I'M NOT LITTLE. BUT I AM FIERCE

Right. Um, Easter Rant. Her Royal Popelyness speaks to the Nation. Largely the Nation ignores me, so I will just carry on and say whatever I like. There¹.

Today is Easter Saturday (or it was when I began writing), as that Great British Authority, the 'Radio Times' calls it, or, to the rest of us, Saturday.
I'm going to try not to get all ranty about things I've seen lately on social media. Anyone would think I didn't have a life, if I were to carry on about sexist babygros or the colour of dresses. Both of those, incidentally, I will choose to file under ''Things About Which I Literally Can't Even''.

Really. I just can't. 

 Maybe I ought to rant about Religion. It's just the time of year, of course. The trouble with that is that there are plenty of other pithy bloggers out there, any of whom will destroy Christianity for the mythology-stealing cult-that-got-lucky that it is. You know, according to some. It's easy enough to take it apart piece by piece: nothing that illogical can survive the application of - well, of Logic.
The problem is that People have to Believe In Something. This is true for most, though not for all of us. I don't believe in anything. Why should I? If something is real, I don't need to believe in it, because it will exist whether I believe in it or not.  And if something is not real, why, what sort of blinking idiot believes in things that aren't real?
I don't believe in anything. But some people need to. So I propose this. If one cannot take away a belief system in case it leaves a hollow, empty void into which anything may be poured (and think how unsuitable that could be, I mean they might discover they like Art, or Music, or Theatre, or Sex, or other horribly imaginative and/or unsuitable activities) - replace it with another belief system. Replace it with Shakespeare.
Okay. I was wrong. I do believe in something.  I believe that William Shakespeare wrote the plays of William Shakespeare.  This is a good thing to believe - ticking, as it does, all the necessary boxes for Belief, being as there is sufficient doubt surrounding the idea for some quite scholarly people to refute it.  Narcolepsy. I do not know why I wrote that. I fell asleep and when I woke up, I saw I'd written 'Nar' and I'd forgotten why. I fell asleep, mid-word. That's well funny, that is.
Also, many people don't like Shakespeare, and think he's boring, probably without ever having read or seen any, but having been forced to do it at school. So you see, my idea has that in common with Religion, too.
The crucial difference is this. No-one ever killed anyone in the name of Shakespeare. Okay, I'm sure someone has done so, somewhere, some time, in a fit of theatrical passion. But no nation ever went to war over Hamlet. No despot ever tortured a minority group because William said it was meet and right so to do. No-one ever claimed that Titus Andronicus was carrying out God's work.

From an article originally in the Times

All of humanity is in Shakespeare: Good, Evil, Love, Hate, Passion, Murder, Virtue, Sin, Beauty, Horror, Wisdom, Folly. And language - oh, Language. Wild and whirling words. Like the Bible, Shakespeare may be interpreted in myriad ways. Unlike the Bible, that's absolutely fine. How refreshing.
So if you must ask for guidance in time of need; if you seek succour in your melancholy; relief from your pain; balm for a wounded heart; strength when in doubt; by all means, turn to The Good Book. Just make sure it's the Complete Works of Shakespeare.

And what of Worship? Worship. What a singularly odd thing to do. I can remember going to church as a very small child, and hearing the liturgy - blah blah blah, "we are not worthy so much as to pick up the crumbs beneath your table..." - and thinking, with eight-year-old child-logic, "well, I am."

No need to worship The Bard. Though, you could, if you liked; if by 'worship' you meant 'go to the theatre'. Or 'go to the theatre and see something besides the Phantom of the fucking Opera³, for fuck's sake⁴'.

The Globe would become my Church, and I would go every Sunday. Religiously.

¹I take that back.  Someone did ask for a 'hot cross bun' on Friday - but I had to disappoint him². Sunday is my Ass-Selfie day.

²Who am I kidding? Of course I didn't. It's on Instagram.

³I had to Google top London musicals because I didn't know any.

⁴Look at that. I almost made it to the end without letting one slip. Or two.

A HEALTH AND SAFETY ANNOUNCEMENT

TOMORROW THERE WILL BE A SOLAR ECLIPSE, but whatever you do, DON'T go outside and watch it, just in case you burn your eyes. In fact, don't go outside at all, because on any other day of the year, the sun will still be in the sky, and will, in fact, be brighter and more visible than when it is 85% obscured by our planet's closest natural satellite*.
Just don't be unsafe. You can't be trusted to do a damn thing by yourself. Kindly download this form at once and complete it before you attempt anything, ever. Fill it in and submit it to me. Because I'm Pope, and I'll decide who gets to enjoy themselves, and in what ways, thank you very much.

*Ok, I'm probably wrong on this. So I missed that edition of QI. Bah. Up yours.

SENDING HOME

So many emotions... but - gird yourself, Mu...

 My grandmother has recently died. She was 98, and her brain outlived the body from which it sparkled. She was an amazing woman. Today, being Mother's Day, and so close to the passing of another Great Mind, finds me experiencing a heavy mix of joy and grief. I'm not here to write about my family, though...
I chatted with my Mamma about it (who has, of course, inherited the title of Head Grandma and the Tiara that goes with it) and she said she would like to suggest a DW book for her book group. 

So, suggestions welcome. Reaper Man was my route in, but I don't know if it's the right one for a different generation: I was about seventeen, with a mind, to quote my other favourite, 'as ignorant and uninformed as the female mind at seventeen usually is'. I have said to Mamma that there are many who misunderstand Pratchett, much as many misunderstand Jane Austen: they think Austen wrote romances and Terry wrote fantasy novels. They didn't - or, that is, there was so much more to them than that. They wrote brilliant humour, biting satire and beautifully-observed parodies of their respective societies; they just clothed them in the garb of popular genres.

Sir Terry Pratchett was not a ranter - or, I should say, he was not a ranter in public; I was not privileged to know him in more private moments. Politically he was as sound as they come - decent, liberal, honest, and unforgiving of the stupid and selfish. At least, that is what I draw from his books and from the few occasions upon which I was fortunate to meet him. He was the nation's most successful author after JK Rowling* (Gods, I still can't believe I have to say 'was') and still he did not enjoy the recognition he deserved. 

  One of the DW Hive Mind has just given me this quote from Terry himself - and it's the reason I have gone ahead and written this post, because he says succinctly what I have managed only by rambling:
"Recent Discworld books have spun on such concerns as the nature of belief, politics and even of journalistic freedom, but put in one lousy dragon and they call you a fantasy writer."
Thanks again for reading. I've added a few pictures below, which I have probably blogged before; but they are moments which happened because of the unique world in which I feel privileged to be a part.

*Sorry, Potter fans - they're great stories, but I have never read and re-read a line of Potter solely for the sheer pleasure of its construction. STP is one of only two contemporary authors for whom I have.
The other is not Stephen King.