Good with words

The obvious answer, of course

2007-02-14T08:31:00.000-08:00

... was to go IN my dress, with big red coat thrown hastily over top. Never mind the red polka-dotted socks peeping over boots - never mind the red frills cascading out beneath my coat - it's mainly OAPs in the local supermarket anyway. So I drove very fast, and pretended that EVERYone does the shopping in a bright red party dress. I didn't look entirely dissimilar to a prostitute, especially with the split lip I am currently sporting. But on the bright side, the only call I missed was from the kitchen people (saying our kitchen won't be delivered next week, after all).

And I bought the champagne. It's in the fridge. Champagne and toothpaste (not in the fridge). No wonder the boys at the till were smiling at one another when I was queueing!

Champagne or not to champagne

2007-02-14T07:32:00.000-08:00

You see, I want to go and buy some champagne for dinner (haven't worked out the food part but figure that isn't the important bit, not tonight anyway). But I have a problem; actually, two. First, I am wearing my lovely Valentine's dress. (Okay, let me get this straight: it's not actually his dress.) It's my thinkhappy dress, a red, flouncy, spanish dress that I wear when I want to cheer myself up, write spectacular copy, or get in the mood for Valentine's Day.

Anyway, it has just warmed up, and I don't want to change. If I change, then I will forget to change back and I will be wearing pyjamas or holey trackie bottoms when husband arrives (hopefully, early, as a surprise Valentine gift from boss).

The second problem is that if I go out, the phone will ring and a Very Important Client will want to know if I can do copy by 4, or otherwise should they do it themselves? And I will not be here, and they will do it themselves, and I will have lost a Very Important Client to champagne.

Hmm. My life is very tricky sometimes.

Venice - Murano

2007-02-14T02:35:00.000-08:00

Last Wednesday we took a water-bus out to Murano, an island off the north shore of Venice proper. This is where all the fancy glass comes from - it's been made there for centuries, and its glass-blowers spent a long time guarding new techniques from the rest of the world. If you've seen any Murano glass, it was probably in this hideously gaudy style.

But Murano now houses some stylish galleries and new artists creating simpler, modern pieces. We visited a glass-blowing studio and watched a man blow a piece of glass like a bubble until it popped, sending wafer-thin shards all over the floor. (He ushered us out quickly and gruffly - I wasn't sure we were supposed to witness the smash.)

I don't know if they were all bad-tempered in this glass studio because, once out the door, we were invited upstairs to view the proper glass. A salesman in a suit unlocked a gate and welcomed us into the prestige rooms.... where huge vases and bowls were casually tagged with prices of £500+. "I can pack and ship any of this to England," he smooched.

We followed quietly, gaping at the outrageous pricing (I did wonder if they have an "Inglese" room, an American room, and an Italian room...) and trying not to point or openly marvel at any of it in case he pounced with the hard sell. As we moved through another and another room, the salesman became more stroppy, finally stamping into the last room: "This is my last room, and then downstairs are gifts," he announced abruptly. We meekly followed him downstairs (did he really think we were secretly wealthy?) and he waved his arms dismissively at the glass gifts. "You like small things, and small prices," he shouted, and stamped off to the back of the studio, leaving us to look at the miniatures in peace.

After that we were slightly nervous about actually going in to another glass shop, so we contented ourselves with window-shopping. As well as the island's gorgeous 10ft Christmas tree in coloured glass (too pretty to take down in january), these window-boxes were filled with glass-replica daffodils and tulips: I can only imagine that the people living in Murano aren't as clumsy as I am!

Venice - the Grand Canal

2007-02-12T09:24:00.000-08:00

I'm going to post these Venice pictures in instalments, I think, because I am too busy to write all that I want to about the trip!

Venice is, apparently, sinking at the rate of 1 foot per century. Some of the houses had a few hundred years left, by my reckoning; some only had months! One front door, facing the Grand Canal (above), was just inches from the water level: the bottom of the wooden door had rotted clean away.

In fact, many of the grand homes along the Grand Canal look as though they were abandoned years ago - upkeep too high, floods too wearing. Those that aren't decrepit are hotels; some were being painted - by hand and from a boat - when we sailed past. I suppose a lot of DIY business is done in Venice! We saw gondolas loaded with cement and builders wheeling mixers and sanders on and off the water buses (motor boats serving the island).

Anyway, many of the homes and palaces have a couple of centuries left. I suppose this is why the whole 'sinking' issue isn't as pressing as it might be. You're a Venetian; your apartment building won't see the 25th century; but why do you actually need to care? My guide book (Venice for Pleasure) notes that the work required to stop Venice from sinking is simply too great to contemplate. I can quite see this. On the way out to the islands, you notice tiny, one-home isles with ruined manor homes in the middle.

Obviously, the prospect of the entire island sinking is a bit daunting. But wouldn't a little innovative thinking and some charity money solve the problem? (Did you know that the Campanille - the bell tower in front of St Mark's - was rebuilt with financial help from Britain's 'Save Venice' fund in the 1960s? It doesn't surprise me to learn that sightseeing-mad Brits and Americans care more about losing Venice than the Venetians do.)

Of course, my circular dam would do the trick. When do you think they will come to me for advice?

Too busy to blog...

2007-01-29T09:42:00.000-08:00

Well, I wanted to just make a quick post about two things: first, http://www.big-green-bus.co.uk is gearing up to go! I didn't have the work ethic to get it ready, but someone else did! I am looking forward to helping out with that - very exciting so far.

And the other thing... well, I wanted to tell anyone who's ever wanted to work for themselves or set up a business to do it. After two years doing it myself (DIY employment, if you will), I finally think I've gotten somewhere, and it feels seriously great. I don't know what I did to deserve this good fortune, but it's found me. It being January - month of new beginnings - I'm also working with several other tough-headed people who are following the same pot of gold, and, quite brilliantly, I just know they're all going to work out. I love to work with people who are giving the time and the devotion to make something that's entirely theirs. So.... I don't care what you do, but make up a dream, and then make it happen. It may be over-sentimental, and it may be frightening, and it may seem impossible, and it may be awful a lot of the time, but if I can do it, anyone can. And... in between being fabulously unemployed... I'm here to support you.

________________________________________________________
***You Are: 70% Dog, 30% Cat***
You and dogs definitely have a lot in common.You're both goofy, happy, and content with the small things in life.However, you're definitely not as needy as the average dog. You need your down time occasionally.
Are You More Cat or Dog?http://www.blogthings.com/areyoumorecatordogquiz/

Christmas holiday

2006-12-22T02:29:00.000-08:00

Finally finished for Christmas. Just got some wrapping and deliveries, and we're in Wales for a being-cooked-for Christmas with the whole family.

The Muppets' Christmas Carol is on Channel 5 on Saturday 23rd. My Christmas is complete!

Illegal Christmas cards

2006-12-22T02:23:00.000-08:00

Know how I said about my compulsive post-opening disorder? Well, two extra Christmas cards arrived through the letterbox last week. "Mark F" and "Mike F" - no return address, nothing. Seeing as we didn't have many cards arrive yet, and I wanted to put some more on the fireplace, I figured I'd just open them. But it backfired. One had a Smiths £10 voucher inside. Well, what do I do? My conscience wouldn't let me spend it. Couldn't think how to return it without an address. Put it in the bin, and the buyer never gets it back. Suddenly realised, horribly, that next-door there is a real Mark (you know, as opposed to an Anna who pretends she is a Mark to get more Christmas cards).

So I quickly scrawled "Whoops! Sorry, opened without looking!" and sent husband to put the ripped-open card through their letterbox. Then cowered. Glad I sent him - they opened the door. Turns out it wasn't meant for that Mark, either. Now what? The criminal evidence was back in my hands. I couldn't spend it; so give it to someone whose conscience would let them spend it, right? Is that just as bad as spending it myself? I know! Nextdoor (as well as having a real Mark) have a baby. Spend it on him, I said firmly, because as everyone knows, babies can't go to hell.

Getting organised

2006-12-13T03:06:00.000-08:00

There's nothing like a holiday plan to speed up the organisation process! This week I've been ever so busy working, invoicing, ironing, baking, cleaning, hoovering, stain-removing, de-cluttering. Phew. All because we are counting down to the holidays on Friday!

We are off to a little cottage in romantic St Davids, West Wales. The dog's coming, but that aside, we're planning to mooch around in pyjamas, watch a lot of Christmas movies, and drink champagne. Perfect!

But before then, I have to iron a heck of a lot more, and coax a reluctant MD into talking to me on the telephone. It's not often I make phone calls where I'm the one doing the talking.

Now then, I have a little dilemma. Supposing that one had accidentally opened husband's telephone bill, and recognised the number of a certain jeweller? Should one keep quiet or blab to husband that yet again, his Christmas surprise has been ruined? (This happened once before, when my Grandma rang on Christmas morning and blurted: "Did you love the bracelet?!", even though I'd just told her that we hadn't yet opened our presents.)

Grandma and Grandad have always gotten up ridiculously early at Christmas. My brothers think I'm a nuisance banging on their doors at 8am, but whenever Grandma and Grandad stayed, I'd run to their room and find them sitting up with wrapping paper all around the bed.

Anyway, I digress. Probably keeping schtum is the best bet. I wish I didn't compulsively read everything. No matter who the post is addressed to, I'll usually open it. (Yes, I know it's a criminal offence to read letters addressed to your home's last owners.) It's quicker than writing RETURN TO SENDER and walking to the post box.

Christmas cards all sent, I think. Presents all bought, I hope (a couple of panicky ones this week but they're all here now). Sainsbury's shopping ordered for the 22nd (to back up the vegetable box, of course!). Ironing.... yet to be done. But husband is working late tonight so I will be able to put on a Christmas episode of Ally McBeal and work through it.

Now I am going to have a mince pie and do some work (with a pen!) downstairs, with the dog. Caroling, caroling, through the town, Christmas bells are ringing...

Oh and do you know what else is on my mind this week? Stupid people who hate Christmas. It is entirely beyond my reach of understanding. And yet it seems to be a universal joke to hate Christmas, and laugh at those who revel in the festivities. I was in B&Q on Sunday (dragged by husband, and allowed to stay in the Christmas aisle), standing in the doorway, watching a darling trio of outdoor dancing snowmen who were singing Christmas songs. (Husband won't let me put things like this on or outside our house, so I enjoy them when I can.) A family walked in behind me and the father, smirking, went to the lead singer and pretended to kick him in the head. The rest of them laughed and continued straight past, while I stood there, aghast. Kicking a singing snowman? It doesn't get much Scroogier than that.

