Isn't it cold! I know it is December and almost Christmas and that we are just a couple of days away from the shortest day of the year but I mean! Think back to the mild temperatures we have had in the UK throughout this year. The last thing I expected was that it would actually get cold! And now I hear the bookies are upping the stakes on an official white Christmas! The last one I can remember was 1982 and that year it was unbelievable - with drifts several feet deep.
I have made a decision. I have been thinking a lot lately - and by God does it hurt when I do too much of that! I have decided that in the New Year, I am going to start looking for a part time job. At the moment I work full time as a PA and I hate it. I am sick of the office and sick of the job - not the people I hasten to add; never them. I have as good a bunch of workmates here as I could possibly want. But yesterday I was taken to lunch and I was told - off the record - that there are going to be some major changes in the New Year - a major staff re-structure, a major re-shuffle and there is a distinct possibility that my role of PA is under threat; that I may be forced to move into the Admin pool and I am not happy about it; nor the way I am being kept in the dark about it. Of course, I should have guessed something like this would happen months ago. Managing Directors do not just walk out at a moment's notice and, to be honest, things haven't been quite the same since he left.
I have been thinking that I need to reduce my hours anyway - this has just speeded things up a bit. I have been working full time almost since I left school at 16 and I really do need to be working less hours now. Plus - I am still thinking about the promotion drive I want to give the Yuck series in the New Year. I can't do that if I am tied to an office five days a week. I have already started looking into funding, grants and awards but it might take me ages to track one down - and then goodeness knows how long it would take for it all to go through. It is obvious that I can't just give up working as much as I'd love to. So the compromise is to work three days a week instead of five, and to supplement the income with school talks and by running workshops - both of which I have done before. Not only would I then still be earning a regular wage, I'd also have two days a week in which to take the Yuck books into the schools, the clubs, the brownie packs, the Beavers, the Writing Groups, the libraries and to write.
So that is the plan. I just need to think of the best way to broach the subject with Hubby, bearing in mind the problems it caused a couple of years ago when I was head-hunted and then made redundant in the space of eighteen months and then laid off after three months at another job. That is why the idea of a compromise seems the best way to do it so now I am mulling it over; the last thing I want him to do is start worrying about our finances. I will keep you guys informed. Where there's a will, there's a way.
In the meantime, may I wish you all a wonderful festive season whatever your personal beliefs and a brilliant 2008.
Have a good one!
Monday, 17 December 2007
Wednesday, 12 December 2007
A BOOK, A BOOK, MY KINGDOM FOR A BOOK...
In the space of just over twelve hours, there has been elation and deflation in New Successful Writer's life! It all began at quarter to five yesterday evening. That was when Hubby rang me at the office in a state of huge excitement. "I have just had a phone call from Lorraine!" he cried (who is Youngest Step-daughter by the way). "She's taken delivery of a special little package!" . Now bearing in mind Youngest Step-daughter has a baby due on 29 December, my initial rush of excitement was one of the Proud-Grandmotherly kind. Boy? Girl? Weight? Name? That we have already been told - not least by Grand-daughter herself - that the forthcoming baby is male fell by the wayside for a few seconds. "It's your book!" crowed Hubby, inadvertantly scattering all thoughts of New Grandchild. "The print version!" This took a moment to sink in. "What?" I managed after a silence of several moments. "She's had six copies arrive today!" Hubby went on. Slowly things began to fall into place. The main thing being that my book is now in print - and not a self-printed copy of the download! Hubby was babbling on about how Youngest Step-daughter and Clever Son-In-Law had ordered a copy for each of their friends from the Parent-craft classes they'd attended when expecting Grand-daughter, and how they wanted them all signed before Christmas so they could be wrapped and given to the various offspring. All I kept thinking during the next incredible few minutes was 'Wow!' and 'It finally got there!'
I immediately went onto the Yucketypoo website and tried to order six copies myself but, in the adrenalin rush, hit a wrong button somewhere and had to give up. All the way home I was thinking how ironic it was that the books arrived yesterday when, earlier on, hot on the trail of Sarah the Publisher telling me that they now had a Print-on-Demand service available, I had emailed her and asked how I could get a copy printed up in time to give to Hubby for Christmas.
Anyway, when I got home, there was Hubby beaming like a Cheshire cat and I must admit his enthusiasm was a tonic in itself. But five minutes later the telephone rang. It was Sarah the Publisher. She had organised a limited edition print run just to meet the orders she'd had come in over the past couple of months and only had three copies left. There is another print-run scheduled - but it is doubtful it will happen this side of Christmas. A lot depends on how many more orders we can secure between now and then and, given it is just twelve days away, I won't hold my breath.
Hubby was absolutely gutted! I could see him deflating like the proverbial Christmas balloon! Sarah the Publisher did say she would send me a copy but that wasn't really what Hubby wanted to hear. He wanted to know we'd sold enough copies in advance to warrant a full print run of 2500. He wanted to know we could walk into W H Smiths and Waterstones and possibly see copies on display there. He wanted to take a copy into work and say proudly "Here it is!" and hand copies to the parents on Christmas Day. Most of all he wanted to crack open the champagne and say "Well done, Author!" as our glasses clinked. That will still happen - but after the thrill of hearing there are print versions in circulation right now - he wanted to celebrate right now - not next month or next year. This book has already been germinating for sixteen months. We have already had a mini-launch for the electronic version and there is no denying that it really is happening. It is just that it seems to be taking so bloody long!
Over coffee at Costa's this morning, he got very passionate again and, again, I was moved almost to tears by his unerring faith and unceasing belief in me. He knows that both Sarah the Publisher and I are haunting the media and book-sellers with info packs and Press Releases. He knows that several High Street Chains and a TV Producer have already expressed some interest in it. He knows she is a small independent publisher with limited resources. But he is clearly disappointed it has taken this long to get where we are - which, let's be honest - isn't as far as we had both hoped. To top it all off, he looked me straight in the eye and bequeathed me every penny of our savings at the Building Society (it isn't much but it is just sitting there doing nothing) if it means I can take some time off and just get out there and meet the people, sell the book, truly realise what is not longer just my dream but our dream and just be an active writer.
In all honesty, no amount of best-sellers could match that level of Love with a capital 'L' - or even come close but please - anyone - everyone - go to http://www.yucketypoo.co.uk/ and order a copy. Order several copies. Get everyone you know to order copies as well. And remember that a percentage of every copy sold goes to CLIC-sargent plus an important environmental message reaches the very people who will inherit the earth - our children and grandchildren!
And hopefully we will be able to open the champagne!
I immediately went onto the Yucketypoo website and tried to order six copies myself but, in the adrenalin rush, hit a wrong button somewhere and had to give up. All the way home I was thinking how ironic it was that the books arrived yesterday when, earlier on, hot on the trail of Sarah the Publisher telling me that they now had a Print-on-Demand service available, I had emailed her and asked how I could get a copy printed up in time to give to Hubby for Christmas.
Anyway, when I got home, there was Hubby beaming like a Cheshire cat and I must admit his enthusiasm was a tonic in itself. But five minutes later the telephone rang. It was Sarah the Publisher. She had organised a limited edition print run just to meet the orders she'd had come in over the past couple of months and only had three copies left. There is another print-run scheduled - but it is doubtful it will happen this side of Christmas. A lot depends on how many more orders we can secure between now and then and, given it is just twelve days away, I won't hold my breath.
Hubby was absolutely gutted! I could see him deflating like the proverbial Christmas balloon! Sarah the Publisher did say she would send me a copy but that wasn't really what Hubby wanted to hear. He wanted to know we'd sold enough copies in advance to warrant a full print run of 2500. He wanted to know we could walk into W H Smiths and Waterstones and possibly see copies on display there. He wanted to take a copy into work and say proudly "Here it is!" and hand copies to the parents on Christmas Day. Most of all he wanted to crack open the champagne and say "Well done, Author!" as our glasses clinked. That will still happen - but after the thrill of hearing there are print versions in circulation right now - he wanted to celebrate right now - not next month or next year. This book has already been germinating for sixteen months. We have already had a mini-launch for the electronic version and there is no denying that it really is happening. It is just that it seems to be taking so bloody long!
Over coffee at Costa's this morning, he got very passionate again and, again, I was moved almost to tears by his unerring faith and unceasing belief in me. He knows that both Sarah the Publisher and I are haunting the media and book-sellers with info packs and Press Releases. He knows that several High Street Chains and a TV Producer have already expressed some interest in it. He knows she is a small independent publisher with limited resources. But he is clearly disappointed it has taken this long to get where we are - which, let's be honest - isn't as far as we had both hoped. To top it all off, he looked me straight in the eye and bequeathed me every penny of our savings at the Building Society (it isn't much but it is just sitting there doing nothing) if it means I can take some time off and just get out there and meet the people, sell the book, truly realise what is not longer just my dream but our dream and just be an active writer.
In all honesty, no amount of best-sellers could match that level of Love with a capital 'L' - or even come close but please - anyone - everyone - go to http://www.yucketypoo.co.uk/ and order a copy. Order several copies. Get everyone you know to order copies as well. And remember that a percentage of every copy sold goes to CLIC-sargent plus an important environmental message reaches the very people who will inherit the earth - our children and grandchildren!
And hopefully we will be able to open the champagne!
Tuesday, 11 December 2007
SO NOW WHAT?
Well, here we are, less than two weeks away from the Big Day! How comes it is Wednesday again, already? How did that happen? Where did the time go? Mind you, I do not much care how quickly time passes leading into the Christmas break - as long as the Christmas Break itself does not pass too quickly! My Christmas Shopping stint for Hubby did not fulfil my expectations. The atmosphere was great and Croydon felt very festive. The trouble is, and I am almost sure it doesn't get any easier, Hubby and I have been together for so long now that we actually want for very little. What I'd like to give him is the opportunity to retire because I know that's what he wants. What he would like to give me is the opportunity to quit the day job, stay at home and write because he knows that's what I want. But both of those are currently out of the question so it means more nick-nacks like pens, socks, underwear and chocolate - all of which are readily available and all of which we have already got! Ah well - not to worry. We have at least got each other (who's making that retching noise?) and as long as we have that, I guess presents to unwrap on Christmas Day are just bonuses!
I have been in quite a reflective mood the last few days. I have hardly written a thing of late, which makes me both sad and ashamed. What I would really like to do is start my novel - the one I have been thinking about and researching and procrastinating over for at least a decade - and possibly longer. But with the third Yuck book still to write, the novel is going to have to take a back seat for a bit longer. And I miss my poetry a huge amount. No time. Saddest words ever written as Og Mandino says in "The Choice". I just don't know where 2007 has gone - along with all the hopes and dreams I had this time last year. And going through the menopause has not helped one iota! A few years ago all I'd have worried about was where the next poem was coming from. Lately it has been whether or not the Hot Flushes will restart (I had the first one in ages a week or so ago!) or if I will ever be fully myself again? Where am I going? Where will I be this time next year?
And the biggest question of all - who really gives a damn?
I have been in quite a reflective mood the last few days. I have hardly written a thing of late, which makes me both sad and ashamed. What I would really like to do is start my novel - the one I have been thinking about and researching and procrastinating over for at least a decade - and possibly longer. But with the third Yuck book still to write, the novel is going to have to take a back seat for a bit longer. And I miss my poetry a huge amount. No time. Saddest words ever written as Og Mandino says in "The Choice". I just don't know where 2007 has gone - along with all the hopes and dreams I had this time last year. And going through the menopause has not helped one iota! A few years ago all I'd have worried about was where the next poem was coming from. Lately it has been whether or not the Hot Flushes will restart (I had the first one in ages a week or so ago!) or if I will ever be fully myself again? Where am I going? Where will I be this time next year?
And the biggest question of all - who really gives a damn?
Friday, 7 December 2007
"THCAREY......"
I am in the office ultra-early today. I wanted to put the Christmas Tree up. Figured it might put my colleagues in a festive mood. Hoping to put our own up this evening at home. Grand-daughter is visiting on Sunday and I wanted her to see it. It will be the only chance we get to show it to her this year because the family Christmas get-together is at Youngest Stepdaughter's on 29 December - ironically that is the same day that her baby is due - which means we are all congrigating in Leigh on Sea in Essex rather than Addiscombe in Croydon. And talking of Grand-daughter - Hubby and I survived the whole weekend with her last week.
We went into Christmassy Croydon on the Saturday full of plans to take her to see one of Santa's many Helpers. We thought we'd initiate her gently by first taking her to see the workshop full of mechanical elves in Centrale. One look at the soul-less figurines and she pulled the buggy hood as far down as she could. Okay. So the elves didn't work. What about the huge Singing tree in the central concourse? Oops - no - she told us it was 'thcarey' as opposed to 'scary'. When it suddenly opened its huge blinking eyes and began to sing, it almost finished her off. It actually is quite scarey! We crossed to Whitgift. The giant tree inside the main entrance was also 'thcarey' even though it didn't sing so we went into Smiths to get a couple of books for presents. By now, she had talked us into letting her out to walk. Big mistake. She saw the Terry's chocolate oranges piled up in front of the till and really let rip when we walked out without buying her one. I eventually had bribe her into going back into the buggy by promising she could have 'Dum-dum' if she'd only stop and resist the living rigamortis that had set in to coincide with the scream with the highest decibel count in the history of mankind. This worked as she is only allowed 'Dum-dum' when it is sleep time. As she had been up since half past six and it was now almost midday, she was just about due her usual nap anyway. She finally conceded, sucked on 'Dum' and fell asleep inside thirty seconds. So we never did get to see the Helper in the giganticus Whitgift grotto.
This afternoon I am finishing work at noon so that I can go Christmas Shopping for Hubby's presents in Croydon. It will be the only opportunity I get between now and the Big Day so I intend to make the most of it. Tomorrow we are going Into Town - which effectively means a day in London, most specifically Covent Garden - to finish off the General Christmas Shopping. We are both looking forward to that as we have a love of London, especially at this time of year when all the lights are glittering and "Do they Know It's Christmas" is booming out of every shop doorway. Having said that though, I heard The Pogues and Kirsty McColl's "Fairytale of New York" for the first time this season the other day. That, to me, more adequately epitomises the spirit of Christmas and I allowed myself a little smile. When you hear that for the first time as Christmas gallops towards us like a herd of demon reindeer across a snowy plain, that's when Christmas has really arrived!
Wish me luck as I brave the Manic Shoppers again. Oh yeah - I guess I'll actually be one of them as long as I am trailing through the town with ten thousand bags hooked over my elbows!!!! My prime directive? To find at least one unique, unexpected, awe-inspiring present for my Steve. That shouldn't be too didfficult. Should it...?
We went into Christmassy Croydon on the Saturday full of plans to take her to see one of Santa's many Helpers. We thought we'd initiate her gently by first taking her to see the workshop full of mechanical elves in Centrale. One look at the soul-less figurines and she pulled the buggy hood as far down as she could. Okay. So the elves didn't work. What about the huge Singing tree in the central concourse? Oops - no - she told us it was 'thcarey' as opposed to 'scary'. When it suddenly opened its huge blinking eyes and began to sing, it almost finished her off. It actually is quite scarey! We crossed to Whitgift. The giant tree inside the main entrance was also 'thcarey' even though it didn't sing so we went into Smiths to get a couple of books for presents. By now, she had talked us into letting her out to walk. Big mistake. She saw the Terry's chocolate oranges piled up in front of the till and really let rip when we walked out without buying her one. I eventually had bribe her into going back into the buggy by promising she could have 'Dum-dum' if she'd only stop and resist the living rigamortis that had set in to coincide with the scream with the highest decibel count in the history of mankind. This worked as she is only allowed 'Dum-dum' when it is sleep time. As she had been up since half past six and it was now almost midday, she was just about due her usual nap anyway. She finally conceded, sucked on 'Dum' and fell asleep inside thirty seconds. So we never did get to see the Helper in the giganticus Whitgift grotto.
This afternoon I am finishing work at noon so that I can go Christmas Shopping for Hubby's presents in Croydon. It will be the only opportunity I get between now and the Big Day so I intend to make the most of it. Tomorrow we are going Into Town - which effectively means a day in London, most specifically Covent Garden - to finish off the General Christmas Shopping. We are both looking forward to that as we have a love of London, especially at this time of year when all the lights are glittering and "Do they Know It's Christmas" is booming out of every shop doorway. Having said that though, I heard The Pogues and Kirsty McColl's "Fairytale of New York" for the first time this season the other day. That, to me, more adequately epitomises the spirit of Christmas and I allowed myself a little smile. When you hear that for the first time as Christmas gallops towards us like a herd of demon reindeer across a snowy plain, that's when Christmas has really arrived!
