:: Seasonal Musings ::

Merry Christmas one and all... I'm heading back to the Smoke after a lovely Christmas chez Maman in Cumbria. In fact it's been my first true white Christmas since 1981, when we had some bemused foreign students staying and my dad tried to light a bonfire in the snow. He resorted to petrol in the end. I'm seeing the old man tomorrow in the manic rush to get round all the relatives before I toddle off to Paris on Wednesday.

Meanwhile, I've had little time to surf in between the port and the mince pies. Sadly I haven't been able to convince my fellow revellers that we should watch my new Ealing Comedy collection either, but there still ain't that many links to be had. Well here are a couple: some anti-car voodoo (see linky pics for full glory) and ice cream for dogs. And it looks like Yushchenko has won the Ukrainian election - a fine Christmas present for Slavophiles everywhere.

I'd better pack my stuff, ready to endure the execrable Virgin Trains. Then it's off to Bezuhoff's pre-Paris bash in a bar in "London's fashionable West End"...

:: Is that an ironic statement? ::

Yes, it's that time of the year when kiddies save up all their pocket money to buy some tat for Mummy. It's too late to get them delivered before the big day now, but the b3ta gift guide does list some good stuff. Many of the books are available throughout the UK if you've still got stuff to get in the Christmas Eve dash. Sadly you won't be able to benefit from the Santa Free Zones as you swim through the crowds thronging Oxford Street. And if you're shopping in Poland, just make sure you don't get too irate... Or you could just enter the bidding war for the latest over-priced food item to go on sale...

Sir Ian McKellen has taken to the boards of the Old Vic to play Widow Twanky in Aladdin - apparently it's quite good. But I'm not the world's biggest fan of the pantomime genre. In fact I'm only going to the SLT Panto under duress - it's a bit difficult to avoid when i know people in it. Snob that I am, I'd rather be at home watching Channel 4's excellent What We Still Don't Know or my new favourite film, The Five Obstructions...

Worst sentence in a sports report this week goes to the Grauniad's "post-traumatic Strauss disorder".

And finally, following a riproaring evening of duck and francophilia chez Lava Lamp, I've discovered a new passion for the works of Luis D'Antin Van Rooten. An example:

Un petit d'un petit
S'étonne aux Halles
Un petit d'un petit
Ah! degrés te fallent
Indolent qui ne sort cesse
Indolent qui ne se mène
Qu'importe un petit d'un petit
Tout Gai de Reguennes

The full text is out of print but does appear on Amazon... Let's just hope I'll be able to get a copy, if not for Christmas, for my birthday in January!

:: "People had drunk a lot of Dom Perignon champagne and it was late..." ::

In true Hypatia style, I begin today's round-up with a pertinant quote from everyone's favourite gay Tory defector. After being deposed from the top job at my favourite cultural institution, "millionaire businessman" has, for the most part remained outside the media gaze. His quip was a justification for dashing off to buy a take-away curry whilst he and his moneyed guests awaited a gourmet feast prepared by Gordon Ramsay at a charity gala. I wonder how much of the "cod with cubed potatoes" went to waste as the ravenous hoorays chomped on greasy bhajis. And whilst I'm on the subject of wasting good food, I was astonished to read that the world's most expensive truffle (reported in November) rotted in its display cabinet and ended up inedible. For those with a more modest budget to blow on matters culinary, the Beeb reports it's now possible to take courses on making chocolate from scratch. Anyone at a loss for what to get for Christmas/my birthday would do well to investigate gift tokens from the lovely people at My Chocolate (not very subtle hint).

President Bush has signed an intelligence treaty - the usual snide jibes may have worn a little thin, but I'll never tire of picture editors' choices in this kind of news story. And the poisoning of Yushchenko has been confirmed: given the striking colour of his political party, it's bitterly ironic that the dioxin that nearly killed him is a key component of Agent Orange. Closer to home, my MP is back in the news again. How long before this silly woman is also unceremoniously ejected from the cabinet? I'm more than prepared to have her love-child if that's what it takes.

