Setting Goals: A Foolish Example

Much of what I choose to read is dependant on prior experience, a friend’s recommendation, reviews/hype and sometimes, I admit, simply a cover that takes my fancy. And I’ve always considered that for a book to have been awarded a prestigious prize, as good a reason as any to read it. The Mann Booker Prize is the book prize that I am probably most partial to. I am not too sure why, perhaps because Australians have a fighting chance of winning it, and I’m always keen to support local talent (this is where I break into a bad version of Peter Allen's 'I still call Australia Home').

So if I ever come across a Booker Prize winner, it is immediately added to the pile of books next to my bed (ie. ‘The Chosen Books’) And it has always taken my fancy that one day, I will have read them all. Which got me thinking of setting myself a challenge.

The Challenge:
To have read the entire Booker Prize Winner list by the end of 2007. Probably not a huge task, but seeing as I have no idea how time-consuming a baby will be, reading could become a thing of my past and the Challenge could be very steep indeed. Alternatively, having this task to accomplish could be the very thing to save me from the brink of insanity. We shall see.

So, I can’t quite fully grasp the size of the goal I am proposing. On the one hand I’ve already read a handful of them and I know that some (eg. The Sea, Amsterdam) will border on being novellas… But on the other hand, as we well know, Midnight’s Children took me the better part of a month to finish, so maybe it is a bigger concept than I realise. Hmmm… Oh well. Can only really throw myself in the deep-end really, and the worst that can happen is that I fail miserably. It’s not like people will die.


The Challenge Stats:
Total Number of Books :39 Books
Already Read: 12
Pending: 27

Revision: I read Oscar and Lucinda significantly earlier than the rest of those on the list (in the mid-nineties) and don’t think I had the mind to give it its proper dues. Seeing as I recently enjoyed True History of the Kelly Gang so much, Im going to give it another bash, and put it back on the Pending List for a re-read. And if I’m doing this, I really should re-read ‘The God of Small Things’ seeing as I read that back in 1997 and violently hated it (immaturity? We will see)

Revised Number of Books to read: 29

So there we have it. 29 books in 12 months. 2 a month. Should be easy-peasy really. So easy, im tempted to move the time frame to 6 months. But faced with the prospect of nothing BUT literature prize winners 6 month and the fact I have a number of Nick Hornby and Ben Elton books in the pile next to the bed, I will leave it at 12 months.



The Man Booker Prize:
Now in its thirty-eighth year, the prize aims to reward the best novel of the year written by a citizen of the Commonwealth or the Republic of Ireland. The Man Booker judges are selected from the country’s finest critics, writers and academics to maintain the consistent excellence of the prize. In 1993 Salman Rushdie’s ‘Midnight’s Children’ was judged to have been the 'Booker of Bookers', the best novel to have won the Booker Prize for Fiction in the award's 25-year history.

The Man Booker List:

2006 The Inheritance of Loss by Kiran Desai
*Pending*
2005 The Sea by John Banville
*READ*
2004 The Line of Beauty by Alan Hollinghurst
*Pending*
2003 Vernon God Little by DBC Pierre
*READ*
2002 Life of Pi by Yann Martel
*READ*
2001 True History of the Kelly Gang by Peter Carey
*READ*
2000 The Blind Assassin by Margaret Atwood
*READ*
1999 Disgrace by J. M. Coetzee
*READ*
1998 Amsterdam: A Novel by Ian McEwan
*READ*
1997 The God of Small Things by Arundhati Roy
*Pending*
1996 Last Orders by Graham Swift
*Pending*
1995 The Ghost Road by Pat Barker
*Pending*
1994 How Late It Was, How Late by James Kelman
*Pending*
1993 Paddy Clarke Ha Ha Ha by Roddy Doyle
*READ*
1992 The English Patient by Michael Ondaatje (co-winner)
*Pending*
1992 Sacred Hunger by Barry Unsworth (co-winner)
*Pending*
1991 The Famished Road by Ben Okri
*Pending*
1990 Possession: A Romance by A. S. Byatt
*READ*
1989 The Remains of the Day by Kazuo Ishiguro
*Pending*
1988 Oscar and Lucinda by Peter Carey
*Pending*
1987 Moon Tiger by Penelope Lively
*Pending*
1986 The Old Devils by Kingsley Amis
*Pending*
1985 The Bone People by Keri Hulme
*Pending*
1984 Hotel Du Lac by Anita Brookner
*Pending*
1983 Life & Times of Michael K by J. M. Coetzee
*Pending*
1982 Schindler's List by Thomas Keneally
*Pending*
1981 Midnight's Children by Salman Rushdie
*READ*
1980 Rites of Passage by William Golding
*Pending*
1979 Offshore by Penelope Fitzgerald
*Pending*
1978 The Sea, the Sea by Iris Murdoch
*Pending*
1977 Staying on by Paul Scott
*Pending*
1976 Saville by David Storey
*Pending*
1975 Heat and Dust by Ruth Prawer Jhabvala
*Pending*
1974 The Conservationist by Nadine Gordimer
*Pending*
1973 The Siege of Krishnapur by J. G. Farrell
*Pending*
1972 G. by John Berger
*Pending*
1971 In a Free State by V. S. Naipaul
*Pending*
1970 The Elected Member by Bernice. Rubens
*Pending*
1969 Something to Answer For by P. H. Newby
*Pending*

