Tuesday, 25 December 2012

Reading in between parties :)

.... preferably while recovering from having eaten way too fucking much. (I have no self-discipline when to comes to home cooking.) 
One is Rude Britannia. That's by Tim Fountain. I picked it up after Stephen Fry recommended it on twitter. I like this one very much. Although it's so pervy, I somehow cannot read it with decent people (like my in-laws) in the room. It's just ... rude :))) Super funny and incredibly honest. (Unlike Chelsea Chandler books, which are supposed to be so, but really come up wanting. Rude B. is about (and by) an old queen, actor and author, doing a research on the 'cottaging' culture where he himself spawned from as a person. He looks back on all the wonderful and at the same time ridiculous happenstances that made him into an avid fan of casual sex (much more than a fan of love, he notes) - but things have changed and he finds the scene quite alien to what he was so fond of originally.You know Times Are A'Changin' when not even glory holes are what they used to be.

The second is one of the 'Scandi Crime' scene bestsellers called The Snowman. It's by a Jo Nesbo. A friend recommended it to me, from my lack of good crime books to chose from lately. (Lisbeth really raises the bar.) You get to page three and you're already bombarded by some of the most gruesome and fundamental negative emotions: a cheating woman, leaving a kid in the car while she cheats in winter; with a man who's coldly abandoning her; being watched by a creepy snowman, and a kid saying 'we're all going to die'. Not sure how much I enjoy this, as I spook very easily and will probably get even more frightened while I read on, but there you have it. I tend to go into dark places that frighten me and deal with it later. 

I had a nightmare the other day about tea. Usually I dream nice, random things with General in it, seasoned partially by the shows or movies I've been watching. Yesterday I dreamt about a very lovely boy that we sometimes meet walking his dog and in the dream he was inviting me in. It felt very sensual, very flattering and very arousing, and very tempting ... until he offered me tea. At that point I realized this is not a nice dream at all, but a clear testament to my 'mother of all turn-offs', - a man drinking tea. Offering me tea in a very neat cup. Some special kind of tea, something prepared carefully. That just fucking kills the relationship for ewah, instantly. I know why it occured: because the day before Nea and I both had too many coffees beforehand and decided to try tea in a cool pub. But neither of us knew how to deal with it and the case remained - it's still a funny coloured, gruseome tasting overpriced piss water. With sugar in it.

The third booksie is Lonely Planet's Mongolia travel guide, as I am feeling a terribly impressive urge to walk across the Mongolia-Manchuria Grasslands. General has already hid my shoes, but I am thinking this could very well be done between two people (choosing a good month to do it, so it's not too arid or too cold), and a bike trailer.