The Woman Who Talked Too Much

Sorry to anyone who tried to listen to the US interview I mentioned a couple of posts below - what I didn't realise is that it was a pre-record, so it didn't go out today. It's going to be on various stations at various different times so I don't actually know when you can hear it, but if I get any more info or a link I will post it here.

I haven't been a published author all that long but I've done a fair few appearances by now, and I've got used to how they work. Jewish Book Week was a little different. Nice turnout - about forty people, I think, including a regular blog reader (hello Hagbar!) I read a couple of chapters (one and four, if you're interested) and discussed my novel - a humourous novel about Greek Gods living in modern London, lest we forget - in a reasonably straightforward way with the friendly compere. Then we opened it to questions from the floor.

First question - yes, from you, the older woman with the long grey hair. Thank you.

"Would you say that extreme orthodoxy in religion, Jewish or otherwise, is in fact a barrier to moral and ethical engagement with the world?"

Well, it makes a change from "How did you get your publishing deal?"

If you are in the USA, I will be on The Book Show on WAMC-FM at 9.30 CST tomorrow morning.

If you're in London free today at 5pm and fancy seeing me doing a reading and talking about the very serious and important work that is being a writer, I'm appearing at Jewish Book Week at the Royal National Hotel in Bedford Way. It's free and I am wearing a very cool shirt that my mother got for me and some trousers that I haven't worn for two years and am amazed to discover still do up, even though I had a tomato and black bean curry for dinner last night. With rice. So, see you there?

UPDATE: I have changed my trousers, so I will understand if you don't want to come now.

I upset a few people with my last choice of iPod moment, so here is another one: 'Leader of the Pack' by the Shangri-las. This was one of my first ever favourite songs (the first ever ever was 'Prince Charming' by Adam and the Ants, which I thought was about yer actual fairytale hero) and I have no cause to regret my early enthusiasm. When I was at Cambridge [I was about to write 'a few years ago' but it's wasn't, was it - it was ten whole years ago now] I performed a Karaoke version of this at the Trinity Hall Event and the Senior Bursar came up to me at the end of the night and told me it was the highlight of his ball. Insert your own joke about the Senior Bursar's balls here. But watching the Shangri'las perform it, I feel only shame that I did not do them justice in my choice of attire - silver miniskirt rather than full librarian chic, and boringly quotidian hair. Check out the lead singer's beehive that even Amy Winehouse would be proud of.

Flicking through the search queries on my blog stats, I notice that two people have been here looking for "Gods Behaving Badly spoiler". Bless! It's a book. If you want to know what happens, just flick to the end.

I didn't used to like this song. When it first came out I thought it was irritating, pretentious twaddle. A friend of mine put it on a compilation for me and I thought "Pah. You have been seduced by crowd hysteria." (I said: "Thank you.") I put it on my iPod anyway. And today it came on and.... I LOVE IT! I was so wrong. My friend and the hysterical crowd were so right. It's brilliant. I had to listen to it twice. The second time I had just got off the bus so I could listen to it running down my street which enhanced the mood yet more. It's petulant and joyful and the tune is great. And it has one of my favourite lyrics in it, the very simple but true "Why don't you like me without making me try?" Why indeed? WHY?

Enjoy. Remember, I am right about this.

Two men sit in a bathtub and talk about sodomy, genocide, and Tom Hanks. If this doesn't appeal to you, best to avoid Tough Time, Nice Time, the new Ridiculusmus show at the Barbican. But why wouldn't it? It's fast and brave and funny and disturbing and very very smart, and I can't think of many better ways of passing 70 minutes no interval do not pass Go. It flies by so quickly that you can't keep up with your own thoughts about what's going on and have to take them all home to ponder later. What's the show really about? A hundred different things - from the difference between Nazis and hypocritical "Ordinary Germans", symbolised by the two characters hard-nosed Stefan and anxious Martin; to the eroticism inherent in the power struggle of conversation; to the seductive impulse to lie to strangers, and to oneself; to the purpose and pointlessness of storytelling, of writing and of movies; to the mystery of how a mobile phone dropped down a toilet whilst being buggered by a rent boy in Bangkok could turn up on the floor of another toilet across town two weeks later, "with twenty-five missed calls". You don't want to laugh in case you miss something and yet you can't help but laugh... This show is only on for a couple of weeks, but it shouldn't be too hard to get tickets - I picked mine up yesterday morning for the show last night. Go, see, laugh, think, and feel slightly queasy.

