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Chrissie

Just a Job, Honest

I’ve just finished reading Doug Warren’s official James Cagney biography. After the Orson one, I was in a biog mood (actually, a mood to read more on Orson, but that’ll have to wait), and mom recommended this, which she’d read and enjoyed some time ago.

I’m not a big Cagney fan, really. I think he was a great personality and a fine actor, but many of the films he appeared in were not to my taste. (Reading this book, ironically, I find they often weren’t to Cagney’s taste either.) With Cagney being a rather private person, and this book being authorised, it’s a pretty slim volume, and eschews a lot of in-depth probing… but there’s still some interesting insight.
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Der Fuehrer Sez Jump!

I was talking to mom about this New Deal stuff earlier, and in particular having a moan about how I felt misled, i.e. that this work placement would be waged, etc. She said: ‘Well, they’ll do anything to get you on these things. They’re just doing what Mein Fuehrer says.’

(Mein Fuehrer probably meant Tony Blair. I didn’t bother asking.)
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I Must Be Serious

I do watch sport occasionally. Just not football. Football is the work of the Devil. (If you’re American: I mean soccer.) Mostly it’s athletics or tennis I tolerate fairly well.

So Tim Henman’s into the second week of Wimbledon. Again. Will he actually make it through to the final this time? I think, probably not. Having said that, this tendency to slag him off because he’s never won does piss me off a bit. I mean, let’s bear in mind the stream of no-hopers (at least in the men’s game) England has produced, like, for as long as I’ve been alive, pretty much. Tim’s track record is incredibly consistent and creditable.
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Going, Going, Gone! [redux]

We drove past our new flat today. There’s an estate agents board out the front which says SOLD… and for once, I’m looking at those words and knowing it means the place is ours. Bar the formalities.

That’s an incredibly peculiar feeling. Apart from several brief, abortive periods of moving away to my own place, I’ve lived in this house for just over 19 years. Which is the bigger part of my life. Even worse, I’ve never really liked this house, or the street, or the neighbours. It’s a long time to be living somewhere you don’t like.
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Reading the Small Print

Yes, I am reading something at the moment. Watching Touch of Evil a couple of weeks ago gave me the urge to read the eponymous Orson Welles biography by Barbara Leaming.

This has been in our house for a while now, and mom’s already read it. She didn’t like the writing style much. On the whole, I tend to agree—the sentence structure and phrasing is often awkward, and somewhat quaint… but there’s a lot of interesting stuff underneath the stylistic problems.

I’m much more keen to read the Frank Brady bio, Citizen Welles, but it appears to currently be out of print in the UK. If anyone sees a copy going cheap in a second-hand store, hey, drop me a line.
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Definitely Maybe Moving

Well, yes, we might have a new home! The flat’s location is okay. In fact, in terms of public transport, it’s excellent. The estate is a bit, uh, mediocre. The flat itself is just average, and needs to be completely redecorated. But it could be a lot worse.

It was brand new on the market, so we were the first to view it. Mom decided to say we were interested. We got a call late this afternoon from the estate agents to tell us the seller was agreeable, so it’s ours if we want it.

As always, for me, mixed feelings. Somewhere just a wee bit nicer would make me feel better, really. But, the truth is, nothing else vaguely acceptable and within our budget might turn up for another six months. Our financial situation is bad. The car’s MOT and tax is up early next week, and we can’t afford to renew it, so until we move and have more spare cash, the car’s out of action.
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