Blog
Mon 16 January 2012I just spent a week in London as a volunteer at an Olympic test event: international gymnastics at the O2 (or North Greenwich Arena as it will be called during London 2012). Lots of teeny, tiny gymnasts doing impossible twisty, bendy things. I swear gravity suspended itself now and then as the athletes flew through the air. It was incredibly enjoyable, despite the long hours and pressure. Thank you to James and Gigi who taught me a lot about being a flash quotes reporter. Lovely team to work with as well. For those of you who will be going to see the gymnastics at Greenwich this summer, you’re in for a treat. |
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Thu 29 December 2011 The in-between period, Christmas just finished and the New Year yet to come. It feels a bit like being in limbo... which is rather nice. |
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Sat 1 October 2011 Harvesting of a different kind this weekend - veg from the garden whipped up into a lovely soup by the Little Man and drizzled with some smashing olive oil made by some lovely people in Umbria (see My favourite things). So good you could drink it... and bathe in it... and do all sorts of things with it. And England beat Scotland so not a bad start to the weekend. |
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Sun 25 September 2011 There's a food festival running in town this weekend. It prompted us to rush out and strip the hedgerows of blackberries and make 'things' with our harvest. Mainly alcoholic, I'm afraid, but I did make an apple and blackberry pie with the last few handfuls. The cupboard under the stairs now resembles something out of the prohibition era - lots of jars of hooch... all for Christmas presents, you understand. |
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Sun 18 September 2011 A sudden unexpected – but long awaited – flurry of activity on the home front meant that I have been able to rearrange some books. To the outsider, it may just look like moving a pile from one shelf to another but there is a sort of method behind it. Some modest, cheap shelves had been given a makeover and put next to the kitchen. The Little Man was able to fill them with all his favourite food and recipe books. That left space in the sitting room so some of my books got promoted. I chose a mix of useful (reference and maps to settle arguments when we’re slumped on the sofa) and old favourites (the books you keep returning to time and time again). They also had to be the kind of books that I didn’t mind visitors seeing; the trashy books are hidden away on the landing upstairs. Then, research books, piled up next to the desk for so long, were able to find a home. Some on the study shelves while others ended up in the wall of books in the dining room. Each group of books is grouped together in a loosely themed way. To be fair, it is a way that only I appreciate but at least there is order of a sort. Flicking through a interiors magazine recently, I saw that someone had arranged her books by the colour of their spine. While it certainly looked good, I think it would leave me quite clueless as to where a certain book would be. How do you sort out your books? |
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Thu 1 September 2011 I see the last blog was 19 July, just over 6 weeks ago. So that was the summer holidays then? It’s the 1 September now; summer is, apparently, officially over and so it’s back to work. I’m strapping myself back in front of the computer and dusting away the holiday cobwebs. Despite the headlong rush to get the manuscript of the last book in on time (which was just – only just – successful), we have been let down by the typesetters and publication has been set back to 25 November. However, that makes it an ideal Christmas present for you to give to all the budding writers you know. With a bit more time on my hands, I’ve been pottering about and doing the jobs that had been ignored for so long. However, it does seem odd not to be writing anything at all right now. So I’ve reintroduced the ‘write 3 pages of A4 before breakfast’ routine. It’s a kind of gentle aerobics for the writing muscles. And a way of limbering up to write something for myself rather than anyone else. Being commissioned to write something is much easier than coming up with a piece entirely on your own. Plus, commissions usually come with deadlines which are a marvellous way of concentrating the mind and getting you to put words on paper. Telling a story… now that’s an altogether different ball game. I’ll let you know how I get on. |
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Tue 19 July 2011 Back home following 2 weeks in France and Italy. It was an interesting break. Three of us (mother, the Little Man and me) wedged into the car which had decided it didn’t need air conditioning, even if we did (it reached 37 degrees in Bologna; you know that’s hot when the locals looked limp as well). The holiday, like football, was a game of two halves. First week we were based just outside St Remy, near Avignon where the Little Man could indulge in his love of shopping for food and cooking for an appreciative audience. Second week – road trip (Lyons, Chamonix, Lucca and Bologna). One major strop from the Little Man at the beginning of the holiday (“I’m walking home; don’t try to stop me”. OK) and one from Mother at the end of the holiday (“You made me walk all the way along there” – 100 feet “When we could have been sitting in that bar over there”). My temper was fairly serene throughout which I thought was remarkable. We have come back to cooler temperatures and rampant fecundity in the garden. While I got stuck into the washing and ironing, the Little Man got stuck into the garden. Courgettes, potatoes and beans for supper tonight. More on the holiday later. |
