I found it hard to get on side with Jack McEvoy because he seemed a really closed off character. A reporter with a conscience, but a closed off and lonely man. He’s desperate to move up in his career, but not about to push his principles to make it work. The book doesn’t delve too much into what makes him tick, but I suspect there is more to come on that front.

Jack Reacher is ex-military and is the go-to guy when the Secret Service need help protecting the Vice-President elect. He’s brought in to analyse the holes in their security and finds plenty. Reacher is a mysterious character, a complex guy living out of a suitcase but with plenty of metaphorical baggage.

Truro Cathedral.

I didn’t feel like this was particularly original and there were a few predictable moments throughout the book. The reactions of the characters were all signposted from quite a long way away, and it made them less interesting and not very engaging. Standard and stereotypical characters with no one I could specifically relate to. Having said that, they weren’t so bad that I stopped reading, and I did care enough to keep turning the pages. I suspect it may have been more from curiosity than a desire for them all to get a happy ending.

…and then ruin it with an annoying Irishman in a ridiculous suit. I’m probably not the only one who’s going to comment on this but I just wanted to mention how funny it was that the BBC finally got their brand new Doctor Who series up and running, after much hype and speculation, and they managed to ruin the tension of the first five minutes by fading up and down Graham Norton’s annoying voice from the previous program.

Me: What’s that smell? Dad: What? Me: It’s really strong, fragrance, soap, something like that? Dad: Oh, yes, it’s probably that candle shop. Me: No… it smells like Lush. Dad: Never heard of it. Me: It’s a really cool soap shop. They make handmade soaps and shampoos and things in big blocks and you can go in and just grab a chunk. Like the cheese counter, only not edible. Dad: Oh, I don’t think we have one of those.

I was expecting Secret Window to be a slasher horror type, which is why I didn’t watch it with Mr C, and I was mystified as to why Johnny Depp would star in such a film. But of course, this is no such film. It’s actually a really intense, clever, psychological thriller with a huge twist at the end. I did not see it coming. Followed by The Incredibles which was up to Pixar’s usual brilliant standard and doesn’t really need me to sing it’s praises, it does that by itself. My only thought about this one was that it seemed really adult. The characters talked and moved fast and used big words like ‘anonymity’ which I can’t even say let alone imagine a five year old understanding. But either way, it was good stuff.

How unpredictable is the weather at the moment? This time last week it was pouring down with rain. Two days ago, it was so windy that I actually wanted to stay in the office rather than risk going outside. Today, it’s sunny as hell. In fact, I’ve been watching for signs of spring, but forget that, summer looks like it’s here. I would be happy about this if it weren’t for the fact that you can’t guarantee it will be like this tomorrow. I’d love to finally get one of the things crossed off my ‘Places to Visit’ list, by going to the zoo. So far, it’s been too cold or raining or too grey and there’s no point in visiting the animals if the furry little things are going to hide in their shelters all day long.

The light above my head started flickering at work yesterday. It started with just the level of the light dipping. Then there was a rhythmic flickering, then it started flashing on and off. The guy in charge of repairs and other such things was in the middle of something important, and would be a while, so we were left working with a disco light atmosphere. I thought it would give me a headache but it actually made me feel really sick. So, today, I was hoping they would have sorted it, but no, the repairs man was on his way to Manchester. That doesn’t help. I had two people clamber all over my desk today, then my boss decided we couldn’t stand the flashing lights anymore so she’d rather switch the whole row off. Working in the dark did stop the sickness, but it gave me a headache.

We stayed up (well I was woken up in the wee hours of the morning) to watch the first Formula 1 race of the season, starting at 3am. It was worth every yawn though, Michael Schumacher started from the back of the grid. And just as I figured out his ridiculously clever strategy and thought we were doomed to face another Schumacher win, he went and crashed and had to retire. What a shame.

