I’m sitting in bed wearing a Christmas tree-shaped woolly hat and a fleece hoodie over my pyjamas, thinking about what I thought my twenties would look like (late night car drives, whimsical conversations in arty coffee shops, etc.) and what it actually looks like. I can’t really remember what my head looks like without a hat attached to it.
Speaking of cars, I still haven’t found one. It’s almost tempting to sell the Mini and not replace it, but I have no easy way to get to clients otherwise. It’s tempting to run the maths to see if it’s cheaper to use public transport and the odd cab (I don’t know if Uber’s quite made it to Southend) but given I’m wearing a woolly hat in bed, it’s possible I’m not cut out for standing at bus stops in the dead of winter. I’ve also watched a lot of episodes of Luther and have an overactive imagination. The planet, though. Ugh.
I just had a nose at used car listings and god it is dire. Not sure why people think they’re going to sell their 2003 KA when its MOT is almost up and its clutch needs fixing. That isn’t a £300 car, my dude. If I weren’t shit at riding a bike and terrified of riding a bike on roads, I’d get a bicycle. Nice and clean, free exercise, cheers.
Send help or I’m going to keep the Mini until my left hip falls out of its socket.
I wrote a review for The Raven Boys about three millennia ago, so as Call Down the Hawk has been something I’ve looked forward to since Maggie mentioned it on Twitter in 2016, it felt fitting to do my current version of a review, which is Read, If You Like. As with all of the reviews-slash-vague-recommendations I do, there are no spoilers!
Read Call Down the Hawk (Maggie Stiefvater, 2019), if you like:
Excellent dress sense
Questionable dress sense
Art. Traditional, historical art, I mean. Museum art. The sort that talking about gets you quiet respect at dinner parties or makes you sound like a dick depending on how you talk about it
Weird shit magic. Properly odd ‘what the fuck is going on do I understand what I am reading wait yes I do this is fabulously mind-bending’ magic
Women with beautiful hair. I can think of at least three and probably six women in this novel whose hair is stunning
The Raven Cycle.Call Down the Hawk starts after the end of The Raven Cycle, and you definitely don’t have to have read it to understand or enjoy it. IT STANDS ON ITS OWN MAGICAL MERIT. Certain scenes will be more delicious and/or devastating if you have, though, and you should read The Raven Cycle anyway, for health reasons
The sort of anxiety that rips a literal hole in your stomach. I meant this in relation to a character, but to be honest I am now thinking a lot about the sequel BE STILL MY INSIDES
Over thinking about how you’re living your early-mid twenties. I am now in my mid (!) twenties and whoever said it’s easier once you’re out of your teens was a damn liar. I mean, 24 is better than 17 was, but does it look like what I thought it might look like? Nah. Call Down the Hawk gets it.
Writing this has reminded me that I almost impulse bought a BMW over the weekend. It was red and convertible. I would love to blame the fact there’s a BMW in Call Down the Hawk, but mostly it’s the car’s fault for being the only vehicle on the entire internet that wasn’t absolutely hideous. Why is buying a car so difficult? All I want is something with medium boot space and an automatic gear shift that doesn’t look as though it was designed for a semi-retired boules enthusiast (it’s time to admit that the Mini is giving me taxi driver’s hip and that my complete lack of ease behind the wheel is mostly caused by the fact I can’t reach the pedals). GIVE ME A CAR I AM COMFORTABLE TAKING ON A ROADS, PLEASE, UNIVERSE. One that doesn’t make me feel like I’m about to start a conversation about annuities and The Archers, please, universe.
What a detour from the original topic. Here is my copy of Call Down the Hawk. There is a bit of gin on it already, and some bathwater. Also butter. Those were mostly unrelated readings. I pulled a couple of tarot cards for the picture, since I don’t have any scented candles or bookstagram accessories. By pulled I mean chose the ones that felt apt, which I guess is spoilery if you know your tarot but haven’t read the book yet? FAIR WARNING LOOK AWAY NOW.
I’m off to look for a car that looks like that BMW but smaller-ish and with less of a rep. Ish.
Today I have been blogging on here ten years. My first ever post wasn’t today, it was sometime in November, but Halloween always felt like a good day for a birthday. I’ve thought about writing something long and heartfelt, or doing a big old retrospective where I comb through old posts ripping the shit out of 14-year-old me. But to be completely honest, I can’t be bothered. Ten years is a lot of posts to go through. Although I’m fully expecting a shitty teen to dig something up and cancel me in the near to medium future and would prefer to cancel myself as a precautionary measure, I’ve got other things to think about.