Not so crummy

2006-12-12T01:40:00.000-08:00

Trouble with crumbs behind the toaster? Rice beneath the hot-plates? Cornflakes sneaking under the microwave? You need.... the Patented Black Sheep Novelty Crumb Hoover!

I'm not really this way inclined, preferring to live and let live when it comes to crumbs... but I know some of you will love this! Also comes in Duck and Elephant models.

Playing with the big girls

2006-12-08T07:01:00.000-08:00

I haven't posted about work for a while, which is probably for a few reasons:
1. I have been writing about some truly dull stuff, like hackers, gritting the roads, letting houses, and computer software.
2. After an intensely busy period, I found myself suddenly twiddling thumbs wondering where January's wages will come from, and
3. I have been Very Busy formulating The Great January Get-Working Plan. (So far only two pages.)

So, here is a very boring post about the amateur copywriter's conundrum.

Well, it isn't that I'm an amateur. I mean, how can anyone who comes up with "We won't beat about the bush. That's your job" be disrespected? But because of the route I took to freelance copywriting - lacking proper, city experience, big brand names, or agency contacts - I'm hardly facing the big time.

And here's the big news: a famous, international, big-wowsers fashion brand is looking for a writer. What's more, an agency in London thought I might have what it takes, and - da-da-da-da-daaaaa - has forwarded some of my work for consideration. Which you might think would have me dancing in my home office, but actually, is too big and scary to contemplate. Just think. Somewhere, in a busy city office, my feeble little CV is batted from desk to desk, probably the source of much amusement and hilarity.

The whole thing has kind of bummed me out.

It's happened before - with Selfridges. An agency lady rang me, I sent samples across, she sent it all to the client, and nothing happened. It wasn't a big surprise, but I was holding my breath all the same. Is this my big break? But the answer was inevitably no.

Thing is, when is my big break? I can talk the talk; when do I get to walk the walk, and how do I do it without having any actual proper walking practice?

No, I don't know either. Aretha Franklin's the answer. And mince pies.

(In further thrilling work news, am meeting with new client on Monday r.e. engineering project: copy about water meters and gas thermometers. From one extreme to another.)

Cocktail, anyone?

2006-12-01T03:25:00.000-08:00

Liz and Harvey's post on Persephone has reminded me of one of my favourite books. Miss Pettigrew Lives For A Day is a gorgeous, frilly, martini-filled romp through 1920s high society, featuring a glamorous Hollywood-actress-wannabe and her put-upon accidental maid, Miss Pettigrew, who thinks she must have knocked on the wrong door for her job interview, but is too intrigued to say so.

The mismatched pair spend a day together dealing with the starlet's various man-friends and attending cocktail parties, each learning something from the other. Reading it, you're not so much concerned with the ending - will Miss Pettigrew head back for her grey, unemployed existence as a past-it nanny with poor employment prospects? - as with the intimate detail of the jaw-dropping dresses, the charming cads, and the social satire surrounding the pair. It's just an absolute delight, full of colourful situations, pretty illustrations, and perfect characterisation. So if you have any girls on your Christmas list but no idea what to buy them, try this. Open the grey cover, and discover the suddenly diamond-strung world of Miss Pettigrew!

Holly's say

2006-11-27T03:28:00.000-08:00

Holly's been tagged for this game by Harvs. The rules are as follows: 1. Write six weird things about yourself. 2. Post this confession of the absurd on your blog. 3. Tag six other bloggers to do the same challenge.

1. What do you mean, weird? I can't discuss this now. I am busy chasing my tail. Huh? I'll have you know that's not at all weird. I am one of very few dogs who can catch their tail. A rare breed.

2. OK, give me some Whiskas and I'll talk. That's my favourite food in all the world. If you must know, I eat Whiskas to fool Charlie into thinking I am a cat. I do my best to endear myself to her, you know. I chase the Demon Tabby out of the garden, and I woof at any cats who try to poop on Charlie's lawn. But she just hisses at me, sometimes in very close range. Some people don't know who their friends are.

3. Are we going in the car today? That's by far my favourite place to be, unless we've stopped at the river. I love the car boot. It's all warm and it smells of cow poo. If dad's fiddling with the car, or changing the battery, or giving it a wash, he lets me come and sit in the boot while he does it. Now that's my idea of a good Sunday morning.

4. Know how I said I'm a rare breed? Here's another reason why. I can stand on my back legs. I reckon I can stay up for quite a few seconds now. Dad's training me to do it as a Christmas party trick. He's aiming for 10. And he gives me bread to do it. I'll do anything for a piece of bread, me. Or Whiskas. Mm, whiskas....

5. Mum says I should tell you about my worst fear. But really I'm not scared of much, me. I can face a hissing swan and I don't even run away from those yappy little dogs (much). Well, apart from this one Jack Russell we know, who really does have inadequacy issues. So if I told you I'm afraid of forks, would you laugh? Would you heck. I'd lick you half to death. They're a lot scarier than they look, forks. They never just stay there, on the ground. Touch them and they see-saw back and forth, making scary clangs. And don't get me started on the garden fork! That's the worst one of all! I try to see it off, but no luck yet.

6. There's one more thing that gets me woofing like there's no tomorrow. But not 'cause I'm scared, no siree. If I see a man on his own, boy, I'll go nuts. It doesn't matter where he is, but if he's on his own - no lady and no dog - there's obviously something up with that. I'll tell him alright. Go home and walk your dog! You fiend. Keep away from us! Take it from me, those men are bad news.

Holly's run out of people to tag... unless there are any volunteers?

3 Whys, Ladies

2006-11-27T03:02:00.000-08:00

Shirl's tagged me with these 3 questions. I've done the answers; new questions and tags to follow later...

1. WHY does a finger nail feel enormous when you rub it with the end of the thumb on the same hand? And, by the same token, why does a tooth feel like a tombstone when you rub it with the tip of your tongue?
If you're only using the nerves on the end of your thumb, then it stands to reason that a fingernail feels larger than when you look at it. Your eyes understand perspective. Your thumb doesn't. To your thumb, EVERYthing is giant.

2. WHY does a night's sleep lasting 7 hours with at least one hour slept before midnight do you more good than a night's sleep lasting 8 or more hours all started after midnight?
Because after midnight the toys come to life. So do the goblins who live in the curtain hems, and the penguins who live in the water tank (they emigrated there to avoid the walruses in Alaska). They turn up their little goblin radios, and dance all over the house. They open the fridge door and spin in the washing machine, they sprinkle dew on the garden and breathe heavily on the window panes. The miniature soldiers climb in and play tennis with your tonsils. The goblins play trampoline on your body as you sleep. And you wake up feeling as though your tongue has carpet fur on it, and all your muscles have been pummelled by tiny feet (not in a good way).

3. WHY do I find nasty little crumbs and other unwanted debris behind items standing on the kitchen counter whenever I clean even though we always wipe the surfaces before and after we prepare food?
See above.

Stupid Dumb Quizzes

2006-11-22T08:08:00.000-08:00

Whatever you do, DON'T take Blogthings' 'How's Your Vocabulary?' exam. It is a dirty liar. So, instead of being vocabulistically (see?) offended, why not find out What Colour Green Are You?

Apparently...

***You Are Olive Green***
You are the most real of all the green shades. You're always true to yourself.For you, authenticity and honesty are very important... both in others and yourself.You are grounded and secure. It takes a lot to shake you.People see you as dependable, probably the most dependable person they know.
What Color Green Are You?http://www.blogthings.com/whatcolorgreenareyouquiz/

That's pretty dumb, too. If you ask me, I am more of a Kermitty, lime-toned, spontaneous green.

Dependable my foot. That's the last time I take one of those dummy quizzes.

Love, love, love

2006-11-17T07:51:00.000-08:00

It's been almost 9 years since I met Steve. That's such a long time that life is inconceivable without him. But it's such a short time when you're in love. It's long enough to get past one another's annoying habits, to step over one another's mess, and reach a sense of live-in harmony. But it's short enough to cherish every weekend together. Long enough for him to understand my odd emotional breakdowns, but short enough for me to fail to understand anything about his job. Long enough to build and share our dreams for the future (who knows which were whose to begin with?), but short enough to have plenty left to look forward to. Short enough to make me light up whenever he calls. I'm a lucky, lucky girl...

Famous fans of the Sherpa...

2006-11-17T07:48:00.000-08:00

... include Howard Moon, failed explorer and jazz musician. See, mum? It's not silly, it's cool.

It's NOT a deerstalker...

2006-11-15T08:46:00.000-08:00

It's a SHERPA! I knew there was a proper word for it. Mine is pink! And it cost £15, even though Liberty has a £199 one and I almost always pick the least cheap. You can wear it like this, to keep your ears warm, or you can do up the button at the top, like a Russian mafia guy! You see, I rarely shop (okay, that's a lie) but when I do... I do it in style!

Only half an inch

2006-11-13T08:56:00.000-08:00

In WHSmiths on Saturday, after I'd flicked through the worthy Alan Bennett memoir and the brilliant Devil Wears Prada (opening with a girly gear-change-panic scene), I couldn't help picking up Mrs B's latest advice work, 'That Extra Half Inch'.

Sadly, it's not Mrs Beeton, and she isn't talking about roulade. It's Victoria Beckham, presenting her fashion tips in a last-ditch attempt to make some money from being a superstar nobody. The title is anyone's guess. As she explained in a recent press conference: "How it works is, you think it's about men's penises, but it's actually not at all. Clever, innit?"

Anyway, I fingered the half-inch with intrigue, but I couldn't open it - they're all cellophane-wrapped like Madonna's SEX was (or was that brown paper)? I suspect the contents aren't as revolutionary, but all the same, I quite fancied finding out about Mrs B's guiding fashion principles. I mean, say what you like about her, but the girl knows how to put an outfit together in the mornings. You wouldn't find her writing books wearing three layers of jumpers and an old pair of trousers covered in cat hair. No, the woman has staff for that.