I have travelled quite extensively in the USA and one thing I have noticed is that whenever I go to someone's home it always has a very distinctive smell. Sometimes it's not in their apartment, sometimes it's just in the staircase, but I smell it everywhere I go. It's strong and sweet and has a tinge of rot but it's not exactly unpleasant. I have never figured out what caused it - a particular type of cleaning product was my best guess. I just think of it as American House Smell and until yesterday I had never smelt it anywhere else.

Last night I came home from a weekend away and my house smelt of American House Smell. It was very disorienting as my house was just where I had left it ie not in the USA. Eventually I tracked down the source of the smell to the fruitbowl, which contained three very overripe bananas. I can therefore announce that the whole of the United States of America smells of overripe bananas.

I wish I could segue from that into talking about how the Oscar decisions were bananas, but actually they were pretty much exactly the same as the Baftas except for a choice of Best Film, No Country For Old Men, which (a) was much better than Atonement and (b) poo-pooed my theory that NCFOM and There Will Be Blood would split the Important Movie vote. There's no point me repeating the comments I made then. Never mind. I'm off to surf the net for pictures of Diablo Cody's million dollar diamond shoes.

My local healthfood shop has recently been taken over by a larger chain, so I went in yesterday to check out their new range. (No difference from what I can see.) While I was there, I bought some loo paper, recycled of course, a nine roll pack, because that's all they had. I've just put it out and it works fine but it's really ugly, sort of spongy like kitchen roll, and it looks like I've bought the cheapest stuff I could find. Now I'm ashamed to have people round to my house.

I mention this because I have made the decision to blog every day (maybe not weekends) and sadly that means that you're going to have to put up with observations of this variety a lot more often from now on. I can't be clever every day you know.

If you've got a bit of spare cash and you're of the gambling persuasion - which I am not, I hate gambling, it makes me feel stupid - you could do worse than putting a few quid on Juno to win Best Picture at the Oscars. I don't actually think it is the best picture, but There Will Be Blood and No Country For Old Men are such similar films that they will split the Important Violent Symbolic American Movie vote, and surely Michael Clayton doesn't stand a chance, so the only real opposition to Juno is Atonement. And Juno has the advantage of being gentle and sweet and charming, [and American, of course.] - [Canadian, apparently. Oops. But we know I heart Canada.] - According to my correspondent, American / Canadian / Hungarian. I am exhausted.

Juno is a truly lovely film, the kind of film you come out of with your heart a few degrees warmer. Of course, they had cooled my heart by a few degrees before the movie by showing, first of all, a series of adverts about how to avoid venereal disease (movie about teen pregnancy + 4pm screening = Government health warning opportunity) and then some of the worst trailers I have ever seen in my life. The absolute rock bottom of these was the ad for 27 Dresses which falls into my least favourite "Romantic" "Comedy" (quotation marks for both words as they both fall into question) sub-genre: problematic woman must be cured by a man before she achieves social acceptance in the symbolic form of love. You can spot these films a mile off because they all start with the same premise: Girl is good at X but bad at love. Invariably, it's being too focused on X that is the problem. Bad woman, bad. Focus on Man instead. Much better.

Which is what made Juno so refreshing. Juno, the character, did not need to be cured. She did not need to be saved. She did need to open her eyes a bit and realise that Michael Cera was the perfect boy for her (of which more later), but she did not need to be brought down to do so. Also, she did not have to experience pregnancy as a transformative experience that turned her into a better person. She was a pretty good person to begin with. She was a great person to spend the movie with, and if the film was one of these indie comedies that is mostly about relationships (romantic / friend / family) and not much else, at least it was about the right length and about the right tone and really quite a beautiful way to spend a couple of hours.

