Can you believe I was about to go to bed without doing my final post of NaBloPoMo?

Fortunately, I remembered just in time.

See you in December...

I've Got My Hand In Your Head: Neuroscience / Music Monday Combo

I have just finished a fantastic book called The Brain That Changes Itself, by Norman Doidge. Perhaps surprisingly for someone with no knowledge of science at all (Physics GCSE and that's it), I am a real neuroscience nerd, and love nothing more than curling up with a good book all about horrific brain injuries. Cosy, eh? On my shelf you will find classic neuroscience tracts by the likes of Oliver Sacks, Steven Johnson and Paul Broks, and I impulsed-purchased The Brain That Changes Itself whilst hanging out in Waterstones before a meeting, and proceeded to inhale the whole thing over the weekend.

Basically, you should stop reading my review now and read the book instead. But seeing as how you are here, TBTCI is a fascinating exploration of the key emerging concept in brain science of neuroplasticity - the idea that far from being a fixed machine which, once damaged, cannot be repaired, the brain is a fluid, living entity where different functions compete for space. The things you do remap your brain; the things you do a lot remap your brain a lot. (I'm simplifying a tad.) And parts of your brain that might usually do one thing are capable of doing others, particularly if trained in the right ways, which gives immense hope to those who are brain damaged, by birth, accident, stroke and so on. Some of the stories here are, no pun intended, mind-blowing: from a woman born retarded who cured herself, to another who was born, and lives and functions, with only half a brain.

This then gives hope to those of us who are not brain damaged but who might have behavioural patterns we are unhappy with. By repeating the patterns, we've worn tracks in our minds which are hard to get out of, which explains why we keep doing the same harmful things over and over. But like any other kind of damage, we can train and practice and get our brains onto a better path. (When I say we, I do mean me, by the way, though perhaps you will recognise yourself also.) Does this sound self-helpy? It isn't meant to. More that the book provides a deep insight into what it actually means, at the level of your personal brain chemistry, when you think of who you are and what you might be trying to change. (There I go with you. I still mean me.)

It's utterly inspiring stuff. Though as a caveat, you will have to have a high tolerance for vivisection, as the researchers in the book are constantly severing monkeys' spinal nerves and sewing kittens' eyes shut. If you like the sound of it - the book, not the vivisection - there's more on the author's website and the book is available in all the usual places. Also, can we pause for a moment to admire this author photo, taken by Denise Grant? This is what a psychoanalyst should look like, no?



All this makes me think about how I'd like to read more non-fiction. I didn't go near the stuff after school and university because I thought it would be all like textbooks, but in recent years I've found I've missed all the learning I took for granted when I was growing up, and now I want to find out more about this world of ours, goddammit. (Not god damn the world. That would be a foolhardy invitation. It's just an expression.) Dearest blog friends, can you recommend some great non-fiction for me to read? Other books on diverse factual topics that I've read and loved have included The Shadow of the Sun (Kapuscinski), Easy Riders, Raging Bulls (Biskind), The Age of Absurdity (Michael Foley) - that may be one for another blog post, in fact, so brilliant is it. But in the meantime, recommendations please.

Have just realised it's Monday. So here's a themed Music Monday - Hand In Your Head by Money Mark. Here's a fact for you: the first time I heard this, I thought the lyrics were "I've got my hand in your hair and I'm pulling out all of your mites."

Strictlywatch 2010: Post-Blackpool hangover

ladangentitiforstricodaanheryourhobruforandteda -

Sorry, what was that? Oh, I'm just giving you the real experience of watching pre-recorded Strictly round my gaff on a Sunday evening. In other words, in fast forward.

Which means it's straight into dance one, with Kara and Artem. They're jiving! Are you excited? I'm excited! Well, I would be if I wasn't still sick as a bag of parrots, but I can imagine being excited, and that kind of mental leap, people, is why I am paid the big author bucks. Artem would be excited too, if he didn't have a broken neck and tonsillitis. In the background of the VT they are playing 'Tainted Love.' In case you missed it: they are in love, and Artem is tainted.

Now, I am most definitely on team Kartem, but while this is characteristically nifty, with some lovely choreography from poor, disease-ridden Artem, I actually think Kara is a bit too elegant for the jive. It's less Rockin' Robin and more Rockin' Swan Lake.

