el_staplador

day 01 | a song
day 02 | a picture
day 03 | a book/ebook/fanfic
day 04 | a site
day 05 | a youtube clip
day 06 | a quote
day 07 | whatever tickles your fancy



One o' Me Own. *blushes modestly* A lady adorning a doorway of the University of Durham. Or perhaps she's a he. Can't tell. Never mind. I like her/his air of weathered serenity.

Last Saturday, guilt at having failed to get my cousin's birthday present off in time, combined with decidedly autumnal weather, induced in me nostalgia for Ye Olde Deutschland, which manifested itself in the form of a craving for Federweisser and Zwiebelkuchen, or, rather, the nearest thing that one can get to them in England. I had to settle for common or garden cider, of course, but a competing nostalgia for my Herefordshire childhood made it Bulmer's cider. Not that I ever drank cider before I was 14 (when we moved Dahn Sarf and became Overners) but the memory of driving past Bulmer's factory every Saturday on the way to youth orchestra is a compelling one.

The recipe for The Nearest Thing This Family Gets to Zwiebelkuchen is below. The book from which I borrowed it calls it 'Farmhouse Potato Pie', but the onion-cream combination is unmistakable. It is not 'true' Zwiebelkuchen, even as much as any variant is, but it is yummy and autumnal.

1lb/450g potatoes (about four or five)
100g/4oz plain flour
1 tsp baking powder
pinch salt
25g/1oz butter
25g/1oz lard (or cut out the butter and lard and just use 2oz/50g margarine; it doesn't much matter)
milk

1 tbsp olive oil
25g/1oz butter (again)
1lb/450g onions
1 clove garlic, peeled (or two. I happen to like garlic.)
1/4tsp salt
3 tbsp double cream
1 tsp Dijon mustard
100g/4oz cheddar, grated
3 tbsp parsley - fresh, if you can get it, or dried is just about acceptable
black pepper

Notwithstanding the original name, the potatoes are entirely optional, I think. However, if you're using them, chop them up and boil them (15 mins approx). When cool, extract about one potato's worth and mash it in a small bowl with a fork.

Combine the flour, baking powder and salt in a (larger) bowl. Rub in the fat, then, when you have attained the legendary 'breadcrumb' texture, stir in the mashed potato. Bind together with a splash of milk. (If you can't be bothered with the potatoes, just make shortcrust pastry as per normal.) Roll out and use to line a flan tin or flapjack tray. Prick the pastry all over with a fork and chill until needed.

Preheat oven to gas 7/220degC

Slice the rest of the potatoes very thinly (or don't, if you're not using potatoes). Melt the butter in a pan, add the oil, and cook the onions very gently until transparent. Do not allow them to burn. Burnt onions are an abomination.

Using a pestle and mortar, pound the life out of the garlic and salt. (If you don't have a pestle and mortar, don't panic - chop the garlic up small and mix it with the salt. The first time I made this I didn't even have a garlic press, much less a pestle and mortar. Thinking about it, a couple of squirts of commercial garlic purée would work quite well.) Add the cream, mustard and pepper. Pour into the onions and mix well.

Spread the potato slices over the pastry base. Spread the onion-cream mix over the top, and sprinkle the cheese and parsley over. Cook for 25-30 mins, until the pastry is crisp and the top is just beginning to brown.

day 01 | a song
day 02 | a picture
day 03 | a book/ebook/fanfic
day 04 | a site
day 05 | a youtube clip
day 06 | a quote
day 07 | whatever tickles your fancy

Because I am sitting at my window and watching the rain. I'm also discovering the problem with having one's desk under the window in a south-facing room, since we also have sun. By rights there should be rainbows on the wall behind me.



The rest of the lyrics notwithstanding, I'm actually pretty happy. My pa used to play this to us on a 45rpm when we were little; I don't think it was this version, though. It might have been the Everly Brothers:

I've sat on my topper a
lot at the opera.
Now it's as flat
as an opera hat. - Guy Boas, nineteen twenty-something.

To the the-ayter last night, to see an amateur production of Faust - the Gounod-via-Goethe version. We ate at Pizza Hut, which was posher than countertony remembered - don't look at me like that; it's not as if it's an Italian opera. It was, as I say, an amateur production, but with professional soloists. I'm not convinced that this was entirely a good idea, as they showed up the chorus rather. But never mind; one can't really complain about getting to hear good singers for fifteen quid.

