Me Lose Brain? Uh oh!

2002-10-14 at 11:03 p.m.

I spent the last few days visiting the family back in Bathurst. It was my mum�s 50th Birthday, and I was on kitchen duty, heating hors douvres and arranging biscuits aesthetically on silver platters, while my parents and their friends got blotto in the backyard.

I also had the dubious honour of sleeping in the same room as my sister, as the spare room was full of visiting relatives. Clare has a snore like a freight train, and a tendency to� well� thoroughly ventilate her bowel in the morning. (But I�m pretty used to that sort of thing.)

The worst thing about visiting the fam is the huge amounts of mind-numbingly boring travelling involved. (What a great nation Australia is- we have 347 variations on football, but we can�t run a decent rail system.) It takes me all day to do a trip that would only take four hours by car, but at least it lets me catch up on my reading.

Picture me, if you will, on the train home, alternating between reading �Enchanting Kittens� and Germaine Greer�s �The Female Eunuch�. It was the literary equivalent of going to the North Pole, then deciding to go skinny-dipping. It was like putting on an eighteenth century ball dress and walking into a biker bar. It was like making a great big bowl of hot, creamy, delicious tomato soup, then pouring the whole lot over your head.

Well, maybe not so much like the soup thing. But it�s one hell of a party trick.

Before I start talking about kittens (Note- if you haven�t read the earlier entries in this series, you�ll be a little confused by this. Go here and enlighten yourself), I�d like to give you all a quick quote from �The Female Eunuch�. It�s relevant, it�s witty, and it made me choke into my drink when I read it.

�Women who understand their sexual experience in the way that Jackie Collins writes of it are irretrievably lost to themselves and their lovers:

�He took her to the bedroom and undressed her slowly, he made love to her beautifully. Nothing frantic, nothing rushed. He caressed her body as though there were nothing more important in the world. He took her to the edge of ecstasy and back again, keeping her hovering, sure of every move he made. Her breasts grew under his touch, swelling, becoming even larger and firmer. She floated on a suspended plane, a complete captive to his hands and body. He had amazing control, stopping at just the right moment. When it did happen it was only because he wanted it to, and they came in complete unison. She had never experienced that before, and she clung to him, words tumbling out of her mouth about home much she loved him. Afterwards they lay and smoked and talked. �You�re wonderful� he said, �You�re a clever woman making me wait until after we were married!�

�Miss Collins�s heroine is prudish, passive, calculating, selfish and dull, despite her miraculous expanding tits.�

And speaking of expanding tits*, it�s time for my review of�

A Bewitching Minx

�Sebastian Camerford, Lord Byefield, looked into her eyes and knew he could not resist her. He had never been able to refuse her anything- not when she looked at him just so, with the light of anticipation in her eyes; not when she looked at him with that soft expression of pleading that had the power to melt his resolve as nothing else on earth could.�

Some beautiful, high born lady? A peasant girl whose coquettish charms have won the Lord over? No, he�s actually talking about his ten year old niece. Is this a) a frightfully witty literary device, b) a little bit disturbing, or c)an ominous sign of things to come?

We�ll have to wait and see, won�t we?

Anyway, Lord Byefield�s niece is looking for a kitten, which ran away when she traumatized it by dressing it in her clothes (an act of abuse which should be outlawed by the Geneva Convention). Lord Byefield agrees to help, and they set off into the garden. He sees a flash of white dart across the path and climb into his maple tree, and so he reaches up into the branches, and immediately grabs something furry.

But�

��when he gave it a tug, his prisoner let out not a kittenish mew, as he had expected, but a very feminine yelp� his head poked through the branches, and he saw that instead of holding a kitten, he was holding the fur-trimmed cuff of a lady�s boot top.�

The author then gives a very long-winded description of the woman in the tree. In the interests of brevity, I will give you the condensed version-

The girl in the tree was one fine piece of ass.

One thing from the description I will mention, though. It states that-

�She was young, of perhaps twenty summers�

-and that�s all well and good. But, later, it is mentioned that Lord Byefield himself is in his late thirties, perhaps even forties. Now do you see what I mean about an ominous sign of things to come?

Creepy.

(And why do they always measure age in �summers� in these books? Why not by winters or Veteran�s Days or September the 23rds? Or- and this is a bit of a radical idea, I know- years?)