Wish me luck as I brave the Manic Shoppers again. Oh yeah - I guess I'll actually be one of them as long as I am trailing through the town with ten thousand bags hooked over my elbows!!!! My prime directive? To find at least one unique, unexpected, awe-inspiring present for my Steve. That shouldn't be too didfficult. Should it...?
Friday, 30 November 2007
BIG OOOOOPPPS!!!
Steve insisted last night that I had never mentioned my blog to him. I, on the other hand, insisted I had and had even shown it to him but he is adamant he'd neither known of it nor looked at it. One of us is going crazy. I think it is me! I think it is another menopause menace. I know that, lately, I have been a bit forgetful at times - like going into the shop for milk and coming out with everything but and not realising till I get home. But to forget a whole blog? Almost five month's worth of it? That is actually quite worrying. Or maybe it is just Me.
Now - where did I put my brain this morning?
Now - where did I put my brain this morning?
Wednesday, 28 November 2007
WHY WOMEN WONDER...
According to a popular freebie newspaper, two thirds of young women have had unprotected sex with a new partner. Surely it logically follows then that two thirds of young men have also had unprotected sex with a new partner but does the popular freebie say that? Of course not. The same freebie, on the same day, said that women spend an average of seven hours per working day surfing the web and men only spend two or three. Seven hours a day! I rarely manage more half an hour and that is at eight in the morning when I know I have a bit of time spare before I actually start work.
It is the 21st century. Surely it is time for the battle of the sexes to draw to a close - yet the media keep on fuelling the fire! Maybe it is the fact I am going through the menopause and my hormones are all over the place but I am finding things like this increasingly offensive. As if my confidence hasn't had enough of a knock with everything else going on in my body over which I have no control whatsoever! Perhaps I am taking things too personally? Maybe, by responding angrily to something like this I am only helping to fuel that fire? I don't know. I only know that I think it is high time that everyone just accepted everyone else for what they are and not for what the media says they should be? Would a man be able to cope with the barrage of negativity that us girls face day after day after day? Somehow I doubt it. Men have some wonderful qualities. I find the company of men reassuring and interesting. Women also have some wonderful qualities and I find them great company too. I would hate to live in a world without either of them.
I just wish the media at large would have the same comfortable outlook rather than constantly pitting one against the other!
It is the 21st century. Surely it is time for the battle of the sexes to draw to a close - yet the media keep on fuelling the fire! Maybe it is the fact I am going through the menopause and my hormones are all over the place but I am finding things like this increasingly offensive. As if my confidence hasn't had enough of a knock with everything else going on in my body over which I have no control whatsoever! Perhaps I am taking things too personally? Maybe, by responding angrily to something like this I am only helping to fuel that fire? I don't know. I only know that I think it is high time that everyone just accepted everyone else for what they are and not for what the media says they should be? Would a man be able to cope with the barrage of negativity that us girls face day after day after day? Somehow I doubt it. Men have some wonderful qualities. I find the company of men reassuring and interesting. Women also have some wonderful qualities and I find them great company too. I would hate to live in a world without either of them.
I just wish the media at large would have the same comfortable outlook rather than constantly pitting one against the other!
Monday, 26 November 2007
NOT RADIO GA-GA...
Well hello everyone. Sorry it has been a few days but there you go. Any fellas reading this may want to skip the next part but I just wanted to update you girlies out there on what's going on with my menopause! Don't worry - no long winded, graphic explanations, just a line to let you know that I am actually NOT over the worst yet! I was tootling along very nicely for a while but then ... things ... began to happen in the lower regions. Okay - to cut to the chase - I started a period that I have now been putting up with for three weeks ( I did warn you, boys!). I feel absolutely fine, have no belly ache and no other symptoms. I have spoken to the nurse at the doctor's pracice and I have also signed up with a website called Menopause Matters I I think it is http://www.menopausematters.co.uk/
The good news is that such odd behaviour in our bodies is very normal at our age and I have had a stack of messages back from other members who all assure me that it doesn't last forever and really does lead to better times. I was so relieved I instantly stopped worrying about it. I am still going to have a chat with the nurse on Thursday morning just in case there are any other shocks lined up for me during this weird phase in my life. I will update you.
Anyway - that is enough of that! Welcome back Gents. My Radio Mayday interview yesterday was fab. I couldn't believe how easy the programme presenter - a lovely fella called Trevor - made it for me. I was in the studio for an hour and the interview was done in three phases - The Book, Writing and the Environment. He led me incredibly well and I was not nervous at all. How could I be? I was talking about the most important thing in my professional life and it was great. He has said he will send me a copy on CD so I will send it to Sarah the Publisher who has said she'll put it onto the Yuck website for other people to listen to. I haven't heard it myself yet but Hubby said I was brilliant! But then he would, I suppose. The truth is that I just forgot I was being interviewed. Trev asked and I answered. It really was that simple. What's more he has given me some contact names of other local radio stations to try and get onto to. I will let you know how it goes.
There have been some other developments with Yuck. Sarah the Publisher has got something up her sleeve but won't say what so I have no idea. What she did tell me was that the book can now be ordered from any of the High Street book stores which is great and that it has been adopted for the Christmas season by a large Shopping Mall in Birmingham. As for me - well I am still bombarding the papers and other media with Press Packs, Promo fliers and Info sheets and I refuse to give up until it has been recognised by a lot more than the local papers and hospital radio (not that I am knocking hospital radio - yesterday only made me hunger for more and I will always be in Trevor's debt for introducing me to the power of the airways!) - but the book needs to do well country (if not world) wide and I will not give up on it under any circumstances!
Have a busy weekend coming up by the way. Grand-daughter is coming to spend it with us and I know she'll run Hubby and I ragged. We are planning to take her to see one of Santa's helpers in Croydon. I only hope she doesn't have hysterics when she sees him like one of our nieces did when she was that age. It isn't just the girls in our family either. Grandson became terrified the day he bumped into Ronald McDonald in Penge. It must have truly traumatised him because he still talks about it ten years later!
I will try to confirm that web address for any menopausal ladies out there tomorow. In the meantime, have a good evening!
(27.11.07 - THAT IS THE CORRECT ADDRESS FOR MENOPAUSE MATTERS!)
The good news is that such odd behaviour in our bodies is very normal at our age and I have had a stack of messages back from other members who all assure me that it doesn't last forever and really does lead to better times. I was so relieved I instantly stopped worrying about it. I am still going to have a chat with the nurse on Thursday morning just in case there are any other shocks lined up for me during this weird phase in my life. I will update you.
Anyway - that is enough of that! Welcome back Gents. My Radio Mayday interview yesterday was fab. I couldn't believe how easy the programme presenter - a lovely fella called Trevor - made it for me. I was in the studio for an hour and the interview was done in three phases - The Book, Writing and the Environment. He led me incredibly well and I was not nervous at all. How could I be? I was talking about the most important thing in my professional life and it was great. He has said he will send me a copy on CD so I will send it to Sarah the Publisher who has said she'll put it onto the Yuck website for other people to listen to. I haven't heard it myself yet but Hubby said I was brilliant! But then he would, I suppose. The truth is that I just forgot I was being interviewed. Trev asked and I answered. It really was that simple. What's more he has given me some contact names of other local radio stations to try and get onto to. I will let you know how it goes.
There have been some other developments with Yuck. Sarah the Publisher has got something up her sleeve but won't say what so I have no idea. What she did tell me was that the book can now be ordered from any of the High Street book stores which is great and that it has been adopted for the Christmas season by a large Shopping Mall in Birmingham. As for me - well I am still bombarding the papers and other media with Press Packs, Promo fliers and Info sheets and I refuse to give up until it has been recognised by a lot more than the local papers and hospital radio (not that I am knocking hospital radio - yesterday only made me hunger for more and I will always be in Trevor's debt for introducing me to the power of the airways!) - but the book needs to do well country (if not world) wide and I will not give up on it under any circumstances!
Have a busy weekend coming up by the way. Grand-daughter is coming to spend it with us and I know she'll run Hubby and I ragged. We are planning to take her to see one of Santa's helpers in Croydon. I only hope she doesn't have hysterics when she sees him like one of our nieces did when she was that age. It isn't just the girls in our family either. Grandson became terrified the day he bumped into Ronald McDonald in Penge. It must have truly traumatised him because he still talks about it ten years later!
I will try to confirm that web address for any menopausal ladies out there tomorow. In the meantime, have a good evening!
(27.11.07 - THAT IS THE CORRECT ADDRESS FOR MENOPAUSE MATTERS!)
Thursday, 22 November 2007
NO WAY JOSE
Have just heard on Smooth fm that Jose Mourinho is hotly tipped to be offered the England manager's job following Steve McClaren's departure after last night's humiliating defeat at Wembley! Please no! I didn't like him as the manager of Chelsea and I don't think he would have the England squad's best interests at heart. He is too full of himself and too critical of others if his team loses!
Had an in depth discussion with Hubby over coffee at Costa's this morning. Football is his second language and through him I have developed a healthy respect for, and understanding of, the game, I must admit I did not enjoy it half as much before I met him and now I am as keen on it as he is (when Alex Ferguson sent us best wishes from Manchester United on our wedding day, that just about clinched it for me) and we quite often have football-orientated debates.
Whether or not Aston Villa manager Martin O'Neill fancies the job remains to be seen.
No disrespect but at least he's a Brit!
Had an in depth discussion with Hubby over coffee at Costa's this morning. Football is his second language and through him I have developed a healthy respect for, and understanding of, the game, I must admit I did not enjoy it half as much before I met him and now I am as keen on it as he is (when Alex Ferguson sent us best wishes from Manchester United on our wedding day, that just about clinched it for me) and we quite often have football-orientated debates.
Whether or not Aston Villa manager Martin O'Neill fancies the job remains to be seen.
No disrespect but at least he's a Brit!
Wednesday, 21 November 2007
"THIS HAS GOT TO STOP"
Did anyone see the news the other night where the brother of yet another young victim of violence was talking to reproters? It made my heart bleed and my soul weep. Through his tears this young black man was imploring "Why do these things happen? We see other families on the telly about it and now look, we are the family on the telly." He then went on to say "Something has to be done to stop this. It isn't the police. It isn't racial. It is black people doing it to ourselves and each other!"
God bless that young man!
I must say that every time I see another news story about another youngster - regardless of their colour, race or creed - who has been shot or stabbed, another young life being snuffed out, another mindless, crazy, soul-destroying waste of a fellow human, my heart just goes out to their families, their communities, even their attackers who obviously think that, just like in the movies, anyone who is fatally wounded actually just gets up and goes off set as soon as the cameras stop rolling. But it doesn't happen like that. Bruce Willis, Arnold Schwartzeneger and Mel Gibson may walk through a hale of bullets in their films and survive then go home to their farms or their mansions and their families but in Real Life, the victims remain exactly that - victims, and their demise unwittingly creates other victims in the shape of a mourning family, a grieving mother, a tearful brother saying "This has got to stop!"
How very right he is. How very open and honest he is. How very human he is. How very much he suffers now that his Bobby has gone. How very much his words slice into my subconcious and hopefully into the subconcious of every single human being before more kids die, more kids kill and more families are left in shatters. My heart aches at the madness of it all.
I know this is heavy stuff for 8.30 in the morning but that young man has haunted my thoughts and even my dreams - I awoke, heart thumping and in a cold sweat of terror at midnight after dreaming I'd been shot. It was still so vivid that I was actually reciting my address to the emergency services as I awoke and all I could hear was this weeping young man saying over and over again like an unhappy echo "This has got to stop!"
He is right. It has.
God bless that young man!
I must say that every time I see another news story about another youngster - regardless of their colour, race or creed - who has been shot or stabbed, another young life being snuffed out, another mindless, crazy, soul-destroying waste of a fellow human, my heart just goes out to their families, their communities, even their attackers who obviously think that, just like in the movies, anyone who is fatally wounded actually just gets up and goes off set as soon as the cameras stop rolling. But it doesn't happen like that. Bruce Willis, Arnold Schwartzeneger and Mel Gibson may walk through a hale of bullets in their films and survive then go home to their farms or their mansions and their families but in Real Life, the victims remain exactly that - victims, and their demise unwittingly creates other victims in the shape of a mourning family, a grieving mother, a tearful brother saying "This has got to stop!"
How very right he is. How very open and honest he is. How very human he is. How very much he suffers now that his Bobby has gone. How very much his words slice into my subconcious and hopefully into the subconcious of every single human being before more kids die, more kids kill and more families are left in shatters. My heart aches at the madness of it all.
I know this is heavy stuff for 8.30 in the morning but that young man has haunted my thoughts and even my dreams - I awoke, heart thumping and in a cold sweat of terror at midnight after dreaming I'd been shot. It was still so vivid that I was actually reciting my address to the emergency services as I awoke and all I could hear was this weeping young man saying over and over again like an unhappy echo "This has got to stop!"
He is right. It has.
Monday, 19 November 2007
ATTACK OF THE MANIC SHOPPERS
I was somewhat surprised to note when I weighed myself this morning that since I stopped worrying about my weight I have lost half a stone! How did that happen? Where did it go? I think I will have to stop worrying about my weight forever; at least that way I might get back to my ideal weight (ideal according to the media you understand). I have heard of the phrase 'Think yourself thin'. Thin I will never be but thinner-than-I-have-been-of-late sounds quite interesting. Work that one out if you can!
Hubby and I did not get all the Christmas shopping done last Saturday, despite the fact we were in Croydon for around eight hours. Hubby - who was diagnosed diabetic eighteen months ago - was not feeling a hundred per cent which put a bit of a dampener on it, but it wasn't his fault. Plus the place was absolutely heaving. With five weeks to go, people were still shopping like there was no tomorrow. You couldn't move in some places, finding yourself hemmed in by a human wall of panic buyers behaving like weird dolls whose Prime Directive was to BUY BUY BUY. I have never seen anything like it this far in advance of Christmas Eve.
At five to eleven, the Debenhams Santa arrived, somewhat sureally, in a black and silver Rolls Royce surrounded by security guards. He had to compete for attention along with the Allders Christmas dancers (lots of little girls in red and fake-ermine) and the Town Crier to boot. It was complete mayhem. Hubby and I were sipping coffees in Munch in Allders Mall and all we could hear from the crowds pressing against the windows were their mindless Ooohs and Ahhs. At least there weren't any real reindeer this year, which must make the street cleaners happy!
Of course the fact we didn't get it all done heralds a repeat performance this Saturday. I'd like to think that everyone will have got the Christmas Shopping Fever out of their systems by then but I can't see it, somehow. In fact I am not at all sure I can face such retail craziness again so quickly.
I might just have to write to Santa and leave it all in his very capable gloved hands. No, not the Debenhams one, the real one.......
Hubby and I did not get all the Christmas shopping done last Saturday, despite the fact we were in Croydon for around eight hours. Hubby - who was diagnosed diabetic eighteen months ago - was not feeling a hundred per cent which put a bit of a dampener on it, but it wasn't his fault. Plus the place was absolutely heaving. With five weeks to go, people were still shopping like there was no tomorrow. You couldn't move in some places, finding yourself hemmed in by a human wall of panic buyers behaving like weird dolls whose Prime Directive was to BUY BUY BUY. I have never seen anything like it this far in advance of Christmas Eve.
At five to eleven, the Debenhams Santa arrived, somewhat sureally, in a black and silver Rolls Royce surrounded by security guards. He had to compete for attention along with the Allders Christmas dancers (lots of little girls in red and fake-ermine) and the Town Crier to boot. It was complete mayhem. Hubby and I were sipping coffees in Munch in Allders Mall and all we could hear from the crowds pressing against the windows were their mindless Ooohs and Ahhs. At least there weren't any real reindeer this year, which must make the street cleaners happy!
Of course the fact we didn't get it all done heralds a repeat performance this Saturday. I'd like to think that everyone will have got the Christmas Shopping Fever out of their systems by then but I can't see it, somehow. In fact I am not at all sure I can face such retail craziness again so quickly.
I might just have to write to Santa and leave it all in his very capable gloved hands. No, not the Debenhams one, the real one.......
Thursday, 15 November 2007
It's CHRISTMAS!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!