Ten years is quite a while though. What’s changed in my life? Most things, since I was 14 a decade ago. What has changed on this blog? The quality of my writing has improved, mostly. I know what alt text does now, I credit my images and I’m less of a dickhead, mostly.
In terms of the wider world, I’m fairly sure we still had a new Labour government in 2009. Nigel Farage was just a bloke with a few weird opinions. Donald Trump was still a badly dressed businessman. Game of Thrones was merely a nerdy book series. Ugh, what a time.
Congratulations to me, I guess, for sticking with a project long enough for it to reach double figures! Huge props to you if you’ve been reading since the good old days of 10-long comment threads and arrogant teenage ignorance (oh the irony). Hi if you’re new – welcome aboard! Don’t look at anything from earlier than 2017.
I could say something about plans for ten years’ years time, but I am not where teenage me thought I’d be at 24, and it feels like too big a topic when I’m not even sure what I’m doing over Christmas. I mean, I hope Brexit’s bloody done or has been cancelled completely by 2029. I’d like Donald Trump to have been impeached and consigned to history, although since he’s not the picture of wellbeing, I’m not convinced he’ll actually be here in a decade.
I like to think I’ll be financially and mentally stable enough to have a dog, but beyond that (and the Brexit thing) I’d rather not look too far ahead. Wait, no, I want The Princess and the Dragon and Other Stories About Unlikely Heroesto be an ebook. And to have written some other stories that are strange and kind of funny and a bit magical. I also like to think I will still be chatting away on here about whatever takes my fancy. Realistically about the dog and the stories. Maybe that’s the direction I should take Indifferent Ignorance. Dogs and books. Although now I think about it, it’s been about dogs and books more than it’s been about anything else, except maybe My Chemical Romance.
I wanted to commemorate this almost-momentous day with an photo or sketch also I know why images are important for SEO now but in the spirit of looking forward, not back, I decided to make one instead of sharing something old:
It’s clearly a gem, so I’ve signed it. I think it might outdate the little Boozy ghost Frank Iero draws on merch, but do ghosts even age.
What were you doing a decade ago? What would you like to be doing in a decade? Tell me what we should name the little ghostie, or I will be going with Little Ghostie.
The other day I wrote about finding tarot cards for my Halloween costume and promised pictures. I forgot to take any photos (always the sign of a good party) but I’m aware that many of you will have been waiting for pictures with BAITED BREATH… so I put some of my jewellery back on this morning, used my shawl as a tablecloth and took some photos of Maggie’s Raven’s Prophecy deck, which was shipped with satisfying speed and arrived Friday morning. The cards came with a how-to book, which is good because I ended up reading for half the room.
I didn’t think the cards would be simplistic, necessarily, but I did underestimate how bold and intricate they are. The art has been carefully considered and planned out for all 78 (!) cards. They’re also way bigger than playing cards, so if you have the hands of a small child (hi) you might have a bit of a job shuffling.
The only thing the cards didn’t come with was a bag, so I repurposed a clutch for the occasion:
Very little of my extended family’s group chat footage is suitable for public consumption, but my aunt (hi Jo) did get a photo of yours truly in wait for her Peaky Blinders audition.
That’s three necklaces, six bracelets, five earrings, one fantastic purple dress I will legitimately wear again and a shawl that doubles as a tablecloth, all for the high high price of £9.05 including the carrier bag. I have no idea why regular shops exist when charity shops are full of fabulous garments waiting to float their way into my wardrobe. Most of the necklaces belonged to my grandmother, who I think would approve of the amount of hair I’ve got these days, and that second glass belongs to my aunt, probably.
I will share photos of the Etsy deck as and when it arrives (I’m so excited for cute little coffins!) and may or may not start moonlighting as a tarot reader. I have no idea how many tarot readers are atheists, but that might be a good selling pitch. ‘I read your cards; you decide your future.’ ‘Reasonably priced tarot readings inside… spiritual advice not included.’ ‘I’ll tell you what the pictures represent; you’ll have to decide if they actually mean anything to you.’
This evening I bought two sets of tarot cards. Officially it’s because I’m going to a Halloween party at the weekend. Unofficially, I feel really guilty about a small amount of book piracy in 2015.
