Zombie

Gloster Meteor An old British jet fighter flew again today. Well almost - thanks to a lift from a Chinook helicopter, it was flown to a new home at an aviation museum where it will be displayed. The Gloster Meteor is interesting because it was the only Allied jet fighter in WW2, in operational service with the Royal Air Force 616 Squadron from 1944: The plane suffered from some "friendly fire" incidents because its shape was very similar to the German Me 262, so in 1945 European based Meteors were painted white to prevent this At the end of 1945 the plane broke the world air speed record at 606 mph. It continued in service with some air forces until 1970.

Sorry I'm late to the party - been offline since Friday. For me it's all about "good writing". And the test of good writing is engagement and readability. I don't want technique shoved in my face - a triumph of style over substance. So for me experimentation is a turn off if the author is trying to be tricksy. It's a distraction from the action I've found that with the best writers I am simply not aware of the technique, skill, time and effort that has gone in to producing perfect prose because I'm too busy enjoying it. It's like a clean and tidy room - you don't notice the absence of dirt and chaos, you don't think about all the work done, you just enjoy the pleasant ambience. BUT - aaarrgh - I hate multiple POVs where the same scenes are replayed, even repeating the same lines. Tinnean is a repeat offender - clunky, pointless and irritating. As for "voice" I tend to look for first person narrative because I like the immediacy, seeing the world through another pair of eyes and the intimacy of plugging directly into someone else's emotions and self. But if it's a comic story then I think third person is best because much of the fun often comes from the multiple viewpoints. Would Catcher In The Rye have been such a phenomenon in third person? That book has captured generations of teenagers - and there's no sign of that stopping - who have related to it so personally not only because it is so well written but also, I think, because the first person narrative engages so directly with the reader. But you're right - unless you can identify with and like a first person character's voice, and not get tired of them, it won't work. You could also poll "tenses" which podga mentioned. Generally I hate and avoid present tense, especially when the story is "locked" into the present tense throughout like a car stuck in first gear. However, I have read a few stories where present tense is done brilliantly because the writer knew when to switch between present and past tenses. A good example is podga's own writing, smoothly transitioning between present and past tenses like a well oiled machine ... To sum up then, for me it all comes down to the quality of the writing, then the appeal of the characters, and finally the subject matter. A brilliant writer can make me want to read about people, places and events I would normally have no interest in, from any POV and in any tense. I bet that's been no help at all Great blog Fishie Shame it will be lost, buried and forgotten in the blogosphere

Just substitute "costume" with "suit" in my last post

I think it's more about Hollywood always typecasting the villain as English - having the archetypal hero played by an English guy is just gonna confuse the American audience busy multitasking with shoveling the popcorn, balancing the Mega-Gulp coke and trying to figure out what the heck's going on with that limey in the tight-fitting costume ...

As long as they don't change the, er, .. *coughs* .. bulge ...

Cragside Here's another old relic. 2013 is the 150th anniversary since the most technologically advanced house in the world was built by William Armstrong, a lawyer, scientist, engineer, manufacturer and pioneer of renewable energy. The house had ducted central heating, telephones, a hydraulic lift [elevator ] dishwasher and appliances, and from 1878 the world's first hydroelectric power station using a high pressure turbine generator to power electric light in the house: In 1880 Cragside was the first house to be lit by incandescent light bulbs, newly invented by Armstrong's friend Joseph Swan. The hydroelectric plant operated until 1945 when the house was connected to mains electricity. Hydroelectric power generation is now being reinstated and will power the house again later this year.

Show this to Brett's brother and his missus http://news.bbc.co.uk/1/hi/uk/7592648.stm

Sadly terrorist attacks like this are a reality for everyone living in "target countries", but the fact is the individual risk of being killed or injured in a terrorist attack is virtually non-existent compared to other causes. Daddy and Joann are right - continue living your life as you've always done. Life will get back to normal - the human spirit is very resilient. The only change everyone needs to make is to be more vigilant, be more aware of what's going on around you. "The price of freedom is eternal vigilance" has a new meaning in our modern world.

So, um, just a wild stab - you're moderately keen on Mr Armitage then?

Oh God. It won't be long before Twilight is a standard text on the school curriculum

