mandragora

was perhaps not the most exciting of my life to date.

Mostly it consisted of work, work and yet more work, which is the price you pay when you've got a trial fast approaching. I interspersed the work with glancing at the Olympics which have been pretty damn good to date.

This afternoon I received a, well, hysterical is probably slightly too strong a word for it, phone call from my mother. She'd rung my sister up and the phone was answered by my youngest nephew who said that he couldn't stop because Daddy was just about to pick him up to take him to the hospital. His response to my mother's obviously alarmed enquiry about what was up was that my oldest nephew had jumped out of the window at a sleepover at a friend's house last night. Oh, and he'd got to go now, 'cos Daddy's here. Bye.

My mother immediately rang me. She was rather upset, even after my suggestion that oldest nephew couldn't be badly hurt, otherwise my youngest nephew would surely sound more upset than it sounds as if he was. I told my mother, who wasn't thinking clearly being far too upset, that I'd make some enquiries and get back to her.

I tried to contact my brother-in-law but his mobile was switched off.
So I did a websearch for hospitals in the area where my sister's family live. There really is only one possible hospital that my oldest nephew could have been taken to. So, I rang them up. The phone rang and rang. After 8 minutes of ringing it was answered by a man who confirmed that oldest nephew had been brought in a couple of hours ago and was waiting to be examined. He wouldn't tell me what for. However, I was reassured that he'd been waiting a couple of hours because if he was badly hurt he wouldn't have been waiting to be seen by a doctor for that long.

I rang my mother and told her what I knew. She was slightly reassured. A few minutes later my mother rang again. My sister and youngest nephew had come back, leaving the eldest nephew to be looked after by his father as he'd now been examined by the doctor.

Turns out my oldest nephew had jumped out of a third storey (that's fourth storey for you Americans) window on a dare. Yes, of course it was stupid, but he's twelve. Boys of that age do stupid things, that's a given. But the idiotic mother of the boy who was hosting the sleepover didn't tell my sister what had happened, or take my eldest nephew to hospital, although she was sufficiently worried about him to sleep in the same room as him last night. He was in pain and crying for his mother at 1.30am but she told him it was too late and he'd have to wait until morning. Then, when he was clearly in pain in the morning she didn't mention it when she rang my sister up to suggest that he be brought back home by the parents of one of his friends. My sister, not knowing that anything was wrong, agreed. The upshot was that eldest nephew didn't arrive home until 2.00pm. My sister took one look at him and took him to hospital.

Eldest nephew performed his jump at 8.00pm last night.

Clearly there are some people who are not fit to be in charge of children. The stupid woman hosting the sleepover is one of them.

Eldest nephew has damaged his ankle and will have to be in a cast for a while. He was due to go away on holiday to Pontins for a few days tomorrow. I don't think that he'll enjoy it much. But it could have been so much worse. The doctors told him that he was lucky. He could have broken his back.

Boys, eh.

Happy Birthday Gibraltar.

I'm ridiculously amused by the current hoohah surrounding the celebrations for the 300 years of British sovereignty over Gibraltar.

This morning on the Today programme there was an interview with a man whose ancestors were displaced from Gibraltar 300 years ago when the British took the Rock from the Spanish. He was bemoaning and bewailing and, really, one could have gained the impression that his life was totally ruined by this event. That happened 300 years ago. Rather before he was born, I suspect.

I can understand why the Spanish are, hmm, irritated at having this British possession stuck just off the Spanish coast by La Linea, but. If they want to persuade the Gibraltarians to change their minds and decide that they want to be Spanish rather than British throwing a temper tantrum really isn't the way to win friends and influence people. Plus, every time the Spanish have a hissy fit over Gibraltar being British I am irresistably reminded of the fact that Spain 'owns' two enclaves in Morocco which they have no intention of handing back. Hypocritical, much?

The irony is that Britain has now held sovereignty over Gibraltar for longer than Spain did, the Spanish being quick to claim it from the Moors when Arab power in the region started to fail. Britain wanted the Rock because of its immense strategic value at a time when British naval power was starting to increase. So, Britain marched in and booted the Spaniards out. That included the local civilian population who supported the military garrison. The trouble was that you couldn't run a military base in those days without a local civilian population and obviously the locals, who were unsurprisingly resentful as all hell weren't going to oblige.

