Uh…. I meant to do that

Am currently pondering James’s proposition of stepping into Helen’s place in their date pact thing. Am not sure of exact details though, Helen couldn’t remember and the apparently circular link on his blog didn’t help much.

Whoops. The link now works. I’m really at a loss as to explain how that happened, I usually check all the links in my entries as soon as I post them. Oh well, even professional web designers (uh… on second thought let’s just say people who do web design for a living – the prospect of being a professional anything is way scary πŸ™‚ are allowed to screw up now and then I guess πŸ™‚

Intransigent DNA Influenced Cute Woman of the Week: The Guardian is coming back soon hence they’ve started playing adds for it – How cute is that… um… well I don’t know the character’s name, but the woman Simon Baker’s character is always getting all worked up about. Yeah her. How cute is she!? πŸ™‚

Damn Trains!

Ya gotta love episodes of CSI where Sarah makes a pass at Grissom, and he either doesn’t notice or stands there with a look of consternated annoyance because he can’t think what he should do next πŸ™‚

Hmmmm, reminds me of me *g*

Greg also got blown up in last night’s episode, although not seriously blown up, just lie-around-in-a-hospital-bed-for-a-while-making-faces blown up. Sarah also got a little bit blown up, but only needed a few stiches. Then she kicked open a door and pointed a gun at a dangerous suspect and followed up by asking Grissom out to dinner, which is a bit of an odd reaction I would have thought. Oh well, what do I know about the way they do things in Vegas? πŸ™‚

Anyway what you don’t gotta love are sudden train strikes, like the one that caught me (and thousands of other commuters) out yesterday night. I was annoyed at first, although not overly so as the number 28 bus runs from Subiaco railway station almost to my front door. So I lined up and caught it, expecting to get home just before six.

Unfortunately I’d figured without the massive road congestion caused by 15,000 or so stranded train users calling up their friends and family for lifts, and the complete breakdown of the bus service under the load of the other 15,000 commuters that suddenly jumped onto it. So it was 6:00 before the bus even made it into the city. Happily though most of the lemming-like hordes alighted here, leaving just a handful of us to enjoy the trip out to Mount Lawley.

Unfortunately it turned out that (no doubt planning ahead to make my life hell) Transperth decided to change the route of the 28 bus about three weeks ago, “deleting” the part of the route that goes anywhere near Mount Lawley, or indeed out of the city at all (and naturally they hadn’t quite got around to updating the maps at the bus-stops yet). I learnt all this courtesy of the bus driver, who no doubt noticed my “Grissom-hit-on-by-Sarah” look in his surveillance mirror when the bus totally failed to turn north.

He was quite nice about it really, he even let me off between stops.

Anyway, so there I was stranded in the barren wilds of East Perth (just outside the old Mint) at 6:15 in the evening. I had two options. Number one – walk back to the bus station and fight the thousands of other commuters for a place on a bus that may or may not have been going where I wanted it to. Number two – walk home.

I walked home. It took me 45 minutes.

The greatest indignity of it all was just as I got to Mount Lawley railway station a train full of happy commuters rumbled past, the drivers having decided to go back to work just too late to assist me in any way.

You know, there are days it’s difficult to believe that the universe isn’t out to get me.


I was planning to write about cutting my hand on a packet of ham today, but then I checked my email and it turns out I have something else to write about. So, without further ado…


Big congratulations to Helen and Rob πŸ˜€

Of course on a more personal note I suppose this means Helen and I won’t be going out on that date. Hmmmm, drat *g*. Ali, you interested in stepping in? πŸ™‚

I probably had more stuff to write about, but this way takes precedence. Ummm, let’s see – missed this morning’s partial solar eclipse, saw Andrew’s Las Vegas pics last night, actually managed to get a GURPS game in Saturday before last – although Jean is being deported back to Canada by the evil government so Natalie played his character instead and didn’t seem too freaked out by what Michael gets up to with his geekish friends, bought the special collector’s edition of The Two Towers complete with Gollum statue and watched it (the movie not the statue), spent some time messing around in photoshop combining the most attractive facial features of various highly attractive celebrities because I was bored and I could *g* (the resulting photo-fit was dissapointingly nowhere near as freakish as I expected), and it was the 40th Anniversery of both Kennedy Assasination number one and Doctor Who over the weekend, hooray hooray. I think that covers it.

