Writing a blog has caused me to analyse my own , frankly disturbing dreams and fantasies. This is generally because the hero (myself being the heroine) is usually a much older man. Yesterday I saw the music video for Within Temptation’s ‘Angels’ (watch it yourself…you’ll see why it is related.) and I said to myself: That’s it, no more older men fantasies. This has to stop.

And yet my imagination still runs away with itself.

I was a young,beautiful, penniless woman walking down a dusty road through the desert , the cruel sun was beating down upon me. I was fleeing from an (old-Aladdin-style) state of female oppression and forced marriage to gross gross men. It was very hot and I was very tired and running out of water. On the left side of the road a man on a camel came up behind me. He looked rich and had a train of servants on donkeys following him. Yes, he was kinda , slightly FAR TOO OLD FOR ME!!! anyway he offered me a lift , I was like “ugh, no.” (being in a state of anger with men in general and the whole setup of society)

The next thing I knew I was riding on his camel up in front of him with his arms around me and we were rocking back and forth with the motion. (STOP THINKING THAT!) I was pissed off with the situation. He seemed to think that this was extremely amusing and informed me that I had fainted. This left me feeling even more angry at the fact that I had been rescued by him and was now in his debt. I tried to get off but his grip was firm and he was like : ‘what? without any water?’. I felt like a fool. Anyway we carried on along the road and didn’t talk much, pretending to be angry. He still found this funny. (by the way, he looked a bit like a slightly Arabian version of Sean Connery, Aladdin style setting and all that) My temper had cooled down to silent gratefulness and slight friendship by the time I camped with him at sunset (OF COURSE WE DIDN’T). To cut a long story , the details of which I cannot recall, short , after days of riding on his camel through the desert (NOT LIKE THAT!) and lots of very nice, if slightly flirtatious conversation we fell madly in love. Aww. At last we came to our destination which was the oasis where his brother and his family lived and were starting a new town. We got married, had lots of sex and babies (I quote ‘love actually’ ) and lived happily ever after . The End.

That’s not so bad – Is it?

Apart from the whole – by running away from male dominance etc you’re fantasizing about it slightly, yes I see the hypocrisy, but to be honest, I’m fine with it. As long as he’s a nice guy, and very good looking.

I’m getting way, way too into this.

Pervy old men, dear, pervy old men.

PS. I was thinking later, maybe it’s not so bad , let’s just say he’s not that much older than me. Mr Knightley was seventeen years older than Emma after all, and if Jane Austen approves, who am I to say she’s wrong?

All the computers were taken. I’d checked. Twice. A thought struck me. I could read a book! This idea seemed so simple, so obvious. I wandered over to the fiction section. But what?

I should probably explain that my reading habits are somewhat unadventurous. I read books that have been talked about incessantly by my friends or relations, books which are part of the series of said books, and books that I’ve read before on numerous occasions. Sadly, this doesn’t extend very far due to aforementioned limited range of books I read for the first time.

Where was I?

Ah yes, I was wandering over to the fiction section and was bemused as to what to read. My trail of thought went something like this:

• Seriously, just pick something up, anything!
• ugh, these all look like they need so much concentration …
• Try the trashier fiction stands?

• Hmm…Redwall or 80′s romance about twelve year olds *?
• Ok, maybe not, back to the main wall…
• Already read….already read…if they had the first in the series-maybe….no….no….I tried reading that before and lost concentration….

At this point my eyes alighted upon a group of infamous books written by Cathy Hopkins: the even more infamous ‘mates, dates’ series which are trashy, zero concentration needed , pre teen , lolworthy and a sex-ed lesson rolled into one. OMG I sound like one of those really nasty TV critics who are just….nasty…in their defence, I did once enjoy them and tried to reserve them before remembering that I forgot my library database password the day it was given, yet I digress. So, I thought:

Why not?

Go on – you have to start somewhere with reading new books….

And so I pick up ‘mates dates and inflatable bras’

I walk over to one of the not-as-comfy-as-they-look chairs and open it.

What if someone sees you reading this?

I hurriedly walk back to the shelves and replace the book.

Forget reading…just go write your blog.

*nothing against twelve year olds, only writers who write trashy romances about them trying to connect with the romantic feelings of the younger generation *vomits*

As the latest BBC production of Jane Austen’s ‘Emma’ has drawn to a close I set my mind to the question ‘Which Jane Austen heroine am I most like?’ There are many different types of aforementioned protagonist , (there would have to be, for Mr Cullen himself to have his own, personal brand) and Jane Austen portrays a wide range of them. To make matters easier, I have made notes on each (Thankyou, ‘Notes on notemaking’ PSHE class !) :

Pride and prejudice: Ok, who doesn’t imagine themselves as Elizabeth Bennet? (one would suppose a person who is either male or has never read the book or viewed one of the numerous motion picture adaptations . Is she too proud or too prejudiced ? I never can work it out.

Emma: You know, it takes her and Mr K a whole book to work out that they are MFEO (you have seen sleepless in seattle – right?)

Northanger Abbey : Catherine Morland is the youngest Ausetenian heroine who , at the start of the novel spends a good deal of her time up trees and reading gothic novels then fantasizing about certain male characters in said novel doing certain things to her….My my you have a dirty mind.

Mansfield Park: Fanny Price has a really annoying way of always doing the right thing, yet never seems to stand up for herself enough, letting Crawford bitch get her slimy hands on Edmund.

Sense and sensibility : There are kinda two protagonists to this story, as I am not two people , I do not feel it warrants notes.

Persuasion: I can’t believe that she let that creepy woman persuade her out of marrying the man of her dreams who later says ‘oh, yeah well you were only nineteen’ I mean, at nineteen , I’d be totally ready to marry James Bond. At least they get together at the end. Meh.

After all that tedious notemaking , the writing of which was a good deal less fun than expected I feel it is clear that I am the future incarnation of Catherine Morland in my unhealthy addiction to watching James Bond and….yes, well, hmmm….. AKWARD TURTLE!

Wow, is this my cue to swoon?
Do I have that effect on you?
Not so much you as your character.

OOC: does anyone else see the similarity between that line and Vesper Lynd’s ‘not so much you as the line?’ just after James wins the Poker Game in Casino Royale ?
Even the way I script my conversation seems to stem back to Bond films….Odd.

Well that’s all right then

OOC: IKR!

*I laugh*

OOC : probably because that’s such a conversation killer, and I wasn’t wearing an Algerian love knot to start it up again

Do you want to go for a drink after the show?
Why? Are you going to ask me?

At this point I became slightly self-disgusted by my imaginings of the possibility of dating a man who is old enough to be my father (grandfather if they all did it obscenely young – but that’s pushing it a bit) and the conversation ground to a halt. Shame.

And I still haven’t determined my favourite Bond.

Oh gosh, reading back through this, I think I may be the subject for a Psychiatric field day.