I rather prefer Marlowe, particularly acts 1 and 5, to any other version I have yet come across, but I have a soft spot for Gounod. My ma was Siebel in a Winchester am-op production when I was about two; this may or may not explain quite a lot about me. Gounod is, to my mind, rather cheesy, and ducks out of some of the harder questions (such as what eternal damnation is actually like), nor is it so much about Faust as it is about Marguerite, but damn it all, it's fun. countertony enjoyed it rather more than I think he was expecting to. Being familiar with The Robot Devil's Hands are Idle Playthings helped, I think, as did the diversion of the casting. Wagner, the only non-pro soloist, was Martin Luther in the production of Godspell we saw last month. As almie would say, there's a fic in that. Also, going on physical appearance, Mephistopheles was Stephen Briggs, and Faust was James T. Kirk.

But Staps, you ask, could they actually sing? Mostly, yes. Faust had too much vibrato for my liking, but a nice voice (yes, I know this is opera. Still.) Marguerite was excellent - looked about fifteen months pregnant in the second half, though; I think they rather overdid it. Siebel had a nice voice and excellent diction, but was unfortunately let down by the costuming - distressingly feminine boots, which nullified any attempt to pass. Mephistopheles had a very nice voice - again with the vibrato - he was also very charismatic. Marthe - too much vibrato again, but was the only other one who really stood out as a actor as well as a singer. Valentine was also rather nice.

The set was OK, if a little unimaginative - my pa would doubtless grouse that he Could Do Better, if let loose with a few pots of paint, etc, and I know for a fact that he did a better poster Back In The Day, since I have a copy rolled up somewhere - the costuming was something of a curate's egg. I think Mephistopheles and Valentine probably came off the best. Siebel's costume was, as I said, most unsatisfactory, and some of the chorus' were even more unfortunate.

A good show, on the whole; lovely singing. And I remain convinced that Gilbert and Sullivan were ripping off the finale in the incantation in The Sorcerer. Tell me I'm wrong.

I may say that this evening we pwned this:



I think this interpretation is a little on the slow side, myself. But still, whew. I have a soft spot for Saint Cecilia, church music being one of the things that reliably keeps me sane. The only way in which the service could have been improved, from my point of view, would have been if we had had Dyson in F as opposed to Dyson in D. (Not that I don't like Dyson in D, but I like F better.) The sermon tied in with Christ the King, although I was most amused by the following:

'she was smothered in the bath of her own house, and, miraculously surviving that, was decapitated. However, she also survived this for three days and, bathed in her own blood, continued to distribute gifts to the poor and to welcome people to her home. What has all this gore got to do with church music, you ask?'

Me, I was thinking that it sounded just like choir practice.

Stir up, we beseech thee, O Lord, the wills of thy faithful people; that they, plenteously bringing forth the fruit of good works, may of thee be plenteously rewarded; through Jesus Christ our Lord. Amen.

Sermon from a bishop this morning, not because he's a bishop, but because he's a previous incumbent. Arch-Villain thinks he's a prat; myself, I think that Arch-Villain's a prat, so it all equals out in the long run. (Which reminds me: I must set down the Shocking Affair of the Choral Calendar before too long.) Anyhow, it was a good sermon, what we could hear of it. (The speakers in the chancel are not working. Yet.) Choir practice afterwards. Too much Rutter. Also Sir Christemas, which I found rather easier this week, sans hangover, for all that the lyrics are 'Buvez bien, par toute la compagnie'. Buvant avec toute la compagnie was the cause of the hangover last week, after all. And a tricky arrangement of Noel Nouvelet. I may say that the basses' French is atrocious.

Advent is coming. Hurrah! Best season in the year, if you ask me, so long as nobody forces you to eat that horrendous chocolate; otherwise, lots of purple and alleluias, and excellent music. (Palestrina next week. Eeee!)

Jenny Lind - preferably on her American tour, because the musical director for that was my great-great-great-great-great-grandfather.

I have borrowed an excellent book from the library; it is an atlas of European history, and (predictably enough) explains everything with the aid of brightly coloured maps, which show exactly where everyone was at any given point in time. This is just what I need, because my geography is atrocious, and I find it very difficult to get my head around the Where of things, even when I'm strong enough on the When. While I'm aware that It's Always More Complicated than can be shown on a map, it's giving me a decent overview, and it's absolutely fascinating. I got it out because I was interested in Philip of Spain, but I've actually started from the beginning, and am only at the Roman Empire now. I am enjoying it.

