spyderfyngers: (top hats rock)
Oh God. Oh, it was amazing. Kill for tickets. Sell your grandparents. Just go.

First, we were issued with plague masks to cover our entire faces. You could only see what was in front of your eyes, so the darkness and the closeness instantly became twice as stifling. In some places, you simply cannot see and have to rely on touch or sound. You're not allowed to speak. We were pushed into the darkness, and for the next three hours we wandered the building, immersed in a labyrinthine Victorian nightmare.

It's virtually impossible to see everything. We all had different stories to tell afterwards. I'll relate some of mine, in random order.

spyderfyngers: (Default)
Regarding blogs and using them to pass on passive-aggressive messages:

I realise it gives you great satisfaction and a sense of power, but it is, essentially, extremely childish and pitiable behaviour. If you have some pathological need to perpetuate drama, please take it elsewhere. It’s tiresome, and it doesn’t reflect well on you.

I would also appreciate you ceasing to gossip about me. It’s not acceptable, it’s not mature, and I wouldn’t do the same to you.

It would be healthy for you to cut cords and move on. There are bigger things to worry about. Life, astonishingly, does go on.
spyderfyngers: (BURN them!)
These have already been posted on [community profile] darkvictoria, but here they are for those who missed them:

"Two headed marvel! The missing link! Live mermaids and...Australians?"

The Australians are having a good laugh about it all, at least.

If you root around on the site, you'll also find some lovely antique medical illustrations.

(Last night I dreamt that I was ballgown-shopping with Charles II. For a man in a massive black periwig, he looked remarkably natural and comfortable in a pastel pink frock. Whatever would Jung say?)
spyderfyngers: (Default)

At the Cenotaph

I saw the Prince of Darkness, with his Staff,
Standing bare-headed by the Cenotaph:
Unostentatious and respectful, there
He stood, and offered up the following prayer.
“Make them forget, O Lord, what this Memorial
Means; their discredited ideas revive;
Breed new belief that War is purgatorial
Proof of the pride and power of being alive;
Men’s biologic urge to readjust
The Map of Europe, Lord of Hosts, increase;
Lift up their hearts in large destructive lust;
And crown their heads with blind vindictive Peace.”
The Prince of Darkness to the Cenotaph
Bowed. As he walked away I heard him laugh.

                                                             --- Siegfried Sassoon

spyderfyngers: (hyperdiabolical)
Overheard this evening on the way home from Uni: "But mum...why don't they have Guy Fawkes day in America?"

Don't lecture the child. Don't lecture the child. Don't lecture the child.

But did you know that, had Guy Fawkes succeeded in blowing up parliament, he would also have demolished most of the district of Westminster due to a spectacular gunpowder miscalculation?

Oh yes. Not a man to do things by halves.
spyderfyngers: (virgin queen)
Ben Jonson, you are being very silly. Your Sad Shepherd is sending me to sleep. I was told to expect great things, Ben Jonson, but by Act II I've had enough of Robin Hood prattling on about deer hunting and witches switching identities with virtuous maidens. Come on, Ben. You can do better than this. Your poetry is hilarious.

I always preferred Marlowe. I mean, look at him:

Doctor Faustus rocked. Watch and learn, Ben.
spyderfyngers: (...tea?)
Act one: In which Verity and Gabriel attempt a simple household task.

V: I wants me tea.
G: Agreed. To the kitchen!
V: Alas! We have no milk.
G: I saw some in the freezer. Let's use that.
V: But it's a block of milk-flavoured ice.
G: *puts the bottle of milk in the microwave*
V: Won't that kill us?
G: Meh. *cranks up the dial*

Some time later:

Microwave: Ping!
G: Still frozen.

Some time later:

Microwave: Ping!
G: Still frozen. Cap's still on. We can always re-freeze it if it doesn't work.
V: Surely there's some kind of hygienic reason why we shouldn't...
G: Do you want tea or not?
V: Ohmercifulheavensyes.

Act two: In which the unhappy pair orchestrate thier own demise.

G: Hmm. We have a problem.
Milk: *still frozen solid*
V: If we use a spoon we can drain off the excess...
G: *Produces pointy knife*
V: ...and the ice will melt in the tea. Here's a spoo-
Milk: *spurts*
V: Um...
G: *ceases to stab*
Milk: *continues to spurt*
G: Ah.
Milk: *bleeds*

Act three: "Doctor! You...can't!"

G: *plasters a bundle of kitchen roll over the small-but-determined stab wound* It's all fun and games until someone takes the wad of paper away.
V:  What we need is a jug or something to stand it in while it melts.
G: We could decant it into one of those washing up liquid bottles?
V: Green, soapy milk...?
G: ...
Milk: *spurts*
V: At least we have tea now.
Milk: *plops iceberg-like into the mugs*

Act four: In which the guilty pair hide the body:

G: It won't fit in the fridge. We just need to take away this vegetable tray...
Fridge door: *refuses to shut*
G: ...And the bottom shelf.
Milk: *sits bleeding in a ceramic jelly mould stolen from the draining board*
V: What are we going to do about the hole?
G: *Sellotape*
G: Hopefully the glue won't leach into the milk and poison us...
Milk: *bleeding mass of punctured plastic, Sellotape and dislodged fridge components*
V&G: *crack up*
V: Anyway! At last we have tea.
G: *giggles so much he spills his tea on the floor*
V: Oh for...

