A Little Late Night Craziness

It's 4 in the morning and I can't bloody sleep. Yeah, it's like Leonard Cohen here alright, but rather less poetic, and I'm afraid there's a fluffy pink dressing gown (replete fluorescent marker stains) rather than a famous blue raincoat.

On the plus side I've fully mastered the intricacies of Last.Fm, I'm therefore no longer feeling quite the dimwitted mutton-head. One thing is puzzling me though; I thought to "scrobble" meant to stuff Patrick Troughton into a large burlap sack and kidnap, as per 'The Box of Delights', no? Well I'll indignantly tell you that the world is all the poorer for the new definition, where Last.Fm merely makes a note of what you've been listening to.

There's loads of good language in 'The Box of Delights', as you'd expect of a poet laureate like John Masefield, but scrobble has always been my favourite, so I'm a little sad that my songs get 'scrobbled' for Last.Fm, but there's not so much as a brown paper bag to manhandle them into.

As for the 'Box of Delights', the stunning BBC adaption (1984) is very probably directly responsible for my box mania, and on a similar Christmas-tea-time-special note, yes I'm afraid I still check ornate cupboards to see if there's a way to Narnia, ho hum - a girl has to have her hobbies.