I met Alan Rickman the weekend before last, and while he is sexy as hell up close, he is in fact a sneery twat. The Snape thing is not some Method Acting technique, but his inner sneery twat coming out for a stroll, in a black wig. (So, no, I didn't take to him.) Will this ruin the Sheer Sex that is Colonel Brandon saying 'I think not' to Elinor ( Read more... )

I reek of Deep Heat, and have just given a lecture to two hundred snickering third years while clasping to my lower back a hot water bottle in a woollen cover with snowflakes knitted into it ( Read more... )

Clearly either I have changed in ten years, or New York has. When I was last there, I thought it was all fast-paced and aggressive, like an episode of Law and Order: Special Victims Unit, but this time I was the one making impatient hissing noises at people dawdling (ie walking less fast than me) on pavements (sidewalks!) and not infrequently found ( Read more... )

I have just hand-delivered my sabbatical application, although it involved crossing campus in the sleety wind, and, on arrival at the office of the Chief Stuffed Shirt of the Academic Resources Board, attempting to convince a slightly bemused secretary that this was the most important sabbatical application ever, and needed special attention, care ( Read more... )

No idea why this update. Maybe just to stop the claggy mud at the bottom of the drained duckpond that is my LJ entirely drying out, on the offchance there is a buried fish or two somewhere in the weed. Hello, fish ( Read more... )

Due to ( Read more... )

Pride in Brighton on the weekend was completely wonderful and porny, with pretty boys frolicking in sailor costumes and chaps, and dogs in rainbow collars and tutus, and beautiful men kissing on the beach and in the blessing tent and stealing our champagne when we got (understandably, I think) distracted ( Read more... )

*blows conwebs off fandom and wonders what new and filthy routes HP has taken after HBP - Grawp-in-a-suit-gets his hands on the felix felistis (sp?) potion ( Read more... )

The Partner and I queued rather half-heartedly at midnight at the Islington Waterstone's, with a lot of mostly drunk adults, a lot of sheepish-looking bookstore assistants in HP t-shirts and one cute little boy called Felix. I ate jellybeans out of a hat enthusiastically, and we played Pass the Parcel to win - gasp! - a HP t-shirt, which I nobly ( Read more... )

Not dead ( Read more... )