Destroying the PPC?

Glenn has decided he wants to dispose of the Phantom Pornographer's Collection (the PPC) in a ritual fashion, taking all the magazines somewhere and dumping them. Kate and I thought about burning them, but I'm not sure where you might be legally allowed to do that. It might all go horribly wrong in that way that burning paper has, where it ends up floating random scraps all over the place. I'm not sure it would be ethical to send scorched images of breasts into the ether, in a witchy sense, that is.

As ever, suggestions are always welcomed here.

Today, I'm feeling rather uninspired. At first I thought it was something to do with the weather. You know, grey clouds, grey skies, misty rain. It can make for a pretty depressing environment, and sometimes this is not conducive to creativity or even a positive state of mind. But then, this morning, I wander into the greyness and discover that I actually quite like it. I like the desolate emptiness of the trees against the severe sky, I like the abandonment in the stab of cold wind, I like the aimless misting stream of drizzle as it drifts across the empty street. My favourite time for this weather is at dusk, when the sun starts to go down. A strange light comes over the street and the trees seem to shine darkly on either side of the road, as the streetlights come on one by one.

So it's not the weather. Who knows. My mother did tell me there would be days like these.

I cheer myself up by catching up on some blogs I haven't had the chance to visit in a while. One of my first stops is Freakonomics, where I find a funny little short on the history of abs. Well worth a watch, I'd post it here if I could find a way to embed the bloody thing. Check out the link. Funnily enough, it didn't go down so well amongst some of the commentors. I think it's a boy thing. Would they have complained if it was about tits? I thought the tongue-in-cheek feel of the film was kind of meant to inspire thoughts of gender, myself, but maybe that's just me.

Is there any such thing as feminist economics? I'd like to think there must be. Feminist theory gets everywhere, like spilt water.

Getting to Know You

You know, it's funny what you change your mind about. For instance, I always swore I would never post one of those lame email circular 'Getting to know you' posts. And yet......

Today my friend, the rather delightful Richard, sent me one of the very same, and given the lateness of the hour, I can't help but think to share.

1. WERE YOU NAMED AFTER ANYONE?
Not that I know of. I'd like to think it's after Sarah Bernhardt. I too am often referred to as 'The divine Sarah', although mostly only by me.

2. WHEN WAS THE LAST TIME YOU CRIED?
Monday night, like a small badger who had just lost their chocolate buttons.

3. DO YOU LIKE YOUR HANDWRITING?
Very much, especially in fountain pen. And in purple ink. On cream coloured paper. I have a secret stationery fetish.

4. FAVOURITE LUNCH MEAT?
I'm a vegetarian. It used to be tuna. Does that count as meat? It has a face.

5. DO YOU HAVE KIDS?
No, I have parents and an older brother. It can be similar.

6. IF YOU WERE ANOTHER PERSON WOULD YOU BE FRIENDS WITH YOU?
Unlikely, I'd probably find myself too self-obsessed. Although actually, if I was me being friends with me, this might make me like me more. We'd both be obsessed with me, which would mean I would get to talk about myself twice as much as I normally do. So, I've changed my mind, the answer's yes. I'd love me. I'd want to be with me all the time.

7. DO YOU USE SARCASM A LOT?
What a ridiculous suggestion.

8. DO YOU STILL HAVE YOUR TONSILS
Yes. They don't take them out any more. You have to do it yourself by tying string round them, tying the string to a door and then slamming the door. No, hold on, that's teeth.

9. WOULD YOU BUNGEE JUMP?
It would depend what was chasing me.


10. WHAT IS YOUR FAVOURITE CEREAL?
Muesli. Preferably swiss. I bought this cheap stuff recently that had cinnamon. It was vile. I felt betrayed by my local supermarket and have written a very stiff letter of complaint to the manager. On cardboard.

11. DO YOU UNTIE YOUR SHOES WHEN YOU TAKE THEM OFF?

Never. Or when I put them on. This is mostly because almost none of my shoes have laces. I never learnt to tie bows.

