The Art of Subtle Procrastination

Where was I?

2011-09-08T14:23:00.025+01:00

He phoned just before 4pm.
"I've crashed, " he said.

Being married to a man who loves his sports cars (not to mention the motorbikes) means that I've been expecting this call for nearly seventeen years. When it finally came, I was grateful he'd phoned me himself, having hung up on the emergency services lest they get to me first.
"Are you all right?" I asked.
"I'm fine," he replied, "but I think I've hurt my foot."
I had a little panic then: this is a man who could slice off his finger and mention only a small cut.
"What sort of hurt-your-foot," I asked.
"It hurts when I move it, and I'm stuck."
Poor lamb. He was stuck in the wreckage for over an hour while they searched for him (he didn't know exactly where he was, and his satnav had been flung out by the force of the impact). Eventually, he was spotted by a kindly farmer, bumbling along on his tractor, who noticed something unusual sticking out of the hedge...

Altogether, he broke three bones; one of them in four places, and the 'hurt foot' required a major reconstruction of his lower left leg. Three months, and three operations later (so far), it remains encased in a steel frame (with all kinds of exciting bits to twiddle). He doesn't get much pain now, he says, and has stopped swearing at his leg, but I can tell you he swears a lot at his crutches instead.

Now he's past the seriously-injured stage (sleeps well, can stay awake all day, isn't popping pills every hour), he's reached the frustration stage. He thinks he's better (which is laughable), and being a man, he's trying to get on with Normal Life. Only he can't. Not even nearly. Hence the swearing. This is at least as hard to live with as having a fragile, bed-bound, smashed-up invalid in the house.

Everyone asks about him, of course, and I say he's doing well. It's just a slow process.

Some people ask about me....

I'm on my knees. I've driven 5,500 miles since the end of June (most of them with three young children in the back). I've spent countless days in different hospitals (ditto children). I've lost hours of my life to paperwork (you wouldn't believe the paperwork). I'm critically short of me-time. And I won't be seeing Scotland again this year :o(

And I'm permanently out of chocolate.

But I'm okay. Now, anyway. He still needs help with a lot of stuff, and he won't be walking properly again for at least a year, but we're over the worst. The smaller girl started school this month (a milestone that got a bit lost amongst the chaos), and while the extra hours have been a godsend, for nine years I was planning to spend them on myself...

Typical!

--------------------------------------------
These people have made it all possible: the Brighton Orthopaedic Trauma Team, who are talented and lovely with it; Queenie, who thinks she's neglected me, but has just been wonderful; Jane and Angie who have picked up so many pieces I've lost count; my dad, who paid for a cleaning fairy; and my kids, who stepped up to the mark when I needed them to.

Correction...

2011-06-21T21:17:00.026+01:00

Forget gruelling... I had a fantastic weekend!

I left home on Friday evening, and caught the Caledonian sleeper from Euston. After an unusually restless night (despite having a cabin to myself), I arrived in Aviemore early the next morning with only a few hours sleep in the bag. My mate picked me up from the station (and took me for a slap-up breakfast, bless him), and we headed into the hills for a little stroll before the Scottish Bikeathon the next day. The weather was foul (8h spent inside the bloody rain cloud), but the mountains were conquered regardless!

We camped out before getting up at 5.30am to make it back to civilisation in time for the Bikeathon. The ride (26 miles) was loads of fun, and we met up with other friends for lunch half way round. A huge thank you is due to all of you who sponsored me; I raised £600 (at the last count), and the event as a whole raised over £35,000 for Leukaemia & Lymphoma Research.

We needed a beer after the ride, and some food, so we headed for the pub. Sometime later, and because we'd all had a few drinks the reasons are too complicated to explain, we ended up (suitably dressed, if I remember rightly) in the pub's outdoor hot-tub with several other friends. An hour and a half later...

We still needed to find some food, and somewhere to stop for the night, so it seemed like a good idea (at the time) to gate-crash a nearby music fest. There was food [tick], more beer [tick], and camping [tick tick]. We also discovered Charlie Mckerron was playing; this was a particular treat, because not only is he a first-rate fiddle player, he's also rather a dish.

With another early start to catch my train the next morning I was desperately short of sleep, but it was more than worth it! And it was all in a good cause after all.

If you'd still like to contribute to my sponsorship fund, you can do so here: http://www.justgiving.com/leighforbes.

Gruelling Weekend

2011-06-06T16:47:00.009+01:00

I'm riding in the Scottish Bikeathon, 26 miles through the Highlands in aid of Leukeamia & Lymphoma Research. I'm doing it with the widow of my friend Piet Ketelaar, in his memory.

I've raised £255 in four days. My target is £1,000 by the day of the ride, June 19th.

If any blogmates out there are prepared to sponsor me, I'd be hugely grateful. You can make a payment online at justgiving.com/leighforbes.

It's not part of the event, but I'm also planning to climb Cairn Toul, the UK's 4th highest mountain, the day before the bikeathon... It's going to be a gruelling (but ace) weekend!

Associations

2011-03-25T16:03:00.052Z

Ever listen to a particular song on the radio, and find yourself taken back to when you heard it first?

Sometime in January, I was slurping coffee in my study with Jane – no doubt discussing the more unpleasant habits of small children – when the Peatbog Faeries came on the stereo. Now I first heard the Faeries on the juke box in my Scottish local, and in an instant I was there, drinking fine ale and soaking up the craic. I couldn't help it: I started yammering on to Jane about the pub, the beer, my mates...
Jane's eyes began to glaze.

"Why don't you come with me?" I exclaimed. "I'm always thinking, 'Jane'd like this' when I'm there. We could drive up in a day (s'only 600 miles), have a couple of days there, and drive back. Crazy, I know, but hell, life's too short..."

Jane (and others), after much deliberation, declined; but my ace blogmate, Womagwriter, whom I have long bored witless regaled with tales of Scotland, was more than game. Lovely woman. But mad, obv.

So last week we hit the road, drove for ten hours, had two fab days walking (see right), met with friends gu leòr. And drove home again. 1,316 miles.
All because of the Peatbog Faeries.

There's a Will Young song I'll forever associate with a roundabout on the A27. The smell of dry earth has me rolling down an M1 embankment in a red Ford Cortina estate. The taste of mushroom soup always takes me to Knebworth International Guide & Scout camp, 1981. And after last week, I'll never hear another Snow Patrol track without thinking of the M6...

What takes you back, and where does it take you?

Why a Good Friend is like a Good Cup of Coffee

2011-02-08T20:25:00.022Z

Having been brought up on a mix of granulated instant and bullies, I hated both coffee and people. There was never any point giving either of them a second chance; why bother when you know you’re going to hate the experience? Besides, before I could ever try (or retry) anything new, I had to understand how it worked… in meticulous detail, and neither coffee nor people seemed worth the effort.

So I wish I could remember what peculiar circumstance took me out of my comfort zone and into Costa for the first time. The discovery that there existed something other than Nescafé transformed me from a tea-shop-bourgeois to a coffee-bar-chick. It was a happy occasion, and just reward for my bravery. (Oddly though, and despite my now-renowned love of the stuff, it took until today’s barista treated me to an impromptu latte-making lesson, that I realised I've never needed to understand the process to enjoy the coffee.)

People have taken me a little longer.

I had long-since got as far as realising that I don’t really hate people, per se. It was my inability to understand how they work that rattled me. I’ve always been frustrated by the lack of a blueprint or data-table to reveal the hidden workings of human interaction; there is nothing tangible for me to dismantle, inspect and put back together. If only people were more like coffee machines, I could understand them better, and perhaps be more trusting.

My aspie diagnosis was my Costa moment: it has enabled me to realise that the people I love are not just those who profess to understand me, but those whom I don’t feel the need to understand – people I can let be without having to know every detail of their every motive. It’s like not just letting someone else drive, but being able to shut your eyes while they do it: unnerving to begin with, but so much more relaxing once you get used to it… a bit like your first taste of good coffee after a lifetime of granules.

Education. Education. Education.

2011-01-23T14:11:00.024Z

My Asperger's diagnosis has brought many issues to the fore, not least my pitiful state of education.

Despite my love affair with learning, I have only the barest formal qualifications. I try not to be bitter about the delay in my diagnosis and that I received no support at school, either educationally, or pastorally: it's hard to study when the girl behind is flicking Tip-Ex in your hair (again) and the teacher is laughing (again) because she's too incompetent to do anything else.

I escaped the savagery of school at fifteen, with the minimum qualifications. My parents were horrified, in a predictably middle-class way, and packed me off to sixth-form college threatening withdrawal of all my human rights. Having had enough of being pushed around, I left home.

I stayed on at college though, and did manage to gain an A-level. You see, I still loved learning, it was just life I couldn't cope with.

I lasted 13-months in the workplace (nuff said). After three years of self-employment, I gave in to the realisation that I had to get more qualifications; £90 a week was just not enough to live on. Even then.

And so to university. Again I loved the learning; but again I couldn't hack the rest of it. I had a breakdown after three years, and dropped out with nothing to show for the bad taste in my mouth.

I'm still scraping a living. I sometimes wonder how different life would have been if I'd been diagnosed as a child, but I don't believe in regrets; I believe only in moving forward from this point.

It's taken me fifteen years this time, but I feel ready to give education another go; this autumn, my youngest will be starting school. And so will I. Wish me luck. I want to get it right this time.

Hello, my name is Leigh, and I'm an...

2010-12-08T11:03:00.056Z

I'm an Aspie. There, I said it.

It was on the 16th November 2010, at 1.05pm, when I was diagnosed with Asperger's syndrome.
I cried.
It was a life-changing moment, but also a (albeit, harrowing) confirmation of a long-held suspicion, and not a surprise.

It has been a surprise for many others, though - those who don't know me. "Well, it is a spectrum," they say. "You obviously don't have it very badly."

They wouldn't last five minutes inside my head.

From the age of three I've known I was different, and that I didn't want to be. As I grew up, I studied body language, facial expression, tone of voice, and everything else that goes along with 'being normal'. I convinced myself that if I just worked at it hard enough, I could be like everyone else. I got quite good, didn't I?

The trouble is, the more skilled I became at pretending (which is all it could ever be), the more people expected me to behave 'normally'. As I mastered increasingly subtle ways of interacting (you lot have no idea how complex a conversation is, and on how many levels), it became harder and harder for me to keep up. I became exhausted. Long term, chronically tired. Which is why I finally had to know.

Knowing is good, of course - it has to be - but, remembering that I've dedicated my whole life to being accepted into your world, having the door slammed and locked in my face is... well, it's been a bit upsetting.

It took me two weeks to stop crying. I went through denial, bargaining, anger... I raged at everyone: the people at my school/university, for making my life hell - peers and staff alike (note to VJ: You bullied the autistic kid. How big d'you feel now?); my parents, for their attempts to correct me with 'discipline'; and everyone else around me for having what I wanted. I'm through that now. You're fine. (Please scratch anything I said/wrote to the contrary in recent weeks. Thanks.)

I'm calmer now, and can forgive myself for so many things: I'm not a failure; I'm not a crybaby; I'm not a fusspot; I'm not rude or uncaring, a stubborn little madam, or any one of a myriad of confidence-destroying labels. I'm an Aspie.

Learning all about what makes an Aspie is like a homecoming, and reading Tony Attwood's Complete Guide to Asperger's Syndrome, is like reading a Haynes manual for Being Me. I wish I'd read it thirty years ago. I wish my parents and teachers had read it... Anyway, I've decided. I'd rather be a happy Aspie, than an miserable impostor.

So when I talk to much, don't get your jokes, object to being teased, want the music turned down, wander off by myself, or whatever... please understand I'm not being awkward, I'm being weird. I hope you're okay with that.

I am.

Uniforms

2010-10-03T11:03:00.011+01:00

I went to a Macmillan coffee morning on Friday, which was bizarre enough in itself, but the thing that stood out most, in that country house, with its stone-flagged kitchen floor and fine stairwell, was....er... me.

Having just returned from a week in the mountains, I am still favouring my Aviemore uniform: walking boots, a (bright green) waterproof jacket and a pair of cleanish jeans. Everyone else was wearing designer clothes, perfect hair/nails and names like Felicity. I have a lot in common with these women, but I didn't cut the mustard in my semi mountain garb; they didn't recognise me as a middle class, middle-aged, country-dwelling mother, but rather as some transient who had wondered in off the Downs.

Conversely, if I'd turned up to Corrour Bothy last weekend with anything other than a pair of Zamberlains (or similar), hair awry and broken nails, they'd have thought I'd taken a wrong turning at the carpark (the shopping area is the other way).

I confess to feeling a little at odds with my surroundings while searching for a friend amongst last month's Thunder in the Glen gathering (Harley Davidsons R Us). Despite being a biker myself, and being in a pub I know well and love, I didn't fit; I was wearing the wrong uniform. But I didn't really mind.

I feel all right in my ten-quid jeans and a pair of boots. I've tried and failed to smarten myself up over the years, invariably reverting to my own uniform, that one that says "ME" and the one in which I feel most comfortable.

When it comes to writing, I realise I'm lucky – not just because I'm happy in my clothes, but also because I'm happy in my genre. I often wonder, however, about those whose writing is less mainstream than mine? Do they feel out of place? Are horror writers able to show their work to their mums? What about authors of erotica? Some genres, once considered way out on a limb (e.g. fantasy & paranormal), can now been considered mainstream in their own ways, but I know the stigma remains in some people's minds.