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Thu 9 June 2011 Great news. Victoria, my wonderful editor, has been in touch to say she’s accepting the manuscript for publication. A huge weight off my mind - and hers too, come to think of it. It’s meant to be published at the end of August (readers, take note) so I can’t image that she would want it to-ing and fro-ing, undergoing changes and amendments here, there and everywhere. This means I’ve actually got some free time. Well, not 'free' as such. All those jobs that didn’t get done (cleaning, housework, cleaning, gardening, cleaning, getting back in touch with friends, cleaning) while I was finishing the manuscript off have now shuffled up to the front of the queue. But to sweeten that particular pill, a much needed break is looming. Provence and Italy beckon. Although I shall be sharing the holiday with my mother and the Little Man so quite how relaxing that will be is anyone’s guess. But now I must finish, the vacuum cleaner beckons. |
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Sat 4 June 2011 Handed in the first draft of the book (Rules of Good Style), just squeaking in under the deadline. It's now in the hands of the editor, Victoria, who is probably having a look it over the weekend. Sweaty palmed at the thought of it needing vast rewrites. Waiting for the verdict is almost as bad as trying to meet the deadline. I shall make the most of the weekend and relax. Off to watch the Derby from the comfort of the sofa. |
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Tue 17 May 2011 Yes, I know everybody says that. Then they turn up again, the next year, with slightly better running shoes, a little leaner looking round the jowls and with a big sports watch so that they can ensure they do a better time than last year. I will not be one of those people. Yes, I finished it. Yes, I managed to avoid last place (1664th out of 1667 if you’re interested). Yes, I raised money for diabetics. But no, I didn’t enjoy it. No, I don’t want to do it again. And well, no, basically. Thanks should go to the Little Man who peddled slowly (practically going backwards at one point) and kept me going. I went through the ‘this isn’t too bad’ phase, via the vicious ‘no, I won’t feel a sense of achievement when they hang the medal round my bloody neck; I just want it to end’ phase, ending up in the silent, sniffy, weeping phase, where everything hurt. I’m sure I’ll do another ‘challenge’ at some point in the future; just don’t expect it to involve jogging. Next one, I’ll do sitting down. |
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Sat 7 May 2011 The long silence has been due to the fact that I ran out of breath having done that big run as part of my training for this half marathon tomorrow. Just got it back in time to say: the vaseline is in, the plasters have been bought (as have a pair of very expensive running socks) and the weather ordered (showers, not too hot - not great for spectators but tough). Come hell or high water, I will do 13.1 miles tomorrow but it probably won't be jogging all the way. Anything under 4 hours is a bonus. Wish me luck. |
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Thu 17 March 2011 Up to six and a half miles non-stop jogging. Still not a pretty sight and my knees are protesting rather a lot but I feel quite chuffed with that. You can donate vast sums of money (going to Diabetes UK) on the justgiving website (www.justgiving.com/katherine-lapworth). The running vest arrived a few days ago. I'm thrilled to see it's fuschia and black - my colours - which shouldn't be important but is. Having a day off from running to give my knees a rest. They seem the weak point in this whole affair. I hope they hold up because I'm very pleased to see that I'm changing shape... and in a good way. Need to do a lot more though. |
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Wed 23 February 2011 If having a deadline for a book isn't enough, I have agreed to run a half marathon in May. This is ridiculous as I am nowhere near fit and, even when at the peak of fitness, wasn't up to much in the running department. Plus I am far too busy with this book to jog around the streets of Stratford. Anyway, I prefer to do my sport sitting down (rowing, not couch potato). However, a promise is a promise and so the Little Man has been working out a training plan for me. 13+ miles seems an impossibility and I'm trying to calculate how long that would take to walk at a brisk pace. He is much more confident and aims to have me non-stop jogging up to around 7 miles, if not the whole 13. Quite a goal. Let's see, shall we? I shall be doing it to raise funds for diabetes research if anyone's interested. When I've worked out how to set up a sponsorship page thing, I'll let you know. |
