Coolness!

False Colors places at no.34 of Elisa Rolle’s Top 100 Gay novels of the year

http://www.elisarolle.com/ramblings/top_100_gay_novels_2.htm

in some very good company too.  I’m thoroughly over the moon and honoured about that.  Hee!  I’m not quite sure how it’s all worked out, but thank you to whoever is responsible.  Elisa, I guess! 

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On TV news, I’m just going to have to stop having favourite characters.  They always die, but usually not quite that fast.  My kiss of death is clearly accelerating.

And speaking of TV, the meme goes

Day 2 – A show that you wish more people were watching (or that you wish more people had watched).

The Number One Ladies Detective Agency.

I love the books, which often manage to make me cry (in a good way) and the TV series did the same.  Plus both of my daughters have a crush on Mr. J.L.B Matekoni. (I was very glad about that, because it shows that they have good taste.  I thoroughly approve of my girls going for a man who is modest, kind, gentle, capable and helpful.  Those are definitely character traits that come pre-approved by mother ) What’s not to like about this series?  Mma Ramotswe is in every way the kind of role model I’d like my girls to have, but – more importantly than that – the stories are fun, sweet, and wholesome in a way that you just don’t see anywhere else.  It’s nice to watch at least one programme where a lot of the stories only work because human nature is not that bad really, and sometimes it can be better than you think.  It was one of the most life-affirming series I’ve seen in a long time and deserved to be much more popular.  I can’t believe that when I went looking for a fandom I couldn’t find one at all.

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Waterstones at Piccadilly FTW.

After repeatedly saying that I intended to go into London to look at the Queen my books in an actual bookshop, I finally got around to it today.  What a thrill!  OK, the whole driving into Ely, parking in the free longstay car park and walking a mile in blazing sunshine to the train station, only to find that the train had gone and the next one wasn’t for an hour – that was a bit of a downer.  But when I’d walked back to my car, moved it into the station car park and had the drink I was all but keeling over in need of, everything started to look up.  I got into London easily enough, the tubes were no more horrible than usual, and Piccadilly Circus was cooler than it had been at home.

When I got to Waterstones, I hardly dared look, sure that – after all this – the book wouldn’t be there any more.  But there it was, on display on a table in the Gay section.  Appropriately enough it was the “Hello Sailor” table.

( Read the rest of this entry » )

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