Anyway, it turns out that she had come into Lord Byefield�s garden to retrieve her kitten, which she had found in the tree. Ignoring his stern, unpleasant, creepy-old-guy demeanor, she introduces herself as Amelia Merriweather (well, it�s better than Alwayna) and mentions that she has just moved into the house next door. After Lord Byefield has stood there staring at her for a while, he offers to get her down from the tree. Of course, this involves much physical contact, hands around waist and such, and of course, a spark of sexual tension is ignited.

Did I mention he�s at least 15 years older than her?

So, Amelia heads home, to the house she shares with her Aunt Ginerva. After her aunt has scolded her for buggering off when she should be helping to unpack their things (they seem to have a whole lot of servants, so unpacking must be such a horrible ordeal), she tells of her meeting with the new neighbour.

�I simply wanted to see what manner of person could make so much noise in the middle of the night. Aunt, I have been awakened by our neighbour�s rackets every night since we have lived in this house. I was very well convinced there was something rather sinister going on, or, at the very least, something quite depraved. I simply had to see for myself if my suspicions were correct�.

Then, for some reason, the author decides to display her knowledge of Ancient Greek myth.

�Lord Byefield is not at all the short of Bacchus figure I thought he would be� I had begun to think there were nightly Bacchanals going on next door� Having met lord Byefield, I must admit he doesn�t at all seem the Bacchanal sort I thought he would be�

Bacchanals, eh? Greek Bacchanals used to involve the ritual slaughter of cows, the drinking of blood mixed with wine, and a whole lot of indiscriminate sex. Exactly what noises has Amelia been hearing? It might have sounded a little like this�

Mooooo�(stab stab) Moooorrrrrgh� (stab slash) Thud� glug glug glug glug� cheers! Now lets hop on the good foot and do the bad thing! Yaaaaaay! Oh, baby, that�s the spot right there�

But back to the story.

The next day, Lord Byefield shows up at Amelia�s house. As he walks in, Amelia is gracefully descending the stairs with her arms full of tablecloths (don�t ask). There is another two paragraph passage describing how beautiful Amelia looked, and, once again, I have condensed it for your benefit.

Amelia was still one fine piece of ass.

Lord Byefield gets right down to it-

��I�ve come to give you a lesson on being a good neighbour.�

Her temper flared. From halfway down the stairs, she said, �You�re going to give me a lesson? When I am interested in attending a school that teaches thoughtlessness, sir, I shall most certainly come to you for lessons.��

ZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZING!

�He cast her a sharp look, his attention arrested. �What are you talking about?�
�I�m talking about you and your incivilities� she said, drawing herself up. �I am speaking of whatever horrid things you do in your home that keep me awake half the night!�

�Keep you awake? My dear young woman, it is you who keeps me awake at night. I have called here today to express to you, in no uncertain terms, that your behaviour is unacceptable. I cannot imagine what sort of activity you are engaged in that should kick up such a riot and rumpus every evening, but I should hazard a guess that it is not of the educational variety��

Just as the crowd began to chant �Je-rry, Je-rry, Je-rry� and Lord Byefield prepares to throw a chair�

�� her kitten chose that very moment to express its affection for her. Jelly [the cat] tangled her body and tail about Amelia�s booted ankles just as she gained the bottom of the stair.
Amelia tried to avoid treading upon her kitten, and doing so proved her undoing. One of her booted feet slipped from the step as she rose up on the toes of her other foot to a precarious height. For a moment she teetered on the brink of catastrophe� [then] Amelia pitched forward, straight into the arms of Lord Byefield.

He caught her securely against him. His arms slipped about her shoulders and waist, and she flung her hands about his neck and held on. How long she remained in such a position, she had no idea, but she rather thought she might have been content to stay in his arms forever.

Bleargh!

Amelia�s aunt picks this moment to walk into the room. Amelia stammers out an explanation. Lord Byefield, big smoothie that he is, wastes no time in winning Aunt Ginerva over, and then they start arguing about the nightly noises again.

�Your house!�

�No, your house!�

�Liar!�

�Poo head!�

�Stinky bum!�

�Whore!�

�Pedophile!�

Suddenly, there is a loud crash from the floor above. Amelia and Lord Byefield go to investigate, and discover�

��nothing.