It's nearly five years since QE2's last voyage and the ship was sold. It was intended to sell her for scrap, but she was bought by a real estate developer in Dubai that planned to convert her into a floating hotel, like the Queen Mary at Long Beach. But after the ship sailed to Dubai on her final voyage nothing seems to have happened, although her internal systems have been kept running. Last December it was rumoured the ship had been sold for scrap, then in January it was announced a consortium known as QE2 Dubai had been formed to own and operate the ship as a five star 500-room hotel at an unknown location in Asia, but her future is still uncertain. QE2 was built as a steam ship, powered by steam turbines, and during her life rescued passengers from a doomed French ship that later sank, was held to ransom, ran aground on rocks and was seriously damaged, and was requisitioned by the UK government as a troop ship during the Falklands War. She was the most famous ship in the world and was a true ocean liner. Unlike "cruise ships" or "cruise liners" an ocean liner is designed to cope with heavy seas and storms like those on the transatlantic crossing. These are the only ships that could offer a regular scheduled service between Europe and the US. To be able to do this they need to slice through the waves efficiently and cope with stormy seas and weather, so they're designed differently and built to be stronger, using significantly more steel, which makes them much more expensive to build per passenger. Strong seas and storms would probably sink a modern "high-rise" cruise ship, like the sort of weather QE2 came up against in September 1995 when, in the middle of the Atlantic on a regular transatlantic service from Southampton to New York, she was caught up in Hurricane Luis. The Ship's Log records that she encountered winds up to 130 mph, average wave heights of 40 feet, and was hit by a monster wave of over 90 feet. That's pretty impressive. The only remaining ocean liner is the Queen Mary II which is still able to run a scheduled trans-Atlantic service.

When I'm stressed vigorous exercise is best - gets rid of all the stress hormones. The other things - music etc - help stop me getting stressed in the first place

Maybe obvious, but make sure there's no physical issue e.g. lumpy mattress, temperature regulation [too hot / cold], pillows not supportive [too hard / soft / wrong height] etc. Don't go to bed stuffed full of food, sugary stuff and alcohol Wind down before you go to bed so your brain's not buzzing Make the area around your bed tranquil e.g. switch off your iPhone, iPad etc Keep a pen and pad by your bed - if something pops into your brain to worry about write it down so you can forget about it until tomorrow - when it most likely won't seem important anyway. Sleep tight - and don't let the bed bugs bite

Interesting. But that just raises the question .... why is this crap so popular with tweeny girls?

Bland business speak is safest. But who wants to talk like a suit? Irony - not intended to hurt - is especially difficult, prone to be interpreted as sarcasm - invariably intended to hurt

