Splendid

[liadnan]

Someone has created an anonymous journal to preserve for posterity yesterday's bizarre account of "My Tornado Hell" in the London Evening Standard. It takes rare genius to cause me to lose sympathy for someone who has, after all, seen their home destroyed, but she almost manages it... Every sentence a gem, though the narrow frontrunner is probably:

"He said we could stay in a hotel. Adrian explained that there is only one hotel in London: Claridge's. Simon did not demur. And he loved what's left of our specialist-polished plaster walls".

Comments

[pashazade.livejournal.com]

Y'know, until that sentence I was fairly sympathetic.

[greyarea.livejournal.com]

Personally, it was this:

On Sunday we took Ella. She was devastated that her cat, Happy, was missing, possibly killed. She surveyed the destruction wreaked on her spotty Cath Kidson carpet, rosebud blinds and soft toys. "You always say my room looks like a bomb site," she said, smiling bravely. "Now it really does."

that made me reach for the chunder bucket.

[rparvaaz.livejournal.com]

Dude, you're *so* mistaken. The very best line, by far, is Now I know about the Scientologists, I can't risk living there any more.

I do feel sorry for the friends she is staying with. All that screaming is bound to get on one's nerves.

[knell.livejournal.com]

"I already had a brilliant trauma specialist therapist."

Thank God for that!

I'd say "Welcome to the real world", but that would just make me a meanie.

[rhythmaning.livejournal.com]

Actually, I couldn't get past the first paragraph - even the first line. Aaaagh.

[talvalin.livejournal.com]

You have to keep reading. It just gets better and better.

[anstruther.livejournal.com]

That's quite... special.

You can't top "I already had a brilliant trauma specialist therapist" as the best line, but "I shivered brutally" surely deserves an honourable mention for imagery (and self-pity).

[liadnan]

I'm a bit worried about these "eyes bursting with compassion".

[brelson.livejournal.com]

I also liked how the writer is at pains to specify the occupation of practically every character in the narrative. It's as though she's terrified that she'll lose the sympathy of the entire Evening Standard readership the instant someone who's possibly unemployed or in a menial job joins the ranks of the tornado-afflicted.