We are now more or less settled in to the New Flat; stonefox84 is coming round to inspect it later this morning (wonder whether she wants lunch?). I intend to buy some more pansies to plant along the front path. We also have back garden, which consists of a) patio and b) ivy-root-filled earth. I have planted some garlic and some raspberry canes in a hopeful spirit, and have transplanted my herbs, but have horrible visions of the whole thing being overrun with ivy in three weeks' time.

There are two packages waiting at the post office. I have reason to believe that one contains intertubes, and the other contains Verdi. Both good.

Also, countertony has discovered how to make the shower run hot. This is also good.

I had a dazzling insight during Evensong, namely that the book of Daniel was evidently written for NaNoWriMo. Just look at this:

Then King Nebuchadnezzar sent for the satraps, the prefects, and the governors, the counsellors, the treasurers, the justices, the magistrates, and all the officials of the provinces, to assemble and come to the dedication of the statue that King Nebuchadnezzar had set up. So the satraps, the prefects, and the governors, the counsellors, the treasurers, the justices, the magistrates, and all the officials of the provinces, assembled for the dedication of the statue that King Nebuchadnezzar had set up. When they were standing before the statue that Nebuchadnezzar had set up, the herald proclaimed aloud, ‘You are commanded, O peoples, nations, and languages, that when you hear the sound of the horn, pipe, lyre, trigon, harp, drum, and entire musical ensemble, you are to fall down and worship the golden statue that King Nebuchadnezzar has set up. Whoever does not fall down and worship shall immediately be thrown into a furnace of blazing fire.’ Therefore, as soon as all the peoples heard the sound of the horn, pipe, lyre, trigon, harp, drum, and entire musical ensemble, all the peoples, nations, and languages fell down and worshipped the golden statue that King Nebuchadnezzar had set up.

And it goes on like that. I knew, of course, the silly story about the reader who got fed up with the horn, pipe, lyre, trigon, etc, and resorted to 'band as before', but had never realised before this evening quite how often Shadrach, Meschach and Abednego are mentioned by name. Somebody was obviously needing to pad out his word count.

In other news, my father informs me that Beneath the Cross of Jesus can be sung to the tune of Flanders and Swann's The Sloth, and notes that the third line of the last verse bears more than a passing resemblance to the lyrics thereof. Coincidence? I think we should be told.

'The flags are flying because it's Peace' - 1945, and my father's earliest memory. It says, I think, rather a lot about my grandfather, who took him out to see the flags. Not because we've won, not because we've beaten the other side, but because it's peace.

My grandparents met working for the League of Nations in the thirties, and continued to work for peace for the rest of their lives. 'Blessed are the peacemakers,' it says on their grave, 'for they shall be called the children of God.'

They lived for peace. Others died for it, and it is those others whom we remember today. They saw in the lives they knew something worth fighting for and, much as I abhor war, that is something that I am bound to respect.

There was an interesting discussion opening up in the comments to Wednesday's post, before I stamped on it ruthlessly because I had insufficient internet access to ensure that all remained civil. I'd like to return to it today.

Interestingly, the offending phrase in the news story I linked to was one that I hadn't really registered myself, but it was picked up in the comments to both the LJ and the Dreamwidth versions of my post: "True biblical Christianity is becoming marginalised through political correctness." So said a pastor involved in the protest about which I was protesting - and it seemed to hit various nerves.

'I do agree that Christianity is being marginalised by political correctness. Eg, take the story about the woman who got fired because she refused to take off her cross at work, if that had been a muslim woman being told she couldn't wear a burkah...', said one commenter; said another, 'This made me LOL - "True biblical Christianity is becoming marginalised through political correctness" OMG WE'RE SO OPPRESSSSSED WAH... Oh please.' And the third very reasonably asked for examples.

First things first. With regard to the 'Transsexual Jesus WAHRGARBL' question, I honestly don't think that depicting someone as transsexual is offensive. I don't believe that being transsexual is anything that should cause anybody shame or discomfort, and I wonder whether the protesters realise that their protest is as offensive as their own perceived offence.