(I may or may not blog about any or all of these things in greater detail later in the week πŸ™‚

Intransigent DNA Influenced Cute Woman of the Week: Oh who cares! πŸ™‚

St Eddie’s McGuire

Boy did they screw up on Who Wants to be a Millionaire the other week.

The question – Which English county used to have a unique Celtic language?

The answers….

  1. Cheshire
  2. Cornwall
  3. Cumbria
  4. Kent

Now, the answer they wanted was of course B: Cornwall, but the point is that Cumbria used to have a unique Celtic language too!! There’s a famous (and almost certainly spurious) linguistic anecdote about it being used for counting sheep for crying out loud! Hrumph!

Happily the guy answering it got it “right”. Otherwise I would have been on the phone to Channel 9 so fast! I don’t know who they’ve got doing their research, but they should be shot (then they can hire me instead πŸ™‚

Continuing with inane commentary on TV, is Monk awesome or what? Sort of like what an American Jonathan Creek would be like if they got that guy from Ghostbusters II and Ally McBeal to play the lead. Ummmm, Peter McNicoll? Something like that. They’ve moved it to Thursday nights too, so it’s on tonight. Yey!

Going to work now. Got more properties to add to Seasideholidays. Arrrgh! It never ends! πŸ™‚

Official pace car for the Apocalypse

Had a very busy week and weekend and I should therefore have tonnes to write about, but I’m just not in the mood. How about that then?

As a stopgap measure though I thought I’d post this, which I stumbled over a few days ago and found rather amusing. I should add by the way that I was not actually searching for that (even if delightful Ms Lawson does have eyes that I could happily drown in). No one will believe me of course, but I think the point should be made just the same :).

You know the ironic thing is I am actually watching Jamie Oliver? Not nude thankfully, he’s cooking Japanese food and all that hot oil could be quite dangerous I expect. Hmmm.

On a completely different subject CSR’s website and email system seem to have totally collapsed over the last 24 hours. This means that Rebecca has presumably not got my email identifying a song she asked about. I would post the name and artist here, except that there’s every posibility it’s one of those that she downloads from Kazaa because she’s too embarassed to go into a music store and buy it *g*. So I won’t publically humiliate her – not after having a great lunch over at her and Dom’s new place yesterday anyway. Roast beef with salad and roast vegetables. No milkshakes though ;P

OK, I ran out of antihistamines on Monday night and haven’t been able to source any more, so I’m suffering from severe pseudoephindrine withdrawal and better go before I write anything really stupid. It can only get worse from here! πŸ™‚


OK, this is easily the funniest thing I’ve heard in ages (in a very dark way πŸ˜‰

I was watching the last epsiode of Love is in the Air last night, the recent ABC series on the history of Australian pop music and they did an interview with Vanessa Amorosi. You know, she had a hit back in 2000 with Absolutely Everybody and that horribly sacharine “inspirational” song Shine. (For purposes of illustration I’ll quote a bit of it here…)

You can give your life or you can lose your soul,
You can bang your head or you can drown in a hole,
Nothing lasts forever, but you can try,
Look around you,
Everyone you see, everyone you know is gonna shine,

See? Appalling stuff. Anyway, my respect for Ms Amorosi shot up from zero to – well to a small amount of respect anyway – when she revealed that she wrote Shine during a particularly dark stage in her life, and it wasn’t originally Shine, it was Die!

You can give your life or you can lose your soul,
You can bang your head or you can drown in a hole,
Nothing lasts forever, but you can try,
Look around you,
Everyone you see, everyone you know is gonna die,

Is that like the funniest thing ever? Particualrly since it’s now such a favourite of the “You can do anything if you try!” school of deluded optomists πŸ™‚

Ah, pop music is great!

Continuing with the subject of things that amuse me – this new royal scandal that the palace is covering up. Don’t you so wish the “incident” involved Prince Charles turning into a lizard and eating a baby? That would be so much more interesting than whatever it actually turns out to be πŸ™‚

OK, I’ve successfully annoyed Vanessa Amorosi fans, Royalists and possibly David Icke, so I’m going to shut up now πŸ˜‰


It’s annoyingly warm this weekend. 32 yesterday, 33 today. And they reckon it’ll be almost 40 by Tuesday. I’m telling you, I seriously need to move to Hobart.

