Nothing Zen about me

Limecat Junior decided that he wanted to be taken on a trip to "The Play Farm" yesterday. So after strapping him into the boot - er, back seat - I attached my Zen Stone to the stereo system and handed it to him so that he could control the playlist. I thought this would be preferable to having him request that I fast forward, or reverse ten times. Instructions like this can be confusing when you're trying to concentrate on the driving.

How wrong I was.

There were about 50 tracks available for him to choose from.

With the Zen in his hand, this is how Radio Limecat panned out;

Laura - Scissor Sisters
Laura - Scissor Sisters
Nothing sweet about me - Gabriella Cilmi
Laura - Scissor Sisters
Laura - Scissor Sisters
Laura - Scissor Sisters
Laura - Scissor Sisters
Laura - Scissor Sisters
Girls - Sugababes
Laura - Scissor Sisters
Laura - Scissor Sisters
Girls - Sugababes
Laura - Scissor Sisters
Laura - Scissor Sisters
Laura - Scissor Sisters
Laura - Scissor Sisters

By the time we got to the carpark and I was, mercifully, able to switch off the engine, my ears were in shock. The effect of listening to the Scissor Sisters a zillion times without a break was, as Morrisey would put it "enough to make a shy, bald Buddhist reflect and plan a mass murder".

I'll never make that mistake again.

Oh dear, not another one

Another book review, that is. It's supposed to be walking and crochet but it's turned into reading.

I have an excuse, though. Mr Cat is in the process of doing something new fangled so that any walks I blog about can be highlighted with a pictorial representation of our every footstep. Thus, you can see where we get lost and double back on ourselves, fall into mantraps and end up in lakes. But he hasn't done it yet, so the walks are in a blog queue.

So until they're unleashed, I'm going to recommend The Suspicions of Mr Whicher. I was SCARED of this book. At least for the first couple of chapters, which are very creepy. It's another Victorian murder mystery, only a true one this time. This probably gives the impression that I'm interested in all things Victorian, when the opposite is the case (if it's possible to smash an era of History repeatedly about the head with a cudgel, I would choose the period 1714-1914, with particular cudgelling reserved for the Victorians) but this was the only book which looked remotely readable in the St Pancras International branch of Foyles. I had a long wait ahead, and a Danish pastry to get through. And it's really rather good.



As for crochet, I was in the process of making a character from Wall:E, but someone from Craftster pipped me to the post so I won't be able to start a new project until I've stopped sulking. Eve will have to remain in the craft basked, headless, until I do.

A good read

Not having much luck on the reading front of late. Books are something I cannot live without, but recently I've found myself ploughing through a swamp of mediocrity.

Fortunately, a readable offering came my way recently when I picked this one up in Waterstones.


An historical novel by a person called Kylie Fitzpatrick filled me with trepidation (well come on - my old moniker was going to be Beatrix Canticle. You wouldn't read an historical novel by someone called Beatrix Canticle, would you? Would you?!), but it was just fine. It's never going to win the Booker prize, but if you want a few hours of pleasant distraction then this will be just the ticket. It's quite gentle, and what I'd term a ladies' murder mystery story, despite having a wee bit of a feminist message. Which is fine, really. After all, those action adventure stories that boys read can get a bit boisterous at times. They're enough to make you drop your cup of Darjeeling. And that would never do.