I’m a bit late with these this year, but you know how it is. My diary has quotes on the bottom of each page and I like to share the best ones with you. “Going to church no more makes you a Christian than sleeping in your garage makes you a car.” Garrison Keillor “Love thy neighbour as yourself, but choose your neighbourhood.” Louise Beal “Politicians are the same everywhere. They promise to build bridges even where there are no rivers.” Nikita Khrushchev “People ask you for criticism but they only want praise.” W. Somerset Maugham “Little minds are interested in the extraordinary; great minds in the commonplace.” Elbert Hubbard “Rush hour: that hour when traffic is almost at a standstill.” J.B. Morton “You can’t shame or humiliate modern celebrities. What used to be called shame and humiliation is now called publicity.” P.J. O’Rourke

A conversation with my technophobe colleague. Him: “I really want to get the Jungle Book on DVD, isn’t that a great film?” Me: “Yes… it’s a great one.” “I’ve been round all the shops, and I can’t seem to find it anywhere.” “Oh.” “Did you know that Disney only release them in batches, every now and again?” “God, they’re so awful. That means they can keep re-releasing it as a new thing and cash in on all the profits of promotion.”

A disappointing week this week. Starting with Resident Evil 2 and The Talented Mr Ripley (which was recorded off the television, not rented), both of which left me feeling I’d missed something. Resident Evil suffered from the fatal “sequel disease”, the symptoms of which include trying too hard to come up with a story that doesn’t really work thus include much more shooting and monsters to try and make up for it. These were swiftly followed by Wimbledon and Bridget Jones 2, accompanied with some homemade trifle.

Oh my god, just four days left to the first Grand Prix weekend!!! How excited?? To celebrate, I thought I would join in the fun (and make it extra exciting in case Schumacher decides to dominate again) by participating in a Fantasy F1 competition. You pick the elements, driver, tyres, etc, and score points depending on how well they do. But all the ones I looked at just weren’t quite right for me, so instead, I decided to make my own. And you know what? It’s a hell of a lot more complicated than you might think. First you have to decide the rules. How many of each thing and what things are you going to be able to pick? How much money and how many transfers are you allowed to start with? When and how do you make changes? Any bonuses?

A space probe falls out of orbit and crashes to earth, way off from the designated site. There appears to be a new form of bacteria on it, and when a team of scientists go to investigate, they find this is going to be far more than they bargained for. A national disaster could be in the making. You don’t really get much chance to draw breath and get to know the characters involved in this story, which is probably good because you’re never sure who is going to survive and there’s far too much else happening to spend a lot of time on someone’s back story.

The writing felt different to any other book I have read before, but I don’t know if it is a style known to crime stories. It’s told as though you were relating the story to a friend, although with far more detail. Crichton is a master at setting the scene and giving enough background information to aid understanding but not so much you fall asleep. There’s a lot of Victorian ‘crime-speak’ and whilst some of the sentences are translated for you, sometimes it’s just left for you to get the drift of what’s going on. Nevertheless, it’s a great tale, told well, with characters as large as the crime itself.

Deaver manages to combine stories and characters together in a surprising and intriguing way. Building tension and prolonging the suspense seem entirely natural, and it seems the characters are always racing against crime. This book is similar to the other Rhyme, but there are more twists and turns along the way, building on previous ideas to keep you on the edge of your seat until the very end.

I could not relate to Pamela at all - I wouldn’t want to. She’s a city girl at heart, but promises her husband she’ll give the country a try. She absolutely doesn’t, setting out to hate it from the moment they get her. The husband is so nice, it’s hard to have any sympathy for her once she starts cheating on him. The way she breaks news and reacts to things really winds me up.

Some useless facts for you… Typewriter is the longest word that can be made using the letters on only one row of the keyboard. Walt Disney was afraid of mice. More people are killed by donkeys annually than are killed in plane crashes. In Michigan, it is illegal to chain an alligator to a fire hydrant. If the population of China walked past you in single file, the line would never end because of the rate of reproduction. In English, “four” is the only digit that has the same number of letters as its value. Over 400,000 Americans suffer injuries involving beds, matresses and pillows? That’s 2,000 injuries per day. In the time it took you to read this post, 4 Americans will have managed to hurt themselves just getting out of bed.

But this involves going outside. Although I am anti-outside almost all the time, today is worse than usual. It is windy. I hate the wind. I don’t actually know why, except that it just makes me edgy. When I was walking out of work and bumped into a colleague a while back, he said, “Windy isn’t it?” and I replied, “Yes, it makes my hair go everywhere.” Not really the impression I want to give off, I don’t care whether my hair goes everywhere, I just couldn’t think of anything else to say.