The antidote.

Well, I did actually write an entry during lunch today at work, but unfortunately did not finish it, and presumed I would do so later, before going home. This did not happen. And not wanting to leave my audience with nothing but photos for the past month, I thought I would write a quick entry now, and finish the other one tomorrow. Because I love you all like my children and I only want what is best for you. And what is obviously best for you is one of my world famous ‘im too slack to write full sentences so I will just do dot points’ entry.

- No doubt it has been keeping you awake at night pondering which book I have been reading after finally finishing the epic midnight’s children. And the answer is many books. Like Pete and Georgia, I find it very hard to walk by a bookstore/book sale without being drawn into it’s vortex for the better part of an hour. It is my weakness and I am an absolute sucker for those 3 for 2 deals, and the 2nd hand book stalls under Waterloo Bridge. So my book diet of late has been an attempt to rationalize a lot of recent purchases. Whilst none so far have been disappointing (I’m much to savvy a book buyer to get rubbish) there have been a few of note. I just finished Peter Carey’s ‘The True History of the Kelly Gang’ (and ticked off another Booker Prize Winner) and it has gone to the top of my list for books read this year. A lot less laborious than I have found some of his previous novels, it has real soul and a really original take on colonial Australia and the legend that is Ned Kelly.. Others to have been above average: Margaret Atwood’s ‘The Penelopiad’ (in keeping with my love of all things Atwood), Zadie Smith’s ‘On Beauty’ (themes from which I find myself pondering resonance in my day to day life) and Khaled Housseini’s ‘The Kite Runner’. I also read Paul Coelho’s ‘The Alchemist’ which so many people rave about and wanted to puke over its drippiness. Perhaps I have no soul but the sickly fable was an absolute trial to read. Good things come to those who wait, happiness is within, be true to your heart… blah, blah blah. *VOMIT* If I ever meet another person who says that the Alchemist is their favourite book, I will take that as a very clear warning to steer clear (And I will test a theory I have by asking whether they enjoyed ‘Mr Holland’s Opus’). I’ve just started Ali Smith’s The Accidental, and we will see how that goes.

- No doubt the only people who read through to the end of that dot point were Georgia and Pete and I am wondering whether they have been swallowed up during their move to Goolwa and will never return to the blogsphere. We shall see.

- I had a disturbing thing happen to me where I have recently noticed that the left-hand side of heel of my favourite right boot has pretty much worn through to the lining. Whilst the rest of the sole(s) remain in perfect condition. This one little section (1/4 of a shoe) has been destroyed and almost rendered the entire pair redundant. Which can only mean that I must walk like a circus freak and no-one has ever bothered to point it out. Bastard Friends.

- Dave and I went shopping together the other day (bit of a novelty, it is almost always just me. We went to get milk and a paper, but upon me deviating from the list and picking up a few rolls of toilet paper, Dave actually said ‘What’s that for?’ Mmmmm. Was too dumfounded to come up with an appropriate sarcastic remark.

