F1 in my head

I was going to have a lie-in this morning...unfortunately I had a nightmare and so I'm up early.

The nightmare was a strange one...I was at work, at Christmas, and attempting to merchandise the charts - with ten Lewis Hamilton hardbacks and twenty Lewis Hamilton paperbacks...

The thing is, last Christmas there were 7 biographies of him, plus his official autobiography. But if he actually wins the championship this year then my nightmare might become real!

I think this dream was a delayed reaction to the broadcasting bias of the British Grand Prix last Sunday.

Don't get me wrong, I loved watching it. It was the first race this year that I've watched with Emily and Brychan (which always makes it better), plus the fact it was a wet race meant that lots of people spun off in humorous ways (most of them near to Sebastian Bourdais - I think he has his own gravitational field that was throwing people off).

The problem with it was actually the same problem that has plagued all the races this year - ITV and James Allen having multiple orgasms over Lewis' ability to "race".

James decided to compare Lewis' race to Senna's race at Donington, which made Anthony hit the roof.
Let's just go into that shall we... Lewis was second on the first corner, and took five laps to pass his team mate (who rather obviously moved off the racing line) - Senna was fifth on the first corner, and first by the end of the first lap having passed Schumacher, Wendlinger, Hill and Prost (that will be passing his three championship rivals and another driver for good measure).

I think that if James Allen compares Lewis to Ayrton one more time, Anthony will track him down and follow Coulthard's lead.

Now, don't get me wrong, when Lewis started racing last year I was looking forward to seeing a British driver racing for the championship. But after ITV have declared him the "People's Champion", decided that every single track guide lap should be one of Lewis', interviewed his dad rather than show an interview with the race winner (on the numerous occasions the winner has not been Lewis)...

Plus Lewis himself has changed from a guy who was very eager to push himself as a normal home-loving guy, British first, black second; into a guy who has *moved* to Switzerland "to avoid the media scrum", who has a celebrity girlfriend and lots of new celebrity friends (like P Diddy, who did a Black Power salute when Lewis won at Monaco), who cites Nelson Mandela and Martin Luther King as his two biggest heroes (but then muddled up a MLK quote in his press conference).

*breathe*

I shall stop ranting now, but this fabulous cartoon sums up the Hamilton hype quite nicely.

Why my boyfriend is a sneaky bastard...

As I said before, Anthony is working 5-1 this week. So I was aware that Valentine's Day was going to be a non-starter and then we agreed we'd go out for a really nice meal at the weekend instead.

But I come home today and the hall light is on. This made me think I was going barmy as I couldn't remember turning it on this morning, then I went into the living room.

I've got my champagne marmite (bought by myself on his behalf), flowers (now being nibbled on by Foley), champagne and the new tv is here too, plus a lovely card.

He is a sneaky git sometimes.

The only problem...it means that he knows I've done no washing-up this week and my plan to do it all tomorrow has been foiled.

Hope youu've all had a great day! (I know David has, congrats Dave!)

Valentine
By John Fuller

The things about you I appreciate
May seem indelicate:
I'd like to find you in the shower
And chase the soap for half an hour.
I'd like to have you in my power
And see your eyes dilate.
I'd like to have your back to scour
And other parts to lubricate.
Sometimes I feel it is my fate
To chase you screaming up a tower
Or make you cower
By asking you to differentiate
Nietzsche from Schopenhauer.
I'd like successfully to guess your weight
And win you at a fete.
I'd like to offer you a flower.

I like the hair upon your shoulders,
Falling like water over boulders.
I like the shoulders, too: they are essential.
Your collar-bones have great potential
(I'd like all your particulars in folders
Marked Confidential).

I like your cheeks, I like your nose,
I like the way your lips disclose
The neat arrangement of your teeth
(Half above and half beneath)
In rows.

I like your eyes, I like their fringes.
The way they focus on me gives me twinges.
Your upper arms drive me berserk.
I like the way your elbows work,
On hinges.

I like your wrists, I like your glands,
I like the fingers on your hands.
I'd like to teach them how to count,
And certain things we might exchange,
Something familiar for something strange.
I'd like to give you just the right amount
And get some change.

I like it when you tilt your cheek up.
I like the way you nod and hold a teacup.
I like your legs when you unwind them.
Even in trousers I don't mind them.
I like each softly-moulded kneecap.
I like the little crease behind them.
I'd always know, without recap,
Where to find them.

I like the sculpture of your ears.
I like the way your profile disappears
Whenever you decide to turn and face me.
I'd like to cross two hemispheres
And have you chase me.
I'd like to smuggle you across frontiers
Or sail with you at night into Tangiers.
I'd like you to embrace me.

I'd like to see you ironing your skirt
And cancelling other dates.
I'd like to button up your shirt.
I like the way your chest inflates.
I'd like to soothe you when you're hurt
Or frightened senseless by invertebrates.

I'd like you even if you were malign
And had a yen for sudden homicide.
I'd let you put insecticide
Into my wine.
I'd even like you if you were the Bride of Frankenstein
Or something ghoulish out of Mamoulian's Jekyll and Hyde.
I'd even like you as my Julian
Of Norwich or Cathleen ni Houlihan.
How melodramatic
If you were something muttering in attics
Like Mrs Rochester or a student of Boolean mathematics.

You are the end of self-abuse.
You are the eternal feminine.
I'd like to find a good excuse
To call on you and find you in.
I'd like to put my hand beneath your chin.
And see you grin.
I'd like to taste your Charlotte Russe,
I'd like to feel my lips upon your skin,
I'd like to make you reproduce.

I'd like you in my confidence.
I'd like to be your second look.
I'd like to let you try the French Defence
And mate you with my rook.
I'd like to be your preference
And hence
I'd like to be around when you unhook.
I'd like to be your only audience,
The final name in your appointment book,
Your future tense.

It's beginning to feel a lot like Christmas...

Much like Posy the publication of the Radio Times Christmas issue is something that makes Christmas suddenly happening and actually real (and not the result of me watching too many Christmassy films in June).

I got mine this morning and have just spent a happy half hour or so (might well have been longer) going through it circling all the things I want to see/hear. It's a family tradition, Dad used to give us all different coloured pens to mark our programmes off with, and we weren't allowed to mark anything that we already had on tape - Mary Poppins, Chitty-Chitty-Bang-Bang etc.

It was quite sad this year, discovering things like Humph in Wonderland and realising I wouldn't be listening to it with Dad. But I am slowly getting used to things like that.

One thing that did actually make me cry was the feature on the adaptation of Ballet Shoes. I was worrying it would spoil it but the pictures are just perfect and after reading the cast list I know that this is going to be a Christmas TV highlight.

I have circled everything that I want to see (including Mary Poppins and Chitty-Chitty-Bang-Bang) in purple ink, even though I probably won't get to see many of the things. As in so many previous years I shall probably watch the first of the Royal Institution Christmas Lectures and then end up missing the rest...