As near as I can tell this accusation was prompted by, amongst other things, two conversations between my brother and myself about a year apart. In both cases my brother asked a very simple question:

"Do you remember that cartoon?"

and

"Do you remember that film?"

And I answered "yes" to both. The source of her consternation stems from her belief that when someone asks a question along the lines of "do you remember that xyz?" it's typical to wait for the person asking the question to supply enough information to discern the subject of the question before giving an answer. That I knew the answer in both cases - much to her and my brothers bemusement - seemed to violate her views on causality.

Of course there was nothing magical or supernatural about how I was able to answer correctly. I simply know my brother well enough to know that if a particular cartoon had sprung to his mind at that point it would have been the 1986 series Silverhawks that we last watched together about 20 years ago.

And similarly there was no other film he could possibly have been thinking about at that moment in time than the 1984 cult classic "Night of the Comet", regardless of fact that I didn't even know he'd seen it.

Obvious really, isn't it?

Someone's put together a video featuring a smattering of London's immensely talented juggling community, and I'm rather proud to say that I've met a considerable number of them. Keep an eye out, I even make a blink and you'll miss it appearance in the background during the credits.

London Juggling from Will Hexagonic on Vimeo.

Just, awwwww...!

The speaking clock must surely be an anachronism in a world where information flows ever more freely, but that it's now open to the highest bidder seems a commericalisation too far for my liking.

Nevertheless, what intrigued me about the story wasn't anything to do with sponsorship, nor the reasons behind it (to promote a direct to DVD film), but the fact that the new voice represents Tinkerbell. One of the most famously silent characters in Disney's canon. On the one hand, it's great stunt to inform people that Tinkerbell now has a voice, but on the other hand I can't help but think that someone, somewhere, has entirely missed the point...

It's fairly evident when I've been reading the same book for several months!

Hearing Neil Gaiman talk again recently lent me a little perspective and reminded me of how much I love books. Time is duly being set aside in my schedule as a result. I have a small pile of books I need to get through and added a couple more this weekend - Gaiman's Graveyard Book is an unsurprising addition, followed by Danielewski's House of Leaves, a book I've been curious about since it was parodied over at xkcd.com

Whilst the atmosphere is undeniable, how it will play as a game is difficult to say. The video is little more than a tech demo. Based on what's shown so far I can easily see it being more irritating than fun, but I'll be keeping an eye out for it anyway.

The official site is over here btw.

Germany's rendition of Britian's Got Talent featured the absurdly talented Kevin Kalvus recently. Apparently membership of contact juggling forums in Germany swelled considerably immediately afterwards.

I was fortunately enough to meet Kelvin at the EJC back in August where he was holding a workshop. Very nice guy indeed, and I'm glad of the reception he got.

On the downside, I can't help but watch his performance and think I've got a long, long way to go yet...

It's not just the skill of execution which impresses me, though it's an immensely skillful performance, it's the fact that someone actually conceived of it to begin with. Just wonderful.

Earlier tonight I passed a poster advertising a new razor blade. Rather than touting the number of blades as a selling point, the poster pointed out their composition instead. They're made of... Endurium.

Endurium?

Or more likely Endurium^tm.

I lay no claim to being able to recite the period table (always got lost around the lanthanides), but I'm willing to wager a not-inconsiderable sum that Endurium won't be found in it's vicinity. It sounds remarkably like something used to lace Wolverines bones. One wonders what the marketing department rejected on the way to discovering Edurium. Unyieldium? Immodium? Payingthemarketingdepartmenttoomuchmoneyium?

If only they'd managed a couple of more weeks. Imagine! How wonderful would it be to not encounter a Christmas tree until Halloween had passed? Still the middle of October isn't too shabby at all. Christmas trees in September are simple depressing, but the middle of October I can live with.

It's striking how little I empathise with the authors predicament. It says much about how I relate to the world that I was most aware of my facial paralysis when dealing with it myself: looking in the mirror, stumbling over words and accidentally biting my lips because they no longer worked as they once did.

How other people saw me didn't concern me, though I think I may have made a conscious decision early on. Why bother with, or try to hide from something so out with my control?

It's a small frustration to me that things never went back to being quite the same as they were before. A good portion of the right side of my face remains numb, and I can see the difference around the right side of my lips, though I'm likely the only one. It was disturbing at first - it drove home the unconsidered intimacy we share with our faces - but fortunately, it is only a small frustration. As with many of life's troubles, it's magnitude lessened with time until became no more than an afterthought stirred by errant newspaper articles.

The season seems to fit the unrelenting outpouring of dark and dank news concerning whatever is happening to the economy. Normally boisterous London is quietened by a pervasive gloom. Newspaper headlines compete vigorously with one another to promote the greatest misery. Look elsewhere in search of glad tidings.

A brief vignette played out in the park earlier. A young couple, sitting on a bench, produced a bottle of champagne with accompanying flutes and made a private toast amongst themselves, smiling despite the evening chill.

There's good news out there if you search for it.

But what a strange world we live in, when a smile and a wave is something to apologise for.

But Wednesday evenings I spend juggling in Camden, and at the end of the night someone told me that a move I've been practicing was "very beautiful".

One of those compliments I shall carry with me for many years to come.

I'll leave it to you, dear reader, to guess which.