Despite my current schedule of insanity, you might be forgiven for believing that I have forsaken my beloved books. Au contraire, internets, I still manage to get a little page time in the 30 minutes or so between when I tell the Rock Star that he REALLY needs to put down his guitar and when he actually manages to collapse onto the mattress.

Lucky for me, my last literary conquest has conveniently been turned into a movie that has moistened panties all over the US over the weekend, so I figured it would be a fairly good segue into a review of sorts.

So yeah, I’m 33 and I just finshed the final book in the Twilight series. Give me a break. I spend all day trying to brush yoghurt out of a 20 month old’s hair, so I can hardly be blamed for wanting an escape in the form of some hot vegetarian vampire action. However, my official reason is that I want to keep up with children’s and young adult fiction in case of future employment in a bookshop of some description. Yeah. That’s the reason.

First off, let me just say that I’m having some trouble getting next to screaming, hair-pulling frenzy of lust that other people seemed to have developed for this series. In fact, I think the highest compliment I can pay it (as my dear friend Roscoe put it) is that it was entertaining. Entertaining in the same way that putting on Die Hard, drinking wine and eating microwave popcorn is entertaining. It’s not something I had to think about while reading; I just had to let my mind go fuzzy and get taken for a ride.

Truth to be told, I rather resented the books at first in the same way that I resented the DaVinci Code; for drawing me along despite the fact that the author was obviously not up to the job.

“This writing is bad.” I told the Popcorn Gland.

“Shut up. Story’s happening.” munched the Popcorn Gland, eyes riveted to the action.

“No, seriously, this is pretty putrid.” I persisted. “This is what Anne Rice would have written before she hit puberty.”

“Can’t talk. Watching.” the Gland shot back.

So I sighed and went to buy the three remaining books in the series under heavy protest while the Popcorn Gland went to open another bottle of Pino Noir.

For the precisely 3 people who’ve no idea what all this Twilight nonsense is all about, the books chronicle the relationship between Bella Swan and a vampire called Edward Cullen, who, thankfully for Bella, has forsworn drinking human blood along with his extended “vegetarian” family in favor of some bare handed big game hunting. Of course, you don’t get a vampire/human love affair without a fair amount of supernatural shit hitting the fan in the form of other hostile vampires as well as a love rival who just happens to be a werewolf. And that pretty much covers 4 books worth.

Having established that the story is quite compelling, I would like to just say a few things about, well, everything else.

One of my biggest bones to pick with the series straight off the bat would be the incredibly little insight that the author has to offer into WHY Bella and Edward fall in love. One minute, she’s looking across the lunchroom at this god-like boy and the next, they’re making promises to eachother that wouldn’t sound out of place in a ballad by Bon Jovi. Unfortunately, there is very little in between. Having once been a teenager myownself, I know how easy it was to develop life-threatening crushes on pretty boys, but I also know that it was a long leap from “oo, he’s a bit of alright.” to “you know, the fact that you could snap me like a twig and suck my juices really doesn’t factor into the all-consuming passion that I feel.” Roscoe was also rather right in her observation that because of the intended audience, the author wasn’t fully able to explore the inherant sexuality in the books. “It’s TOTALLY about sex, but since it’s a novel for teens, you can’t just come out and say that it’s a classic dom/sub story.” she said. This seemed to leave gaping holes in the narrative that couldn’t be overlooked.

And please don’t even get me started on 4th book in the installment, Breaking Dawn, or more aptly named, Oh, By The Way, I Figured Out How This Book Would End Before Figuring Out How To Tie Up Plot Holes That You Could Drive a Truck Through, So I Just Now Made A Bunch of Shit Up. (SPOILER- for some extra fun, read the reviews of Breaking Dawn on Amazon and count how many people were outraged by the teen pregnancy storyline. Excuse me, did I just hear y’all trying to apply morality to a STORY ABOUT VAMPIRES AND WEREWOLVES?)

One might come away thinking that I would not recommend the Twilight series to other readers, but one would be wrong.

Feed your popcorn gland.

So, everyone’s having trouble with money at the moment, but can I just have an ever so small moan?

WHY IN THE NAME OF HOLY HELL SHOULD I BE ASKED TO PAY FOR MY DAUGHTER TO GO TO NURSERY ON DAYS WHEN A) SHE’S NOT THERE AND B) NO OTHER FUCKER IS THERE EITHER? EXCUSE ME? I’M PAYING FOR DAYS WHEN SHE IS NOT ONLY ABSENT BUT THE ESTABLISHMENT IN QUESTION IS CLOSED??? HOW IS THAT EVEN A LITTLE BIT LEGAL?

Screaming over. Fuming remaining.

This morning, I was reminded more strongly than ever that I am now in possession of a fully fledged toddler. I know this because I realized I can no longer pull one over on her.

As toddlers are wont to do, The Prawn has two favorite stuffed toys. The loss of either would spell immediate doom. I blogged some time back about the loss of dear Humphrey, who, fortunately, had a stunt double waiting at home. This loss upset me far more than it did the Prawn, who immediately accepted the double as if he were the original. The double, I might add, is, at present sitting on the coffee table looking FAR tattier than the One True Humphrey EVER did. The only reason he has been allowed to get to this state is because Humphrey III (yes, there is a Humphrey III, soon to be joined by Humphrey IV for our travel to the States) was the victim of a late night vomit attack and is languishing in a very large pile of washing.

