Sweet Jesus!

Can anyone tell me what all the fuss over this is about? Apparently, the response of the Catholic League is one of outrage: I give you Mr Donohue: "The fact that they chose Holy Week shows this is calculated and the timing is deliberate". Well, no shit Sherlock!

Surely, even a Christian could see this as something positively thought-provoking: a statement on the commercialisation of Easter by the confectionary trade? Chocolate eggs celebrate a pagan festival, so why are they called 'Easter eggs'? Why not a chocolate Jesus to bring the festival back to Christianity? And surely Jesus wouldn't have a problem with his body being fashioned of something edible - why does transubstantiation and the eucharist have to be all about bread, I ask you? I'm sure if Jesus had known about chocolate, he would have chosen that instead. Although, probably less practical in a hot climate, I must admit.

I'm eating a Fredo Frog now. I do hope there isn't a frog deity I'm disrespecting by doing so - sacrilicious!

Over-indulging

I must enjoy what may be my final days as a healthy size 10, going on size 12, for soon - any minute now - I am bound to turn into a great big fat, rolly-polly hefalump.

I have eaten an unbelievable amount of food this weekend - chips, cakes, biscuits, pizzas: only the healthy stuff, you see! I fear I am finally reaching THAT stage of marathon training, where I want to eat everything in sight, and generally succeed in doing so. The only problem is, alongside the ever-increasing appetite is an accompanying lack of enthusiasm for running. I haven't been for a run in days - I can't, it would mean taking time out from eating.

This evening we made home-made pizzas (wholemeal dough for the base - highly recommended) and oatmeal and chocolate cookies. And verily it shall come to pass that as I bake, so shall I devour. Oatmeal and chocolate cookies are my New Best Friends - they don't judge... well, they don't really get the chance to judge, what with being baked and then promptly consumed in vast quantities whilst still warm. Yes, they are my New Best Friends even though they are not destined to be long for this world. And though their lives may be cut tragically sort, I like to think that what we have shared, those sublime moments of exquisite joy no matter how fleeting, is something that will endure.

I think I'll go and put another batch on...

From now on, kindly address me as....

... Viscountess Rebecca the Blossoming of Frogging over Womble

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You too can get your own peculiar aristocratic title by clicking here

The Ipod Shuffle: The Joy and the Pain

I have a new ipod shuffle. It is tiny, clips on to my running top and carries about 200 songs. Every week or so, I plug it into my itunes and it downloads a random selection of my music. In most ways, it is simply fantastic. In other ways, not so.

First, I will share some of the happy moments with you:

1. I am walking back from a day's work at the Tower of Darkness. I have been there with a big pile of dusty books trying to find references for my dissertation that I failed to take down properly at the time of writing. It is a highly frustrating task, wading through pages and pages of text for those few elusive words you have quoted, words that are now hiding very well whilst giving you the v sign. I leave, my task unfinished. I'm a bit miffed and have a headache. On the walk home, my shuffle throws me a song by Bluch-bluch, Yve's new band. Yves has a great voice, it's a gentle, soft but catchy song, and I walk home with Yves singing in my ears and a smile on my face.

2. I am on my way to my first dissertation supervision. This year's dissertation has been a bit of a gamble and I walk to Peterhouse worrying that it's too late now to change my title and I've chosen the wrong subject to write about. My head is going round in circles, trying to formulate a better argument with which I can wow my supervisor when I arrive. Johnny Cash arrives and turns my frown upside down. He sings my wedding song for me. The dissertation supervision goes wonderfully and my supervisor says I've chosen a daring but fascinating subject and that I'm nearly there.

3. Walking into town. Wind and rain. Grrrrrr. And who should turn up but the Great Big Sea, to entertain me with 'Donkey Riding'. I have such a big, daft grin on my face, I notice one or two passers-by smiling at me (probably in a pitiful way, but what the hell?).

Good times, my friends, good times. So imagine my shock and disappointment when, within the space of the self-same week, I also get the following songs thrown at me:

1. Candle in the Wind, by Sir Elton himself.
2. Search for the Hero, M People (? I think)
3. Something, the title of which eludes me, which I believe may have been sung by Rod Stewart.

Now, the question is, how on earth did any of these songs make it on to my i-tunes in the first place? On what planet would I ever want to listen to "Candle in the Wind", unless I had a specific reason to wish to induce vomiting? I only praise the lord that Celine Dion hasn't found her way on there - or, at least, I live in hope that she hasn't, and that my ipod isn't saving that particular delight for another time (perhaps exam week). Needless to say, I have since disinfected my itunes. But I still feel dirty.

Catching Up

Dear readers! All ten of you! I have neglected you of late. 'But why, dear, sweet Becky?' I hear you cry. Well, readers, it's because I've been forced to finish the first draft of my dissertation. I have been in the library buried beneath a pile of books and journal articles trying to make sense of the reaction of the Romantic poets to the Elgin marbles. The Keats part was particularly confusing as I have never read any of his poetry before, let alone had to wrestle with his ideas of beauty and the sublime nature of statuary and the mythology of Greece in his poetry. But it's all okay now. Sublime is fine. Disseratation draft has been handed in and I await constructive criticism tomorrow.

In the meantime, I think you should all join me in being Very Concerned for the Welfare of Thailand. Not because of the military coup or anything like that. But because Nicola Front Bottom and Mad Irish Julie are there on holiday. You see, my friend from school and my friend from my old diplomatic life in Switzerland are now friends with each other. I think it's simply lovely. James, however, is referring to it as an Unholy Alliance. We have both been scanning the pages of BBC world on the look-out for 'incidents' or some such like, but all seems quiet at the moment. We live in hope that they will return without inciting civil war, riots or mass hysteria. Hope is a wondrous thing.

Not Just a Dashingly Handsome Face

He is also very, very clever! James submitted his PhD thesis yesterday. I am very proud of him, and looking forward to hearing him say "You can trust me, I'm a doctor"...

Spring is Springing!

I've been ill for nearly two weeks now, and confined to barracks. I finally ventured out in public yesterday, and what did I find? Daffodils (not quite a host of golden ones, but almost)! Blossom on trees! Crocuses! Spring is in the air, I tells you! Breeding season!!

It turns out to be just the right time to be reading Chaucer - I give you the opening of the Canterbury Tales:

Whan that Aprill with his shoures soote
The droghte of March hath perced to the roote,
And bathed every veyne in swich licour
Of which vertu engendred is the flour;
Whan Zephirus eek with his sweete breeth
Inspired hath in every holt and heeth
The tendre croppes, and the yonge sonne
Hath in the Ram his half cours yronne,
And smale foweles maken melodye,
That slepen al the nyght with open ye
(So priketh hem Nature in hir corages),
Thanne longen folk to goon on pilgrimages,
And palmeres for to seken straunge strondes,
To ferne halwes, kowthe in sondry londes;
And specially from every shires ende
Of Engelond to Caunterbury they wende,
The hooly blisful martir for to seke,
That hem hath holpen whan that they were seeke.

I'm writing about Chaucer's dream visions today, most of which, being based on the Roman de la Rose, feature a walled garden in springtime. Outdoors, the Wolfson gardens are also perking up: purple crocuses, lots of daffs and it won't be long before the bluebells are out. I want to go on holiday!! I know my rights! It's spring! This means I deserve (a) a mating season, and (b) a holiday. Chaucer was right - the weather warms up, nature comes back to life and folk then long to go on pilgimages - I'd just like my pilgrimage to be to the Swiss Alps, please. Thank you.