'Poetry Hour With Riona's Family' Would Be Fairly Unsuccessful.

[rionaleonhart]

Ahahaha, oh, dear, I fear my parents may be becoming concerned by my uneventful love life. An exchange I recently had with my father via the incomprehensible medium of Google Wave:


Riona's Father: Loved the VD Post!

MY DEAREST HARRIET
YOU COULD BE PALLY YET.
IF SOMEONE GRABS YOU WITH THEIR LARIAT
DON'T DILLY-DALLY, PET

HAPPY VALENTINE'S DAY


Riona: I automatically interpreted 'VD' as 'venereal disease'. I just thought you should know.

OH DAD
DON'T BE SAD
THAT I HAVEN'T YET MET A SUITABLE LAD
UNIVERSITY, AFTER ALL, 'S DRIVING ME MAD
AND I THINK THAT'S ENOUGH UNTIL MAY

HAPPY VALENTINE'S DAY


Riona's Father: Of course you did.

A scholarly lady named Harriet
Was senseless to Time's Wing-ed Chariot.
Her ramblings eternal
Upon her Livejournal
Did not dispose her to marry yet.


I might have been mildly ticked off had the pressure not been presented in such a hilarious format.


In the comments to my entry on The Bubble, anewcitylife proposed retitling the show The Abuse David Mitchell Half Hour.

I would love to watch The Abuse David Mitchell Half Hour. David Mitchell is needled and mocked, and he makes quietly self-deprecating comments until eventually he snaps and flies into one of his amazing minute-long rants. (Obviously I am not proposing this rather cruel concept out of any dislike for David Mitchell. I adore David Mitchell. I just happen to feel that he is at his most hilarious and adorable when he is nettled. Sorry, Mitchell.)

What are some other television programmes that do not exist but clearly should? There's the documentary about David Mitchell and Charlie Brooker's crime-fighting adventures, obviously; they have no physical fighting ability whatsoever, but their sarcasm is devastating. There's Master Who, the weirdly-reminiscent-of-Tom-and-Jerry Doctor Who spinoff in which the Master attempts to take over the world in every episode but is thwarted by Donna Noble. There's Celebrity Big Brother: Top Gear Edition, in which Clarkson, Hammond and May are locked in a house together and the public make bets on how long it will be before they somehow blow it up. By what do you feel our televisions would be infinitely improved?

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[rionaleonhart]

I don't think it's ever going to be finished, but, if you really want to have a look, here are the entire contents of the file on my computer called 'derren below'. I really didn't get far with this, as you can see. (You can also see from this that my style of writing is tremendously disjointed; I hop about and write a paragraph or two all over the place. I am simply incapable of writing anything in order.)



Being apparently invisible is not entirely without its advantages; after all, Derren can eavesdrop and pry and thus learn a great deal of information with which he will be able to better his reputation as a Knower of Things That Cannot Be Known when he returns to normal. Of course, any advantage that contains the phrase ‘when he returns to normal’ implies that remaining invisible would probably not be the most advantageous situation, and Derren at present has no idea of how to revert to his previous state.



“I see,” de Carabas says, thoughtfully. “We are in a predicament, aren’t we?”

“Well,” Derren says, “yes. I don’t like asking this, but could you possibly help me?”

De Carabas raises his eyebrows. “You’re in quite a lot of trouble. To be perfectly frank, without assistance, you’re unlikely to last the night, or indeed the hour and twenty-seven minutes that remain before it falls.”

This is not what Derren wanted to hear. “But you are offering assistance?”

“I am always willing to offer assistance,” de Carabas says, baring his teeth in a somewhat unsettling grin, “provided the price is right.”



“That path leads to Shepherd’s Bush,” de Carabas calls.

Shepherd’s Bush, Derren thinks. Easy enough to get back to his home from there. He can find a way up to the surface and resume his life of invisibility, which is not ideal but preferable to a life of subterranean misery and irritating gits like de Carabas. “Thank you.”

“Should you venture down it, you will be killed unpleasantly,” de Carabas says. “Which may be your intention, given the undesirability of your situation, but there are far more enjoyable ways to die. I would offer to assist you in exchange for a favour, but the dead are notoriously poor for keeping promises.” He smiles. “There are exceptions, of course.”



De Carabas is showing no signs of lying, but Derren has a feeling that de Carabas is an extremely good liar.



(perhaps, as the favour, the Marquis wants Derren to reacquire the key from the Black Friars? why might the Marquis need it?)

“Perhaps, if you’re good, I’ll allow you to use it to return home,” de Carabas says, inspecting his fingernails.