Len enthuses. Alesha - DEAR GOD IN HEAVEN WHAT IS ALESHA WEARING? It's a frou-frou one-shouldered rose-pink bridesmaid's gown, accessorised with earrings in the shape of mirror balls and a matching ring. Oh honey, don't wear the set. On ITT this week, they did a judges' greatest moments section. Alesha's greatest moments consisted of saying "your best dance" and "well done". Never mind though, there is always Bruno, who steps up to the plate with "Kara von Teese, the sexy jiving peanut." Love you Bruno, love your work.

Scores: 7, 9, 9, 9 and 8 from me.

Next Ann and Anton. In the VT, Ann says that she is in it to win it. It sounds like a threat.

Oh Christ, it's a rumba. With a Titanic theme. To My Heart Will Go On.

Which is actually the best I can say for it, because Ann does almost nothing in this dance. I get that it's hilARious to watch a fat angry Tory ballroom dance, but I reckon any average human being could learn Ann's part in about twenty minutes. If she's going to be in it to win it, she could try doing something, instead of relying on the novelty factor and Anton.

Scores: 1, 5, 5, 3 and 1 from me.

Now it's Patsy and Robin. Robin looks a bit like a squished Artem, and has chosen to confuse us further by wearing a hat. HATS ARE ARTEM'S THING, ROBIN. GET YOUR OWN THING. Gloves, perhaps. Much of the VT is taken by Patsy remarking on Len's comment last week that "You got off on the wrong trotter". 'They love comparing me to animals,' says Patsy. Hmmm. Not *all* animals.

Their dance is an Argentine Tango. Patsy is dressed as the Angel of Death, and has an injured foot. It looks like exactly the kind of dance you might choreograph for someone with an injured foot. Will-anybody-notice-if-I-just-sort-of-carry-her-around-a-bit. Yes, Robin. I will notice.

(And rather late in the day, we take a moment to thank our fabulous singers, Dave Arch and his wonderful orchestra.)

Bruno complains about the lack of spunk. I see the opportunity for a joke, but let it pass.

Scores: 7, 8, 8, 7 and 6 from me.

Next up, Scott and Natalie. In the VT, Scott makes a bid for popularity by whingeing about his scores, saying that he's working two jobs and that he's "jaded". He then says "when I'm very tired, I like to mess about, and certain characters come out." He's the Incredible Hulk with narcolepsy. You won't like him when he's sleepy.

And guess what? I don't like him when he's sleepy. He forgets half the dance. At one point Natalie has to pull him around by the neck. If only it was a comedy moment in a Charleston. Alas, it's an American Smooth.

Scores: 6, 7, 9, 9 and 6 from me. The 9s are insane.

There now follows a VT interlude based on The Magnificent Seven where all the contestants wear cowboy hats and stand in a fake Wild West backdrop talking in terrible American accents about being still in the competition. It is just plain horrible. Ann's cowboy hat is tiger-print. Remind me, how many of the Magnificent Seven ended up getting shot?

I'm really not enjoying Strictly tonight, I've got to be honest with you. And it's Gavin and Katya next. All the way through the VT, all Gavin can talk about is how much he's hating the dance. Let me tell you, my hopes are not up. No. They are down.

It's more comedy choreography from Katya, the main problem being that Katya isn't very funny. The joke is that they are on a film set, and that Gavin is wearing glasses and green tartan golfing trousers. No? Me neither. It starts badly and it ends badly, but there is a sudden and desperately surprising good bit in the middle. I only wish someone was watching with me and could confirm that it really happened.

Len compares the dance to wearing an angora beret. Craig compares it to Ann Widdecombe. THE KNIVES ARE OUT.

Scores: 3, 6, 7, 6 and 5 from me. Tess refers to Gavin as 'boyo'. Oh Tess. I know it's in your contract that you have to mention Gavin being Welsh every week, but I think it's probably best to stay clear of words that are officially classed as insults under the race relations act.

Next it's Matt and Aliona. Rescue me, Matt. In the VT, Matt says, "There's no doubt about it, Aliona and I are a great team, to be honest." Thus I conclude that he HATES her. Aliona says "Our secret is that we understand each other very well without talking to each other." Yup. She hates him back. Much as I love watching Matt and Aliona dance, there is a little part of me - well, a medium sized part of me - oh OK, I basically am dying to see them crack and start trying to kill each other on the dancefloor. First Matt would pull her by her My Little Pony pink hair. Then Aliona would gouge her talons down his happy farmer face. Come on, admit it, it would be AMAZING.