The guy that rattles his change in his pockets incessantly. I don’t care how much money you have or haven’t got on you so please find a less irritating nervous habit. The people in Holby City that use their mobile phones all the time - even the doctors! This is not a good message to send out to your viewers. In ER, the only time I’ve ever seen reference to a mobile phone is when Carter switched his on as he was exiting the building, not while he was stood next to someone’s life-support machine. Jamelia’s song DJ. The lyrics are: “DJ, give me a beat I can rock to, I want a joint you can drop to, the ceiling is caving in, the speakers is rumbling.” The speakers are rumbling, love. It would make no difference to the timing or to the meaning of the sentence but would be grammatically correct. That I had one good thing to write on this Wind Me Up but I put the other three first so that I wouldn’t forget them and have promptly forgotten the original idea. Dammit!

You’ve spent so much time working on your website that during the day at work, you realise that you’ve been writing a letter at work and have escaped all the &’s.

Cost Of War - a website that is constantly telling you how stupid George Bush is. And the comparisons are pretty mind-blowing.

The Bourne Supremacy was a disappointment but only because my memory doesn’t stretch as far back as the previous film. The Terminal was the complete opposite: a surprise hit. Funny and heart-warming, even if some people didn’t recognise Catherine Zeta-Jones until we got to the end of the film and I said “It was good, but Catherine Z-J was a bit annoying.” He was astonished. My main gripe about her was when her character said she was 39, and she just doesn’t look it. In real life, she’s actually 36, which isn’t exactly far off, but she doesn’t look it at all. I might even use the word stunning, but that would be pushing it.

I went to Bournemouth today. It was a dull day and not really one for paddling, so instead, I journeyed into the Oceanarium - a sort of Sea Life Centre. There will be plenty of photos to peruse in the Photo Blog soon enough, although it’s hard work getting a fish that’s still for long enough to take its photo. A little boy was having the time of his life in the section where you can walk under a tank full of sharks and rays and turtles. His dad looked fed up:

The fire alarms went off at work today, but stopped after about five seconds. Everyone stopped what they were doing and looked at each other. An authoritative voice boomed, “Everybody out, please, that was the fire alarm.” Nobody moved. We weren’t questioning the authority, we just didn’t know whether it truly was a fire drill or not. It didn’t sound again and someone trotted downstairs to ask reception what was going on.

Another Clive Cussler book that begins with a seemingly random event (this time it’s a hurricane), that leads to Dirk Pitt getting involved, and that, of course, leads to a ridiculously evil plot either to destroy or take over the world. Pitt and his buddy Giordino get into all sorts of mischief and usually manage to save the situation. It may be formulaic, but it’s still pretty awesome.

Harris’ style of writing is so descriptive. I can always smell what a character is smelling or feel the wind off the tide just by turning the page. Wool, flowers, metal, chocolate, wine, everything she puts a pen to will appear in your senses. Her writing is slow-moving and heart-felt, no violent or graphic sequences involved or needed, just people and their feelings and their lives. It was enchanting.

The thriller side of this book is only half of it, with a lot of other issues going on - a stranger trying to be accepted, the integration of the black half of town with the white half, families forced apart, and how to make a business successful. There’s very little romance involved, which always makes me happy. For a change, Grisham’s central character isn’t a lawyer but is a journalist. He’s keen to make money but willing to work for it and doesn’t expect an easy ride. All he wants is to find out the truth.

There’s plenty of material to work with here, a body, a stake, a killer, a teacher/student issue, family matters all kinds of things. As a horror writer, Laymon doesn’t seem to want to stray too far from reality. However, without being allowed to stretch your imagination, the suspense is all the book is about and the story is padded around three basic questions. Is she a vampire? Who killed her? What about the daughter?

A cross between a whodunnit, and a page-turning adventure story, there are plenty of twists and turns to make this an unputdownable, if conventional, book. The characters are strong, intelligent and independent, but some of their speeches about technology and ancient rituals can come across as patronising. Overall, I liked it though.

This article tells us that every single team lined up for this year of F1 is happy to limit their testing time throughout the season. All, that is, except Ferrari. Surprise, surprise, the boys in red have decided that they’re above the rules that apply for everyone else and will test whenever and wherever they feel like it. Whilst they’re not actually breaking any ruling, some may call this an unfair advantage… I call it cheating.