Officially, I need tarot cards for my costume. I don’t, really, but the dress and shawl I bought in a charity shop are actually just a regular dress and shawl, so I feel like I might accidentally just look like an eccentric if I don’t bring props. I left it way too late to buy anything fancy – and it’s a house party, not a seance – but I probably could’ve just bought a used deck off eBay or Depop. Instead, because I’ve been meaning to learn more about the tarot for ages, I trawled Etsy and Folksy and eBay and Depop looking for a deck with I genuinely like. No faux realistic graphics. Nothing with too many cats. No pictures of ethereal nymphs wearing gauze.
I found this cute major arcana deck on Etsy with incredibly sweet coffin-shaped cards, but the processing time is up to two weeks! So I bought it anyway because I wanted to support an indie artist (and because incredibly sweet coffin-shaped art, it turns out, is totally not an oxymoron). But I was still thinking, you can’t just dress as an eccentric, Francesca. You already are an eccentric, Francesca. So I trawled for decks with one-day shipping. They were all ethereal nymphs! Or quite expensive given this is a house party not a seance.
Then I remembered that in 2015, I bootlegged a copy of Maggie Stiefvater’s The Dream Thieves. If you’re new here, Maggie’s Raven Cycle series, in which The Dream Thieves features, is my favourite book series. I’m trying to be kinder to myself when considering past actions, so I am going to reflect upon my reading of a pirated copy-and-paste edition of TDT as a minor moral misstep during a time in which a fictional world brought me great comfort. Also, my library was taking forever to get its copy in.
I knew it was a shitty thing to do though. Then I bought a couple of Maggie’s books used off Amazon, that tax paying, small business supporting gem. Have I mentioned I’m now an indie author.
I’ve since atoned for my sins: I have a print from Maggie’s official store on my wall; at least three of the Maggie books on my shelf were purchased from a bricks-and-mortar shop; I’ve bought copies of her work for family; my YALC ticket that time was absolutely not scalped unlike My Chemical Romance tickets 9 years ago but that’s for another day; her next novel is pre-ordered at my nearest Waterstones.
So when I was considering one-day shipping and a costume prop I will realistically be too drunk to focus on, I got Maggie’s Raven Prophecy deck from Waterstones. Express shipping straight to the front door.
Officially, I’m a professional indie creator and a little bit into karma. I can’t ask people to buy creepy cute art from my Etsy shop if I don’t get my own coffin-shaped tarot decks on Etsy; I can’t ask people to buy my weird magic YA novel instead of moaning about why it’s not already on Amazon if I don’t buy weird magic YA novels somewhere that isn’t Amazon. Or, in this case, buy the tarot card-companion to the weird magic YA novel. And really, if we’re being spiritual, the whole reason I have a vague interest in the tarot is The Raven Cycle, so this is quite… cyclical.
I’ve just now realised I don’t have a tarot guide. I have no idea how to read the multiple decks I’m expecting in the next one-to-fourteen working days. Good thing I’ll be three sheets to the wind for most of this party, then!
Did I ever tell you guys about the time I had my tarot read in Thailand? I can’t remember if I ever wrote about it. I can’t remember much of the reading, to be honest, except that I think I was supposed to get married at 24 or 26. It was dark, though, so maybe she interpreted marriage when she should have interpreted huge professional success. Or the desire to drive on motorways. Not sure how specific these things get.
If either of these decks actually turn up by Saturday evening, I’ll post pictures of them with my costume. I’ve bought a lace scarf and gloves off Depop that was originally for an ’80s night… I’m starting to think I’m just going to look like one of the Shelbys.
Update: I did in fact look like one of the Shelbys. I’ve put multiple card/costume photos here.
My brother left a couple of things at home when he went back to uni over the weekend: a computer cable and a cold. Not one that’s bad enough to lie on the sofa declaring total uselessness, but bad enough that I would like to do that.
I promised more Malta photos, so here we go:
This is St Paul’s wrist bone, apparently. It lives in St Paul’s Shipwreck Church in Valletta (not to be confused with St John’s Co Cathedral or St Paul’s Pro Cathedral, which are both also in Valletta). I can’t tell you how much I was hoping it would move as I looked at it and extend a golden middle finger.
