god is my favourite dj

Listening to Leona Lewis early in the morning, on a Sunday, still in bed, with a mug of lukewarm coffee and two lightly toasted bread is my idea of perfection. At least for the time being.

This is my favourite song so far by her:



I think she has an immensely powerful voice - the beauty lies in how soothing it sounds. Loud and soothing; euphonious, something which a lot of singers with higher pitched voices cannot acheive.

Another song I'm obsessed with at the moment is I Dreamed A Dream, sang by Elaine Paige from the Les Miserables stage play. First heard it on YouTube, Susan Boyle's rendition of it on Britain's Got Talent.

I'm also in the middle of reading this:



This was part of my Reading World Text course; however I skipped this book entirely due to 1) Lack of time, and 2) The overwhelming aspect of the other five books I had to read. I am beginning to regret the decision after every page of this book I'm finishing. There's a remarkable veracity in Lamming's writing; it's pure in ways that are inexplicable. It's beautiful and every word, every sentence inspires me to think. To close my eyes, take a deep breath and just think. What is more remarkable is the fact that Lamming was only 23 when he wrote this. I am 20 and my writing is like unpolished turd compared to this. Thanks Mr. Lamming, I feel
inadequate now.

My goal now is to finish reading In The Castle Of My Skin before the 16th. That's when I am going to India. I'm bringing my brand new copy of A Suitable Boy which, I'm determined to finish before the Winter break is over.

Edith Piaf's L'Accordéoniste, as sung by Samuel Barnett from the History Boys:



Lyrics:
La fille de joie est belle
Au coin de la rue Labas
Elle a une clientèle
Qui lui remplit son bas
Quand son boulot s'achève
Elle s'en va à son tour
Chercher un peu de rêve
Dans un bal du faubourg
Son homme est un artiste
C'est un drôle de petit gars
Un accordéoniste
Qui sait jouer la java

Elle écoute la java
Mais elle ne la danse pas
Elle ne regarde même pas la piste
Et ses yeux amoureux
Suivent le jeu nerveux
Et les doigts secs et longs de l'artiste
Ça lui rentre dans la peau
Par le bas, par le haut
Elle a envie de chanter
C'est physique
Tout son être est tendu
Son souffle est suspendu
C'est une vraie tordue de la musique

La fille de joie est triste
Au coin de la rue Labas
Son accordéoniste
Il est parti soldat
Quand y reviendra de la guerre
Ils prendront une maison
Elle sera la caissière
Et lui, sera le patron
Que la vie sera belle
Ils seront de vrais pachas
Et tous les soirs pour elle
Il jouera la java

Elle écoute la java
Qu'elle fredonne tout bas
Elle revoit son accordéoniste
Et ses yeux amoureux
Suivent le jeu nerveux
Et les doigts secs et longs de l'artiste
Ça lui rentre dans la peau
Par le bas, par le haut
Elle a envie de chanter
C'est physique
Tout son être est tendu
Son souffle est suspendu
C'est une vraie tordue de la musique

La fille de joie est seule
Au coin de la rue Labas
Les filles qui font la gueule
Les hommes n'en veulent pas
Et tant pis si elle crève
Son homme ne reviendra plus
Adieux tous les beaux rêves
Sa vie, elle est foutue
Pourtant ses jambes tristes
L'emmènent au boui-boui
Où y a un autre artiste
Qui joue toute la nuit

Elle écoute la java...
... elle entend la java
... elle a fermé les yeux
... et les doigts secs et nerveux ...
Ça lui rentre dans la peau
Par le bas, par le haut
Elle a envie de gueuler
C'est physique
Alors pour oublier
Elle s'est mise à danser, à tourner
Au son de la musique...

You can also see Edith Piaf's original rendition here

wasting away the sunday evening in a mass of literary goodness

Don't you just love it when one minute people are telling you your team sucks and the next instant their own team loses rather pathetically? Football's a goldmine of bragging/taunting opportunities. Either way, Liverpool's on its way to crashing out of the title race; and it's not even Christmas.

Gerard Pique's scoring of own goals would have been invoked some sympathy for me if he played for any other club. I always find it gravely unfortunate when a defender scores an own goal; though, having said that I relish it when they happen to play for Team Clusterfuck and Team Wildrabiesfuck. (Most people refer to them as Barcelona FC and Liverpool FC).

