These are people I would like to have in my family. Or at least as my friends. There's a separate list for Indians, which will come up sooner or later.
Roger Waters- I don't care HOW I know you, but I just HAVE to know you. 'I'll see you on the dark side of the moon.'
PG Wodehouse- I want him to be my grandpa, sit me upon his lap and read out bits from novels in progress that the public hasn't got a whiff of yet. You've got to love a man who says things like:-
- ''Memories are like mulligatawny soup in a cheap restaurant. It is best not to stir them.''
- "Unlike the male codfish which, suddenly finding itself the parent of three million five hundred thousand little codfish, cheerfully resolves to love them all, the British aristocracy is apt to look with a somewhat jaundiced eye on its younger sons."
- "To my daughter Leonora without whose never-failing sympathy and encouragement this book would have been finished in half the time."
Christie- After writing half as many novels as she did, I wouldn't be able to string two sentences together and retain some semblance of language. She had an interesting life as well. She randomly took off to West Asia to get over her divorce, fell in love with a junior archeologist posted there, and married him. She'd make one wild granny :D
Meryl Streep as aunt. I'd make her
get me into Hollywood :p
Robin Williams- The drunk uncle at weddings!
Oscar Wilde- Another eccentric uncle. An unashamed homosexual who made outrageous one-liners. He believed in art for art's sake. And he gave nearly EVERY elocutionist their debut piece.
Eric Clapton- He knew that one can bloody well be a rockstar in bermudas, collared shirts and spectacles. He shall wind up my list of uncle-gods.
Roald Dahl- He invented the BFG, and through the BFG, the word 'pifflefizz.' He has to be my elder brother. If he wasn't one foot and six inches taller than me, I might consider wanting to date him. But elder brother will do just fine.
Ted Hughes- This is a poem by him.
Bride and Groom Lie Hidden For Three Days.
She gives him his eyes, she found them
Among some rubble, among some beetles
He gives her her skin
He just seemed to pull it down out of the air and lay it over her
She weeps with fearfulness and astonishment
She has found his hands for him, and fitted them freshly at the wrists
They are amazed at themselves, they go feeling all over her
He has assembled her spine, he cleaned each piece carefully
And sets them in perfect order
A superhuman puzzle but he is inspired
She leans back twisting this way and that, using it and laughing
Now she has brought his feet, she is connecting them
So that his whole body lights up
And he has fashioned her new hips
With all fittings complete and with newly wound coils, all shiningly oiled
He is polishing every part, he himself can hardly believe it
They keep taking each other to the sun, they find they can easily
To test each new thing at each new step
And now she smoothes over him the plates of his skull
So that the joints are invisible
And now he connects her throat, her breasts and the pit of her stomach
With a single wire
She gives him his teeth, tying the the roots to the centrepin of his body
He sets the little circlets on her fingertips
She stiches his body here and there with steely purple silk
He oils the delicate cogs of her mouth
She inlays with deep cut scrolls the nape of his neck
He sinks into place the inside of her thighs
So, gasping with joy, with cries of wonderment
Like two gods of mud
Sprawling in the dirt, but with infinite care
They bring each other to perfection.
This poem made me fall in love with him. It's a fact that his wife and mistress both commited suicide the same way. Nevertheless, I would very much like to marry him.
The man in the picture is Al Pacino as Michael Corleone. The rest is self-explanatory.