This is a Caravaggio painting, in St John’s Co Cathedral. I can’t remember what it’s called, nor the name of the other, much larger one that also lives in the cathedral. I don’t know what I’m looking at, art-wise, but Caravaggio’s paintings did make all the others in the cathedral look like they were done by small children. Caravaggio was a member of the Knights of Malta for a bit – I think he got expelled for swashbucking and murder – but they got some cool paintings out of it so all’s well that ends well. Except for the murder victims.
Houses in Malta have names as well as/instead of numbers and this was my favourite. Other contenders: Joan d’Arc and America (a whole street had American-inspired street names, turned out the embassy was down the road I think).
I trotted around half a dozen cool museums in Gozo’s Citadel, because you pay something like 10 euros and get entrance to a bunch of places. One of them was a museum of Christian paintings and I shit you not, every Jesus had the face of a middle aged man. Cute lil chubby baby from the neck down, sensible accountant from the neck up.
In the time it’s taken to put this post together I’ve eaten half a pot of salsa, so I’m pleased to announce that my airways are clearer and that I will probably be suffering a digestive complaint in half an hour. You win some you lose some ahhahaaa.
RIGHT. ONTO OTHER BUSINESS.
First of all, can I just say that until today I thought that Thomas Cook (the man who started the late travel company) was the same man who explored then-unknown lands and got killed by angry local Hawaiians in the 18th century. I’m never sure how I feel about the ‘explorers’ of yore who went around invading places and enslaving local people, and I dunno if James Cook (explorer) was a slave-y explorer or just someone who liked going to new places.
Ah. I just figured out that the slave-y explorer I was thinking of was Christopher Columbus. James Cook was a completely different person. I THOUGHT I WAS WELL READ HOW DID I CONFLATE CHRISTOPHER COLUMBUS WITH A DERBYSHIRE BUSINESSMAN.
This is a good opportunity to segue into my next item: I’m researching a new potential project and have put together a survey about it. If you have 3-5 minutes and have recently felt frustrated and/or hopeless when consuming the news, I’d appreciate your input. It’s completely anonymous and will let me know if my idea is worth pursuing. Clearly I need some help with my general knowledge, so please do take a minute to help me out…
Hello from Sliema, Malta! I booked a holiday about five days after Fred died, because I think international travel is a better solution for emotional turmoil than drugs, and so far so good.
Malta is very beautiful, although to be completely honest I’m not in love with Sliema – it’s a bit too concrete-and-cranes for my liking, although the transport links are fantastic and it’s a thousand times cleaner than Southend. I’m writing this in a restaurant on Sliema sea front, one of those that could be picked up and put down anywhere in the Mediterranean and not look out of place. Aerosmith is playing, the football is on, the menu is entirely English language and suitable for people who want to eat the same way abroad as they do in the UK. I can’t complain, though: most Maltese food is pasta plus pasta plus pasta, which is still off limits to me.
I’m completely knackered this evening because I took a bus up to northern Malta this morning and caught the boat to Gozo, via Comino, then spent another thousand years forty minutes on a bus then used the hottest part of the day to wander around Gozo’s Citadel. I always seem to exercise more on holiday than at home (got lost in Valetta the other day and probably walked about six miles, door to door) so could I have another holiday, please.
I’m going to sit here as long as my laptop battery lasts, because the girls in my hostel dorm are really into closing the windows and putting the fan as far away from the bunks as possible. There are four of us and it’s about 25 degrees here even at night. The air is cooler outside, and I’m at that point where I’m one bead of sweat away from hoping they all die in their sleep, so after the battery goes I will probably walk to a gelato place. There are millions of gelato places here. I had ‘Maltese flavour’ ice cream a couple of days ago, which I am still trying to figure out the ingredients of. I don’t want to Google it! Pistashios? Currents? Something Christmassy.
Tomorrow is my last day, so I am going shopping in Valletta. I don’t have any need for artisan glass, which is one of the main products here, and to be honest with you, if I buy another doily I will transform into my grandmother, but… lace is big here. And my grandmother was half Maltese, which explains why all the lace doilies I’ve seen look familiar. I also have two Maltese crosses to my name so I think that leaves… a shitty Chinese bracelet or henna tattoo. Kidding! I’ll come back with something lace, something with a cross on and realistically some olive soap. I actually already bought some from a little shop called The Soap Cafe, which is part of a Sliema independent shop co operative thing called Souvenirs That Don’t Suck, but another couple of nights in that dorm room and I’m going to need it.
