Bath

1. Go to Lush.
2. Buy a Big Blue ballistic.
3. Run a bath, hop in, add the ballistic.
4. Wonder why you never tried it sooner.

Jesus Christ

While I don't particularly believe Andrew Lloyd Webber should be encouraged, I have begun casting a new production of Jesus Christ Superstar.  This will be a truly rock presentation.  The greatest rock opera if you will since Tommy.  Which actually wouldn't be all that hard.  Watching Tommy was harder than the time I watched Dark Side Of The Moon dubbed over The Wizard of Oz.  I understand now why people have to get high while doing that; it numbs the pain.

Anyway.

First cab off the rank is Robbie Williams for Judas.  Think "Let Me Entertain You" then "Come Undone" and you'll get the gist of how perfect he'd be.  And I don't think he's particularly adverse to kissing men so there's scope to interpret that part of the story literally if required.

Next I have Lauryn Hill for Mary Magdalene.  She has that soul in her voice I think would work beautifully.  And I'd much rather listen to her than that Yvonne Elliman whining "I Don't Know How To Love Him".

I went through a few Jesuses before arriving at Sting.  He's got the voice to carry those powerful numbers, that jazz sound to carry the softer ones.  And I think he'd do that world-weary kind of mood towards the end so well.  Not to mention the audience pulling power of Sting holding the star billing.

At the moment I'm thinking of Freddy Mercury for Herod.  Camp.  Theatrical.  Rock.  But I am open to suggestions.  Something tells me Freddy might not be free to commit to this one.

And that is about as far as I have got.  Feel free to throw in your two cents.  When the cast list is finalised and all are on board, you'll all get tickets to the show.  It's the least I can do.

To Read

I've been trying to hold in my head a mental list of books to read.  Mental is the word for that idea.  Like I can hope to hold a thought for long enough to retain a list like that.  So I'm putting it here for ease of reference and really just for want of a better place.

Currently reading:

Autobiography of a One Year Old as told to Rohan Candappa

(Christmas present from Em ... short, sweet and funny as.  Just like her).

To read:

Shakespeare by Bill Bryson (hanging out for this one)

The Complete Secrets of Happy Children by Steve Biddulph (Xmas gift from the sister in law with 4 of her own - children that is)

Silver Wattle by Belinda Alexandra (Xmas gift from the mother in law who bought it because she wanted to give me Wild Lavender by the same author, but couldn't find it)

Clean Cut by Lynda La Plante (Xmas gift from the mother in law to The Man for reasons not explained.  I haven't read any of La Plante's (hard to believe from a crime fiction junkie, I know) so ought to be worth a look)

Dakota Days by John Green (finally secured myself a copy of this out of print gem and I still haven't read it.  Well not my own copy anyway)

Books to return to and finish reading:

The Harry Potter series by JK Rowling (including the final book to be read for the first time.  I'm midway through 4 now)

Mao the Unknown Story by Jung Chang and Jon Halliday (still gets me how they can write such a thick book on a story that is "unknown".  Hmm)

And somewhere in all that I hope to re-read The Marshall Plan by Evan Marshall and get my novel writing butt back into gear.

Home Maker

I am up to date with the washing and there are freshly laundered sheets hanging on the newly installed clothes line.

I get closer to domestic divinity every week.

Excuse me now while I finish hand-stitching my baby's first Christmas stocking.

Babs

Heaven is when I'm in your arms like this

When you kiss me and quietly whisper

Emily, Emily, Emily

Has the murmuring sound of May

All silver bells, coral shells, carousels

And the laughter of children at play, say

Emily, Emily, Emily

And we fade to a marvelous view

Two lovers alone and out of sight

Seeing images in the firelight

As my eyes visualise a family

They see dreamily, Emily too

(thanks to Babs Streisand I have had that in my head all morning)

Bubble bubble toil and trouble

See those pots?  I put them there.  

And the stove is on.  

And there is food cooking in those pots.

Nigella eat your heart out.

Fridge Poetry

There are at least three things I need to do today.  Two I have to do, and one that I ought to do.

And I'm photographing my fridge.  That's some serious procrastination.  But I'm not just photographing the fridge.  No, I am also writing about photographing my fridge.  Does it get better than this?

So, welcome to my fridge. 

The first job I am avoiding is climbing over Mount Junk in the back room to get to my files and dig out our paperwork so we can get our tax returns done. 

The second job I am avoiding is the housework.  If I didn't keep avoiding that job, then we wouldn't have Mount Junk in the back room, so you see there is a bit of a problem here.  Deep down in my heart of hearts I am a domestic goddess with a sparkling home and something fresh and chocolatey baking in the oven.  In reality ... well, in reality I'm photographing my fridge, aren't I.  And I don't cook.  Refer Exhibit A.  Don't say you you're not warned the moment you enter my kitchen.

But I am not the only one creating witty pithy non-rhyming poetry on my fridge.  No.  See, we have this friend called Adam.  You might have heard of him.  He might even be the only one reading this blog.  Adam stays here from time to time.  Adam has his own room here.  It is called Adam's Room.  My husband and Adam have this special man-love relationship.  Adam says it is not a homosexual thing, but he tells Glynn he loves him in the same sentence he calls him a poofter.  

Anyway.

Adam wrote us a beautiful poem telling of his rock friend delerium and the things he likes and how he will miss us (fluff refers to the cat, not some pet name he has for my husband).  We promised to keep it there, and we have.  We have been known to send Adam photos of his poem with a copy of the day's newspaper held next to it to prove it has been there all the time.  It seems photographing the fridge is not an uncommon thing in this house.

Then the poetry was expanded and embellished when Yvee came to stay.  Now it makes Adam sound a bit like he's into girls with "extras", but we know that's not what means.   This will also stay on the fridge forever and photos will be taken and emailled to them at random intervals.

The gorgeous goddess is of course our baby girl - and Adam & Yvee's god-daughter.  Or Fairy Enzo Something.  We still haven't worked it out, but god-daughter kind of covers it.

And because this post just isn't long and rambling enough, here is a part on our fridge that has random words that mean nothing together, stuck next to a magnet of Glen Jakovich who played for the Eagles.  

The third job is the one that I ought to do and that is work on my novel for NaNoWriMo 07 (nanowrimo.org until I decide to write a post about it).  At this rate the only way I am going to stay on track with my wordcount is to have one of my characters read this blog entry aloud.  Which actually isn't such a bad idea.  At least then I can justify writing so much here instead of straight into the novel.

So now I have a few hundred words of novelling done and that job has been taken care of, I'd better climb over Mount Junk II in the hall cupboard and find the vacuum cleaner.