And of course it had Michael Cera in it. My love for Michael Cera is pre-documented, and he did nothing to diminish himself in my eyes here at all. Mainly because he was playing exactly the same character in this movie as in Superbad, with added orange tictacs, and therefore my love affair with him (where were the adorable boys like you when I was sixteen?) can continue unblemished. Having said that, seeing as he plays the exact same character in Arrested Development as well, I think it is probably about time Michael Sera broke the mould. Next Michael Sera role to be creepy teenage serial killer please. He would be very good.

Finally, a word about abortion. There is a tedious habit for every film in which an unexpected pregnancy does not lead immediately to an abortion to be labelled reactionary, anti-abortion, and pro-life. I have read such a thing about Juno. No. No, no, no. First of all, the idea that you can't make a film about unwanted pregnancies because all fictional unwanted pregnancies should end in abortion and if they don't that is an evil STATEMENT is moronic. It's fiction. You should be able to explore all options in fiction. Secondly, there is a difference between being pro-choice and being pro-abortion. Pro-choice means that the option of abortion should be available, not that all women should take it. Ergo, being pro-choice means being pro whatever choice the woman makes, or the man and woman make, which includes not having an abortion. Are we clear? So I will not tolerate any Juno-is-anti-abortion guff, not on this blog. Aaaaaaaaall righty?

I'm all wound up now. Quick, must look at a picture of Michael Cera.

I am soothed.

He's only ten years too young for me. Men do it all the time, right? Right?

Always keen to be right at the cultural cutting edge, I started watching the Sopranos last night. Season 1, episode 1. It's very good, isn't it? You can quote me on that, should the series need promoting.

I have of course seen the Sopranos before, but never with any success. The problem is that I have never been able to tell any of the characters apart. It's like when white people say that all black people look the same, I think that all Italian Americans look the same, especially the middle aged men. I think it's because they all have the same hair colour. It always amazes me when I ask someone for a description of a person, and they say "oh, such and such an age, yea tall, kind of skinny." (Well that would be a particularly stupid thing to say, but you know what I mean.) And I'm like: Hair you fool! HAIR! Anyway, in the past, when I have on a sporadic basis watched an episode of the Sopranos, I just got a headache thinking hang on, isn't he the guy who - no, that's the one that - wait, didn't he get whacked? (Not to mention trying to remember whether Dr Melfi is played by Lorraine Bracco or Edie Falco, but that's a private hell of my own making.) How am I supposed to tell? I'm just looking at the hair and the eyebrows.

(Incidentally, on the subject of white people thinking all black people look the same, my sister lived for a while on a Caribbean island with very few white people, and none of the black people there could tell the white people apart. It's a familiarity thing I think, you just don't know what differentials to look for. I obviously haven't met enough Italian Americans to guide me through this difficult time.)

Anyway, the makers of the Sopranos were kind enough to pepper the first episode with several mentions of the characters' first names, so that you can start getting a grip of who is who and maybe start noticing other helpful determinants to keep them apart in your mind. Determinants like Christopher being the most repellant character I have ever encountered in any television show, ever. It's quite impressive: I have watched The Office.

So yes, as I said, episode one, very good. I'll let you know what I think of the finale in about, oh, eight years.

If you can keep your head when all about you
Are losing theirs and blaming it on you,
If you can trust yourself when all men doubt you,
But make allowance for their doubting too;

So far so good.

If you can wait and not be tired by waiting,

Kipling obviously never had to take the Silverlink on a Sunday.

Or being lied about, don't deal in lies,
Or being hated, don't give way to hating,

OK, I'll give him that. Hating and lies to be avoided.

And yet don't look too good, nor talk too wise:

What exactly is the correct level of good looks and wise talk? I tell you, I never look in the mirror in the morning and think hmm, better rough myself up a bit, I am just too foxy today. And even more rarely do I catch myself in the moment of speech and think oops, must remember to be more stupid in future.

If you can dream - and not make dreams your master;
If you can think - and not make thoughts your aim;

That's just depressing

If you can meet with Triumph and Disaster
And treat those two impostors just the same;

And that's insane. Can you imagine meeting the kind of person who treats triumph and disaster just the same? Can you imagine sitting next to them at dinner? Do we think this is Kipling taking his own advice and not talking too wise?