In any case I suppose I’d better say what I’ve been up to. About the only interesting things (apart from major Ben Knapinski Framed Print induced headaches) were catching up with Rebecca who’s just started her new job selling gyprock, and with Andrew who’s back from Vegas.

Both took place after work on Thursday. Rebecca had a work dinner on in the city that evening and rather than drive from Welshpool down to South Freo (where she and Dom are renting) then back into the CBD she sensible emailed me to see if I wanted to meet up for coffee (or in my case hot chocolate) on my way through. This seemed like a good idea to me *g* so we agreed to meet up at the train station at 5:00. I was apparently to watch out for her work uniform, specifically the top which she described as being so offensively yellow I wouldn’t be able to miss her.

As it turned out, she was right. It’s very, very yellow. Fluro yellow. Even from the other side of the station concourse it shone out like a gigantic radioactive highlighter. Apparently it’s so the workers won’t get run over by forklifts while walking through dimly lit areas of the warehouse, but I suspect it also provides protection from any passing 747s, and possibly even the space shuttle. In bright sunlight it could probably strike you blind.

Anyway we headed down to the historically themed Merchant Coffee House (or whatever it’s called, the one with the very historical looking but fundamentally useless electrically driven* and go in my normal clothes as a ‘guy’. Ali has suggested I do the same but claim to be a geek instead, which is an equally good idea. Or I may just go totally left-field and come as something completely insane. We’ll see.

I’ve also been thinking about that whole theodolite thing on and off for the last few weeks. I think I’ve come up with a pretty good design that would be fairly easy to build and operate – at least given access to a few decent tools to shape some parts. The big problem was coming up with a way to keep the whole thing level and get an accurate reading.

I was thinking about multiple spirit levels, but that would have been a nightmare (not to mention the cost). I then realised that if you fixed the protractor onto the viewfinder you could use a plumb line to take accurateGeorge de Mestral and his burdock burs? Anyway an old man with a broken leg got on the train at Perth and leant his wooden crutch against the wall at an angle. I took one look at it and was hit by the realisation that if I extended the forks holding the eyepeice forwards on an angle the plumb line would fall completely clear of tripod with no need for a hole. I immediately whipped a notepad out of my bag and feverishly scrawled down three or four pages of designs – incidentally startling the man sitting next to me who seemed to think I had suddenly gone insane (he may have had a point πŸ™‚

So, I now have complete plans in my head (and notebook) for a homemade theodolite. It’s just a case of finding the time, money and motivation to build it. And use it. Ho-hum πŸ™‚

To finish up I thought I’d transcribe some more lyrics, specifically those of All for Swinging you Around by the New Pornographers. It’s currently my second favourite track off Electric Version, after the mighty The Laws Have Changed of course. So, here goes (as far as I can tell :)…

The New Pornographers

Exploding international, the scenes, the sounds,
And famously the feeling that you can’t squeeze round,
While tearing off another page of loose change, outrage,
It’s another perfect day,
Until the night shows…

Exploding international, the wind did howl,
The sky above was thick with rings of smoke, and clouds,
And hanging on the bleeding end of conscious, who’s this?
Was there anything I missed?
As far as you know, as far as you know,

Was it all for swinging you around?
All for swinging you around?

Exploding international the sun, the sights,
The moments you are viewing through a beam of light,
Propel you through the golden age, we crash land the first page,
On a crumbling world stage,
Into the front rows, into the front rows,

And all for swinging you around,
All for swinging you around,

And off your feet, all the love you found, spinning ’round,
And off your feet, all the love you found, spinning ’round,
And off your feet, all the love you found, spinning ’round,
Spinning ’round,
Spinning ’round,

We’re twisting incognito with no time, can’t talk,
Can’t tell if this is fantasy or culture shock,
Or remnants of a golden age that’s near mint, unplayed,
Or a welcome overstayed,
Beneath the lightshow, beneath the lightshow,

All for swinging you around,
All for swinging you around,
All for swinging you around,
All for swinging you around,
All for swinging you around,
All for swinging you around,

Oh yeah, almost forgot…

Intransigent DNA Influenced Cute Woman of the Week: Ummmmmm… how about that crack addict leading Nick Kline into evil ways on The Bill last night? Yeah, she’ll do πŸ™‚

I’ve got nothing!

I feel like writing, but I haven’t got anything to say. How stupid is that?