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Tue 11 January 2011 I'm working on the new book, a style guide for writers in the 21st century, and I'm horrified to see how sloppy I've become with punctuation. I've been slinging ellipses around like there's no tomorrow... as well as far too many cliches. I hope to see a marked improvement on my grammar and punctuation as research continues. |
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Wed 1 December 2010 Two weeks ago today, I saw my first tiger in the wild. A tigress called Muchli, renowned for killing and eating a crocodile that made the mistake of trying to pinch the deer she'd killed for her cubs. A week ago, I was rattling up the slopes of the lower Himalayas in the little toy train to Shimla. Today, I am swathed in jumpers, cardigans and shawls. Bit of a change in a short space of time. |
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Wed 10 November 2010 Off to India tomorrow for a couple of weeks so don't expect much from this blog until December. Just looking forward to shutting out the harsh realities of life while I'm away. Can't wait! |
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Sun 31 October 2010 Another day of two halves. First half - rewriting copy for a friend's website extolling the virtues of her Umbrian olive oil (harvested by hand), local balsamic vinegar and other Italian goodies which is making my tummy rumble. Then onto sorting, planning and getting organised for the holiday next week. On balance, writing about olive oil is much more entertaining. |
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Wed 13 October 2010 I'm surely not alone in believing the language of planning applications takes waffle, hyperbole and fibs to the extreme? A current planning application in our neighbourhood is full of such ridiculous language (the proposed new development will 'join and separate' for example... isn't that a contradiction in terms?) and promises. One would think Utopia lay round the corner if only the building was allowed to go ahead. When I know, you know, the developer knows and the planning office knows that it's just someone out to make a bit of money. There's nothing wrong in that; neither is there anything wrong with saying, 'I think the proposed development looks a bit over the top and would stick out like a sore thumb'. But no, we have to go through these ridiculous hoops of arguing whether it will meet the needs of tourism or local housing or aesthetics. It does make one wish for a bit of plain English. Shame on whoever has to write these things; I hope it makes you blush. |
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Tue 21 September 2010 A day of two halves. One half - good (books sorted for research; files and folders prepared; pencils sharpened; couple of unwanted books sold via Amazon so more space on the shelves for even more books...). Second half - not so brilliant (definite sight of worm hanging out of cat's bottom; bullying going on in the chicken coop; signs of major cooking disaster hurriedly cleared up in kitchen while I was out). Looking forward to the long train journey to London tomorrow so I can get back to reading / staring out of the window / reading / and getting annoyed with people who sit in the quiet carriage and TALK VERY LOUDLY ON THE PHONE. |
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Thu 16 September 2010 Walking along the River Avon first thing this morning was like taking a small step back into summer. The breaking day didn't have that autumnal feel to it; the cobwebs weren't dripping with dew and there was a warmth in the air. A last hurrah before summer disappears? From the heady delights of the woodpecker last week, there wasn't that much to get excited about. A whole bunch of swans on the river (or a 'herd', 'bevy' or 'lamentation' if you want the correct collective noun for swans), some clackety magpies chasing off a buzzard and that was about it. Back home for a read through the draft contract for the next book. I make myself read every clause, although the legalese is slightly offputting. The one bit that every writer does understand, though, in their contract is the advance which I clocked pretty easily. Now I just have to write it. |
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Fri 10 September 2010 At the moment, I'm watching a woodpecker zipping up and down the apple tree in the garden. This is instead of working. I've turned my (temporary) desk round because I think it will be a better work space. The downside of this is that I have an uninterrupted view of what's going on outside which tends to be much more interesting than what's going on at my desk. The desk I'm using at the moment is a fold out picnic table thingy and I need something a bit more substantial. I've spent far too long looking for a desk on eBay. I don't want a modern computer desk; I don't want some great huge rolltop monstrosity. I'll settle for something a bit battered, with enough space for a computer monitor and keyboard, drawers for string, paper, pens and other useful (useless?) bits and pieces. Oh and very cheap... if not free. Any suggestions? I can turn procrastination into an art form but it's a bit harder if your work area is perfect. People talk about a writer's tools and they often mean pen/paper/computer and forget worktop/chair/shelves. I'm on a mission to surround myself with the right stuff. Another book on the horizon. Oh yes. |