Are you happy in your genre, or do you feel under pressure to write something more... normal?

Is it Me, or the Rest of the World?

2010-09-15T11:16:00.007+01:00

I am less grumpy now, but it's taken a while. I don't believe in writing things down during a serious grump, because then the grump's there forever, and it looks like you're a grumpy person. And I'm not. Much.

I've forgotten the more trivial things now, which is good, but others still stick in my side:

• The teenage staff in the Ptarmigan Restaurant who were rude and surly - when they work in one of the most beautiful places on the planet. I might be getting old, but when I make a justified remark (politely) about the disappearance of the children's play area, I don't expect the staff member to say, "Well it's not my fault." And then turn to his (teenage) colleague, and say, "It's not my fault, is it?" And snigger.

• The woman who told me on the phone, "Oh yes, our climbing tower is suitable for little ones. My 18-month nephew goes on it all the time." So, we went, having spent considerable time and effort locating a climbing venue that would let the Smaller Girl (three and a half) have a go. And when I got there? They said the Smaller Girl was too young, the helmet wouldn't fit (it did), she would be scared (she wasn't), she wouldn't be able to reach (she could). After a fight (I was cross), they let her go, and she waved delightedly to me from ten feet up. She loved it.

• The People's Friend, that last bastion of old-fashioned values, has stopped sending out complimentary copies to authors, citing "rising postal costs and the current difficult economic conditions." Sure, I can see that 81p, is really hard to find when you have a circulation of three hundred thousand. In addition, they didn't tell me my story (published on the 21st August) was out until the 23rd (at which time I was in remotest Scotland, with no newsagents to hand), and by the time I returned to civilisation (on the 25th), the next issue (dated the 28th) had replaced mine.

• Some yobbo threw a rock at my windscreen (mercifully not breaking it), and yet it would have been wrong for me to take a hiking pole and beat him round the head. The police came. Looked bored. Was I wasting their time? Should rock-throwing fuckwits go unreported?

And there is one other thing I'm grumpy about: the fear that I'm getting old and grumpy. I'm not a luddite. I can change. I embrace change; but I'm tired of falling standards, and seeing good services - that cost nothing - replaced with bad services, or none at all. Above all else, I'm tired of lethargy and rudeness, and grumpiness.

The Growing Season

2010-08-27T00:22:00.007+01:00

A blog post is germinating; it must be spring already. Eh?
I shall attempt to write it down shortly - but I warn you, I'm grumpy.

Where do Your Ideas Come From?

2010-03-31T18:42:00.007+01:00

I mentioned in my last post that an idea for a new novel had popped into my head while I stared out of the window on the train. I have no idea what triggered it, other than I was not, for once, thinking about anything else. Usually, I am looking after the children, working, writing, washing, cooking, or even doing some housework. Occasionally, I am drinking tea, but this last activity is invariably accompanied by reading.

I used to get my ideas as I dozed off in bed, but these days I just fall, zombie-like into the deepest slumber (until woken by the need to rearrange a duvet cover, pick up a teddy, fetch water, etc.), and so that dreaming time has gone. The same with driving. I like to think I pay attention to the road (unless Cally's in the car), and there used to be space for thinking too, but now that's taken up with The Wheels on the Bus, and I haven't a hope of constructive contemplation. So you see, I'm never not thinking about something else, and how the too-tired-to-bother-with-work episode on the train proved unexpectedly productive.

I'm going to practice now, thinking about nothing, and see what happens. With luck, my stress levels will dive, but I'm hoping my creativity might get a boost too.

Where do your ideas come from?

New Mountain-Walking Blog
I have started a new blog: Mountains, Miles & Mist, and would love to see you over there!

Throwing Away the Crutches

2010-03-18T13:26:00.018Z

You know how you should never google your ailments? A spot of browsing over the weekend warned me that, while I could expect to be walking normally in 4-6 weeks, I might experience problems with my ankle for 12-18 months. 12-18 months?!! I'm a mountain hiker!

Well, I've been here before: I broke this ankle in 1981, and in 1996 I fell over in my bedroom suffered the same ligament injury as now. I had physio for the break, but not for the ligament, which was a big mistake. Thus, on Tuesday I paid my money (three-month wait for the NHS), and went to see my handsome physiotherapy friend, Paul.

I wanted to know how to get better without risking further damage - the kids have been brilliant, but the novelty's worn off - and if there were even a remote chance of getting hiking-fit in time for my (already booked) trip to Scotland in May. "Yes," he said. "Throw away the crutches, and get walking!"

It was music to my ears, Dear Reader. Music. It seems obvious now (especially after all I learned about ankles on Tuesday), but am wondering why the hospital advice was limited to: 'move your foot as often as possible, and stop if it hurts' - fine for the first few days, but useless after that.

Along with ultrasound treatment, an anatomy lesson (strictly limited to lower-limb joints), and some interesting* exercises, Paul gave me his promise that I'm not going to 'do it in' again (unless I commit muppetry again), and this gave me the confidence to walk. I can't tell you how lovely that feels.

*dull as death

On the writing front, work has necessitated spending a useful amount of time on trains recently. Having tired of doing anything constructive, I had taken to staring out of the window, and as a consequence, a new-novel idea popped into my head, somewhere between Redhill and Gatwick. Plot, characters, twist and all. I am very excited (though it is currently no.6 on my list of Books To Be Written), and have already drafted a synopsis! Am a little bit smug about this.

People: the Good, Bad & Ugly

2010-03-13T13:05:00.009Z

I've been to London three times this week, on crutches, and have alternately enjoyed and hated the experience every few minutes. Because of people:

The Good: the woman in a Clapham Junction coffee shop, who leapt out of her seat to haul open the door for me saying, "Been there myself, love. Know just what you're going through"; the man on an increasingly crowded train who growled "crutches" at anyone who tried to sit on a seat occupied by my foot (I would have happily made space, but I appreciated his care); the railwayman at Clapham who unlocked the staff loos to save me walking to the other end of the platform; the man who carried my coffee; the Sussex taxi-driver who waited an hour (until 12.45am) for my delayed train; the people who offered me their hard-won seats; the handsome Naval officer who treated me to two hours of enjoyable conversation (started on the subject of my crutches) and who escorted me to my destination (Hi, Tim).

The Bad: the people who barged into me, stepped in front of me, plonked themselves on the seats I was aiming for; all the other people who simply didn't notice; the colleague who kept me talking for twenty minutes in Waterloo station while I stood on one foot; the people who stared (they're only crutches for gawd's sake);

The Ugly: the man who kicked a crutch out from under me on Victoria concourse, and walked on without even registering what he'd done - I like to think his shin registered it, but he didn't break stride; the fit forty-something in the disabled seat on a packed tube, who held my gaze and did not move...

You'll notice there are far more Goods, than Bads & Uglies put together, but I think that's because gems stand out in the muck. My lasting memory is one of others' indifference. Which I think is sad.

Thanks for all messages of support! Ankle getting better, albeit slowly - small improvement every day. Am now able to hobble without crutches in the house, but am taking things very carefully! Scotland beckons.

Reasons to Lounge About on the Sofa, no.32

2010-03-08T09:02:00.020Z

As I lie here, on my sofa, cup of tea in hand, laptop on lap, sun shining through the window, and the smaller girl playing happily beside me, you'd think life couldn't get much better. Then you might notice the long metal things beside me... So, Leigh, exactly why are you lying around on a Monday morning, when your house craves attention? Eh?

Ahem. Quick change of subject.

Walking in the mountains is potentially dangerous: a slip could mean death - not because of cliff edges, necessarily, or anything dramatic like that - but because a twisted ankle will leave you lying around, cold and probably wet, for a long time waiting to be rescued, or even to summon help. People die of hypothermia in the Scottish mountains in June. Now, I've been mocked for all the kit I carry - enough to survive immobility for 24h in freezing conditions (i.e. all year round in the Cairngorms) - but I carry it nonetheless. Peace of mind, and all that.

So, it's comical (not to mention embarrassing) that it was a two-foot high bank in the garden that proved my downfall. Thirty seconds after warning the smaller girl to take care in the frost I slipped, and one God-almighty crack later, down I went. And not a Kendal Mint Cake in sight.

Nothing broken though, just ligament damage, and I hope to be off the crutches within a couple of weeks.

Have you ever done anything as dumb?

The Gold Star Award goes to the Smaller Girl (who'll be three tomorrow) who fetched: the telephone to summon help; hiking poles to get me into the house; frozen sweetcorn to put on the swelling; iPod for going to hospital; and unlocked the door when help arrived. She stopped several times to have a little wail, and point out interesting aeroplanes, but I'd have been lost without her.

The Sirens are Calling, but I Can't Go

2010-01-31T13:54:00.006Z

I've been a bit quiet, I'm sorry. Mostly this is because I've been overwhelmed with work, and partly because I've been a bit miserable too. You see, just as the mornings are getting lighter, the sun is beginning to generate a few nano-therms, and I'm planning how to spend a delightfully inappropriate amount of money on new walking kit for this year, my doctor says I have to stop climbing mountains. Just a temporary precaution, I'm told, until they work out what's wrong with my heart...

Yes, I thought I was better too; but just as I had written the post telling you so, the 'indigestion' I had on the way down Braeriach, turned into palpitations and wayward blood-presssure, and more recently into fainting fits. It's this last symptom that concerns the doctor. He's promised me I'm not about to drop dead, but he doesn't like the thought of me losing consciousness half-way up Coire Raibeirt (see photo).

This hasn't stopped me training; I realised it's no good spending the first three days of a five-day trip getting fit (only to revert to lard within a week of getting home), so, as the doctor hasn't said I can't exercise (and I'm not asking the question), I've been spending thirty minutes a day on Jane's cross-trainer (treadmill-cum-step machine). And I feel fine. (Okay, that's a lie, but I'm bored with feeling ill.)

Am now champing at the NHS waiting list. They've done all the blood tests, and the 24h ECG - next comes the scan and an appointment with the cardiologist (who I just know is going to tell me to "rest"). I suppose I can rest in my local outdoor-equipment shop, can't I? While I try on new rucksacks...

Cross your fingers for me, Dear Readers. I can't live without mountains.

The Truth About Rudolph et al

2009-11-23T14:11:00.005Z

Am persuaded to save my last post for a shorty, so here's an early festive joke instead:

According to the Alaska Department of Fish and Game, while both male and female reindeer grow antlers in the summer each year, male reindeer drop their antlers at the beginning of winter, usually late November to mid-December. Female reindeer retain their antlers until after they have given birth in the spring.

Therefore, if we are to go by every available depiction of Santa's entourage, every one of them - from Rudolph to Blitzen - is a girl.

We should have known. Only women, while pregnant, would be able to drag a fat man in a red velvet suit all around the world in one night and not get lost.

Another Hit!

2009-11-05T21:24:00.012Z

It took until I actually read the letter to realise I'd sold another story. I didn't notice that the envelope had been addressed to my writing name, that the postmark was Dundee (home of D. C. Thomson), and that it contained one of my easily identifiable SAEs (neatly folded and returned, bless 'em).

So, as proof that my first sale was not a fluke, The People's Friend have asked to buy one too. Am terribly chuffed. They gave me great feedback with some early rejections, but I had failed to make any further progress, and had given up subbing to them. This was the first thing I'd sent them in over eighteen months.

I don't have a publication date, but you can be sure I'll let you know!

For information: they'd had the story since the middle of March, so if you are awaiting a reply from the Far North, have faith. Your sub is not down the back of the radiator just yet.

Thank you to everyone who has signed the Chambers petition (more links in the post below). If you've haven't yet indulged me by signing, please consider doing so. You'll be in good company; Ian Rankin (possibly even the real one) did today.

Just to complete my day, I have been retweeted by @TheXFactor (who have a following of nearly 42,000); but I shan't mention such popularist nonsense on this blog. You're all much too highbrow for that, aren't you?

Save Chambers!

2009-10-20T13:32:00.016+01:00

Regular readers of this blog will know that I have occasionally mentioned Chambers Dictionary, well, just once or twice...

Its parent company, Hachette (there's an apt name if I ever heard one) decided last month that it would be a good idea to close the Edinburgh office, out of which Chambers has worked for 190 years - for no doubt sound financial reasons, but no sound human reasons - and split ChambersHarrup between the faceless leviathans of Hodder and Larousse.

A petition has been started in the hope of saving the Edinburgh office - with its twenty-seven real people doing real jobs - and prevent Chambers being subsumed. PLEASE SIGN UP!

Links:
Save Chambers Petition (you don't have to donate to iPetition)
Buy Chambers Dictionary! (Nothing compares with a real one!!)
@ChambersOnline (on Twitter)
Chambers Online Dictionary (The online version)
Clishmaclaver (ChambersOnline's Brilliant Blog)

The background story can be read on the Publishing Scotland website, and in The Scotsman.

Footnote, 16/11/09: the Chambers office is now due to close by New Year, with half the staff having left by the end of November. I am at a loss to describe how angry this makes me feel, and how sad I am. Bean-counters - I wonder how you sleep.

On Fogginess, Precipices & Isolation

2009-10-16T12:35:00.031+01:00

The summit of Braeriach, as only the truly bonkers will ever see it:

The drop over the edge is 1,000', or more, depending on whether you bounce left or right as you go!