For the benefit of my boyfriend's chronic anal-retention I have made the following ammendments to this post:

Sellotape has two ls, not one. It is also a registered company, so requires a capital letter. The Sellotape® Company is owned by Henkel Consumer Adhesives, part of the largest adhesive company in the world. Sellotape® was first launched into the stationery trade in the 1930's. Since then it has become a leading brand of clear adhesive tape. The word 'Sellotape' even has its own entry in the Oxford English Dictionary as a brand name.Consumer awareness of the brand is very strong. 71% of UK consumers will buy the Sellotape® brand in preference to other brands of sticky tape, based on quantative consumer research. Sellotape® has been featured three times in the Superbrands' book of the world's greatest brands.

For those interested in further Sellotape-related reading, please refer to their informative homepage, or write to them at:


The Sellotape® Company (NZ)
9 Astley Avenue
New Lynn
P.O.Box 2484
New Zealand.

Tel: +64 9 827 6039
Fax: +64 9 827 5114

Thankyou for reading Lady Verity's livejournal. Have a sticky, capitalised evening.
spyderfyngers: (Merf?!)
 As tommorow is Trafalgar Day, I feel it my duty as a daughter of an officer of Her Majesty's Royal Navy to state the following:

Shoot 'em in t' face wit' bayonette.
spyderfyngers: (gasp genevieve)
I have no idea how to put this. My hands are trembling and I've been running around the house singing Don't Stop Me Now for the last hour.

I told a few people, but not too many for fear that I might not win. But...

The New Writing Partnership run an annual 'competition' called The Talent Escalator, offering mentoring to 10 writers at all points of thier careers. Plus £5000. Sally Cline at uni told me I ought to try out for it to boost my confidence. So, I sent in 3000 words of my writing back in August.

Well...I, um...won.

I'm meeting my new mentor, a children's writer called Gillian, in a swanky cafe in Cambridge in two weeks to discuss where I want to go careerwise, how I want to spend the money, and the next step of the scheme - applying for a Grant For The Arts Award. I was the only young person to win.

My dad danced when I told him. My dad. That just about says it all.
spyderfyngers: (baz needs a cuddle)

The boy, he is gone home. The girl, she is sad. Also vodka.

We had a good time until dad decided it was too much effort to be aloof, dismissive and plain rude for another two days and Put His Foot Down and told me Gabriel had to go. Then he Changed His Mind when it was too late to change Gabriel's travelling plans. Dad is now in Guilt Mode, hence why he's calling me 'sweetie' and buying me things I don't need.

Dad's away all weekend with a random woman called Sue. I have no idea who this person is, but I hear she knows all about Gabriel and I, and advises dad on how to deal with it. Bravo, Sue. Remind me to drive a tank over you someday.

Alas! Now there's no-one to watch Most Haunted with or speak Polish to. *insert great big unhappy face here*

However - housemates - I hear we're moving into Radishland soon. What's everyone planning to do?

spyderfyngers: (london is red for some reason)
I love London. Derelict London has some fantastic photographs of abandoned tube stations and bizarre news headlines (Killer Algae!). Also, illuminating information on what exactly happens when you step on a dead rat. It'll be the last time you eat a chicken kiev.

Call yourself an animal lover? Save The Pigeons!

I'm considering adopting several thousand needy pigeons and rats. I shall use my cuddly army of so-called-vermin to overthrow the British Public Transport system. If we had rat-pulled coaches and pigeon-operated trams, [profile] phable wouldn't be running two hours late and we'd be sitting on the sofa right now, giggling at my Victorian soap opera. Woe.
spyderfyngers: (I want to see your PAIN!)
I'm longing to make a post with lots of pictures and loud noise about how wonderful Kelmscott was (I bought poison bottles!), but it's a mad rush this morning as Boycreature is coming to stay for a week. I need to make the house less...disgusting.

So in a week's time, I'll tell you Muffins all about it. There were pewter paperwieghts in the shape of William Morris' head.  They looked like belligerent decapitated garden gnomes.
spyderfyngers: (Sweet dreams are made of paranoia)
I think my skin is getting paler, thanks to [profile] phable and his magical cider vinegar. Dad came in from work two nights ago and gave me a concerned look before asking if I was ill. I miss the heat and the sun, but I don't miss yellow skin.

I need to visit the Ipswich craft market soon and find some ribbon for the little pewter key charm I bought. I want to dangle it from a choker. I already have some black velveteen, but I'm using it for my jet heart charm and it's a pain to untie. I'd like to make my own jewellery. Particularly image reliquaries, but I don't know how to get the images onto something solid. Other than using glue. And I'm sure that's not how it's done.