I very much doubt that the gospel writers would have understood the concept, but for all we know from the Bible about Jesus' personal life, he could have been transsexual. He could have been gay, straight, bisexual, asexual, transgendered, cisgendered... we don't know. We don't even know if he was married, and that, in a first-century context, is a fairly big clue that what Jesus did or did not do with his genitals was not all that important to his ministry.

Would a theatrical representation of a transsexual Mohammed have been offensive? Yes. Would a theatrical representation of Mohammed have been offensive? Yes, because any representation of Mohammed is offensive. I can very easily imagine a sensitive, thought-provoking representation of a transsexual Jesus. I can appreciate that it might be offensive to a minority, but I think that the rest of us could learn a lot from it. Portraying Mohammed, however, cannot be done without offending an awful lot of people, and no writer, actor or director could fail to be aware of that. Braeburns and Sevilles.

Next. Christians. Marginalised. Are we? My immediate answer is, no. We are, perhaps, a little less privileged than we used to be. However, as a Christian I am still free to practise my religion. I can be baptised, educated, married and buried in the religious establishment of my choice, and, while I'm uncomfortably aware that I'm displaying ginormous Anglican privilege here, I don't think it's much more difficult for those of any other Christian denomination. If one's religion happens to be the more-or-less official state religion (HM the Queen, anyone?) I think it's difficult to argue seriously that one is really very oppressed. Or marginalised. (Before anyone asks, it has on more than one occasion been suggested to me that the kind of Christianity the Queen and I practise - doing my best to love God and my neighbour, stand up for justice and peace, etc - is neither true nor Biblical. I beg to differ.)

"You can't blaspheme God and use freedom of speech as an excuse for that," said the good pastor. I think he'll find that you can. It's perfectly legal. He may have misunderstood the concept of 'freedom of speech'. It means that anybody can be rude about anybody they like - Christians, Muslims, trainspotters, soldiers, TV presenters or call centre operatives - and that's legal. It doesn't make it desirable. I can reasonably expect (for example) an atheist to be polite to me - because we are, after all, both human beings, with feelings - but I can't enforce it. That's the price I pay for living in a free country, where I am allowed to have and express my own opinions about atheists, and I'd much rather have it that way than any other.

I am very uncomfortable about cases where people of any religion feel compelled to take their workplaces to court. Do you remember the case of the Muslim teaching assistant who was obliged to leave her job because she felt unable to reveal the lower part of her face, causing problems for some hearing-impaired pupils? Oh, yes, it happens - it's not just us poor widdle oppwessed Christians. I've a feeling that some Muslim healthcare workers have been told to bare their arms to the elbow, too; germs are no respecters of religion. The Christian nurse who offered to pray for her patient? That's not actually appropriate behaviour for a nurse. I'm not suggesting that she shouldn't pray, just that she shouldn't do it officiously, in such a way as to make the patient worry that he wasn't going to get the appropriate care, 'because it's all in God's hands'.

At the basic level, it comes down to this: if our religion is interfering with our doing our job properly, or if our job is interfering with our doing our religion properly, perhaps we are in the wrong job. I have (some) sympathy with the registrar who, when she started out, only officiated at opposite-sex marriages - because that was the law then - and later was obliged to conduct civil partnerships - because that wasn't in the contract when she signed it. I have very little patience with those who whinge about not being allowed to wear religious jewellery that isn't even essential to the faith.

I have had a healthy respect for no-jewellery policies ever since primary school, when I witnessed the result of a ringed finger getting trapped in a door. I don't wear a cross to work myself, not because I've been asked not to, but because I don't feel that it's at all important to my faith. 'What does the Lord require of you, but to do justly, love mercy and walk humbly before your God?' Nothing about things on chains around necks. My way of expressing my faith at work is to do my job to the best of my ability, treating those with whom I come into contact with kindness and respect. A person complaining about not being allowed to wear what he wants is a person who is not giving his job his full attention, and that's a person I'd rather not have changing my dressings.

Yet another 'religious' news story that makes my blood boil - small-minded troublemakers acting like spoilt children and making a mockery of my faith. Fuelled as I am by ire and strong black coffee, I could probably keep up the Daily Mail-esque outrage for at least another couple of paragraphs, but it's too depressing, and I've not got long before the library shuts anyway, so I'll keep it brief.

No, I have no argument with the theatre, the playwright, the actors, the director, or the play itself. Free speech, and all that. My issue is with the protesters, and the hateful and exclusive language that they have been using. What would Jesus do? Not that. What would Jesus say? Not that.