CHRISTMAS has really arrived in Croydon! The lights are being switched on tomorrow but the decorations are already up in most of the town centre. In Centrale - which is our newest shopping mall - there is a huge Christmas Tree in the centre concourse with child-size manequins (I am not sure if I have spelt that correctly) perched all over it, waving and singing. Outside the food court on the second floor, there is a very busy Santa's workshop full of mechanical elves getting presents ready to go on the sleigh.
Across the way in the Whitgift Centre - our oldest established shopping mall - Hubby and I walked through yesterday and found a ginormous Santa's grotto in its centre concourse where there had certainly been no Santa's grotto a couple of days earlier. Add to all this the countless giant teddy bears wandering around beside various characters of fairy story fame, the live DJ playing all the old Christmas favourites at the main entrance of Boots the chemist, the steady backgroud kerching of cash registers on overtime and the glowing faces of the shoppers then you'll get the general idea. All this and the Big Day itself is still five weeks away.
Don't get me wrong. I am not complaining. I love Christmas, never outgrew it and never will. Fortunately all my family and Hubby are exactly the same. But I just wonder if it all kicking off so early maybe distracts us a wee bit from the actual holiday. It also makes me kind of sad that the story of that incredible little baby boy, born in the poorest of circumstances around 2000 years ago, somehow gets lost in translation. And no, I am not about to start preaching - that is neither my place nor my job. I just hope that during the thrill, glitter and excitement of it all, whoever we are and whatever our beliefs, we don't forget how it came about in the first place!
Tomorrow, Hubby and I are going to get completely caught up in the festivities because we are going Christmas shopping Big Time, the plan being to get as much of it out of the way as possible. We have a huge extended family - Sisters, Brothers, Parents, Aunts etc - and have to set ourselves a strict budget, so much per adult, so much per child, except where Grandson and Granddaughter are concerned. We do still have a budget for them but it is a bit bigger than the budget for countless Neices and Nephews, for example. Next year we'll have Third Grandchild to consider as well so we may have to alter the perimeters a bit more - but let's get this Christmas out of the way first, eh?
Tonight - Hubby and I are going to see Status Quo Rocking All Over The World at the Fairfield Halls, so very much looking forward to that.
Have a great weekend.
Across the way in the Whitgift Centre - our oldest established shopping mall - Hubby and I walked through yesterday and found a ginormous Santa's grotto in its centre concourse where there had certainly been no Santa's grotto a couple of days earlier. Add to all this the countless giant teddy bears wandering around beside various characters of fairy story fame, the live DJ playing all the old Christmas favourites at the main entrance of Boots the chemist, the steady backgroud kerching of cash registers on overtime and the glowing faces of the shoppers then you'll get the general idea. All this and the Big Day itself is still five weeks away.
Don't get me wrong. I am not complaining. I love Christmas, never outgrew it and never will. Fortunately all my family and Hubby are exactly the same. But I just wonder if it all kicking off so early maybe distracts us a wee bit from the actual holiday. It also makes me kind of sad that the story of that incredible little baby boy, born in the poorest of circumstances around 2000 years ago, somehow gets lost in translation. And no, I am not about to start preaching - that is neither my place nor my job. I just hope that during the thrill, glitter and excitement of it all, whoever we are and whatever our beliefs, we don't forget how it came about in the first place!
Tomorrow, Hubby and I are going to get completely caught up in the festivities because we are going Christmas shopping Big Time, the plan being to get as much of it out of the way as possible. We have a huge extended family - Sisters, Brothers, Parents, Aunts etc - and have to set ourselves a strict budget, so much per adult, so much per child, except where Grandson and Granddaughter are concerned. We do still have a budget for them but it is a bit bigger than the budget for countless Neices and Nephews, for example. Next year we'll have Third Grandchild to consider as well so we may have to alter the perimeters a bit more - but let's get this Christmas out of the way first, eh?
Tonight - Hubby and I are going to see Status Quo Rocking All Over The World at the Fairfield Halls, so very much looking forward to that.
Have a great weekend.
Wednesday, 14 November 2007
MAYDAY .... MAYDAY ....
I finally got to the doctor on Monday morning. I actually tried to get an appointment on the way home on Friday last week. I said they had a three-days-in-advance thing, didn't I? Despite the fact I felt like shit and should be given priority because I am asthmatic, the earliest they could get me in was Monday morning at 9.30. I did mean to go into work straight afterwards but, having been told I have a 'viral infection', plus the fact my throat was sore and my head felt like it had ten tons of rock rolling about in it, I realised as soon as I left the surgery that I really couldn't face the office. So I turned round and went home. Spent the day snuggled up on the sofa with a quilt and Cat and daytime TV (Loose Women. Bargain Hunt - quite sad really). I felt a bit better by Monday evening so wrote my scathing criticism of Sky, but then went into work yesterday morning feeling really rough again. I must have looked it, too, the amount of comments people made.
I feel quite a lot better today. Met Hubby for coffee at Costa's and showed him the email I received at the office yesterday from a local radio station. They want to interview me about the book - live on air - the Sunday after next. This is good news. I know it is only a small, local hospital radio station but it is a start. Hopefully it will bode well for the future. I have now also sent Press Packs out to the Telegraph, the Times and the national Guardian as well as Rolf Harris ('far too busy to comment but wishes you well') and Vanessa Feltz (no repsonse as yet but I live in hope). Someone somewhere will take this book seriously soon, I swear. I haven't been a writer all my life only to see my first children's book sink into oblivion because no-one considers it important. That's like asking Richard Branson to stop being an entrepreneur, Richard and Judy to stop talking about Books (since they won't talk about mine!!!!) and the Queen to stop being a monarch. It simply cannot be.
Last year I was asked to do a talk at a local Writer's circle. I thoroughly enjoyed it and was passionate about my subject. The members listened,clinging to every word I said. They gave me a standing ovation. I was congratulated by everyone afterwards. Hubby had come along and the pride glowing in his eyes as I spoke and answered questions was truly breathtaking to see. But as we made our way home afterwards he said to me "Why do you look so sad? That went incredibly well!" I explained it was because I felt like a fraud. He asked me to explain what I meant and I couldn't. I just said "I don't feel like a real writer." He replied "You are a real writer. How can you think otherwise?"
The disinterest shown by the media in this crucial, ground-breaking book leaves me sad and feeling fraudulant again. All writers believe in their work - which is good. And all writers want the best publicity they can get for their work. I am not saying my book is better than anyone's else's, because it isn't. But I do think it deserves more interest purely because of the environmental element and yet .... and yet ...
So even if Radio Mayday are small and localised, I welcome this opportunity. And just ask that a few others can follow suit. I don't think I am asking too much to want the best for Yucketypoo. It just makes me feel sad that so few others can see its potential ......
I feel quite a lot better today. Met Hubby for coffee at Costa's and showed him the email I received at the office yesterday from a local radio station. They want to interview me about the book - live on air - the Sunday after next. This is good news. I know it is only a small, local hospital radio station but it is a start. Hopefully it will bode well for the future. I have now also sent Press Packs out to the Telegraph, the Times and the national Guardian as well as Rolf Harris ('far too busy to comment but wishes you well') and Vanessa Feltz (no repsonse as yet but I live in hope). Someone somewhere will take this book seriously soon, I swear. I haven't been a writer all my life only to see my first children's book sink into oblivion because no-one considers it important. That's like asking Richard Branson to stop being an entrepreneur, Richard and Judy to stop talking about Books (since they won't talk about mine!!!!) and the Queen to stop being a monarch. It simply cannot be.
Last year I was asked to do a talk at a local Writer's circle. I thoroughly enjoyed it and was passionate about my subject. The members listened,clinging to every word I said. They gave me a standing ovation. I was congratulated by everyone afterwards. Hubby had come along and the pride glowing in his eyes as I spoke and answered questions was truly breathtaking to see. But as we made our way home afterwards he said to me "Why do you look so sad? That went incredibly well!" I explained it was because I felt like a fraud. He asked me to explain what I meant and I couldn't. I just said "I don't feel like a real writer." He replied "You are a real writer. How can you think otherwise?"
The disinterest shown by the media in this crucial, ground-breaking book leaves me sad and feeling fraudulant again. All writers believe in their work - which is good. And all writers want the best publicity they can get for their work. I am not saying my book is better than anyone's else's, because it isn't. But I do think it deserves more interest purely because of the environmental element and yet .... and yet ...
So even if Radio Mayday are small and localised, I welcome this opportunity. And just ask that a few others can follow suit. I don't think I am asking too much to want the best for Yucketypoo. It just makes me feel sad that so few others can see its potential ......
Sunday, 11 November 2007
SKY'S THE (absolute) LIMIT!
I have got the right hump with Sky at the moment. For some reason they have decided to update their site and services and guess what? I can't get into our emails - neither mine nor Hubby's. I spent half an hour on the phone last Thursday, paying premium rate charges whilst they faffed about only to tell me they were experiencing high rates of usage at the moment and have been inundated with calls like mine for several days. Exasperated I asked them how long they envisioned this state of affairs (STATE being the operative word here)would last and was told it should be sorted 'By this Saturday'. Right. So how come it is now Sunday and I still can't access them? I am a writer for Heaven's sake! I need to check my emails at least once a day because you never know when you might get that unexpected commission. How many more premium rate phonecalls must I make before we can access our emails? It is infuriating and frustrating. Especially since we joined Sky broadband because someone we know said they'd found them exceptionally efficient. I think they must have been talking about another suplier because Sky is complete rubbish. If any Sky employees read this - tell your idiot bosses to either pull their finger out or I will pull the plug on them! I am a hair's breadth away from contacing BBC Watchdog! I demand access to my emails!
Hubby and I went Christmas shopping today. We didn't get much because he had to go straight onto work and didn't want me carrying tens of thousands of bags home on my own. We are hoping to get it nearly all done next weekend. When I got back, I immediately hauled out everything we already have stashed away and made lists of who's got what. Grandson and Granddaughter fare best at the moment - no surprises there, then. But the parents are catching up fast. Everone else will have to be taken into consideration next weekend. Hubby and I have thus far bought one another two each. We have promised not to go too mad but I know him so well. Last time we made a joint promise like that, I kept my side of the bargain and was gutted when he then bought me twice as much as I'd bought him. The difference is this year that we are trying to watch the pennies a bit. We want to go back to the Channel Islands next summer - we haven't been for a few years and we do love them. I will tell you all about them one day. Suffice it to say that going out there necessitates us going easy on the Christmas spend this year. Hopefully, that will be enough of a carrot for both of us.
Oh well - since I can't get into our emails, I night as well go and watch a DVD. Fancy a bit of Harry Potter - actually let me rephrase that: I think I'll go and watch one of the Harry Potter DVDs. That's better. Daniel Radcliffe is turning into an excellent actor - but he's definitely not my idea of a toyboy. Maybe it's because I've watched him grow up the same way I have watched my similarly aged nephew grow up!
Bloody Sky! I hope there's nothing urgent waiting for my attention!
Hubby and I went Christmas shopping today. We didn't get much because he had to go straight onto work and didn't want me carrying tens of thousands of bags home on my own. We are hoping to get it nearly all done next weekend. When I got back, I immediately hauled out everything we already have stashed away and made lists of who's got what. Grandson and Granddaughter fare best at the moment - no surprises there, then. But the parents are catching up fast. Everone else will have to be taken into consideration next weekend. Hubby and I have thus far bought one another two each. We have promised not to go too mad but I know him so well. Last time we made a joint promise like that, I kept my side of the bargain and was gutted when he then bought me twice as much as I'd bought him. The difference is this year that we are trying to watch the pennies a bit. We want to go back to the Channel Islands next summer - we haven't been for a few years and we do love them. I will tell you all about them one day. Suffice it to say that going out there necessitates us going easy on the Christmas spend this year. Hopefully, that will be enough of a carrot for both of us.
Oh well - since I can't get into our emails, I night as well go and watch a DVD. Fancy a bit of Harry Potter - actually let me rephrase that: I think I'll go and watch one of the Harry Potter DVDs. That's better. Daniel Radcliffe is turning into an excellent actor - but he's definitely not my idea of a toyboy. Maybe it's because I've watched him grow up the same way I have watched my similarly aged nephew grow up!
Bloody Sky! I hope there's nothing urgent waiting for my attention!
Friday, 9 November 2007
The POORLY PERSON PRESENTS....
Hello everyone. What do you think of my new look blogspot? I am actually quite chuffed with it considering I am a reknown technophobe! I can cope with all the basic stuff but when it comes to getting to know the bells and whistles, forget it. Also - I didn't realise until yesterday that I could make such changes; but I am actually rather pleased with it and hope a few more people get to read it - maybe even comment on it!
Remember me telling you about my horrid cold the other week? Well believe it or not, a third of the way through November I still haven't managed to completely shake it off. Yesterday morning I woke up without the sneezes and streaming nose but with an excruciatingly painful sore throat and enflamed tongue - can you believe that? Since when have sore throats and sore tongues gone together? It felt as if I'd severely burned it on scalding coffee and that stayed with me all day. Having seen an advert on TV telling us all how helpful the pharmacists can be at Boots, I decided to stop off on my way home from the office last night and seek some advice. There would be no point in making an appointment at the doctor's because you have to book at least three days in advance (I kid you not - this is what the national health service has come to) and I really needed some prompt relief because I couldn't taste anything and it was agony to swallow. I queued for five minutes and finally told the pharmacist "I have a very sore throat and tongue and wondered if you could recommend something?". According to the ad on TV, this is where they shuffle you into a private little consulting room and give you the benefit of their wisdom. Not so for me, though. She looked at me and said seriously "Throat lozengers?". Wow! I nearly fell over backward at her expert advice! I must have looked crestfallen because she then added "Bonjela should help your sore mouth." So I bought Tyrozets (for the throat) and Bonjela (for the tongue) and went home.
I must admit both brought some relief but then I woke up at quarter to two this morning with swollen glands in my neck. In fact Ifelt so ill, I almost rang Hubby at work but, knowing how a phonecall at two in the morning would throw him into a blind panic, I got out of bed instead and went to the kitchen where I made myself a Beechams Flu Plus Very Berry hot drink. Cat got confused and thought it must be breakfast time so she dragged herself off the chair where she'd been in a deep sleep and sat patiently by the cupboard where she knows I store her food. I couldn't not give her half a sachet really, so, as the kettle boiled I gave her a bit of a midnight feast and then stood in my fluffy dressing gown sipping the Very Berry. It actually was pretty soothing and it sent back to sleep without too much of a problem. But then the fever broke at 4am and I woke up drenched with sweat - I hadn't realised until then that I'd even had a fever. Still - for all this, I do actually feel some improvement this morning, met Hubby at six for a coffee (at least I could taste it!)at Costa's and then came into the office. I'd still rather be at home writing - but it is Friday and it's almost Christmas plus I have checked my blogspot and found all the changes still there so I must have done something right.
So there you are. Not just a chronicle of my ailments but a mugshot too. What more could you ask for?
Have a good weekend.
Remember me telling you about my horrid cold the other week? Well believe it or not, a third of the way through November I still haven't managed to completely shake it off. Yesterday morning I woke up without the sneezes and streaming nose but with an excruciatingly painful sore throat and enflamed tongue - can you believe that? Since when have sore throats and sore tongues gone together? It felt as if I'd severely burned it on scalding coffee and that stayed with me all day. Having seen an advert on TV telling us all how helpful the pharmacists can be at Boots, I decided to stop off on my way home from the office last night and seek some advice. There would be no point in making an appointment at the doctor's because you have to book at least three days in advance (I kid you not - this is what the national health service has come to) and I really needed some prompt relief because I couldn't taste anything and it was agony to swallow. I queued for five minutes and finally told the pharmacist "I have a very sore throat and tongue and wondered if you could recommend something?". According to the ad on TV, this is where they shuffle you into a private little consulting room and give you the benefit of their wisdom. Not so for me, though. She looked at me and said seriously "Throat lozengers?". Wow! I nearly fell over backward at her expert advice! I must have looked crestfallen because she then added "Bonjela should help your sore mouth." So I bought Tyrozets (for the throat) and Bonjela (for the tongue) and went home.