Having descended out of the cloud, Strath Spey shows in all its majesty. Only four hours to go...

And my favourite photo from August (a patched-together screen-bending panorama). This is Loch Avon:

A Big Hill and a Healthy Soul

2009-10-13T10:53:00.008+01:00

Have been in Scotland for five days, walking and climbing. Feeling stronger and stronger every day. Well, not today, but that's because I climbed a particularly big hill yesterday. Big enough for me to exclaim on the way up, at least twice, what the hell am I doing here? and whose idea was this again? Er... mine; but a good idea nonetheless.

The big hill was Braeriach, at 4,252' the third highest in Scotland. It is also one of the more isolated peaks in the Cairngorms, requiring a two-hour walk to reach the lower slopes. The photo is not mine - it was foggy and snowy yesterday, so much so that I turned back just 200 yards from the summit. You can see why...

Tomorrow I start for home, 600 miles and another world away. I won't get to come here again until next year, and I am already missing the battering wind, and crunch crunch crunch of my feet on some remote mountain path.

But my body is completely better, and I think my soul is now better too.

What's good for your soul?

A Small Confession

2009-09-29T09:59:00.005+01:00

Hello folks!
Sorry for the appallingly long absence. Been continuing to struggle with poor health, but in the last few weeks, I think I might, actually, finally, be better. It's been eight months...

Anyway, my small confession is that I sold a story. About a month ago, whilst on holiday in Scotland (how perfect is that) I received an email from the adorable Jill Finlay at The Weekly News, asking to buy a 1000-word twist-in-the-tale. Well, having been writing shorties for two and a half years, and having sold precisely... nothing... up to that point, you can imagine how carefully I had to consider my answer.

Yeeeeeessss!!!

So, to all you struggling newbies, let me also confess that I have subbed over fifty stories to get that hit. So keep going. I won't give you the J. A. Konrath quote again, but how about this one by Tim Clare, via Sally Zigmond and Womagwriter: "Getting published is about practising until you're really good, then persevering until you're really lucky."

Am writing this now, having just received payment for my story. Real money, in my back account! I'm not going to spend it yet - I'm about to go back to Scotland for a week and could do with an emergency float - but as soon as I've got some spare (next month... always next month...) I'm going to put it towards a red iPod nano. If you buy directly from Apple, they'll engrave it for free, so I'm going to have them put: "This is what I bought with my first short-story payment." I know it won't last for ever, and I can hear my (late) mother chastising me bitterly about this fact, but hell, it'll give me loads of pleasure while I have it, and perhaps I'll have earned some more shorty cash by the time it stops working. Yey!

What will you/did you spend your first-writing earnings on?

Reorganisation

2009-07-29T17:33:00.009+01:00

I've been meaning to move those bookshelves for months, but my sticking point was moving all the books first. Ten shelves, double stacked... you can see my problem. I don't think the small girl set out to help, but she emptied the first shelf most effectively, and somewhat more quickly than I would have done.

Perhaps I should have explained the myriad of reasons why I hadn't wanted her to do what she was doing, but it wouldn't necessarily have stopped her having another go when my back was turned. I should have known, though, especially as she's such a chip off the old block, and I was an incurable shelf-climber too. Needless to say, a double-stacked shelfful of books on her head gave her pause for thought - at least while she drew breath for the wail.

Anyway, she got me started on the book-removal process, and my bookshelves are now happily reinstalled on the opposite side of the room. Now, having painted two walls already, I can paint a third.

This is part of an exciting development in the Room of my Own saga: having undergone a domestic rearrangement towards the end of last year, I suddenly found that I didn't have to convert the loft to find my own space after all. It might have taken me a while to start getting organised (been proper poorly, long term, as has my dad)*, but things are obviously on the up: not only have I moved the books today, but I am blogging again too, see?

*Thank you to those who have kept in touch by other means. Your messages have been much appreciated. I can assure you that I am now, finally, on the road to recovery (as is my dad).

Nothing More than Shameless Advertising...

2009-05-23T14:13:00.006+01:00

...of some of my blogmates' books:

Heaven Can Wait
by Cally Taylor

Hens Reunited
Lucy Diamond

How to Write &
Sell Short Stories
Della Galton

Clishmaclaver

2009-05-18T14:36:00.011+01:00

Last month I posted about Chambers Online dictionary (here), and have been following their blog, Clishmaclaver, ever since. If you've not been over to see them yet, I strongly encourage you to do so. Recent posts have such inviting titles as: A Hairy Situation, Not Everything from Mexico is Bad, Textual Intercourse (you'll have to read it!), and The Emergence of Gambit, as well as the one I mentioned previously, Filth.

Those of you with a love of words - and I suspect many readers of this blog have a fairly intimate relationship with words - will find Clishmaclaver a great place to lose a few hours broaden your education. They also Tweet @ChambersOnline.

And if you don't know what Clishmaclaver means, I invite you to look it up in the dictionary!

Comfort Blankets

2009-05-12T14:52:00.009+01:00

Having declared not so long ago that I had abandoned N1 for N3, I made the mistake of using one of my protagonists from N1 for Sally Q's Character Workshop earlier this year. I stupidly went and fell in love with him, and the bloody book, all over again. The trouble is (excuse coming up here...) we've been together a lot of years now, this book and I, and it's like a mad bad old friend without whom I can't quite bear to live, despite its appalling treatment of me (or should that be the other way around?).

Okay, I admit it, N1 is my comfort blanket. I feel particularly safe fiddling with chapter fourteen; I like that bit best.

Oh, Leigh! I hear you cry in exasperation. You'll never get a damn thing done like this.

I know. I know.

Sooo, I have to tell you that, having been re-inspired by many happenings this year, I am killing all my darlings (including a few characters), cutting out a terrifying amount of crap, and oh-so improving the rest. Such fun!

When you edit, do you, like me, find yourself going back over the same favourite bits over and over, or are you ruthless and determined and plough on through? (Or do you, even more like me, sit and procrastinate on Blogger/YouTube/Facebook/Twitter/iTunes, etc.?)

Appropriate Speech

2009-04-27T07:24:00.015+01:00

When the Reconstructed Man gave me the Chambers Dictionary for Christmas, it came with a free six-month subscription to Chambers Reference Online (dictionary and thesaurus). Now, while I am more than partial to a spot of page flicking, my copy of Chambers weighs 2.5kg and I don't always have it with me, so I just love this resource.

The lovely people at Chambers, obviously being modern folk, also have their own blog, Clishmaclaver, and recently, they published this post.

In it, Ian Brookes discusses the place of profanities in the dictionary and in everyday language, and the very narrow line between causing offence or not. He also touches on swearing by fictional characters, and how in some cases "...the swearing is integral to the situation and appropriate to the characters..."

Now, this is related to a problem I'd been having with my baddie. Whenever I read through his dialogue I felt it just wasn't convincing; he sounded too educated, too middle class. Now, many people don't like swearing, and I know so much of the advice on the subject warns writers away from it, but once I started introducing a few obscenities into his speech, he came across as much more plausible. I mean, a man of his calibre just wouldn't say, "Well, I'm afraid we'll have to agree to disagree on that, old chap." He'd say, "Fuck you."

Do your characters swear? Does it bother you?

ADDENDUM: And there was me thinking, 'I'm sure I'll get away with using a screen-shot of the Chambers site for my post illustration; no one from there is ever gonna visit my blog." Only took them a few hours... thanks for the tweet guys! You can follow their twittering @ChambersOnline!

A Gentle Return

2009-04-20T12:06:00.015+01:00

There hasn't been much to blog about really. I've been poorly since January, and you didn't want to know all about that, did you? That's not to say that I haven't been doing anything, I just haven't had the energy to bore you all with it afterwards. Now I'm finally starting to get some strength back, I'll tell you what I've been up to writing-wise:

I've written quite a lot: been keeping up with my Story a Fortnight, and working on the novel(s) too.
I've subbed quite a lot: this is good. I subbed virtually nothing last year (though I wrote loads).
I've done a Della course: can't recommend them highly enough.
I've been to a couple of book launches: any excuse to buy books and drink wine, eh?
I've made use of my camera: as part of some Tom-Foolery-inspired photographic walks.
I've chilled with blogmates: a girly weekend with Helen (in which Spiral Jen played a rather drunken part), and a day with DJ, Troy and Mrs Troy, and various associated children.

I have also, by virtue of some domestic rearrangements, discovered a Room of My Own without my having to convert the loft. More of this later.

My list of Things to Do this year include: London Book Fair, Flash Fiction evenings, Novel Racers' Meet, SaF Meet, another Della Course, and Isle of Wight trip with DJ +N3S, Calistro's book launch (hint hint, Calistro), and no doubt much more.

Do you have any writing/blogging-related events planned for this year?

What to do with all this time?

2009-03-24T12:14:00.012Z

I am in hiding at a secret location somewhere in England. My Dad used to come here when I was a child, and thus it is a magical place - from where he would send postcards - and not one that really exists at all. It certainly doesn't exist in the real world, but I am not in the real world just now. I am in me-time world.

Probably for the first time ever, and certainly for the first time since the children were born, I am on my own. For three days. In short, I have been let out.

Being totally used to feeling-that-I-should-be-doing-something-else, I am struggling to relax. There is no washing/cleaning to do (someone else is doing that), no meals to prepare (someone else is doing that), no mess to tidy up (there isn't any). I am at liberty, and am not sure what to do.

I had planned to do writing (of course), and so am blogging. Ever the arch procrastinator.

So what do you do with free time on your own? Not the five-minutes-for-a-cup-of-tea sort of free time, I mean the really free time (if you're lucky enough to get any). Do you go for walks, read, sleep, watch TV, drive around feeling aimless, or what? (Keep it clean please, Troy.) I have another forty-eight hours to fill, and would appreciate your ideas.

Improving Slowly

2009-02-20T09:02:00.008Z

Oh, it's been a slow week. Not because my little darlings are on half term (I love having them at home), but because I am still recovering from flu. It's been weeks now. And weak is the word. I've been trying to rake up all last autumn's leaves in the garden (not to mention the hedge cuttings) and I've been such a wimpy wet about the whole thing: you know, put-a-few-handfuls-on-the-bonfire-and-go-in-for-a-cup-of-tea, that sort of thing.

Anyway, have been writing - new novel and shorties. Have also been subbing more (this is particularly good), and now have nine shorties awaiting rejection. All this courtesy of the Reconstructed Man who gave me two mornings off this week. Very nice.

So you see, things have been getting better. And then, this morning dear readers, I logged on to DJ's blog to find I have been presented with a very grand award: Overall Winner. I'm not quite sure what this means, as others have been awarded first second third and so on, but I am very pleased with it. Here it is, for me to show off.

A New Start

2009-02-12T14:39:00.017Z

Now I know you only come by to read my sparkling wit and wisdom, and that no one's interested in the progress of my writing, but did anyone see what I did in the sidebar there? Notice anything different about the word meters? Did you? Mmm?

Well, those of you who eagerly tune in to watch the colour faltering along pixel by pixel, will have noticed that since last May I have written only shorties – I have even subbed some, and am in great danger of impersonating real writers here – but shorties have only ever been part of what I want to do. I want to write novels too.

So, exactly how many words have I written since joining the Novel Race last year?

Ahem.
Next question please.

Lisa's parting words have shocked me into realising what I fraud I am: I'm not a writer who writes; I am a writer who procrastinates. Yet I still have the very chance that she has lost: To Finish The Bloody Book.

In truth, I have finished the book, but it's crap and I can't face the interminable rewriting that it needs to knock it into shape. Thus, I am shelving it, and starting again. God. Did I just say that?

Must have done. Because last night, I finally settled down to start novel 3, originally planned over two years ago. And now, if you take a little gander at that sidebar, you'll see 3,000 words already written.

Carpe Diem, and all that.

For Lisa

2009-02-07T21:58:00.008Z

And this is how I will think of her, just a little bit ahead of the rest of us on the journey. Out of sight for the time being, but able to see whatever is just over the horizon.

You can make a donation to Cancer Research UK here.

I Made DJ Kirkby Laugh

2009-01-23T22:35:00.004Z

Apart from the occasion of my previous post, I am not having a good week (not least because I've realised that my latest story-a-fortnight candidate just doesn't hack it). Only three evenings until the deadline, which might seem like loads of time, but Helen's coming to stay... and it is possible that alcohol will be involved...

Fortunately, DJ's weekly caption-competition once again brought a few belly-laughs into my life on Wednesday, not to mention a huge grin this morning when I discovered I was a joint winner for for the second of her two photos (DJ, where do you find them?).

So, I'm happy again.

A Rare Moment of Peace*

2009-01-21T11:54:00.009Z

The boy is at school, the small girl is at playgroup, and the Reconstructed Man came to take the smaller girl out for an hour...

Thus, I'm sitting, feet up on the sofa, computer on lap, cup of (hot) tea to hand, and – and I'm not quite sure why I decided on this, but – Jimi Hendrix blasting from the speakers. It is a moment of utter bliss, and I wanted to share it with you.

* With Hendrix, of course, peace is a relative term.