Michael Palin and his team travel the length of the Himalaya, shooting a documentary for the BBC, interviewing interesting people and gathering gorgeous views. The journey takes you from the flat lands of Bangladesh to the highs of Everest Base Camp, and along the way Palin meets so many unique characters. Monks, farmers, miners, he follows the ways of life for these people, discovering just how different life can be from one side of a mountain to another.

Brundle speaks about himself with humour and in a very self-deprecating way, attributing most of his successes to luck and his failures to driver mistakes. The journey through the book takes you from his very first lap as a Formula 1 driver, and you can feel the nerves, and then the growing confidence. It’s written well, clear and informative, without being patronising. The layout of the book also means that you there are clear breaks in the narrative, it’s easy to pick up and put down, and you don’t have to read it straight through, although I did.

Each day, 1 in 4 Americans visits a fast food restaurant. In 1972, we spent 3 billion a year on fast food - today we spend more than 110 billion. McDonald’s feeds more than 46 million people a day - that’s more than the entire population of Spain. French Fries are the most eaten vegetable in America. You would have to walk for seven hours straight to burn off a Super Sized Coke, fries and Big Mac. 60% of all Americans are either overweight or obese. One in every three children born in the year 2000 will develop diabetes in their lifetime. The average child sees 10,000 TV advertisements per year. Only seven items on McDonald’s entire menu contain no sugar. McDonald’s distributes more toys per year than Toys-R-Us. McDonald’s say: “Any processing our foods undergo makes them more dangerous than unprocessed foods.” McDonald’s calls people who eat a lot of their food “Heavy Users”. McDonald’s operates more than 30,000 restaurants in more than 100 countries on 6 continents. Before most children can speak they can recognise McDonald’s. 40% of American meals are eaten outside of the home. McDonald’s represents 43% of the total US fast food market. Taken from Super Size Me.

Today involved Super Size Me, The Whole Ten Yards and a plateful of nachos. Unfortunately, Mr C hasn’t seen The Whole Nine Yards and given the amount of time we needed to spend at our computers this weekend, watching three films was just asking a bit too much. But never mind, there’s always next time. Super Size Me was a real eye opener, and I think it’s a good job we ate before we watched it. Who knew that eating McDonald’s three times a day, every single day could cause your liver as much damage as being an alcoholic does? Even the doctors were surprised!

Today I’m having a solo DVD Day, which only involves one film - Open Water. I was not a fan of Blair Witch, so the cover advertising it as the next best thing was not really something that made me want to watch it. But Mr C definitely didn’t want to see it and I was curious, so while selecting DVDs for DVD Day #5 (you can read about that one tomorrow), I picked this up.

Back in the days when Mr C and I first began spending quite a lot of time together, we went to London several times, and on one of these journeys, I was introduced to the phenomenon that is “Underground Bridges”. I have mentioned them briefly before but not in too much detail. Basically, entering London on the M4, you travel through what any normal person would call a tunnel. But Mr C absent-mindedly called it an underground bridge and then would not admit he was wrong and tried to convince me that it could be called an underground bridge. I wasn’t having any of it.

I’m glad I live in a world of heaters and electricity and extra thick cuddly jumpers and soft slippers. And I’m glad I live in a world of air conditioning and ice cubes and cold showers. Can I decide which world I like best? Um, no. When I get cold, I really get cold - my hands turn to blocks of ice and my nose is always colder than the rest of my face. But in summer, I can’t stand the heat and will mope about, complaining about the heat, before stepping into a cold shower for the fourth time that very day.

Today, I managed to actually enter my pin number whilst paying for something. Up until now, I’ve managed to say that I don’t know it, or go to Sainsbury’s who have yet to implement it in their stores. But today, I took the plunge, bought the goods and typed the number, and you know what? I kinda liked it. At first I was opposed to the idea, and it makes me feel that sales staff will eventually be surplus to requirements, but I do like this ’not signing’ business. At least with Chip & Pin I’m unlikely to get distracted in the middle and either forget how to write or how to spell the rest of my name (it’s happened!).

