Home Horror Brought to Book!

Was greatly pleased today when Lord H came back from the shops with the Surrey Advertiser (Godalming edition) to find that I and Thorn in the Flesh were in it. Hurrah! Naturally the sudden rush of local fame and fortune appeals to my essentially shallow and worthless nature ... Actually, it's a very good article by Luke Jacobs (thank you, Luke!) - who somehow made sense of my crazed meanderings - and a photo which even makes me look human. I was also amused by the article headline, which appeared just under my photo - "Home Horror Brought to Book" - which makes me sound wonderfully like an evil arch-criminal who has just been arrested by the police. Which I suppose isn't too far from the truth. From now on, I shall always sign myself as the Home Horror. You know it makes sense.

Lord H and I have also just completed our final (sob!) "Torchwood" online mission. Which was great - I had to save Ianto from certain death by using the signal jamming mechanism in time. Fab stuff! I succeeded - in case you're wondering, so he will be in the next episode, phew. In fact Ianto was so pleased with us both that there may well be a Torchwood job offer in the pipeline for us, apparently. Mind you, that might be withdrawn once he sees the local paper headlines ... In the meantime, Lord H and I have set up the Torchwood satellite mission in Godalming - single- or rather double-handedly, we have pledged to save Godalming from alien invasion (oh no, it's too late, I fear) and are even hoping to set up one of those nice pavement lifts outside the Pepperpot (old town hall). It'll be so handy for the shops. And actually if it had been in place while my Kate was having her Pepperpot traumas in Thorn in the Flesh, then she may not have needed to worry quite so much after all. Lordy, what is my brain like?? I think I may be making too many wild mental connections here, even for me.

Anyway, today we have visited The Vyne in Basingstoke and wandered round the house, gardens and bird viewing areas. Bloody freezing, Carruthers, but we managed to miss most of the rain - and snow. It helped that I was layered up like a Michelin Man. And is it something about my jolly and approachable (ho ho) face? - because every single ruddy National Trust guide in every single ruddy room engaged me in long conversations about pannelling, tapestries crockery, pictures, history and anything else that took their fancy whilst Lord H strolled round the room in blissful quiet. Goddammit, people, I just want to be left alone to admire stuff and think! I ended up dodging round tables and pretending to be engrossed in the views from the windows in a vain attempt to avoid the information-conveying hordes. Sigh, I suppose it is early in the NT season, so they're all geared up to expound their newly-gathered knowledge, but I have been there before. Several times. Anyway, Lord H promises me that the next time we go, he will carry a big stick and beat them with it if they try to talk to me. I shall also try to remember to put on my new Home Horror face and hope that will discourage them.

Tonight, I might try to do a bit more to The Bones of Summer and see if I can dredge anything sensible up from my rapidly depleting literary pool. Don't wait up then. I don't hold out much hope. And there's something about Richard the Lionheart on TV later, so I might watch that. It's eddi-cational, you know.

Have just finished Edward Storey's New & Selected Poems. Some of them I really loved and gave me that punched-in-the-gut feeling (always welcome when reading poems), such as the very Keatsian "In the Museum" or the reflective "Look at Yourself" which contains the ace end line: "Cold eyes will be where stars were, and the mirror bare." Fabulous. However, many of the rest of them were rather clunky and prosaic and there was way too much homage to John Clare (not my favourite poet, West Wind or no West Wind). I think it would have been overall better quality if some of the pieces in the collection had been cut, but for the ten to fifteen poems which for me really sang, it was bloody worth the purchase.

This week's haiku (early, I know, but hell tomorrow is Easter after all):

Good Friday visit
home: the unbearable weight
of expectation.


Anyway, I hope you all have a wonderful Easter day, and I'll be back on Monday.

Today's nice things:

1. The Surrey Advertiser article
2. The Vyne
3. Poetry.

Anne Brooke
Anne's website
Goldenford Publishers