I must admit both brought some relief but then I woke up at quarter to two this morning with swollen glands in my neck. In fact Ifelt so ill, I almost rang Hubby at work but, knowing how a phonecall at two in the morning would throw him into a blind panic, I got out of bed instead and went to the kitchen where I made myself a Beechams Flu Plus Very Berry hot drink. Cat got confused and thought it must be breakfast time so she dragged herself off the chair where she'd been in a deep sleep and sat patiently by the cupboard where she knows I store her food. I couldn't not give her half a sachet really, so, as the kettle boiled I gave her a bit of a midnight feast and then stood in my fluffy dressing gown sipping the Very Berry. It actually was pretty soothing and it sent back to sleep without too much of a problem. But then the fever broke at 4am and I woke up drenched with sweat - I hadn't realised until then that I'd even had a fever. Still - for all this, I do actually feel some improvement this morning, met Hubby at six for a coffee (at least I could taste it!)at Costa's and then came into the office. I'd still rather be at home writing - but it is Friday and it's almost Christmas plus I have checked my blogspot and found all the changes still there so I must have done something right.
So there you are. Not just a chronicle of my ailments but a mugshot too. What more could you ask for?
Have a good weekend.
Tuesday, 6 November 2007
WHY I LIKE CAROL THATCHER
Not sure what I am going to write about this evening. I have been feeling a little morose of late and I don't know why. I feel very tired. Not tired of living, or exhausted. Just tired.
I guess I could start by telling you that Carol Thatcher sent me a message today after I approached her and asked her if she'd read and comment on Yucketypoo. I really like her. She's natural. She's down to earth. She makes me laugh. And I like watching her on TV. Bless her busy little heart. She emailed back that she is really busy with her own book but wishes me and Lollypop and Yuck lots of luck for the future. And she replied within half an hour of my intitial email. So my faith in her was completely justified. I will just have to try to think of someone else I can try now. And I am thinking like this because Sarah the Publisher told me the other day that the book just isn't selling as well as we'd all hoped. And this is not because we are not trying. In the past week, I have sent Press packs to The Daily Mirror, The Sun, The Daily Mail, The Surrey Monocle, The New York Times, Croydon Radio, Mayday Hospital Radio and The One Show on BBC 1 trying to drum up some publicity - and I have not had a single reply from anyone.
Sarah the Publisher has been very busy too. She has contacted a lot of the High Street chains - like Woolworths, Waterstones and Sainsbury - and had no response from them either. Tesco and Asda have both expressed an interest in stocking the whole series which is something - but it does slow things down a tad because I have only just completed the second book and haven't even started on the third one. It could be months before the series is finished by which time Christmas will have been and gone. So now what? I thought of trying Richard Branson, Alan Titchmarsh and Bill Oddie but it is nigh on impossible to get their contact details unless you know someone who knows someone - and I tend to be more familiar with other writers rather than TV personalities (I won't call them celebrities because I loath the word and feel sure most of them do too).
I am trying to think of someone reasonably iconic but also familiar enough to everyone to be their next door neighbour. Any ideas? If they are connected in some way shape or form to the environment or they are known to be eco-friendly, all the better. But the harder I try to think, the more I feel my spirits sink and the tireder (if there is such a word) I become.
If you read my last blog, you'll also see that tonight was meant to be Meatloaf-at-Wembley night. So why am I ensconced in my Snug listening to Smooth fm and writing a blog that hardly anyone reads? It is because poor old Meat is poorly and has had to call off the tour until further notice. And although I have been told the tickets remain valid until the concert is rescheduled, I am still disappointed - and so is Hubby who had arranged the night off work and has now had to go in. It isn't Meat's fault if he is poorly. I have had larengitis myself and it isn't funny! But I'd rather be living Bat Out Of Hell than Old Bat Out Of Energy, but there you go. Lots of Get Well wishes to Mr Loaf then. And let's hope that they don't reschedule it for the night we are babysitting Grand-daughter!
I guess I could start by telling you that Carol Thatcher sent me a message today after I approached her and asked her if she'd read and comment on Yucketypoo. I really like her. She's natural. She's down to earth. She makes me laugh. And I like watching her on TV. Bless her busy little heart. She emailed back that she is really busy with her own book but wishes me and Lollypop and Yuck lots of luck for the future. And she replied within half an hour of my intitial email. So my faith in her was completely justified. I will just have to try to think of someone else I can try now. And I am thinking like this because Sarah the Publisher told me the other day that the book just isn't selling as well as we'd all hoped. And this is not because we are not trying. In the past week, I have sent Press packs to The Daily Mirror, The Sun, The Daily Mail, The Surrey Monocle, The New York Times, Croydon Radio, Mayday Hospital Radio and The One Show on BBC 1 trying to drum up some publicity - and I have not had a single reply from anyone.
Sarah the Publisher has been very busy too. She has contacted a lot of the High Street chains - like Woolworths, Waterstones and Sainsbury - and had no response from them either. Tesco and Asda have both expressed an interest in stocking the whole series which is something - but it does slow things down a tad because I have only just completed the second book and haven't even started on the third one. It could be months before the series is finished by which time Christmas will have been and gone. So now what? I thought of trying Richard Branson, Alan Titchmarsh and Bill Oddie but it is nigh on impossible to get their contact details unless you know someone who knows someone - and I tend to be more familiar with other writers rather than TV personalities (I won't call them celebrities because I loath the word and feel sure most of them do too).
I am trying to think of someone reasonably iconic but also familiar enough to everyone to be their next door neighbour. Any ideas? If they are connected in some way shape or form to the environment or they are known to be eco-friendly, all the better. But the harder I try to think, the more I feel my spirits sink and the tireder (if there is such a word) I become.
If you read my last blog, you'll also see that tonight was meant to be Meatloaf-at-Wembley night. So why am I ensconced in my Snug listening to Smooth fm and writing a blog that hardly anyone reads? It is because poor old Meat is poorly and has had to call off the tour until further notice. And although I have been told the tickets remain valid until the concert is rescheduled, I am still disappointed - and so is Hubby who had arranged the night off work and has now had to go in. It isn't Meat's fault if he is poorly. I have had larengitis myself and it isn't funny! But I'd rather be living Bat Out Of Hell than Old Bat Out Of Energy, but there you go. Lots of Get Well wishes to Mr Loaf then. And let's hope that they don't reschedule it for the night we are babysitting Grand-daughter!
Wednesday, 31 October 2007
JACQUELINE WILSON AND ME
Good evening everyone - and Happy Hallowe'en. Have you had any trick-or-treaters this evening? I have had oodles of miniscule witches, ghouls, wizards and vampires at my door this year. Luckily, when Hubby and I were in Croydon the other day we bought two selection packs of penny favourites - you know - lollies, Love Hearts, Swizzles and violet munchies - so I have given lots of treats out. I love seeing the children enjoying themselves and wish we'd gone trick-or-treating when we were kids. The closest I ever came was when I was about 12 when a friend and I dressed up as witches and wandered the streets cackling and jumping out on people from behind hedges. We didn't go knocking on doors of course! It wasn't encouraged in those days with many an adult seeing it as little more than another form of begging; but we enjoyed ourselves none-the-less and made an occasion of it.
A few months ago, I bought myself a copy of Jacqueline Wilson's book 'Jacky Daydream' - an autobiography of her childhood years. I put it on the bookshelf along with a dozen or so other new books waiting to be read and there it stayed - until last Friday. I don't know if you are familiar with Jacqueline Wilson? Most of you would have heard of her I imagine but the closest I'd got before was when I read 'Tracey Beaker' a couple of years ago after picking it up at a Car Boot Sale. And a few months later 'The Illustrated Mum'. I was of course familiar with the candy pinks of most of the book covers and, with no disrespect, considered the books themselves as a kind of chick-lit in embrio. All that has changed now because of 'Jacky Daydream'. You really shouldn't judge a book by its cover - or the author either, I have to admit, because this book was utterly brilliant. In fact I have never ever read an autobiography quite like it. And I was just so engrossed in Jacqueline's world that I went out and spent the last of my 50th birthday Smiths vouchers on three of her books. I finished 'Jacky Daydream' on Monday and read 'The Lottie Project' in the course of the next 24 hours. I started on 'Midnight' this morning and am completely spellbound. Ok - so I started late (well - very late if I'm honest) but I think I have become a Jacqueline Wilson convert!
It isn't just because her characters are so completely believable (I have seem parts of myself as a child in Charlie, Lottie and Violet already), and it isn't just because she writes so naturally. It is because I recognise the Writer's personae that shines through every single word. I would not be fool-hardy enough to say there are simalarities between Jacky's childhood and mine because they were completely different - even if just as stormy. But I knew Kingston as a little girl which is where she lived. I played exactly the kind of imaginary games she did. We even read many of the same books. And - just like Jacky - I knew I was going to be a writer -almost from the time I could understand stories. I could read by the time I was three, took to it like a duck to water, my mum always said, and was consequently planted in the book corner at school and left to my own devices whilst my classmates got to grips with their alphabet. I won a prize at the age of nine in a writing competition at school and announced to a class full of twelve year olds during a careers talk at High School that I was going to be a writer. "What kind of writer?" the teacher asked. "A book writer," was my reply.
I don't know if I will read all Jacky's books; I will probably give her 'Girls' series a miss because I really do think I am too old for them. And I doubt if I will read anymore Tracey Beaker or the Double Act series. But I think I'll get through quite a few over the coming months. And I am sure I will read 'Jacky Daydream' again at some point.
And one day, maybe, I'll get to shake the hand of this lady of a billion words; purely because I like her - and because I see us a fellow travellers on the literary road of life!
Here's to Jacky!
A few months ago, I bought myself a copy of Jacqueline Wilson's book 'Jacky Daydream' - an autobiography of her childhood years. I put it on the bookshelf along with a dozen or so other new books waiting to be read and there it stayed - until last Friday. I don't know if you are familiar with Jacqueline Wilson? Most of you would have heard of her I imagine but the closest I'd got before was when I read 'Tracey Beaker' a couple of years ago after picking it up at a Car Boot Sale. And a few months later 'The Illustrated Mum'. I was of course familiar with the candy pinks of most of the book covers and, with no disrespect, considered the books themselves as a kind of chick-lit in embrio. All that has changed now because of 'Jacky Daydream'. You really shouldn't judge a book by its cover - or the author either, I have to admit, because this book was utterly brilliant. In fact I have never ever read an autobiography quite like it. And I was just so engrossed in Jacqueline's world that I went out and spent the last of my 50th birthday Smiths vouchers on three of her books. I finished 'Jacky Daydream' on Monday and read 'The Lottie Project' in the course of the next 24 hours. I started on 'Midnight' this morning and am completely spellbound. Ok - so I started late (well - very late if I'm honest) but I think I have become a Jacqueline Wilson convert!
It isn't just because her characters are so completely believable (I have seem parts of myself as a child in Charlie, Lottie and Violet already), and it isn't just because she writes so naturally. It is because I recognise the Writer's personae that shines through every single word. I would not be fool-hardy enough to say there are simalarities between Jacky's childhood and mine because they were completely different - even if just as stormy. But I knew Kingston as a little girl which is where she lived. I played exactly the kind of imaginary games she did. We even read many of the same books. And - just like Jacky - I knew I was going to be a writer -almost from the time I could understand stories. I could read by the time I was three, took to it like a duck to water, my mum always said, and was consequently planted in the book corner at school and left to my own devices whilst my classmates got to grips with their alphabet. I won a prize at the age of nine in a writing competition at school and announced to a class full of twelve year olds during a careers talk at High School that I was going to be a writer. "What kind of writer?" the teacher asked. "A book writer," was my reply.
I don't know if I will read all Jacky's books; I will probably give her 'Girls' series a miss because I really do think I am too old for them. And I doubt if I will read anymore Tracey Beaker or the Double Act series. But I think I'll get through quite a few over the coming months. And I am sure I will read 'Jacky Daydream' again at some point.
And one day, maybe, I'll get to shake the hand of this lady of a billion words; purely because I like her - and because I see us a fellow travellers on the literary road of life!
Here's to Jacky!
Monday, 29 October 2007
CHIHUAHUAS & DUALERS
I really cannot believe that we are almost into November! Christmas is less than ten weeks away and, although we have already got quite a selection of presents hidden away just awaiting the wrapping paper, we have still got a lot to do. We have decided to spend it at home this year. At the moment it looks as if my mum will be spending it with us. Which means she'll bring Arlo.
Hubby refers to Arlo as 'the rat' - which probably gives you a very good indication of what he is - and Cat really doesn't like him. So what is it about chihuahuas that turn so many people off? He is a little sweetie, he really is. And okay he is barely ten inches high, he does have big pointy ears and very large, glittery eyes like Gremlins personified. But he is good company for Mother and he's funny. He also has a loud yap and a tendency to ruck up the little rug in the hall if Mother leaves hm alone for too long.
The first ime she brought Arlo over, Cat did not know quite what to make of him. Here was a creature that looked like large vermin but smelt and barked like a dog and the fact he is only an inch or two taller than she is did nothing to help her confusion. She only knew that she did not like him and made a beeline for the garden where she sulked throughout the afternoon. He's been over a couple of times ever since and the last time he came they just regarded eachother for several moments with the utmost disdain before Cat sidled very slowly and defiantly out of the room, never once breaking eye contact with him. And then running for the hills just as soon as she was on the other side of the catflap! So if Mother comes over with Arlo on Christmas Eve, it could end up more like Guy Fawkes night - with all kinds of feline/canine fireworks flaring up. Or they may just totally ignore one another the whole two days!
How was your weekend? Ours was hectic as ever. On Friday evening, Hubby and I went to the Ashcroft in Croydon to see a Dualers concert. They are two brothers - Tyburn and Si - who I first saw busking outside Debenhams in Croydon some eight years ago. They were singing "Chain Gang" and I was completely hooked by the time they finished. They are truly sons of Croydon and they always draw huge crowds whenever they appear. They have also had a couple of top 20 hits "Truly Madly Deeply" and "Kiss On The Lips". They have won a huge following and over the past few years have started filling local concerts halls and theatres. And because they are very talented and very local, everyone feels like they know them personally and it always ends up like a gigantic party. And the amazing thing is that they have polished the knack of cutting across all the age barriers - and their fan base age in range from zero to a hundred. So we had a brilliant couple of hours there.
On Saturday morning, we had another newspaper photographer round because of Yucketypoo. This was more like professional photo call though for he must have taken nigh on fifty photos of me with Hubby, me with Book, me with Cat sneaking into frame and trying to win fame and forune for her long tail, me in the garden, on sofa, by the door, holding up Book, not holding up Book, sometimes both Hubby and I holding up Book. What an experience! What's more, he has said he'll burn all the photos onto a disk and send it to us. We also exchanged email addresses before he left after a solid 90 minute stint.
Once he had gone, Hubby and I head to London - and in particular Covent Garden - where we spent the rest of the day. We even got tickets to a rather brilliant comedy play called The Vegemite Tales which we saw that night at The Venue in Leicester Place. It was really funny. It was all about Australians living in London and it was by a woman writer, so good for her. We really enjoyed it. We got home around quarter to midnight and fell into bed around 1.30.
Tomorrow is our wedding anniversary - our 8th. Next May we celebrate our unofficial anniversary - meaning that on the 1st we'll have actually been together for 25 years. Even Bank Robbers get time off for good behaviour! We exchanged official anniversary cards earlier this evening. Hubby has said that since he's working and we can't go out for dinner, we 'll go out for breakfast tomorrow instead. I got both of us a present as well - tickets to see Meatloaf next Tuesday at Wembley.
And to hell with the fact I'm a vegetarian!
Hubby refers to Arlo as 'the rat' - which probably gives you a very good indication of what he is - and Cat really doesn't like him. So what is it about chihuahuas that turn so many people off? He is a little sweetie, he really is. And okay he is barely ten inches high, he does have big pointy ears and very large, glittery eyes like Gremlins personified. But he is good company for Mother and he's funny. He also has a loud yap and a tendency to ruck up the little rug in the hall if Mother leaves hm alone for too long.
The first ime she brought Arlo over, Cat did not know quite what to make of him. Here was a creature that looked like large vermin but smelt and barked like a dog and the fact he is only an inch or two taller than she is did nothing to help her confusion. She only knew that she did not like him and made a beeline for the garden where she sulked throughout the afternoon. He's been over a couple of times ever since and the last time he came they just regarded eachother for several moments with the utmost disdain before Cat sidled very slowly and defiantly out of the room, never once breaking eye contact with him. And then running for the hills just as soon as she was on the other side of the catflap! So if Mother comes over with Arlo on Christmas Eve, it could end up more like Guy Fawkes night - with all kinds of feline/canine fireworks flaring up. Or they may just totally ignore one another the whole two days!