If you can bear to hear the truth you've spoken
Twisted by knaves to make a trap for fools,
Or watch the things you gave your life to, broken,
And stoop and build 'em up with worn-out tools:

I see the point he's making but I am starting to think that Kipling doesn't have a particularly optimistic view of life.

If you can make one heap of all your winnings
And risk it on one turn of pitch-and-toss,
And lose, and start again at your beginnings
And never breathe a word about your loss;

I wouldn't advise anyone trying this.

If you can force your heart and nerve and sinew
To serve your turn long after they are gone,
And so hold on when there is nothing in you
Except the Will which says to them: 'Hold on!'

I am increasingly thinking that Kipling needs a nice cup of tea and a sit down.

If you can talk with crowds and keep your virtue,

And not hang out on Comment is Free slagging off Max Gogarty

' Or walk with Kings - nor lose the common touch,
if neither foes nor loving friends can hurt you,
If all men count with you, but none too much;

Well that's the way to make friends, don't like anybody too much, don't care about what they say.

If you can fill the unforgiving minute
With sixty seconds' worth of distance run,

and no sleeping

Yours is the Earth and everything that's in it,
And - which is more - you'll be a Man, my son!

It is just as well I have never aspired to being a Man.

NOW WITH ANSWERS FROM ME IN CAPITALS!

Persephone requested the answers to the iPod game but there were so few attempts last time I put it up that I can't believe that that's all you could get collectively (Scott, where are you?) so I am leaving these up for a little longer in case you want to have a try. I've been in hospital this week, having a cyst removed and am feeling pretty tired and sore and grumpy so it's my excuse for not posting for a day or two (though invariably after saying that I'll think of something I just have to write about) - anyway, if you recognise any of these opening lines say what it is in the comments and I'll say who got what right next to each one until I'm bored of waiting.

1. Angry faces cursing loud Part of the Process, Morcheeba - burge
2. [spoken] I always dreamed the boy I love would come along - HE'S SURE THE BOY I LOVE - THE CRYSTALS
3. Baby do you understand me now, if sometimes you see that I'm mad Please Don't Let Me Be Misunderstood, Nina Simone - burge
4. Well you can need me well I want you to - WHIPPING BOY - BEN HARPER
5. (What they do) They smile in your face, all the time they want to take your place Backstabbers, O'Jays - Persephone
6. Sitting here eating my heart out waiting, waiting for some lover to come Hot Stuff, Donna Summer - Claire
7. And we like what you say, we got things we should learn - NOT IF YOU WERE THE LAST DANDY ON EARTH - BRIAN JONESTOWN MASSACRE
8. I was alone, I took a ride, I didn't know what I would find there Got To Get You Into My Life, The Beatles - stu n / Persephone
9. And it goes a little something like this! It's Like That, Run DMC - William Rycroft
10. Born only a month ago yet I'm (already) fully grown from head to toe - AUTOMATIC SCHMUCK - THE HIVES
11. Oh the top is so much better than the bottom - WINDOW SHOPPER - 50 CENT
12. Hey Mr DJ put a record on I want to dance with my baby Music, Madonna - William Rycroft
13. I stumbled out of bed, I got ready for the struggle I Can't Forget, Jarvis Cocker covering Leonard Cohen - stu n
14. Rocking on the ocean, sucking up the sea - HIPS AND MAKERS - KRISTIN HIRSH
15. A compromise between honesty and lies - SLOW MOVES - JOSE GONZALEZ
16. If the nightingales could sing like you they'd sing much sweeter than they do You Brought A New Kind Of Love To Me, Frank Sinatra - Persephone
17. I woke up this morning and seen something bright - SUGAR HONEY ICED TEA - KELIS
18. Sweet wonderful you, you make me happy with the things you do You Make Loving Fun, Fleetwood Mac - Turi
19. This is how I look without make-up - CLEVA - ERYKAH BADU
20. The Eastern world, it is exploding Eve of Destruction, Barry McGuire - Milly Chen / Persephone

It's not a bad film. It's a pretty good film. But it's not a great film. And I need further evidence to prove that Joe Wright is not a turnip.