The Ten Stages of a Forgotten Cup of Tea

2009-01-19T09:30:00.004Z

You decide to have a cup of tea, but later on you find...
1. You forgot to fill the kettle.
2. You filled the kettle, but forgot to switch it on.
3. You remembered to switch it on, but it was still unplugged from the last time.
4. You managed to boil the kettle (twice), but forgot to get the cup or tea bag out.
5. You reboiled the kettle (three times), remembered the cup, and a tea bag, but didn't get as far as actually adding any water.
6. You remembered to put the water in, but forgot to take the tea bag out.
7. You remembered to take the tea bag out, but forgot to put the milk in.
8. You remembered to put the milk in, but forgot to drink the tea.
9. You drank half a cup, but forgot the rest.
10. You find half a cup of cold tea in the microwave three days later...

I mostly flounder between nos 3 and 8. What about you?

Where is Everyone Going?

2009-01-16T18:34:00.010Z

In an uncontrolled fit of benevolence, I agreed to collect the Reconstructed Man from Heathrow yesterday. I say uncontrolled, because his flight was due to land at 5.25am.

The alarm was set for four ten, and we were on the road by half past. All through the Sussex weald, I saw no more than half a dozen cars, but by the time we reached the M25 (5.30ish) there were hundreds of them.

I don't do mornings (the school run is very much my limit), but when I am out early, I'm amazed at the amount of traffic. Where is everyone going? Some, I discovered, were heading for the airport like me, but what about all the others? Do people go to work that early? What work to they do, to be on their way at that time of day?

Do you ever go out at 5am, and if so, where are you going?

FOR SALE: Loo Cistern (in two parts)

2009-01-08T20:42:00.028Z

Ah ha! I have been challenged, by my Partner in Procrastination, Tom Foolery, to post the following pictures of this bog blog standard item.

And, TF, I'll have you know I went out into the cold to get this...

And appreciating that interested parties might want to see some features in close up:

From left to right: the flush mechanism, the handle (just look at the quality - they don't chrome things like that anymore),
and the broken edge - to illustrate ease of gluing (Araldite recommended).

Additional information: this cistern gave faultless service from November 1981, until October 2008, when it fractured, loudly, at 4am, gushing water all over the bathroom floor (while the valve, of course, began dutifully refilling at full pressure...).

Fortunately, I had returned from a ten-day holiday some full two days previously, and being a mother of small children, was instantly awake to the sound of Something Not Right in the Household. Thus, the bathroom carpet was saved (sadly), as was the windowsill of the room below (including its collection of dead flies, dust, and lego-models). Hurrah.

But, having flushed itself into the focus of my anti-hoarding obsession, the loo is now in want of a loving home. See TF's blog for full details ;-)

Another New Blog: Creative Crutches.

2009-01-07T13:00:00.002Z

Hey Folks, found another great new blog: Creative Crutches, which offers just that. Inspired me within about twenty seconds of my arrival.

Procrastinating? Moi?

Honesty is the Best Policy

2009-01-04T09:58:00.010Z

The wonderful DJ Kirkby has awarded me this gong, for which I feel truly honoured (that DJK notices my existence is an honour in itself). The requirements for receiving it are as follows:
1. List ten honest things about yourself (try to make it interesting, even if you have to dig deep!)
2. Pass the award on to ten other bloggers

Okay, here are the ten things:
1. I am a recovering obsessive, by which I mean that I now know myself to be obsessive, and try hard not to be. I also know many of my obsessions to be an unbelievable waste of time, but I still find it incredibly difficult to avoid them.
2. My house is an utter tip, despite tidiness being one of my obsessions. This causes me huge stress!
3. I dislocated my sacrum (the lower part of my back) at the age of twenty-four, and have suffered from almost constant pain since. It enrages me to see people lifting things using their backs - they have no idea what they are risking. USE YOUR KNEES. PLEEEEASE!!!
4. I cannot work without music on - it occupies that other part of my brain that would otherwise be drifting/worrying/obsessing. I listen to the same tracks over and over again and, according to iTunes, some have been played over two thousand times [gulp].
5. I envy women with loving mother-daughter relationships. I did not get on with my mother.
6. I love playing with Lego (having a six-year-old son is a real boon).
7. I have a passionate love of walking in the countryside - the more mountainous the better.
8. Despite having been writing since childhood, I was 35 before I realised that I wanted to be a Writer.
9. In real life, I earn my living as a web-designer, which panders wonderfully to my desire for perfection; there are endless opportunities for tinkering with a website.
10. When I was a child, I dreamed a lot about flying (I could take off, although not always successfully, by doing breaststroke into the air). I almost never fly these days, but I still dream very vividly - in Technicolour and with full Dolby Stereo.

And here are the ten other bloggers:
Debs, Liz, Karen, Helen, Maddie, JJ, Sally, Sprial Jen, Lane and Womag

Slightly Out of Focus: a blog

2009-01-04T08:47:00.003Z

I've discovered a new blog: Slightly Out of Focus (a name that, I think, speaks to many of us). It's owned by Leah Ebdon, a creative writing student who appears to like cats and motorbikes (so she gets my vote), and is quite handy with a camera too. Go see.

2009 Goals

2009-01-01T11:36:00.008Z

Here is my updated achievements-and-targets table, taken from this time last year:

Projects	2007 (actual)	2008 (target)	2008 (actual)	2009 (target)
Words written	73,359	>100,000	~38,000	>50,000
Shorties plotted	46	40	20	26
Shorties written	19	26	15	26
Flashes written	31	10	1	10
Poems written	3	5	1	5
Novels completed	1	1-2	0	1
Novels plotted	4	0	1	0
Novels started	2	1	0	1
Total Submissions	53	100	4	50
Hits	1	>1	1*	10

*Yey! A target met!

Apart from that one achievement, it will appear to you that I have had an appalling year, and in some ways I have; but, in truth, I have been necessarily distracted from writing (and blogging) by life - and I am glad to have spent the time sorting out those things that needed sorting out.

Now, life is Different, and that is Good - because it was Pretty Bloody Awful before - and I plan (with somewhat humbled ambitions) to return to my writing.

I also wish to offer a huge-and-public, THANK YOU to Helenmh and JJ who, despite having their own lives to lead, have been such good friends to me this year, both via the net and in real-hug-life. Thank you girls - I am immensely grateful for all your support. And thank you to all my other blogmates and visitors - it's been a pleasure to share the ether with you.

May 2009 bring progress in your life, writing-wise and otherwise.

Baz Luhrmann's Australia, A Review

2008-12-30T18:02:00.024Z

In attempt to go one better than Helenmh's six-word film reviews (my favourite was of Mamma Mia, for which she wrote: "Colin Firth with no shirt on"), here is my two-word review of Baz Luhrmann's new blockbuster, Australia:

Whew Jackman!

Or, if you would prefer the full six words: "Hugh Jackman gets his kecks off" (or "Daniel Craig, eat your heart out"). And if you would prefer an intelligent review, I'm sorry.

Awards Awards!

2008-12-12T09:52:00.019Z

I am really honoured this week; I have two more awards!

Really chuffed to have come third in DJK's Wordless Wednesday competition this week (see right). For those who are not familiar with Wordless Wednesday, I heartily recommend a visit to DJ's blog, Chez Aspie, where her weekly caption-competition brings a plethora of high-class entries (including mine, of course. Obviously). Get yours in too!

My other award is from JJ, who thinks my blog is fabulous. Well, thank you, JJ, and thank you for the challenge of naming five obsessions (the task attached to the award). Now, those who know me well will realise how difficult this challenge is for me, because I am not, in any way, an obsessive person. If I were, however, I think my obsessions would be:

• saving money (I have the bankers* to thank for this one)
• being on time
• loading the dishwasher in a certain way
• not hoarding (the current replacement for my hoarding obsession)
• not being obsessive
* Feel free to translate into rhyming slang.

The Rules for receiving the above award are:
1. Copy and paste the rules and instructions into your post.
2. Post the award, and a link to the person who gave it to you.
3. Post five of your addictions.
4. Post five winners and link to them as well.
5. Inform your winners by commenting on their blogs.

So, my winners are: SallyQ, Karen, Trousers, B, Tom Foolery, and Zinnia.

Superior Scribbler Award

2008-12-07T13:41:00.018Z

The lovely DJ Kirkby has given me this marvellous award. I am very honoured to be thus endowed by the illustrious DJK, but also to be thought of as a Superior Scribbler - especially as I have not been doing much scribbling of late.

Additionally, DJ's timing could not have been better: I went on a Della course with Helen yesterday, and I couldn't recommend it highly enough. I came away glowing with ideas. Subsequently, showing Helen my writing software and pictures of my main novel-characters made me miss the world in which I was once so deeply buried. And it's been a crap year, and I am keen for it to end on a positive note. So, thank you, DJ. I am truly inspired to start writing again and be worthy of this award!

So, the first thing I must do is pass it on to: womagwriter (if she's sobered up enough to receive it without falling off the stage), Helen (because her writing is so beautiful), JJ (because she deserves it), Calistro (because she's an inspiration), and Spiral Jen and Lane (because they use their writing to make other people laugh). So, here you are, girls. Enjoy it. Pass it on.

The Rules
1. Every superior scribbler must name other super scribblers.
2. Link back to the author and the name of the blog that gave you the award.
3. Display the award and link to this post, which explains the award.
4. Add your name to the Mr Linky List, some way down this page, as a record of who the superest scribblers are.

I used to be lethargic, but I can't be bothered anymore...

2008-12-04T19:27:00.001Z

In fact, having shaken myself out of a long-term stupor, I find I can be bothered to do all sorts of things.

Today, with a certain degree of motivation, I finally switched various suppliers/tariffs - having known for years that we were probably paying too much for some services. From January/February 2009, I will be saving £50 a month on electricity, £15 a month on my mobile (including a extra fiver off for suggesting a move to Orange), £25 a month on the home phone, and £5 a month on broadband. That's...er...£85 a month saved...

I'm a bit gobsmacked, actually.

Are you a super service-switcher, or a lethargic lazy-lumpkin?

And I Never Knew the Revenue had a Sense of Humour

2008-11-22T19:58:00.008Z

You might have seen this already, but if you haven't, I just have to share it with you... on Mark Lee's blog, Accountant Jokes and Fun.
I'm still smiling.

Lost in Translation!

2008-11-02T08:18:00.009Z

The Welsh text reads:
"I am not in the office at the moment. Please send any work to be translated."

Taken from the BBC.

An Award!

2008-10-16T21:21:00.009+01:00

The adorable Helenmh has presented me with this super award... on the condition that I answer all the questions that go with it:
1. Where is your mobile? In my back pocket.
2. Where is your significant other? In the kitchen making himself an omelette
3. Your hair colour? Yes, I still have some colour
4. Your mother? Dead
5. Your father? A great friend
6. Your favorite thing? Beer
7. Your dream last night? Oooh, ooh, it was a really vivid one about... errrrm... I can't remember.
8. Your dream/goal? To have three happy children
9. The room you're in? Study
10. Your hobby? Sleeping (when I get the chance)
11. Your fear? Serious health problems
12. Where do you want to be in six years? In a happy place
13. Where were you last night? At home
14. What you're not? Teetotal
15. One of your wish-list items? A tidy house
16. Where you grew up? In a not-very-nice town
17. The last thing you did? Eat chocolate
18. What are you wearing? Jeans and a hoodie (plus a full compliment of underwear)
19. Your TV? Very small and very old
20. Your pets? Three guineas, three chickens, three children & a husband
21. Your computer? iBook
22. Your mood? Reasonable
23. Missing someone? My cat
24. Your car? Black gangsta car
25. Something you're not wearing? Makeup
26. Favourite shop? The Apple Store
27. Your summer? Scottish
28. Love someone? My kids, always
29. Your favorite color? Orange
30. When was the last time you laughed? This afternoon - with some riotous friends
31. Last time you cried? This afternoon (with laughter - see previous entry)

I'd like to pass on this award to: B, Spiral, Trousers, JJ, and Womag.

On Mountains and Muppetry

2008-10-12T17:23:00.016+01:00

I climbed a mountain today.

I had until the baby woke up from her lunchtime nap to get back to the cottage, and so I had to climb it in record time. That wasn't as hard as it sounds because, although it was a bloody big mountain, I was on my own.

I've climbed that particular mountain: while pregnant with the small boy; while pregnant with the small girl; carrying the small boy on my back; carrying the small girl on my front (see photo); carrying the small girl on my back whilst pushing the small boy in the buggy. Today, I carried nothing more than a bottle of water, and that was much easier. (Easier still was taking the funicular down; baby's nap time and all that.)

When I got back to the carpark, I thought "Oh, look. There's another car exactly like mine." I did think it a bit odd that there should be one exactly like mine parked so very close. But I knew it was somebody else's, because the door was wide open...

Ahem.

Soooo, my advice is, if you're going to leave your car unlocked at a popular tourist spot, make sure you leave the door open too, because no owner would be such a muppet to be any distance away, thus the car thieves will leave it alone...

Warning: Another Rant

2008-10-01T12:12:00.013+01:00

This time, we're talking phone companies. In particular: Vodafone.

Himself is in the wilds of Scotland. His mobile tariff was due to end, and he was required to call them with his sim number in order to move to a new tariff. So far so easy. He called them, gave the necessary information. The chappy said "I'm just switching you now", and the line went dead. So, I got a call from pissed-off husband (from a payphone - he had 20p) telling me that his sim was now showing 'invalid', and would I please call Vodafone and sort it out.

Great.