12. DO YOU THINK YOU ARE STRONG?
Stronger than your average bear, yes.

13. WHAT IS YOUR FAVOURITE ICE CREAM?
I prefer sorbet, which is strange because it always makes me look like I'm sucking a lemon. If it's lemon sorbet, this is actually kind of true, but you know what I mean.

14. WHAT IS THE FIRST THING YOU NOTICE ABOUT PEOPLE?
Their expression. It's important to notice this. It can provide an early indicator as to whether someone is about to attack you. Whether they're carrying an assault rifle is also a vital clue.


15. RED OR PINK?
red or pink what? Some things should be pink. If they're red, it could mean they're bleeding.

16. WHAT IS THE LEAST FAVOURITE THING ABOUT YOURSELF?
My inability to answer questions succinctly, choosing instead to ramble vaguely about the point, rarely and sometimes never actually arriving at what I meant to say when I was first asked the question, and often totally forgetting what it was in the first place.


17. WHO DO YOU MISS THE MOST?
My other personality.

18. DO YOU WANT EVERYONE TO SEND THIS BACK TO YOU?
No, I wrote it. I already know what it says.

19. WHAT COLOUR PANTS AND SHOES ARE YOU WEARING?
A really bright pink, but still on the right side of fluorescent, and black boots. That's not all I'm wearing, obviously. I'm at my day job right now.

20. WHAT WAS THE LAST THING YOU ATE?

Shortbread.


21. WHAT ARE YOU LISTENING TO RIGHT NOW?

The sound of typing.


22. IF YOU WERE A CRAYON WHAT COLOUR WOULD YOU BE?
Purple , same as Richard, but I would add that I would be blunted and broken, with half my paper ripped off.

23. FAVOURITE SMELLS?

My boyfriend's neck.


24. WHO WAS THE LAST PERSON YOU TALKED TO ON THE PHONE?
My mum.


25. DO YOU LIKE THE PERSON WHO SENT THIS TO YOU?
More than I could describe in words. Though I would have a go if he needed a reference or anything.


26. FAVOURITE SPORTS TO WATCH?
As if.

27. HAIR COLOUR?
A photographer once told me it was titian (LIU,D), but I was called ginger throughout my childhood. Most people say that I'm not ginger anymore, which would have pleased me back then but annoys me now. I usually refer to it as the colour of dirty dishwater.


28. EYE COLOUR?
Blue.


29. DO YOU WEAR CONTACTS?

I have a phobia of anything going into my eyes, so no. I do have glasses, but I always forget them, which means I spend a lot of time squinting at people in the street or across a room. This often makes them think I have a personality disorder way before the experience of talking to me confirms their suspicion.


30. FAVOURITE FOOD?
Mexican. Anything Mexican. Not people, though. That's actually illegal in most, if not all countries now. If I'm allowed to wear a sombrero whilst eating Mexican food, then happiness is mine.


31. SCARY MOVIES OR HAPPY ENDINGS?

Scary movies with happy endings.

32. LAST MOVIE YOU WATCHED?
Hot Fuzz. Awesome. Yarp.

33. WHAT COLOUR SHIRT ARE YOU WEARING?
Red jumper.

34. SUMMER OR WINTER?

Summer . Unless it's for the Olympics, because I like the ski jumping. Especially when they fall down.

35. HUGS OR KISSES?
Being kissed while being hugged.


36. FAVOURITE DESSERT?
Chocolate things. But not cheesecake. Cheesecake and chocolate should never be combined. It actually contravenes an ancient byelaw

37. MOST LIKELY TO RESPOND?
Me.

38. LEAST LIKELY TO RESPOND
You.

39. WHAT BOOK ARE YOU READING NOW?

Jim Butcher's latest Harry Dresden novel. Ah-sum.
41. WHAT DID YOU WATCH ON T.V. LAST NIGHT?
Don't watch TV. Well, sometimes Question Time or CSI Miami because the ginger guy is so intensely bad it makes me laugh.