I watched the Baftas last night - not sure why; I always do seem to end up tuning into awards ceremonies, even though they are ridiculously long and empirically uninteresting, especially when they are not the Oscars and so you don't get all the fun of each Best Movie nominee being represented through the medium of dance. I suppose that the combination of very beautiful and famous stars plus several minor moments of suspense is just enough to pull you through it, and I confess to an amount of rubbernecking, as Jonathan Ross died so spectacularly on stage last year I couldn't help but wonder if this year would be a repeat performance; but no, he actually did pretty well - and looked amazingly confident, all things considered; I suppose he is being paid enough to die a hundred times over, and therefore doesn't really care. Or maybe he just knew that his jokes were better this time around.

Anyway here are my thoughts on the winners and losers...

Supporting Actress: Tilda Swinton (Cate Blanchett, Kelly Macdonald, Samantha Morton, Saoirse Ronan). This was one of the best ones as if you listed the actresses in order of likelihood to win, Tilda would probably have come bottom. She looked completely flabbergasted, as did the person presenting the award, and as she pointed out, if she'd thought she was going to win, she'd have worn a skirt which would have allowed her to get up the stairs to the stage.

Supporting Actor: Javier Bardem (Paul Dano, Tommy Lee Jones, Philip Seymour Hoffman, Tom Wilkinson). Probably one of the most closely-fought categories, and of them would have been a worthy winner. But I'm glad it was Javier Bardem, as when he is not sporting *that* haircut, he is painfully sexy, as well as charismatic, cutely-accented, witty, modest, charming etc. Yes: I have a new crush.

Actress: Marion Cotillard (Julie Christie, Keira Knightley, Cate Blanchett, Ellen Page): I haven't actually seen La Vie en Rose, but Marion Cotillard's acceptance speech was so charmingly over-the-top and properly, non-faked emotional that I couldn't have wanted anybody else to take it. And my god, isn't she young? They did a great make-up job on her, from what I saw of the la Vie En Rose trailers. At least it wasn't "best wearing of a slinky dress" Knightley or "best performance in a truly execrable movie (Elizabeth: Back in the Saddle)" Blanchett.

Actor: Daniel Day Lewis (George Clooney, James MacAvoy, Viggo Mortenson, Ulrich Muhe). Pretty well-deserved; I saw There Will Be Blood in Toronto and I think it is largely overrated, as a very well-made but self-consciously Important film, with a completely incoherent central character who is only made even halfway convincing through the great skills of Daniel Day Lewis. Basically, I think his performance in this was a con, but a brilliant one, and so worth recognising for that. Personally I'd have liked to have seen Ulrich Muhe win, but I suppose they thought there was little point giving the gong to a dead guy. Though his speech would have been shorter than DDL's.

Animated Film: Ratatouille (Simpsons Movie, Shrek 3). Yawn. Was there really nothing a little more interesting in the cartoon world this year than a pale sequel and a TV remake? No wonder Ratatouille won.

Foreign Language Film: The Lives of Others (The Diving Bell and the Butterfly, La Vie en Rose, The Kite Runner, Lust Caution.) Notable for being a better group of films than the Best Film nominees, which does make you wonder why it needs a separate category at all. But the best film definitely won.

Adapted Screenplay: The Diving Bell and the Butterfly (Atonement, The Kite Runner, No Country for Old Men, There Will Be Blood). I've not seen this film, so hard to say much except that having read the (magnificent) memoir, it is hard to see how anyone manage to adapt it for the screen, as is the internal thoughts of someone suffering from total paralysis, so I imagine this is another well-chosen winner.

Original Screenplay: Juno (American Gangster, The Lives of Others, Michael Clayton, This Is England.) Again, I've not yet seen Juno, but how cool was it to see such a young woman (Diablo Cody) getting up to take the prize? I mean, I know it shouldn't matter, but in such a male-dominated industry I got a thrill from it.

Director: Coen Brothers / No Country For Old Men (Joe Wright / Atonement, Florian Henckel von Donnersmarck / Lives of Others, Paul Greengrass / Bourne Ultimatum, Paul Thomas Anderson / There Will Be Blood.) An inspired choice - the movie is so close to the original material, and the Coen Brothers truly squashed down all their trademark tics to make it so - I thought it was a spectacular and supremely modest piece of filmmaking, and I applaud them. (And they're my favourite directors anyway.)