Not one stick of furniture rested upon the polished floor. No draperies hung at the windows. No mirrors or artwork adorned the walls. Only Amelia�s kitten was there, watching them from her place on the sill of an open window.�

They are both pretty confused by this. Lord Byefield strives for a logical explanation, while Amelia states that it will probably remain a mystery.

�His dark brow danced again. �Mysteries? I don�t believe in them. In my experience, every occurrence has a logical explanation, Miss Merriweather.�

Then Amelia drops the emotional land mine.

��After hearing those dreadful noises every night since we moved into this house, I was quite convinced there was something wholly sinister going on in your house. Of course, I no longer think so now that I have met you and seen how stuffy you are��.

Gasp! Stuffy! Can you imagine it?

Later that night, the noises start up again, and Lord Byefield decides that this time he�s going to teach his inconsiderate neighbour a lesson. He storms out into the garden, where he suddenly collides with-

� a hideous creature, spawned by the depths of hell. It turned its pitted, blackened face towards Lord Byefield, and its horrible countenance broke into a ghastly grin. It reached out, and with a sickening crack, tore Lord Byefield�s head from his shoulders��

Okay, so maybe I made that bit up. Sorry. Wishful thinking.

�� he promptly collided with Miss Amelia Merriweather.

His arms circled about her and her small hands clutched at the lapels of his dressing gown�

There follows yet another two paragraph description of what Amelia looked like, which, once again, and with great pains towards accuracy and thoroughness, I have condensed.

When scantily clad, Amelia was one especially fine piece of ass.

Both of them confess to coming to confront the other about the loud noises they had heard. Lord Byefield is still confused, but in his steady and (gasp!) stuffy way, he insists there is a logical explanation. Just then, there is a loud crash from Amelia�s bedroom window. Both of them run to investigate, and discover-

�No other person was present in the room. Only Amelia�s kitten purred contentedly at them from its place on top of the bedcovers.�

You know what would have been more exciting than that?

ANYTHING!

Anyway, with no logical explanation forthcoming for this chain of odd events, Amelia comes up with her own theory- ghosts. Lord Byefield is less than impressed.

��As a matter of logic, Miss Merriweather, spirits and spectres cannot exist.��

Suddenly, they both realise that they are alone, together, in a bedroom, and both fairly scantily clad. They seem to have the whole �falling-gracefully-into-each-other�s-arms� bit down pat, but they both seem pretty clueless about what comes next. After a few insignificant pleasantries, Lord Byefield gets the hell out of there as fast as he can.

The next day, Lord Byefield�s sister, Ella, hears about his little late-night escapade and decides to go meet the girl who could get her (gasp!) stuffy brother out of bed at night, and make him consider the possibility of ghosts and spirits. �This girl must be one fine piece of ass� she thought.

At first, she thought that Aunt Ginerva must be the object of Lord Byefield�s admiration (an easy mistake to make, I�m sure) until Amelia walks into the room. They talk about Lord Byefield for a bit, when, lo and behold, the man himself shows up. They exchange some more meaningless pleasantries (is there a special thesaurus romance writers can buy which catalogues the full list of meaningless pleasantries for use in stories? One imagines the chapter entitled �Butterdishes� would be astronomically huge) and eventually being to talk about the previous residents of the house, one Lord and Lady Talboy. Ella tells their story-

��They were deeply in love and remained inseperable thoughout their many years of marriage� Lord Talboy passed on, and after her husband�s death, poor Lady Katherine Talboy continued to live here, in this town house, cherishing her husband�s memory. I�m told it was her dying wish that no unmarried woman should ever be allowed to live in the same house where she enjoyed so many years of wedded bliss.

Amelia takes the story quite seriously and begins to believe she is cursed, being an unmarried woman and all. Lord Byefield discounts the story as a load of crap, until he and Amelia both discover that they are the only ones who hear the noises at night. Both Aunt Ginerva and Ella hadn�t ever heard a thing.

And then�

��I recall reading once that spirits often communicate with the living though the bodies of people or objects that are familiar to us� isn�t Kitty a typical nickname for Katherine?�

Four pairs of eyes turned towards Amelia�s kitten, nestled comfortably on the settee cushion.�

Great. A haunted cat. Just what this story was lacking.

Lord Byefield is still pretty resistant to this idea (I can�t imagine why), until Amelia points out that every time they�ve wound up in each other�s arms, the cat is somehow responsible. She then decides to go look for a portrait of Lady Katherine Talboy in the portrait gallery. Lord Byefield grudgingly agrees to come, and so, carrying the kitten, Amelia searches the gallery.