So I was pleased to find that the Guardian published a concise summary of the book this weekend. It went something like this: Buy expensive hair products, don't muddle up vintage with second-hand (gah!), don't let your thong show, and make sure you get a pair of great jeans. Oh, and a girl should have wardrobefuls of sunglasses. (Like we didn't know that was coming.)

But I still don't know what the half-inch refers to. Distance between spine and belly-button? Circumference of brain? Whatever it is, doubt I'll ever get there. But it's fun to dream.

Jekyll and Hyde

2006-11-13T06:38:00.000-08:00

Just dozing off... Wake me up with the flash, would you? Feel my wrath...

Ode to Autumn

2006-11-01T09:50:00.000-08:00

Thought I'd join in with the seasonal celebrations taking place all over Blogworld.

We are very, very lucky to live in the middle of Devon, 10 minutes from a large National Trust estate. The National Trust owns almost all the land in this area, including half of the next village along, several farms, and acres and acres and acres of land that we walk on every day - which includes a fishing river, hills, woodland and the house itself. It's such a spectacular day today that I thought I would take some photographs (to Holly's dismay).

Here are the trees behind Killerton House, many of which were imported by the gardener, who must have had a real vision for the grounds, since most of these would have been tiny when he put them in!

I like imagining I used to live in these places, with a butler to fetch my tea, and a horse-drawn carriage to take me everywhere in silk gowns. This would have been my drive...

This is the front elevation....

Here's the chapel that was built for the Killerton estate family and workers...

Here's the pooch playing her favourite game in the grounds.

"Yeah, yeah, they're trees. Can I PLEASE have my stick now?"

Why is it always me who has to get the pumpkin-carving blisters?

2006-11-01T09:40:00.000-08:00

Here he is. He looked great on our doorstep until next-door-neighbour put out a much bigger, orange, nattily-carved pumpkin. But then the other neighbour appeared and put out... a swede. Tesco ran out of pumpkins, apparently, but the swede made a pretty good substitute.

We had a couple of trick-or-treaters - two boys dressed in totally lame outfits (mainly Santa hats and normal clothes, I think), and a little boy who had a pumpkin mask on. He wasn't overly impressed with his lolly: "I've already got one like that!" but his mum shushed him and said "What do you say?" He looked at Holly, who was on her back legs looking over the lower half of the front door, and said: "Thank you for the sweets, lovely doggy." Holly woofed, he dropped his lolly and fell onto the doorstep.

After dinner (roast pumpkin with tagliatelle, by Steve) and after Steve had finished his gourmet strop, we watched The Fog with our neighbours, who'd come over to avoid paying for trick-or-treats. It is a 1970s film, I think, about a smoke machine that blows smoke all over a village until 6 of them have died. The special effects were fairly poor, but the plot was amusing and there was lots of stabby action.

So that was lovely.

Housekeeping goddessry

2006-10-31T03:00:00.000-08:00

Since Anthea Turner's series finished I find myself in a sea of jumbled laundry, white vinegar, and labels that I have no idea what to do with. I'm all fuddled without her organisational tips and domestic methodry! But all is not lost. I have discovered Martha Stewart.

She's clearly the original Anthea - her website is an encyclopaedia of how-tos for the domestically challenged. Sorting laundry into labelled baskets, organising the airing cupboard, how to fold a fitted sheet (by the way, did anyone ever manage Anthea's T-shirt folding technique? I have tried and tried but it always ends up with crumpled t-shirts and an almighty sulk).

I wish Martha lived nextdoor to me. In the meantime, I'm settling with her wonderful video-taped genius.

By the way, I did discover this website legitimately - it's the only comprehensive source of spring-cleaning tips on the web (and I am newly appointed domestic-goddess for a mail order company - ah, the irony). It includes a stain-busting bible and a lengthy video entitled 'how to iron a tablecloth' - which to be honest takes almost as long as my method of just laying the tablecloth on the table and letting it iron itself in its own time.

While I was there, I was also distracted by the pumpkin carving features. Steve and I carve pumpkins every year - small ones mind you, and it's hard as heck, but it's become a tradition we can't break. Martha's ideas are all rather grand for me, but she did make some by pinning fruit peels onto the pumpkin, which eliminates the tiresome carving itself. I will see how the carving goes this evening - if it gets too hard and my hands start to blister, perhaps I will stick on banana peel instead - and keep you posted...

If you're bored, this clip with Andy Dick ("the man with two first names!") is funny, especially since I think it wasn't quite planned and he really does get stuck... check out his face when he finally gets his head free...

Andy Dick and the Pumpkin>

Please click here

2006-10-26T07:09:00.000-07:00

Please, please click here - turn the sound up first!
http://www.office-humour.co.uk/movies/4849/

Steve's travels

2006-10-19T05:31:00.000-07:00

Hmph! Steve has far more red than me! 7% indeed. Still, at least he can barely remember most of it. Or at least that's my story, and I'm sticking to it. Countries visited when you were 9 don't count, right?

Unusual Christmas Presents, 2

2006-10-17T01:11:00.000-07:00

Victoria has directed me to the weird and wondrous Teapottery....

Do you know, I have always fancied collecting teapots. But I hate tea, which, as Steve says, makes the whole endeavour a bit of a waste of time.

Oh well. I can't think of anyone who would like this (unless Victoria was hinting) so it will sadly have to wait for another year.

http://www.teapottery.co.uk

The Bird Clock is over at
http://www.dreamdirect.co.uk

Unusual Christmas Presents, 1

2006-10-16T07:19:00.000-07:00

I would like to see everyone else's best present ideas... I am thinking Gramp might quite like this, though...

< The appropriate bird sings for a minute when the clock strikes the hour.

Cool huh?

Curious mind

2006-10-11T06:59:00.000-07:00

Have had to remove this video as certain computers can't cope with it!! - but you can still view the amazing diet coke / mento experiments over at http://www.eepybird.com/.

The crazy chestnut race

2006-10-10T06:33:00.000-07:00

Steve and I were innocently collecting conkers the other day when we noticed some other people who were taking it rather more seriously. While we had enough conkers to fill a small peanut bowl (a cute display for the cottage:-), they had binbagfuls.

We noticed another type of conker that didn't look as pretty and had sharper spines, but we ignored it. We have never heard of chestnut gathering before.

Seems like this is big business in Devon. Every day the gatherers become more and more dedicated, bringing equipment (rakes, bags, sticks, even a foldable chair) and spending hours beneath the chestnut tree. Even though I have bought those expensive, vacuum-packed chestnuts from Sainsbury's, I have never equated them with real things that grow on trees... or known that they could be added to my 'food for free' list.

Since spring we have collected wild garlic, blackberries, and elderberries from the National Trust land where we walk Holly. Now it seems there is a new item to add to the list!!

So I collected my first batch today. I was a little disorganised and forgot an extra bag, so I ended up with two bulging pocketfuls (and the spines dig into your legs if you do that, so not recommended). I noticed how all the collectors gather around the two trees down by the car park, and nobody (except the regular dog-walker) goes to the top of the hill. perhaps they don't know about the trees up there. Anyhow, Holly and I soon got to our chestnut spots, although you've really gotta climb to reach them. Piles of shiny brown chestnuts, abundantly rolling around on the grass (and in the cow poo). Some squirrels aimed them at us, but that didn't put us off.

I will collect another few pocketfuls tomorrow and then attempt to roast some. And report back...

World map

2006-10-06T06:52:00.000-07:00

I know, I should be wading through the work mountain, but I got distracted by the 'Countries You've Visited' game after visiting Clare's blog. I've only been to 5%! How rubbish is that? Got lost looking at the list of places I want to go, too...

Make yours here.

Friday meandering

2006-10-06T03:17:00.000-07:00

So it's Friday, I have a whole load of work that has been shuffled along all week and is now in a great big pile at the end of the day. It all has to be done by today and I can't see that I have any hope. It isn't going to happen. And nobody is to blame but me. (See how I'm taking the self help words to heart?)

So I am panicking, at which time my strategies are usually (1) ignorance and (2)keeping myself distracted. See, the veg box just arrived!! And, instead of learning from last year, when we were overwhelmed with pumpkins for 8 months, I have ordered the seasonal Squash Box! 8kg of delicious squash in different shapes and sizes.

Mind you, leaving it on the doormat while I went to get dressed wasn't a good move, as Holly has developed rather a taste for the small, spotty ones. She has eaten quite a bit so I am hoping raw squash is safe for dogs. Good for her teeth, by the sound of the cracking and nibbling she was doing.

I forgot she wasn't even here last year for Halloween. We won't be leaving our pumpkin lanterns on the windowsill this year, clearly.

It's Friiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiidaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaay!! Also in the vegetable box, which is in a weird summer/winter transition period: Celery, broccoli, spinach, dirty rocket (which I am addicted to), tomatoes, miniature orange squash, red cabbage, lettuce, and ONE other thing that I have forgotten. Yum, yum to all of it apart from the broccoli, which I can eat boiled but not in soup (yeurk). I am making a big vat of squash and sweetcorn soup tomorrow. Without broccoli, obviously.

Now, back to the architectural visualisation and funeral copy. For now...

Good game, good game!

2006-10-05T08:17:00.000-07:00

I saw this on another blog. Try it!

What you do:
Open Google Images, and type in your answers to each of the 10 questions. Post a picture from the first row that comes up on the search page. I think some of mine are pretty darned obvious but there are a couple of tricky ones!!

1. Place you grew up.

2. Place you live now.

3. Your own name. (Ha!)

4. Your grandmother's name.

5. Your favourite food.

6. Your favourite drink.

7. Your favourite song.

8. Your favourite smell.

9. Your age on your next birthday.

10. Your favourite colour.

Happy Birthday Holly

2006-10-04T09:06:00.000-07:00

A belated happy birthday to Miss H, who was one year old yesterday! I will post the photographs of Holly opening her presents when I can find the camera cable.

Slowly getting there

2006-09-28T06:43:00.000-07:00

Starting a business is like learning to ride a bike.

The image returns to me time and time again. I'm on the bike without my support wheels, unwilling to take my feet off the ground and put them on the pedals. After a while I'd pluck up the courage to start pushing along the ground with my feet, occasionally lifting them up and onto the pedals for a few seconds before wobbling and putting them back on the ground to push again.

