Two things novel

1) The tiny hordes of bacteria-eating warriors I've been swallowing three times daily are finally gaining the upper hand; my blood must be running with little white flags because I'm positively trumpeting with the feeling of Health stealing back through my limbs. The lead's gone out of my head, the jelly from my legs, and I can't wait for tomorrow because there's nothing makes you appreciate uni like being too sick to go for two weeks.

2) Meanwhile (because writing a poem a day for a year wasn't quite gimmick enough) I am now officially writing a novel in November. It's an online, international kind of gig (www.nanowrimo.org) preaching quantity over quality to the tune of 50000 words, which works out at 1700 per day. I'm apprehensive to put it mildly, so I'm reluctantly spreading the word such that, come mid-November when I want to put my little half-novel quietly to death and plant a rosemary bush over its grave, I won't dare for the glare of scrutiny by all my nearest and dearest. I'm not sure if anyone ever comes to this dusty corner of the universe, but if you're a person and you're reading this, feel free to bother me alllll November about that novel I was meant to be writing. I'll love you come December.

Penelopitis

A spectacular (I was going to say 'fluorescent', but TMI, right?) case of bronchitis has laid me off work for the day, and since my brain is MUCH too addled to contemplate two weeks of neglected Bourdieu readings, it looks like I'll just have to spend the afternoon in bed writing and sipping vegetable-and-barley soup. Bliss.

I started compiling a list of kick-ass ladies a while back; the criteria are fairly ephemeral (even tiresomely predictable) but could probably be summarised thus: Originally Nuts Ladies with a kickin' aesthetic, who don't give a fuck what the world thinks of them. So far the list (far from complete) looks like this:

Bjork / Vivienne Westwood / Yoko Ono / ?Dita Von Teese? / Madonna / Lady GaGa / Lydia Lunch / Kate Bush / Grace Jones

Not so sure about Dita, she seems kind of clean-cut/formulaic compared to some of them; then again, she did play a not insignificant part in bringing good ole-time burlesque back from the dead (AND she's a total babe), so let's leave her there for the moment. Also, I've restricted myself to still-living ladies for simplicity's sake, but I suspect Simone de Beauvoir and Anais Nin et al might slip in with fake I.D.s when I'm not looking.

Anyhow, said ladies might be making cameos at times like these when there's not much going on besides bronchitis. And since YouTube and me are onto such a good thang with Lydia at the moment, here's a lil more. Perfect for sultry days in smoky, dim-lit rooms.

gloomy sunday

it must be time for some words from my namesake and divine-woman-of-the-moment, lydia. and just fancy, i'm gloomy AND it's a sunday. take it away, grrrl.

Penelope's Medicinal Potion aka Mud Tea

After spending the day at work feeling like a hedgehog's died inside my throat, I've resorted to desperate measures inspired by my friend the witch who dosed me so well last week I sweated garlic all the next day. So,

1/2 lemon, thinly sliced

2 cloves garlic, roughly chopped

an abundance of ginger, sliced

pinch or two black tea leaves

fennel seeds, to taste

Simmer in a saucepan of water until it reaches desired muddiness. It all slips down pretty easy given the somewhat ghastly stench, though a nip of brandy sure wouldn't go astray.

Love Penelop.

lipstick laksa

i lost my laksa virginity yesterday; i lost it wearing bright red lipstick on the greyest windiest drippiest day of winter yet, and i will never complain about being cold and damp and cramped again if only there's a bowl of laksa at the end of it. the whole experience might have been a little more enjoyable without the lipstick - if i hadn't been aiming each mouthful with military precision to avoid looking like i'd just been making out with one of those rotating meat pillars you get in kebab shops - but hey, my lipstick survived, and now bowls of laksa down cobbled lanes on days where the sky is dribbling down window panes and the wind gets at all your corners is my new favourite thing in the world.

on the subject of lipstick, my beloved bubble tea shop has this mystery flavour, "lipstick black tea". i bought one once; it tastes a lot like black tea and not very much like lipstick at all. then i thought maybe i'd missed the lipstick essence the first time, so i bought another one. then i tried googling it, all to no avail. it remaineth a tasty mystery.

and on the subject of weather, en route to the laksa i called it 'bleak'. bff had a dictionary definition to hand: devoid of hope, ie, this weather is devoid of hope. it also means (for useless knowledge and general edification) a european freshwater fish, alburnus alburnus, possessor of silvery scales used in the production of artificial pearls.

peppermint love

take 1 tsp dried peppermint leaves or 1 peppermint teabag

lovingly add 1 cup boiling water

allow to infuse 3-5 mins

remove leaf/bag

add 2-3 tbsp (yes TABLEspoons) sugar

stir

= liquid sunshine.

love penelope.

toad-in-a-hole

... this is why Me and Home Internet should never have met.

i've been sitting here, window open, slowly chilling like a toad going into hibernation at the bottom of a pond, crossing and recrossing my legs to alternate the pins and needles, looking and clicking and not writing the essay that was due a week ago tomorrow, dressed like an american cheerleader in summer in a room i can see my own breath in, so paralytic with shivers i can barely move, for the last five hours (minus one-hour Masterchef and curry-making interlude). this is why i need to be a hermit with a parrot on my shoulder and a beard. this is why i need to live in small hut at the end of the earth, at least until next week. gawd.

meanwhile, there's this daffodil growing in a pot on my windowsill. it only sprouts at night when it thinks i'm not looking. it's so cute, i think it's trying to surprise me with some flowers one morning soon.