I had imagined that people would clamber to own another’s soul, but it seems not. I am not disappointed though, not at all – the sheer quality of those of you who entered made my heart glow.
Here are the results:
The winner, and now owner of my immortal soul is now Pete Denton. Try not to be too careful with it Pete and let me know what kind of sick things you do to it please. Here is the official certificate of ownership.
Runners up prizes go to:
Take your pick please and congratulations to you all.
Of course, now I’ve given away my soul, I am struggling to think what to give away as my next prize – any ideas on a postacard please?
~ k )
It seems I missed the point of the versatile blogger award thingy… I need to write seven things about myself and nominate 15-20 other bloggers. This will be difficult as there are only six things I know about myself and every blog I follow is too good not to nominate.
Ok, seven things about me:
- I have a tiny penis.
- I have not had a drink in nearly five years.
- I do not support Arsenal.
- I have a thing for Australian women.
- They do not have a thing for me.
- I like sad stories
- I do not know seven things about myself
Here are my nominees for the versatile blogger award – in no particular order .
i am in love with a woman on the other side of the planet, literally, and although there are the obvious physical frustrations, it is wonderful and perhaps the most beautiful romance i have ever known. her evenings are my mornings and my evenings, her mornings: i call it morvening. sometimes i forget what time of day it is completely, i even forget what day it is at times. here it is winter, there it is summer. here it is light and there, dark. time and season evaporate and mean nothing. i get two mornings and two evenings every day, i am so lucky. we talk via satellites, our words travel through space, isn’t that magnificent?
There is a small village somewhere, somewhen. One of those simple villages that have been around since long before the big cities and will still be around long after the cities and their gleaming towers will have crumbled into dust, In the centre of the village sits an old lady and a small child. The old lady is telling the child a story, it is the oldest story in the world, it is the story of the world, and how it came to be. If I remember correctly, it goes something like this:
In the begining the world was empty and grey and there was no life, not a leaf, not a frog, not a sausage. The only things to exist were two stone giants, called Wassisface and Wassername, and they stood like gods at either ends of the earth. Now, these giants were so enormously tall that they could see right the way round to the other side of the world, and one day they caught sight of each other and fell immediatley in love. Sadly though, both the giants were so large and heavy that if either of them moved the whole world would tip over and roll off into space. So they called to one another, so loud and powerful were their voices. They sang songs to one another and told jokes and made each other laugh. But they were sad too, for they could not hold one another as they so dearly wished to, and they cried with this sadness. They cried so much that they filled all the rivers and streams with their tears and all the lakes and seas and oceans. However, their tears nourished the dry land and things began to grow in it and it turned green and purple and silver and very lush, just like it is today. And the oceans teemed with little life which grew and crawled onto the green land and became all the life we see today. All the buttertflies, and rhinososauruses and cockroaches, all the peacocks and snails and all the animals and birds you can see, or think of, or even imagine, they all came from those tears. And people too, we all came from those same tears and that same sadness.
They are still there today, Wassisface and Wassername – the old lady tells the child – the two giants, standing at the opposite ends of the world, calling to each other, laughing and crying. And you can still hear them if you know how – whispers the old lady – listen carefully to the thunder next time there is a storm and you will hear them laugh. Let the rain fall on your face gratefully for it is their tears and without them we would not be here.