The constant loss of balance captures very well how it feels to be trying to get a business of the ground. The concerted effort represents the continual strain to market myself and obtain business.

I have been trying and wobbling for about 18 months. At times, when work got busy, I would neglect the self-marketing at my peril - wobble - and descend into stress and poverty for a fortnight.

A sense of security has been out of my grasp, and it's a pretty terrifying place to be. At least when I was learning to cycle, I could cry and get my Dad to take me home when the stress finally got too much.

But in the last few months, things have slowly started to change. And for the last two months, I have found the business becoming self-sustainable. Through a combination of referrals, regular clients, and web advertising, Copyqueen is generating its own business while I get on with writing. It means I am finally pedalling. I am moving!

I am still having terrible days, awful clients, and money troubles, but the business exists, and it keeps going, and for that I am hugely grateful - and incredibly proud.

So I guess I wanted to tell people to follow a dream, and not expect it to be easy for a second, and get plenty of headache pills, and prepare for sleepless night after sleepless night, no matter how tough you are. But do it, because - one day - it might just work out.

Forget the spoons, call Killers-R-Us

2006-09-27T07:33:00.000-07:00

If you've ever wanted to eat your own head rather than listen to your boss rant for one more minute, you might find this useful:

http://hitman.us

Q.scary but rather brilliantly written website. I can't decide if it is real or not - suspect you'd have to send a deposit to find out (they accept PayPal).

Inspirational copy:

"Instead of fiddling around with amateur killing techniques and messing up crime scenes just pick up the phone and give us a call. "

Using Mainly Spoons....

2006-09-20T07:21:00.000-07:00

Late at night, in nextdoor's rabbit hutch, the white rabbit is prodding the brown rabbit to wake up. "Listen!" says white rabbit, eyes wide. "I've got it!"
"Humph?"
"When they put in the wire foundations beneath the hutch, they didn't do the bit by the hutch doorway, did they?"
"Eh?" (Brown rabbit never quite knows which end is tail and which is nose, let alone remembering stuff like dinnertime or wire locations.)
"No. They must have thought we wouldn't be able to dig there." White rabbit pauses, rubbing his pink nose. "That's our way out!"
Brown rabbit looks sleepy.
"Using mainly spoons, we will dig our way down... under... and out... to freedom!"
Brown rabbit takes the spoon White Rabbit hands to him. They set to work.

Next morning, nextdoor neighbour arrives to feed rabbits. But they're nowhere to be seen...

(To be continued)

Working Late

2006-09-13T10:46:00.000-07:00

Steve is slaving away, unpaid, at the hospital, where some poorly person is having implants put into his mouth while Nurse Steve stirs pink plastic at his bedside.

Or at least that's what I assume happens. I know he is in surgery. (You are not allowed to phone people who are In Surgery, in case you ever felt tempted to do this.)

So I am supposedly working late too. But I am really pushing my endurance now, quite frankly. There is only so much copy I can write, especially when it's going to come back covered in green revisions tomorrow. Green revisions are not very encouraging and sure to make the next batch even worse.

Still, some good will come of it. I am sitting in the front room, where the neighbours can clearly see me tapping away at the laptop through the window. Poor martyr, they will say. So devoted to her work.

Oh, bums to it. I am going to go and wash the dishes. Perhaps I will send some more emails first. I do like to make sure everyone knows that I am slaving.

Lovely Flowers

2006-09-11T08:54:00.000-07:00

I have some test copy to write for a well-known gardening company, which I am very excited about. But they want it asap, which is a slight worry as I already have 2 websites to write this week. No, make that 3.

Our garden is looking blooming lovely, too - wonderful cosmos all around. Steve thinks it looks messy but I think it is curly, and wild, and romantic. And you can cut it and cut it and it keeps coming back for more.

Indoors, I have turned the stupid-why-did-we-buy-a-3-bedroom-house spare room into a greenhouse. We have a selection of herbs growing very nicely indeed, and so far Charlie has not mistaken them for her litter tray.

Pink gardening gloves are on my Christmas List (which is already rather long, featuring Circaroma Rose Oil and Fingerless Silk Gloves). I think these could prove hard to find. I could be the only 27-year-old gardening geek in the world. This is good for the gardening company, who probably will appreciate the youthful enthusiasm. I expect they are all old and use those shoulder-height weeders and weed-suppressing plastic, and drink tea from covered tea cups.

But what's boring about gardening? I will become the Nigella Lawson of horticulture. If they pay me enough, I am going to send myself on a gardening course. I even love weeding. As Steve says, his gardening role is now mainly on the maintenance side. (Mowing the lawn, in man-talk.)

I mainly wanted to write this post so I could put a nice picture in. I can stop rambling now, because it has uploaded.

Brain Freeze

2006-09-11T08:38:00.000-07:00

I have sludged through Bulgarian copy all day, dissecting history, geography and climate, editing and rewriting. It's the first day back from the weekend and not a day to spend working, if you ask me. I had a funny spell at lunchtime, too. I wonder if I am having a kind of workaphobic brain tumour?

To add to my brain freeze I read some more of self-help book, 'The 7 Habits of Highly Effective People'. I really shouldn't have.

In the Overview (not gotten to Habit 1 just yet) the author says, 'The way we SEE the problem IS the problem."

This has given me a spiritual epiphany. It's very depressing.

You see, when I get mad at Steve for leaving the washing-up for me to do the next day, HE ISN'T THE PROBLEM. I am the problem! Me, impressing my desire for tidiness onto other people.

My internal paradigm is: "If the house is untidy, I am a worthless person." This informs everything that I do, making me too stressed to watch TV without tidying (yes, I know it's hard to believe. It's worse when Anthea Turner is on). It insists that Steve must do the washing up IMMEDIATELY, so that it is untidy for as little time as possible.

Sometimes my thoughts are so frightening that I think I can never get away, and I am going to implode. (But I am not telling that to the awful psychiatrist man who wrote the book.)

So right. It all seems to make sense but it frightens the pants off me.

Here's another one. When I fall off the top of a stile in a muddy field, it ISN'T Steve's fault for forgetting to help me. It's MY fault for borrowing from his strength. Borrowing strength nourishes weakness, you see? Expecting him to stop me falling will only result in me falling when he is not there. (Well, duh.)

But all the same, it's quite a relief to have someone to yell at when you get muddy and hurt your knee, isn't it? Therapeutic, maybe?

But seriously. I don't know how I will cope with the not-blaming-Steve theory. It is the very core of me.

And also, maybe it is Steve's fault just a little bit?

Reasons to eat more chocolate

2006-09-07T08:12:00.000-07:00

I haven't made any of these up (promise). Some days my job is real good...

Five Excuses to Eat More Chocolate

Got a cough?
Take chocolate. Researchers at Imperial College, London famously discovered that chocolate is 30% more effective than codeine, which is the most common cough-medicine remedy. Theobromine, found in cocoa, was tested on volunteers with cough symptoms and didn’t show any of codeine’s side-effects, either.

Planning an adventure?
Take chocolate. Mountain-climbers, trekkers and serious adventurers are always advised to take chocolate. It’s been said to have saved the life of many a tired walker.

High blood pressure?
Take chocolate. Its polyphenols slow down the oxidation of cholesterol (which is what leads to blocked arteries) and it’s also suspected to prevent blood clotting. In fact, Mars is so convinced of its health-giving properties, it’s just launched CocoaVia: high-cocoa bars for people suffering with blood and heart problems. Mars claims the bars promote platelet activity (for good circulation) and improve blood flow.

Prone to anaemia?
Take chocolate. This trick is familiar to many women who suffer mild anaemic symptoms once a month. If you’re menstruating, dark chocolate is a useful iron supplement, and cheers you up too.

Need extra vitamins?
Ditch the pills and take chocolate. The humble cocoa bean is 3.5% vitamins, including calcium, iron, magnesium, sodium, phosphorous, vitamin A, thiamine, riboflavin and niacin.

Nikkiness

2006-09-06T08:14:00.000-07:00

There's a lot of Nikki in me.

Some of us are born princesses, and some of us pick it up along the way. Especially when we have a partner who panders to our princessy pouting...

In the pub on Monday we sat behind two girls who were therapising one another. One had a boyfriend who had just thrown beer in her face and walked off. The other could sympathise, because her boyfriend once cut her cheek with a broken bottle.

At least the princess outbursts only consist of scowling, stamping and melodramatic shrieking. That's why it's okay for girls, but not boys. You just don't know how to do it right.

Oh yes, and when I'm not churning out erotic puns....

2006-08-16T06:59:00.000-07:00

We have been enjoying life in Devon to the full.

Sarah and Erin paddling at Exmouth...

A week of duvet days

2006-08-16T06:52:00.000-07:00

I'm working on some 'adult' copy this week, which I'm finding quite hard (no pun there, honest). Am starting to think in erotic puns. The copy is for adult spoken-word audio - bedtime stories for grown-ups.

It's not cringey or hardcore adult stuff, but it's still quite enough to make me blush. It's tough reading stories featuring changing-room encounters, or underwater sex, at 10am on a weekday (without spouse) - somehow feels terribly wrong.

And yet I also know that there's nothing wrong about it, whatsoever. That's the angle we're taking: today's modern woman (and man) works hard and plays hard. Pour a glass of wine, turn on a CD, relax, and have some fun. So far, so good. Nothing wrong with that, nothing wrong with talking about sex... or fantasising. So why does it embarrass me?

The copy, needless to say, tiptoes around the subject in a giggly, drunken fashion. Lots of innuendo without resorting to (stereo)type. But why is sex embarrassing? And who decided that it should be? At what point in history did this happen.... and why??

Toybox

2006-08-14T08:32:00.000-07:00

Reading MaryB's post on toys of her youth reminded me of a few old favourites of my own!

This Fisher Price record player is one of my earliest memories of the toy box. It was brilliant having a real record player that you could wind up and change discs on. It played an assortment of nursery rhymes, so our parents probably lived to regret buying it.

I was amazed that Spirograph is such a consistent classic, across oceans as well as generations. I think I lost most of the parts before I could over-use it, like many others, escaping a probable fate of OCD or an engineering career.

The toys you love undoubtedly say a lot about you, but I'm not ashamed to admit to being very fond of Love-a-lot bear from the Care Bear family. Mine had worn patches and a squashed-in nose from being made to "talk".