As of now, Barcelona are only a point ahead, Madrid's recovering slowly from the Alcorcon fiasco, Higuain's AWESOME, Benzema's still a bitch - but he did set up the assist for one of the Higuain goals, I'll give him that - Raúl was priceless from the touchline after Albiol was sent off. He was looking to bite off someone's head, with his tiny little fox teeth; I'm sure he snarled. Like RAWWWR, or however foxes snarl. I hope in light of Higuain's performance, Pellegrini will give him the regular place in the starting line up that he deserves. It would be the biggest regret in Real Madrid's history of regrets to let Gonzalo Higuain go. He is the best thing to have happened in a while; dedicated, young, speedy, he is exactly the kind of #7 replacement Real Madrid needs. I hope after Raúl retires, Madrid award Higuain the coveted #7 jersey - I think he has it in him to live up to the legends who have donned it during their careers with Real Madrid. I see him as Raúl's ideal successor.

My insensitivity (towards fans of Liverpool and Barcelona) aside, football was good for me this weekend. The clubs I follow won (OMG DIMITAR BERBATOV - part time Bulgarian mobster and part time Manchester United striker - SCORED); the clubs I have a special compartment reserved for in my loathing bank failed to win, and generally were shitty. Karma's a bitch.

A caveat: There were eight red cards handed out, spanning over the English and the Spanish league this game day. I'm not sure if the exact figure is eight, but it is close enough.

That aside I WENT TO SEE NEIL GAIMAN TODAY. To be truthful, I have never met as charming as him; he was absolutely mind blowing, with his effervescent stage personality and adorable curls; shame the moderator was an ass with his stupid Singlish which put a heavy damper on the whole event. Otherwise the crowd (of about 900 people packing up the Victoria Concert Hall) were fantastic - they cheered, they clapped and they (most) asked intelligent questions when questioning was opened to the floor. Neil recounted his Bee growing experiment - I sympathize with his PA! He talked at lengths about Alan Moore - absolutely adore him; said that he is, I quote, "a big hairy writer". He talked about the anecdote, courtesy of Moore, of scary trousers and how he came to be given than title. Let's see....hmmm, he talked about his project in China, which was interesting to hear, but I wish he'd have talked more about himself as a writer, as an artist, as the author the 900 of us gathered there today have grown to love. He did expound on the Sandman, but absolutely no mentions of Mirrormask. I love Mirrormask. I should have asked him a question but they opened a limited number of questions to be permitted from the floor due to time constrain.

Overall, it was a fantastic experience. But it was too hot to queue up outside the Arts House for his book signing. Besides I didn't bring any of the copies I own with me. I'm going to dig through the national library and re-read American Gods.

FAIL OF THE DAY: Yesterday, as a Halloween treat, AMANDA PALMER (Neil Gaiman's girlfriend from the Dresden Dolls fame) PERFORMED A FREE CONCERT OUTSIDE THE ARTS HOUSE. A FREE CONCERT WHICH I SHOULD HAVE GONE FOR IF I HAD KNOW BECAUSE I ABSOLUTE LOVE HER AND HAVE HAD OBSESSIVE PHASES WITH HER ALBUM Who killed Amanda Palmer. I don't know what I'm more upset at; my ignorance, or the fact that the concert was you know free.

Pictures that somehow brightened my day

(Juanes doesn't need any introduction)


(Neither does hotshot coach of Valencia Unai Emery with his 439823128754320984324289 feet tall Serbian striker Nikola Zigic)

i got myself into some trouble tonight...

(Not a big fan of the Delta Goodrem version; Aaberge's slightly husky voice lends a better tone to the nature of the song.)

I am in love with this song. The lyrics never cease to blow me away and every time I listen to it, I am overcome with a combination of nostalgia/tranquility/peace of (my) mind. I image a sunset by the beach; the bruised sky overhead; the sunlight fading behind the shifting sea clouds; the gentle collision of waves against the sand; preparing for high tide; the wind blowing against my face, seeping through my hair, un-combing it, making a mess of it...there are some things that cannot be condensed into words. I think this song, the feelings it invokes is one of them.

[I refuse to comment on football. I REFUSE. The rambunctious Liverpool (and Barcelona) fans an go and fuck themselves. Putain.]