In our everyday lives we don't often find ourselves brought to a crashing halt just by words alone. A few weeks ago I was washing up after breakfast listening to a magazine programme on the radio when the presenter, Paddy O'Connell, introduced the final item - a "love letter" written by Emilie Blachère to her boyfriend and lover Rémi Ochlik. Here she is with him: Rémi was an award-winning French photojournalist. In February 2012 he was working with the - also award-winning - American journalist, Marie Colvin, covering the Syrian uprising against the Assad regime, informing the world of what was going on despite dangers we can only imagine. They knew the risks, and on 22 February he and Marie were both killed. On the first anniversary of his death, Emilie Blachère read aloud a poem - a love letter to her boyfriend - on the radio programme I was listening to. I started to listen and had to stop what I was doing. By the time she finished I found I was crying. Silly really. "Sticks and stones may break my bones but words can never hurt me" goes the old playground chant. Words can't affect us can they? Of course that's baloney. Words can have incredible power, for good or ill, and as we get older and wiser we know this to be true. But what surprised me, as I wiped away my tears and waited for Paddy to close the programme, was the sudden silence after Emilie had finished. You never get that on radio. After about 10 seconds there was a choked sound as Paddy tried to speak. Eventually he managed to say a few words to wrap up the programme but his emotions had been so stirred by those words that he was "in a right state" as we say in Britain. And he is a professional broadcaster. So here is the text of Emilie Blachère's poem, her love letter to Rémi Ochlik. I can't read it again because I know what will happen if I do. I’ve never found it so difficult to write. My dictionaries are useless. I can already hear you saying, “Sweet Blachère.” So instead I made a list of everything I loved about you. My angel, my love: I loved it when you made lists of things you wanted, and you wanted a Harley Davidson, a loft, a 22,000-euro titanium Leica, and you would say to me, “What? You work at Paris Match, don’t you?” I loved it when you called me Blachère, or Blacherounette, when you had something you wanted to ask me. I loved it that you wanted to find a country just for the two of us where we could go every year together on assignment. I loved it when you talked about the arts, and painting, and literature, and I couldn’t understand a thing. You taught me so much. I loved it how in the field you would sink into the shadows, making people forget you were there so you could take better pictures. I loved to see you look every morning at photo sites and hear you say, “Look at what they’re doing. I suck, Blachère.” I loved it when you recorded L’amour est dans le pré for us and we watched it curled up under a blanket like teenagers, with our kitten between us. You kept saying, “You better not tell anyone about this.” I loved watching you make me coffee every morning, and after eight months, it was actually good! I loved it when you said you wanted to have two children, a boy and a girl. I loved it even more when you pestered me in front our friends about having kids: “Look at Thib, Mat, Fred. Their girls are cool, and they’re pregnant!” I loved it that you decided you wanted to go to Libya, Nigeria and Burma, then Syria, then Tulles, all within five minutes. I loved it when you told me, “Blachère, you’re making me childish. I’m becoming like you.” I loved it when I said that you were the best photographer in the world and you said, “Well, you’re biased.” I loved to see you blush when I told you I was crazy about you. I loved our routine, our life together, the nights we’d stay up late watching Dexter. I was smiling so long as I was next to you. I loved it how at night you would take out your contact lenses and put on your thick glasses. I’d call you Harry Potter and you hated it. You called me Emilie. I loved it when you told me that you didn’t miss me at all. I loved it when you told me you were jealous of Eric, of Ivan, of Pierre, jealous of everyone, even Marcelle, my cat. I loved it when you kidnapped Marcelle when I was on assignment and took her home so she would get used to your cat, and we could all live together, one happy family. I loved it when you were scared to meet my mother. I loved it when you took me to Honfleur, and we stopped along the highway and ate a Mars bar and drank a Coke. I loved it when you told me, “I’m ugly, Blachère, you’re blinded by love.” I loved it when you left your toothbrush at my house. I took a picture of it and showed it to my girlfriends. I almost posted it on Facebook. I loved how stroked my leg at red lights on your scooter. I loved it how you held me tight in the morning, then again at night, as if we had been apart for months. I loved watching you smoke at the window. You were so sexy. But like you said, I’m biased. I loved to hear you say to Julien, your best friend, your brother, “Look out, Mama Squirrel’s here,” when I was waking up. I loved it when you said at first, “Julien’s my wife, you’re my mistress.” After two months, it was the opposite. Sorry, Julien. I loved your timid smile, the way you laughed, your almost feminine delicacy, your juvenile tenderness. I loved it how you texted me every five minutes to ask me to marry you, with emoticons and all. We promised each other we’d get hitched in Las Vegas. I loved it how you left me love letters in my notebooks when you came over to feed Marcelle. I loved your courage, your admiration, your rigor. I’m so proud of you, my angel. I admired you as a photojournalist and as a man. You’ve become so big. I loved it when you told me, “Blachère, we have our whole lives ahead of us.” I loved to hear you tell me how everything was going to be alright when I was depressed. If only I could hear you tell me that today. I loved it so much how on February 10, a Friday, the last time we saw each other, you told me that I made you happy. I could go on. I would have loved to spend my life adding to this list. Ochlik, I loved you. I hope you know up there that I was more than happy by your side. I was in bloom. With you, things were lovely, sweet, and surprisingly intense. Our time together was magic. We were so happy that we had to protect it from the invasions of our profession, our passion, our second love. We were prepared for everything, except for the worst. Ochlik, I don’t know how I can go on without you. In Rome, you told me, “love is a weakness.” You were wrong. Today I feel strong. At Christmas you gave me a notebook and told me to, “write down the story of our lives and read it to our kids.” I promise that I will tell the story of that life we dreamed of so often, a life that I’m now going to have to live for two. I’m not sure if you miss me, Ochlik. I miss you. Madly. But I know that you are here. Inside of me. Near me. Near us. Today our nickname, Blachlik, makes sense. One day I’ll join you, my love. But not yet. You would hate to see me give up, let myself fade away. So I’m drying my tears, and watching your favorite movies on repeat, the ones that made you happy, like Singin’ in the Rain, and... I'm singin' in the rain Just singin' in the rain, What a glorious feeling, And I'm happy again. I'm laughing at clouds So dark, up above, The sun's in my heart And I'm ready for love. I’m sure you’d rather see us pay you tribute by staying up all night drinking and smoking. Don’t worry, it will happen, and the night’s not over yet. My angel, give Lucas a kiss for me. Take care of yourself. Take care of us. http://lejournaldelaphotographie.com/entries/10393/a-love-letter-from-emilie-blachere-to-remi-ochlik http://www.bbc.co.uk/programmes/p015w6dw

... and what about his "magic wand"?

Looks like the same view as from the old WTC - also you used to be able to go onto the roof to get the fresh air experience.

We like weird ... and welcome to the mustachioed one

We're lucky he lived as long as he did, to reach 65 being such a big guy all his adult life, and with so many brilliant character roles preserved in film and TV [he was also offered the role of Dr Who]. Gotta mention his portrayal of the predatory gay Uncle Monty in Withnail and I "Flowers are essentially tarts. Prostitutes for the bees." "There is a certain je ne sais quoi - oh, so very special - about a firm, young carrot..." "I mean to have you ... even if it must be burglary!"

Eeek, an angry bear

Yikes - don't like the sound of that! *crosses legs*

The next version will include CaseTheJoint - virtual tours of people's homes where you can wander around and rummage through their drawers ...

Well that's just pessimism. Just because we can't do something right now doesn't mean we shouldn't try. When Alexander Graham Bell invented the phone in 1876 he might have had to wait a long time for the pizza delivery, but now you can stuff yourself all day every day