Humphrey’s second in command is Moo. Moo has been with us for nearly 4 years now, as I bought him in anticipation of the baby that we tried so hard for finally arriving. So you can imagine how chuffed I was when Moo rose up the ranks of her affections. However, Moos too get filthy and due to our schedule, it’s difficult to push a load of washing through in one day (Our dryer is also “quirky”. Quirky meaning that it doesn’t always dry things.) and a night without Moo would obviously just be a nonstarter. Keeping this in mind, I ordered MooToo; a duplicate from Nordic Kids, which I just have to plug as being totally chock full of cool stuff.

MooToo arrived this morning (not the first time our postman has seen me braless and in my pajamas, I might add) along with a rather cute shirt that I bought for the Prawn. However, when opening MooToo’s packaging, I was horrified to discover one small difference. While The One True Moo’s horns are green with white spots, MooToo’s horns are WHITE with GREEN spots.

“Do you think she’ll notice?” The Rock Star asked.

“I don’t think so,” I said, inspecting MooToo. “at least not yet.”

However, after cunningly sweeping Moo into his washing pillowcase and replacing him with MooToo, the first thing the Prawn did was to point accusingly at his horns and remark:

“DOTS.”

Well, shit.

Despite this realization, she doesn’t seem actually ADVERSE to MooToo, but I think we may have to refer to him as what he is.

NotMoo.

I’m back in it.

It’s felt like the last few weeks have raced by in a frenzied blur of felt, silver and baby snot. Not necessarily a healthy combination. A sick and increasingly sentient toddler has made what was difficult an uphill struggle against the elements of craftiness. Bits of thread and small silver burrs have joined the dried peas, dust bunnies and lost blocks under our dining table (which I hope someday to reclaim from the heroic expansion efforts of my activities) that are STILL waiting to be swept up. It’s been one of those months.

Although I’ve spoken before about my experiences with craft fairs as a sometimes unwilling visitor in my youth, yesterday was my first experience as a vendor, so some slight butterflies were to be expected. However, what was most remarkable about the day was the fact that nothing went disasterously wrong, which, when living in the state of nearly constant chaos and mild bad fortune that I have of late, was quite simply miraculous.

The fair being in Oxford, there was of course the obligatory wretched traffic. Oxford is a city of pedestrians and bicycles and in its academic grandeur, casts a dour eye on automotive traffic, encouraging motorists to take advantage of one of it’s several out of town park and ride locations. However, when attempting to haul the entirety of your creative output over the last 3 years as well as a 20 month old who’s super pissy due to being strapped into a car seat WELL past nap time into the city centre, well, park and ride just isn’t an option. Instead we choose the “park straight in the path of an oncoming bus due to inadequate unloading space in front of the venue approach” which seemed to work out alright. I had with me The Danish Muffin, who very kindly agreed to help me out with my first venture into the world of craft pimping, so we were able to snatch the supplies from the back of the car and make a dash for the door before the bus driver could engage The Rock Star in a heated debate re: his parking choices.

You can’t find a venue much grander than The Oxford Town Hall. It felt slightly daunting to be selling my wares under the ornate carvings and slightly faded Victorian glory of the main gallery. As I set up, I was thankful that I’d tried a test run before the fact, so I didn’t have to worry about whether or not the whole thing was going to collapse in a heap. PPD was kind enough to make wooden backs for my stands, so sturdiness was not a factor, but my method of attaching the products to the stands had been entirely my idea, which is always tends to set off alarm bells. Luckily, my button magnets were strong enough for nearly all of the jewelry and the rest fit nicely on the table in front except for the jewelry bust (also one of my creations. Engineering is not my strongpoint) which had a tendancy to topple when someone near it had a particularly strong thought. However, I was terribly pleased with my set up after it was finished.

So…sales. One can’t argue with the public. And the public seemed kind of bored with silver. But they were all about felt and buttons. To me, switching my production more to favor my felt and button endeavors rather than concentrating purely on silver feels a little like being an actor that desperately wants to do Shakespeare but keeps finding themselves cast in sitcoms as the goofy neighbor for a hell of a lot more cash. Silver seems like the serious thing to do. The work of an artisan. But people really responded to the bright colors and if I’m honest, I really ENJOY doing it. And after taking in almost 100 pounds almost exclusively from my felt and button creations (I made two silver sales, and one was a silver/felt mixed media piece) it’s really hard to argue with the conclusion that that might be the way to go. The silver will always be there, but for my December show, I think I’ll be spending more time with needle and thread than with my jeweler’s saw.

The day itself was really quite fantastic. After 2pm, the door staff stopped counting visitors at around 1034; a really quite remarkable turnout. (The finally tally was estimated to be around 1300) Customers were pleasant. Other sellers were lovely. And to top it off, The Danish Muffin and I were blessed with a terribly pleasant stall neighbor who specialized in cupcakes and other tasty comestibles. Besides being rather charming, her baking skills were all too evident in the two cupcakes that I consumed as well as a generous bag of leftovers that I was presented with after the fact. (The Rock Star’s face as he drove home, eating free fudge was evidence enough of her culinary prowess.)

So, now what? My tasks for the next few weeks include sewing and making a start on our annual Christmas letter (eep!) which has become something of a family tradition, albeit one that I probably should have begun work on sometime in July.

But I’m back. Hello, world.

THANK YOU.

I am breaking my silence just briefly in honor of the momentous political implications of November 4, 2008.

I’d like to just remind my US readers that they need to get off their duffs and get down to the local fire station, school or town hall to cast their ballots and insure that America gets a chance to redeem itself in the eyes of the rest of the world. Show them that we’re wiser than we were 8 years ago. That we’re wiser than we were 4 years ago. That we’re ready for the hard work to come.

In the words of The Prawn, “OBAMA!”