The boys had Crossbows and Catapaults, which I never really got into, maybe because I would walk into rooms and be struck across the head by flying arrows or plastic rocks. (I wonder if they still have that one. The dog would enjoy playing Catapaults...)

Even with these delights, I seem to remember our toy selection being fairly minimal. Probably because we were mostly locked in the garage with wood and nails... Actually, we always spent more time outside than in. Constructing go-karts from old doors and skateboards, on which we would hurtle down the drive and into oncoming traffic at the bottom. Or climbing trees in order to jump from the top. Or building dens from branches and leaves on the traffic island in our road. (We were so good, our dens actually had two storeys. You couldn't spend too long on the top floor, especially if Neily was on the bottom floor, but those branches held pretty good. Mostly)

2006-07-10T07:31:00.000-07:00

New camera!!

2006-07-10T07:26:00.000-07:00

Self-help

2006-06-22T08:34:00.000-07:00

Enough is enough. I am going to muck about no longer. Or at least, only muck about in specified time slots.

I have decided my productivity is shameful and I should be working (and earning) a heck of a lot more, specially considering I sit at the computer for 7 hours every day. So I have ordered 'The 7 Habits of Highly Effective People' and 'Getting Things Done' and am to be procrastinator no more.

This weekend I am going to clear out my study, pin up some new time charts, and organise ALL my files. (Apparently the book has a spider-diagram showing how to do this.)

You can look forward to excerpts and mantras next week.

More as it comes...

Seasonal Eating, Summer

2006-06-19T08:32:00.000-07:00

Here's my Natural Collection slot on seasonal veg and what to do with them.... Summer!
http://www.naturalcollection.com/organic/seasonal-eating-summer.asp?bID=3582414

Not doing what I am supposed to

2006-06-16T03:24:00.000-07:00

Today, I have put towels in the wash, eaten granola (new favourite thing), downloaded new versions of Internet Explorer, Windows Media Player, something called Photo Show, and blogged for Wales. Even though I have approx. 100 product descriptions to write by this afternoon.

When I am fired, I will sue Microsoft for tempting me with their interesting features.

Ooh, and my vegetable box arrived: cos lettuce, mushrooms (yuk), courgettes (running out of ways to eat these), tomatoes (for margharita pizza later!), cucumber, cabbage of some sort, and new potatoes!

New potatoes are my other favourite thing. What is a better dinner than new potatoes tossed in butter and salt? Damn the anti-carbohydrate brigade. DAMN YOU, ATKINS!!!!

Cyril's back!!

2006-06-16T03:21:00.000-07:00

Undeterred by puppy dogs and feisty neighbourhood mogs, Cyril has emerged for summer!!

Well, so Steve says. Despite sitting impatiently beside the pond, splishing the water, pushing the water-lilies, and throwing bits of mud in the corners, I haven't been honoured with a visit from the lovely Cyril.

Every time Steve passes, of course, he hops out onto the rocks and looks at him.

Damn froggy. It probably doesn't help that Holly (who mistakes "Froggy!" for "Holly!") comes to help me look.

But tonight I will wait beside the pond with a camera, quietly, until he gets out. Promise.

Charlie gets some love

2006-06-16T03:14:00.000-07:00

Time for a piccy of my darling kitty, who is currently lapping up the tropical sunshine. The hot temperatures seem to have soothed her usual grumpiness: she is cuddly and perfectly purry at the moment.

Here she is, sunbathing on my desk in Swindon. (I would take a new picture, but she is lying in a mound of dirty washing right now and that's not very photogenic.)

eVERYBODY hATES mE

2006-06-15T09:41:00.000-07:00

Okay, but seriously, what's the deal? You move into a village in the middle of nowhere and everyone takes an instant dislike to the very sight of you? They scuttle away down lanes when you're coming, and cross over with their zimmers to avoid passing you?

I bet they meet in the community hall and discuss the new folks, and work out strategies for ridding the village of home-working no-children yuppies.

So I went to the Post Office to collect another parcel today. (Yes, I got another red card through the door. But if Posty insists on coming at odd hours, what does she expect? There, another person who hates me.)

I asked our neighbour Lucy if she'd ever seen dogs in the PO and she said yes, hundreds. I had seen one in there too, so I figured it was safe to take Holly. (Good to get her used to these things, and plus she can protect me from the butcher boys on the way to the PO.)

When we got there the Post Office lady peered down over the counter disapprovingly. I was surprised. "Is it okay to bring her in?" I asked.

"Not really," she shook her head, and held out her hand for my red card.

I quickly got my parcel and stamps, and right then, another lady walked in. WITH A LABRADOR.

Does Post Office lady look disapprovingly at her dog and roll her eyes? Nope.

Does Post Office lady smile warmly and greet the newcomer, as is appropriate for a village Post Office clerk to behave towards customers? Yep.

Hm.

So I let Holly have a little sniff-and-greet, and after a minute the lab started looking a bit edgy. Holly was her usual lively self and most dogs get tired of her pretty soon, to be fair.

"I think he's had enough now," called Post Office Lady from behind the counter.

Well!!!

Holly and I walked out in disgust.

So do you see what I am up against? HMPH!! and DOUBLE HMPH!!

Steve says I should tell her to sod off next time (but using ruder words). But he has already taken up with one of the men across the road and we are adding to the list of People We Or Our Neighbours Have Fought With. So I am going to continue being nice and hope that my way wins in the end........

Just how long do you have to live in a village, do you think, to become accepted? Answers on a postcard.... oh, no, the posty hates me... best just leave me to rot in my cottage, afraid to step out the front door...

Blessings in abundance

2006-06-14T04:38:00.000-07:00

The Latvian Express

2006-06-14T04:24:00.000-07:00

I have spent a lot of time on the train lately. Great Western are inviting people (children, I think) to name their new trains for rolling out next year, which is a romatic idea for what is bound to be a not-very-romantic project. These wonderfully-named trains will still be decorated with the same horrid purple-backed chairs with no leg room, digital scrolling signs telling you the next stop, and plugs for laptops. I mean, why not create something spectacular with the trains?

Something that actually makes people want to catch a train instead of drive?......

They could take their lead from European trains: go and ride in Italy or Latvia. Because some train journeys are about the getting there, and not the 'there'.

I like trains so much they even feature in our holiday itineraries. Trains in foreign countries are places you'll rarely find a fellow tourist... you have to stumblingly ask directions from a non-English-speaker, and risk missing stops. But they're so much better everywhere but England.

For instance, we caught a train at Riga and travelled to Jurmala, on the coast. It was a beast of a thing, with high, polished wooden seats and vast carriages. Lavish leg room, high ceilings, rickety rails. It reminded me of the Orient Express. The station? It was a small and unobtrusive building beside the tracks, overlooking the sea.

And in Italy, from Rome to Naples - it was the same sort of train, but carriages were split into rooms of four seats, with overhead luggage (like the Hogwarts Express). Huge windows you could open at the top and curtains at the little carriage door. People sitting together even talked.

See, some of us think train journeys can be enjoyable... shame the train operators don't share my views...

Master of none

2006-05-22T07:59:00.000-07:00

One of my favourite Bridget Jones moments is when her news editor asks her to report on the judgement on a political case that has been dragging on for months. Bridget looks vacant. He sighs and fills her in on the details of the case, and she raises her eyebrows. "Well, that's exciting!" says Bridget.

It is difficult acting as though I keep up with everything. I do my best to stay on top of organic and ethical issues, identity fraud, fashion and all the home interior companies on the market, but people still topple me with references to new companies/stories/issues that they know very well, being immersed in their subject, but that I have never even heard of. I have to keep the look of interest and surprise off my face or out of my tone. "M-hm, m-hm," I agree, solemnly, as though I am perfectly aware what biometrics and puffballs are. Sure I am going to get caught out one day.

Novel no2

2006-05-19T07:36:00.000-07:00

Have momentarily dropped the first novel to concentrate on my new bright idea!! Novel No2 has a full, chapter-by-chapter plan and I have now written... drum roll... 6,441 words! It is a Nancy Drew for the noughties. And far cooler than it sounds.

I did put my opening chapter on a blog entry but took it off when I realised that you should probably take more care with the content of future blockbusters.

I'll finish it this month, and sell it to fund a Costa Rican holiday. Then start the next one. Now, back to work - trying to race through my client work so I can get on with some more of it.

Ben Harper

2006-05-19T01:48:00.000-07:00

Have just discovered this new singer called Ben Harper. Well, he is new to me, but old on the touring circuit. He's supporting the Red Hot Chilli Peppers on their new tour and has just released a double album like they have.... except without any swearing I expect.

His is called 'Both Sides of the Gun' and features 2 discs with different perspectives on war. His last album was recorded with a gospel choir but he is a funky, afro'd guitar player and reminds me of Hendrix and Stevie Wonder.

Marvellous stuff and FAB Friday music!!!
Ben Harper and the Blind Boys of Alabama
Ben Harper Site with Audio Samples

flaky, girly, dreamy

2006-05-17T01:28:00.000-07:00

My catalogue copy is all of these things, according to a team of branding experts who have been hired to analyse one of them. I am not allowed to talk about hearts, love or dreams.

I can cope with girly but..... FLAKY?

To add insult to injury, the final conclusion is:

"Overall tone is in line with our brand model...... but perhaps not 'grown up' enough."

PAH!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

For heaven's sake, how I am supposed to get more grown-up? I have a feeling opaque tights aren't going to cut it here.

Post

2006-05-17T01:18:00.000-07:00

I have upset the postwoman, I think, by refusing to get out of bed one too many times. I always get those red cards saying my parcel is in the PO, but that's better than getting up at 7am (which is when she likes to arrive, when there is no important mail). I have only noticed this week because I am waiting for three cheques and two parcels.

But since Monday I have only had ONE letter, which is not right. Somewhere the postlady is crouched over a shredder, giggling.

Specs and grey hair

2006-05-17T01:06:00.000-07:00

I am off to Southampton to visit NC and see all their new things for the catalogue on Tuesday. All well and good, but my main problem is figuring out how to make myself look a bit older. I know, I know -I'm quite old enough for my liking, but you wouldn't believe how many people gasp "You sound young," when I answer the phone.