The first moron I spoke to said she couldn't deal with me as it would be illegal to make any changes to my husband's account without his permission. "But you already have," I said."You didn't have his permission to invalidate his sim." But she wouldn't budge. She needed to speak with him, she said, and him alone, despite the fact that he is currently inhabiting the northern wilds with a non-working phone (and absolutely no inclination to stand in a freezing phone box feeding 20ps into the slot while waiting for someone to put down his cup of tea down long enough to answer the bloody phone.). I suggested telepathy, but she didn't see the funny side. In fact she didn't see my side of it at all, and put the phone down. (Though that might have been because I shouted at her).

The second moron was a bit more helpful. She was quite prepared to act illegally (huh?), but when I read her the number that himself had given me from the back of his sim card, she said it didn't exist, and that she couldn't do anything without the number from his actual sim, the one in his actual phone...

I won't bore you with the rise and fall of my temper (mostly rising) over the following hour, only to say that that was how long it took for absolutely nothing to happen. Husband is still stranded in the northern wilds without a phone. Fortunately, he is stranded within inches of a bar populated by rather a lot of our mates (and he's not actually stranded). I told him he can deal with it.

PlusNet has entered my consciousness by trying to charge me a cancellation fee for cancelling a service I reckon they didn't provide: 48kps anyone? Call that broadband? I don't.

Watch this space...

Blogoversary Day!

2008-09-24T14:01:00.030+01:00

How different things were when I wittered writted my first blog post in September last year. I felt very isolated in my study, but at the same time bemoaned the advice that I should 'get out there and meet other writers'. With three little children (the youngest only six months at the time) the only place I get out to was the playground, and there aren't many other writers there.

Now, a year on, I have made some very special friends - many of whom I hope to know for life. I have been on two writing courses, two Novel Racers' meets, and I am heading up to London on [edited to read...] Thursday for my second book-launch (though not actually my book, you understand). I make time for myself now, because these are things I really want to do... for myself. Thus blogging, and the world to which it has introduced me, has changed the way I live.

I used to think that blogging was an idle/frivolous pastime of absolutely no value; but, I've changed my mind. I have learned that with the right motivation and support (which might not be available locally), one can find new energy and inspiration.

I would like to take this opportunity to say THANK YOU to all you, who read and comment on my posts. I have also generated a new award (see right) to say an extra big thank you to some of those who made me so welcome in my first few days (and who have stayed with me): SallyQ, Calistro, Helenmh, JJ, Spiral Jen and Womagwriter.

Do you have blogmates who supported your early blogging? Please feel free to give them this award.

Warning: Rant Alert

2008-09-20T12:55:00.005+01:00

The baby has been playing with the hoover switch this morning, while I've been trying to hoover - thus I am in ranting mood. However, toddlers are just having fun, whereas this lot have no excuses:
1. People parking on the pavement (thus blocking it), because they're too damn lazy to walk the extra 50 yards from the carpark.
2. People parking in parent/disabled spaces because they're too damn lazy to walk the extra 50 yards, etc.
3. Call-centre morons telling you that you'll have to 'put that in writing', because although they're happy to take your order (and your money) over the phone, they're completely incapable of taking your cancellation over the phone. Probably can't spell cancellation.
4. Teenagers on supermarket checkouts who zap your shopping through at 100-items a second, and hold their hands out for the money while you still have the European food mountain in front of you. And then, they put on this face that says: "Would you like help with your packing now?"
5. The dog-owner who says "Oh, he won't hurt you," as his fat labrador knocks your small child flying into a bed of nettles/brambles.

What gets your goat?

And a big thank you to all my widget visitors, many of whom I've been magicked to already. I'll be popping by to say hello to everyone else soon.

Widget Visitors

2008-09-10T13:02:00.007+01:00

Hello to all widget visitors! It would be great if you'd leave a comment to say that you came by, and if you can remember, I'd love to know what choices you made to get here!

(For widget addicts - there is one just below in the sidebar - happy deciding.)

Edit: I can't believe someone made me choose between Daniel Craig and Colin Firth!

Location Location

2008-09-09T22:50:00.022+01:00

Some of my settings are based on real places, but sometimes I change the names. In two cases, I wanted authentic croft names, but not actual croft names (i.e. houses in which people might actually be living).

The solution manifested itself by luck when I happened upon an old parish map hanging on the wall of a local pub. From that I was able to identify a number of derelict crofts, and thus select genuine-sounding names (for they were indeed genuine) without fear of upsetting anyone.

For villages and towns and cities, I generally use real names, except in the case of one particular town – which had absolutely nothing to recommend it – for which I fabricated a name, although I don't really know why.

Do you pluck your setting(s) out of your imagination, or use real places? Or both? Do you use real names too? If not, how do you go about making them up?

Six Glorious Weeks

2008-09-04T17:47:00.021+01:00

I am suffering from shock. In the space of two days, I went

from this...	to this.

Arrived home from Scotland yesterday, after six glorious weeks; but, less than twenty-four hours later, I don't feel as though I've been away at all. Thus, I am in a somewhat downbeat and reflective mood:

Things I missed while I was away
My induction hob and thick-bottomed pans
Functional broadband
My dictionary
Virgin Radio

Things I loved about where I was
Islay beef mince
Islay Ales (Angus Og in particular)
Everyone waving at everyone
Water so soft you could cuddle it
Big skies and big landscapes
Popping to the shop (every village has one)

Things I didn't miss
The sheer weight of traffic
Being hassled by other drivers
All the mess on my desk at home
Tescos
The noisy builders working over the road
Rude people
Dead animals in the road
Chlorine in the water
Any fine weather (from what I heard)

Things I didn't love
Having to come home.

Have you been away this summer?
What did you like/dislike about your holiday?

Awards & Away No More

2008-09-02T08:43:00.010+01:00

JJ, that lovely lady over in Bangkok, has not only sent me some fabby flavoured lip balms (cola cola and lemon soda), she has given me a friendship award too! Thank you JJ! This is just what I need to cheer me up, as we leave for the south this morning. It's bye bye to the mountains, and hello to the M25...oh joy. At least I'll get to say hello to my sister and Helenmh on the way, so it's not all bad.

I need to pass on this award, but I am leaving now (this minute), so I'll post again when I get home.
I hope you can stand the suspense.

The Isle of Colonsay

2008-08-27T23:22:00.008+01:00

Today we visited Colonsay (pop. 100). There was so much to do – hills to climb, beaches to play on, beers to sample, mesolithic shell mounds to visit – that we’re just going to have to go back for a longer stay.

Herewith some piccies:

My arch nemesis Alan Jenkins - spotted at in the queue for the Jura ferry this morning.

The approach into Scalasaig, main population centre of Colonsay.

The most expensive fuel in the UK? (and, apparently, sold 'not for profit'...)

The small boy said his favourite part of the day was “going to the beach and getting soaked.”

Not looking forward to the school run next week...

Having the Best Time

2008-08-19T11:01:00.008+01:00

Apologies for absence. I've been working quite hard, catching up with friends all over Scotland, doing tons of stuff with the kids, and just chilling out (i.e. reading books and watching the Olympics). Just come back from a long weekend on Skye with friends, followed by a drive through Glen Torridon on the way home. I think the photos say it all:

The Cullin, Skye.

The ridge above Staffin, north east Skye.

The hills of Torridon (on the mainland), from Skye.

Loch Torridon.

One of Glen Torridon's peaks, as viewed through the sunroof.

A rather distracting rear-view of Glen Torridon.

Loch Maree (and Kinlochewe) from the east.

It was just fab, and great source of story ideas!

Big Wide Open Spaces

2008-07-31T08:57:00.007+01:00

Well, we survived the journey, despite yet another motorist on the M1 trying to smash his way through to the other carriageway. His accident occurred at almost exactly the same spot as the accident we witnessed in May (also on the way to Scotland), and, it must be said, as the accident in which my mother and I were involved in 1986. I think someone is trying to tell me something (to stick to the M40, perhaps). This time, however, there were no injuries. No hands needed to be held. And we carried on our way in awe of the severely bent, but intact, crash barrier. I really thought he was a gonner.

An hour later, and we were at Helenmh's where we finally got to meet Smudge (renamed 'Spludge' by the small girl). I thought Helen very brave to have us, considering that the small boy arrived with sick bowl in hand. But he was fine, and after a good natter and some great food, we were on our way again. We made an overnight stop at my sister's (more good food, more nattering, and a stupidly late night) before making the final push for the Highlands - only 460 miles to go, on five hours' sleep...

Three cans of Red Bull later and we pulled up outside what is now our home for six weeks. It is a tiny house (the kids are all in together), but it's really comfy, and we're loving it. It's not the inside, you see; it's the outside. There's lots of it. Lots.

Dettol & Dioralite

2008-07-22T16:12:00.009+01:00

You can guess, can't you?

We've all had it, all five of us, in forty-eight hours. Actually, it's longer than that now, because the small boy threw up again today, over thirty-six hours after the last time (parents of other small children will understand why this is so unfair). Only this time he did it at school, at pick-up time, right in front of the assembled parents. He also managed to splat three other small children and a teacher in the process. Oh, God. [hides face in hands] I'm tired.

We leave for Scotland tomorrow. No more school now for small boy and, given that he had to take yesterday off too, we might as well have gone on Saturday... except for all the vomiting on Sunday, of course.

Have You Forgotten Something?

2008-07-17T13:38:00.012+01:00

Do you ever get that feeling that you've left a half-finished cup of tea lying about somewhere? Or at a party, when you've put your glass down, moved away from it, and taken another glass? You never quite lose that feeling that there's something, somewhere, waiting for you.

I do it with shorties too. I think them up in my head during the school run (or whenever else I have no means of committing them to paper/silicon), and put them down somewhere while I wait for the chance to write them. I forget, of course, everything - the characters, the plot, the dialogue. The whole lot vanishes somewhere between thinking how brilliant it all is, and realising I can't remember a word. Just to make it worse, I never quite lose that feeling that I have forgotten something important. It is very erksome, and somewhat distressing.

Well, yesterday, I did it with chocolate. I put two squares of Dairy Milk down somewhere, and forgot where I left them. All afternoon and evening (school run, shopping trip, cooking, kids' bedtime, cinema) I could hear them calling (but not loudly enough for a positive location).

Well, having finally given up on them, I went to the fridge for some more, and you know what? There they were.

Some (admittedly, very small) part of my brain was actually working: I'd put the chocolate where the kids can't reach it, where it was sure not to melt, and where I'd be certain to find it again later.

If only I could be that clever with my missing shorties...

Determined - My Writing Word of the Moment

2008-07-04T13:40:00.013+01:00

In November last year Womagwriter posted the following quote, pinched from J A Konrath’s blog:

There's a word for a writer who never gives up: Published

It struck a chord with me at the time, and even though months have gone by, this remark keeps popping into my head.

It is a welcome visitor just now. At the moment I am smothered with work, a mountain of washing, a house that is buried under five years’ (of not more) of junk, the demands of three small (but lovely) children, and endless paperwork of other people’s making. As soon as I stop to write, the whole world crashes down around me, and the result (not surprisingly) lacks lusture.

I can imagine that these are the circumstances under which people consider giving up; but I’m not. Why? Because of JAK’s remark. Because the only way to be one of the two in three thousand slush-pile survivors is to keep going. And because I don’t want them writing on my grave: “Could have made it, but didn’t try hard enough.”

What’s your 'writing word of the moment'?

I have to tell you that the highlighter is Photoshoppery; I don't want you thinking I'd do that to my beloved dictionary.

Tagged by JJ

2008-06-23T10:20:00.012+01:00

What were you doing 10 years ago?
Loads of things. Not married. No kids. Nuff said.

Five things on your to-do list for today:
Finish reading one of Jane's shorties
Finish writing letter of complaint to dentist
Unpack stuff from weekend stay at my Dad's
Sort the washing
Write something

What are three of your bad habits?
Perfectionism.
Always being in a hurry, even when I'm running to schedule.
Spending an hour making just-a-little change to a story when I should be sorting the washing.

What would you do if you were a billionaire?
Write.

What are some snacks you enjoy?
Chocolate
Chocolate
Chocolate

What were the last five books you read?
You're Not the Only One, Sarah J. Peach, Ed. (in progress)
Daphne, Justine Picardie (in progress)
A Talent to Deceive, Robert Barnard - a biography of Agatha Christie (in progress)
On Edge, Dick Francis
Shattered, Dick Francis

What are five jobs you have had?
Gardener
Electronic-component assembler
Groom
Page-setter
Web-designer

Five places that you have lived?
Hertfordshire (hated it)
Yorkshire (loved it)
Hampshire (bearable)
Surrey (unbearable)
Australia (er, hot)

Tags: Maddie, Helenmh, Womag, Karen, and Lucy (cos she's got nothing better to do at the moment).

No Time

2008-06-17T21:57:00.007+01:00

I've realised where all my time has gone, but I'm not quite sure why it has taken me this long to work it out (perhaps because I have a Brain of Mush), but at least I have worked it out.

This time last year I had a 4yo, a 2yo, and a 3mo baby, and I was writing a shorty a week. Now that the small boy is at school, and the small girl at playgroup every day, you'd think I'd be managing a shorty every day, but no...the baby has given up her morning nap.

