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How To Wrap A Cat For Christmas
If a year passes and I don’t post this I’m dead.
How To Wrap A Cat For Christmas
If a year passes and I don’t post this I’m dead.
I miss Feed the World
Dec. 19th, 2017 06:13 pmvia http://ift.tt/2CFlcmR:
I remember hearing Do They Know It’s Christmas on the radio some years ago and going- hang on, wait, what?
See, I though I knew this song. I sang it as part of my 6th year Christmas party and got a leading solo role right at the beginning- damn right I knew this song, this was the only role I ever got in school performances that wasn’t ‘doll choir, second on the right’ or ‘frog’. I knew this song backwards.
Only they were now adding some weird racist shit about Africa and being glad we’re not African and what?
See, my school had taken a hatchet to the original song and it took me a while to realise why, although if you saw a class photo you could probably guess. I’m pretty sure you could caption any picture from my school with ‘United Colours of Beneton’ and it would work.
I’m fairly sure the PTA would have hung drawn and quartered the headmistress if they’d gone with the original, I’m not sure of the ethnic background of most of my schoolmates but I have the vague recollection that one guy’s parents were Somalian refugees and that wasn’t even out of the ordinary for my class.
So they cut out all the racist shit, turned it into a general ‘think of the less fortunate in this Christmas season’ song, titled it just ‘feed the world’, and I guess carefully screened parents for video casset recorders (yes, that long ago) in case Bob Geldof got wind of it.
It’s still one of my favourite Christmas songs, and I have no recordings of it because again, the teachers were terrified of rabid lawyers.
Sad face.
I remember hearing Do They Know It’s Christmas on the radio some years ago and going- hang on, wait, what?
See, I though I knew this song. I sang it as part of my 6th year Christmas party and got a leading solo role right at the beginning- damn right I knew this song, this was the only role I ever got in school performances that wasn’t ‘doll choir, second on the right’ or ‘frog’. I knew this song backwards.
Only they were now adding some weird racist shit about Africa and being glad we’re not African and what?
See, my school had taken a hatchet to the original song and it took me a while to realise why, although if you saw a class photo you could probably guess. I’m pretty sure you could caption any picture from my school with ‘United Colours of Beneton’ and it would work.
I’m fairly sure the PTA would have hung drawn and quartered the headmistress if they’d gone with the original, I’m not sure of the ethnic background of most of my schoolmates but I have the vague recollection that one guy’s parents were Somalian refugees and that wasn’t even out of the ordinary for my class.
So they cut out all the racist shit, turned it into a general ‘think of the less fortunate in this Christmas season’ song, titled it just ‘feed the world’, and I guess carefully screened parents for video casset recorders (yes, that long ago) in case Bob Geldof got wind of it.
It’s still one of my favourite Christmas songs, and I have no recordings of it because again, the teachers were terrified of rabid lawyers.
Sad face.
via http://ift.tt/2hiOeRj:
The houses are alive with lights as they pull into St Petersburg. Hermann steps down into a snow flurried street that looks more like something from the better class of animation than anything that belongs in the real world. Newt takes his hand and they walk out of the station amid the dance of flashing lights and a hoard of paparazzi kept back by Newt’s security people. He uncovers his face long enough to give them a grateful smile, and gets nods back.
The market is sprawling across the square, Hermann tucks his cape around himself against the Siberian chill sweeping out of the east, pressing his hands into the soft folds of rabbitfur.
He tries not to think of what Alison would say. He hopes the rabbits were at least eaten along the way, but Newt terns to be very… determined, on that front.
Newt turns eagerly, holding up a pair of blue gloves, trimmed in grey fur. “Try them on!”
He’s so excited, Hermann can’t help it, he tries them on and they mold themselves perfectly to his long fingers. “Go on,”
He sighs, shakes his head, but Newt pays and they are his. As are the muffs, and hats, the thousand myriad mementos and beautiful carved wooden pieces. Newt starts forward to kiss him a half dozen times, but stops, a breath away, and despite the beauty of the place, and the many lovely things they have bought, Hermann finds he’d be very happy to leave this frostfound country behind.
And maybe it’s that hurry that makes him careless, because when they’re safe back in the train and steaming south, and Hermann opens his laptop to check on the news- there’s his face, on the front page of every tabloid website.