I'm not sure quite how young I sound, but clearly people want a 40-something writer rather than a 20-something writer working on their sole marketing mailshot for all their million customers. And so to the age-increasing techniques.

The first one is glasses, but these tend to make me look googly-eyed, although they do have the advantage of emphasising my eye wrinkles. My second stroke of genius is to have my hair straightened, which means you can see the grey hair. After that I am a bit stuck, but toying with the idea of opaque black tights? And dorothy mary-jane type heels? That might be going a bit far. It is summer.

I wore flip-flops to my Peacock Blue meeting last week but they have known me for a long time, and not been put off. Unlike one client, for whom I worked every week until we met. It was my youth.

Eco-news

2006-05-16T03:58:00.000-07:00

Here are some bits from my eco-news feature for NT.

Labels for Veggies
A big cheer to the Food Standards Agency, which is currently drawing up official guidelines about what constitutes a ‘vegetarian’ or a ‘vegan’ product. There are currently no formal rules, but that’s about to change. “Vegans have had to become accustomed to reading long lists of ingredients to see whether a product’s suitable for them,” says George Rodger, Chair of the Vegan Society. “The new food-labelling guidance will make things much easier.” Great news for the UK’s 3.75m vegans and vegetarians – hurrah!
Source: Food Standards Agency

Eco-friendly driving
It could be something to do with the rising petrol prices, but the DTi has announced that driving tests will incorporate ‘eco-driving’ strategies from 2008. Learners will be taught to accelerate and brake gently, change gear sooner, and maximise fuel efficiency. Speaking of which, the Honda Hybrid has been causing a stir. Honda’s newest version of their ‘green’ Civic model features a number of dashboard dials designed to improve the driver’s fuel-consumption awareness. How? It shows how much electricity you are generating/guzzling, and – rather wonderfully – it also shows your typical mpg over a number of miles. It’s a big step in the right direction.
Source: The Observer
Read the Honda Hybrid Review in The Times

Organic Farming – Making more people smile
Organic farms employ more, younger, happier workers, according to the Soil Association. Organic farms typically employ 32% more workers than non-organic. Organic farmers are 7 years younger, more active in the community, and more likely to pass their farms on to family members than their non-organic counterparts. It’s no wonder the organic industry is booming. This month WALMART also announced it is increasing its organic offering and reducing prices too. The future’s bright… and organic.
Source: Soil Association

Is it easy being green?
We’re glued to the BBC’s new documentary on environmentally-friendly living, It’s Not Easy Being Green. It features the loveable Strawbridge family, led by the lavishly-moustached Dick, who have moved to Cornwall on an eco-friendly mission. Turning used chip-fat into bio-diesel, drawing water from their own spring, and constructing wood-fired heating systems – their many challenges are tackled with bravado and humour. It’s still showing on Tuesdays at 8.30, and you can watch some of the Strawbridges’ best bits online.
Source: BBC

Chocolate Finger Fine

2006-05-16T03:55:00.000-07:00

A biscuit company in Cambridge was fined £7,000 last week by a horrified magistrate who discovered they were selling 4.5inch chocolate fingers in.... gasp.... 6.7inch tins. The horror!

Imagine the poor schoolboy or homeworker who eagerly pulls a tin of chocolate fingers from the cupboard (labelled GIANT CHOCOLATE FINGERS, in fact) and opens the lid to reveal....... horribly miniaturised fingers... as if they have somehow shrunk in the packing process... oh, the criminality of it!

They deserved that £7,000 fine.... just think of all the disappointment they have caused country-wide. Tch.

Break-ins

2006-05-10T02:07:00.000-07:00

Yesterday someone tried to open our front door. As I sit right beside the front door, it was quite disturbing. Holly went crazy. At first I thought it was some extra post that the post-lady had forgotten, but there was nothing on the mat and I remembered it was more of a door-handle sound.

It wasn't until the evening that our neighbours said "Did Grandad try to get into your house yesterday?" and I tried not to look too relieved.

Although, if it had been unlocked, Grandad would have had a cheese plate over his head and a crazy dog licking him to death.

Booker prize, here I come

2006-04-24T04:36:00.000-07:00

I have started my first novel! Okay, so I started one when I was about 10, but since then - nothing. I always figured I would one day graduate from short stories and feel ready for a novel (like a literary maternal instinct that eventually matures), but in the last three years I don't think I have written a single story. Not since my collection was turned down by a Welsh publisher.

Over the last week, an idea has been brewing - thanks to Shirley, who started it, and the books I've been reviewing for CBUK - and it's been building in a state of excitement. I read the latest issue of Mslexia in the bath yesterday, and kept storing away ideas until there were too many to keep in my head much longer.

Today I started! And - shock, horror - it was great fun! I am terribly excited. It is aimed at young pre-teens, and it is about a drama-queen teenager who keeps a blog.

I have written 1,146 words so far. And really enjoyed it, and have so many more ideas. I am SO not going to do any work today. And it's good! Well, I think so.

Worst porn ever?

2006-04-19T05:58:00.000-07:00

Couldn't help noticing the latest batch of spam in my junk filter: it's from someone named Frank (of course) and the subject header is "delightful incest videos".

Reminds me of the time Steve brought some porno mags home, having seen them on the ground by a bench where some kids hang out on BMXs, and told me it was his "responsibility" to pick them up. Although I was appalled that the stuff was in my house, it was oddly amusing porn. One magazine was about men who dress as French maids, and the other featured a lot of unsightly middle-aged men being spanked by unsightly middle-aged women.

And I mean unsightly. If you had the misfortune to be arranged a blind date with one of these women, you would walk out of the pub on first glance.

I have been trying to cure Steve of his wombling instinct, and think those pictures may have done the trick.

Run, ratty, run

2006-04-19T01:59:00.000-07:00

I've tried everything, trust me: coaxing Charlie out to the garden, banging about in the shed loudly, tidying away all the interesting nibbly things, even just simply ignoring the rat colony in our garden.

Unfortunately our neighbours got wind of them on the weekend, and our neighbours are the sort to obsess about things like rats, and lose sleep until it is resolved.

Thus the Rat Man came out yesterday. My neighbour and I liaised over the pest control companies, and both rang different ones to try to get a good price. He picked "Assassin Pest Control" and rejected the lovely old man I found at "The Pied Piper". He said, "You only picked that because you want him to come with a tin whistle and lead the rats away on a happy dance," and I said, "Yes."

Anyway, Assassins are cheaper than the Pied Piper, so that was who came. The rat man looked like a rat with gelled hair and a pointy nose, and made uncool jokes about them. He pointed out the clues: a little trail of droppings here, some nibbled wood there. He explained that at night they drop into our shed, then wander out through the door and skip over to our pond for a little drinky. Eating some snails on the way. "Good job," I said, but they still wouldn't let me keep the ratties.

So now I am waiting for our garden to turn into a rat mortuary. And hoping the cats don't get any of the poison, or the rats (although there is an antidote, you'll be pleased to hear). Not much fun at all.

What can I get for you today?

2006-04-13T07:36:00.000-07:00

The trouble with being a commercial writer is that I am on lists to receive EVERYthing. Catalogues for cashmere, worms, horse-riding boots, lingerie, toys and books. Email newsletters for local business, copywriting, marketing, digital media, online marketplaces, toyshops, drinks, gadgets, fine food, children's pyjamas, designer homewares, fashion sites, gossip columns, even skincare science.

It's not fun, especially on a Friday when everyone and his PA is sending out bubbly emails trying to sell you this, that and a spare hat.

On the other hand, it does mean that I know where to buy anything and everything. Maybe I should set up a shopping blog? Questions, anyone?

Today's highlights:
A Snoring Dog from Hawkins Bazaar:

A daffodil-scented candle from Kiarie:

A novel about an eccentric Barcelonan detective:
(won't let me show the piccy - looks good though - find it here)

Plus hiking gear, children's books, 50% off at Laura Ashley, and a giant orgasm (apparently).

PyjamaQueen

2006-04-13T06:24:00.001-07:00

Today I have entertained three visitors in my home office, wearing pyjamas. (Me, not them.) It is a sign of slipping standards, if you ask me. Britain's workforce is becoming a nation of duvet-wearing home-workers, and I am undoubtedly the worst one.

My day goes like this:

8.35: Alarm goes off. I press 'Ignore' and roll over.
9.11: Sunshine through window gradually rouses me into consciousness. Look at phone, grumble, and get out of bed.
9.14: Tickle Holly's tummy for approx. 5 minutes. Let her out for a wee.
9.17: Switch on the computer and check emails.
9.35: Let Holly back in. Force her to fetch the post from the mat for me.
10.00: Quick wash. No work has yet been done.
10.04: Put washing in machine, and wonder whether to get dressed.
12.58: Realise time with horror. Wonder what I have done all morning. Make lunch for me and Holly. Get back to doing nothing.
14.03: Time to walk Holly. Shall work when I get back. Honest.

I am about to change, but only because you can't go dog-walking up hills without a bra. Otherwise, who knows how long I would stay in the same clothes?

See, Holly - you are definitely good for something. Getting me out of my jim-jams.

All I want for Easter

2006-04-11T09:14:00.000-07:00

... is a little bit more work, so I can pay the mortgage and buy myself some summer equipment. Firstly, I have run out of Dr Feelgood (silky balm that makes face look smooth and bright).

Secondly, I am lusting after this dotty dress. No idea where I would wear it, since I mainly work at home with the occasional dog-walk, but who cares...

Now, guess which of the two costs more?!

ProcrastinationQueen

2006-04-10T03:43:00.000-07:00

I have lots to do, and am determined to have a productive day. But Holly, the fighting cats, the new issue of Glamour, and some new books for reviewing, all say otherwise.

On Friday I met another copywriter for lunch. Her name is also Anna; she lives in Brighton, and she also never does any work. I told her all about my time-warp desk (where unspent days are consumed by the week) and she sympathised. She said that she has to start getting some more work in order to get the Taxman to pay her maternity wages in the autumn. Apparently you have to prove that you are earning before he will give you money for nappies. It is a hard life being self-employed.