- I am huge. I have the thighs of a thoroughbred.

- This time next week I will be within a month of having a child.

- Recently we purchase membership passes to the Tate Modern. I can’t believe that I am now the type of person who is a member of an Art Gallery.

- The hour long commute (each-way) to work has become a daily trial. Whilst work itself is easy enough, the mental thought of getting there and back brings a tear to my eye. In order to be able to actually do it, I have found that I must listen to the Prodigy out and randomly chant along. The phrase ‘Smack My Bitch Up’ always goes down well on the tube.

- The most insulting part of this epic journey is that at the end of it all I have to face a series of stairs that would frighten the greatest of gladiators. If this baby has not got it’s head nestled on my cervix by now, it never will

- Saw Little Miss Sunshine with mum and dad a few weeks back. Still have the giggles when I think about certain bits of it. Good stuff.

- Saw Webbie again on youtube.com at Australian Idol. New blond hair? OR was that just the lighting? Either way - fwoar. Male Al, looking stylin as always.

- Have decided that if people ask me in the future ‘Did you think it was going to be a boy or a girl’ I will answer ‘boy’. Even though I have absolutely no idea either way, the fact is that I am huge and this little baby is a real wriggler. I am talking movement for about 50% of my waking hours. And not nice little ‘awww’ moves… Kung fu.

- I have decided that the best Haagen Dazs is the caramel one ‘Dulche de leche’. Doesn’t sound like the most interesting, but as an authority on all things ice cream, I give you my solemn word. The only way I am able to stop eating that flavour is when the tub is empty. And even then I sometimes eat the packaging.

That will do it for now I think.

Bump Progress: Week 34

 
  

An Ode to Food

The Best Pizza Maker in Naples. Respect.





Christmas Lunch 2005. Seriously brilliant. Look at it. Can you imagine a better plate of roast?






A typical night for Dave. Wine nad Cheese Platter. Me in the kitchen.







As good as a meal. Often a substitute.

Preparing Octopus in Milos, Greece






Irish Stew, Dublin.




Vegetable and cheese pastie with sauce, Pt Elliot Bakery



The best cholocate ever made, as Vee and I decided in Amsterdam ...

Bread. Columbia Road Flower Market



Ginny's Summer Pudding. Christmas, 2004



Food in Hungary. I love pickles.



BBQ, London Style

A Sound Choice

Perhaps due to boredom or perhaps due to unintentionally stumbling across the good life, I have found myself reading today's paper in the 'party starting' hours of Saturday night... with little other than a toastie (well, 3 of them) and a dvd planned for the next few hours. But I am attempting to retain some sort of cool - I do have Gorrilaz on very loud and a lovely glass of Bird in Hand white wine (thanks Nugent).

Blah blah blah - anyway - I came across this article that I enjoyed and decided to go to the trouble of finding it online, to maybe give you people the opportunity to read it. We don't get much good news lately and I just thought that this piece was encouraging and something to be proud of. So click here. for your daily dose of inspiration (hell, and why stop there? Indulge yourself - The related stories are also interesting)

It's 22 degrees inside (Nursery Thermometer) and before reading the paper I put up one of those playmat/creche things that is the spoils of mum and dad's recent trip heralding the gift from nana. Once again, I am very disappointed these things don't come in adult sizes. It is so damn cool. We are talking crinkly noises, cushions, mirrors, bright colours all in the shape of a lady bird. A ladybird wearing a hat. Pure Genius.

....I apologies with becoming some what predictable on this blog, moving all entries towards babies and saby-stuff. It is tiresome. But, it's not like there is a gun to your head and the fact is, if you saw some of these toys they have these days, you'd understand.

Anyhoo -not going to write anymore seeing as this night in has so much potential beyond this computer (seriously.) We are onto the Beatles' Sgt Pepper and I've got a pile of warranties and appliance instruction booklets that need to be organized into the new colour coordinated files I bought.

The Parents Come to Town

Spitafield's Market.


Spitafield Market. And yes, the hippo is for me. Not hte baby. Me. It's so soft.