Film: Atonement (American Gangster, The Lives of Others, No Country For Old Men, There Will Be Blood.) Atonement!? Atonement??? What were they thinking? The only thing I can possibly imagine is that every single person with a Bafta vote has either worked with someone who worked on Atonement or hopes to do so in future. Also, it's the only British film on the list, so I suppose that they felt obliged. But of all of them, aside from American Gangster which I haven't seen, it is easily the worst film, which I think is demonstrated by the fact that it lost every other category it was nominated for (aside for one of the technical ones, I forget which.) The Lives of Others got the Foreign Language consolation gong so I suppose that's why it didn't win, though it outshines the rest of them by a mile. Otherwise I would have given it to No Country For Old Men. Such a predictable and disappointing choice, and Joe Wright? You cannot begin an acceptance speech with the words "Last time I was accepting an award on this stage" without looking like a self-important arrogant turnip.

and freakishly dizzy. Damn computer won't stay still. May have to lie down. Jet lag. Love it.

...on every conceivable surface in the *bathroom*. Not the bedroom. It's not the sleaze motel.

Going home today. Sniff. I had got used to business travel. Nobody at home lays all my toileteries out on a little hand towel and leaves a message on my pillow at night telling me what the weather is going to be like tomorrow (well, expect when the roof is leaking, but that's different.) Ah well, perhaps I will be snowed in. You never know.

Snow coming down hard. I will probably eschew the sights and stay indoors in my incredible hotel, the Metropolitan, instead. The light switches are huge, and so is the bed. Minibar, fruitbowl, swimming pool (not in my room), mirrors on every possible surface, who could ask for more? I am tipping anyone who so much as looks at me. The limo driver turned it down. He is actually taking me in a stretch limo to the airport tomorrow, because that's what the people he is picking up next have ordered. This is not the most surreal thing that has happened to me on tour. That prize probably has to go the talkshow I was on this afternoon. The guest before me was an Olympic gold medalist (at least I assume so; he said "I won the Olympics", and I am assuming he doesn't mean in a raffle.) Then I come on. I mentioned how much I loved the Canadian kids' programme The Littlest Hobo when I was growing up, and they made me sing the theme tune on air. By the time I left, everyone was singing it, make-up girl, cameraman, the works.

Still loving Canada. Canadians are fantastic. I'd move here if they'd let me. I have never felt so calm anywhere. It has to be the least pushy country on earth. I have heard Canadians called boring but that's only by people who mistake shouting for interesting. I don't only believe this because my book has gone top 10 here. I should mention that I have met one unpleasant Canadian, a sleazy bookseller who only looked at my breasts as we talked. Aside from that it has been a very successful trip.

Now if you'll excuse me I have an appointment with the minibar.

The lights were already switched on.

exhausted. But happy. Canada is eating me alive. But in a friendly way.

Wow. That sounded much more sordid than intended.

Too tired to blog in detail (eg just took me three attempts to type the word "detail"). Too tired to find a les sordid way of describing doing a publicity tour. Canadians though: lovely. I am yet to meet an unpleasant Canadian.

Tomorrow: Super Tuesday! Also: I get over my jetlag just in time to fly to Vancouver.

A big improvement! The talk went well, the audience were lovely, I sold out of copies of my book, my publishers took me out to lunch, they were fantastic, I made friends with another author, we went to the cinema, it was great. I am happy, I love Canada, it wasn't even that cold. And I have enough food left over from breakfast strategically stashed in the fridge in my hotel room that I don't need to order dinner tonight. Result!

In the end I called reception to send up a maintenance man to show me how to switch on my lights (turn the little knob the wrong way until it feels like you're breaking it) and find the DVD player (pull out the fake drawer until it feels like you're breaking it). After he left I realised I should probably have tipped him too. Then I ordered room service and gave the guy an enormous tip before I realised that they had already added a tip to the bill. Tried to put a DVD on, realised all the DVDs I'd brought with me only work in the UK. Sat on the floor and cried. Hate business travel, hate hotels, hate travelling alone. Then watched Stargate: Atlantis and The Ghost Whisperer, which are two separate programmes that should merge - Jennifer Love Hewitt in a nightdress that is supposed to be an actual dress, sent into space to a watery space world full of dead people. Then sleep.

