The Twelve days of Christmas (a correspondence)

Today, I am plugging again this book, which is a satire of The Twelve Days of Christmas. I mentioned it on Vraie Fiction twice, here and here. It was written by John Julius Norwich and drawn by Quentin Blake. I had first seen it (and read it) in a Waterstone's back in 1999. I don't know why I didn't buy it then and there. I could find it online, but the illustrations of Blake enhances the reading experience and make it all the funnier. But nothing was lost in the end: even though I had not seen it again in a bookstore for years, it has recently been re-edited, with a foreword by Joanna Lumley. And I adore Joanna Lumley.

Anyway, what is the book about? It is about a presumably young man, Edward, sending his beloved fiancée Emily, who lives with her mother, each and every one of the items of the song, mainly, but not only, birds. Noisy birds. each and every day of the Christmas, for the whole twelve days of Christmas. Emily tells the story through letters sent to Edward, first completely smitten by his romantic idea and grateful for his original gift, then less than thrilled, finally outraged. There is a brilliant crescendo in her anger until the final bang, where the drummers drumming (the entire percussion section of the Royal Liverpool Philharmonic Orchestra) show up on the twelfth day. I don't know why Liverpool's orchestra, but since I lived there for a year, it also adds to the pleasure of the text to me. In the end, it is simply a deliciously funny book. Whether you love or hate the original song that inspired it. Oh, and the pictures! They show such a display of emotions. And you can almost smell the menagerie.

Bond girls I admire

I didn't know what to blog about tonight, but fate or chance has chosen for me. So after blogging about my own republican feelings in French, I was reading about Republicanism in the UK on Wikipedia and I discovered that Honor Blackman is a republican. She even declined a CBE. Now that takes guts and principle. Honor Blackman, aka Pussy Galore in Goldfinger.  That made my evening.

Bond girls have often a bad reputation, but I always thought that the classic ones, the Fleming characters, were certainly well rounded, well defined female characters, with genuine depth. The early ones were certainly like this and played by admirable actresses. Diana Rigg is of course an amazing actress recognised as such who was already established when she became a Bond Girl (and what an entrance she had in the series, heck, what an exit too). I admire Diana Rigg as an actress (little side note: she is my dad's favourite actress because of her role of Emma Peel in The Avengers). I also admire Joanna Lumley, who had a much smaller role in On Her Majesty's Secret Service. Well, maybe not admire as much as really, really like her. She is a cat lover, which is good enough in my book. I know she did also an amazing work for the Gurkha veterans. But it is as a cat lover that I connect to her.

That said, I raise my hat to Honor Blackman tonight. She shows that one does not need a medal or a title to be someone. Honor Blackman is an underrated actress, she is also a great, great, great person.