42. FAVOURITE SOUND?
Running water. Preferably rivers or the sea, more than say, a urinal.

43. ROLLING STONES OR BEATLES?
Beatles, because all you need is love and I have no sympathy for the Devil. I do have a secret fascination with Lucifer, but don't tell anyone.


44. WHAT IS THE FARTHEST YOU HAVE BEEN FROM HOME?
Canada

45. DO YOU HAVE A SPECIAL TALENT?
Answering questionnaires. Oh, and the ability to read minds. I cannot believe you would actually do that to an animal, dude. Seek help.


46. WHERE WERE YOU BORN?
Here. Portsmouth, I mean, not at my desk.

47. WHOSE ANSWERS ARE YOU LOOKING FORWARD TO GETTING BACK?
Everyone's.

"When you have eliminated the impossible, whatever remains, however improbable, must be the truth." Sherlock Holmes

The entire lyrics to the Charlie Brown and Snoopy show are now posted on yesterday's post, thanks to the Anonymous. We cannot get enough feedback. Obviously, I now also cannot get enough of singing the Charlie Brown theme tune, but that's a whole other post.

I spent much of this morning, in my incarnation as a Policy Assistant with the Ministry of Cultural Services (recently renamed, do keep up), with the Arthur Conan Doyle Collection, Lancelyn Green Bequest. You can get an insight into this amazing collection, which has truly staggering potential for the development of the city (not least in terms of tourism, but also academic reputation and kudos with the huge international community of Sherlockians), at the City Museum's award-winning exhibition, A Study in Sherlock (do you see what they did there? No? Well, you'd probably have to be a bit of a Sherlockian to truly get that pun). I'd recommend a visit - I've been twice and will doubtless take visitors to it again.

I was visiting only the Archives strand of this important bequest, which is being co-ordinated by the city's fantastic archive staff and a band (unspeckled) of outstanding volunteers, of which I one day hope to be one. The Archives service are dealing with the records of the Collection, inlcuding letters, paper based memorabilia and countless photographs. The complexity of the work being undertaken is astounding, and there is so much work involved for the volunteers and project staff. I was lucky enough to meet two of the volunteers this morning, one who was working on the digitalization of the project and one who was removing duplicates from the photograph collection prior to them being digitized.

What struck me most about my visit (I was preparing an article for Culture Brief, our internal newsletter) was not just the amount of work needed to prepare a collection for public access like the Arthur Conan Doyle Collection, Lancelyn Green Bequest, but the breadth of skills required. The photographs alone cover such an extensive range of subjects and themes, for example.

Currently, the collection's preparation is split across libraries, who are dealing with books, museums who are dealing with the 3d items and the records service, who are dealing with the archives element of the collection.

If you can't get to the Portsmouth City Museum immediately, you can find out more about the collection at its dedicated website, here. Subscribe to the email newsletter online at the Collection's website for news.

In other news, my mojo has returned. I had been fearing for much of last week that a huge aspect of my personality, namely the fun part, had disappeared with the removal of caffeine from my daily diet. However, today, I felt much more like myself, and even found time to irritate the Chief, amuse Miss Sally and distract my other colleagues from their valuable work.

Everyone in the office is understandably relieved by the return of my eight personality - one of approximately thirty competing personalities, the Chief believes.

Eeyore days

I love you, Anonymous. I'm going to call you Kenike from now on. I'm pretty sure that that's not how you spell Kenike, but let's not split hairs.

It's more an Eeyore kind of day, but I can't stop thinking about Charlie Brown.

This is not insurmountable, and in some ways, it's better that I'm working in the Peace Cafe (Castle Road, Southsea, for all your internet, buddhist, coffee and herbal tea needs), even though I would rather be snuggled up under a blanket in my new round wicker chair. The wicker chair in my bedroom is my new favourite place to be. Since I got that chair, I rarely want to be anywhere else. Sometimes, when company arrive, I resent their presence because secretly I want to be back in my chair.

