The Hobbit

Went to see the second Hobbitt movie last night.
I felt there was something missing in the movie; it's all action and CGI but with little real acting or subtlety of plot. The first movie was better, I thought, in terms of the characters involved.  However, I did enjoy the lovely Evangeline Lilly as the elf Tauriel, (she brings a much needed warmth to the plot and I really liked her costuming) and Smaug is magnificent. The barrells-down- the- river sequence is fun; I'll bet Disney is even now trying to figure out how to make it into a 'ride'. 

Fan fiction - "Margaret Dashwood" by Yet Another Lady

  It was generally believed that Margaret Dashwood would not bid fair to
 equal either of her sisters. 

 As Elinor was good, and Marianne beautiful, even Margaret believed that
 she had been left but a narrow field of endeavour. Perhaps she would turn
 out to be clever, she thought, but as to how this might be accomplished, she
 had no firm idea, nor any particular plan. 
 Surely some kindly neighbour would  offer her a trip to Bath, or
 her uncle and aunt might take her into Derbyshire. An eligible
 bachelor, nay two eligible bachelors, might move into the
 neighbourhood.

 She had woven cocquelicot ribbons in her dark hair, and thought the
 effect very pretty and exotic, but on seeing her, Marianne had cried
 "Good God, you look like a Hottentot!" and Elinor had mildly suggested
 that the effect was a little outre, dear, for Hampshire.

 Her sisters were fair, Marianne blazingly so, but Margaret had dark
 skin and curly dark hair. It was an item of family history that there
 was perhaps a Spanish or Italian, or even maybe a Welch person,  among
 the ancestors of Mr Dashwood, but as the link was probably  a
 natural one, this point was not pressed. If Mrs Dashwood had not
 been a respectable woman, and had not been very much in love with her husband
 some suspicion might have resulted from Margaret's high colouring.
 Mrs Dashwood made it the purpose of her life to discourage Margaret's
 exposure to the sun, so that she would not be darker still, darker
 than was proper. Only fair women would achieve marital success, she believed;
her hopes for Marianne were high indeed, less so for Elinor, and, alas, almost nothing
 for our heroine.

My go at Austen fan-fiction. Discovered in my archives today.

Le quattro volte

Watched this movie last night. The title means The four turns, as in changes, rather than turning around. It's very quiet, mostly with no dialogue, and "slowly unfolds following the passage of a soul through four elements; human, animal, plant and mineral" as the blurb says. Sad and humourous, and quite fascinating.

Elizabeth Jane Howard

Elizabeth Jane Howard in 1962. Photograph: Hulton-Deutsch Collection/Corbis

http://www.theguardian.com/books/2014/jan/02/elizabeth-jane-howard-dies-90

I've just re-read her first novel "The beautiful visit", which won the John Llewellyn Rhys Prize in 1950. It remains one of my favourite books, because of the intensity of the writing and the intensity of the main character, a young woman who passionately wants to have experience and a life worth living. The heroine, who remains unnamed, lives a life of narrow shabby genteel poverty with her emotionally cold and professionally undistinguished family (her father is an unsuccessful composer) in London in the years before the First World War. She is invited to visit a family living in the country, who provide such a contrast to her own background that the visit comes to be a lodestone of how life should be.  I have read other novels of Howard's, but none of them seem to have the brilliance of this, her first. She is best known for her series of novels about the Cazalet family during the Second World War, but I didn't really like these, although they were a popular success. Or perhaps because they were a popular success?

Blackcurrant jam day

Only three jars, though; I thought there would be more. Panicked when I realised it wasn't setting, so added a little more sugar and some lemon juice. Thank the kitchen goddess, it has set and is delicious. Something to look forward to on cold winter afternoons, scones with homemade blackcurrant jam, yum.

The next door neighbour's tree is loaded with Black Doris plums, the only problem being that they are about 30 feet up! I had a couple of trees in my garden, but they only seemed to produce scabby fruit or none at all, so I had them removed. Hoping that some next door fruit will fall my way, but they will probably be eaten by the birds first. Apricots not a success, the wretched brown spot has taken over before the fruit are even ripe this year. Gardening; you win on the roundabout, but lose on the swings.

Heavenly hydrangeas

It's hydrangea season again. I'm particularly blessed in this garden with hydrangeas; one of the past owners (probably the man who loved opera) planted seven or eight bushes, and they flourish mightily. I don't do much to them, but every year they put on a great show. They're like lilacs, a very Victorian flower. The blooms are delicate and complex, but the bushes are tough as old boots, 'good doer's'. They only look dreary in the autumn, when the frost kills the leaves off, but at least we've had this mighty flowering to remember and look forward to next year.

Back to work tomorrow. Here's another thought about happiness, vis-a vis the book I was reading. Perhaps to be happy, you also need a little unhappiness. I don't mean the sort of dreadful misery that breaks you, but the minor dissatisfaction of  having to do things you don't really enjoy, like going to work. Perhaps every day you need to do something that's a chore and a bore, just to throw the good stuff into relief. (Ooo, a pun - what a relief, to do the good stuff after the dreary stuff!)

Hello 2014

Well, its been and gone and done it - become a new year. It was quite noisy this year. Other years have been quiet, everyone has gone on holiday, but I think with all the young bloods here for the rebuild it was more raucous. Lots of fireworks and idiotic behaviour. I stayed at home (I always do) with a glass of wine and Hugh Dancy as Daniel Deronda. I haven't seen this BBC series although it was made several years ago, nor have I ever read the book. We were given 'Middlemarch' to read when I was at 'uni, and I didn't like it much; I wanted to shoot Mr Casaubon from a cannon, and slap Rosamond a good tight slap or three. I did enjoy Deronda. Most particularly did I enjoy Gwendolen's clothes, a beautiful emerald green balldress the most impressive of these. I'm still not sure if I like Romola Garai as an actress; I don't find her wholly convincing, somehow. There's something very theatrical (in the worst sense) about her performances, but perhaps this is just the sort of casting that she gets - self-absorbed spoilt brats like Gwendolen and Emma Woodhouse. She is beautiful, and I think this gets in her way.
   Planted some onions and more lettuces (no, not Iceberg strangely enough) and grazed my way around as I watered up this evening. Three strawberries, a logan berry and three apricots, as well as gathering a grapefruit which I'll have for breakfast tomorrow. We have a lot of mosquitoes this year, and standing in the evening garden watering is a gift for them. The other night I was wearing a skirt, and managed to get bitten on a very tender part of my most secret anatomy. Blast and damn them!