1. Apparently if I spend too much time by myself, not talking to anyone (not including incidental dialogue with waiters, bus drivers, and other people in the service industry) I start to lose all sense of social propriety. This became evident to me in a moment on the train back to London this evening when I turned to the nondescript person sitting across the aisle from me, opened my mouth and got as far as the actual intake of breath one experiences before speaking, before I finally snapped out of it and stopped myself. I had been THAT CLOSE to saying the following words: “Excuse me, are you a boy or a girl?” This is a true story.
2. After reading my very first Neil Gaiman book this weekend I am a little bit worried and a tad displeased. The name of the book is Neverwhere, and the name of my sort-of-book (read: non-book), for the last several years, has been… Nevermoor. Neverwhere (sort of) has a character called Arch. Nevermoor has a character called Arch. Most annoyingly, Nevermoor involves a secret city (sort of) underneath an existing city. Which is basically the storyline of Neverwhere, in a nutshell. Uh-oh.
3. Oh, exciting! When I was in Oxford I bought this seriously cool pink and red bicycle bell with flowers painted on it! It’s the coolest bicycle bell I’ve ever seen! I don’t own a bicycle of course. But does this in any way diminish my excitement? No sirreee!
4. Scene: Pickwick Guest House, my temporary Oxford home. 10am. I have just gotten out of the shower.
Knock knock.
I answer the door, wearing a towel, poking my head around the corner and perfectly aware that I have crazy post-shower fringe and it’s standing up like that scene in There’s Something About Mary. The owner of the B&B is standing outside with a handful of sheets and towels.
“Er – hi.”
“Oh hello there! I’m sorry, I’ve just come to change the linen.”
“Er – okay. I’m in a towel.”
“Oh, so you are. I see you’re still here then.”
“Er – yes.”
“Right. Well, what time were you planning to check out?”
“Um… what time is check-out?”
“Ten-thirty.”
“Well… I guess… ten-thirty?”
“Quite right. Of course. No problem.”
“…’kay… thanks, bye.”
5. Key difference between London and Oxford: in Oxford, people seem to always thank the bus driver as they disembark. It’s EXACTLY like Australia, except older and Englisher and in the northern hemisphere and completely different.
I actually *did* ask someone if they were a man or a woman once.
They replied “well what do you think!!!!” as if it was blindingly obvious.
It wasn’t. That’s why I asked. I never did find out.
Having lived in The Most Miserable House Share In North London for a while, I would occasionally go 48 hours without speaking to anyone. When I did, the acoustics felt very strange.
who says bicycle bells should only be used on bicycles? you could slip the amazing bell on your finger, ringlike, and use it to annouce your arrival.
in the long run, you might stop getting invited places. the bell does sound pretty cool though, so, you know, sacrifices sacrifices.
well… at least you didn’t actually refer to the person in question in front of her as a men…
woops!
While I realise your concern is the looming accusation of plagiarism, I’d still read your book. I haven’t read any Gaiman that wasn’t illustrated.