Sounds trivial, doesn't it. Not exactly world-stopping news. Rather boring coffee-morning-type news, in fact (and I'm talking here about mothers' coffee mornings, rather than the somewhat more interesting Novel Racers' coffee mornings).

But a year ago, when both the baby and the small girl were napping, I had ten hours a week in which I could reckon to write effectively (my brain doesn't work in the evenings). This dropped to about six hours a week, and, now, I have none.
None!
And that's it, until the baby starts playgroup in fifteen months time.

But, you know what? In fifteen years time, I want to look back on this pre-school bit and remember it as a time I enjoyed with the kids. So often, in teashops and such places, older women come up to me (with my children) and say, 'make the most of them, they grow up so quickly', and I think, yeah, yeah, you've forgotten how hard it is; but they haven't. They just know that this is a really good bit. So, despite the six hours a day I'll get in a few years time, I'm not in a hurry for my kids to trot off to school.

Not even when I wish I could write more.

Firm Foundations

2008-06-12T19:12:00.013+01:00

And so, whilst trying to make space for my laptop, amongst all the stuff that has crept back onto my desk, I realised that my tidying-up dominoes were all still lying along the same path, still leading to the loft.

To that end, I went back to the DIY store, and came home laden with twelve packs of tongue and groove boarding - weighing 14kg each - yes, I weighed them, after carrying the first eleven from the car to the loft - and a box of 100x no.6, 40mm wood screws (I just love dazzling you with the technicalities).

Some days later (I don't know how many; I lost all sense of time) I clambered back down the loft ladder with a painful case of housemaid's knee, builder's back, and a rather wild stare; but a loft you could walk across with your eyes closed.

--Take Your Life in Your Hands--------------Boarded!

And so, I ticked another one off the list of...
Jobs to be Done in the Loft:
1. Put lights up
2. Put boards down
3. Tidy up
4. Contact builder/electricians/window people/carpet people to quote for work
5. Plasterboard loft
6. Watch builder/electrician/window people/carpet people do their jobs
7. Struggle up ladder with furniture
8. Relax with nice view over the Sussex weald, and a large glass of Merlot
9. Get writing!

Easy, I thought, on to number three. Ahem...I've been having a bit of trouble with number three. It has developed a number of sub-clauses, not apparent when I originally wrote the list:
3a. Open loft hatch
3b. Pull down ladder
3c. Climb ladder, and stick head into loft space
3d. Switch on lights
3e. Survey loft, and decide upon Tidying Order-of-Events
3f. Switch off lights
3g. Remove head from loft space, and climb back down ladder
3h. Push ladder up
3i. Close loft hatch
3j. Walk away quickly, hoping that there have been no witnesses
3k. Tell lies about how much time has been occupied by children/work/domestic chores all day
3l. Add 'Tidy Loft' to tomorrow's list of jobs

You're Not the Only One

2008-06-09T14:26:00.013+01:00

Ah, just what I needed: A hit!

My contribution to the You're Not the Only One anthology has been included! This book has been produced by Peach, and Bloggers for Charity, for the benefit of War Child, a charity helping children in war zones.

I have done so little writing in the last six weeks, that I was beginning to wonder if I would simply drift away from it. I have not been able even to shoehorn writing time into my life recently, so full has it been with work (interesting enough) and children (marvellous) and, well, other stuff (...[insert your chosen adjective here]...). This hit has given me a tremendous boost, just as I am beginning to drag myself out of the mire.

What unusual timing...

You can buy You're Not the Only One from Lulu, by clicking on the button. (It'll offer you two copies to begin with, for print and/or download copies, so be careful when deleting one of them.)

Return to Planet Real Life

2008-06-03T20:27:00.007+01:00

Thanks, folks, for your nice emails and comments.

The main reason for my silence has been a massive website-redesign job (100 pages + 244 supporting files), which has occupied all but three of my evenings (7pm - midnight) for the last five weeks.

Of those three evenings off, I spent one critting a short story for Jane (remember 'short' in Jane's world equals a full-length novel for the rest of us). Another evening I spent in the pub, having completely freaked out after a too-long day of rain and grumpy children. The third evening I spent in the company of Harrison Ford (oh, and about three-hundred cinema-goers, sadly).

I have also boarded the loft in the quest for a room of my own (photos to follow), and written a shorty.

Now, I'm knackered, and I need a lie down. Excuse me. I'll be back again soon.

Chilling Out

2008-05-09T23:09:00.004+01:00

Thank you for your nice emails.
Am fine, and enjoying a little break from all things stressful.
Back soon!

Memes (Mesmes?)

2008-04-29T11:53:00.011+01:00

I've been tagged for the Six-Word Bio. by Tam, and for the Three Things You Can't Explain to Your Mother meme by Karen (only I'm going to do it for my Dad), and the Nearest Book meme by Jumbly Girl. So here goes!

Six-Word Bio.
Weary, Tired, Drained, Pooped, Shattered, Exhausted.

I tag: anyone with the energy left to do it.

Three Things I Can't Explain to my Father
Other drivers are not able to tell that he's about to turn off, from his position in the road.
People don't understand, when he says 'portable' and 'tape', that he's talking about a laptop and a CD.
He is not now, and never will be, a burden.

Three Things my Father Can't Explain to Me
Why dogs are nicer than cats.
Why it's necessary to turn the volume right down, rather than just press mute.
What exactly it was that he did before his computer stopped working.

I tag: anyone who hasn't done it yet.

Nearest Book Meme
1. Pick up the nearest book. 2. Open to page 123. 3. Find the fifth sentence. 4. Post the next three sentences. 5. Tag five people, and acknowledge who tagged you.

Er, does it really have to be the nearest book? Oh well, here goes...
Drapery Wholesalers, see: Soft furnishings Manufacturers and Wholesalers, Textile Manufacturers, Textile Warehousemen Wholesale. Draught Proofing, see: Energy Efficient Consultants and Systems, Insulation Installers. Dredging, Clearwater Dredging Ltd, 7 Greengate, Lurgashall, Petworth, (01428) 707058.

Sorry!

Tagged by Jumbly Girl.
Am tagging: Helenmh, TF, Liz, Womagwriter, and Sally.

Sexy Trains and Committee Meetings

2008-04-28T10:20:00.021+01:00

Saturday morning found me standing on the platform of Rugby station watching sexy Virgin trains (sleek, silver bullets with smoky windows). It was surreal. I could not equate the hoovering and toy-picking-up, which is my usual Saturday-morning pastime, with that railway smell, the feel of the wind, the hiss/whine/rumble of the trains. It was very exciting.

I love trains. I lived near a railway line as a child and the romance of travelling by rail has never left me. I'd always rather go by train than fly. That being said, south of London we have these horrid little electric jobs with double sliding doors and hard, hard seats. They stop everywhere, and are only marginally better than sitting on a rather boring fairground ride, only you don't have to keep hold of your candy floss.

But inter-city trains? Ooooh. North of Stafford we really picked up speed, thundering under the bridges and leaning into the corners. It was the closest I've been to riding a motorbike since I couldn't get into my leathers any more. We were going so fast that I half expected the guard to say, "Ladies and Gentlemen, we will shortly be beginning our descent into Crewe..."

The Novel-Racers' meet began a bit like a committee meeting, with fifteen of us sitting around a large square (black) table. It was only when someone suggested that, as no one had brought an agenda, perhaps we should get the drinks in. And so, we drank (varying amounts), we ate, but mostly we talked about writing. It was fab.

Six minutes hours later it was time to go home (although JJ and I managed to fit in a spot of shopping first). The ride home was equally enjoyable, although I had the added pleasure of my new (red) iPod Shuffle to gaze at, and the virtuous feeling of having bought a present for my babysitting sister too.

And Then There Was Light!

2008-04-24T20:42:00.014+01:00

I'm good at procrastinating in all areas of my life, and Sorting Stuff Out is no exception. But recently, I have been rather overwhelmed by work, and everything else has slipped, including my writing time. This has focussed my otherwise befuddled mind (in a way that cheerios on the carpet never do), and I have been trying to work out why I haven't cleared out all the junk as was my ambition six months ago.

These are the excuses so far:
1. Can't clear stuff out - need to organise stuff first.
2. Can't organise stuff - too much of it in the way - need to put some in loft first.
3. Can't fit any more stuff in loft - must tidy loft first.
4. Can't tidy up loft in winter - too cold.
5. Can't tidy up loft in summer - too hot.
6. Can't tidy up loft in spring or autumn - too dark up there anyway.

Thus, it was with a glowing heart that I selected £16.82 worth of bulkhead bayonets and two-ply cable from our local DIY store (sounds technical, doesn't it? Made me feel Very Knowledgeable).

"Are you fitting this yourself?" The girl on the checkout asked with a frown.
Fearing a health and safety lecture, (or worse, being told that it was illegal for me to fit lights in my own loft) I lied. "Oh," I said airily. "Just buying the bits. Electricians always rip you off, don't they?"

She seemed satisfied by this reply, and I consoled myself with the fact that I hadn't actually told an untruth; I was just being a tinsy bit deceptive. (I don't want you to think, Dear Reader, that I am a Dishonest Person. I'm not. I'm just not very good at receiving lectures from HSE-wannabes without SHOUTING before they've finished.)

I spent a couple of hours fitting the lights. And I think they look splendid. Sadly, having eliminated the 'too dark' excuse, the others have fallen like dominoes, and I shall now have to do Clearing Out.

Watch this space - for space there will be!

-----------Darkness-----------------------Lightness

First Lines - How D'you Like 'Em?

2008-04-19T19:35:00.009+01:00

I am fascinated by the lure of the first line, and how it grabs the reader. So, I was delighted to find, on Karen's blog, a link to The 100 Best First Lines of Novels. Okay, I thought, let's see the genii in action!

Now, this might be supreme ignorance, or supreme arrogance (and I'm happy for you to tell me which), but having read the whole list, I thought just a few of them priceless, and the rest utter crap.

My favourites (in no particular order) were:
• "It was a bright cold day in April, and the clocks were striking thirteen." - George Orwell, 1984 (1949)
• "Whether I shall turn out to be the hero of my own life, or whether that station will be held by anybody else, these pages must show." - Charles Dickens, David Copperfield (1850)
• "There was a boy called Eustace Clarence Scrubb, and he almost deserved it." - C. S. Lewis, The Voyage of the Dawn Treader (1952)
• "I was born twice: first, as a baby girl, on a remarkably smogless Detroit day in January of 1960; and then again, as a teenage boy, in an emergency room near Petoskey, Michigan, in August of 1974." - Jeffrey Eugenides, Middlesex (2002)
• "Justice?—You get justice in the next world, in this world you have the law." - William Gaddis, A Frolic of His Own (1994)
• "I, Tiberius Claudius Drusus Nero Germanicus This-that-and-the-other (for I shall not trouble you yet with all my titles) who was once, and not so long ago either, known to my friends and relatives and associates as “Claudius the Idiot,” or “That Claudius,” or “Claudius the Stammerer,” or “Clau-Clau-Claudius” or at best as “Poor Uncle Claudius,” am now about to write this strange history of my life; starting from my earliest childhood and continuing year by year until I reach the fateful point of change where, some eight years ago, at the age of fifty-one, I suddenly found myself caught in what I may call the “golden predicament” from which I have never since become disentangled." - Robert Graves, I, Claudius

My don't-get-'ems were (amongst many others too boring to include here):
• "riverrun, past Eve and Adam's, from swerve of shore to bend of bay, brings us by a commodius vicus of recirculation back to Howth Castle and Environs." - James Joyce, Finnegans Wake (1939)
• Where now? Who now? When now?" - Samuel Beckett, The Unnamable (1953)
• Ages ago, Alex, Allen and Alva arrived at Antibes, and Alva allowing all, allowing anyone, against Alex's admonition, against Allen's angry assertion: another African amusement . . . [blah blah blah]" - Walter Abish, Alphabetical Africa (1974)

Now, call me shallow and poorly-read, but I think Dick Francis always writes a great first line:
"I could think of three good reasons for not going to Moscow, one of which was twenty-six, blonde, and upstairs unpacking her suitcase." Trial Run

And can anyone tell me why Herman Melville's opening to Moby Dick, "Call me Ishmael" (which I have seen on several 'best first-line' lists this evening) should be considered a good opening? I'm still scratching my head over that one.

What are your favourite/least favourite first lines?
Any of you prepared to reveal your own first line(s)?

Playing Catch Up

2008-04-16T15:24:00.026+01:00

I can heartily reccommend Helen M. Hunt as a perfect house guest. Not only did she bring a bottle of wine for her hostess, but a book too! How civilised is that? Daphne, by Justine Picardie, has now found itself on the very top of my reading pile!

Helen and I collected Cal from the station in the morning (although it was still the middle of the night as far as Cal was concerned), and we travelled on to Bournemouth together. Now, I always thought having kids in the car was distracting, but kids are nothing compared with writers, and writerly conversation...
You know those Police!-Stop!-Action!-type documentaries? Where you're sitting in the police car, bombing down the fast lane, blue lights on? And some muppet is sitting in the way, completely oblivious? And the policeman starts mutttering, 'come on, get out of the way'? And then the car brakes, and lurches into the middle lane? Well, I was that muppet. In my defence, Cal is really tall, and she was sitting in the middle seat, so I couldn't see a thing out of the rear window, except perhaps, just a corner of a blue flashing light, when the cop car got really close and angry... Fortunately, I was only going a little bit over the limit, so it wasn't me they were after...