Ummmmm I went to the Doctor’s yesterday, that’s something. He gave me all sorts of tests (including an EEG or ECG or EEC or whatever, the one where they hook you up to a machine that goes bing anyway) then told me I need to get more exercise. Like I didn’t know that.

Then I walked back into the city instead of taking the train. I figure that’s enough exercise for me to safely eat pizza for the rest of the week πŸ˜‰

Oh yeah, it’s the Melbourne Cup today. Yaaaaaaawn.

I’ll shut up now πŸ™‚

Hooray and up She Rises!

“Sea Shanty’s”. I bought some “Sea Shanty’s” the other day. I really wish I hadn’t.

“Sea Shanty’s” are small crumbed seafood things that I used to love as a kid. I haven’t had them in years and earlier this week happened to spot them down at the local supermarket. So, overthrown by a wave of nostalgia I decided to buy them, and cooked some up with dinner. Then, mouth watering with anticipation, I tucked in.

Now, I don’t know if they’ve changed the recipe, or if I was just an idiot as a child, but they’re horrible! I mean so bad they’re virtually inedible! They taste like the sweepings off the floor of a fish cannery mixed with geletin and creamed corn! I felt nauseous with the first bite! Urrrggghhh!!!!

Needless to say I didn’t eat any more of the horrid things, and binned them and their frozen brethren as soon as possible.

So, the lesson for today? Don’t purchase any fish based products with glaring grammatical errors in their name πŸ™‚

PAAAR-TAY!!!! Or something.

I had a frightening experience last night. I turned on the TV (without checking what channel it was on) and found myself watching a whole bunch of people renovating someone’s garden. The thing is I couldn’t tell if it was Backyard Blitz, Ground Force, Burke’s Backyard, or Renovation Rescue. It was only when Joanna Griggs put in an appearance that I realised it was Auction Squad.

There are way too many renovation shows on Australian TV.

Anyway it’s been a while since I last made an entry, so I suppose I’d better say what I’ve been up to. A fair bit (for me anyway) all things considered. Much of it to do with Michael and Nat getting engaged, and holding a party to celebrate said event last Sunday.

(Oh, by the way the Waifs won at least three Arias, and 28 Days Later is of course a British film – just thought I should clear that up πŸ™‚

So, when we last left off the fascinating saga that is my life I’d taken a Wednesday off work. In retrospect this may not have been a fantastic idea as it meant having to work two nine-and-a-half hour days Thursday and Friday to get all the changes on www.seasideholidays.net done in time for the weekend. As you can imagine this left me fairly wiped out, and instead of going over to the Galleria Saturday morning I slept in and went over in the afternoon instead.

Why you ask? Two reasons. I’d decided to buy some new clothes for the party, and I needed to get an engagement present. For the present I’d conferred with Ryan and decided to go for booze, specifically Wild Turkey which he assured me Michael liked (he on the other hand went for vodka which Nat likes – always trying to impress the ladies is Rybo πŸ˜‰

So, I had to negotiate a bottle shop. This was more difficult than you might think because…

a) I don’t drink and am therefore unfamiliar with the layout of such places and can’t find anything without a detailed sector to sector search, and…

b) I was wearing my large, bulky backpack in order to carry everything home and have a tendency to forget I’m wearing it and crash it into things, which can get pretty expensive around wine and liquor displays.

There was also the vague worry that the counter staff might (against all common sense) mistake me for a teenager and demand some photo ID, which of course I do not possess. However in the end it all turned out OK. I found the Wild Turkey with little trouble, didn’t knock anything over and didn’t get carded, although the people in front of me did which momentarily raised my stress levels sky high.

Then it was off to K-Mart for clothes. I have to admit that I buy most of my clothes from either K-Mart or Target, fundamentally because they’re cheap (and because I refuse to wear anything with a label as a matter of principle – I’m not paying an extra $120 for some stupid Nike tick on my jacket damnit). Sure, it makes me extremely unfashionable, but I seriously doubt wearing designer clothes would have the slightest affect on my popularity or sex appeal anyway – they’re both well beyond help πŸ˜‰

I’d decided to go for a new, slightly more sophicated look than my usual black t-shirt and jeans – namely a Johnny Cash/Coffee-Shop-Waiter type of thing. Black trousers, black button up shirt, I even threw a black tie into the basket just for completeness’ sake. Naturally I didn’t try any of this on, as I have an aversion to taking off my clothes in public with only a flimsy half length curtain for privacy. This was to bite me in the backside quite firmly later on…

So, with my shopping done I had an hour and a half to kill before the next bus (the weekend bus service in this city is appalling). So I went for a wander around – to Sanity, the ABC Shop, Dymocks, but was suddenly sucked in by the massive gravitational pull of a discount book sale on the top floor.