Things to do this weekend: buy a virtual island - not an original idea, but quite what that bloke (I presume it was) was smoking when he bought a piece of cyber-estate for $26500, I'll never know. Or you could track down self-confessed anglophile Christian Slater and swear at him: apparently he loves it. Mr Slater obviously doens't require a guide on how to survive Britain as he's already learnt what the word "wanker" means. He probably isn't complaining about Little Britain, either, which is a shame, because that's exactly what its creators want you to do.

Byeeeeeeeeeeeeeeee.

:: Tis The Season ::

I'm feeling pretty smug this year, as I seem to have managed to finish all my Christmas shopping a full week earlier than I normally would. Like everyone else I've done much of it online and not set foot on hellish Oxford Street. And I've even found the perfect online outlet to spend all my Christmas money: Threadless is the coolest T-Shirt site ever. Not only is it cheap, but all the designs are submitted by members of its own online community, of which I've now become a part. Each design is printed in a limited run of 150 (some of the most popular are reprinted), which means you're highly unlikely to bump into someone wearing the same one. And the best thing? The T-shirts are incredibly cheap. They're normally $15 a pop - but are currently on offer at $10 each. With only $6 for international mail delivery, that's still inexpensive the the point where I could order a new one to wear to bAsTaRd each month.

Lava Lamp is off to Gay Paree this evening, a journey I'll be emulating in just under 2 weeks' time. Talking of gay, though, I wasn't convinced by all the arguments in this piece from Tuesday's Grauniad. For what it's worth, I've concluded that there can only be a combination of factors at play - the nature vs nurture debate is not clear cut. Surely some would have us believe that homosexuality is a means for social advancement: the recently published homosexual agenda can only be seen as proof of this fact. I topped up my poof credentials at a recent Zucco rehearsal by consuming some of the world's gayest biscuits.

The Arts world received a boost when it was announced that free entry to national museums has been guaranteed for another three years. The world's tallest bridge has just opened, and Tom Wolfe walked off with the Bad Sex In Fiction Award: "Slither slither slither slither went the tongue", indeed...

Special prizes for journalistic excrement must go to the following. In an article about the Dark Materials Director quitting, the following slip provoked a giggle "His Dark Materials is an amazing story, and at this point we have such a strong screenplay I'm confident we'll have real interest from A-level film-makers." I really doubt that sixth-form home video fanatics are the type of people they're hoping to attract. And the following headline is worthy of Taxloss on a bad day (only kidding!): Schröder faces Turkey basting. One word to that: NO!

Schadenfreude may be one of my less appealing traits, but I couldn't help stifling a giggle when I read about Jimmy Krankie falling off a beanstalk. I thought it was going to be Rod Hull all over again. Don't know about you, but I've always found The Krankies to be one of the most sinister children's acts around. The merest whiff of "Fandabidozi!" makes my flesh go cold.

:: Whatever Happened to Baby Devukha? ::

Nightmare of a week, this. The wheels ahve been falling off every work project in sight and I'm beginning to wonder if I really have taken on too much this time. Four productions in 2 months next year - 3 of them at South London Theatre and another doing lighting for the Dulwich Players. Thank God I've now completed my Christmas shopping...

Still, no rest for the wicked, as I complete my round-up of the week:

It seems that Chris Morris is at last set to return to our screens with the long-awaited Nathan Barley. those turkey-necked bleaters at PopBitch have been blathering on about this for at least two years, and even the Beeb first reported it in April. following so many false starts, the emergence of some production shoot photos seems to confirm that this "self-facilitating media node" will soon be among us.

My word of the week is nonic, although I've been hard pressed to find a decent etymology. It's the shape of the classic British beer glass, so I originally thought it was a mathematical 3D geometrical definition. Well, it seems that the mathematical definition actually concerns an "algebraic surface" (to the ninth degree, obviously). So, my mind wandered a little... does it refer to something which is 9-dimensional, as cubic refers to a 3-dimensional reality. Enlightenment would be much appreciated on this topic, although I fear the beer glass definition is unrelated: it's probably just an acronym or a portmanteau word.

