michael lambe's scrapbook

I just had the crappiest weekend imaginable: lots of places I wanted to be, lots of things I wanted to do, invites to parties etc… and I succumbed to a cold virus. I fell into bed on Friday and have only really managed to crawl out today. Unbelievable just how much I can sleep and still feel tired. So much for the Halloween-party weekend.

Ah well, now that I’m back up on my arse in front of this compoota what do I have for ye?

More links that’s what.

FINALLY (!) a fresh post up on you-know-what for Cafe Moley-moley-moley! Way behind schedule with that one.

Also, I spied this article on the BBC website today, that didn’t really tell me anything new but just re-confirmed my deep feelings of scorn, loathing and disrespect for the ever-useless Japanese police: J-pigs

It’s Halloween and time for scary stories. Up on WEEKENDAMERICA there are ten very very very short but scary stories for you to read or listen to (preferably the latter). I especially liked the first one by Paul Bibeau. It made me laugh, it did. Darkly.

However, if tales of terror are not your cup of tea how about a little cup of lurve? If you go to this TIMESONLINE page you can sign up to have five literary love-letters emailed to you by the likes of Margaret Atwood, Leonard Cohen and Chimamanda Ngozi Adichie (no idea who the last dude is). I got my Margaret Atwood love-letter today. Typically, it wasn’t strictly speaking a love-letter, not as traditionally defined: a letter written by one person to another, informing the receiver that the writer loves him/her/it. No the writer cheated a bit there. Not only that, but it was maybe a little too clever and cynical to evoke any romantic feelings as such. But writers are meant to cheat and be cynical and clever, aren’t they? So I think I can forgive Mags her little indiscretions because after all it was rather fun. And actual love so often being not very much fun at all, I think I prefer the-thing-what-she-wrote-instead-of-a-love-letter anyway.