“Ah fuck.” Newt leans over his shoulder. “I’m- really sorry dude.”
“Don’t be.” Hermann sighs, “It was going to happen.” He turns the ring on his finger, the soft, comforting weight of it.
“Well, yeah.’ Newt squeezes his shoulder. “But I have media guys, I’ll see what they can do, babe.” He kisses Hermann’s neck. “But yeah, if you have anyone you want to tell-”
He bends down to kiss him again, but Hermann turns his face up and those lips find his, a deep sweet kiss.
But when he goes, to talk to his ‘media guys’, and Hermann stares back down at the screen, tries not to think about it.
Tendo is easy. He sends him a quick email. I am in St Petersburg, Mr Geiszler is spoiling me rotten, we’re getting married very soon. A moment’s pause, then, Do you want anything from Poland?
But then there is nothing, his mind is blank, empty and after a moment he closes the laptop and his eyes.
“Hey babe.” Newt wanders back in, and kisses the soft hair of his undercut. “You okay?”
“Of course.” Hermann shakes himself, looks down at his phone. It is blank, with no missed calls. He sighs, and switches it off. It can wait. The call- from Karla or Dietrich or Lars himself, can wait.
“Wanna go to bed?”
Hermann smiles, stretches, puts the electronics aside and relaxes into those warm hands, solid arms. “We’re over the border,” Newt murmurs.
“Yes.” Hermann steps into his arms, kisses him full and hungry, rich as red wine and sweet as a sugarlump between his lips.
The houses are alive with lights as they pull into St Petersburg. Hermann steps down into a snow flurried street that looks more like something from the better class of animation than anything that belongs in the real world. Newt takes his hand and they walk out of the station amid the dance of flashing lights and a hoard of paparazzi kept back by Newt’s security people. He uncovers his face long enough to give them a grateful smile, and gets nods back.
The market is sprawling across the square, Hermann tucks his cape around himself against the Siberian chill sweeping out of the east, pressing his hands into the soft folds of rabbitfur.
He tries not to think of what Alison would say. He hopes the rabbits were at least eaten along the way, but Newt terns to be very… determined, on that front.
Newt turns eagerly, holding up a pair of blue gloves, trimmed in grey fur. “Try them on!”
He’s so excited, Hermann can’t help it, he tries them on and they mold themselves perfectly to his long fingers. “Go on,”
He sighs, shakes his head, but Newt pays and they are his. As are the muffs, and hats, the thousand myriad mementos and beautiful carved wooden pieces. Newt starts forward to kiss him a half dozen times, but stops, a breath away, and despite the beauty of the place, and the many lovely things they have bought, Hermann finds he’d be very happy to leave this frostfound country behind.
And maybe it’s that hurry that makes him careless, because when they’re safe back in the train and steaming south, and Hermann opens his laptop to check on the news- there’s his face, on the front page of every tabloid website.
“Ah fuck.” Newt leans over his shoulder. “I’m- really sorry dude.”
“Don’t be.” Hermann sighs, “It was going to happen.” He turns the ring on his finger, the soft, comforting weight of it.
“Well, yeah.’ Newt squeezes his shoulder. “But I have media guys, I’ll see what they can do, babe.” He kisses Hermann’s neck. “But yeah, if you have anyone you want to tell-”
He bends down to kiss him again, but Hermann turns his face up and those lips find his, a deep sweet kiss.
But when he goes, to talk to his ‘media guys’, and Hermann stares back down at the screen, tries not to think about it.
Tendo is easy. He sends him a quick email. I am in St Petersburg, Mr Geiszler is spoiling me rotten, we’re getting married very soon. A moment’s pause, then, Do you want anything from Poland?
But then there is nothing, his mind is blank, empty and after a moment he closes the laptop and his eyes.
“Hey babe.” Newt wanders back in, and kisses the soft hair of his undercut. “You okay?”
“Of course.” Hermann shakes himself, looks down at his phone. It is blank, with no missed calls. He sighs, and switches it off. It can wait. The call- from Karla or Dietrich or Lars himself, can wait.
“Wanna go to bed?”
Hermann smiles, stretches, puts the electronics aside and relaxes into those warm hands, solid arms. “We’re over the border,” Newt murmurs.
“Yes.” Hermann steps into his arms, kisses him full and hungry, rich as red wine and sweet as a sugarlump between his lips.