Task for today: give speech to 250 people on topic of me and my book. Wish me luck...

...I have questions.

1. Is it a bad sign that I can't figure out how to switch on the lights in my hotel bedroom?
2. Can I bring myself to ask someone at reception how to do it, or will I have to sit with only the bathroom light for illumination?
3. Do I have to tip the person who brings the room service or can I just add a tip to the check, assuming there is a check? I mean, I have to sign something, right?
4. Am I prepared to go without food rather than get this wrong?
5. If it says that all rooms have a DVD player, but my room doesn't have a DVD player, is it just that I don't know what a DVD player looks like, or can I ask someone?
6. Is there a course on this that I can do? By tonight?

I'm off on tour to Canada (HELLO CANADA!) for a week, so in my absence I thought I'd leave a game for you to play: the catchily-named iPod shuffle first line game. Basically, it's the first lines of the first twenty songs that came up on my shuffle (or the non-instrumental English language ones anyway), and all you have to do is guess the song and the singer. No googling! You're only cheating yourselves. See you when I get back, or possibly in Canada, some of you - if you catch me on TV, be sure to wave.

1. Angry faces cursing loud
2. [spoken] I always dreamed the boy I love would come along
3. Baby do you understand me now, if sometimes you see that I'm mad
4. Well you can need me well I want you to
5. (What they do) They smile in your face, all the time they want to take your place
6. Sitting here eating my heart out waiting, waiting for some lover to come
7. And we like what you say, we got things we should learn
8. I was alone, I took a ride, I didn't know what I would find there
9. And it goes a little something like this!
10. Born only a month ago yet I'm (already) fully grown from head to toe
11. Oh the top is so much better than the bottom
12. Hey Mr DJ put a record on I want to dance with my baby
13. I stumbled out of bed, I got ready for the struggle
14. Rocking on the ocean, sucking up the sea
15. A compromise between honesty and lies
16. If the nightingales could sing like you they'd sing much sweeter than they do
17. I woke up this morning and seen something bright
18. Sweet wonderful you, you make me happy with the things you do
19. This is how I look without make-up
20. The Eastern world, it is exploding

I notice the brilliantly depressing story about Woolworths having withdrawn from sale a range of furniture for young girls which they had the bright idea to name 'Lolita'. The BBC online story in question accuses the good people at Woolworths of not having any idea what the name Lolita actually refers to. But then, the BBC and the angry parents don't seem to know what the name Lolita refers to either:

Bedroom furniture for young girls with the brand name Lolita has been withdrawn by Woolworths following complaints from parents. A parenting website said it was in "unbelievably bad taste" to give the bed the same name as a novel about a sexually precocious young girl.

No. Lolita is not a novel about a sexually precocious young girl. Lolita is a novel about a child molester who persuades himself that a perfectly normal young girl is sexually precocious, in order to justify raping her. Lolita happens to be the best novel that I have ever read, and it's frustrating when people think it's about some young girl-slut - which is exactly what I thought it was about before I read it - and use the name as shorthand for a dangerously seductive underage girl. Ironically, the misunderstanding of Lolita by people who've never read it just serves to perpetuate the culture of sexualising young girls that Humbert Humbert, the narrator of Lolita, uses to legitimise his perversion.

Moral of the story? More people should read Lolita. And don't buy furniture from Woolworths.

I had a dream last night that I met that lovely David Tennant. I was interviewing him. He was friendly and interesting and a little bit flirty, which is, funnily enough, exactly what I imagine that he is like. He didn't remember me, though, from the other times I've met him - in my other dreams - but I suppose he meets a lot of people, in dreams. He didn't like being famous much. Poor David.

And then my dream provided me with what is actually a pretty good idea for a novel, much to my surprise, and even more surprisingly I haven't forgotten it on waking up.

I only mention this to show that sometimes, my subconscious is on side. And as an excuse to print a pic of Mr Tennant in pyjamas, courtesy of those lovely folk at david-tennant.com.