Tig TAG Toe...

Lucky me, I've been tagged again, this time by the hugely talented Reluctant Memsahib. If you haven't checked out her blog yet I can highly recommend it; you don't get that much further from urban than where she is now...

Just one thing, though. This tag is the real deal. It calls on me to reveal the following:

• What I've read (OK...)
• What I've watched (are you serious?)
• What I've listened to (help!)
• What I've surfed (Holy Mary, Mother of God, I've been rumbled)

Well, that's it. The game's up. As I said on my comment to Reluctant Memsahib, I am about to be unmasked as the cultural philistine I really am. Farewell; once you've worked your way through the list below you may not pass this way again.

You might wonder at this point why I'm going through with this. Is it because I'm short of ideas? Well, no, actually not. Just short of ideas I can actually blog about. Check out Iota's blog to see what I'm referring to (in brief, the dangers of people you know reading your blog). But enough of my peppering this post with references to other bloggers to try and distract you. I said I'ld do this, so here goes....


What I've read.

(I'm sitting here scratching my head struggling to come up with something not too embarrassing...)

Oooh, oooh, yes! Yes! The Times! I read the Times! Yesterday, in fact. (Thank god, I'm saved). Obviously I paid particular attention to their Times 2 supplement (a glorified gossip sheet if I'm totally honest) with the article in it about Amy Winehouse imploding, and the editorial about how school selection procedures can blight a mother's life, but in my defence I also vaguely remember a more serious piece in the main body of the newspaper about the energy crisis and how we are all going to have pay a lot more to have the lights on over the next few years.

To recover from the overdose of reality (ha!) detailed above, I have also been reading some chick-lit.

No, do I really have to tell you which book?

Damn. 'Me and Mr Darcy'. There, I said it. And no, I'm not saying it again, and no, I'm not commenting on it. Read it yourself and then decide how much you are going to bill the author for wasting your time... Why, you may be wondering, does a clearly educated (University graduate, me, I'll have you know), usually lucid and occassionally intelligent woman in her 40's (OK, just 40 anyway) pick up this kind of title? Well, I could bore you with stories of how, having studied English Literature at uni for 3 years I then foreswore all serious novels for the next 15 and still have to break myself entirely of the habit of reading crap, but really? The clue's in the title of my blog. I'm potty.

Oh, yes, and I forgot, I have also been reading recipe books (Delia Smith, and Tana Ramsay. Separate books. Not together. That would be silly). Partly so I can work my way through the surfeit of vegetables we acquire every week when the Riverford Vegetable Box is delivered, but mainly because if I have to cook spag bol for the boys one more night I shall scream. And probably so shall they.


What I've watched

(Bet you didn't think this would take so long, RM...)

Not much over the last couple of days, actually, since our Sky dish has been playing up, and living in a basement, we don't get terrestrial reception. Well, we thought it was the dish. But then I mentioned the signal failure in passing to the builders working on the first floor flat in our block, asking nonchantly if any wires had been disconnected in the last 48 hours. Of course, they denied everything. But funnily enough, when I switched on the set this afternoon to put a dvd to distract the boys whilst I made dinner, there was C-Beebies in glorious technicolour. Hurrah!

But before that malarky, this week I have been watching (in no particular order)

• The News; So that Husband I can get depressed about the state of the money markets, the resultant impact on the City, and what that might mean for us.
• Larkrise to Candleford; a BBC costume drama special with all the trimmings, escapism in it's purest form and the tv equivalent to chick-lit (except Husband watched it too).
• Charlie & Lola; if you don't know what this is and have kids, you should. Google it now. (BTW - it is for the kids. Even if Charlie does promise to grow up into an upright and talented young man someday. But it's not like I fancy what he might turn into or anything. I mean, that would be sick).

What I've listened to

I should be saying something highbrow like Radio 4, BBC World Service, and Mahler's 5th Symphony, but something tells me that if you've read this far you aren't going to fall for that. So...

• Capital Radio; for the travel and Johnny Vaughan every morning (that man cracks me up), and for the weather. What do you mean, look out of the window?
• XFM in the car during the day, because they really do play a variety of new music (rather than constantly playing the same few hits over and over like, I hate to say it, Capital), and it helps me to fool myself I'm still tuned in to the zeitgeist and can get down with the kids. Which I can't, obviously. I would hurt my back.
• The 'Gym' playlist on my ipod. A mixture of tracks to try and make me forget the awful pain it is running on the spot for 20 (well, OK, 15) minutes. Covers everything from Rolling Stones, to Aretha Franklin, Scissor Sisters and The White Stripes through Jamiroqui, The Arctic Monkeys and Beck, to Sheryl Crowe and INXS. Eclectic, I agree.

What I've Surfed

Honestly? Not that much, actually. Obviously all the blogs on my favourites list, and then some. And frankly, once I've got through that lot, there's not a lot of time for other stuff. I have, though, looked at:

• BBC News website (I'm not obsessed by the news. I just often don't get to watch or hear it during the day so when I'm online I check every now again to make sure I haven't missed anything important. OK, yes, I'm a panicker...)
• Snow report websites. Not that I'm getting excited about going skiing in a few weeks. Ooooh no, not me. No sir.
• A couple of restaurant review sites. Because - just occasionally - Husband and I do get a life and go out, and whilst he's normally been anywhere swanky on his expense account, I haven't and it's nice to know what you're (supposed) to be getting.

And that's it. Revealed, in all my spendour, the shallow being I really am. Nice knowing you...


(BTW: I know I'm remiss, have a couple of awards to hand out, and now two tags to hand on, but I think I've trespassed on your goodwill for long enough this time. Maybe next post...)