Instead they perform an American Smooth. (I can't help but notice that the producers - the same producers that make Scott look like an arrogant, self-satisfied cock in the VT each week - are also giving him the same dance as Matt each week, as if to say to the audience, "Look at these two identical dances, and see how much better one of them is." Who did Scott shag and never call back?) It's clearly been designed to be incredibly romantic - flowing garments, glorious lifts, do I detect rumba-influence choreography? - and yet the whole thing is immeasurably improved for me by imagining the two of them spending the entire dance thinking about how much they loathe each other and devising elaborate revenge scenarios in the manner of Kathleen Turner and Michael Douglas in War of the Roses. "When I watch you eat, when I see you asleep, when I look at you lately, I just wanna smash your face in."

Alesha says that she's disappointed, because she didn't feel relaxed watching it, and Matt's face looked "tense". I have to agree, if by "tense" she means "you looked like you wanted to bite off one of Aliona's ears". Bruno genuinely mentions the words "American Psycho" and "murder". Apparently, I am not alone.

Scores: 8, 8, 8, 9 and 9 from me, though I'd have given another point for bloodshed. Tell you what, I have massively perked up.

Lastly, Pamela and James doing a Charleston. Yay! Best moment of the VT involves Pamela stuck hanging upside down by the microphone cable from James's arse. I am nothing if not a woman of sophisticated tastes.

They are dancing to Let's Misbehave and the theme of the dance is two teachers sneaking away for sexy time. It's lots of fun and full of charm, and yet the word that springs immediately to my mind is "gallumphing". I'm not sure that's a great ballroom dancing word.

Judges in ecstasies.

Scores: 9, 9, 10, 10 and 9 from me.

Results? Patsy and Gavin bottom two, Patsy out.

Quantity / Quality

So it's fair to say that if I succeed in the NaBloPoMo challenge, it will have been from following the letter rather than the spirit of the law. Right now I am sneezing over the screen of my iPhone whilst queueing for access to the computer, behind my 5-year-old nephew who is currently engaged in a game, described by him, when I asked, as "dat one." Tuesday is the last day of NaBloPoMo and I am intrigued as to whether you've enjoyed this at all. When it comes to blogs, how do you weigh up the relative importance of quantity and quality? What I fear is that by increasing the quantity I don't actually bring the quality up much at all, and in fact may diminish it. Perhaps I should bear this in mind when working on the novel as well.

Only tangentially relevantly, but while I'm here: it is so annoying, in this cold snap, that it's impossible to use an iPhone with gloves on. That's what you get when you let Californians take over product design. Pffffft. *tries to rub life back into scaly blue fingers*.

Still ill

Properly now, so I'm on antibiotics. They are making my wee lime green. If nothing else, it is diverting.

There is really definitely no ageism at the BBC, honest

I didn't watch Children In Need this year, but I was on Twitter while it was on, and was struck by the following tweet from Caitlin Moran (aka @caitlinmoran, who you really should be following if you're on Twitter, as she is very funny.) (You must like very funny or why would you be here?) (Don't answer that.)

"Does Fearne Cotton SEE that she, too, will be culled as a presenter when she hits 37? DOES SHE THINK SHE WILL ESCAPE THE FATE OF ROSLIN?"

It is notable, at a time when the BBC are quick to refute all accusations of ageism (see the cases of Moira Stewart, Arlene Philips, Miriam O'Reilly etc) that Terry Wogan is permitted to carry on presenting Children in Need as he gets older and older, but the blondes standing next to him mysteriously stay the same age.

The first Children in Need broadcast was in 1980. Terry Wogan (then 42) hosted with Sue Lawley (then 34) and Esther Rantzen (then 40). Two years later, Sue Cook, (then 33) took on co-hosting duties for the next thirteen years, leaving at the age of 46. Gaby Roslin took over in 1994 when she was 30, and continued as the co-host until 2004 (age 40). In 2005, Natasha Kaplinsky (33) took over, just for a couple of years. Then in 2007, Fearne Cotton (then 25) joined the hosting team. There was a blip in the downwards age trajectory in 2008 when Tess Daly joined them both, at the ripe old age of 39. But then, she is a lingerie model on the side, so not exactly greying and turning to fat. Terry Wogan, in case you've lost track, is still the main anchor. He turned 72 this year.

Is it possible to imagine a reality in which Sue Lawley or Esther Rantzen had remained the host of Children in Need for the last thirty years, joined by a succession of young, sexy men?