A couple of points:

1. The Gospels have absolutely nothing to say on Jesus' sexual identity or orientation. We don't know that he was gay, and we don't know that he wasn't. We don't know that he was transgender, and we don't know that he wasn't. Quite apart from the fact that those are terms that your average first century chronicler wouldn't understand, he never mentioned the matter. One is led to suspect that he didn't actually consider it all that important.

2. Here are some things he did consider important: integrity - in sexual matters as much as any others - social justice, compassion. He had a lot of time for those on the edges of society, the outcasts, those who didn't quite fit in. We have no way of knowing whether or not he identified transgender. He certainly would have identified with those who did.

3. Jesus was a person who called the outcasts and the marginalised to him. He calls each of us to him as we are - and, calling us, calls everyone else as well. It is not our calling as Christians to turn people away, when Jesus would have welcomed them.

For reasons of my own I have been thinking about the dates of the various Savoy operas - not the dates when they were written, which I believe are pretty much indisputable, but the dates when they are set, or, where evidence is lacking, where I would put them if I had free rein with the costumes. So -

Trial by Jury - For all the modern dress productions I've seen ('cos it's easier, duh) this one feels very much to me as if it should be set as close as possible to the date of first performance. Although the hypocrisy of the jurors and the shallowness of the Plaintiff are perennial, the mores of Trialseem to me to be very much of their time. It's still funny, because we can still relate to it, but I think it's funnier set in 1860 than it is set in 2009. Apart from anything else, it helps to explain away the all-male jury. Bustles and pork-pie hats, please.

The Sorcerer - 1840s? I think Doctor Daly has escaped from Scenes from Clerical Life - Mr Gilfil with a touch of Mr Tryan, I fancy - but of course the Clergyman With A History Of Romance could come from any date since the Reformation. The Industrial Revolution doesn't appear to have hit yet, but this is a very rural - one could plausibly say 'feudal' society. On the other hand, John Wellington Wells seems very Victorian to me. If we could get the cast looking as if it had escaped from a Caldecott picture book, that would be about right.

H.M.S. Pinafore - Well, Captain Corcoran shows up again in Utopia, Limited, by which point the Navy has switched over to steam. Is it implausible to suggest that Pinafore is also set more or less when it was written - so, 1870s? I don't know much about the naval history of Our Island Nation. Of course, the internal time scheme is extremely weird anyway, what with Corcoran and Rackstraw BEING THE SAME AGE WTF? not to mention all that Freudian stuff.

The Pirates of Penzance - can be dated with a little simple arithmetic, as proved with inimitable smugness by Isaac Asimov. We know that Frederic is twenty-one (five and a quarter) the year of the action, and that he will be eighty-four (twenty-one) in 1940. The interesting question is whether or not WSG remembered that 1900 was not going to be a leap year. We therefore have two choices: 1877 if he did forget, or 1873 if he didn't. Asimov's character reckoned that the reference to 'that infernal nonsense Pinafore' indicates the later date. This is another one where the dating doesn't make a huge amount of sense - the reference to daisies suggests March/April, 'the summer rain' July, August or September, and shouldn't it happen on Frederic's birthday (29th February) anyway?

Patience - only makes sense if one has the Pre-Raphaelites wandering around. Fortunately the ideal costume is described within the dialogue. I'm quite amused by the thought that 'The Rival Curates' would have worn better - though perhaps only among those on tree_and_leaf's Friends page.

Iolanthe - well, half of it's set in Fairyland/Arcadia, and the other half is set in the House of Lords. One could put it any time up to the end of hereditary peers, and I very much enjoyed a broadcast from the Proms some years ago, which contained several references to New Labour ('he shall pass a right to roam/Through estates that you call home'). One of my favourites.

Princess Ida - exists in a blank verse, three act, misogynist Gilbertian neverland. Never really existed, now when the last women's colleges are passing away, as then when they were first beginning. If it's to be at all funny, it has to exist in a world where Florence Nightingale (for a start) never happened. It's a pity, because I love King Gama, in his twisted misanthropic way, and some of the songs are gorgeous, but the genderfail really is inexcusable.

The Mikado - also exists in neverland, because I doubt very much that it's anything like Japan as was, is, or shall be. It's more England, with wigs, but when? Don't ask me.