Ah! Discount book sales! Is there anything like them to provoke questions like “Do I really need a copy of the Anglo-Saxon Chronicle?”. This one was being held in the shell of a closed down sports-clothing store, the irony of which made it even more enjoyable than usual. I spent the next fifteen minutes wandering from table to table glutting myself on rejects and remainders before finally whittling my pile down to $54 worth (not, sadly, including the Anglo-Saxon Chronicle which was very impressive but fairly overpriced for a “discounted” book).

While waiting at the checkout (behind one woman who seemed determined to have a lengthy conversation with the clerk despite the book-shoppers piling up in a holding pattern behind her and her friend who couldn’t remember if she’d got a receipt for her tarot cards so could she please have another one?) I had time to reflect on why some of the books hadn’t sold first time round. Particularly obvious were two of them 50 Ways to Find a Lover – Proven Strategies for Meeting a Partner and No More Head Lice! – A Natural Solution. Someone would have to be pretty desperate to walk up to the counter in a bookstore holding out either of those. Making matters worse they both had extremely bold and colourful cover art – the words “HEAD LICE” virtually jumped off the cardboard – so you couldn’t just conceal them in a pile of other books and hope the clerk wouldn’t notice. Honestly, who designs these things?

So, heavily weighted down with clothes, books and alcohol I staggered off to find somewhere to sit, which isn’t easy since Westfield ripped out most of the benches and replaced them with body piercing booths, feng shui vendors and nut sellers when they took over the Galleria a few years back. I eventually found one they’d missed (probably because it was concealed behind a table loaded down with discount John Wayne videos) and spent the next half hour flicking through my new acquisitions before heading over to the bus station.

On arrival back home I went to try on my new ultra-cool clothes, which is where I ran into problems. The shirt was fine – fit like a very loose glove – but the trousers… Embarrassment precludes me from mentioning my actual trouser size, but these turned out to be a full 15 centimetres too small, which was odd since in the store they were hanging from a coathanger clearly marked as being my size. I ranted and raved about the infernal incompetence of K-Mart employees for a bit (hopefully the bogans were in downstairs and got a taste of their own medicine) but eventually got tired and watched some TV instead.

Luckily I did have another pair of black trousers that I could wear, even if they were a bit shorter in the legs than I like, so it wasn’t as big a disaster as it could have been. But I’m never going to trust K-Mart again!

At least not on their sizing.

So, Sunday rolled around. I got all dressed in my black attire and examining myself in the bedroom mirror thought I looked quite adequate (when it comes to looking cool, stylish or attractive ‘adequate’ is about the best I can hope for :). I wrapped up the Wild Turkey and waited for my lift to arrive. I’d been fairly smart all up and managed to get a lift with Mum up to Michael’s place in the valley via an art exhibition in Mundaring – curated by Travis and featuring my brother Andrew, currently living it up in Vegas. There was a bit of confusion actually finding Michael’s place because I haven’t been there for several years, and not only had a large limestone wall been built around the house, concealing it from the road, but they’d abandoned said house (at the front of the property) and built a fancy new one down back, above the river (it’s pretty fantastic, only one storey but with fantastic views up and down the river and across the fields all the way to the DOLA offices in Midland).

Fabian was already there, and Ryan arrived soon afterwards (bearing vodka and cranberry juice – most of which he was to consume himself as the afternoon wore on). So we settled down at a table with Fabian’s folks and a ridiculous quantity of snack food, most of which I was to consume as the afternoon wore on πŸ˜‰

As parties go (and keep in mind that as a Geek I have a natural aversion to the things) it was pretty good. The weather was fantastic (once I changed chairs out of the sun anyway), the music was good and the food was laid on in quantities sufficient to sate a small force of invading visigoths (they’d killed and spit roasted two whole sheep and done in at least one entire flock of garlic breads). The flies were a bit of a problem, but that’s just the time of year and couldn’t really be helped.

