Today’s Monday song is a much-needed Kings of Leon burst of energy. We’ve still got rain and low temperatures. It makes it worse that last year it was so very warm. Here’s the Followills with Fans
Caleb Followill is right up there on several levels for me.
1. Man who I love with my whole heart
2. Singer who gets into my stomach and messes around with my heart
3. Possibly my personal best eggcorn.
If you don’t know about eggcorns, they’re expressions that sound kind of right but are mixed up. One of my favourites is ‘chester draws’ instead of ‘chest of drawers’. One I read last week was ‘middrift’ for ‘midriff’ – which is kind of funny because my midriff is kind of drifting. I’d also read ‘without further adieu’ for ‘without further ado’ as well last week – it was a definite week of eggcorns.
The KOL eggcorn was my brother-in-law talking about them.
“They’re into bread.” he said
In my mind, I had the following two scenarios:
1. a group who like sampling foccaccia, brioche, baguettes etc
2. a group who liked the seminal 70s band Bread – they of the badly-phrased ‘Baby I’m a want you’ and they of ‘Everything I own’.
Of course, my bother-in-law said ‘interbred’, casting aspersions on their lineage and genetics. Still, I like to think of them sitting around listening to ‘The Guitar Man’ and really rocking out to it.
I ♥ eggcorns and mis-hearings.
Steve’s favourite mis-hearings includes the famous Megadeth song ‘Neville’s Eyelid’ although I’m not sure that’s an eggcorn per se, rather than just a funny mis-hearing.
So what else am I loving this wet Monday morning, apart from the Kings of Leon and eggcorns?
I’m loving Game of Thrones, of course. I’m about halfway through book three – and there are just some adaptations that rule. I might do a top ten Tuesday about that some day. All being said, the casting is superb – especially Jon Snow and Tyrion Lannister. Quintessential fantasy fiction. Of course, Sean Bean dies about seven episodes in, but it was worth it to see him for all that time.
The Killing is also getting very, very good, though I believe it’s not been renewed and you never find out ‘who did it’. It’s kind of Twin Peaksy without the weirdness, Kyle McLaughlin or cherry pie.
Finally on my watch list is Grimm – right up my street. Fantasy combined with fairy stories combined with murders. The main character is also easy on the eye. I love a bit of fairy story retelling – Angela Carter being the master, of course. Angela Carter is a wonderful, wonderful writer – and her retelling of various fairy stories is just – ahhhh! A sensory, wordy delight. Not only that, if you haven’t read your children John Scieszka’s ‘The Stinky Cheese Man and other Fairly Stupid Tales’ or ‘The True Story of the Three Little Pigs’ by A. Wolf then you’ve no idea just how great fairy stories can be.
Other things to love this week:
The hugeness of the broad bean crop and pea crop – last year’s dry weather made it very unproductive. I planted quadruple this year and it’s going to be A-B-U-N-D-A-N-T. What could be better than broad beans in a little butter? Broad bean risotto? Broad beans and chorizo? Broad beans and pancetta? Broad beans and feta? Broad beans and roasted peppers?
Not only that, but bar the Mediterranean crops – tomatoes, aubergines, peppers – everything is HUUUGE. Onions, beetroot, potatoes, carrots, broccoli, cabbage – all loving the damp. Ah well.
Much Love to the last minute revision going on for GCSE – ebook sales have skyrocketed after a slower couple of months. I won’t be taking people out to lunch on the rewards, but one day it might mean I don’t have to slave for less than minimum wage as a GCSE marker as I did last year. Not Much Love for the muppets who think last minute revision is cool. One boy even asked me to write a sample essay for my teacher blog – for Thursday. Too little, too late springs to mind.
And today’s poetry corner, a little something else from Emily Dickinson
Hope” is the thing with feathers
That perches in the soul—
And sings the tune without the words—
And never stops—at all—And sweetest—in the Gale—is heard—
And sore must be the storm—
That could abash the little Bird
That kept so many warm—I’ve heard it in the chillest land—
And on the strangest Sea—
Yet, never, in Extremity,
It asked a crumb—of Me.