While we're on the subject, can you picture a Strictly Come Dancing hosted by a grey-haired 82-year-old woman with Vernon Kay as her sidekick? In fact, can you imagine any mainstream TV programme being hosted by an 82-year-old woman with grey hair? Or any woman at all with grey hair?

A spokesperson in the case brought by Miriam O'Reilly (sacked as Countryfile presenter age 52, alongside three other woman presenters in their 40s) described the idea that the BBC was ageist as "absolute nonsense".

Hmmm.

Still ill

and this is why I don't usually pledge to blog every day for a month. Bleurgh.

Cold

I have a cold. I wonder why more illnesses aren't named after temperatures or states of weather: a hot, a storm, a blizzard.

If I had my freedom with language I'd say that right now I had a heavy fog with a touch of sleet.

Strictlywatch: Blackpool Special

It's Vegas, baby! Vegas! And not just any Vegas! The Vegas of Las! VIVA LAS VEGAS!!! Viva, viva Las -

Oh, OK it's Blackpool. But there isn't a song that goes Viva Las Blackpool, so the Strictly pros are doing an Elvis-themed fan dance to Viva Las Vegas because nothing says Blackpool like Vegas! Look at everything Vegas and Blackpool have got in common: strippers, trannies, tat. Um. And other things. But anyway: it's Strictly Come Dancing Blackpool week and I have been instructed that this is exciting so WELCOME TO VEGAS, I MEAN BLACKPOOL BABY! BLACKPOOL!

For the occasion, Tess has chosen to wear a red satin jumpsuit which is the scarlet twin to a black item I had when I was 16, in 1992. Thus in kindness to my 16-year-old self I must withhold judgement, but I will say that I might not have persuaded my mother to purchase said item for me if I knew that onlookers would be quite so mesmerised by my crotch. As my friend Karen*, in whose home I am watching tonight's Strictly, says: "It's like it's been airbrushed". Poor Tess: either she's not going to get to sit down all night or she has a team of lackeys just off-camera waiting to iron her groin.

(*A note: Karen has recently moved and does not have internet, so I am writing this after the event.)

First on the floor are Patsy and Robin. I am going to stop calling Patsy the black horse of this competition as patently she isn't. Patsy is not only not very good, she also always has eyeliner applied at a downwards angle, so that she looks perpetually disappointed. No self-respecting horse of any colour would allow that. In Patsy and Robin's VT, we get the Vegas, I mean Blackpool, theme up and running with the addition of showgirls to the training room. Karen and I look closely. They are not trannies.

For the dance itself (a samba to 'Copacabana' because nothing says Blackpool like etc) Patsy is wearing a dress that looks like it is made entirely of off-cuts, and dances a dance which ditto, inspiring judges comments which also.

Scores: 6, 7, 8, 7, 6 from me and 7 from Karen. Already Alesha has shown herself to be nuts. Patsy responds to the criticism in manner of drunk barmaid being dragged off a table. I am slightly afraid.

Next up it's Kara and Artem. The VT is very emotional because Kara has knackered Artem's shoulder in training - definitely in training, nowhere else - and he is being terribly brave, and Kara is crying, and he is going to do the dance anyway, and oh my god. It's like a First World War movie. At this point I must admit that I was wrong all along about Kara and Artem: they are actually and most definitely a completely adorable loved up couple of love. It is easier for me to admit this than it might be because I have utterly transfered my allegiance to team Kartem. Favourite contestants in years. KARTEM FOR THE WIN.

So it will come as no surprise to you that I adore their American Smooth. Imagine an American Smooth as the opening sequence to a Bond movie, minus the naked ladies coming out of guns waving their arms up and down in silhouette. And danced by two people who are completely in love and unbelievably talented and one of them has a duff shoulder of doom but is being brave and lifting the other one up onto it like a bird, a BIRD. Karen and I immediately rewind it and watch it again.

Alesha loves. Bruno loves. Craig loves. Len HATES. Bleats on about it not being a foxtrot, how can he judge something that is meant to be a foxtrot and isn't a foxtrot. I am reminded of the opening sequence of Strictly Ballroom, when the lead bloke, who I want to be Ralph Macchio but isn't, dances his own steps and causes SCANDAL. In a moment Tina Sparkle is going to come on. That would be BRILLIANT.

Scores: 9, 6, 10, 10. Len has given this dance the same score he gave Ann and Anton last week, where Ann plodded around like she was wearing concrete boots. Karen and I both give 10s.

