Helen has tagged me. I am obediently obeying the tagging imperative. Did you all want to know seven more weird (in my opinion) things about me? That I haven’t mentioned before?
Ah well. It’s NaBloPoMo. I need blog fodder. Up with me we all shall put.
- I am so, so scared of singing in public it isn’t even funny. It’s not even that I can’t sing, because I keep a tune fairly well and can hit the high notes and everything. I was once in choir. I think, even, I could sing in a choir now without dying. Just as long as no one listens to me. At all. Ever. I blame my family for this. Having been in the choir, I used to trundle round the house warbling like a song-bird, and was gradually ground into a heap of frantic splinters by being told to shut up that ungodly row every single time. When I wasn’t being mocked mercilessly for my pretentions to tunefulness. You see, in my family, you can either Do, and Do beautifully, or you Do Not Do. There is no try.
- I like maps. When I am rich [When, she says, poor little eejit - Ed], I shall decorate the walls of my library with antique maps. Is that weird? Not very. Bother.
- I do not like Darjeeling tea. Not even expensive and glamorous Darjeeling served in fine bone-china cups, not even seriously brewed Darjeeling in a mug with plenty of milk and sugar. Don’t like it. Sorry. Prefer china tea. Apparantly this makes me odd. Jolly good.
- To me, Baileys tastes of defeat. I simply can’t stomach it. The very last election that Labour lost, I was a few weeks short of my 18th birthday and unable to vote. My older sister and I sat up all night, watching the exceedingly depressing results come in, and drinking Baileys. Went to bed glumly plastered, woke up with a head like a brass band drum, and the Tories had still won. Ah, but we had faith in the left, once.
- Have I mentioned that I am terrified of slugs? Yes? Oh well.
- I loathe discos, night clubs, general loud music, overpriced booze, and the expectation that I get up and boogie in a sea of migraine-inducing flashing lights and other people’s sweat. For a student, that is now deeply weird. Heh heh.
- I’d love a pet Pterodactylus elegans.
I think I’m supposed to tag seven people. Err. Right. Seven of you, consider yourselves tagged.
My children beg me not to sing. I always thought I had a decent-ish voice, having been in choir, but not according to my kids. I’m starting to develop a complex, but still sing loudly if I’m in the mood to embarrass them.
With you on the slugs. Gross.
Ooh, I can’t stand Baileys. It’s revolting. It reminds me of this night club I went to and Colonel Gadafi was there. I hate night clubs too, come to think of it, and I’m revolted by slugs! When I came back from Bahrain at age five, I didn’t know what a slug was and touched one – yuck, yuck, yuck! I will never forget the feeling of horror, and I’ve hated them ever since.
You mean the slug thing is not weird of me? Oh.
Also, Colonel Gadafi was in your night club? With Baileys? What?