Ruddigore - I think must be set during the Napoleonic Wars, going by Richard Dauntless' song. (Incidentally, I'm not sure why that song's taken to be so offensive. Surely the surrender-monkey is not the one usually associated with cheese, but the singer?) This also fits with the Nonconformism that Despard and Margaret go in for in the second act. One can have fun costuming the ghosts, of course.

The Yeomen of the Guard - there's a reference to 'our king'. Henry VIII? The Wars of the Roses appear to be over and done with, but there has been military action in the recent past. I suppose it could be Edward VI at a pinch, or perhaps Henry VII, but there's a very 'bluff King Hal' feel about the whole thing. Calls for research.

The Gondoliers - late eighteenth century, I would think. The late king was a 'Wesleyan Methodist', so it can't be much before then. Would need to know more about the political situation in Venice and the state of the nobility in Spain. I think the Plaza-Toros ought to have those massive powdered wigs, and the gondoliers... ought to look like gondoliers.

Utopia, Limited - late nineteenth century. The Royal Navy is out in force, and it's using steamships (see Pinafore, above). And Zara has been to Girton. Of course, it doesn't make much odds costume-wise because it's set on a fictional island goodness knows where, but the Flowers of Progress at least ought to be correct.

The Grand Duke - may I say, 'Ruritania'? All this intrigue in small mid-European states calls for sausage rolls and camp military uniforms. The camper the better. Needs MOAR gold braid. Not sure what the women ought to wear. (Incidentally, the first actress to play Julia Jellicoe, the only English character in a sea of Ruritanian, was Ilka von Palmay, and had a distinct German accent. I rather like this idea.) Of course, nobody stages it these days anyway.

Now, this is interesting. Fill in the blanks. (It might even be easier if I were to insert an extra blank, which the author has left to be inferred from context, but I think it's more fun this way.) From a book I was reading today:

__________'s joke... about a '___________ brawl' has been taken as referring to the London riots against foreign refugees, many of them ___________, whose competition for the city's accommodation, food, and employment was much resented. These riots recurred at intervals in the 'eighties and 'nineties. There was an abortive anti-alien plot in September ____, and more open demonstrations in May ____. The serious outbreak of June ____, followed by a savage ____________ of the ringleaders, seems to have been directed more against profiteering tradesmen than against aliens.

Put your iTunes on shuffle. You know the drill.

( Read more... )

Next song is the title: 20 Tons of TNT

Google image search the next song; there's your poster:

( Read more... )

And the artist of the last one is the actor who plays you: Salisbury Cathedral Choir. All of it.

Salisbury Cathedral Choirs IS El Staplador IN 20 Tons of TNT...

it's going to be a bad film.

Am thinking thoughts about anniversaries, and how has it been four years? and has it really been four years? and when is our anniversary anyway? and does it count now we have an actual anniversary? And about the importance of place (and how I really should be packing up to move right this very minute, but shush!) and what a damn' silly idea it is to fall in love with one's housemate, except when it isn't.

Hurrah. :-)

Wonderful person! Hello! Um... I'm new to this whole lark, but it sounds immensely fun, and I hope you enjoy writing for me. Thank you! Feel free to disregard any of the following, if you find it inconvenient.

Fanfic, to my mind, is for 'What if?', and 'What happens when?', and 'Wouldn't it be funny if?' questions. I like missing moments, and following characters' traits and decisions to their logical conclusions. I like to wonder what 'happy ever after' consists of in any given happy ending. I also like speculative AUs where Fortuitous Event A doesn't happen, or Disastrous Event B does.

The only, only thing that I really hate is character bashing. Please don't make any character any nastier than the creator did, and don't subject them to horrible dooms unless necessary for plot-related reasons. That said, if you do have good plot-related reasons, you can do pretty much anything you like to them! Kill anybody off if you feel so inclined - I feel that in fanfic, it's 'bang dead', not 'real dead'. I'm comfortable with gen, het, femslash or slash - as you may be able to tell from the requests below! Friendship is fine. I tend to skim past explicit sex, and Names of Bits make me giggle like a six-year-old, so it's probably not worth your while including it, but I have no objection to things being Heavily Implied. If you're going to write a non-canon relationship that conflicts with a canon one, please explain what's happened to make that a possibility.