Apparently now you also have to prove to the mortgage company that you earn money, before they will give you a mortgage. I am very lucky not to have had this problem. Our mortgage company allowed me to make up my salary, which I happily and optimistically did. Oh yes, and I wonder why the mortgage payments are so ridiculously high. It's because I told them I was a squillionaire - that's why.

In pursuit of paying the mortgage, I put my rates up on April 1st (not as a joke). This month I also need to find out how to increase my income, because - surprisingly - my rates have little relationship to my monthly wages. How that works, I will never know. I have NO FINANCIAL CLUE.

Anyone know why I am self-employed? Hee hee hee hee hee hee (giggles like an elf).

I made a mistake on an invoice last week. "Is that why you work with words not numbers?" the client asked. Do you see what I have to put up with? Honestly, even the clients mock me.

Lots more thoughts on self-employment at the moment, but it strikes me that I should hop over to my other blog and write about them there. They are all a bit businessy and boring for this lovely pink place.

Go Fetch!!

2006-04-07T02:40:00.000-07:00

Spring in the woods

2006-04-07T02:39:00.000-07:00

Holly in the buttercups

2006-04-07T02:24:00.000-07:00

Ain't she a looker?

Ambition of the Day...

2006-04-04T03:54:00.000-07:00

.... is to write books for teenagers. I think I am ideally suited: melodramatic, weird, and still in possession of a vivid memory about all my crushes.

I have just written my very first book review for Children's Books UK - in fact I would, also, quite like to become an acclaimed reviewer and have lots of lovely free books in the post every day. Seems to be ideal job (apart from chocolate-taster). And... chef's assistant. Hm. So many ambitions, how is a girl to fulfil them all?

Book Review - Style Sisters: Friends First by LIz Elwes

Okay, my real job is pretty cool too. Something new from me:
Greener Living Starts Here: Five Top Tips
(thanks, Jon and Jodie!!)

Drop the Dead Donkey?

2006-04-03T09:19:00.000-07:00

So I am slightly worried now. has nobody noticed that these donkeys aren't moving? For heaven's sake will someone call the donkey doctor?

I will check again in a few minutes. Maybe it is a dead webcam? Or maybe the donkeys have revolted and put it on a loop? Donkey privacy?

Donkeys!

2006-04-03T09:17:00.000-07:00

The Donkey Sanctuary has a webcam! I can talk to the donkeys from my own PC!

Yay... http://www.bbc.co.uk/devon/webcams/donkey_webcam.shtml

Diggerland

2006-04-03T09:06:00.000-07:00

Our friends came to Devon with their two children last week. At 3-year-old Ryan's insistence, we all trooped off to Diggerland.... and, well, suffice to say certain members of the party left rather reluctantly.

We drove dumper trucks and sat in the shovel of a GIANT JCB and got swirled around in the air! Fabby! Wow, who cares about nobody wanting to go to the Donkey Sanctuary with me when you can sit on a dumper and ride over muddy banks? Okay, so I do care a bit. But the dumpers were ace. Can't decide between donkey and dumper for when I retire.

Loving the theme song..... http://www.diggerland.com

And another,,,,,

2006-04-03T09:05:00.000-07:00

Yep, there's a sequel. Even more embarrassingly funny.

http://www.themeatrix2.com

The Meatrix

2006-03-31T01:53:00.000-08:00

Brilliant!

http://www.themeatrix.com

tee hee.

Ring, ring, ring, ring

2006-03-21T06:41:00.000-08:00

While ignoring the ringing telephone is one of my greatest talents, Steve seems to have compulsive-pick-up disorder. He will insist on answering every gosh-damn phone call. He will NOT let the machine get it.

I like to screen at all times, and choose who to call back. Also, I secretly like to be precious when I am writing, and refuse to speak to anyone, like an obnoxious artist. (Can nobody LEAVE ME to CREATE IN PEACE??!! Melodramatic stamping)

Steve has, however, been off work. He doesn't remember that the line is my work line during the daytime, and he hasn't got the hang of the BT caller-identity thing, so, to cut a long story short, I have some urgent work to do today. I am supposed to be on holiday too, gosh-damnit! If he had ignored the phone we could have pretended to be in Alicante, or something, and I could have been reading my nice old-fashioned novel by the fire at this very moment. But no, the compulsive-phone-answerer strikes again.

Ask him to lie? I would, but he is the worst liar ever. The other day, after saying cheerily 'yes, I'll just fetch her', he returned and said, feigning surprise, 'Ooh! She seems to have gone. Hm, can I take a message?'

Never mind - nuff complaining. The sun isn't out yet, and if it emerges we will go to the beach - tough luck.

Some nice organic articles I have just finished for Natural Collection:
http://www.naturalcollection.com/organic/seasonal-organic-eating.asp
http://www.naturalcollection.com/organic/beginners-guide-organic-vegetables.asp
http://www.naturalcollection.com/organic/green-natural-cleaning.asp

The Wonderful Welsh, Part 1

2006-03-15T07:19:00.000-08:00

Just posted a Welsh veggie recipe on my vegetable blog. And speaking of lovely Welsh, here is the lovely Rhys Ifans in a fantabuloso video for Oasis!

Fantabu-? I need to get out more. Without my anorak.

The Importance of Being Idle - Video

Public Enemy no2

2006-03-15T07:13:00.000-08:00

Now Holly has an evil nemesis, too. (Like Charlie's Demon Tabby.) He is an Alsatian called Alfie. He is 2 years old but he brings a whole new meaning to the terrible twos.

He threw her into the bushes yesterday - all I could hear was yelping and then Holly leapt out and dashed back to me, ready to climb into my arms and never brave the world again.

Today we spotted him early, and turned and ran. But I am not sure this is a good long-term strategy. We need a plan to either force him off our walking territory, or just punch him in in the nose. I am thinking to go with a good punch.

I sometimes wonder if my two girls are this wimpy because of me. If my children were being bullied, would I tell them to run screaming whenever they caught sight of the bully?

Probably, yes.

Adventures with my Box

2006-03-07T05:57:00.000-08:00

Inspired by our vegetable box, Jon and the Scrivners, I have finally decided to start a new blog - a vegetarian version of Nigel Slater's Kitchen Diaries, and an excuse to indulge my foodie obsessions.

http://vegetable-kitchen-diaries.blogspot.com

(not much on it yet!)

To Whoever Sent a Trick Question to the Fashion Doctor

2006-02-27T03:22:00.000-08:00

How do you keep the short-sleeved look going whilst disguising your fat wrists? Ha di ha ha.

Man Crying: Call 999

2006-02-27T03:03:00.000-08:00

It seems as though my blog has been a shopping journal this last month or so. To redress the balance, here is a story about a train journey, a tunnel in the cliffs, and a boy who cried.

I was on a train (to Plymouth, but that is another, extremely emotionally-draining, story - just ask my mum). It was the most magnificent train journey in the world. The route wound through Exeter city, then straight down the Exe estuary and to the coast - and along the sea-front for miles and miles. It was fantastic - the train tunnelled through red cliffs and skirted dangerously along the coast, almost being lapped by the waves. Worth the £16 for the dreamy scenery alone. But suddenly, this picture of bliss was shattered: heaving sighs began from the seat behind mine.

They turned into sobs, and then sniffles, and soon it was weeping and nose-blowing ahoy. I worried about what to do, but I didn't know what sort of person was sitting behind me (which is important when you are wondering whether to be this person's source of comfort in an hour of need, obviously), and I tried to ignore it. Then I worried a lot more, about what could have set off this sobbing on a train journey, and all the terrible things that could have happened to this person, and I tried to pluck up the courage to turn and squeeze my face through the gap and ask if everything was okay.

Which it clearly wasn't, so I worried about what the person would say. After a few minutes the sobbing slowed down and then - horror of horrors - the person got up to leave their seat. And I finally saw that it was a young boy - alone - aged about 20. With the reddest eyes you've ever seen. He trotted off to the buffet cab, got a can of coca-cola and, trying to look casual, sat back down.

By now I was in total distress. All my maternal instincts had been prodded and when the sobs began again, I thought I was going to burst into tears as well.

I tried and tried to pluck up the courage to turn and ask if he was okay, or offer to fetch some tissues, or SOMETHING - but kept thinking of excuses. Oh, we're nearly there and I don't want to turn and ask and then when he starts talking the train pulls into the station. Well, I've cried on a train before and I would have preferred to be left alone. The very act of crying on a train is done in knowing solitude, isn't it? He is a young man, and the last person he would want to turn and speak to him is a young lady. Will he really want to talk about it? Everything is obviously NOT okay and I could open a can of worms and regret it forever.

On it went, until the train stopped, and I followed him along the platform, hoping to catch his eye and smile or talk to him, or SOMEthing.

Because a person who ignores a person crying is NOT the sort of person I want to be. Or think that I am. But just what exactly is the protocol for dealing with a crying stranger? Does anybody know??

Eeeeeeko-friendly cleaning

2006-02-27T03:00:00.000-08:00

These cleaning products are (a) cheap, (b) environmentally-friendly, (c) effective, and (d) pretty enough to keep on display, which is v.important when your bathroom is barely big enough to swing a small springador puppy in.

You almost forget about the 'cleaning' part.

Buy here.

Wizard of Oz

2006-02-27T02:55:00.000-08:00

It isn't often I spend money on frivolities, specially earning what I do, but I would literally have died if I didn't order these on the spot.

What do you mean, you haven't heard of death-by-shoe-denial?

Books for Children

2006-02-16T07:09:00.000-08:00

I have often wondered whether it is wrong to start building up a collection of children's books. For my unborn babies. They are expensive things, books, and you have to start sometime.

Steve and I usually buy our godson, Ryan, books. We have a brilliant time rolling about in the aisles of Waterstones, choosing the naughtiest and funniest ones.

My all-time favourite is 'The Story of the Little Mole Who Knew it Was None of His Business.' It is a picture book about a mole who wakes up one morning with a poo on his head (ringing some bells for me, you see), and sets out to find the culprit. Learning a lot about different sorts of poo in the process.

Other books we have bought for Ryan are 'Pants' and 'Dirty Bertie' (boy who eats stuff he finds on the floor, etc). And now on the shortlist are:

Where Willy Went! (amusing book about the facts of life) and
Jesus' Day Off.