How was your weekend? Ours was hectic as ever. On Friday evening, Hubby and I went to the Ashcroft in Croydon to see a Dualers concert. They are two brothers - Tyburn and Si - who I first saw busking outside Debenhams in Croydon some eight years ago. They were singing "Chain Gang" and I was completely hooked by the time they finished. They are truly sons of Croydon and they always draw huge crowds whenever they appear. They have also had a couple of top 20 hits "Truly Madly Deeply" and "Kiss On The Lips". They have won a huge following and over the past few years have started filling local concerts halls and theatres. And because they are very talented and very local, everyone feels like they know them personally and it always ends up like a gigantic party. And the amazing thing is that they have polished the knack of cutting across all the age barriers - and their fan base age in range from zero to a hundred. So we had a brilliant couple of hours there.
On Saturday morning, we had another newspaper photographer round because of Yucketypoo. This was more like professional photo call though for he must have taken nigh on fifty photos of me with Hubby, me with Book, me with Cat sneaking into frame and trying to win fame and forune for her long tail, me in the garden, on sofa, by the door, holding up Book, not holding up Book, sometimes both Hubby and I holding up Book. What an experience! What's more, he has said he'll burn all the photos onto a disk and send it to us. We also exchanged email addresses before he left after a solid 90 minute stint.
Once he had gone, Hubby and I head to London - and in particular Covent Garden - where we spent the rest of the day. We even got tickets to a rather brilliant comedy play called The Vegemite Tales which we saw that night at The Venue in Leicester Place. It was really funny. It was all about Australians living in London and it was by a woman writer, so good for her. We really enjoyed it. We got home around quarter to midnight and fell into bed around 1.30.
Tomorrow is our wedding anniversary - our 8th. Next May we celebrate our unofficial anniversary - meaning that on the 1st we'll have actually been together for 25 years. Even Bank Robbers get time off for good behaviour! We exchanged official anniversary cards earlier this evening. Hubby has said that since he's working and we can't go out for dinner, we 'll go out for breakfast tomorrow instead. I got both of us a present as well - tickets to see Meatloaf next Tuesday at Wembley.
And to hell with the fact I'm a vegetarian!
Friday, 19 October 2007
THE JOURNEY BEGINS
A nice big article has appeared in my local paper today which tells people all about the book. When Hubby saw it, the pride in his eyes brought a lump to my throat! ""Bloody hell, Jill!" he gasped. "That's brilliant!" Since arriving at the office, I have cut it out and taped it to the staff room door. It's not that I want people to see my mug-shot; I just want people to buy the book.
At the same time, Sarah the Publisher has been in touch to let me know that the manager of a consortium she went to yesterday to high-light Yucketypoo has sent info to 1000 companies in the Midlands! And she emailed me a link of an Eco-kids site that has given it some coverage. Well - as Tesco would say - every little helps. The more publicity we can get the quicker the orders come in and the sooner we can go to print.
Talking of Tesco; it was where I met Hubby almost 25 years ago when we both started work at a brand new superstore (one of the first of its kind evidently). His 25th anniversary with them was yesterday. The company honour long servers with a gift and a scroll, neither of which he has received yet although I am sure it is on the cards. This connection has convinced me that the company would be interested in Yucketypoo and both Sarah the Publisher and I are trying to get them to pick it up - me from a former-employee point of view and she from a Publisher/Publicity Manager point of view. If just one copy of the book was bought by every single branch of the mammoth supermarket we could go to print tomorrow. Ironic really. If it comes off as we hope then I'll have two things to thanks them for - the main one being my Steve whom I love more every second.
Even after all the tears, tantrums, hard work and sheer gut instinct of the past year, it really looks as if the book is on its way, now.
So I'd better get Yuck 2 finished ASAP!
At the same time, Sarah the Publisher has been in touch to let me know that the manager of a consortium she went to yesterday to high-light Yucketypoo has sent info to 1000 companies in the Midlands! And she emailed me a link of an Eco-kids site that has given it some coverage. Well - as Tesco would say - every little helps. The more publicity we can get the quicker the orders come in and the sooner we can go to print.
Talking of Tesco; it was where I met Hubby almost 25 years ago when we both started work at a brand new superstore (one of the first of its kind evidently). His 25th anniversary with them was yesterday. The company honour long servers with a gift and a scroll, neither of which he has received yet although I am sure it is on the cards. This connection has convinced me that the company would be interested in Yucketypoo and both Sarah the Publisher and I are trying to get them to pick it up - me from a former-employee point of view and she from a Publisher/Publicity Manager point of view. If just one copy of the book was bought by every single branch of the mammoth supermarket we could go to print tomorrow. Ironic really. If it comes off as we hope then I'll have two things to thanks them for - the main one being my Steve whom I love more every second.
Even after all the tears, tantrums, hard work and sheer gut instinct of the past year, it really looks as if the book is on its way, now.
So I'd better get Yuck 2 finished ASAP!
Wednesday, 17 October 2007
THE GREAT STORM - and a little book...
I am writing this twenty years after the Great Storm. I take it you recall the devasation left in the wake of 110 mph winds over night on 16 October 1987? I was living in a flat at the time and I can remember waking up to an England that had the feeling of a post-apocolyptic meltdown!
There was no power, no phones, roads blocked with hundreds of fallen trees, over-turned and crushed cars and a veritable blizzard of fallen roof tiles. I couldn't get to work that day and the damage was rife throughout the South/South East. It is only now, two decades on, with all the media attention marking the anniversary of it, that you can really see how catasrophic it was for these islands! Small-fry to be sure to the likes of Florida who live with the constant threat of Hurricanes. But it was huge to us because such destructive forces of weather are so rarely seen here.
The funny thing today is that last night, I slept through torrential rain and didn't actually wake up until the alarm went off at 6am! That's unusal for me; I normally wake up at least once a night, often around 3.30am and then find it is the one time of day that my brain goes into active overdrive thus preventing a return to sleep for at least a further hour! But severeal people have said this morning that they'd been woken in the night by the rain so I must have been completely out of it!
You might be interested to know that the demons have been lain and the brand new second book is finally finished. I know now what went wrong. It is a shame it took me eight months of blood, sweat and tears to realise it. I made a mistake right from the start. Because the first book is a story told through poems I naturally thought I should tackle the second book the same way. Disaster! I sat down on Sunday night and wrote it in prose in two and a half hours! Understood then that the second book didn't want to be poems, it wanted to be a story! Now that the first draft is written (in fact it is about the eighth draft but it is the first draft of it as a story), I just need to go through it, tidy it up and finish it off and I can finally send it through to Sarah the Publisher. Thank God - because I almost had a fit the other day when I went onto Amazon and saw that the proposed publication dates for books 2 and 3 in the series is February 2008!
Have finally had some media response to the arrival of the first book. Ashley the Illustrator and I were photographed yesterday by one of the local papers who want to run a story on it in this Friday's issue. A second local paper finally acknowledged they'd received the Press Pack and are supposed to be calling me today to let me know if they want to feature it. I have also sent the Press Pack out to various TV shows and a couple of the national papers. I will keep at them until one of them picks it up. This book is a milestone in children's fiction! It raises environment awareness which is just so, so 'in' at the moment. To my knowledge there are only three of four other books that tackle green issues for children and that this is possibly the first to tackle it for children this young.
At least Candis magazine is featuring it in the December issue as this year's MUST-BUY Christmas stocking filler. I must admit the e-format looks pretty good. We received our copy on Monday. I printed it off (on recycled paper) and secured it with a slide-binder. I actually have a book now; my book. It will be even better when it is produced as a paperback but this is good enough for me at this moment in time because, after over forty years, I was holding my own book in my own hands!
It really was quite the most delicious moment!
There was no power, no phones, roads blocked with hundreds of fallen trees, over-turned and crushed cars and a veritable blizzard of fallen roof tiles. I couldn't get to work that day and the damage was rife throughout the South/South East. It is only now, two decades on, with all the media attention marking the anniversary of it, that you can really see how catasrophic it was for these islands! Small-fry to be sure to the likes of Florida who live with the constant threat of Hurricanes. But it was huge to us because such destructive forces of weather are so rarely seen here.
The funny thing today is that last night, I slept through torrential rain and didn't actually wake up until the alarm went off at 6am! That's unusal for me; I normally wake up at least once a night, often around 3.30am and then find it is the one time of day that my brain goes into active overdrive thus preventing a return to sleep for at least a further hour! But severeal people have said this morning that they'd been woken in the night by the rain so I must have been completely out of it!
You might be interested to know that the demons have been lain and the brand new second book is finally finished. I know now what went wrong. It is a shame it took me eight months of blood, sweat and tears to realise it. I made a mistake right from the start. Because the first book is a story told through poems I naturally thought I should tackle the second book the same way. Disaster! I sat down on Sunday night and wrote it in prose in two and a half hours! Understood then that the second book didn't want to be poems, it wanted to be a story! Now that the first draft is written (in fact it is about the eighth draft but it is the first draft of it as a story), I just need to go through it, tidy it up and finish it off and I can finally send it through to Sarah the Publisher. Thank God - because I almost had a fit the other day when I went onto Amazon and saw that the proposed publication dates for books 2 and 3 in the series is February 2008!
Have finally had some media response to the arrival of the first book. Ashley the Illustrator and I were photographed yesterday by one of the local papers who want to run a story on it in this Friday's issue. A second local paper finally acknowledged they'd received the Press Pack and are supposed to be calling me today to let me know if they want to feature it. I have also sent the Press Pack out to various TV shows and a couple of the national papers. I will keep at them until one of them picks it up. This book is a milestone in children's fiction! It raises environment awareness which is just so, so 'in' at the moment. To my knowledge there are only three of four other books that tackle green issues for children and that this is possibly the first to tackle it for children this young.
At least Candis magazine is featuring it in the December issue as this year's MUST-BUY Christmas stocking filler. I must admit the e-format looks pretty good. We received our copy on Monday. I printed it off (on recycled paper) and secured it with a slide-binder. I actually have a book now; my book. It will be even better when it is produced as a paperback but this is good enough for me at this moment in time because, after over forty years, I was holding my own book in my own hands!
It really was quite the most delicious moment!
Friday, 12 October 2007
MAN FLU FOR WOMEN
I am not feeling well today. I felt quite headachey and feverish all yesterday afternoon and by seven o'clock last night this had developed into the most horrendous stiff neck you can imagine. I went to bed around 10pm but it was damn near impossible to find a comfortable position to sleep in, despite the fact I'd smothered the affected area in ralgex! I eventually drifted off but it was no better by the time I got up this morning so I have been taking strong ibuprofen in an effort to ward it off. It recommends two tablets every four hours and I took my first dose at eight this morning. By twelve my neck was screaming out in pain again. Do these tablets have a miniscule four-hour timer in them?
The fact I am under the weather may explain why I was so grouchy last time I wrote. It is so unusual for me to get grouchy that I should know by now that if I am displaying behaviour of the grouchy kind, it usually means I am going down with something. Another sure sign is the fact that my hands go red hot, and I've got them as well so I should have just braced myself.
The infuriating thing is that Hubby and I have got a concert to go to tomorrow (Queen tribute). Just how am I going to clap my hands during Radio GaGa if my neck protests loudly at every jerky move no matter how slight? Even swallowing was agony earlier! And I promised Hubby dinner out this evening because it's been three weeks since his birthday and, apart from a card, he's had nothing else from me to celebrate (although this is largely due to the fact we were sure we'd find something in Scotland that would make a suitable gift and we didn't - but then we were out in the sticks so maybe I shouldn't be surprised). If I take a dose of pills just before I head off home, hopefully I'll be okay for eating out. Fingers crossed anyway.
Maybe the fact I'm a bit poorly also explains how I came to seriously piss off my publisher yesterday? I wouldn't say we fell out because we both know there's too much at stake, but a heated email exchange did take place. Any other writers out there - is this a common occurrance? Answers on a postcard please.
The good news is that, after repeated attempts, the local paper has finally picked up about the book and want to run a profile in next week's paper. Maybe Paul O'Grady, This Morning and Metro will pick up on it next?
And maybe women suffer from Man-flu too?
The fact I am under the weather may explain why I was so grouchy last time I wrote. It is so unusual for me to get grouchy that I should know by now that if I am displaying behaviour of the grouchy kind, it usually means I am going down with something. Another sure sign is the fact that my hands go red hot, and I've got them as well so I should have just braced myself.
The infuriating thing is that Hubby and I have got a concert to go to tomorrow (Queen tribute). Just how am I going to clap my hands during Radio GaGa if my neck protests loudly at every jerky move no matter how slight? Even swallowing was agony earlier! And I promised Hubby dinner out this evening because it's been three weeks since his birthday and, apart from a card, he's had nothing else from me to celebrate (although this is largely due to the fact we were sure we'd find something in Scotland that would make a suitable gift and we didn't - but then we were out in the sticks so maybe I shouldn't be surprised). If I take a dose of pills just before I head off home, hopefully I'll be okay for eating out. Fingers crossed anyway.
Maybe the fact I'm a bit poorly also explains how I came to seriously piss off my publisher yesterday? I wouldn't say we fell out because we both know there's too much at stake, but a heated email exchange did take place. Any other writers out there - is this a common occurrance? Answers on a postcard please.
The good news is that, after repeated attempts, the local paper has finally picked up about the book and want to run a profile in next week's paper. Maybe Paul O'Grady, This Morning and Metro will pick up on it next?
And maybe women suffer from Man-flu too?
Tuesday, 9 October 2007
DANGER - DO NOT READ.....
I am feeling rather out of sorts today. I don't really know why either. I am having mega-mega problems with the second book which is what started it all off and I have, for the last 48 hours felt completely surplus to the world; as if I don't belong here. Nobody really needs me; they only think they do, so just what is the purpose of my being?
If you'd have seen me Sunday night, you'd have probably laughed! It must have looked incredibly funny as I sat in the study working on the second book. Ball after ball of paper piled up in and around the bin. I kept leaning back, exasperated, in my chair, head in hands. Then I'd stoop forward again, scribble a few words, cross them out, scribble a few more, cross them out, then, finally, another paper missile would whistle in the general direction of the bin in the corner. After three self-destructing hours I stormed out of the study, slamming the door, shouted at Cat because she almost tripped me up at the top of the stairs, skulked in the living room, shouted at Cat for trying to reach the tiniest corner in the house again. I was a horrible, soul-destroyed, stereo-typical writing diva, so it was lucky Hubby was working. Lucky for him.
Lucky for the whole world really, the mood I was in! Cat and I have made up now, of course.
She has the patience of a saint with her unpredictable mistress.
The weird thing is that I simply cannot blame my hormones for this mood. I was one of the lucky few to never suffer PMT and I haven't had a hot flush in weeks and weeks, now. So it's purely artistic temperament that turns me from happy-go-lucky-the-world-is-my-oyster writer to Incredible Skulk in ten seconds flat.
Sensible Inner Me knows this will pass and that the second book will be brilliant because of it. But riding the storm in the mean time is pretty rough. I can definitely feel a Chocolate fix coming on!
If you'd have seen me Sunday night, you'd have probably laughed! It must have looked incredibly funny as I sat in the study working on the second book. Ball after ball of paper piled up in and around the bin. I kept leaning back, exasperated, in my chair, head in hands. Then I'd stoop forward again, scribble a few words, cross them out, scribble a few more, cross them out, then, finally, another paper missile would whistle in the general direction of the bin in the corner. After three self-destructing hours I stormed out of the study, slamming the door, shouted at Cat because she almost tripped me up at the top of the stairs, skulked in the living room, shouted at Cat for trying to reach the tiniest corner in the house again. I was a horrible, soul-destroyed, stereo-typical writing diva, so it was lucky Hubby was working. Lucky for him.
Lucky for the whole world really, the mood I was in! Cat and I have made up now, of course.
She has the patience of a saint with her unpredictable mistress.
The weird thing is that I simply cannot blame my hormones for this mood. I was one of the lucky few to never suffer PMT and I haven't had a hot flush in weeks and weeks, now. So it's purely artistic temperament that turns me from happy-go-lucky-the-world-is-my-oyster writer to Incredible Skulk in ten seconds flat.
Sensible Inner Me knows this will pass and that the second book will be brilliant because of it. But riding the storm in the mean time is pretty rough. I can definitely feel a Chocolate fix coming on!