Covent Garden


Mamouth Coffee at Borough Market. How unusual.

A Nice View to Have When Having a Baby

Bump Progress: Week 32

 
 
 




A bit blurry, but you get the picture. I could take them again, but have changed into a pair of Dave's eighties trackie pants, odd woolen socks and a technicoloured jumper that is stretched to the limit. SO blurry it is... 

A Month without Dave: THe Pros and Cons

The Positive to Being Dave-Free

- No Golf. Be it in the form of balls and clubs randomly strewn around the house, the inflexible fact that should Tiger be playing in an obscure US Tournament we WILL be watching it, or having to watch/film Dave’s swing over and over in order to determine whether the slide in his backswing has disappeared (it hasn’t).

- The bed is all mine. Never has it been so necessary to own all the pillows and sleep on the diagonal. This is always the best thing about him not being around, and I’m not sure if he will be allowed back on it for the final month of pregnancy.

- Cooking (and shopping) for one is a breeze.

- I can watch movies that are longer than 90 minutes. And don’t fit the specific formula that interest him (bring on Lord of the Rings…)

- Singing in the shower. I can belt it out without being told to shut up. Currently on high rotation are all show tunes, Snow’s ‘Informer’ and anything by Amy Grant. It struck me yesterday how many of Amy Grant’s songs had her singing to her ‘Baby’ which I found oddly amusing and delightful.

- The house is spotless. Rather than spend an hour at the end each night chasing the hurricane which is Dave, cleaning is reduced to 10 minutes. And this includes cleaning under the buttons on the oven.

- In the same vein of cleaning – Not having the frustration of finding a dirty plate at the very edge of the kitchen counter, instead of in the unpacked dishwasher 2 metres further on. And not having to rationalise the half-arsed attempt as ‘at least it’s in the kitchen’.

- Not having to mop up the rive river of water that leaks out of our bathroom after Dave has his 20 minute shower with the water on full boar.


The Negative to Being Dave-Free

Well if I started writing this list I would probably get myself all sad. Plus pinpointing exactly what is wrong with Dave not being here is like trying to catch a slippery bar of slippery soap on a gravity-free day in Slipperyland. Whist being lathered in grease. So lets just say that Dave is the Coke of my world and things simply just ‘Go Better with Dave’. Much better.

Bordeaux France

Our first night in Bordeaux included Dave dragging us off to a 'Fromage' Restaurant. Yes, every meal was at least 50% cheese. As the cheese was one of the things that excited me most about going to France, even I didn't expect to be cheesed-out by day one. The restaurant itself, was very cute, very French and quite pricey. Poor mum and dad, faced with their first meal on the continent must have been somewhat worried to see the bill sit at around the $200AUD mark.
 










Mum and I only have to look at this photo in order to crack up, and the reason why might not interpret well. Basically, we hired a car to travel around some of the vineyards in Bordeaux, Dave drove and dad got navigating duties by default of sitting in the front seat. Apparently it was the map’s fault that we always got lost. I would suggest that it was dad’s inability to stop talking about the French countryside long enough to concentrate on the map. There came a point, late in the day, when we found ourselves so unsure of our location that dad reverted to looking at the sun to determine location/and direction ye olde explorer style. Mum nad I were in hysterics, and dad became quite grumpy, mumbling about the map. Unfortunately for his ego, when the map was handed to me, we spent the rest of our journey in blissful comprehension of where we were and where we were going….
 











Me and Dad at some vineyard. Charmeil? Charglemeil? Something. A photo of me which thanks to the distance between me and the camera, makes it hard to see my moustache and freckly face.
 












Dave looks up from his blackberry! Incredible!

Some grapes. The roses are planted at the end of the rows, as was tradition hundreds of years ago in order to …. Umm…. Something about the soil, I think. Maybe sulphur in the soil? Not sure. There was so much coming from dad’s mouth it was hard to take it all in.
 









Dad’s expression looking very French. He is thinking ‘Bonjour!’ ‘Parlez vous anlais?’ ‘je voudrais un panne choccalate svp’
 









Scruffy Dog, pretty buildings
 










THe view from the hotel