Does this make me a hermit? Does this make me old? Does this mean I was a cat in my past life? I'm definitely a bitch in this one, in Vedic astrological terms only, of course.

Cafe customers come in fits and starts.

I am grateful this morning for one of my best friends, Heather, and for one of the PC Irregulars, Stephen. They talk Charlie Brown and Healys with me for an hour, while Scottish John sits in the back room, occasionally giggling. at our conversations.

"Did Charlie Brown ever get to kiss the little red haired girl?" I ask Heather.

She Googles it.

"Yes, in an episode called 'It's Your First Kiss, Charlie Brown, in 1977," she replies, with authority.

"Was Linus the one who played the piano?" I ask.

"No, he had a comfort blanket," comments Stephen, over his open Guardian, "He wouldn't have been able to play the piano and carry the blanket."

He takes a sip of his peppermint tea.

"I know he had a blanket, but I thought maybe he put it down to play, like maybe that was the only time he didn't need it. You know, like that brain surgeon with Tourettes."

Stephen chokes on his peppermint tea and from the back room comes the sound of John, gently laughing.

"You're very inquisitive today, Sarah," John observes.

"You say inquisitive where others say annoying," I answer glumly.

"Endearing," he rebukes.

"It was Schroeder on the piano," says Heather and points to a Google image of him.

"I liked him. Not as much as Charlie Brown, but a close second," I tell everyone.

"Did you want to be the little red haired girl?" asks Stephen.

"No," says Heather, with her back to him, "I'm a brunette."

"Er, I was asking Sarah," he points out.

"That would make more sense," she answers, "Sarah's actually got red hair."

Stephen looks at me.

"Yes," I say sadly, "I always wanted to be the little red haired girl."

The PP Strikes Back?

Things are becoming more surreal at the Loft.

Last night I convinced myself that my neighbour, the Finnish blonde, was dead. When I came back to the house in the early evening I noticed that her doors were wide open. Although this isn't unusual (it must be very safe in Finland), they hadn't changed position from the time I went out earlier in the day.

This worried me, and I vaguely peered through the gloom into her flat. It was very dark and I am slightly ashamed to say that I lost my nerve. I scuttled up to my flat for inspiration.

Fortunately, my friend, the Gentle Giant, Glenn, arrived a short time later and after consuming a couple of stiff gins, I suggested that we venture down there to check out the scene. We stumbled down the stairs nervously. Just as we approached her door, however, the sound of the television blared out and all was well.

I think I had let my imagination get carried away with itself a little. This wasn't helped by the fact that I've heard a couple of gruesome stories of the dead neighbour type recently and my subconscious was probably being influenced by them. The most recent of these stories included the detail that dead people smell like a butcher's shop after a while, and I was convinced in my earlier investigations of the hallway that I could smell fresh meat. Possibly I've been a vegetarian for too long and I'm starting to have bloodlust hallucinations. I'll talk to my shrink. Again.

Weirder than this interior and rather odd dead neighbour paranoia, however, was when I showed Glenn the PP's jazz mag hideout, only to discover that Mayfair has been joined by a copy of Rustler. Does pornography have a tendency to breed pornography, although it may interesting to discuss, I mean this as a literal rather than a philosophical question.

More than this however, we noticed four carrier bags stuffed with what Glenn described as "vintage porn" - that's FOUR carrier bags, dear reader, and I use the term 'stuffed' entirely correctly, although 'crammed' would also suffice. I let Glenn investigate, as he appeared to possess a more discerning eye on the material than I, and he wiped his hand on the leg of his jeans after with a dubious and slightly nervous look.

"Oh God," he said faintly, "It's probably used."

Glenn thinks this one would even have Sherlock himself stumped. Judging by the amount of dirt mags down there, and the fact that Holmes never seemed to get any action after Irene Adler, I'm inclined to agree it would certainly keep the great detective busy for a good few hours.

Any ideas?