Friday, 5 October 2007
IS THIS THE SHAPE OF THINGS TO COME?
Further to my excited blog yesterday, I have just been on Smooth FM - not promoting the book this time (though I did send them a Press Pack earlier today) - but because I requested Peter Sarstedt's beautiful song 'Where Do You Go To My Lovely?' and they decided to talk to me live about it. This is the second time I've been on Smooth following a request (the first was for Neil Diamond's 'Hello' which was 'our' song at our wedding) and I must admit it was much easier this time.
I am, of course, hoping that this bodes well for the future so fingers crossed.
I just have to hope that I don't get a 'senior' moment when my first interview comes along.
Catch you later.
I am, of course, hoping that this bodes well for the future so fingers crossed.
I just have to hope that I don't get a 'senior' moment when my first interview comes along.
Catch you later.
Thursday, 4 October 2007
IT IS REALLY HAPPENING!!
Hello again everyone. I am just bursting to tell you all my great news! Not only is the publication of the first book coming together brilliantly but someone has already suggested it could work well as a TV series or animated film. I am so exhilerated I can hardly think! The daft thing is that whilst all this is going on, I am still struggling to finalise the second book. And on top of all this, I have actually tempted a Literary Agent to consider taking me on. That in itself is amazing since I have been trying since I was 12 to get one to take me seriously. I will of course keep you posted on any developments and I hope you will forgive my enthusiastic outburst. Some things are just meant to be shared! I will come back in a day or two. Thanks for reading.
Whoever said Life Begins At Fifty may have got it right after all!
Whoever said Life Begins At Fifty may have got it right after all!
Wednesday, 3 October 2007
CAN CATS GET SENILE DEMENTIA?
Here we are - back from our amazing trip to the Outer Hebrides. Honestly, you have to see these islands to believe them! They are incredibly remote and rustic. The houses are set out randomly, mostly single storey, all facing different directions and often a couple of hundred metres or more from their nearest neighbour. And that neighbour could be half way up a mountain or on the opposite side of a loch. To give you a better insight into these and help you put them into perspective, we were told that 29,000 people inhabit the islands as a whole. That sounds like a lot. Until you realise that 2,000000 people inhabit the borough of Croydon and in excess of 6,000000 inhabit Greater London. When we reached North Uist a small boy boarded our coach outside the hotel and introduced himself as John. When asked by one of my fellow travellers whether there were any shops, young John replied enthusiastically "Loads. There's a Spar that way and the Co-op that way." Then he beamed proudly as we gave him a standing ovation. It really gives you an idea of how it must be for these people. Their island is their whole world. During our tour we saw mobile libraries, banks and even a rolling cinema. There is just one ice cream van to serve all the islands - and we visited ten during our fortnight there.
We were incredibly lucky with the weather considering how late in the season we went. If it rained at all it was, considerately overnight or whilst we were on the coach. A couple of days even saw us walking in the sun. Not bikini-sun but no-jacket-required-sun, which suited Hubby and I fine since neither of us are sun-chasers. There was a wealth of characters in our party of 38, too. Like Gurning Man, Big-Hair Lady, Ray'n'Rosemary and Canada-Lady, to name but a few. Then there was Eddie our driver who is also a writer, so he and I had a lot of common ground and became good buddies.`
For all the fact we had such a great time and a lovely break, were overfed and swamped with so much fresh clean air we felt almost drunk. it was still lovely to get home. The cat was extremely pleased to see us, twirling and howling around our legs as if we'd been gone a year at least. She then followed me round the house almost continuously for the next three days, including into the loo. My theory is that she thought I'd disappear again if I was out of her line of vision for anything more than ten seconds. By the Monday just gone she had obviously realised I was back and decided now was the time to punish me for abandoning her in the first place. She was almost as remote as the Outer Hebrides for the next 24 hours, acknowledging my presence only with a chilling glare from across the room before turning tail and strutting off with her nose in the air. Thankfully by last night we were back on our usual terms, although she is still showing some signs of bizarre behaviour which made me wonder of cats can suffer from Feline Dementia.
Around 8pm yesterday evening, she maneauvred herself into the tightest, tiniest corner of the living room, behind the TV/DVD/SKY BOX stand, then sat there as if she'd conquered the Cairn Gorm at the very least. It was such a tight spot though that she couldn't get out so had, in effect, got herself trapped. I had to move one of the surround-sound tower speakers to free her. I later found her sleeping on the doormat inside the garden door - possibly the draftiest place in the house. And I have noticed how, on the odd occasion, she appears to have a momentary lapse of concentration as she daintily licks her paw, sitting in a pose that would do any pointer dog proud, with an almost dreamy expression on her face. Mind you she is 17 years old in human terms ( and 85 in cat terms) so I suppose I shouldn't worry. Not too much anyway. Is there a vet in the house by any chance?
We were incredibly lucky with the weather considering how late in the season we went. If it rained at all it was, considerately overnight or whilst we were on the coach. A couple of days even saw us walking in the sun. Not bikini-sun but no-jacket-required-sun, which suited Hubby and I fine since neither of us are sun-chasers. There was a wealth of characters in our party of 38, too. Like Gurning Man, Big-Hair Lady, Ray'n'Rosemary and Canada-Lady, to name but a few. Then there was Eddie our driver who is also a writer, so he and I had a lot of common ground and became good buddies.`
For all the fact we had such a great time and a lovely break, were overfed and swamped with so much fresh clean air we felt almost drunk. it was still lovely to get home. The cat was extremely pleased to see us, twirling and howling around our legs as if we'd been gone a year at least. She then followed me round the house almost continuously for the next three days, including into the loo. My theory is that she thought I'd disappear again if I was out of her line of vision for anything more than ten seconds. By the Monday just gone she had obviously realised I was back and decided now was the time to punish me for abandoning her in the first place. She was almost as remote as the Outer Hebrides for the next 24 hours, acknowledging my presence only with a chilling glare from across the room before turning tail and strutting off with her nose in the air. Thankfully by last night we were back on our usual terms, although she is still showing some signs of bizarre behaviour which made me wonder of cats can suffer from Feline Dementia.
Around 8pm yesterday evening, she maneauvred herself into the tightest, tiniest corner of the living room, behind the TV/DVD/SKY BOX stand, then sat there as if she'd conquered the Cairn Gorm at the very least. It was such a tight spot though that she couldn't get out so had, in effect, got herself trapped. I had to move one of the surround-sound tower speakers to free her. I later found her sleeping on the doormat inside the garden door - possibly the draftiest place in the house. And I have noticed how, on the odd occasion, she appears to have a momentary lapse of concentration as she daintily licks her paw, sitting in a pose that would do any pointer dog proud, with an almost dreamy expression on her face. Mind you she is 17 years old in human terms ( and 85 in cat terms) so I suppose I shouldn't worry. Not too much anyway. Is there a vet in the house by any chance?
Thursday, 13 September 2007
GRUMPY OLD WRITER...
I have decided that being in a full time job when you would rather be at home writing is a specific kind of purgatory! My job is getting worse by the day and wears me out emotionally and physically.Every moment spent there, feels like another wasted moment, and each one of those carries the weight of all the other wasted moments. By the end of every day, I am wrecked! Not a pretty sight on the best of days, I can tell you!
Things are happening. Two days ago, I received a copy of the press release that Sarah the Publisher is going to release shortly about the first book. And yesterday, I was contacted by the editor of an ezine called My Pet Friends asking me if I was still interested in contributing as it had been some weeks since I first expressed an interest in doing so and hadn't been back in touch. I have another publisher interested in some inspirational poetry who has suggested I put a collection together. All of this takes time and time is what I am so sadly lacking in on a day to day basis. This blog is a good example of what I mean. When I started it a few weeks back, my intention had been to write every day - but you can see from the eratic state of the dates that it has only been a couple of times a week. Although - BIG round of applause here please AND a roll of drums - I am actually writing this on my laptop at home at ten in the evening rather than squeezng it into my lunchbreak at the office. So it looks like I got that right last week even if I got everything else wrong.
On Monday next week, Hubby and I are off to the north-western isles of Scotland for a two week break. We are doing a coach and ferry tour which takes in a four or five of the islands, so this will be my last blog till I get back. One thing I am planning to do, is to get more organised when we return. I am going to move the ancient, giganticus computer I bought in the year 2000 into Hubby's hobby room, which is where the home office is already based, so that my desk here in Successful Writer's Study is less cluttered. I am going to get my head down and get the next book in the series written for Sarah the Publisher and then, maybe in the new year, I can look at cutting my hours down - because working less hours would better than working full time and writing whenever I get a spare second (at the moment, I am writing at bus stops, on trams, first thing in the mornng or well into the night and still finding it is not long enough to do everything else).
I also want to do a lot more talks next year at schools, writing circles and clubs, and to do that I need to sell mself (not on street corners obviously- per-lease, I'm fifty!) and get myself more into the public domain. So any other writers (or readers) logging on, take note. I am an experienced speaker and I am never happier than when talkng about my beloved writing.
Unless I am complaining about being cooped up in a stuffy office day after day, geting grief from almost everywhere and feeling like a moth trapped in a jar, of course. I quite like grouching about that.
Maybe there is something in being a grumpy old woman, after all. Now - where's my sacred bar of Greens Maya Gold .....
Things are happening. Two days ago, I received a copy of the press release that Sarah the Publisher is going to release shortly about the first book. And yesterday, I was contacted by the editor of an ezine called My Pet Friends asking me if I was still interested in contributing as it had been some weeks since I first expressed an interest in doing so and hadn't been back in touch. I have another publisher interested in some inspirational poetry who has suggested I put a collection together. All of this takes time and time is what I am so sadly lacking in on a day to day basis. This blog is a good example of what I mean. When I started it a few weeks back, my intention had been to write every day - but you can see from the eratic state of the dates that it has only been a couple of times a week. Although - BIG round of applause here please AND a roll of drums - I am actually writing this on my laptop at home at ten in the evening rather than squeezng it into my lunchbreak at the office. So it looks like I got that right last week even if I got everything else wrong.
On Monday next week, Hubby and I are off to the north-western isles of Scotland for a two week break. We are doing a coach and ferry tour which takes in a four or five of the islands, so this will be my last blog till I get back. One thing I am planning to do, is to get more organised when we return. I am going to move the ancient, giganticus computer I bought in the year 2000 into Hubby's hobby room, which is where the home office is already based, so that my desk here in Successful Writer's Study is less cluttered. I am going to get my head down and get the next book in the series written for Sarah the Publisher and then, maybe in the new year, I can look at cutting my hours down - because working less hours would better than working full time and writing whenever I get a spare second (at the moment, I am writing at bus stops, on trams, first thing in the mornng or well into the night and still finding it is not long enough to do everything else).
I also want to do a lot more talks next year at schools, writing circles and clubs, and to do that I need to sell mself (not on street corners obviously- per-lease, I'm fifty!) and get myself more into the public domain. So any other writers (or readers) logging on, take note. I am an experienced speaker and I am never happier than when talkng about my beloved writing.
Unless I am complaining about being cooped up in a stuffy office day after day, geting grief from almost everywhere and feeling like a moth trapped in a jar, of course. I quite like grouching about that.
Maybe there is something in being a grumpy old woman, after all. Now - where's my sacred bar of Greens Maya Gold .....
Tuesday, 11 September 2007
LIFE ACCORDING TO LILY
I seriously think I am over the worst. Yes, dear Reader (as writers of yore would say), I think I am a Changed woman. I am down to less than two hot flushes a day where I used to get four or five an hour. In fact I don't think I had a single one yeterday and I somehow feel different; better in myself than I have for ages and full of the joys of ... something. Of course none of this detracts from the fact that I am still forgetful, easily confused and left standing at the door of the fridge wondering what I'd gone there for. But that will all settle down in time, I am sure of it. Or almost sure.
Last night at eight o'clock, I went to visit my neighbour. Lily is 91 years old and getting smaller by the day. I doubt if she is more than five feet tall and weighs much more than six stone and she is almost totally deaf but I absolutely love her. I am still not sure how the weekly visit thing came about. I only know that since we moved in next door to her, I have gone in every Monday night for a visit. Long long ago, I'd go in at quarter to nine and stay for an hour. But she was hospitalised for months last year and in the process, became quite institutionalised as well; putting herself to bed at seven in the evening because that is what time the nurses tuck their senior patients up for the night. It has only really been the last six weeks or so that the Monday night visit has started up again but now they are from 8pm until 8.45pm - then I go home and she goes to bed.
Lily is an amazing woman! She has two daughters and a lot of support from them, friends and family members, and although she can't actually do a lot for herself these days, she has always got plenty to say. About everything. And that forty-five minutes is soon taken up with her tales. "Once," she told me. "I gave Ken (husband) bubble and squeak for dinner on Monday. 'What's this?' he wants to know. I say 'It's bubble and squeak.' 'I'm not eating that!' he says." For dessert that same day, she did bread and butter pudding and custard. "I gave it to him," she told me. "And he says 'What's this?' 'It's bread and butter pudding!' I told him. He says ' I'm not eating that!' " So she threw the custard over his head. A whole jugful of it. Every last drop of it. Needless to say he never complained about his food again.
Lily is full of anecdotes like this. There was the time her (then) eleven year old daughter took the milk float for a joy ride around the green. And the time she had a midnight picnic on Mitcham Common with her boyfriend of the time. And, when she worked at Paynes Poppets, there was the time that she and a colleague filled dozens of packs of lemon jelly with orange jelly by mistake. She once even offered to share her pack of night-time incontinence pads with me. But I politely declined. Even I haven't quite got to that stage yet!
In fact there isn't a lot I don't know about The Life and Times of Lily now but the strange thing is that I never tire of listening to her. She's a terrible flirt! She is. She would have the boys queuing up for miles if she wasn't so loyal to her late husband. A particular favourite of hers is Jeremy Paxman. Don't ask me why. And when I leave on a Monday evening she says to me "Kisses for Steve!" "How many this week?" I ask her. If she's in a good mood, she says "Two!" And I duly pass them on to Hubby when he gets home. "Be good!" I say to her as I wave cheerio. "No fun in being good !" she tells me, with a twinkle in her eyes that defies her age.
And that's my Lily. I hope I have got half her spirit and zest for living when I get to her age. Ah well - I have forty one years in which to practice!
Last night at eight o'clock, I went to visit my neighbour. Lily is 91 years old and getting smaller by the day. I doubt if she is more than five feet tall and weighs much more than six stone and she is almost totally deaf but I absolutely love her. I am still not sure how the weekly visit thing came about. I only know that since we moved in next door to her, I have gone in every Monday night for a visit. Long long ago, I'd go in at quarter to nine and stay for an hour. But she was hospitalised for months last year and in the process, became quite institutionalised as well; putting herself to bed at seven in the evening because that is what time the nurses tuck their senior patients up for the night. It has only really been the last six weeks or so that the Monday night visit has started up again but now they are from 8pm until 8.45pm - then I go home and she goes to bed.
Lily is an amazing woman! She has two daughters and a lot of support from them, friends and family members, and although she can't actually do a lot for herself these days, she has always got plenty to say. About everything. And that forty-five minutes is soon taken up with her tales. "Once," she told me. "I gave Ken (husband) bubble and squeak for dinner on Monday. 'What's this?' he wants to know. I say 'It's bubble and squeak.' 'I'm not eating that!' he says." For dessert that same day, she did bread and butter pudding and custard. "I gave it to him," she told me. "And he says 'What's this?' 'It's bread and butter pudding!' I told him. He says ' I'm not eating that!' " So she threw the custard over his head. A whole jugful of it. Every last drop of it. Needless to say he never complained about his food again.
Lily is full of anecdotes like this. There was the time her (then) eleven year old daughter took the milk float for a joy ride around the green. And the time she had a midnight picnic on Mitcham Common with her boyfriend of the time. And, when she worked at Paynes Poppets, there was the time that she and a colleague filled dozens of packs of lemon jelly with orange jelly by mistake. She once even offered to share her pack of night-time incontinence pads with me. But I politely declined. Even I haven't quite got to that stage yet!
In fact there isn't a lot I don't know about The Life and Times of Lily now but the strange thing is that I never tire of listening to her. She's a terrible flirt! She is. She would have the boys queuing up for miles if she wasn't so loyal to her late husband. A particular favourite of hers is Jeremy Paxman. Don't ask me why. And when I leave on a Monday evening she says to me "Kisses for Steve!" "How many this week?" I ask her. If she's in a good mood, she says "Two!" And I duly pass them on to Hubby when he gets home. "Be good!" I say to her as I wave cheerio. "No fun in being good !" she tells me, with a twinkle in her eyes that defies her age.