I got kicked by a pony yesterday. Don’t laugh. We wanted to make the most of our last day of freedom before I return to the drudgery of the workplace, so we decided to go to Beaulieu. Mostly to see the cars, but the other stuff looked interesting as well. Here are some photos - they’re not great, I’m saving the best for the Photo Blog:

The judges on Strictly Come Dancing Champion of Champions saying that they wanted Denise & Ian to win when we could all see that Jill & Darren were the best by miles. Harry Potter VI topping the best-sellers chart when it’s not even out for another seven months. I’m looking forward to it too, but I’m not that crazy. That having got bored of the Christmas songs we were allowed to play this week, people have brought in their own CDs such as Dido, Dire Straits, Meatloaf, Buddy Holly, Dido (again), Shania Twain, and Jon Bon Jovi. They’re played low so they don’t disturb anyone, but it sure as hell disturbs me that I can hear them, but not loud enough so I can figure out what song is playing. The little “Singing Scottie” that sits on a colleague’s desk and sings “Oh, Christmas Tree”. As cute and funny as it is, it’s really loud and makes it impossible and embarrassing to talk on the phone.

My father has been in the habit of buying himself a new camera for his birthday every year, and he passes his old one to my mother who then passes her old one to me. It works pretty well, and I’ve just recently become the proud owner of a snazzy silver number, with a great zoom in facility. I hate getting my films developed at a counter. I do not like the whole charade of taking a slip and waiting an hour or until the next day and going back in there and knowing that they’ve looked at all my photos. I know they see hundreds of photos a day and mine are hardly going to interest them, but that feeling is always there. I don’t like them having seen what belongs to me before I’ve had a chance to look. I don’t like the knowing air they have about them. I would much rather send my prints off to a company such as Truprint, and have the pleasure of only an envelope looking at me in that knowing way, rather than a person.

Electric 6 have covered Radio Ga Ga. It’s awful. Enough said.

Before I go any further, I officially admit I am now too old for bouncy castles. I’m not sure whether it was because we were on there for longer than last year, whether it was because there were more kids, or whether they were just much more violent, but we definitely came away with more aches and pains than last year. It goes something like this: “Did you have a good time at the weekend?”

With Christmas fast approaching, people are really beginning to struggle with the idea of me skipping it. They don’t seem to understand. So, to help out any who are still a little confused, I’ve laid out some of the rules here: I do not wish to celebrate anything to do with Christmas, however, I will not ruin anyone else’s fun. For example, a colleague said he would sulk and not go to the Christmas meal himself, if I didn’t turn up (emotional blackmail), therefore I agreed to go for that reason and that reason alone. I do not wish to have tinsel on my computer, however that does not mean I cannot enter a house / room / building with Christmas decorations on it. I can still appreciate the trees, lights and general prettiness of things, without having to participate in it myself. Although I will be partaking in some turkey on Christmas day, this is in accordance with Rule 1, in which I do not wish to upset anyone else’s plans. Do not call me a hypocrite for having a Christmas Meal, or going to a Christmas reunion. To me, this is just a family meal and a family reunion - to others it is in celebration of Christmas. I am not sending out or signing Christmas Cards (no, not even to the Managing Director, who is going to do what? Fire me? Don’t look at me like that, okay?), presents, or good will messages. I will receive such gifts only so long as the sender knows that I am not celebrating Christmas, I am not obliged to feel grateful, and I will not return the favour. (This is not two-faced or selfish - they are given the information and if they still wish to part with a gift, who am I to stop them?) If I take an active step not to be a part of something, do not over-rule me. I specifically asked for my name to be kept out of the Secret Santa, so please do not feel sorry for me and overcompensate by buying me a gift anyway. I will not feel bad or left out when I am watching everyone else open their presents, so do not think that I will, or that I’m lying when I say that I won’t be upset. This will only result in either mine or your feelings being hurt (probably mine, as I find this quite insulting). Do not, under any circumstances, call me Scrooge, Humbug or any other names relating to someone who is grumpy about Christmas. I am not that person. I think Christmas is great, wonderful fun, I just do not wish to participate in it. If I was a Scrooge, I would be sending out boiled sweets or lumps of coal as a present and giving cards made from newspapers. A Scrooge is someone who begrudgingly celebrates Christmas and scrimps on the whole caboodle. I did not wish to become that person, so I chose to forego Christmas this year. Please read these carefully, as I will not be responsible for my actions or the tears of frustration that will occur when they are disregarded.