Dad's offering to take me to Kelmscott Manor on Wednesday! I'm disproportionately excited. He's going to be bored out of his mind, and I know I'll embarass him by scurrying from room to room squeaking violently becuase 'there's the very sofa on which blah blah blah happened!' and 'sweet merciful crap, that's so-and-so's pyjamas!' 

I cannot wait.

spyderfyngers: (I am a very special marfans mouse)

It may just be the painkiller-induced haze, but that's the funniest, most wonderful thing I've seen all day.

I've been a fool and gone crawling back to ebay. My latest win - a reconstructed Smashing Pumpkins top (with the gorgeous artwork from The Machines of God album on) arrived today with a free CD entitled 'Weapons of Musical Destruction'. Amusing, but just not as good as the cake. I feel naughty, becuase today I bid on a Rossetti book I didn't know existed, simply becuase the title made me laugh: 'A Victorian Alien'. I'd die happily if they meant it literally.

And...and there's a Victorian rent boy jacket [profile] sistermorticia drew my attention to after I tried so hard to ignore it. Want.
spyderfyngers: (I hate-a you all-a)

I hate having an otherwise generally cheerful evening spoiled by idiot nations and thier idiot leaders with thier idiot wars.

I wish I was a superhero. I'd have the power to drop great big boulders on great big idiot nations. I'd film it and upload it to youtube so I could watch it again and again.

And I'd get away with it, too, seeming as dropping heavy objects on civilians is the new black.

What ever happened to Bird Flu? I was looking forward to a good old fashioned plague.

spyderfyngers: (Sweet dreams are made of paranoia)
Bobby, Diabolical Prince of Cuteness and Incessant Noise is 11 today! He celebrated this momentous occasion by savaging the mail and sleeping on the back of the chair. When asked how it feels to be another year older, His Dogliness yawned and batted me in the face with a paw.

I love him even after cleaning up six piles of his sick on Saturday.

"Damn, I'm pretty!"
spyderfyngers: (gasp genevieve)
*panic, flail, collapse!*

T-minus 24 hours until I meet [profile] phable in Cambridge.

Chloroform? Check.
Butterfly net? Check.
Valium? Check. Double check.
spyderfyngers: (cutthroats)
I love The Decemberists. Do you think they'd let me join? I'd clearly fit right in.

spyderfyngers: (why won't you die?)

I wonder what age I'll be when true political apathy sets in.

I was so excited about my first vote. I went alone to the polling station in Cambridge, cackling to myself becuase I'd already been able to vote in Ipswich due to a clerical error. I'd been on protests beforehand, written obnoxious letters to Bush, Blair And Cronies, shouted at the TV and generally acted out like an angry teenager.

Don't get me wrong - I knew all politicians were bottom-feeding slime, and I had no party affiliation - but a few years ago I wanted to do some good in my tiny way.

Now there's just impotent frustration. I rarely watch the news anymore. Yelling "WHERE ARE THE SODDING SNIPERS?!" at the television isn't going to do much good. Even if we got rid of all these comfortable middle-aged men on the BBC, a new wave of comfortable middle-aged men would waddle in and take thier place.

Why am I writing this?

I hate war. As a Forces child, I grew up with war. "Where's daddy?" Iraq. "Where's daddy?" Bosnia. "What's he doing?" Minesweeping the Adriatic. "Why?" 

I support troops becuase I know what it's like to sit at home waiting for someone to return. It's a far nobler profession than politics.

Some of you may have met my Uncle Ken. He's from Alabama. He came over here to marry my aunt and has lived here ever since. According to him, gay people, black people, conscientious objectors, 'lefties' and the like should be 'put against a wall and shot'. He uses those words. He loves Bush. Loves him like the kindred spirit he is. When I went on my first anti-war protest, he went ballistic: 'She's under 18, she can't have her own opinions yet, they don't teach politics in school' blah blah blah. He shouted, slammed doors and wouldn't speak to my family for a few weeks. Now that the war is, quote, 'over', he's full of remorse. The 'good guys', amazingly enough, are still being killed, and he just can't understand it. 'It's a Godawful state of affairs', he says, wearing his sickening little stars and stripes/union jack badge.

Of course, now that Israel are throwing a shit-fit, he's on top of the world again. 'If it wears a kaftan, kill it.' Yee-haw.

I have to wonder how many Uncle Kens there are in the world.

Why I'm ranting, I don't know. On a cheerful note, Sisters of Mercy are ever-so-jolly and it's only a matter of days until I meet the minx.

spyderfyngers: (Obey!)
If You Ruled the Land . . . by wackyweasel
Your first name:
How you gained your rule:
Your title is:Your Royal Sexyness
Your symbol is:the fox, because you're foxy!
You rule from:a mountaintop mansion
At your side is:your sexiest bodyguards
Your enforcers, troops, and guards are all:trained animals of many species, all named Fluffy
Your most popular law is:"Whack Your Boss With A Dead Fish" Day
Your least popular law is:Banning of people being better-looking than you
Your worst enemy is:your court jester's awful nun joke
Your popularity rating is:: 94%
Your chance of being overthrown is:: 10%
Quiz created with MemeGen!
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