And that's my Lily. I hope I have got half her spirit and zest for living when I get to her age. Ah well - I have forty one years in which to practice!
Friday, 7 September 2007
WHAT A DIFFERENCE A DAY MADE....
It has surely been a 24 hours of huge change! Yesterday, within five minutes of getting to the office the MD came round to say goodbye to everyone as he had resigned with immediate effect. I now know a few had kind of suspected it was going to happen but most of us were left reeling in shock. Such a nice guy too!
Met Mother for lunch yesterday and she told me she is definitely going to be moving to West Sussex next year to be nearer Middle and Youngest Sister. So who will I meet for lunch once a week, then?
And to top it all off Sarah the Publisher and I have had a long talk about the second book and decided it needs a complete re-write. She wants the third story I had planned for the series to form the basis of the second story and says we'll think about the third one in the new year. This is actually good news for me because I wasn't a hundred per cent happy with the third draft of the second book either (confused? You will be!) and this way I can have a bit of breathing space. So the idea is that I concentrate on making the second book totally brilliant and Sarah concentrates on pushing the first one into the public eye. All this in 24 hours! I am not sure if I can keep the pace!
Other good news is that Pregnant Colleague referred to in the first post has had a baby boy whom they are going to name Matthew, Engaged Colleague is now Other Other Married Colleague who is honeymooning in Singapore and Middle-Aged Me has defied all odds and finally sorted out the home internet and emails - and I did it without the help of Clever Son-In-Law. All this must bode well for the weekend......
Met Mother for lunch yesterday and she told me she is definitely going to be moving to West Sussex next year to be nearer Middle and Youngest Sister. So who will I meet for lunch once a week, then?
And to top it all off Sarah the Publisher and I have had a long talk about the second book and decided it needs a complete re-write. She wants the third story I had planned for the series to form the basis of the second story and says we'll think about the third one in the new year. This is actually good news for me because I wasn't a hundred per cent happy with the third draft of the second book either (confused? You will be!) and this way I can have a bit of breathing space. So the idea is that I concentrate on making the second book totally brilliant and Sarah concentrates on pushing the first one into the public eye. All this in 24 hours! I am not sure if I can keep the pace!
Other good news is that Pregnant Colleague referred to in the first post has had a baby boy whom they are going to name Matthew, Engaged Colleague is now Other Other Married Colleague who is honeymooning in Singapore and Middle-Aged Me has defied all odds and finally sorted out the home internet and emails - and I did it without the help of Clever Son-In-Law. All this must bode well for the weekend......
Tuesday, 4 September 2007
CLOSET PUBLICIST STRIKES AGAIN
Had one of our early morning coffees today!. Fell out of bed at 5.15, left the house at 5.40 and met Hubby outside East Croydon at 6.00. The things we do for love!
During the course of the next hour Hubby became almost maniacal about the Book - the first in the series - and what we should do to sell it. He thinks we are letting too many opportunities slip through our fingers. Between us we made a gigantic list of who we could contact and I reckon that just from these contacts alone , we could sell at least half of the number Sarah the Puiblisher says we need to justify a print run. At one point he said to me "Surely this is the publisher's job?" and I completely agree. So the plan today is to contact Sarah the Publisher. Should we even be thinking about the two sequels before we sell the first one? I don't know enough about publishing, that is half the problem. I know lots about being a writer. But I must admit he had some very valid points and I do feel some action needs to be taken. Especially now the book can be also pre-ordered through W H Smith and Amazon! In the meantime - please go, this instant, to http://www.yucketypoo.co.uk/ and click on the Order button. The print edition costs just £5.95 and 10% of every copy sold goes to the CLIC-Sargeant charity which cares for children and young people with cancer. What's more tell everyone you know to order it as well! Please, please, please. I will even sign them if you want me to. I am not sure how but I am sure we could find a way
And now I have got that off my chest (I am truly fired-up today and it is still only 8 am - blame Hubby for being my closet publicist!), I can move on.
I have a question - is being a bag of nerves all part of being menopausal? I ask this because I keep getting panic attacks and feelings of complete inadequacy where, before, I have always been very calm, cool, collect and level-headed. I almost gave myself a coronary yesterday when it looked for a moment as if a huge furniture order I had overseen for one of the reps at the Day Job
had gone missing. I mean I felt physically sick. I was almost light-headed. Yet I knew I had put it through so there was no way it could have gone missing. As it turned out, the goods were at another depot so I needn't have wasted so much nervous energy worrying. A few years ago I wouldn't have done. I'd have found Logical Self and sorted the whole thing out in twenty seconds flat. Answers in a postcard please.
Got a pleasant surprise earlier when I found that my personal profile here on Blogspot had been viewed almost 30 times. I am only responsible for half a dozen of those, so someone somewhere is reading this. Please don't be shy - get in touch. Let's do lunch.
During the course of the next hour Hubby became almost maniacal about the Book - the first in the series - and what we should do to sell it. He thinks we are letting too many opportunities slip through our fingers. Between us we made a gigantic list of who we could contact and I reckon that just from these contacts alone , we could sell at least half of the number Sarah the Puiblisher says we need to justify a print run. At one point he said to me "Surely this is the publisher's job?" and I completely agree. So the plan today is to contact Sarah the Publisher. Should we even be thinking about the two sequels before we sell the first one? I don't know enough about publishing, that is half the problem. I know lots about being a writer. But I must admit he had some very valid points and I do feel some action needs to be taken. Especially now the book can be also pre-ordered through W H Smith and Amazon! In the meantime - please go, this instant, to http://www.yucketypoo.co.uk/ and click on the Order button. The print edition costs just £5.95 and 10% of every copy sold goes to the CLIC-Sargeant charity which cares for children and young people with cancer. What's more tell everyone you know to order it as well! Please, please, please. I will even sign them if you want me to. I am not sure how but I am sure we could find a way
And now I have got that off my chest (I am truly fired-up today and it is still only 8 am - blame Hubby for being my closet publicist!), I can move on.
I have a question - is being a bag of nerves all part of being menopausal? I ask this because I keep getting panic attacks and feelings of complete inadequacy where, before, I have always been very calm, cool, collect and level-headed. I almost gave myself a coronary yesterday when it looked for a moment as if a huge furniture order I had overseen for one of the reps at the Day Job
had gone missing. I mean I felt physically sick. I was almost light-headed. Yet I knew I had put it through so there was no way it could have gone missing. As it turned out, the goods were at another depot so I needn't have wasted so much nervous energy worrying. A few years ago I wouldn't have done. I'd have found Logical Self and sorted the whole thing out in twenty seconds flat. Answers in a postcard please.
Got a pleasant surprise earlier when I found that my personal profile here on Blogspot had been viewed almost 30 times. I am only responsible for half a dozen of those, so someone somewhere is reading this. Please don't be shy - get in touch. Let's do lunch.
Friday, 31 August 2007
BATH TIME AND BEYOND
I was lazing on the sofa last night with Cat snoozing on my chest when she suddenly did a humungous sneeze and showered me in cat-snot! It went in my eyes, up my nose - everywhere. I moved her off in some disgust - although to be fair to her, she couldn't help it - and immediately felt my eyes puffing up and nose clogging. I head straight for the anti-histimines (being the sensitive soul I am I take one of these a day and keep boxfuls in the first aid cupboard for most of the year) and took one, but by then the damage was done and I suffered for the rest of the evening. My right eye is still a bit puffy today but I haven't broken out in hives or anything so the antihistimine must have done some good, after all.
I realise today that I have not been back and written since I mentioned finding myself in a dense black wood all on my own in the middle of the night in Batheaston last Friday. Obviously when I called for Hubby, his voice floated back from a few feet down the tiny path. "You might have waited for me!" I grouched as I fought my way through to join him. "I thought you were right behind me," he grouched back. We stood amongst the trees, moonlight totally obscured. "Well there's nothing here," Hubby muttered. "Let's go back to the hotel."
Over the rest of the weekend, we saw as much of Bath as we could and it really is a beautiful place. The Roman Baths, Abbey and historic town itself is well worth the visit and we managed to fit in two city bus tours in open-top buses and two trips down the river, as well as the Jane Austin Centre and the Museum of Bath Work. In fact we did so much that by the time we limped home on Monday evening, we felt as if we'd been away for a week at least and sat down to a take-away Chinese for dinner.
Tuesday dawned and it was back to earth with a bit of a bang. Sarah the Publisher had asked me to take another look at the second story book; it wasn't quite what she had expected and she felt it needed more. It is Friday now and it has taken me all week to re-draft it and get it back to her. The third one is due by the end of September and I haven't even started on it yet. The situation is not helped by the fact that I simply cannot get my new Sky broadband box up and running. The first one arrived six weeks ago and I noticed I was having problems with it right from the beginning. At first I couldn't get the new email addresses set up, and then, when I did manage it, we found we could send emails but not receive them. We eventually (with the help of Clever Son-In-Law) got onto the internet but then I noticed that had gone as well. Dozens of phonecalls later, Sky decided I had a faulty Broadband box and sent me a new one but when I tried connecting that up on Tuesday just gone - what a surprise - no email, no internet. Not only is this frustrating and infuriating, it means that I can only email from the office during my lunch-breaks and if I get into the office early (even this blog is being written during my lunch-break!) - which is not good when you are a writer! So I have written one of my Very Angry Letters and told Sky to either refund my £40.00 connection fee immediately so that I can go elsewhere, or fix the problem for once and for all. It isn't the computer, which is a lap top less than eight months old, so it has to be down to Sky! Anyway - we shall see.
Have a busy weekend coming up. On Saturday, Hubby and I are going to Engaged Colleague's wedding in East Grinstead - our sixth wedding this year, so out will come the wedding outfits. Again. And on Sunday we have a particularly gigantic hedge to cut back (what fun!).
Unless Sky can sort themselves out, lucky you won't have to put up with my ramblings until Monday next week.
And by the way - my hot flushes have receded. Am I Over The Worst? Or is The Worst yet to come?
Better go - lunch-break ends in thirty seconds .....
I realise today that I have not been back and written since I mentioned finding myself in a dense black wood all on my own in the middle of the night in Batheaston last Friday. Obviously when I called for Hubby, his voice floated back from a few feet down the tiny path. "You might have waited for me!" I grouched as I fought my way through to join him. "I thought you were right behind me," he grouched back. We stood amongst the trees, moonlight totally obscured. "Well there's nothing here," Hubby muttered. "Let's go back to the hotel."
Over the rest of the weekend, we saw as much of Bath as we could and it really is a beautiful place. The Roman Baths, Abbey and historic town itself is well worth the visit and we managed to fit in two city bus tours in open-top buses and two trips down the river, as well as the Jane Austin Centre and the Museum of Bath Work. In fact we did so much that by the time we limped home on Monday evening, we felt as if we'd been away for a week at least and sat down to a take-away Chinese for dinner.
Tuesday dawned and it was back to earth with a bit of a bang. Sarah the Publisher had asked me to take another look at the second story book; it wasn't quite what she had expected and she felt it needed more. It is Friday now and it has taken me all week to re-draft it and get it back to her. The third one is due by the end of September and I haven't even started on it yet. The situation is not helped by the fact that I simply cannot get my new Sky broadband box up and running. The first one arrived six weeks ago and I noticed I was having problems with it right from the beginning. At first I couldn't get the new email addresses set up, and then, when I did manage it, we found we could send emails but not receive them. We eventually (with the help of Clever Son-In-Law) got onto the internet but then I noticed that had gone as well. Dozens of phonecalls later, Sky decided I had a faulty Broadband box and sent me a new one but when I tried connecting that up on Tuesday just gone - what a surprise - no email, no internet. Not only is this frustrating and infuriating, it means that I can only email from the office during my lunch-breaks and if I get into the office early (even this blog is being written during my lunch-break!) - which is not good when you are a writer! So I have written one of my Very Angry Letters and told Sky to either refund my £40.00 connection fee immediately so that I can go elsewhere, or fix the problem for once and for all. It isn't the computer, which is a lap top less than eight months old, so it has to be down to Sky! Anyway - we shall see.
Have a busy weekend coming up. On Saturday, Hubby and I are going to Engaged Colleague's wedding in East Grinstead - our sixth wedding this year, so out will come the wedding outfits. Again. And on Sunday we have a particularly gigantic hedge to cut back (what fun!).
Unless Sky can sort themselves out, lucky you won't have to put up with my ramblings until Monday next week.
And by the way - my hot flushes have receded. Am I Over The Worst? Or is The Worst yet to come?
Better go - lunch-break ends in thirty seconds .....
Tuesday, 28 August 2007
BATH TIME
Have just returned from a gorgeous bank holiday weekend in Bath down in Somerset. Can't believe how lucky we were with the weather either. In the words of one of Bath's most famous daughters - novelist Jane Austin - What Can One Make Of Bath? Well - when One and One's Hubby disembarked the coach at Bath Spa Bus Station at around 6pm on Friday evening - it looked like we'd dropped into the middle of a giant building site, as the area just outside the town centre undergoes some major renovation work. We could have let that cloud our vision, but being the Nice People we are, we decided to look beyond the rubble and not allow ourselves to be prejudiced. This confidence was knocked however when a cab driver charged us almost £9.00 to get to the Old Mill Hotel in Batheaston instead of the £6.00 we had been told it would cost. Still, this was our first weekend away for some time and we were determined to make the most of it, so we let that go as well.
The hotel itself is lovely. It is on the bank of the River Avon, surrounded by hills and fields and has views to die for; though we also let pass the fact that we didn't actually get the room with the river view we had asked for, and settled for our room with the Car Park view instead, because this was our first weekend away for some time and we were determined to make the most of it (!).
Having unpacked, freshened up and changed, we went down to the dining room for the one evening meal we had booked at the hotel itself. We were seated on a tiny table for two in the corner overlooking the hotel's picturesque garden, with its weeping willows and enormous mill wheel that still turns. We noticed a wedding going on and watched the proceedings as we waited for our meals. When the waiter brought my Vegetable Wellington over he mentioned that the plate was warm. Still watching a particularly sweet little bridesmaid, I went to move it slightly aside in order to reach the salt and pepper and was so shocked by its searing heat that I yelped. And sent my fork flying across the carpet in a fair imitation the late Concord. One's Hubby was not amused! And he was even less amused when I collapsed in a giggling heap.
Giggles aside, we enjoyed the meal and decided to round off the evening with a quiet drink in the bar. No chance. The majority of the wedding guests had spilled out of their banqueting suite and into the bar and we felt decidely out of place as we hunched in a corner with our budweisers. This was Wedding Crashers with a touch of Elephant Man as we felt numorous questioning glances being thrown our way. "Let's go for a nice walk," Hubby suggested as we finished our beers too fast and put ourselves at risk of severe hiccups. After all this was our first weekend away for some time and we were determined to make the most of it (!!).
The Old Mill is quite rurally situated so there was not a huge amount we could do once we left the bar but as we walked, we saw a shooting star (so romantic) and, just down the road, we found a little over-hung path and clambered over the stile. Venturing into a vaccuum of darkness, we stuck closely together and, for some reason, spoke in whispers. After a while we could hear the weir on the other side of the trees. We didn't want to risk falling in and going for an unscheduled drown so we turned round to head back. "Oooh look," said Hubby. "There's another path." This one was even tinier and I felt a little bit alarmed - not a Psycho/Slasher/Watcher In The Woods kind of alarm, you understand; more a fall-down-break-ankle-end-up-in-hospital alarm.
Hubby stood like a Great Explorer at the mouth of the Amazon between two rather squat bushes. "Let's have a look ..." he said. "I'll light the way with the camera," I said in a moment of pure brilliance and held the camera up so that the little red light that heralds a flash made the path at least slightly vivible. "Damn it!" I muttered as the flash went off. "That wasn't meant to happen." I decided to turn it off; we'd just have to manage. I scrabbled in the dark to press the button and looked back up a moment later to find that Hubby - who just moments before had been inches in front of me - was now nowhere to be seen! Suddenly it did feel very Psycho/Slasher/Watcher In The Woods- ish and I was frozen with terror. "Steve," I squeaked. "Where are you?"
