Election Day

Just a quick one, seeing as this has been a topic that's been a major part of my life for the past 18months, and I really could go on about it forever . . . but I have a French class in an hour and work not yet finished, so . . . .

It's the big day, and I am a bundle of nerves, all tingles and anticipation :) This whole campaign has been like something out of a film, and I still find it so exciting to see bloggers, you-tube users, twitterers and people of all ages from across the globe so caught up in the presidential race. As a massive Obama supporter the whole thing has a surreal quality to it, I'm still not quite sure that I'm awake, that this is actually happening. Back in late 2006, reading Time magazine in the middle of Zambia and feeling a million miles away from the rest of the world, I first heard of the young black senator who was causing such a stir, and was rumoured to have White House ambitions. And I thought he seemed interesting, I thought that he was somebody I would like to support, but I never thought he would get this far. I hoped and I dreamed, but I never thought he would win against Hillary, and even now, when the polls seem to favour him so much, and the dream looks set to become a reality, part of me still can't believe that he's going to win.

But he will. And he has to. I can't imagine anything more terrifying for the economic and physical safety of not only America but the rest of the planet if we see a McCain/Palin victory. Obama is a new start, a change. He brings hope. The long September of 2001 may now end. I don't know if he will live up to the huge expectations that his millions of followers worldwide now have of him, he won't be a perfect president. He is young, and he does lack experience. But this whole campaign has already changed politics. It seemed unlikely that we would see a female or black President within my parents' lifetime, and both those glass ceilings have been significantly dented, regardless of today's result. And however naive it may sound, especially in this culture of image and spin politics, I trust Obama. I trust him to do his best and to follow his heart, even if we will sometimes be disappointed with the results. I trust him to move us on from this crazy 'war on terror', to move America into a more 'united' state, to be genuinely concerned about the plight of the poor and the forgotten.

To quote Sam Cooke's famous song - It's been a long time coming, but I know a change is going to come. Oh yes it will.

You know you're back at uni when . . .

. . . it's 23.12 and you're eating Tuc biscuits out of the packet whilst trying to write an essay. Oh the joys of a new uni year :)

I love the Mitchell Library . . .

. . . and there's not much more to say. It may very well be my favourite place ever (at the moment) despite the ninety minute journey each way on bus, train and foot. Lots of obscure History books, plenty of desks to work on, friendly staff, atmospheric (and carpeted!) building (which reminds me of the Dolphin Hotel from Murakami's Dance, Dance, Dance), healthy learned-magazine section, numerous graphic novels, an internet cafe and plenty of opportunity for people watching. Most importantly, I seem to be able to actually read some History when I'm there, rather than daydreaming/ checking emails/ reading a novel/ watching TV/ making yet another cup of tea. Which is a good sign, considering I'm back at uni in less than a fortnight :-s

A little Graham Greene wordcloud . . .

A combination of two of my favourite things :)

Regarding Poirot . . .

I have a confession: I am an Agatha Christie addict. Of her 80 detective novels, I have read all but three. I own all but five. They sit in a bookcase all of their own, alphabetised in their decade-spanning, myterious little second-hand covers. Knitting makes me think of Miss Marple, old motorcars of Hastings, strange little ladies too fond of their cats of Miss Lemon. Quaint English villages with well kept gardens and long forgotten churches bring to mind euthanasia, bankruptcy and blackmail. If I was angry with you it wouldn't be a quick fist to the nose but an 'accident' involving a giant painting, or a dash of cyanide in a glass of pink lemonade intended for somebody else. Be afraid :)

I'm not sure what it is about Christie. She certainly does not fit into the 'reality-bending, international modern literature' genre that my other favourites - Murakami and Mitchell - do so snugly. Despite the frequently exotic locations of her books and characters, she is as English as scones and tea. And not only is she English, she belongs to a frequently unspecified 'old-fashioned' era. Yes, butlers and stockings, steam trains, dressing up before dinner, revolvers in handbags, ginger beer, going to Switzerland for one's health, art deco houses, the seaside and (sometimes more than) casual xenophobia all give a sense of the 'golden' period, and the changes the detectives see happening in the (youth) culture around them allows for the passage of time, but there is still the feeling that Agatha's England is a creation of her very own, and has its own very particular brand of crime.

People are almost always murdered for money - to stop blackmail, protect their reputation, allow them to marry somebody rich, to take on someone else's identity or for inheritance. Occasionally, very occasionally, it might be to avenge the death of a parent or child, but the potential murderer usually sees the error of their ways (thanks to the detective and the thought of the gallows) before going through with it. People are not killed in domestic, non-money related arguments. They are never sexually assaulted. It is only in the later, and arguably less entertaining books, that drugs rear their ugly head. I can think of only three or four occasions where a child is killed, and all but one of them are brats :) The young lovers will end up together at the end, however many policeman stand in the way. The murderer is always found and punished in some way. It is safe.

And so within this 'safe' little England can evolve the fiendishly unpredicatble, body-riddled mysteries. Other people have told me that they can spot the guilty party from three chapters in but I must admit, hand on heart, that I have never been able to work out the who, the how and the why for a single one of her novels and, unlike many modern mystery writers, the clues are always there. They just have to be sifted from the vast heaps of red herrings. Agatha Christie is an absolute delight.

As is my darling Poirot. However miserable I may be feeling, sit me down with a glass of red wine, a box of chocolates and a novel starring our moustached, well-dressed Belgian gentleman and his 'little grey cells' and I'm in heaven. This a love affair that's been eight years and counting - I hope it lasts a lifetime.

And with my adoration of most things Christie comes a certain buzz whenever the ITV schedule reaches a certain time of year . . . yes, they have drifted away from the source material occasionally in recent years, but judging from last week's episode we're back on track. And David Suchet is still an absolute marvel, he is Poirot. As long as the books remain in print he will be remembered for the suit, the walk and the 'moustaches'. :)

I miss Zambia . . .

Just back from 24 hours in Aberdeen catching up and getting all nostalgic with a couple of fellow Zambia gappies, and if you placed the plane ticket in my hands I'd fly over there this very evening . . . .

9/11: Out of the Blue

An astonishing, devastating poem from one of my favourite British writers, Simon Armitage, can be read here.

Hope that, wherever you are, today has been a peaceful day.