Happy Monday

2006-02-13T02:10:00.000-08:00

My favourite song from the Magic Numbers album now has a gorgeous video to match. Quirky, Amelie-esque, funny little film. With a dreamy soundtrack.
Music Video: I See You, You See Me

Getting Dressed Again

2006-02-02T05:20:00.000-08:00

I am all dressed up, with nowhere to go. The young man I was supposed to be meeting at lunchtime has phoned and cancelled. But I am bathed, with clean hair and a clean blouse. And I will have to get changed now, before I can take the dog out. It is bad enough getting dressed once in a day. Tch.

I plucked my eyebrows and everything. See?

Holly is lying on my foot but getting wriggly; I think we will have to go out soon. I have discovered that if I walk her a bit later - about 2 ish - then she will sleep on my feet until about 5. Then she gets ready for Steve's retun and lots of bouncing at 5.30. He is convinced I don't actually take her for walks at all - and judging by the way she leaps in the air as soon as he gets home, I don't blame him. It is slightly unfair that I get to look after her while she is (mostly) asleep - but then again, I do all the walking.

We are going to try a new walk today. On what I think is National Trust land, so there is no risk of farmers with shotguns.

Charlie has made a friend. Sometimes he comes in through the upstairs window and they play, I think, in our room. It is very jolly. Charlie has made quite a home for herself up there; she has fashioned a bed from the clean washing at the top of the stairs, and she is happy wandering in and out via the window. When she wants food or attention, she comes to the bottom of the stairs and mews loudly. As long as she doesn't have a house-party, I don't mind.

He is nextdoor's cat, and his name is Freddie. He is Charlie's ideal man, I think. He has been seeing off the Demon Tabby but won't raise a whisker to Charlie. She thinks he is the bees' knees. What she doesn't know is that he is afraid of his cat-flap. When he wants to get into his house he wails in the porch until I go out, climb over the fence and hold open the cat-flap for him.

Perhaps I should start a side-line in animal rescue. Ace H: Pet Rescuer.

Moo-cows

2006-01-30T07:29:00.000-08:00

I love these shaggy-haired moo-cows. They live at the top of the hill and they don't like Holly. They are better than the short-haired sort, but maybe I would think that.

Speaking of hair, it dawned on me that Holly and I are quite alike with our curly chocolate locks and wide, blueish eyes. And round tummies. There is a man who walks a puppy in the church yard at the same times as we go there; his is a bulldog puppy, and you've never seen a man who looks more like a bulldog. He wears a shinyish puffer-ish jacket. And he has a square, bulldog sort of face. The dog you choose definitely says a lot about you.

View from the hills

2006-01-30T07:26:00.000-08:00

The view from the hills... we live by the church.

From fashion advice to Francis Drake

2006-01-30T07:06:00.000-08:00

I've got some brilliant work on at the moment (and in the pipeline, I hope). Apart from just having started my Fashion Guru Residency on a trendy website, and merrily dishing out advice about the latest shoes (pretty flats, if you care) and Keira Knightley's efforts to look curvy (not a problem I've ever had) - apart from that, I also have some great new work in the upping. (Is that a word?)

One is a company who are creating a series of tourist websites for Devon - visittorquay.com, visitplymouth.com, etc; needless to say this sounds like a marvellous job. Train and lunch expenses, a fun day trip checking out museums and then home to write it all up. Did you know Francis Drake sailed from Plymouth? And other stuff about the Pilgrims and something about the founding fathers of America, courtesy of Google. All very interesting. I might take Holly, if dogs are allowed on trains?

The only problem is that she might wee. But I understand wee is okay on trains these days. At least, if you travel on the mid-wales lines it is. (BLEEEURGH!)

She only wees on her own bed at the moment, which is puzzling. Surely our expensive rug would be the place most puppies would choose? But apparently she prefers to sleep in wee. Fine by me - haven't got any hot water to wash her bed, anyway, so she can jolly well sleep in it.

Ah yes, work. Another prospective new project involves writing features about properties around Devon (presumably ones that are for sale, but we'll see). I am meeting a man on Thursday to talk about it. But so far it sounds good to me, as long as the owners aren't too posh. I made a fool of myself, once (well, actually, a lot more times than that), when I was commissioned to interview a woman who lived in a MANSION. No, not just a mansion - it was a jaw-dropping, pop-star type mansion. She had her own Olympic-sized pool, and friends who regularly helicoptered in from London (so much quicker than road, don't you know). I was totally awe-struck and had no idea what to ask her. She used to run the fashion company behind Dorothy Perkins. Completely different world.

I am getting distracted again. At the moment I am writing up some copy for a brand new skincare range which is developed by a lovely man who used to work for Clinique and Crabtree+Evelyn. He is promising samples soon.... mmm, no more wrinkles, I hope.

So anyway, in all I am feeling utterly blessed and privileged.

I am barely earning enough to pay the mortgage, but heck, am I having a ball. I feel really very happy and am wondering what I have done to deserve it, quite frankly.

And it's sunny. It doesn't get any better...

Tax Return

2006-01-30T03:48:00.000-08:00

GAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaa
aaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaa a a a a a a a a a a a a a a a a a h h h h h h h h h h h h h . . . .

Right of Way My Ass

2006-01-25T06:10:00.000-08:00

I studied the Ordnance Survey map very carefully this morning to figure out where to take the dog. There are three or four routes marked as 'Public Footpaths' leading out from the village, so we picked one and set out.

So you start up in this field; there is a green signpost saying 'Public Footpath' with a pointer; and you carry on up a (V.Steep) hill, and at the top is a lovely sign explaining how the hill used to be part of a cherry orchard and is now a New Footpath. You carry on, past some of the shaggy moo-cows, and then you come to another gate and a stile.

This is when it begins to come clear that someone really doesn't want you to use this 'Public' Footpath. The gates are tied up very tightly with lots of rope. The stile has barbed wire across the bottom half of it, and the mud on either side has been churned up by tractors. The next part of the so-called 'Footpath' is actually just a very muddy field with a few rows of crops in it. Still, we continued - Holly squeezed through a gap in the gate - and went on down the field, getting mooed at and frightened by scarecrows.

At the bottom is where it really all falls apart. Despite a lovely, shiny green 'Footpath' sign pointing in three directions, there is really no passable route. Apart from the fact that the gates are, again, festooned with barbed wire and tied with ropes, there are trenches of mud on one side; crops on another side; a big pile of rusty iron junk (humph) blocking the path towards the village. The only thing to do, after stopping and thinking while the dog barks at the cows, is turn back.

We walked all round their stupid field and I stood on as many young crops as possible. In my wellies.

I am going to write a complaining letter as soon as I work out who to send it to.....

Scheduled outrage?

2006-01-25T06:09:00.000-08:00

Apparently Blogger is having some kind of anger attack at 4pm today. I wonder if I should hang about and watch? It's either that, or they have invented a new word (probably stupid Americans destroying our language like usual).

Doors

2006-01-18T08:32:00.000-08:00

Holly can't understand doors. She doesn't realise that if she wants to leave through one, she cannot be sitting in front of it at the same time. She stands at the back door and her feet get trapped when it opens, however slowly you open it; ditto the cupboard doors, except it's her head.

I always thought this was a kind of instinctive knowledge - doors. But obviously not, or we have a very stupid dog.

Workshy

2006-01-18T08:11:00.000-08:00

It's funny how the times when I have most work are the times I choose to shirk. (Did that rhyme?) In my efforts to avoid work today I have been to Londis, looked at photographs of dresses worn to the Golden Globes, made a loaf of olive bread and sellotaped up the boxes of Christmas decorations.

There is a website somewhere by a man who lists all the ways he avoids work. I can't remember what it's called - what's that word for putting things off? Procrastination? no, I have lost my vocabulary. What IS it?

This is what happens when you try to do 60 hours' worth of work in five days. It is a lesson, to be sure.

Friday is a day of cleaning and lying-in and the odd spot of copy and not much else. Hurrah! (PS, I am not really workshy - I worked on Sunday, so this weekend I have earned a three-day break.)

(Who am I kidding? - I am as workshy as they come. :-) )

A Poo Story

2006-01-15T04:45:00.000-08:00

I am working on a Sunday, so naturally my thoughts are wandering. So I thought I would share the latest poo escapade, In Which Anna Gets Poo in Her Hair.

Steve and I have fortnightly stand-offs over who is to scoop up the poo in the garden. There is an awful lot, for a small puppy, and we both hate doing it. Actually, Steve has only ever scooped one poo, so he has barely even given it a chance. But I hate it. Still, I always lose. I can never bear the pooey garden for very long, so every so often I go out for a mammoth poo-scooping session.

So there I was, scooping poo.

I was tapping the shovel on a flowerpot to make the poo slide in, then going back to the lawn for the next shovel-full. But this one poo was quite obstinate and wouldn't run down off the shovel, being quite sticky. (Something so sticky, by the way, isn't easy to get off things such as shovels or hair.) It needed quite a bit more tapping before it would slide down into the pot.

Then it happened!

Oh yes. A big glob of poo flew into the air. And simultaneously there was a cold spot on the back of my head.

Please don't let that be poo. Please don't let it be poo. Please don't let it be poo. And guess what it was? Yep. In my hair.

Holly at 14 weeks

2006-01-12T02:21:00.000-08:00

Okay, so I don't know why they lined up like this. But here she is.

Mash and bread

2006-01-11T09:15:00.000-08:00

Our telephone provider won't let me in to view our account, and all because I don't know my favourite food. I don't remember the password, you see, so it asked my security question.

Of course I typed in:

'mash'

(as would anyone who knows me, if they were trying to hack in to the account.)

But computer said no.

I tried toast, and I tried chocolate. (In that order.) But my favourite food, hands-down, is mash. There isn't even a close contender.

Still, computer says no. I am now trying to puzzle out what it thinks is my favourite food. It could have been whatever I was eating at the time of setting up an account, but the only things I ever seem to eat at the computer are toast and chocolate. Well, and nuts sometimes.

Now - prove to me that someone reads my blog, and post a comment. Tell me your favourite food. I am curious as to whether mash is an odd choice.

But surely not. Just think of it - creamy white potato, whipped into a fluffy mass and swirled with butter (okay, healthy margarine if it's a weekday), salt and pepper. Maybe a trickle of bean juice. Fresh bread and butter on the side. Ooh la la, it gives me a hot flush.