So, the British hit on a Cunning Plan, and invited the Genoese (who were great travellers in those days) to come and settle on Gibraltar. Which they duly did. As a result the Gibraltarians are not of Spanish descent (although inevitably many of them have Spanish blood, their ancestors having intermingled with the Spanish over the centuries). They self identify, very proudly, as being British. The combination of Genoese and British culture has produced a curious amalgam of influences. Spanish is definitely there, of course. But they are most certainly not Spanish.

Feelings against Spain still run high. Many of them suffered greatly under Franco, when Gibraltar was cut off from Spain for 25 years. The only way out of Gib in those days was by a direct flight (which steered well clear of Spanish territory) to Britain or the ferry to Morocco. Even today there are Gibraltarians in their sixties and seventies who have never been off the Rock in their entire lives. The mind boggles.

I lived in Gib for a while. Long enough to become thoroughly annoyed at Spain's attitude to the Rock. And I love Spain, think that the Spanish people are, for the most part, warm, welcoming and hospitable with a cultural history to die for.

Nowadays Spain settles for petty harassment at the border with Spain. Petty, but extremely annoying. Waiting in the queue for 2 to 3 hours to drive across to Spain to go shopping on a Saturday is not much fun. Even with the loos thoughtfully positioned nearby in Gibraltar in anticipation of the long wait. Other annoyances include the fact that in Spain there aren't any signposts to Gibraltar until one is actually at Gibraltar. Likewise, if one posts a letter in Spain to Gibraltar it will take ages to get there because the letter is sent to the UK first and from there to Gibraltar.
Because Gibraltar doesn't exist, you see. Not in Spain, anyway.

Sigh.

As Gibraltar is no longer of prime strategic importance (although strategically significant, certainly) it would be in Spain's interests to woo Gibraltar, persuade them to become Spanish. Bullying demonstrably won't work. What a pity the Spanish don't seem to have learnt that lesson. Because in these post-colonial days the rule very firmly is that the people of the colony get to determine what they want, not what the mother country wants.

No, of course Britain wouldn't want or dream of seizing Gibraltar nowadays. But back then Spain was An Enemy and, well, the times were different. The whole bloody world was different. *g*

And what the people of Gibraltar want, overwhelmingly so, is to remain British.

I'm definitely having a Victor Meldrew moment (which has nothing to do with my advancing years!).

A couple of months ago I posted about receiving a copy of Angel Season One box set from amazon.com which infortunately contained two copies of disc 2 and no copy of disc 3. Amazon responded with excellent service to my emails about how I could obtain a copy of disc 3, Season One and sent to me a complete new box set of Season One.

It finally arrived today. Well, actually it arrived yesterday whilst I was out and as it was too big to go to the letter box a note was left informing me of this and I went to my local sorting office this morning to pick it up. Got back home, opened the package, checked the contents...

To find that it contains two copies of disc-effing-2 and no copy of disc 3!

*bangs head against wall*

Doomed. I'm doomed, I tell you.

I sent an email to amazon.com explaining the situation and wondering whether I could please just have a copy of Season One, disc 3, that that is all I want, honest, but if they have to send me a whole new box set can a staff member please check it before it's sent out to ascertain whether there actually is a copy of the oh-so-elsuive disc 3 inside. Unfortunately, the email bounced back because the email address can't receive incoming email, so I'll have to wait until I get home tonight to re-send as all the details are on my computer at home.

But. What are the odds? The exact same error in two sets? Mind you, it's possible that there was a glitch in the packing system and that quite a few of the box sets are similarly afflicted.

Sigh.

Who has moved (it is to be hoped on a strictly temporary basis) into the residential block of flats that is located on the *extremely* (one car width's wide - just) narrow road right opposite my office...

Shut the fuck up!

He has been playing his effing crappy soft-American rock all afternoon. Very, very loudly. Now he is trying to make meeting up arrangements with various other Americans. Okay, I'm guessing that they're Americans but they obviously don't know anything about London judging by how often he's having to repeat the directions. Mind you, he is mispronouncing the names of every street he mentions, so maybe they just can't understand him.

*snerk*

Every damn time his phone rings he walks across to his window and proceeds to speak *extremely loudly*. First time he walked across he was naked (luckily he has a trim physique so that wasn't *too* unpleasant *g*). Next time he had bothered to put on clothing. Including a baseball cap, Indoors. Who the fuck wears a baseball cap indoors?

Oh, right, loud American man does. Who, it is devoutly hoped will soon hie himself back to his mother country. Pronto. You know, the place where they have huge great big honking streets and therefore one can yell and play one's crappy music without disturbing the people opposite who are trying to do some damn work!