As with last time, I thoroughly enjoyed Della's course, and would encourage anyone, with any interest in writing commercial short stories, to attend if at all possible. The woman knows her stuff. She knows the markets too, inside out, and she makes suggestions that leave you thinking anything from 'now why didn't I think of that?' to 'I'd have never worked that out in a zillion years'. Unbeatable!

The let-out-of-class drinks meet was great too. Womagwriter (who is local) came to join us, and I wondered that the West-Brom-watching locals thought of us, discussing the finer merits of first-person versus third-person points of view. We did sound a bit nerdy! But who cares. Great day, girls. Thanks!

Okay, so will whoever nicked the last week, please bring it back now?

The lovely Karen Clarke has given me an award. It is supposed to be because I have cheered her up, but really it works the other way around. Thank you Karen!

I would like to pass this on to Sally, who always appears (at least) to have a smile on her face!

Life-Movie-Soundtrack Meme

2008-04-11T09:38:00.014+01:00

So, here’s how it works:
1. Open your library (iTunes, Winamp, Media Player, iPod, etc)
2. Put it on shuffle
3. Press play
4. For every question, type the song that’s playing
5. When you go to a new question, press the next button
6. Don’t lie and try to pretend you’re cool…because you’re not!
7. Stick the soundtrack on your mp3 player and listen away during the day.

Opening Credits – Umbrella, Manic Street Preachers
Waking Up – Waiting for an Alibi, Thin Lizzy
First Day at School – Bethena Waltz, Scott Joplin
Falling in Love – Toccata Fugue in D minor, J. S. Bach
Fight Song – I Say a Little Prayer, Aretha Franklin
Breaking Up – Seven Wonders, Fleetwood Mac
Prom/Dance/Ball – I Heard it Through the Grapevine, Marvin Gaye
Life's OK – Single, Everything but the Girl
Mental Breakdown – World Where you Live, Crowded House
Flashback – Some Days You Gotta Dance, Dixie Chicks
Getting Back Together – Piano Concerto No.2 Larghetto, Chopin
Birth of Child – Devil Woman, Cliff Richard (ahem)
Wedding – Catwoman, Shakespeare's Sister
Final Battle – Piano Concerto #21 In C, "Elvira Madigan", Mozart
Funeral Song – What a Wonderful World, Louis Armstrong (actually, I'd like that played at my funeral)
End Credits – Free Bird, Lynyrd Skynyrd (ha ha ha!)

Thank God SClub 7 and Tom Jones didn't come up. I'd be really embarrassed for you to know I had those, and I wouldn't like to listen to them all day either.

Rudy

2008-04-08T20:37:00.005+01:00

For regular readers of this blog, I have to tell you that Rudy was killed this evening. Hit by a car outside Jane's house. It was she who came to tell me. The occupants of the car came too, which I thought was very brave of them. They were probably going too fast (they all do along this stretch, which is a nice straight bit with a 30mph limit), but at least they stopped.

How do you Remember?

2008-04-04T11:01:00.012+01:00

You know when that fantastic plot-line jumps into your brain? And you're not sitting in front of your computer/writing pad... How do you remember?

1. In the middle of the night:
a) get up, go to desk, and write/type the whole thing down, dialogue and all?
b) turn on the light, and make detailed notes in a moleskine*-by-the-bed?
c) fumble around in the dark for a pencil/pen/lippy and something to write on?
d) spend the next hour constructing complex associations until convinced that nothing will be forgotten, and then it all is.
*insert favourite brand of notebook here.

2. During the day:
a) keep a notepad and pen handy at all times.
b) have a dictaphone/mobile-with-voice-record.
c) carry a BlackBerry®/palm top into which everything can be typed on the spot (and wifi-ed to the computer at home)
d) Do nothing, it'll all be remembered/forgotten anyway.

Later:
a) Every detail is remembered/recorded.
b) Every detail is forgotten, other than it was a Really Fab Idea.

I'm a middle-of-the-night girl, with a notebook by the bed. What are you?

A Lovely Weekend Away (at last)!

2008-04-01T14:28:00.007+01:00

Well, my feet have finally touched the ground again after a fantastic weekend away. Yes, I know I said I would never go away again, but I did and no one was sick (at least, not until this morning), and the cat didn't wee in the car until the next day - so that didn't count either.

We spent last weekend at a family reunion in Chesterfield and very nice it was too. Forty rellies from my mother's father's side gathered in a small (and very friendly) hotel to remark on how much older/greyer everyone was since Aunt Margaret/Uncle Guy/Uncle Norman's funeral... and, oooh, haven't the children grown.

And there was rather a lot of drinking involved... which is why I've been
a bit quiet since.

The bonus was that Chesterfield is the home of the lovely SallyQ, whom I met up with on Saturday afternoon for a coffee. Of course, Sally didn't know what I looked like, whereas her appearance is totally familiar to me. Thus is was very strange to find her looking straight through me, like a stranger. Very odd!

Once introduced, we had a lovely hour in Costa Coffee, with her daughter and granddaughter too. The kids (mine) were shattered, and it showed, but Sally has subsequently remarked on their perfect behaviour. I guess she missed the bit when they started throwing things.

Now this morning, things are back to normal except that the car smells of cat wee instead of vomit, and I think I probably prefer the vomit.

My Favourite Places to Write

2008-03-25T15:46:00.006Z

Hey, folks, I've discovered a brand-new writing-blog, hosted by Kerry at Writing at the Window. She has a couple of interesting posts about writing accompanied by some rather cool music. She also has a 'favourite places to write' list, which, in the spirit of welcoming a newbie to blogland, I promptly nicked.

I realise that I have totally different criteria for writing, depending on the time of day, and how much time I have available.

Favourite Places to Write
1. Lounging on my bed. Big headphones on. iTunes on (although sometimes I forget, and just sit there with silent headphones on all evening). Beer beside me (preferably chocolate too). Kids in bed/Himself out. Tends to be for marathon evening sessions: 2hr+.
2. Lounging on an easy chair in the living room. Feet up. Tea/coffee. Packet of crisps (hoola-hoops/quavers/skips). Kids in bed/at school. Short afternoon sessions: 1hr max.
3. In the study. Cup of tea (Earl Grey/Lady Grey/Lapsang). Plate of nice ginger/oaty biscuits. Kids watching TV. Quick, sneaky looks in the morning, when I should be doing something else (like talking to husband): ~15mins.

In my dreams:
4. In a bookshop cafe. Large hot chocolate and huge slice of bakewell beside me. All day.
5. In my room-of-my-own in the loft. Stereo on. Phone unplugged. Tea. Chocolate. Children all at school (one day). All day.

What's your favourite combination of place/drink/music/snack for writing?

Arch Procrastination

2008-03-22T22:28:00.009Z

For once, it just worked. My fingers flew over the track-pad (perhaps it was clean for a change), and my heart started pounding with anticipation. I knew I was finally going to crack it.

At last!

At last I got the highest score in Chasing Simon Bloody Cowell. Now will someone please take the sodding thing down so I can get on with some writing.

From e-tales

2008-03-21T14:50:00.009Z

Letters to Hackney Council
Please forward my money at once as I have fallen into errors with my landlord and the milkman.
My husband is diabetic and has to take insolence regular but he finds he's lethargic to it.
Mrs Brown only thinks she's ill but she's nothing but a hypodermic.
The man next door has a large erection in his garden which is unsightly and dangerous.
I am very annoyed to find you have branded my son illiterate. This is a lie as I married his father a week before he was born.

Mistranslations
Hotel lift, Paris: You are invited to leave your values at the front desk.
In a Leipzig lift: Do not enter the lift backwards, and only when lit up.
Hotel lobby, Bucharest:
The lift is being fixed for the next day. During that time we regret that you will be unbearable.
Hotel, Zurich: Because of the impropriety of entertaining guests of the opposite sex in the bedroom, it is suggested that the lobby be used for this purpose.
Cocktail lounge, Norway: Ladies are requested not to have children in the bar.
In a Tokyo shop: Our nylons cost more than common, but you'll find they are the best in the long run.

Book Meme

2008-03-18T10:55:00.005Z

Nicked from Helen.

1. Hardcover or paperback, and why?
Hardback, as long as it's properly stitched (and not glued).

2. If I were to own a book shop I would call it…
'Dusty Bums' (from sitting on the floor reading - just felt I needed to explain that).

3. My favourite quote from a book (mention the title) is…
The first line of any Dick Francis novel.

4. The author (alive or deceased) I would love to have lunch with would be….
Robert Louis Stevenson.

5. If I was going to a deserted island and could only bring one book, except the SAS survival guide, it would be…
Chambers Dictionary (Sorry: NERD ALERT!).

6. I would love someone to invent a bookish gadget that…
Made books easier to read when you're lying on your side in bed.

7. The smell of an old book reminds me of…
My father's study.

8. If I could be the lead character in a book (mention the title), it would be…
Any romance where the hero is tall, dark and handsome (and rich).

9. The most overestimated book of all time is….
Anything by a celebrity ‘non’-writer (YES! Helen, I couldn't agree more!)

10. I hate it when a book…
Turns out (when I've finished it) to be the first in a series of five...

You're a Bloody Genius!

2008-03-16T13:12:00.006Z

The level of education required to read this blog is:

(Supposedly)

I Just Had to Share This With You

2008-03-12T11:28:00.005Z

I am lounging on my bed, laptop on lap, headphones on (Dire Straits). I have a cup of tea and some cranberry and orange buscuits beside me. The sun is shining.

The small boy is at school. The small girl is at playgroup. The baby is at Jane's. Himself is out.
I am home alone!

I have two whole hours to write, and I'm on a roll. The muse has me firmly by the hand and is leading me towards her friends, Success and Fortune. Wish me productivity. Please! I need to make the most of this!

Oh Dear...

2008-03-11T16:58:00.001Z

You Should Be a Film Writer

You don't just create compelling stories, you see them as clearly as a movie in your mind.

You have a knack for details and dialogue. You can really make a character come to life.

Chances are, you enjoy creating all types of stories. The joy is in the storytelling.

And nothing would please you more than millions of people seeing your story on the big screen!

What Type of Writer Should You Be?

Of course, when they turn my novel into a film...

My Career as a Rock Star - Part Two

2008-03-10T23:19:00.000Z

Further to my new-found ambition to be a rock star (see 4th March), I find
that I am not the only one. Shame. I thought I'd found a niche.

Life on Mars - a Holiday

2008-03-08T14:40:00.020Z

I was in need of a real break - one that didn't involve broken legs, heart attacks, or vomit. To that end, I have spent the last week on Mars, with DCI Gene Hunt, and very nice it has been too. Jane leant me both series on DVD, making for a smorgasbord of ogling viewing. All sixteen hours! I didn't know I had that much free time...

I have now returned to planet Real World to find a veritable Olympus Mons of washing, and some fine spring-growth in the fridge. I'm also rather hungry, not having eaten since Monday last. Just give me a couple of days to scale the 90,000' monolith in my utility room, and I'll be back to play catch-up in Blogland.

My Career as a Rock Star Starts Here

2008-03-04T09:56:00.003Z

This is a great procrastination meme that I nicked from found on Karen's blog. All you have to do is:

1. Click on Wikipedia's Random Article page
The first article title on the page is the name of your band.

2. Click on this Random Quote page
The last four words of the very last quote is the title of your album.

3. Click on Flickr's Last Seven Days page
The third picture, no matter what it is, will be your album cover.

Here's mine:

I like this so much that I now plan to give up all forms of drudgery, and become a rock star.

No Title

2008-03-03T10:00:00.000Z

Ruth is thirty two years old and
doesn't know if she wants to be thirty three. She gives herself three months
to decide, and that is where her journey into the unknown begins...

Ruth's diary
is the new novel by Fiona Robyn, Thaw. She has decided to blog the novel in
its entirety over the next few months, so you can read it for free.

Read the first entry below, and continue reading
tomorrow at
http://read-thaw.blogspot.com.

These hands are
ninety-three years old. They belong to Charlotte Marie Bradley Miller.
She was so frail that her grand-daughter had to carry her onto the set
to take this photo. It’s a close-up. Her emaciated arms emerge from the
top corners of the photo and the background is black, maybe velvet, as
if we’re being protected from seeing the strings. One wrist rests on the
other, and her fingers hang loose, close together, a pair of folded
wings. And you can see her insides.

The bones of her knuckles bulge out of the skin, which sags like plastic
that has melted in the sun and is dripping off her, wrinkling and
folding. Her veins look as though they’re stuck to the outside of her
hands. They’re a colour that’s difficult to describe: blue, but also
silver, green; her blood runs through them, close to the surface. The
book says she died shortly after they took this picture. Did she even
get to see it? Maybe it was the last beautiful thing she left in the
world.

I’m trying to decide whether or not I want to carry on living. I’m
giving myself three months of this journal to decide. You might think
that sounds melodramatic, but I don’t think I’m alone in wondering
whether it’s all worth it. I’ve seen the look in people’s eyes. Stiff
suits travelling to work, morning after morning, on the cramped and
humid tube. Tarted-up girls and gangs of boys reeking of aftershave,
reeling on the pavements on a Friday night, trying to mop up the
dreariness of their week with one desperate, fake-happy night. I’ve
heard the weary grief in my dad’s voice.