I’m honestly dead on my feet so possibly I will skip the gelato and go back to my hostel – maybe I’m so tired I won’t actually notice how stuffy it is? I have a full day of getting lost in Valletta tomorrow, so I need my energy. The city is a fantastic rabbit warren of hilly roads and hidden walkways, it’s brilliant for stumbling on little places by accident. It’s a bit of a faff in terms of finding your way to the ferry port though, because Valletta actually juts out into the sea and there are two ports and look I thought I had the right one and an hour later I gave up on the road signs, used my phone and stumbled across a whole new bit of city.
I started this post on 25th March 2017, when I got back from the Elephant Nature Park in Chiang Mai. Then I fell asleep, hung out in Chiang Mai and Pai for a few days, tootled off to Bangkok and flew back to Heathrow what a mistake so this post has spent the last two-plus years as a list of bullet points. But today is International Elephant Day, apparently, so here are some elephants.
According to my bullet points, elephants consume 10% of their body weight each day. They can have many teeth in their lifetime (sets of teeth, presumably), and their lifespan in the same as humans’.
I visited the Elephant Nature Park in Chiang Mai as it it was the only one I could find without a single bad review. The elephants who live there are rescued from illegal logging or circuses; there are no fences; the elephants are pretty much allowed to do what they like. Some ‘sanctuaries’ that have rescued elephants from circuses or the like will employ the same methods of control (prodding them with hooks to get them to behave) and allow visitors to ride them, which apparently is bad for their backs.
None of that happens at the Elephant Nature Park. Our guide (whose name I did not record, my bad) explained that they only tempt the elephants with food, and if they aren’t interested then whatever, man, do you want to get trampled by an elephant? I am paraphrasing. Our group had fed an old lady elephant (who refused any food she didn’t like) and we trotted down a trail some distance away from another elephant. Our guide just said, ‘he’s not into people. We’ll leave him,’ and ta daa off we went.
Fun fact: African elephants and Asian elephants are completely different species. I dunno which one Dumbo was because I only saw that film once, when I was maybe four, and it made me cry so much I’ve refused to go near it since. I have a feeling the picture book version I had did the same. Interestingly (thanks bullet points), if an elephant is kicking and moving its head back and forth, you’re seeing signs of neurosis, ie it’s gone mad. If you’ve seen an elephant in a circus or ridden one, it’s been broken as a young elephant in a process called ‘crushing’. They are tied with ropes and unable to move at all, prodded with nails or burnt until they can obey basic commands. Some zoos and circuses train the elephant to ‘draw’ with a paintbrush and sell the ‘art’ to tourists.
As part of the day, visitors get to help wash the elephants! They are well up for a bath, although it’s a bit more like throwing paint at a wall than it is helping someone wash their hair.
Sometimes the humans missed the elephants and got each other… those knobbly bits on their heads denote age, if I remember correctly. We got the opportunity to pat the elephants too, if they liked people. I was not absolutely convinced it’s a good idea but, reader, it was. They’re all hairy!
You have to approach them from the front so they can see you.
Also, elephants like scratching posts. They enjoy dirt baths. They are incredibly, ridiculously, cute.
I mentioned that the park didn’t really do fences. At one point a herd of water buffalo came wandering through and our guide just said something like, ‘oh, they’ve come in from the other side of the mountain.’ A few of the stray dogs who hang out there barked. The elephants did not take notice.
My final bullet point is that the elephants may have hip or foot problems from logging (don’t we have machines to do that for us now?) so they can add that to their list of problems, which already includes ‘being used in bullshit circuses’ and ‘being killed for their ivory because for some reason it is fashionable to have stuff made from elephant teeth’. They are also facing habitat loss, because who isn’t these days.
On the off chance you ever visit northern Thailand, I highly recommend you visit the Elephant Nature Park. It’s absolutely lovely… and I recall the buffet being very tasty.
Want to help the elephants on this fine International Elephant Day? And on every single other day? Here’s what you can do:
Never get on an elephant for a ride
Don’t visit a circus that uses animals
Don’t buy ivory, even if it’s ‘antique’. I can’t remember the name of the show but I once saw an Attenborough programme in which someone pointed out that although the UK has banned ‘new’ ivory, if it is considered ‘antique’ then it’s fair game to sell… too bad no one really knows if a bit of ivory is antique or not!
Buy elephant coffee (no it isn’t made from elephant dung, although elephants are very important ecologically, as they spread seeds through their dung)