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Mon 2 August 2010 'Get Your Book Published' arrived in the post on Friday. I was the only one at home so I nearly ran after the postman to show it off to him... none of the animals looked impressed when I waved it under their noses. Am looking forward to seeing what the newly revamped 'Get on TV' looks like too. Here's to a nice steady stream of sales for years to come - go on, do your bit! The arrival of the book spurred me on to do a bit of work on the proposed next book - too early to say what it's about and I'm not sure how it will flow anyway at the moment. So watch this space. Gas pipes and all that malarkey are still ongoing as an unresolved problem. The only good thing to come out of it is I now have a new best friend, Rob, at the National Grid enquiry line. Very nice man, very helpful and as perplexed as I as to why no Operations Managers want to call me back. If anyone from National Grid is reading this, give that man a raise because he has been delightful. We will be exchanging Christmas cards this year. I've kept a very even temper while this whole sorry saga has been going on. I don't see the point of trumpeting with anger down the telephone line to some poor devil. There is an art, I suppose, to complaining which is hard to master when you're feeling fed up. The temptation is to expand on the original complaint, building it up into a magnificent crescendo of righteous anger and disillusionment. So far, I have resisted that temptation. My other new best friend, Samantha of the complaints line at National Grid, seemed grateful that she wasn't being shouted at, "One or two people have got a little frustrated today," she admitted. So the saga continues. Let's see how it is resolved. The Little Man is already frothing with anticipation at taking National Grid to the Small Claims Court. I hope it all gets sorted way before that point. |
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Sun 25 July 2010 Make a note in your diaries. 'Get your book published' is out on Friday, along with the revamped 'Get on TV'. I can't wait to see the new books. Hope they go well so please spread the word! Thank you. |
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Mon 19 July 2010 Today was meant to have been a day of thinking great (and small) thoughts, working on ideas for the new book, researching publications to send work to... and it ended up as a drab day of chores, problem sorting and bother. So much for art. To be fair, the chores bit came about as a typical bit of writer's procrastination. "I'll just get this out of the way before I sit down in front of the computer," I thought as I loaded the washing machine, unloaded the dishwasher, walked the dogs, unloaded the washing machine, hung out the washing, reloaded the washing machine... you ge the picture. Then there was the annoying matter of trying to sort out the stupid way in which the National Grid man had done the pipework when the metre was moved last week. The plan was to move the gas metre from under the stairs to the outside of the house, thereby leaving more room for a downstairs loo. All fairly simple and straightforward (but very expensive nevertheless). All fine and dnady until the odd way in which the gas pipes have been left, leaving very little room for the loo to go in. Honestly, this whole downstairs loo thing is beginning to take on the character of a Greek tragedy; there's certainly much wailing and gnashing of teeth (or is that Biblical?) and it's getting more convoluted by the day, it seems. Note to self: do not have any work done on the house/the car/yourself/ on a Friday afternoon; the workmen are always a) too busy sorting out their social life on their mobile phones and b) rushing so they don't go over 5pm - God forbid on a Friday! A very nice man called Brian at National Grid has promised that a manager will phone me to see if it can be sorted out. Here's hoping... The loo itself is sitting in splendour in the dining room; lovely, gleaming porcelain gathering dust. It is liable to become a permanent fixture there along with the rest of the flotsam and jetsam of the house. Actually, on reflection, that would probably work. If the Ancient Romans had had flushing loos, they would no doubt have had them installed in their dining rooms as well. What did get achieved today? Well, clean bed linen for a start. I wrote a birthday email to Bridget in Texas. I did this blog. I sorted through boxes of clothes that haven't seen the light of day for years due to my, erhm, increased girth. Now that girth appears to be shrinking, it seemed the right time to do a stock take of what may well get worn again once a few more pounds have been lost. No, be honest, it wasn't the right time; it was procrastination again. And now that I seem to have run out of chores to do again, I'll have to start on the writing. No, wait. The dogs need to be walked. Thank goodness, it almost looked like I was going to get some work done then. |