I mean, people working in offices in the City (place which has the least number of actual residents and most number of workers in the whole of London), perish the thought.

ETA: Yes, I am aware that most American visitors to these fair (ahem) shores are the soul of courtesy who wouldn't dream of subjecting oters to their taste in music for hours on end. Alas, that this man is not one of the vast majority.

I had a wonderful time in New York (and New Jersey). I met some great people whose company I enjoyed hugely. As for NYC itself, wow! What a transformation. All that make this city one of the greatest in the world is still there and it sparkles! But that faint edge of menace that the city used is exude is gone. Previously I wouldn't dared to wander around even parts of Manhattan on my own but now I felt completely safe wherever I walked.

Congratulations to the people of NYC for making your city such a pleasure to visit.

I plan to post more detailed reports later about what I saw and who I met but have come back to find all hell has broken loose at work. Actually, it's more fair to say that all hell broke loose at 5.00pm on Friday afternoon when the prosecution dumped a huge load of documents on us which need to be read and considered in time for a response to be drafted and sent to the court by Wednesday 23 June 2004. Trouble is, I'm in court Monday, Tuesday, Wednesday...

I had a wedding celebration to go to yesterday in a small village near Grantham. I had planned to stay overnight. Instead I found myself driving for a couple of hours to the party, drinking absolutely no alcohol and driving a couple of hours back to London again late last night. All so I could work today. Sigh.

Am taking a few minutes break to whinge. Oh, and to ask if anyone's got experience of loading digital photos into their LJ and, if so, should they be cropped to avoid taking up too much bandwidth? And, um, how do I do that? Camera is new (very new, bought just before I went to NYC) so I'm clueless about these things.

I didn't know you cared!

*g*

mandragora1's LJ stalker is kittygoslingp!

kittygoslingp is stalking you because they heard you are awesome in bed, and they want to find out. They are also getting with your significant other!

A friend of mine is getting married soon, for the second time. Her husband to be, who is a really great bloke, wants a very low-key ceremony which will be attended by only the immediate family. This is fair enough, of course, and they decided that they'd have a big party to celebrate a few days after the wedding.

Now, I thought *party* and then I thought, 'I have nothing to wear'.

Looks severely at a choking temaris, who commented once that Mandragora has more clothes than anyone she knows. Mandragora then had to admit that 9 suitcases of clothes were actually missing from her wardrobes, as she'd taken them to Gibraltar...

Ahem, be that as it may, I didn't - I really didn't - have a *thing* to wear for a big weddingy type evening party. Really. So, I phoned my mother. Who is a professional standard seamstress. I then spent a happy weekend in her company choosing suitably sparkly-type material, with sequins, for a sleeveless top and matching non-sparkly material for an accompanying skirt. The colour is...difficult to describe, and is a sort of cross between maroon and red. It sounds horrible but should, I hope, look rather pretty. Then there was the expedition for shoes and bag. One strappy, ridiculously high pair of sandals and clutch-bag later and we were done. All for a lovely low price (benefit of making rather than buying).

So, today I finally get the official invitation to the party. And it's a *sob* barbecue. Starting at 4.00pm. Definitely officially not sparkly-outfit suitable. I mean, I like barbecues, they're a lot of fun. But sequins and satin? Don't really go.

Thankfully I've got a ball to go to in July, plus a wedding (a proper one including an evening do) in September, so All Is Not Lost.

Have phoned Mum and told her not to rush making the outfit, though. Sigh.

Er, that's a radioactive lemming...

> WARNING

mandragora1 is radioactive. Wear protective clothing at all times.

Username:

From Go-Quiz.com

You see a lot of 'celebrities' round London, but not often travelling by tube.

Jonathan Ross has just had the actress Alicia Witt on his Saturday morning R2 show, which reminded me that I saw her on the tube a few days ago. I didn't recognise her at first, but noticed her and her boyfriend as being a rather good-looking couple.

They were clearly not British (actually a lot of people on the tube aren't British...*g*) and I guessed American. Was gratified when I was able to hear them speak when we reached the next station that my guess was right. Then I thought to myself that they both looked vaguely familiar...

I couldn't remember her name, just that she'd played the daughter in Cybill, and it wasn't until I heard the same voice on the radio this morning that I twigged who she is. She's doing a play in the West End at present, hence presumably why she's travelling like a native, rather than swanning around in a limo. I like that in a person ;)

Anyway, for the record sans movie-star make-up and hair etc she is very pretty, but not gobsmackingly beautiful. Ditto the boyfriend, who also looks vaguely familiar - like a young American TV star, but I don't know which one. Good looking bloke, definitely someone you'd notice but not someone you'd stop in the street to stare at.

