Poppies Will Make them Sleep

Oh my, I've been remiss. Here it is the end of Remembrance Day (well, one of them), and I recall I have a blog. When is Alzheimer’s Day?

Not that they’d remember.

So what's been going on ...

There's been a lot of Nano writing. I'm a little behind, but I’m having fun*. I have reached 16,000 (out of 50,000) words to date, and am slowly discovering the slightest hint of a plot line. Would you, as a reader, be bothered by a pair of bickering Noel Coward-esque gay ghosts as a connect-the-backstory-with-present-day device?

You hate it, right?

Oh well, too bad. I'm going forward with it anyway. It's my silly story and this month is all about quantity not quality. At least that's what they tell me.

Besides all the rubbish writing, I'm closing in on a possibly big-ish career change which I've been contemplating for a few months. Haven't been blogging about it 'cause I'm afraid I'll jinx it, but I'm really excited. Fingers crossed.

So, what else can I tell you?. Despite how much I loathe the poster, The Sound of Music is way better than you'd think, or at least than I'd have thought. Even if Sir Andrew Lloyd Muppetface (and one of those scary, LSD-induced muppets at that … Hi Janice) did fire the leading man two days before we had tickets, we couldn’t have been more pleased with the production. The replacement Captain Von Trapp is, well, fine (bless, he went on with no dress rehearsal after being hired 48 hours prior and needed to be fed more than a few lines). The winner of the Graham Norton hosted travesty "How Do You Solve a Problem Like Maria" turned out to be fabulous. All hail Connie Fisher.

No ... really. She rocked, as much as a guitar-playing whiskers-on-kittens nun-cum-nanny can rock. Amazing. Especially when she fed the Captain his lines. I bet 98% of the house didn’t catch it. She’s a star.

I'd planned on starting the review ... "Climb every mountain, then throw yourself off it." But I can't be mean. It's really a good show. Go. See for yourself. See if Freidrick isn't a pre-teen friend of Dorothy. See if Rolf isn't the cutest Nazi wannabe this side of an anschluss. See if Leslie Garrett can't sing (almost unmiked, thank you very much) louder than the orchestra. She’ll knock down the Abbey’s walls, I tell you.

Ethel Merman would be so proud.

What else ... Oh! It seems that most of the homoxuals I know in London haven't seen any of the films required to earn a basic Gay 101 card. In a concerted effort to rectify this abhorrent situation, I'm screening Auntie Mame (light dinner included) this Tuesday night. If you'd like to join us, please let me know (email is fine) so I can order the correct of pies from Dominos. Yup, we're a classy lot here in Marylebone.

Speaking of pre-ordering: If you'd like to attend the second annual Bob-cooks-Thanksgiving-dinner-in-London, let me know soon. There are a few empty chairs this year, due to childbirth (not a result of last year's stuffing, I assure you) and travel restrictions.

* I'm aiming for 2,000 words a day, and I gave him grief about hitting 500. It's madness, I tell you.