I like crossovers, and enjoy seeing characters from other works wandering in, so long as it's plausible in this particular timescale or setting. Give me a young Paul Delagardie waltzing at the Pontevedrian embassy ball, or Don Alhambra del Bolero getting washed up on the island of Monte Cristo, and I'll be happy as a pig in muck. Feel free to stalk my LJ in order to find out what else I read/watch! OCs are also welcome, if you need them.

To be honest, I'm so pathetically excited at the idea of someone I don't know writing fic for me, I'll be happy with whatever you choose to write for me, so if you already have an idea and want to write it, ignore all this and go ahead! If, however, you'd like a specific prompt, or just to know more about my feelings about these fandoms, read on!


The Merry Widow

Like G and S (see below), a fandom - not that it really is a fandom at the moment - that I got into via amateur operatics. My two favourite things about the Merry Widow are the Ruritanian Political Intrigue plot, and the decadent fin-de-siècle Paris setting. Now, in my mind Paris is one millennium-long Gay Pride parade - an impression not much altered by, and indeed perhaps due to, The Well of Loneliness or my own honeymoon - and the 1890s/1900s even more so. You may wish to pander to this eccentricity. Or you may not!

What would I like? Something involving Hanna. As an independent, strong-minded woman with the money to do whatever she wants, she's a lot of fun. A look at her relationship with Danilo, either back in Pontevedro before it all goes wrong in the first place, or after the action, would be great. I'm also intrigued by the notion of Hanna/Valencienne femslash - surely a Merry Widow and a Highly Respectable Wife should have a lot to talk about? What kind of massive organisational effort was required to set up a fair approximation of Maxim's in Hanna's back garden? You could go completely off the rails and write a Harry Potter crossover involving that Vilja song - although if you do, please leave Fleur Delacour's clunky French accent out of it!

I'm most familiar with the Phil Park translation, in which Hanna is inexplicably known as 'Anna', but have no objection whatsoever to your working from another, or, indeed, from the original German. I'm less fond of the soppy waltz-time bits; I think this wants something more biting than champagne and syrup.


Alexandre Dumas - The Count of Monte Cristo

For an extended explanation of why I love this book, see here. Mostly, I find myself writing fic about Eugénie and Louise, because I love them so much for being a lesbian couple, in canon, and getting a happy ending - not to mention throwing a bit of bel canto into the mix. If you want to do that too, feel free - and be as fluffy or angsty as you like. Otherwise, I wouldn't say no to any of the following:

- Albert/Franz slash or pre-slash
- Valentine being a little less drippy. It would be interesting to see how, or, indeed, if, her and Maximilien's relationship recovers from the whole being drugged by the Count thing.
- the Count being his awesome self. And what on earth is he going to do with himself now he's run out of people to take revenge on?
- what happens to Baron Danglars? I'm sure he finds a way to drag himself up by his bootstraps, but I'd like to see how he manages it.


Romeo and Juliet

Madam, an hour before the worshipp'd sun
Peer'd forth the golden window of the east,
A troubled mind drove me to walk abroad;
Where - underneath the grove of sycamore
That westward rooteth from the city's side -
So early walking did I see your son:
Towards him I made; but he was ware of me
And stole into the covert of the wood:
I, measuring his affections by my own, -
That most are busied when they're most alone, -
Pursu'd my humour, not pursuing his,
And gladly shunn'd who gladly fled from me.

I think Benvolio has something of a crush on Romeo, and he's doing his best to be a perfect gentleman about it. Does Romeo know? Does he care? And, when Benvolio's the only one left of the younger generation, what are his thoughts about what has come to pass? Also, while she doesn't figure in the list of characters, I find Rosaline very interesting, what with that vow of chastity and all - so feel free to throw her in, too. Does she really mean it, or is she just fed up with being pestered by Romeo?

FWIW, I'm not convinced that the short marriage and tragic death of Romeo and Juliet does much for harmony in Verona at all, but I'm willing to be persuaded! I'm not keen on mock-Shakespearean blank verse complete with stage directions; I'd prefer an honest-to-goodness story.


Gilbert and Sullivan comic operas

This is probably my oldest fandom. (Query: is The Yeomen of the Guard really comic? Never mind; it still has some good songs.) What do I love about it? I love the convoluted language, and the catchy tunes, and the fact that there are many parts that I am physically able to sing. I love the batty, inconsistent logic. I love the way that every setting is a thinly disguised version of Victorian England.