I have finally succumbed and ordered Seasons One, Two and Three on DVD. I'll be able to get rid of my tapes, which is great from a clutter POV.

But, how insane is this? Purchasing all three seasons from amazon.com is about the same price as buying one season from sendit-com/blackstar, and about £10.00 more than one season from amazon.co.uk. Excluding postage. I'm getting all three seasons for £75, including postage, from amazon.com. Bargain!

It was even cheaper getting them today from amazon.com than amazon.ca (my usual cheap purchasing place). But I was walking with thermidor (who is, alas, on her way back home now to the US) and temaris through Leicester Square last night and saw what the US dollar exchange rate against sterling is atm (no wonder thermidor was wincing), so thought that amazon.com might be cheaper. And it was.

Even taking into account currency fluctuations, though, the DVDs in the UK are far too expensive compared to North America and are yet another shining example of how we get ripped off in this country. But really, don't those people who sell goods over the internet realise that many of us are savvy enough to shop around worldwide for the cheapest price? And have multi-region DVD players, which are widely available in the UK?

Will you stop posting about Angel/Lindsey dammit, woman! Because I'm edging this close to tumbling head over heels for them. And it's all your fault. Just read your story and it's...ahem, well yes *fans self*. And now I've been checking out the excellent and affecting music-vids you recommended.

From there it's only a teeny tiny step to searching out all the fiction. Well, the good stuff, anyway. But Lindsey's a lawyer, blast it. And lawyers? So not Teh Sexy. Except that Lindsey (and Lilah) are.

But I don't have time for this right now. Work calls. Loudly. *shakes fist at elynross*

Er, the movie, that is. I bought it on DVD last weekend and have just finished watching it. The film is set in a 'Borstal', which was the predeccesor to today's Young Offender's Institutions. They were pretty notorious, ruthless places which young lads went into and came out as hardened criminals. The film was powerful stuff, featuring much non-gratuitous violence, bad language and a brutal, completely non-titillating rape scene of a young first offender by three older boys.

I did think it was a pity that the part of the original script, which featured the 'daddy', who was the boy who was top dog, in a relationship with another boy was cut. The idea, reflecting life in all-male institutions, was that neither boy would necessarily pick another man by choice but would 'make do' if there were no women around. Of course, in a less homophobic society than our own perhaps they wouldn't be claiming that they're making do at all, but as it is their self-image firmly proclaims that they ain't no poof! It would have increased the complexity of the 'daddy' character, who was a natural leader, if he had this area of vulnerability. But it was not to be.

It's a powerful film, which ends in tragedy. Again, this reflects life. Young men are the most likely segment of society to commit suicide. Young men in prison are even more so.

I then started to watch The Boondock Saints, which was lent to me by stageira, but the way over the top cartoonish violence wasn't best served by coming after the horrifying realism portrayed in Scum, so I've temporarily abandoned it to watch another day.

ETA: Changed the kind lender of The Boondock Saints from seiyaharris to stageira as it was actually the latter who lent it to me...

I've just watched one of the most harrowing programmes I've ever seen. Panorama's documentary on the Rwandan massacre was painful to watch.

The worst moment was when one of the murderers described how he and some of his fellow Hutus spent a week tracking down a 10 years old Tutsi boy who had evaded them. When they caught him he begged for mercy. They hit him again and again and then buried him. He was still kicking when they did so. The man in question had a son who at the time was also 10 years old.

Panorama was unflinching in its depiction of the aftermath, showing scene after scene of bodies in various stages of decomposition that were lying so thickly on the ground that it was impossible to see anything but bodies. Where they were lying was in the grounds of and inside a Catholic Church where the victims had fled for safety. The murderers did not care about the sanctity of the church, even though the people they were killing had worshipped by their side just a few days previously.

One of the most sickening thing for me was the murderers saying that they were out of their minds and possessed by the devil. They are refusing to take responsibility for their actions and admit their culpability. No one forced them to murder and rape their neighbours, as evidenced by the fact that the murderers were a minority of the Hutu population, even if the majority did nothing to prevent the genocide. There were also a few brave people who sheltered Tutsis and saved them from death.

And of course the question was raised as to why the people with the power to stop the genocide, we in the West, stood by and did nothing.

