Commissioned Post #2

Having just written a come back epic which I implore you to read, I have now been tagged - presumably because I had failed to write anything of note in just on 3 weeks. Anyway, I've capitulated and scribbled out some answers, but only because I'm feeling generous and prolific. Speaking of prolific, I will only be passing this tag on to my colleague Dean, to give him something to get his teeth into, and my gorgeous cousin, in an effort to get him to write something, ANYTHING. I know them both in the flesh (well, the clothed flesh) so I don't feel like I'm pestering them with some dastardly chain letter style bollocks. And if they feel that way they can just tell me what to do with my tag...

Here are my answers to the following questions:

Seven things I plan to do before I die:
1./ Enter the political sphere and change the system from within maan.
2./ Write a treatise on the impact of modern consumer culture on international conflict.
3./ Explore the futility of work and become hideously successful for doing bugger all in the process. Like most other hideously successful people of our times.
4./ Visit Latin America.
5./ Read Crime and Punishment. I'm sure it will be good for me.
6./ Having learnt something from Crime and Punishment, go back to England and teach a certain person a lesson in physical pain.
7./ Shag Stephen Harmison.

Seven things I can do:
1./ Sing like bloody Julie Andrews.
2./ Nerd it up like no other - give me an interest and I will explore it to the max.
3./ Talk til your ears and my tonsils bleed - in that order.
4./ Drive like Nelson Piquet (is that how you spell it? when I was young I thought it was 'PK')
5./ Spell.
6./ Brood.
You said seven? Er...
7./ OK - cook, write, dance, paint, think, assemble bookshelves, strip floors (of carpet and the like), midwife for a cat, live on my own in a town I hate (not London, dear rellies, don't fret - Canberra. oh yes. That's a blog unto itself).

Seven things I cannot do:
1./ Sing like Dusty Springfield.
Seven.... I cannot think of seven.

Seven things that attract me to another person:
Nothing. I'm too bitter to think that initial charm, wit and humour are anything more than a chimera which before long gives way to mentalism, alcoholism and other unsavoury isms.
I can tell you what I find unattractive though - fascism, SUV/4WD driving, cruelty to animals, hypocrisy, Jude Law and blandness.
And these days (well, this month) I don't find anybody attractive unless they play first class international cricket for England.

Seven things I say most often:
Recently these have become a little crude. And I have to remember my audience. I remember watching television with my old dear not so long ago, and that horrible little flea of a man, our Prime Minister, appeared to whitter on about some tax cut he was going to give the rich. I said 'Christ that man is a cocksucker!' - thereby insulting every tenet of good behaviour and bad language my mother had ever bothered to set herself. So I've got to be careful. Not least because these days you can be deported from our good country for saying anything vaguely controversial.

Seven celebrity crushes:
I'll play this one fairly straight.
1./ Simon Jones (England fast bowler - see pic in blog below)
2./ Did I mention Stephen Harmison? (England fast bowler - see pic in blog below). Poor guy will be taking out an injunction order soon...
3./ Just watched an episode of Spooks and have a freshly minted crush on this beautiful boy - Rupert Penry-Jones (though he looks a bit foppish and crap in this photo):
He was the love interest in Charlotte Gray, whom she foolishly throws over for an intellectual. Never go the intellectual, girls! Take the blond fluff when it is offered up!




4./ Bryan Ferry







5. The young David Hemmings (RIP)






6. Dicko (it's an Aussie thing - and I like him for the same reason I like Jack Black)





7. Thierry Henry (it's a Brit thing)







And please just one more, because I don't want to come across as a sport groupie (something I've never been before), and because I'd pick him over them all:

Dave Gahan of Depeche Mode.








Hmmm... disturbed by the lack of Aussies (and predominance of foppish Brits). In an effort to prove I am not an anglophile, I'm going to make it my mission to get out there tomorrow and see if I can spot an 'adonOZ' (sorry) on AFL Grand Final Day. Er, after all, I love a drunken, pudgy, pie-eating, bogan ocker footy fan as much as the next sheila. Honest.