed. Having been for a delightful holiday in Cornwall there was no food in the house to speak of except four tins of tuna and unnamed frozen lumps in foodbags. Leaving the lumps in the freezer for more financially pressing times, I journeyed out to Tesco with my mother. It was Easter Saturday. We jauntily threw bread, eggs and milk into our trolley in preparation for the next few days when all shops are closed to allow staff to gorge themselves on chocolate shaped bunnies (surely, the very heart of the Easter message). Without a care we pressed on through the aisles, little knowing what awaited us…
A little background detail. I am (don't judge me too harshly) an only child. As my parents' one and only little darling, I was plied with all forms of chocolate at Easter time. Obviously eggs, but also bunnies, chicks, and many other completely unrelated cute animals all lined up for my delectation. After a brief time of soul searching, I learned to ignore the pitiful gaze of those cute little creatures and became heartless, nibbling and biting, deaf to their pleas for mercy. I would even leave the head for last. I was without doubt the most well practised and widely feared destroyer of novelty chocolate in the west of England.
Ten years on, you can understand my distress when I rounded the corner of the fifth aisle and note a terrible absense. No Easter eggs. All gone (well except a kitkat one which are frankly rather vile and shouldn't be allowed to besmirch the good name of chocolate). What had happened? Usually there is a glut of the things and they end up getting sold a week later for 27p with a free hat thrown in.
Easter dawned and it was not without a certain degree of heaviness that I rose. I'm twenty years old, but there was a part of me which wanted to stamp my foot and cry. No Easter eggs on Easter day, it was a travesty! What was the point of having Easter if it doesn't come laden with Cadbury's? I trudged downstairs, trying to maintain a jolly facade, when I saw it on the kitchen table. My heart leapt! An Easter egg! Nothing special, a good old Roses Easter egg. Struggling not to weep with joy I inwardly blessed my Grandmother for remembering me in my time of need.
So my friends, The moral is, buy 'em quick, you never know when they'll sell out. Oh, and anyone who had one of those Cadbury's ones with chocolates inside an egg, inside (the genius of it all) another egg, can you let me know what they were like? The sheer brilliance of the idea gave me hope for the future of humanity.
March 08, 2005
My goodness this is addictive! I have tried to be restrained and not write anything else tonight, but after a few more glasses of that brandy I mentioned, I'm ready to write again. You lucky, lucky people.
So, Lizzie wanted me to tell more about the fox in Robin Hood. I'm slightly ashamed to reveal all, but I have resolved to be painfully honest in this lovely blog. So…
In 1973, Disney created yet another animated film. It took the old story of Robin Hood and magically made all of the characters into animals. Genius. But it gets better! Robin Hood himself is a handsome fox, dressed in Lincoln green, a jaunty feather in his cap and the bushiest most luxuriant tail you have ever seen. What three year old child could resist such charms? Now I don't want you to think that it was purely physical attraction – far from it. I admit, the tunic drew me in, but what captivated my heart was his deep, rich voice and gentle nature. There was more than a slight pang of sorrow when he married Maid Marian (also a fox – Disney didn't go in for inter-species relationships). Well, I never gave up on my first crush, I still watch the film with the merest glimmer of a tear knowing that such love can never be.
Well, there you are. My soul is bared, if there are any others who have felt the way I feel, do let me know. By the way, if you haven't seen it, you really must watch the film, although I never understand why there is a cockney rabbit in Sherwood forest.
March 07, 2005
You will have to bear with me on this. Blogs are a bit of an alien concept to me. They come under the heading of 'technology' which gives me palpitations. In fact, I'm only half concentrating on writing, I keep being distracted by lots of buttons and pictures…
Well, I won't be put off! I will conquer my fear! Brandy in hand for courage, I will join the merry ranks of bloggers (why does that sound so derogatory?). Here's to many more pointless entries about life in the depths of Earlsdon, essay deadlines and the lovely fox from the animated Robin Hood!
Now, if I can just work out how to make this appear on my blog…