But it's an object lesson of how frighteningly easy it is to whip up mob mentality and the horrifying result. If we think it couldn't happen to us in the West we only have to think of what happened fifty years ago to remember that it did.

It's been a long time since I last did a full blown dinner party and now I'm remembering why. They're bloody hard work!

Having some friends round for a slashy gathering? No problem. That I can do till the cows come home. Having friends round for 'supper', ditto.

But a dinner party... I'm already knackered, and it's not happening until tomorrow night. But today I've been sorting out dining room chairs (not an easy task as I had to haul several down from the loft) and food shopping. Naturally, Sainsbury's had everything I wanted except for one essential item. So, I had to go to Safeways as well. Normally food shopping takes about an hour. Today it was three. As for the bill... I'm still wincing.

Then, in a frenzy of organisation, I made the dessert. The food processor had every part known to humankind - except the one I wanted. So, I ended up having to whisk by hand. So not fun. To add insult to injury (literally) as I was putting the food processor parts away I managed to slice a good half inch sized gash in my hand. So far the cut is not clotting and I'm gloomily contemplating whether it'll need stitching. I can't even put a butterfly plaster on it because I'm allergic to sticking plasters. The hypoallergenic ones are, not to put too fine a point on it, crap.

Trouble is, I owe everyone who's coming tomorrow night dinner several times over. Guilt got the better of me which led to me inviting them for a long overdue reciprocal engagement. However, I'm now contemplating giving up guilt for Lent. Or, for the summer, seeing as it comes first.

For anyone who's at all curious as to what culinary masterpieces (ahem) I'm rustling up, menu is behind the cut tag.

( Mandragora's menu )

So, friend who I'm going out with tonight has rung up to check whether we're still on and said that I might want to know that he's just got his test results and that he hadn't got TB!

I knew he was having tests, but he didn't mention what for. The reason he's been tested is that his girlfriend does have TB. Well, it's either that or she's in the terminal stages of lung cancer. I never thought I'd be hoping that someone has TB, but obviously in this case I am. It's not likely she has lung cancer as she's a 26 years old life-long non-smoker and she has none of the usual symptoms of advanced lung cancer.

But still. Damn.

Here's hoping that her TB is not one of the drug resistant strains and that the 6 months course of antibiotics she's on will cure her.

This is a depressing reminder of how TB is making a come back.

So, one of my closest friends, and regular cinema-going partner has just rung up and suggested that we go and see a film Friday night. We're going to one of the cinemas near me because the tickets there are about a third of the (extortionate) price of a West End cinema ticket.

"I wouldn't mind seeing the new Mel Gibson movie," he suggests. Five minutes later, following Mandragora's explanation that Gibson is a member of a whacked-out religious sect and that the film is all about blood and guts he agrees that perhaps Mel won't be getting any of our money after all.

So, we discuss what else is on. Alas and alack, (what? I'm trying for pathos here) really the only thing that is on that suits both of us (him rather reluctantly) is Starsky & Hutch... Which I saw last Saturday. Not that I told him that.

I look on it as research. I'll be checking out the reactions of very open minded, not to mention sexually adventurous, but most definitely straight male friend to the film as opposed to the slashy mob who I saw the film with on Saturday. I'm sure it'll be sociologically fascinating ;)

Am also somewhat reassured in reading LJ entries of various people on my friends-list that they too have seen the film in the company with men and that the blokes enjoyed it too. If nothing else I know my friend will enjoy a certain scene involving a couple of cheerleaders. *g*

Am wondering whether I've actually developed an intolerance to alcohol somewhere along the way.

I was out last night for a friend's leaving do and I don't recall having had much to drink, not least because I was interspersing the alcohol with mineral water, but I have a killer headache today. Am out drinking again tonight with the university crowd, but thankfully with dinner. Tomorrow am meeting some fannish friends starting off with cocktails.

I'm feeling ill already.

I shouldn't be alcohol intolerant, coming as I do from a long line of alcohol guzzling ancestors, but ow!

There's an interesting article in the New York Times here written by a German novelist and essayist about the ever widening difference in attitude between Europe and the US. Or, perhaps more accurately, the ever widening difference between Europe and the Bush administration.

The author is obviously by no means unsympathetic to the US but expresses the same concerns that I see reflected by my American friends time and again - that the rhetoric espoused by the present US administration is succeeding in alienating those people who are otherwise admirers of America's past generosity and assistance to other nations in times of trouble.

It's a great pity that Bush has failed to learn that the best motto to adopt when one is the greatest power on earth is, "speak softly and carry a big stick".