(Q).
Back at their house by the cemetery, Paul and Chloe found Bee in her room, what Paul referred to as her sanctum sanctorum - although no one else ever got the joke, and he refused to explain the comic book reference. As always, lighting was minimal (as opposed to Bee's workshop out behind the house, which was flooded with fluorescents). A bank of TV sets and computer monitors covered one whole wall, arranged on a precarious system of metal shelves that Bee had installed herself. A low, flat coffee table squatted below the glowing displays, supporting three keyboards, a bank of video editing tools and four different phone carriages. Bee sat in her accustomed place - in the midst of a pile of cushions on the floor, fiddling with a mouse in one hand and typing on one of the keyboards while she talked quietly into her headset. Paul and Chloe didn't bother to knock as they came in - Bee already knew they were there. Paul glanced at one of the screens mounted on the wall. Its display, divided into four quadrants, showed various images from inside the house, including the front door they'd just come through and the stairs they'd just climbed. The screen next to it - which Paul himself had salvaged from a bar on Duval that'd recently renovated into a finedining restaurant - showed images from four other cameras that covered the house's exterior. Nothing happened within fifty yards of their Crew's house that Bee didn't see, and if she had her way, that omniscience would soon extend to cover the entire island. "So, Bee, how goes Project Big Brother?" Paul asked. "I wish you wouldn't call it that," she replied. "Sorry, but I have to call it something." "You could call it something nice. Big Brother sounds so mean." "What's mean about a reality show?" said Paul, joking. "What isn't bad about a reality show?" countered Chloe, stepping in to defend her friend. What did Paul call Bee's room? - Sanctum Sanctorum. - Project Big Brother. - The Crew. - not enough information
(A).
Sanctum Sanctorum.

(Q).
I will never own a Chanel suit. It is unlikely that I will ever own a (genuine) Chanel handbag. However, a Chanel nail polish was definitely attainable. Whilst they are ridiculously expensive compared with most other nail polishes ($AU39), they are still much more affordable than the $AU1,000,000,000 a handbag costs (or so I estimate as I have never actually priced one). After seeing swatches of Peridot online, I knew that baby would one day be mine. The other two polishes in the collection - Quartz and Graphite - did not excite me the way Peridot did. That was until I read this review of Graphite on the Polish Police. Suddenly, Graphite was on my radar. It was stuck in my head like an ear worm; another baby, soon to be adopted. I argued with myself for about a month on whether to get these polishes or not. Could I really spend nearly $80 on nail polish. It did seem rather excessive to me. Then, Myers sent me a $10 voucher for my birthday and I got a $30 voucher for doing a survey so the decision was made. For $38 of my own money (less than the cost of two OPI's!) I became the proud owner of Peridot and Graphite. Here is my review of Graphite. Graphite is the most stunningly intriguing nail polish I have ever owned. In the bottle it looks a little bit dull and boring - grey and bland. But on the nail it is completely different. In some lights it is silvery, others a more gun metal grey, and in others it has almost a goldish tone to it. It is super sparkly, yet is not a glitter polish - though in saying that it appears more glitter than shimmer. It is quite opaque. Two coats and you can't see the nail line. In the photos below I have actually applied three coats (plus an addition two top coats of clear) because I was going to a wedding and I wanted it to be perfect. But ordinarily two would be sufficient. What occupation does the author have? - A doctor - not enough information - A teacher - An engineer
(A).
not enough information

(Q).
My first memory of cooking was with my grandmother, Rosemary, in Sydney. She taught me how to make scrambled eggs on her electric stovetop, the kind with the coiled heating elements, in her small, linoleum-lined kitchen with cupboards that stuck a little when they closed. She was not an exceptional cook I can remember plenty of bland and overcooked vegetables and custard made with powder to pour into pre-bought pie cases with tinned pineapple, her specialty but she worked hard to put a balanced, home-cooked meal on the table three times a day, every day. The eldest of eight children, she dropped out of school during the Depression to help her single mother look after her siblings and work as a seamstress at David Jones. When the Second World War broke out and she was engaged to my grandfather, Aubrey, she started working on war-torn planes ("sometimes looking as if a steam roller has gone over them," she said) as a sheet metal worker, putting them back together, when many of the men who used to do this work were off fighting the war. She said it was just like dressmaking, only using different materials. She had a twinkle in her eye and a distinct laugh that can really only be described as a cackle. She was a strong, incredibly smart woman with a fighter spirit who led her female co-workers out on the airport tarmac one day on a strike to earn equal wages to men. I am so proud that her story is taught as part of the Australian primary school curriculum. Her dream was to have a home with that electric stove. In 1943 when she was 28 she was interviewed for Australian Women's Weekly magazine for an article on women in men's jobs during the war, where there is a photo of her that is etched in my memory, dressed in white, wearing a white bandana tied in a knot at the top of her dark curls, a plane behind her. How does the author probably feel, while thinking about her grandmother? - hungry - not enough information - proud - excited
(A).
proud