��Do come and see what I have found!� she called from halfway down the gallery� he looked up and gazed upon the portrait of an elderly woman of obvious noble birth. The woman�s hair was dressed high upon her head, and it was the colour of freshly fallen snow. Her face was kindly, and it bore the fine lines of age. Her blue eyes mirrored the colour of the richly woven gown she wore� Amelia looked up to him, her brown eyes alight. �Do you see the similarity? The white hair, the blue eyes- you must see the woman in this portrait looks exactly like my kitten��.

Despite the overwhelming, concrete and irrefutable evidence against him (a portrait, a cat, and a folk tale about some pushy old matchmaking broad) Lord Byefield is still sceptical about all this. He decides it�s time to head back downstairs, when�

He gave a tug at the knob, but the door didn�t budge. Although he turned the knob again and pulled, the door still wouldn�t open.
�Perhaps it�s locked� offered Amelia.
�There�s no key. In fact, there�s no locking mechanism at all�.
Amelia turned towards her kitten, which had hopped upon the fireplace mantel and was regarding them though half-closed eyes. �Jelly, are you responsible for this?�

Yes. Of course. The cat locked you in, Amelia.

Doofus.

She decides to take the portrait off the wall, to show to Ella and her Aunt. This involves standing on a rickety chair� can you see where this is going, people? Do I really have to spell it out for you? Can I just flash forward a little? Thanks.

Okay. So they try the door one more time, and this time it opens. They step out into the hall, and Lord Byefield goes to close the door.

�He turned slightly, searching for the doorknob; instead he saw a flash of white as Amelia�s kitten reared up on its hind legs on the other side of the door. In the next moment, the heave oak door slammed against his back, launching him right at Amelia.

He grabbed for her and tried to soften the impact. Together they hit the opposite wall of the corridor as if they had been shot from a cannon.�

I wonder if they left comical, people shaped holes in the wall, like people shot from cannons do in cartoons?

Probably not.

�What happened?�
�That blasted cat slammed the door on us.�

�Jelly? She�s much too small to ever shut a door that hard�

Great. The cat has super strength, too.

Anyway, there are certain things that happen when you�re the romantic leads of a romance book, and you�re pinned against a wall.

No, not those things. I said romance, not erotica.

And lets face it, this is a book about kittens.

So, they kiss. Twice.

And that�s it.

The next day, Lord Byefield is a bit bleary, given that he�s been up all night thinking about Amelia. Of course, the first thing he sees is Amelia, looking like one fine piece of ass, heading up towards his house.

��I�m falling in love with you, Amelia, and I can�t seem to stop myself�whether or not your kitten is possessed of a matchmaking spirit, I have to admit it alone is responsible for bringing us together. Is that cat of yours still watching?�
Amelia turned her head just far enough to see. �I think she is. And I think she has a very approving about her.�
�I don�t care if that animal approves or not� said Sebastian grimly. �I�m going to kiss you again�.
And he did just that.�

Summary- At no point in this book does anyone say- �Holy crap! That cat is possessed by a ghost! If we feed it the wrong brand of Whiskas, will it crush is with it�s super-strength? If we lock it outside, will it make earth-shattering noises until we let it back in? If we try to put a bell on it, will its head spin 360 degrees and vomit up ectoplasm?�

At no point does anyone say to Amelia- �Look. He�s twice your age. He�s boring, he�s (gasp) stuffy, and he�s no good at anything except catching you when you fall over. Invest in some shoes with decent grips on the soles, and move on, for Christ�s sake!�

And at no point does anyone say to the ghost of Lady Talboy- �Look, butt out, you undead, interfering old bag. And stop sharpening your claws on the chairs! Use the scratching post! The scratching post!

Well, one more story to go. Thank God.

*Story does not actually contain any references to expanding tits.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Wallet update!

I had to go into the police station today, and make a statement. Apparently, a man was arrested last week with my Co-Op bookshop card and my library card with him. Seems like he was a fairly literary thief, then. They arrested him on another charge altogether, and I think the police are looking for more reasons to nail him- I doubt they�d bother with a couple of library and bookshop cards otherwise.

I didn�t even get the cards back. The officer couldn�t find them, but he assured me he�d drop them round sometime. Now, if they can only recover the cards that are of actual value, I�ll be set.

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