Not had much to blog about recently. I finished a 25,000-word paper I was writing, which had driven me slightly crazy (largely because I was quite slow and it kinda enveloped me). Then I've had a bit of time to finally do lots of bits and bobs that I hadn't got round to for ages, which contributed vaguely to an impression that I was getting my life into some sort of order. And I wrote my first screenplay, a 5-minute short film called 'Release', as part of an Introduction to Screenwriting course I've been doing at Tyneside Cinema. Not really expecting to move to Hollywood just yet, but it was quite fun. Now I'm back to writing yet another paper about civil society and security...fun, fun, fun, but it pays the bills.
However, the main thing I've been excited about over the last couple of weeks is soap. I know. I feel a little disturbed, and clearly my ascension to middle-aged, middle-classed woman has happened quicker and more painlessly than I or the surgeons could ever have imagined. But this is no ordinary soap. A couple of weeks ago we were down at my mum's place, and there was a 'French' market clogging up the streets. Actually, it appears that the majority of stalls genuinely are French farmers and traders who have taken a quick trip across the channel. Clearly I missed a trick and should have been harrassing them about the Common Agricultural Policy, but instead Olga found a stall selling some old-school soaps (à la ancienne, no less). So for the last couple of weeks I have been washing my hands in some savon chocolat, and I tell you, it's gorgeous. For a start, it looks good enough to eat, though common sense has so far restrained me from doing so. Moreover, it leaves this shimmering chocolately fragrance, and for hours after, one sniff is a passport to heaven (admittedly I don't normally spend my time with my nose in my palms, but you see the lengths that it's driven me to).
Once the chocolate soap is over, we've got another two to get through. Can't remember what they smell of (avocado and banana? crocodile and lemongrass?), but if you see me dreamily sniffing my hands, you'll know why...
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About Me
- Herr Kapitän Duncan
- I'm a riddle wrapped in a mystery inside an enigma - or am I?
2 comments:
Ah, but you're not excited so much by soap as by the smell, so you're not an old woman yet.
Smell is good and catching whiffs here and there is always nice.
I want vanilla soap.
They used to have blueberry soap in the loos of the Curzon Soho cinema - that was very close to the edge of illogical ingestion temptation too.
Ahh, smelly Duncan.
You are a very sad man, but no more sad than I. When I lived in Bristol there was one of these Frawnch markets that came round every month or so. I could tell it was authentique because I had an easier time communicating with some of the traders in my piss-poor French than their even worse English. But anyway... the soaps actually are the thing I most distinctly remember appreciating from there.
So there we have it: I am as sad and middle-aged as you, only I was being so before you jumped the bandwagon.
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