Being invisible

A Serbian beggar, fed up with being ignored, has apparently taken to placing his cap and shoes on the pavement, together with a sign saying "invisible beggar" (fair enough, although I think that "hungry, homeless and invisible" might have been even more poignant). But it's working, for nowadays he sits in the cafe opposite and watches the cap fill up with money.

This is an inspired idea. We've all come across the invisible policemen (most of them, especially when you need one), and the invisible train manager who makes unintelligible announcements from the region of the ceiling, and the invisible traffic warden, who manages to stick a notice to your car windscreen in the time it takes to nip out and buy a packet of Polos, although you never see him.

What invisible job would you like? I think I'd like to be the invisible writer in residence at some very prestigious seat of learning. I would, of course, consent to become visible, on request.

Magpie Tales

"Oh, I do love to dance in the rain!"
Said my niece, on a visit from Spain.
But she ran out of clothes
Since she'd only brought those.
So she said, "I won't do it again."

I know. Awful. But I saw the picture, and I just had to have a go... (thanks to Magpie Tales for the picture)

Am I the only blogger...

...having yet more blog-relatd problems? Today, rather than not being allowed to sign in or out, or having my follwers confiscated, I'm not allowed to post any comments on other people's blogs. I have tried (hi Alan, Librarian and Gail, among others) but have had to give up. If this goes on, I may even have to do some serious writing.

What is the world coming to...

A lesson from a spider

There is a spider in our garden (all right then. Our courtyard). In fact, there are probably lots, but this one keeps making his web across the doorway, and inevitably, someone walks into the web, and he has to start all over again. I inadvertently destroyed it again last night, and by this morning, it was completely re-built. He must have been at it all night. But I have decided to move him to another spot, where he can build undisturbed, for while I am not a particular fan of spiders, I'm a great believer in the live-and-let-live thing.

But is there a lesson to be learnt here? I asked myself this morning. For those of us who keep writing and find that what we write isn't sufficiently wanted/needed/appreciated, should we perhaps move our little writing webs into another place; another genre? My agent wants me to insert something "dark" - a secret, perhaps - into my next book, and I am reluctant to do so. But if I follow her advice and move out of my comfort zone, maybe, just maybe, I shall be a blockbusting overnight success.

I might even dedicate it to the spider.

My daughter's a domestic goddess

No. This picture isn't of her. But she is a domestic goddess just the same.

I have just phoned her, and this morning she's made (not heated up; made) waffles for breakfast, and now she's made eight individual shepherd's pies and a pecan and something-or-other cheesecake and lemon ice cream for a dinner party tonight. She gives a lot of dinner parties.

I don't really do dinner parties. For me, they are the suff of nightmares. Will the people get on? Will the food be ok? What if eveyrone want to leave immedately after the coffee. AAAAARGH!

I panic over the menu. I try new things, and worry that they won't work. And as for things that have to be turned out (ie of moulds) - they are the worse of all. I shall never forget the fresh fruit jelly that promised to be so irresistible, with its jewel-like pieces of fruit in a glorious suspension of fruit juice, to be served with cream. Mmmm. Except that, guess what? As, with trembling fingers, (the jelly wasn't the only one trembling) I 'turned out' my jelly, it wobbled uncertainly for a few agonising seconds, then fell to its knees and collapsed in a messy heap. See what I mean? And that's only one example (the shoe-leather ratatouille being another). As for the guests, there was the night of the died-in-the-wool left wing friends versus the very-public-school right wing friends. That was a night to remember. And there are others, but I won't bore you with them.

So, my daughter (whom I love dearly, who is one of my very best friends, and to whom I can say just about anything) is a domestic goddess (she also makes amazing fancy dress costumes, and gives wonderful Hallowe'en parties for her kids, and and and..) and I am not. She is hosting yet another dinner party tonight, and we are going to sink ourselves in a bottle of wine and a DVD.

That's all.

No more hearty meals for the condemned man

As a postscript to my last (below), apparently Texas is no longer letting prisoners choose their last meal before they're executed. It seems that some of them have been making exorbitant demands (how dare they?), and in any case (says Texas) they don't deserve a special meal. They're criminals. Let them eat the same as the other prisoners.

It's good to know that compassion and humanity are still alive and well in Texas, even if 400+ prisoners (since the 1980s) are not.

Death in Georgia

I have been feeling enormously sad at the execution of Troy Davis in Georgia last night. This man was on Death Row for 20 years, and had already had three stays of execution. After all that, his execution was delayed for four hours. Is that enough punishment for a man who has maintained his inncence throghout, and whose last words were a plea to the victim's family to find the real killer? Seven of the people who testified against him at his trial have since withrawn their testimony, and another man has confessed to the murder. But no matter. Revenge has been exacted, and so that's all right then, isn't it?

On a happier note, my own Death Row prisoner (the one I correspond with) has had his sentence commuted to life without parole. I only found this out by chance, and am delighted for him. Apparently:

"during a June 23 hearing, it was revealed that the lone juror at
the murder trial who held out to sentence **** to death and refused to
join with other jurors who preferred a sentence of life in prison was never
questioned by defense attorneys during jury selection."

Astounding, isn't it? One juror was in favour of the death penalty in this case. Just one. And if he had been questioned by the defense, presumably D would still be on Death Row.

It beggars belief.