The beloved Routemaster seems to be suffering from a particularly long death knell. For years we Londoners have been told that this paragon of 50s design is to be consigned to the scrap heap because of safety worries (and more lately poor disabled access). The fate of this classic symbol of London seems to be that it will remain an enthusiast's plaything, despite Ken Livingstone's inclinations to save a couple to show off to the tourists. I don't mind admitting that I deliberately took the Number 12 bus home before it morphed into a 24-hour bendy bus service in November. At the other end of the scale, Lava Lamp and I were inadvertantly among the first to use the new Vauxhall Cross interchange, a startling piece of modern construction, sure to be used in the next sequel of the film Speed. Whatever your feelings about this glorified bus-shelter, it's great to see that photovoltaic cells are incorporated into the design to generate power for night lighting.

What else have I missed this week, then... the silly hullabaloo about David Beckham and his skeletal wife appearing in Madame Tussaud's nativity; the Russian man who used the wrong "facilities" in a bathroom showroom; and another great Italin Opera House opened it's doors after a lengthy restoration project.

So shall I take the evening off? I think not! Unenthralled by the prospect of writing olfactorily enhanced Christmas cards to my friends and relation, I'm going to catch up with a friend, to talk about... drama.

Oh dear

:: Grrr...

Looks like Roberto Zucco is eating up my weblife again. Long overdue whimsical update now scheduled for... tomorrow.

:: Jamboree ::

Tonight's the night of that dreaded seasonal institution, the Office Christmas Party. An orgy of enforced jollity, and the overwhelming desire to drink as much as possible courtesy of the company are just two reasons why these events are never a good idea. And I haven't even started on the dancing - awkward, bloated gyrations, hampered by an ill fitting suit and one mince pie too many. "Curmudgeon!" you cry? Well; yes, and humbug too. Most of all, I resent having to "celebrate" Christmas nearly a month before the day itself, and the silly patronising websites that give advice on how to behave. Actually, we're going to quite a nice restaurant, so I don't know what I'm moaning about. Look out for pictures of my larger colleagues here in due course. At least we don't have to deal with the religious bit, but I've got a remedy for that too - buy your Bible-basher baiting bumper stickers here.

Well, at least some of the other proposed weekend activities should be more fun (if less drunken). I'm finally going to the new V&A architecture gallery, after blathering on about it for ages. And then I'm going to cook pelmeni on Sunday for Lava Lamp, before settling down to peruse the Little Britain Fest on BBC3.

Nostalgia beckons this week, as I hear that Cheech & Chong are back together; not only that, but it seems the Black & White Minstrels might be re-forming: a controversial prospect if ever I heard one. If gentle reminiscence is more your cup of darjeeling, Changing Choons from the Xfm Breakfast show, offers a rose-tinted glimpse of televisual history. Each week, dashing Chris Smith performs a little ditty to an erstwhile theme-tune (sometimes current too!), such as Knightrider, Miss Marple or Terry & June. This week's selection was The Good Life - an absolute corker. It's worth checking back to see if they post it up there.

And finally... I wouldn't normally do this, but I'm going to recommend a shopping site. Mankind offers a large range of high quality products. I recommend them heartily - the site is easy to navigate, service is good and quick, and you can order things you might be embarrassed to pick up in the shop...

:: Sing Your Heart Out ::

No longer shall I remain silent. I'm off to St Vedast alias Foster to sing Christmas carols in aid of Hope For Children. My non-religious inclinations have been over-ridden by the good cause and the offer of mince pies from the organisers. To get to this jewel designed by Wren, I'll be sauntering down the best named street in London, past the ancient hospital, Barts and on to St Vedast, which nestles in the shadow of Sir Christopher's better known building off Cheapside. Thankfully, my route steers well clear of the execrable Paternoster Square...

At the other end of the design scale, Duchamp's pissoir has been named the most influential modern artwork, whilst the Grauniad invites you to photograph your own piss-pot for public display. And if you're really up for taking the piss, win a Chav make-over from MSN. Will they never learn?

:: Shhh! ::

Yes, it's rather quiet round here, isn't it? Probably because I've been trying to sort out another blog for the next show I'm in. More later, but if you're bored, download the Weebl Advent Calendar...