Ryan (as usual) provided much of the entertainment, once sufficiently lubricated. His first comedic triumph was to suggest that Nat resembles Joanna Lumley. This provoked much ribbing, although to be fair there are some noticeable similarities. They’re both women for instance, and they’re both tall. Not long afterwards he mistook Don’t Mug Yourself by the Streets for 77% by the Herd (understandable since 77% is angry political hip-hop where Don’t mug Yourself is poppy, British, ‘Geeza’ hip-hop – they’re both hip hop you see πŸ™‚

After some small scale melodrama involving people stealing his chair whenever he went to get another drink (which was actually true, people did keep stealing it) he continued by comparing Michael to comedian Paul McDermott. This wasn’t as funny as it could have been since (particularly with Michael’s current haircut) there is a resemblance, he really should have compared him to Mikey Robins instead. The moment was saved however by Fabian’s dad (who was matching Ryan’s vodkas two for one with beers) stepping in to say he though he’d meant cricketer Craig McDermott.

The best was definitely saved for last though. When the conversation strayed onto the problems facing smokers trying to quit Ryan suggested that the real addictive feature of cigarettes wasn’t so much the nicotine, but the ‘power to hold fire in your hand’ and the ability ‘to blow smoke out your nose’. This was widely regarded as a tour de force, particularly when he started making demonstrative hand gestures. “You see, I’m holding fire in my hand” – holding up imaginary cigarette then taking a deep puff – “And now I’m blowing smoke out my nose” – exhaling heavily through nostrils and waggling fingers to indicate smoke. Fabian’s dad’s description of a boab tree as “a big fat trunk with bugger-all on top” just couldn’t compare.

So, a good time (and obscenely rich mud-cake) was had by all. I got a lift down to the railway station with Fabian (who managed to make about the only wrong turn possible on the five minute drive, seriously confusing Ryan who was following on his motorcycle despite the ridiculous quantity of vodka he’d consumed) and caught the train back home.

So that was my weekend. Last weekend.

Since then I haven’t been doing much. A fair slab of time over the last few nights has been spent recoding the Wyrmlog – again. The new version may or may not be up and running as you’re reading this (if everything is majorly messed up then it’s a fair bet it is active and I’ve screwed something up) depending on how active I’m feeling after writing this epic *g*. I’ve done my best to do away with tables and convert everything to CSS, since I figured out how to get Doctypes working properly while wrestling with the Dyslexia-SPELD website design this week. It’s amazing how easy CSS layout is once the browsers actually agree where to put borders and padding, made my job a whole lot easier I can tell you! Anyway, Wyrmlog version 3.0 should load faster and look slightly better than it’s predecessor, as long as you’re using version 6 browsers (and if you’re not, why not? Are you some kind of robot? And if so, what kind of powers do you have?).

As well as that I’ve been wasting a bit of time analysing the examples of the Dalek language detailed in Ben Aaronovitch’s Remembrance of the Daleks and putting together a webpage on such subject (it was obviously a mistake to start watching those re-runs of Doctor Who – my dormant fandom is suddenly becoming active again). I’ll probably get it finished sometime this weekend and upload it, thus making myself appear even more of a Geek to anyone who stumbles over this site πŸ™‚

Finally, I suppose I’d better post that list of books from Helen’s and Ali’s blogs. The ones I’ve read are in italics…

Top 21:
Birdsong, Sebastian Faulks
Captain Corelli’s Mandolin, Louis de Bernieres
Catch 22, Joseph Heller
The Catcher in the Rye, JD Salinger
Great Expectations, Charles Dickens

Gone with the Wind, Margaret Mitchell
Harry Potter and the Goblet of Fire, JK Rowling

His Dark Materials, Philip Pullman
The Hitchhiker’s Guide to the Galaxy, Douglas Adams

Jane Eyre, Charlotte BrontΓ«
The Lion, the Witch and the Wardrobe, CS Lewis
Little Women, Louisa May Alcott
Lord of the Rings, JRR Tolkien
Nineteen Eighty-Four, George Orwell
To Kill a Mockingbird, Harper Lee
Pride and Prejudice, Jane Austen
Rebecca, Daphne du Maurier
War and Peace, Leo Tolstoy
The Wind in the Willows, Kenneth Grahame
Winnie the Pooh, AA Milne
Wuthering Heights, Emily BrontΓ«

