The World's Most Rectally Troublesome Buildings.

[rionaleonhart]

Glancing through my notebook, and apparently I recently dreamt that Charlie Brooker knocked me out and stole my trousers. I don't remember this at all.

Also dreamt that he made me hand over four thousand pounds' worth of my property, then amused himself by forcing me to kneel in front of a shelf in a toy shop, staring at a tin of Lego that said abusive things about me on the packaging. Charlie Brooker, you are such a dick in my dreams.

(Here, incidentally, is a clip of Brooker getting VERY, VERY ANGRY about the Over the Rainbow trail ruining the ending of last week's Doctor Who episode ('The Time of Angels'). I enjoy it when he shouts.)


Random Facts About Riona's Family, as I've just remembered this: my mother was somehow taught the wrong History curriculum when she was at school. They'd spent the entire year learning about the First World War, and the exam was on the Second. The entire class failed, of course. One of her friends wrote nothing on her paper but 'Garibaldi was a biscuit and I want to go home'.

Whilst I'm at it: my mother and a friend of hers once stole some plums from a neighbour's garden, found they were nasty and, outraged, squashed them and posted them through the letterbox. My brothers and I evidently inherited her plum-related audacity, as we used to steal plums from the tree next door using a fishing net poked through the upstairs window. Oh, dear.


Work update: 18,000 words written. 4,000 to write. Two weeks to go. The plan is to get first drafts of everything finished this week and then spend the final week rearranging things and finding secondary sources. I have been absolutely losing my mind lately (cooped up indoors, bingeing on chocolate, bursting into hysterical hyperventilating tears in front of my long-suffering housemate), but it should be possible. I have reached a stage at which it sounds possible. I'm just so exhausted and fretting at the moment.

The Charlie Brooker fandom is what's been keeping me from completely breaking down, and I am so, so grateful. I love the fic and the people and the ridiculous ideas and the enthusiasm and the recordings. I love Brooker himself, and Mitchell, and the way they interact (the second Brooker episode of The Unbelievable Truth should be on Radio Four at 6.30 this afternoon, incidentally). I love it when entries about this fandom show up on my flist. It makes me happy, and that's what I need when university is pressing down on me. Thanks for supporting me in my time of academic terror, guys. ♥

Comments

[misskass.livejournal.com]

I am now in love with Charlie Brooker and that's all I've seen of him. That's all I need to see. His absolute outrage is one of the best things ever. xD

Oh also, on stealing plums: my friends and I were once on a band camp, then they proceeded to steal a bunch of plums and throw them at me. I'm not sure why I continued to be their friend. ;__; Especially considering they then went on to steal more, put them in the freezer in the cabin, and throw more goddamn plums at me, only these ones were much harder and therefore more painful. I was only twelve, what the hell.

[rionaleonhart]

Join ussss. Here is another rather wonderful clip of Brooker, if you'd like to see any more of him (the premise of the game, if you haven't seen any Would I Lie To You? before, is that one panellist reads out a fact about themselves and the others have to work out whether it's true or not).

My goodness! My friends at secondary school used to strangle me every day for no particular reason, though, so I'm not unfamiliar with slightly hazardous friendships. (We're still very good friends, but throttling is no longer involved, fortunately.)

[misskass.livejournal.com]

Gosh, his hysterical shouting is sending me into a hysterical gigglefit. He's pretty amazing, I can now understand why you seem to base every one of your recent journal entries on him. xD

That's... that's odd, that is. Really for no particular reason? o__o

[rionaleonhart]

My friends putting their hands around my throat just became a sort of greeting, I think. I don't know why. It was odd. There was one alarming moment when a friend was strangling me for too long and I tried to stop her and found that, in my oxygen-deprived state, I had forgotten how to access my muscles and couldn't move or speak.

Feel free not to watch these if you're not interested - this is just in case you're curious; I don't want to impose - but here are a couple of rather fascinating Brooker clips from Screenwipe: on the amount of work that goes into producing television and on manipulative reality TV editing.

[amy-wolf.livejournal.com]

My friends putting their hands around my throat just became a sort of greeting, I think. I don't know why. It was odd. There was one alarming moment when a friend was strangling me for too long and I tried to stop her and found that, in my oxygen-deprived state, I had forgotten how to access my muscles and couldn't move or speak.

You are a wonderfully strange person.