To Be Continued
The hotel itself is lovely. It is on the bank of the River Avon, surrounded by hills and fields and has views to die for; though we also let pass the fact that we didn't actually get the room with the river view we had asked for, and settled for our room with the Car Park view instead, because this was our first weekend away for some time and we were determined to make the most of it (!).
Having unpacked, freshened up and changed, we went down to the dining room for the one evening meal we had booked at the hotel itself. We were seated on a tiny table for two in the corner overlooking the hotel's picturesque garden, with its weeping willows and enormous mill wheel that still turns. We noticed a wedding going on and watched the proceedings as we waited for our meals. When the waiter brought my Vegetable Wellington over he mentioned that the plate was warm. Still watching a particularly sweet little bridesmaid, I went to move it slightly aside in order to reach the salt and pepper and was so shocked by its searing heat that I yelped. And sent my fork flying across the carpet in a fair imitation the late Concord. One's Hubby was not amused! And he was even less amused when I collapsed in a giggling heap.
Giggles aside, we enjoyed the meal and decided to round off the evening with a quiet drink in the bar. No chance. The majority of the wedding guests had spilled out of their banqueting suite and into the bar and we felt decidely out of place as we hunched in a corner with our budweisers. This was Wedding Crashers with a touch of Elephant Man as we felt numorous questioning glances being thrown our way. "Let's go for a nice walk," Hubby suggested as we finished our beers too fast and put ourselves at risk of severe hiccups. After all this was our first weekend away for some time and we were determined to make the most of it (!!).
The Old Mill is quite rurally situated so there was not a huge amount we could do once we left the bar but as we walked, we saw a shooting star (so romantic) and, just down the road, we found a little over-hung path and clambered over the stile. Venturing into a vaccuum of darkness, we stuck closely together and, for some reason, spoke in whispers. After a while we could hear the weir on the other side of the trees. We didn't want to risk falling in and going for an unscheduled drown so we turned round to head back. "Oooh look," said Hubby. "There's another path." This one was even tinier and I felt a little bit alarmed - not a Psycho/Slasher/Watcher In The Woods kind of alarm, you understand; more a fall-down-break-ankle-end-up-in-hospital alarm.
Hubby stood like a Great Explorer at the mouth of the Amazon between two rather squat bushes. "Let's have a look ..." he said. "I'll light the way with the camera," I said in a moment of pure brilliance and held the camera up so that the little red light that heralds a flash made the path at least slightly vivible. "Damn it!" I muttered as the flash went off. "That wasn't meant to happen." I decided to turn it off; we'd just have to manage. I scrabbled in the dark to press the button and looked back up a moment later to find that Hubby - who just moments before had been inches in front of me - was now nowhere to be seen! Suddenly it did feel very Psycho/Slasher/Watcher In The Woods- ish and I was frozen with terror. "Steve," I squeaked. "Where are you?"
To Be Continued
Thursday, 23 August 2007
DEEP PURPOSEFUL PLAN
At the beginning of 2007, once the contract for the book had been finalised and it was Action Stations, Hubby announced I needed to make my study more user-friendly. The study I had was fine but disorganised and that could not be the case for the New Successful Writer, he decreed. Over the course of the next couple of months, some subtle changes were made. Hubby took the old desk and chair and bought me nice smart new ones. We visited the local Second Hand Office Furniture store and bought two filing cabinets. My day job is with an office supplies company so we bought new suspension files, new pen holders, new letter trays etcetera etcetera etcetera. By March I had a good, New Successful Writer's study complete with a new laptop and a CD player so that the New Successful Writer can listen to appropriate New Age Music, Simon & Garfunkle, Cat Stevens and All Angels cds as she writes. No female writer could ask for a more supportive and confident husband.
Why then did I last night go up to the study and fill my arms with notebooks, pencils, erasers, sharpeners and other paraphernalia and head downstairs to write in the living room? I mean Hello! Half way down, with enough gunk to climb Everest piled up in my arms, I came to my senses and thought What am I doing? All that time, money, effort and planning spent on the New Successful Writer's study and I was struggling to get to the living room?
I promptly did an about turn and head back to the study. I rearranged the desk to make some space, opened the window to let in some air, sipped on my Diet Ginger Beer and put on my writer's head. An hour and a half later, I had some pretty thorough notes to work from for the third and final book in the series, having emailed the second one over to Sarah The Publisher by the end of last week. Now I just need to actually write the third one. My deadline is 16th September which is just over three weeks away. I know I can do it. I have no choice. It is what being a writer is all about. I think.
Woke up this morning brimming with new ideas for the new story. Met night-worker Hubby for coffee at Costa's at East Croydon. We treat ourselves to this once (and occasionally twice) a week because, believe it or not, we actually get to spend more time together. Look at it this way - if we don't meet for coffee, Hubby gets in by 6am which is when I am falling out of bed. He is getting undressed as I am getting dressed then we sit down to cerial and toast at about 6.30, Hubby goes up the wooden hill to Dreamland at about 7am and I have actually seen him for all of half an hour. If we do meet for coffee we are walking into Costa's at 6.05 and we then stay there till around 7 - almost an hour! So you see there is a method to our Morning Madness! Plus we both like Costa's coffee.
After he'd head off home and I was making my way to the office, I suddenly asked myself the real Crunch Question. What happens when the third and final book is complete? Then came the even bigger question. What happens with the rest of my Life? I need a plan, I told myself. I need to set myself a goal. So here it is - the goal. To be able to give up work and write full time within one year of today.
And now I think I need a strong black coffee.......again.
Why then did I last night go up to the study and fill my arms with notebooks, pencils, erasers, sharpeners and other paraphernalia and head downstairs to write in the living room? I mean Hello! Half way down, with enough gunk to climb Everest piled up in my arms, I came to my senses and thought What am I doing? All that time, money, effort and planning spent on the New Successful Writer's study and I was struggling to get to the living room?
I promptly did an about turn and head back to the study. I rearranged the desk to make some space, opened the window to let in some air, sipped on my Diet Ginger Beer and put on my writer's head. An hour and a half later, I had some pretty thorough notes to work from for the third and final book in the series, having emailed the second one over to Sarah The Publisher by the end of last week. Now I just need to actually write the third one. My deadline is 16th September which is just over three weeks away. I know I can do it. I have no choice. It is what being a writer is all about. I think.
Woke up this morning brimming with new ideas for the new story. Met night-worker Hubby for coffee at Costa's at East Croydon. We treat ourselves to this once (and occasionally twice) a week because, believe it or not, we actually get to spend more time together. Look at it this way - if we don't meet for coffee, Hubby gets in by 6am which is when I am falling out of bed. He is getting undressed as I am getting dressed then we sit down to cerial and toast at about 6.30, Hubby goes up the wooden hill to Dreamland at about 7am and I have actually seen him for all of half an hour. If we do meet for coffee we are walking into Costa's at 6.05 and we then stay there till around 7 - almost an hour! So you see there is a method to our Morning Madness! Plus we both like Costa's coffee.
After he'd head off home and I was making my way to the office, I suddenly asked myself the real Crunch Question. What happens when the third and final book is complete? Then came the even bigger question. What happens with the rest of my Life? I need a plan, I told myself. I need to set myself a goal. So here it is - the goal. To be able to give up work and write full time within one year of today.
And now I think I need a strong black coffee.......again.
Wednesday, 22 August 2007
SLUGGING IT OUT
On my way into the office this morning (okay - so I am not a full-time writer as much as I'd like to be), a guy on the pavement in front of me bent down to do up his shoe-lace. When he stood up again he only just avoided walking into a lamp-post, ducking sideways and letting out a yelp of terror as his hair brushed against the metal. He shot me a filthy look when I laughed out loud but I couldn't help it. It was so ... so Norman Wisdom! He jogged to catch up with his mate, who was none the wiser, and stole one final look of sheer dislike over his shoulder at me before they turned the corner. He couldn't have known I wasn't actually laughing at the fact he had almost brained himself on a lamp-post he had failed to see despite its size. I was just so relieved that it isn't just Ladies of Mature Years that do such things. A few months ago I actually winded myself walking into a set of railings outside the local park - railings I have walked past hundreds, even thousands, of times and never had a problem with. That night though, they caught me squarely in the solar plexus and I literally reeled as if I'd been hit by a sledge-hammer at the very least. It isn't just me then, I thought and continued to giggle all the way to work.
When I was thinking about what to write in my blog today, I found myself recalling how, only yesterday, I took it upon myself to feed a couple of slugs in my back garden. Hubby thinks I am quite odd because I talk with our cat, apologise to spiders and refuse to kill anything that flies into our home be it a wasp, damsel fly, dragon fly, moth or bumble bee. I can't help it. I have a healthy respect for everything living. But I am not sure I will tell him about the slugs. I think even he, for all the fact he loves and indulges me, would question my motives. It is simple really. We have a proper feeding station installed in our garden because we see so many species of birds there and have both become closet Twitchers. We also have a squirrel I have nicknamed Houdini because of the way he contorts himself to get into squirrel-proof bird-feeders in order to secure his breakfast.
Yesterday morning, I noticed as I went into the garden (or should that be out to the garden?), that there were two slugs on the patio attacking the little weeds that have spung up between the paving slabs. Do they know what a favour they are doing us on that patio? It will save Hubby or I having to get out the strimmer - at least for a little while. Anyway, I was amazed out how one of the slugs was standing upright (yes you read that right, it was standing upright) in order to reach the top of the weed it was attacking. It reminded me of a giraffe and I thought that it must take some doing to stand upright like that when you have no backbone to help you! That must one hungry slug! So I went into the kitchen, pulled out a little grape from the bunch on the shelf, cut into bits and put them down near the slugs. Then, with a writer's curiosity, I watched to see how they'd react. At first their little antennae withdrew whenever they touched these cold wet objects suddenly blocking their path. It did not take them long to realise, however, that the objects were sweet manna from Heaven (well from me anyway, though they'd never know of course) and I actually felt quite satsified as they chomped their way through (surprisingly quickly) before attacking the weeds with renewed relish. I make no apologies for my nurturing nature - after all they didn't ask to be born slugs! Still, maybe I shouldn't mention it to Hubby; he indulges me in most of my whims (bless him) but I think even he would draw the line at my tendency to Adopt-A-Mollusc...........
When I was thinking about what to write in my blog today, I found myself recalling how, only yesterday, I took it upon myself to feed a couple of slugs in my back garden. Hubby thinks I am quite odd because I talk with our cat, apologise to spiders and refuse to kill anything that flies into our home be it a wasp, damsel fly, dragon fly, moth or bumble bee. I can't help it. I have a healthy respect for everything living. But I am not sure I will tell him about the slugs. I think even he, for all the fact he loves and indulges me, would question my motives. It is simple really. We have a proper feeding station installed in our garden because we see so many species of birds there and have both become closet Twitchers. We also have a squirrel I have nicknamed Houdini because of the way he contorts himself to get into squirrel-proof bird-feeders in order to secure his breakfast.
Yesterday morning, I noticed as I went into the garden (or should that be out to the garden?), that there were two slugs on the patio attacking the little weeds that have spung up between the paving slabs. Do they know what a favour they are doing us on that patio? It will save Hubby or I having to get out the strimmer - at least for a little while. Anyway, I was amazed out how one of the slugs was standing upright (yes you read that right, it was standing upright) in order to reach the top of the weed it was attacking. It reminded me of a giraffe and I thought that it must take some doing to stand upright like that when you have no backbone to help you! That must one hungry slug! So I went into the kitchen, pulled out a little grape from the bunch on the shelf, cut into bits and put them down near the slugs. Then, with a writer's curiosity, I watched to see how they'd react. At first their little antennae withdrew whenever they touched these cold wet objects suddenly blocking their path. It did not take them long to realise, however, that the objects were sweet manna from Heaven (well from me anyway, though they'd never know of course) and I actually felt quite satsified as they chomped their way through (surprisingly quickly) before attacking the weeds with renewed relish. I make no apologies for my nurturing nature - after all they didn't ask to be born slugs! Still, maybe I shouldn't mention it to Hubby; he indulges me in most of my whims (bless him) but I think even he would draw the line at my tendency to Adopt-A-Mollusc...........
Tuesday, 21 August 2007
STORM IN A COFFEE CUP? PART TWO
At five past six, we came out of Green Park tube. Youngest Sister looked around. "We'd better get a cab because we don't know how close it is,"she said decisively. "It's there!" exclaimed Middle Sister pointing to a big glitzy sign which proclaimed The Ritz. And there it was. Right next door! I have only lived near London for my whole life! Surely I should have known where The Ritz is in relation to Green Park tube station? I felt a flush of shame at not knowing my capital city better but excused myself by conceding how rarely I actually venture there. "Okay, forget the cab." said Youngest Sister. "We're over an hour early," I said. "Shall we find a coffee shop or something?" We walked past The Ritz and stood on the corner. "There's a Caffe Nero over there," I said. We crossed the road to the island and waited for some time for the traffic to clear so that we could get to Nero's. "There's a Pret A Manger over there," I said in a bored voice as another stream of vehicles streamed by, so we turned full circle, crossed back and went into Pret. "Two teas and two coffees, please, one black, one white," I said at the counter as I fished around in my purse for my Loyalty Card. "That's five pounds, please," said the server. I handed him the money and the loyalty card. He took the money but looked at the Loyalty card with suspicion. Oh yeah, I thought to myself, we're right next to the Ritz. Maybe they don't do loyalty cards here? "Don't you stamp the loyalty cards here?" I asked. He handed it back. "Not if they're Nero's, no," he replied. Damn! In the space of two minutes I had forgotten we'd abandoned Nero's and invaded Pret. "Of course you don't!" I said pleasantly as if he must get scatter-brains like me coming into Pret and offering a Nero loyalty card every day. He made a noise. I think it was a chuckle disguised as a cough and I picked up the tray and walked nonchalantly over to the table where Mother and Two Sisters were waiting.
We spent the next hour talking about nothing in particular (as us girls can!) and at quarter past seven we upped sticks and went to The Ritz. This was it! Our two hours as Ladies of Gentility were about to begin. We were shown in and swallowed whole by the cathedral-like foyer, all gilt walls, arches and spotless carpets. We made a bee-line for the Ladies. This was really living! Proper little individual hand-towels (none of your paper rubbish for this place!), wall to wall mirrors and a little sofa. Mother came out of her cubicle and washed and dried her hands. "There's hand-lotion in there,! I told her, indicating a bottle with a squeezy top. "I thought that was the was the soap," she said, towelling her hands even more vigorously.
We went back up to the main foyer and were approached by a man in a dinner jacket. "Name please?" he asked. Youngest Sister told him. "Do you have your voucher?" She handed him the pink slip that had been paid for by our sixteen to twenty-three year olds and he showed us to a table. It was SO nice! Very calm and relaxed with a grand-piano tinkling gently in the background and the little sandwiches, warm scones and itty-bitty pastries were wonderful. Mother dropped her table napkin on the floor and there was a moment of panic when we were asked to pay, but this was soon sorted out and we were each given another £15.00 glass of complimentary champagne by way of an apology. "It could only happen to us," Youngest Sister mused as the waiter bowed us out and I reached for my trusty portable fan.
We spent the next hour talking about nothing in particular (as us girls can!) and at quarter past seven we upped sticks and went to The Ritz. This was it! Our two hours as Ladies of Gentility were about to begin. We were shown in and swallowed whole by the cathedral-like foyer, all gilt walls, arches and spotless carpets. We made a bee-line for the Ladies. This was really living! Proper little individual hand-towels (none of your paper rubbish for this place!), wall to wall mirrors and a little sofa. Mother came out of her cubicle and washed and dried her hands. "There's hand-lotion in there,! I told her, indicating a bottle with a squeezy top. "I thought that was the was the soap," she said, towelling her hands even more vigorously.
We went back up to the main foyer and were approached by a man in a dinner jacket. "Name please?" he asked. Youngest Sister told him. "Do you have your voucher?" She handed him the pink slip that had been paid for by our sixteen to twenty-three year olds and he showed us to a table. It was SO nice! Very calm and relaxed with a grand-piano tinkling gently in the background and the little sandwiches, warm scones and itty-bitty pastries were wonderful. Mother dropped her table napkin on the floor and there was a moment of panic when we were asked to pay, but this was soon sorted out and we were each given another £15.00 glass of complimentary champagne by way of an apology. "It could only happen to us," Youngest Sister mused as the waiter bowed us out and I reached for my trusty portable fan.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)