Moving on to Matt and Aliona. Something has gone wrong for Team Matt. They should be the favourites, and I should love this. It's a samba, and they do a considerable amount of it facing Dave Arch, his singers and his wonderful orchestra, so I have a perfect view of his bum wiggling, and it is quite the wiggle to watch. Matt is a terrific dancer and he is totally hot. And yet, when Matt does a sequence of backflips at the end of the dance, it reminds me of nothing other than the slightly desperate act of the man who only goes down on you because he's scared you're going to dump him.

According to Len, there's no point putting in backflips just because Matt can do them - "I was at school with a boy who could fart God Save the Queen, but it's got nothing to do with the salsa." Two questions immediately interpose themselves: why is Len in such a foul mood this week, and was he really at school with a boy who could fart God Save the Queen?

Scores: 9, 9, 10, 10 and 9s from both Karen and me.

Now for Felicity and Vincent. Felicity has given up completely and walks her way through her American Smooth. Poor Felicity, from thinking man's crumpet to being outclassed on the dancefloor by someone who is considered to be unsexy even by the standards of Tory MPs. "Lacklustre" says Karen, and I have to agree.

Len, naturally, loves it. If you were playing the "Len has lost his mind" drinking game, by now you'd be too drunk to see the screen.

Scores: 7, 7, 8, 8, and Karen and I give 6s. We are hard.

It's just going from bad to worse because next up it is Gavin and Katya. Why is he still here? *Whimpers* Jimi... Jimiiiiii.... please come baaaack! I quote my notes verbatim: "Hat. Tom Jones. Microphone. No."

Len calls it excellent.

Scores: 4, 7, 8, 8. I give it a 6, and Karen is so bored that she is unable to score it, but confesses to a 7 under pressure.

Next up it's Ssscott and Natalie - but WAIT!! A SPECIAL TREAT FOR US ALL FIRST!!! BRUCE IS DANCING!!!!

What's that? We rewound Kara and Artem's dance at the beginning of the episode, which means we have exactly the right amount of video so that we can fastforward all the way through this abomination of tap? *Dodges bullet*

As I was saying, next up, it's Ssscott and Natalie. Ssscott does not look well. Specifically, he looks like a lizard with giant ears. They are dancing a samba, which is good, and yet somehow not.

I am not feeling eloquent, so it's over to Bruce for his verdict: "This is Blackpool," says Bruce. Thank you for that insight.

You know what's happened? It's that time in the series, when it's been going on for far too long but you're nowhere near the climax. Like that feeling of exhausted misery you get six hours into a fourteen hour flight. You've already been going for what feels like the very limit of your tolerance, and yet somehow there is still forever til you land. Yes, that's it, only in a tinsel bikini.

Meanwhile, the judges have given 6, 8, 9 and 9, and Karen and I volunteer 8s.

Confession time: my notes for Pamela and James read: "Wasn't fully paying attention, but seemed good enough." I can't even remember what dance they were doing. 8, 9, 10, 10. 10 and 10???? Karen and I give 8s, but on the basis of what, I can't be certain.

Last up are Ann and Anton. My resistance is low. They are dancing a samba. I may not survive. I am briefly roused by a moment in VT where Ann refuses to do samba rolls because they are a "most improper" move.

And then they come out on stage.

OH MY GOD. Ann is dressed as Big Bird's busty aunt. And Anton is in trousers that - trousers which are - OH LORD, MY EYES, MY EYES.

They are gold, anyway.

The dance is awful. I know I've been having a sense of humour failure for the last hour or so, but Ann really doesn't do anything for most of the dance, which does lead me to wonder why exactly it is that she can't learn a basic routine, given that she is not in any way mentally or physically disabled. Then, towards the end, Anton grabs her and starts throwing her around in a way that goes beyond funny into completely undignified - think giving an obese child an 'aeroplane' - and ends with Ann on the floor with her skirt above her head, flashing her drawers to the world. All this in canary yellow. I mean no. NO. Just - NO.

Scores: 1, 5, 4, 3. Karen gives it a 4 and I give it a 1.

And that's it. I am barely standing. Et tu, Blackpool.

(This week's knock-out: Felicity and Vincent.)

Placeholder Post

I am halfway through writing up my Strictlywatch, but now I must go and eat vast quantities of Indian food with my uncle, and after that I suspect I may wish to lie down whimpering but also savouring the joy of eating a week's worth of food in an hour. Thank you for your understanding.