If you had never put orange peel in her mouth
She never would have known what it tasted like.
Category: What does orange peel taste like?
Saturday, October 31, 2009
Chapter 2
She sat naked, her chin resting in her hand. Thinking. Should she use her powers for good or evil? Good was so grandma panties if you thought about it. All the way past your belly button nearly up to your neck. Would be enough to smother anybody. But then evil; was just the other extreme. It was then that Maskara rememebred that there was something she had to do.
She walked to the very edge of where she lived, looked around her once and then dived. After what seemed like an eon of time but was only really a very few minutes, she hit the water and sliced through. Eyes closed, she made her way to the surface gasping for breath. When she opened her eyes she was on the other side of the world. In a room bare except for carpeting, a cupboard and a mirror. She walked over to the mirror and examined herself. 'So this is what I look like.' She thought to herself.
Category 1: Fantasy / Fiction
Category 2: Extract
She walked to the very edge of where she lived, looked around her once and then dived. After what seemed like an eon of time but was only really a very few minutes, she hit the water and sliced through. Eyes closed, she made her way to the surface gasping for breath. When she opened her eyes she was on the other side of the world. In a room bare except for carpeting, a cupboard and a mirror. She walked over to the mirror and examined herself. 'So this is what I look like.' She thought to herself.
Category 1: Fantasy / Fiction
Category 2: Extract
Tuesday, October 27, 2009
Wednesday, October 21, 2009
Friday, October 16, 2009
Where have all the men gone??
Here's where according to Andrew Kelly.
He rants,
All you girls just have to find a perfectly normal guy tell him he's NOT sensitive enough, make him sensitive, turn him into a woman and THEN ask "where have all the men gone.."
He rants,
All you girls just have to find a perfectly normal guy tell him he's NOT sensitive enough, make him sensitive, turn him into a woman and THEN ask "where have all the men gone.."
Tuesday, October 13, 2009
The Cubbon Park police station was originally built as a guard room in 1906 to guard the statue of Queen Victoria (in Cubbon Park)
[Stop]
Thought #1:The statue needed guarding?
Thought #2:Of course it did.
Thought #3: Bleddy Britishers
[Stop]
Thought #1:The statue needed guarding?
Thought #2:Of course it did.
Thought #3: Bleddy Britishers
Sunday, October 11, 2009
Wednesday, October 07, 2009
Kashmir: An impression
Your first sight of the mountains makes you glad that you came.
Your traveling track record can only be described as impulsive.
Where earlier on you question this impulsiveness.
You no longer do.
You wait in the heat.
It's hard to imagine that the top of the world could be warm.
But it is.
You make a mental note, not to grumble about the weather back home again.
A taxi takes you to the second best hotel there.
The first thing you notice on your way there. The soldiers.
Everywhere.
The second thing, the shabby grandeur of the hotel.
A capacity of maybe four hundred.
An occupancy of perhaps four.
It's sprawling, it's beautiful, it's old world. Charming.
It's sad.
I go out to meet my Kashmiri friend.
Pakoras and tea.
Her brothers, her cousins, they've come along.
They're georgeous. Of course they are.
They're Kashmiri.
All of them studying to be doctors, lawyers.
Secretly I suspect that this is something of a social pressure.
Well educated.
You have to be.
I roam around the city on my own in a taxi from the hotel.
The only other thing that strikes me apart from the soldiers are the children.
They also carry guns.
Toy ones.
Again, you feel a twinge, you consider it, then discard it.
This is life.
I watch the women. Very conservative and yet, they're not.
The older girls, they pull their head coverings a little more securely round their heads when they pass by people they know. Relatives, friends, people who's words carry weight.
Close to minutes later, their heads are bare again.
Subtle.
As we stop to buy famous Kashmiri sweets, little Hareen, the youngest of the cousins in all innocence asks, 'Do I look better THIS way?' wrapping her duppata elaborately round her head, 'Or THIS way?' pulling it off to show her hair and cover her chest.
The only appropriate answer and I find myself smiling as I say it. 'Both ways, darling. Both ways'.
There is fun to be had.
Lamb kabab off the side of the road, a shikara ride on Dal lake, ancient Mughal gardens, the ruins of palaces
I take in all of this. I lap it up.
You leave, I'd like to say, as quickly as you came.
Except that you can't.
Security checks at the airport in Srinagar don't seem to end.
You finally get on your plane.
Happy, sad, happy? sad?
I can't tell.
Your traveling track record can only be described as impulsive.
Where earlier on you question this impulsiveness.
You no longer do.
You wait in the heat.
It's hard to imagine that the top of the world could be warm.
But it is.
You make a mental note, not to grumble about the weather back home again.
A taxi takes you to the second best hotel there.
The first thing you notice on your way there. The soldiers.
Everywhere.
The second thing, the shabby grandeur of the hotel.
A capacity of maybe four hundred.
An occupancy of perhaps four.
It's sprawling, it's beautiful, it's old world. Charming.
It's sad.
I go out to meet my Kashmiri friend.
Pakoras and tea.
Her brothers, her cousins, they've come along.
They're georgeous. Of course they are.
They're Kashmiri.
All of them studying to be doctors, lawyers.
Secretly I suspect that this is something of a social pressure.
Well educated.
You have to be.
I roam around the city on my own in a taxi from the hotel.
The only other thing that strikes me apart from the soldiers are the children.
They also carry guns.
Toy ones.
Again, you feel a twinge, you consider it, then discard it.
This is life.
I watch the women. Very conservative and yet, they're not.
The older girls, they pull their head coverings a little more securely round their heads when they pass by people they know. Relatives, friends, people who's words carry weight.
Close to minutes later, their heads are bare again.
Subtle.
As we stop to buy famous Kashmiri sweets, little Hareen, the youngest of the cousins in all innocence asks, 'Do I look better THIS way?' wrapping her duppata elaborately round her head, 'Or THIS way?' pulling it off to show her hair and cover her chest.
The only appropriate answer and I find myself smiling as I say it. 'Both ways, darling. Both ways'.
There is fun to be had.
Lamb kabab off the side of the road, a shikara ride on Dal lake, ancient Mughal gardens, the ruins of palaces
I take in all of this. I lap it up.
You leave, I'd like to say, as quickly as you came.
Except that you can't.
Security checks at the airport in Srinagar don't seem to end.
You finally get on your plane.
Happy, sad, happy? sad?
I can't tell.
Sunday, October 04, 2009
Saturday, October 03, 2009
Friday, October 02, 2009
Thursday, October 01, 2009
It's reached a new low.
So low that
My conservative mother (who doesn't even like me sitting next to boys)
Asks me questions like:
Mother: Going out?
Me: Yup
Mother: Meeting a boy?
Me: Yup
Mother: Do you like him??? (a little too hopefully for comfort)
Me: No mamma. I'm not going to marry him.
Category 1: Marriage
Category 2: :S
Category 3: Humour
So low that
My conservative mother (who doesn't even like me sitting next to boys)
Asks me questions like:
Mother: Going out?
Me: Yup
Mother: Meeting a boy?
Me: Yup
Mother: Do you like him??? (a little too hopefully for comfort)
Me: No mamma. I'm not going to marry him.
Category 1: Marriage
Category 2: :S
Category 3: Humour
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