I'm in Two Minds...

...about whether to read it. "Rhino, enough already with the cheap schizophrenia jokes!" I hear you cry, dear reader, and rightly so. Because today's post concerns those two most serious of bedfellows, literature and politics. My friend Emma has written a book (slight digression: is everyone I know writing a book, apart from me? Because it's STILL all about ME) which is impressive enough but wait...it's in French! Now, I haven't actually read it yet - I'm going along to pick up a signed and possibly wine-stained copy at the launch this evening (in a Scottish pub - sounds promising) but given that she's a funny lady and that she really does have first-hand experience of Ségo, Sarko and Jacques, I'm hoping for great things. Wary French speakers click here to see what her publishers have to say, while reckless spendthrift French speakers should click straight on the pic and order from Amazon. And English speakers, pop along to her blog for a taster of Emma in VO. And there you have it, yet another shameless plug for one of my mates, brought to you by Bookpacker. Will it never end?

And so I'm back...

...not from outer space, though. From Castle Rhino, the windswept beaches of southern England, and a thoroughly British Christmas. Now when I say "thoroughly British Christmas," I know some of you instantly imagine some sort of Dickensian feast, all roaring fires, garlands of holly, mahogany sideboards groaning under the weight of candied fruits, chestnuts, crippled chimney sweeps, a huge goose, knee-deep snow and Rhino75 wearing a muff. Mmm, sounds rather nice, doesn't it? Particularly that last one. But of course what I actually mean is a "thoroughly MODERN British Christmas". You know, Top of the Pops, a Doctor Who special (with Catherine Tate??!) and a heartwarming film about how a golden retriever finally enabled a mother and father (the sexy Ben Miles) to communicate with their autistic child - altogether now, aaaaahhh. Plus, naturally, industrial quantities of (M&S apricot and cranberry) stuffing, mincemeat, and Quality Street. Basically, we watched pointless tv (Casualty - how unlucky can one hospital be for chrissake?), drank gallons of tea and ate rubbish for four days without a break. Apart from the traditional Christmas Eve at the Cuckoo, singing along to Wind of Change by the Scorpions (when will they get a new dj?) with sis and Su. Star pressies? A gorgeous knitted green hoodie that has hardly been off my back, Season 2 of Desperate Housewives, and a lovely edition of "The Wind in the Willows" (one of my favourite books, to be savoured while munching hot buttered toast and Battenberg Cake). And the usual socks and undies. Everything a boy needs to face a new year. Talking of which, resolutions or no resolutions? I'm still in two minds.

Cut down to size

"But they're not even women!" was Mum's verdict on the Scissor Sisters this weekend. Let alone related. But Rhino75 loves them anyway. And "I Don't Feel Like Dancin'" just HAS to be a riposte to those other musical sisters the Nolans (ladies to a man and sharing the same genes this time) who sang the wonderful "I'm in the Mood for Dancing," right? Or am I so old that the fabulous wheel of pop has turned full circle and no-one knows what I'm talking about? Don't answer that. Anyway, both groups got a thorough going-over on my i-pod (see, see I AM still "with-it") on the Eurostar this weekend as I made my bi-annual pilgrimage to the family seat, Castle Rhino. Of course, I've come back with piles of glossy magazines snaffled from the train, the complete Season One of "Prison Break" (which I'm hoping will turn out to be a sort of Oz-lite), a biography of Tom Cruise, a Zadie Smith, and a fab new yellow worm for Kitty (thanks Mum 'n' sis). And, natch, managed to fit in some top telly too: first two episodes of "Arrested Development" Season 3, a great "Extras" with David Bowie, and part one of a new adaptation of Jane Eyre. Ain't life grand??