I said 'Any', and I meant it. However, that's probably not all that useful, so here are some ideas:

Ruddigore - 3rd August 1961: Suicide is no longer a crime. What are the implications for Rederring? Alternatively, I'd love to have a look inside Despard and Margaret's National School. (Basingstoke! Basingstoke at once!)

Pirates - How do the newly reformed Pirates of Penzance adapt to their new roles in the House of Lords? Do we see any of them in Iolanthe? Or how about a look at Frederic's 21st birthday party on 29th February 1940? Speaking of Iolanthe, she and the Lord Chancellor have twenty-five years to catch up on. That's going to be an interesting conversation.

I don't really think it's fair that John Wellington Wells gets stuck with the consequences at the end of The Sorcerer. How about an AU where Alexis does the decent thing and descends to hell in his place?

If you've matched with me on another fandom and are wishing you hadn't, Trial by Jury is your Get Out Of Jail Free card. It's half an hour long, and is available free on t'internet here. (Be aware, though, that I hear it with an English accent, thus.)

'I wonder whether/they'll live together/In marriage tether/In manner true,' the Defendant sings at the end, and I must confess that I have my doubts myself. Perhaps you could show me the subsequent trial in the divorce courts? Or, if you reckon that's a bit too depressing for G&S, how about the Learned Judge tackling a different sort of case with his own customary disregard for the letter of the law? (WSG was called to the bar, but I'm not, so don't worry overmuch about the legal details!)

By the power of time travel... that is, the Archive function... I can tell you that...

...on this day in 2008, I did not post anything. Two days before, I was appreciating my Friends list, and the day after I was singing songs in the French language, quoting Shakespeare, and cooking.

...on this day in 2007, I had just got back from two months' au pairing in Germany.

...on this day in 2006, I did not post anything. Two days before, I was looking after small children, reading Intellekshual Books, berating myself for some piece of stupidity I forget now - probably one or another of my series of Unsuitable Crushes - and doing a stupid meme. The day after, I was cataloguing the animals around the house, despairing of The Archers, and doing a stupid meme.

...on this day in 2005 I did not have a LiveJournal, but I rather suspect that I was scaring stonefox84 out of her wits.

1. Cheddar, pear and broccoli pasta

Somewhat experimental, based on the conviction that I Could Do Better Than Medirest. And I could.

200g pasta (I used tricolour fusilli)
1 head broccoli, cut into florets (not sure how much it weighed - 100g at a guess, but it's a very wild guess!)
2 pears, peeled, cored and cut into thickish slices (about 1/2cm)

2 slices ham, cut into strips (optional)

1 tbsp cornflour
approx 250ml milk
approx 50g grated cheddar - the stronger the better!

Add the pasta to a pan of boiling water. Cook three minutes. Add the broccoli. Cook a further six minutes. Add the pears. Cook a further three minutes. Drain and set aside.

Preheat the grill.

Make cheese sauce: Mix the cornflour with a little milk in a pan. Stir in the rest of the milk gradually over a medium hob. Stir like crazy as it begins to thicken. Stir in the grated cheese.

Pour the pasta/pear/broccoli combination into an oven-proof dish, add the strips of ham, and stir up a bit. Pour over the cheese sauce, mix well, sprinkle with a little extra grated cheese (don't worry if you haven't any left; it's not that vital!) and bung under the grill for ten minutes or so, until it is browned and happy.


2. Pear and chocolate sponge pudding

3 pears, peeled, cored and quartered

4oz margarine
4oz sugar (caster or gran, doesn't make much odds)
2 eggs
4oz self-raising flour
1 tbsp cocoa powder.

Preheat oven to around 190degC. Grease a deep dish and lay the pears in the bottom. Put all the other ingredients into a mixing bowl and mix well with a wooden spoon until the mixture is homogenous. Spoon it over the pears. Cook for around twenty minutes until the pudding is risen and the top is firm but slightly springy.

If your margarine is made of soya and therefore dairy-free, this is Sarah-friendly. As she wasn't able to stay for dinner (long story involving Parents' Evening and Rob's wing mirrors being stuck in an inconvenient position) I ate it with cream.

And that, my friends, is the end of my bag of pears. I hope you have found this little series educational, informative and entertaining. I may well repeat it next time someone gives me Far Too Much of anything - or, indeed, if I manage to grow Far Too Much of something myself.