Tickets, Money, Passport?

It is a truth universally acknowledged that a woman in possession of the Pride & Prejudice DVD (BBC, 1995) will imagine herself being wooed by Mr Darcy.

It was because of this and the collective outrage that Matthew 'Charisma Bypass' MacFayden and Keira 'Too Flighty' Knightley are in the new version that we found ourselves eagerly watching the six hour marathon of the superlative Pride & Prejudice last Saturday. Obviously we imagined ourselves at a ball at Netherfield. Sadly, however, we reality checked ourselves and realised had we lived then we wouldn't look as we do now. I, for one, would be very grey haired, have a significant over bite and a rather disastrous cross eye. Painting a pretty picture? Truth be told we'd probably all be married anyway and at my age probably a grand mother. Death would be just around the corner. Still we weren't to let a little thing like that stop us from being very girly about it all sitting on the edge of the sofa, squealling at favourite scenes and deconstructing the plot and Wickham's motivation. Lust we say, lust indeed.

I was so enrapt by the six hours of P&P that I went home and started to read my copy of Pemberley. Some would say it's a sacrilege to sequel a beloved text, particularly if you're not the actual author (clearly impossible in this case; RIP Jane) but as so often happens you sometimes just want more, another chapter, an ending, even more happy ever after. Pemberly is not very good at all but I endure it because Lizzy is Mrs Darcy and they live at Pemberley and there are almost all of the same characters and though Lizzy is out of character for most of it, which is vastly annoying, I just am happy to read more. It does mean of course the biography I am currently reading (very good so far) The Mitford Girls is back on the bedside table whilst I quickly have my further fix of the Darcys. Ooh now look a sequel to the sequel came out on the 15th.... *discreetly adds to Amazon wishlist*


It is clear that I am not abandoning the blog just yet but have again taken one of my month long sabbaticals. Imagine, if you will, when I'm gone like this to be somewhere rather glamorous with a fan (literal* and adoring). In my real life the place I'm most usually seen with a fan is on the tube.

Morocco was marvellous sweetie. I wasn't used to the heat, complained bitterly for the first two nights then swanned about in linen and encouraged many refreshment stops in cafes and restaurants for the rest of the duration. We slept, read and relaxed. All books were read plus one of Clare's (I thoroughly recommend The Two of Us, but be warned you will cry), the journal was faithfully confessed to and the soundtrack of the trip turned out to be Bonnie Tyler and Marianne Faithfull. Holding our for a Hero indeed Lucy Jordan.

We shopped, we tracked down the few places that sold refreshingly cool drinks that, ah, had alcohol in them and ensured our spirit levels remained above empty, though they did come dangerously close. Clare had a henna tattoo that resulted in a trip to A&E back in London. We spoke the French, badly. I bought lots of dead goat skin for my flat and consequently it smells very pretty now. All in we had a marvellous time (apart from the Henna - just say no kids) and sometime in the next week you will be able to flickr through the photos.

Here's one to tide you over.

And that is that for the moment. I did a quick quiz to find out that if I were to be nicked for nefarious activities I'd be spending my days with the Bad Girls as one of the Costa Cons. I was secretly pleased I must say. You know I once lunched next to Stephanie Beecham in Kensington darlings.

Toodle pip, I have one of my headaches on (it's such a bore) and shall be retiring the the sofa upon my arrival home and hoping someone will magically appear to cook my tea and cool my brow....... *slips into dream*

*ooh and it was true, Morocco in this case.