So where do I start with all this? What do you want to know about me?
I’m Ruth White, thirty-two years old, going on a hundred. I live alone
with no boyfriend and no cat in a tiny flat in central London. In fact,
I had a non-relationship with a man at work, Dan, for seven years. I’m
sitting in my bedroom-cum-living room right now, looking up every
so often at the thin rain slanting across a flat grey sky. I work in a
city hospital lab as a microbiologist. My dad is an accountant and lives
with his sensible second wife Julie, in a sensible second home. Mother
finished dying when I was fourteen, three years after her first
diagnosis. What else? What else is there?

Charlotte Marie Bradley Miller. I looked at her hands for twelve
minutes. It was odd describing what I was seeing in words. Usually the
picture just sits inside my head and I swish it around like tasting
wine. I have huge books all over my flat; books you have to take in
both hands to lift. I’ve had the photo habit for years. Mother bought me
my first book, black and white landscapes by Ansel Adams. When she got
really ill, I used to take it to bed with me and look at it for hours,
concentrating on the huge trees, the still water, the never-ending
skies. I suppose it helped me think about something other than what was
happening. I learned to focus on one photo at a time rather than
flicking from scene to scene in search of something to hold me. If I
concentrate, then everything stands still. Although I use them to escape
the world, I also think they bring me closer to it. I’ve still got that
book. When I take it out, I handle the pages as though they might flake
into dust.

Mother used to write a journal. When I was small, I sat by her bed in
the early mornings on a hard chair and looked at her face as her pen
spat out sentences in short bursts. I imagined what she might have been
writing about; princesses dressed in star-patterned silk, talking
horses, adventures with pirates. More likely she was writing about what
she was going to cook for dinner and how irritating Dad’s snoring was.

I’ve always wanted to write my own journal, and this is my chance. Maybe
my last chance. The idea is that every night for three months, I’ll take
one of these heavy sheets of pure white paper, rough under my
fingertips, and fill it up on both sides. If my suicide note is nearly a
hundred pages long, then no-one can accuse me of not thinking it
through. No-one can say; ‘It makes no sense; she was a polite, cheerful
girl, had everything to live for’, before adding that I did keep myself
to myself. It’ll all be here. I’m using a silver fountain pen with
purple ink. A bit flamboyant for me, I know. I need these idiosyncratic
rituals; they hold things in place. Like the way I make tea, squeezing
the tea-bag three times, the exact amount of milk, seven stirs. My
writing is small and neat; I’m striping the paper. I’m near the bottom
of the page now. Only ninety-one more days to go before I’m allowed to
make my decision. That’s it for today. It’s begun.

I'm a Busy Bee!

2008-03-03T08:23:00.001Z

Bees are a bit of a theme in our house, so I am a particularly delighted recipient of the Busy Bee Award, which Sally has given me in recognition of my trying to write whilst looking after small children (although, I don't actually attempt these things at the same time).

I would like to bestow the honour on my fellow scramblers-up-the-laundry-mountain: Karen (yes, I know you've had it), Jen, and Lane.

Drudgery

2008-03-02T09:39:00.006Z

I've had a really bad week. This is partly due to still being behind with kids/house/jobs since before we went to Shropshire (we're talking the best part of three-weeks' washing here), and partly because life after a Della Galton course is a real anticlimax!

I came home from Bournemouth really keen to get back to shorties. I have four stories needing nothing more than envelopes, and thirty more in various stages of composition! It is just a matter of finding the time. Oh, the time! The shorties beckon. The novel beckons. The washing beckons...

Clean underwear? Try the basket on the landing. No? Try the one in the utility room? No? Erm, try the tumble dryer. No? Well, how long have you been wearing the ones you've got on?
Oh.
I needed to do some washing.

I spent yesterday, up to my arms in soap suds, wash board and starch, in a modern sort of way you understand. Ten loads, I did, TEN LOADS. Washed. Dried. Folded. Now all I have to do is put it away...

And that's just the washing. You should see my desk, the sitting-room floor, the kitchen...

To Infinity and Beyond

2008-03-01T19:05:00.019Z

Himself and the small boy (aged four-and-a-bit) were having a conversation in the car this afternoon. The small boy was writing numbers on one of those magnetic drawing-boards.
SB: Look at my number eight, Dad. Isn't it good?
H: Yes very good.
SB: Eights are easy. You just start with an S, and carry on going.
H: Yes, that's right.
SB: And look. I can write infinity. It's just an eight on its side.
H (astonished): How on earth did you know that?
SB (adopting the air of a university professor): Infinity is bigger than the biggest number there is. I bet you didn't know that!
H: So, can you count to infinity?
SB: No! Don't be a silly head. It would take me the rest of my life to count to infinity.

They don't half put you in your place sometimes!

I have been awarded the Mwah by Helen. She has no idea how much this perked me up at the time (I've had a really shitty few days). So thank you, Helen! I hope it has the same effect on Sarah G and Honeysuckle, both of whom have made me think a bit just recently. Thank you, girls.

A Submission!

2008-02-29T10:54:00.010Z

I have finally got my act together and sent an adaptation of this post off to Bloggers for Charity. If you have somehow managed to miss every instance of this logo, and/or would like to know more, click on it for more information.
War Child is a UK based charity helping children all over the world.

Funny how, even though subbing to a nice friendly bunch of bloggers, my heart still raced when I pressed the 'send' button. Oh, the excitement of it all.

Della Galton's Course I

2008-02-23T19:39:00.010Z

It was when I reached the motorway, switched on the cruise control and turned the stereo up so loudly that I practically had Jimi Hendrix in the car with me (Voodoo Chile makes such a great change from Wheels on the Bloody Bus), that I realised I was actually doing my own thing.

The next fun part was finding Helen. She was in the queue for the coffee machine when I spotted her. She glanced at me a couple of times, no doubt wondering why I was grinning at her! Once introduced, we sat together, and giggled a lot. We all giggled, and laughed. It was a great day.

There were six in the class, and Della (who is as genuine a person as I could wish to meet) allocated half an hour for each of us, and we were all encouraged to comment and advise on each other's stories, which was a constructive and encouraging exercise. Everyone had good ideas! Certainly my story, when it is subbed, will need to be credited to Me, Della, Helen, and a nice lady called Christine.

Helen's going to write a proper course review on Monday. This is good, because my brain is a shambles, and I can't think of anything else to write except that it was a great day. But, I think I said that already.

It was a great day (sorry). I learned a lot. I'm very glad I went. It was all thanks to Della, for being so clever; Helen, for being so adorable; Jane, for Bullying me into it; Julia, for looking after the small boy; Liz, for looking after the small girl; my lovely step-daughter (and her mum), for looking after the baby; and himself, for picking up the pieces.

See the Della Galton website for details of more courses. I can't recommend her teaching highly enough.

Another Disastrous Holiday

2008-02-21T19:20:00.012Z

Sorry about the silence. Am perfectly well (although rather grumpy) following an Internet-free, four-day break in the Shropshire wilds. Despite a delightful location, snug cottage, and a lovely visit to my uncle, I am grumpy because, yet again, it all went horribly wrong. Here is a summary of the last few times I've ventured away from home:

July 2005 - We were burgled. The resultant damage cost over £10,000, and ten months, to put right.
July 2006 - A postman named ALAN JENKINS smashed into my car (on my birthday) in a remote part of the Isle of Jura (itself pretty remote), and I had to take 50% blame DESPITE BEING STATIONARY AT THE TIME (still seething over that one).
Oct 2006 Had major row with husband, and had to be talked out of divorcing him on the spot by very good friend (thanks, Maggie!)
May 2007: My Dad, who was with us (in isolated Scottish cottage), had suspected heart attack.
Oct 2007: Small girl had croup for two days, baby teethed for two days/nights, small girl broke her leg.
Feb 2008: Small boy was unexpectedly, and spectacularly, sick in the car. Spent the whole time convinced he was going to vomit at any moment. Baby teethed solidly; got no sleep. Had four-day headache instead. Got £60 parking ticket.

I'm never going away again, ever...

The Pleasures of Research

2008-02-13T21:16:00.006Z

I was looking up synonyms for "hangover", having felt that my He knew he'd be feeling like a [unpleasant object] in the morning was a bit lame. These are much better (although they put me off drinking for a good twenty seconds):

aftereffect, big head, crapulence, crown fire, delirium tremens, drunkenness, feebles, head, headache, morning after, shakes, shot, willies, blue devils, blue Johnnies, delirium alcoholicum, delirium ebriositatis, dementia a potu, heebie-jeebies, horrors, jimjams, mania, muppets*, pink elephants, pink spiders, screaming meemies, shakes, snakes in the boots, the DTs.

*courtesy of Womagwriter's sister-in-law.

The Importance of Good Elocution

2008-02-10T11:09:00.000Z

Now, the small girl's articulation is not quite up to public-speaking standards yet, and occasionally I have trouble understanding her. One such occasion was this morning when, while giving her a cuddle, she pointed to my shoulder. The conversation went like this:

SG: Your pretty cardy. I go snuggly.
ME (smiling): Is it snuggly?
SG (laughing): No, it's not snuggly. I go snuggle it.
ME (having another go): You're snuggling it?
SG (squealing): No, I no snuggle it. I got snuggle it.
ME (puzzled now): I'm sorry sweetie, I don't understand. What are you saying?
SG: Your pretty cardy. I got snot on it!
ME: Ah...

Good Vibrations

2008-02-09T21:48:00.000Z

Thank you to the Moondreaming Daisy for this tag: five ways I raise my vibrations. Sadly, not as naughty as it sounds.

Nice Days with the Kids
By nice days, I mean those days when I've had enough sleep, everyone else has had enough sleep, no one's hungry or ill, and the sun is out... The days when I have patience to sing along to kiddies songs on the CD player, or get the paints/glitter & glue/baking kit out, or just have time, energy and inclination to muck about with them, wrestling on the floor (or whatever). I love days like that.

Writing
I would be lost without the chance to write. I would spend my days wondering around, gnashing my teeth, and blurting out lines of unused dialogue. I fear I would sound a bit like a bear with Tourette's.

Music
Writing leads me straight on to music, because I am unable to do the former without the latter. My most productive writing comes when I am lounging on my bed, headphones on, listening to the same twelve tracks over and over again! I do listen to other music at other times too!

Going to the Cinema
I get all excited when I go to the cinema, like a teenager on her first date. Himself is not a big fan of the movies (it's much more fun to go with Jane), but I manage to drag him out of the pub every now and then.

Sleeping
Now, I know this is not exciting at all, but I really look forward to going to sleep. That dozy time between being awake and being asleep is when I think up the best plot twists and dialogue (it is also when I forget the best plot twists and dialogue). It is also the time when my mind seems to float free of the day's stresses, and I can feel positive about even the worst things. It's probably the only time when I am completely chilled. This is generally when one (or more) of the children wake(s) up...

I now tag Womagwriter, Lucy, Maddie, Jen and JJ.

The Big E

2008-02-08T09:01:00.001Z

Thank you to JJ, Moondreamer, Karen, and Cal for this award! I'm really grateful. This is my second blogging award, and it makes me feel all nice and warm and cosy in the blog world. Ta muchly!

I've been slacking a bit the last few days, blogwise, and now I've cottoned on to the fact that I get to pass this on (duh), I guess other people have beaten me to my targets. However, this is my list (not including those who have awarded to me, and to whom I would otherwise have awarded it):

Helenmh, Lane, Liz, Lucy Diamond, Maddie, SallyQ, SpiralSkies, Womagwriter, Zinnia.

Diet Pepsi Max Superbowl Ad

2008-02-05T00:03:00.000Z

(This advert cost $5.4m - not to make, just to air... once - but it is funny!)

Grump, grump, grump, grump, grump...

2008-02-04T20:25:00.000Z

That's what I did for most of yesterday. I'm a woman, see, I can multitask. So I can clean and grump at the same time. The reason for this grumpiness? Well, the computer really was switched off, and I couldn't write. Not only switched off, but hidden to prevent temptation. So I had no access to any one-minute-distractions-from-the-hell-of-housework.

I made up for it today, with a mushy-brain-moment par excellance. I had just put on the cauliflower and I thought, while the water's coming to the boil, I'll just check my email. Well, there was a message from JJ to say that she'd given me a lovely award. Well, I had to go and look, didn't I? And then, of course, I realised that I hadn't visited JJ's blog yesterday either (because of the sodding cleaning), and so I had to catch up, didn't I?

Well, my hob brings water to the boil in about 45-seconds. It struggles a bit when there's no water to boil, so it just heats up everything else until you get a nice smell of burning cauliflower.

Stupid, stupid, stupid woman
(that's me, JJ, not you).

So I spent the next ten minutes trimming black bits off the cauliflower (you know what kids are like), nursing my poor saucepan back to room temp- erature (from somewhere near the melting point of steel), and blackening my chopping board.

And this was after spending the whole day cleaning, tidying, hoovering, washing/folding/putting away clothes. I should be feeling great; but does the house look any better for it?

NO!

Grump, grump, grump, grump, grump...

Wish me Luck...

2008-02-03T09:03:00.001Z

Today, I'm going to switch off my computer (unprecedented), and Tidy My House (nearly unprecedented).

If I don't resurface tomorrow, please come looking for me; I'll be buried in the small boy's room (upstairs right), under a pile of soft toys, brio train track, and dirty socks.