22. Harry Potter And The Philosopher’s Stone, JK Rowling
23. Harry Potter And The Chamber Of Secrets, JK Rowling
24. Harry Potter And The Prisoner Of Azkaban, JK Rowling
25. The Hobbit, JRR Tolkien
26. Tess Of The D’Urbervilles, Thomas Hardy
27. Middlemarch, George Eliot
28. A Prayer For Owen Meany, John Irving
29. The Grapes Of Wrath, John Steinbeck
30. Alice’s Adventures In Wonderland, Lewis Carroll
31. The Story Of Tracy Beaker, Jacqueline Wilson
32. One Hundred Years Of Solitude, Gabriel GarcΓ­a MΓ‘rquez
33. The Pillars Of The Earth, Ken Follett
34. David Copperfield, Charles Dickens
35. Charlie And The Chocolate Factory, Roald Dahl
36. Treasure Island, Robert Louis Stevenson
37. A Town Like Alice, Nevil Shute
38. Persuasion, Jane Austen
39. Dune, Frank Herbert
40. Emma, Jane Austen
41. Anne Of Green Gables, LM Montgomery
42. Watership Down, Richard Adams
43. The Great Gatsby, F Scott Fitzgerald
44. The Count Of Monte Cristo, Alexandre Dumas
45. Brideshead Revisited, Evelyn Waugh
46. Animal Farm, George Orwell
47. A Christmas Carol, Charles Dickens
48. Far From The Madding Crowd, Thomas Hardy
49. Goodnight Mister Tom, Michelle Magorian
50. The Shell Seekers, Rosamunde Pilcher
51. The Secret Garden, Frances Hodgson Burnett
52. Of Mice And Men, John Steinbeck
53. The Stand, Stephen King
54. Anna Karenina, Leo Tolstoy
55. A Suitable Boy, Vikram Seth
56. The BFG, Roald Dahl
57. Swallows And Amazons, Arthur Ransome
58. Black Beauty, Anna Sewell
59. Artemis Fowl, Eoin Colfer
60. Crime And Punishment, Fyodor Dostoyevsky
61. Noughts And Crosses, Malorie Blackman
62. Memoirs Of A Geisha, Arthur Golden
63. A Tale Of Two Cities, Charles Dickens
64. The Thorn Birds, Colleen McCollough
65. Mort, Terry Pratchett
66. The Magic Faraway Tree, Enid Blyton
67. The Magus, John Fowles
68. Good Omens, Terry Pratchett and Neil Gaiman
69. Guards! Guards!, Terry Pratchett
70. Lord Of The Flies, William Golding
71. Perfume, Patrick SΓΌskind
72. The Ragged Trousered Philanthropists, Robert Tressell
73. Night Watch, Terry Pratchett
74. Matilda, Roald Dahl
75. Bridget Jones’s Diary, Helen Fielding
76. The Secret History, Donna Tartt
77. The Woman In White, Wilkie Collins
78. Ulysses, James Joyce
79. Bleak House, Charles Dickens
80. Double Act, Jacqueline Wilson
81. The Twits, Roald Dahl
82. I Capture The Castle, Dodie Smith
83. Holes, Louis Sachar
84. Gormenghast, Mervyn Peake
85. The God Of Small Things, Arundhati Roy
86. Vicky Angel, Jacqueline Wilson
87. Brave New World, Aldous Huxley
88. Cold Comfort Farm, Stella Gibbons
89. Magician, Raymond E Feist
90. On The Road, Jack Kerouac
91. The Godfather, Mario Puzo
92. The Clan Of The Cave Bear, Jean M Auel
93. The Colour Of Magic, Terry Pratchett
94. The Alchemist, Paulo Coelho
95. Katherine, Anya Seton
96. Kane And Abel, Jeffrey Archer
97. Love In The Time Of Cholera, Gabriel GarcΓ­a MΓ‘rquez
98. Girls In Love, Jacqueline Wilson
99. The Princess Diaries, Meg Cabot
100. Midnight’s Children, Salman Rushdie

Damn that’s embarrassing, only 25. And a good slab of them kid’s books. Why couldn’t I have read Ulysses when I was eight instead of The Magic Faraway Tree? That’d look far more impressive πŸ™‚

Anyway, better go. Got cleaning to do. And cooking. Sooner I win the lottery and can live a life of indulgent luxury the better!

Intransigent DNA Influenced Cute Woman of the Week: The redheaded suspect who got killed halfway through this week’s episode of CSI. Who cares if she arranged for a murder, she was pretty! ;-D

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