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Fri 18 June 2010 It is Regatta weekend in Stratford upon Avon and the Boat Club is working furiously hard to pull everything together... or rather the faithful few from the membership who usually end up doing all the jobs are working hard. The rest will probably wander out of the woodwork tomorrow (well after 6.30am when you need most hands) and waft around trying to help. At least there is a Regatta to put on this year; it is getting harder and harder to put on viable events but at least the Club has not had to cancel this year as others have had to. Just back from London having spent far too short a time with best friend, Todd, over from San Francisco. It may have been a short and sharp visit but we managed to cram in two meals, window shopping, culture (Indian pictures at the National Portrait Gallery) and some entertaining tosh (Legally Blonde). While Todd was his usual generous self, paying for pretty much everything, I managed to save him at least £1,000 by telling him what not to buy. I hope to goodness he isn’t out there now, secretly buying cufflink boxes that I specifically forbade him to get before he flies home. It was a much more enjoyable visit than the trip to the London Book Fair which was, to be honest, a bit of a damp squib. Not through anyone’s fault. The volcanic ash cloud put pay to lots of international visitors so it was a rather calm and sedate show that greeted me when I turned up. Not too sure if I’ll bother to go again next year. The loathsome imp has started to poke at the dogs with a sharp stick through the fence. Some polite, but tight-lipped words with his mother will hopefully nip that in the bud. ‘He is,’ I’m told, ‘Only young and has to learn’. I’d prefer it if he didn’t learn by being bitten. What he has learnt, it seems, is some foul four letter swear words which he uses in front of his father when having one of his tantrums. His father just laughs. The man hasn’t a clue. I have the window open as I type this so I can hear the chickens at the bottom of the garden. We lost 7 last week to the fox who has been back several times since to see if he can hoover up a few more. I’ve managed to thwart one attack already but I can’t be around all the time. The poor birds are now let out much later than they’re used to and put away to bed even earlier... not much fun for them but at least they’re still alive. We lost a White Star, Speckledy, Rhode Rock, White Sussex and 3 ‘battery’ chickens. I know the fox is only doing what comes naturally but I wish it would stick to bins. I’ve put holly branches around the perimeter of the chicken run, triple-checked the fence to make sure there is no way anything can get underneath it and am investigating chemical warfare now (putting out something that mimicks the smell of another fox). Any other suggestions would be gratefully received though. |
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Fri 16 April 2010 The very last bit of 'how to get published' (the short web articles) have gone to the copy editor. I'm just waiting for the proofs to come back so they can be checked through, amended and any comments from the copy editor dealt with. Grateful thanks have also gone out to the wonderful people who patiently allowed me to interview them and then use their comments. I hope they like what they see when it is published. Next week is my first trip to the London Book Fair which I'm looking forward to. Impressions and report to follow on that. Mixed emotions as the Easter holiday comes to an end. The dogs will be sorry to see their playmates (Holly and Lucy) go back to school but there was much rejoicing as the loathsome imp went back a week earlier (state school so shorter holiday). Now there is less teasing and goading of the pets from him when he's out in the garden and away from parental supervision. Long may it last. Other than that, it's fairly quiet here. Mulling over new projects... watch this space. |
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Wed 7 April 2010 First things first. The comments came back from the editor on the first draft of the manuscript. Once I’d read 'looks really strong', 'haven't found anything at all I would want to change' and 'reads well and covers everything in a clear and straightforward manner', I felt a huge wave of relief wash over me. Now there would be no need to try and fit in rewrites while entertaining guests over the Easter weekend. All I've got left are the ten short essays for Hodder’s website to accompany the book but they are not as pressing. I’m very, very pleased that it was received well. Praise from Victoria, my editor, is always delightful. It also means that I can go to the London Book Fair with a clear conscience and actually enjoy myself. I've never been before and am looking forward to seeing the publishing industry in all its glory. I made one silly mistake though and put 'author' on my attendance badge which now means that any agent or editor who sees that is going to give me a wide berth. They’ll be terrified that I want to corner them and get them to publish a book or something similar. The reality is that I don’t really want to corner anybody; I just want to see what’s on offer and what will be coming out in the future and do what everybody else does at these things - pick up loads of freebies. Note to any other writers: don’t make that same mistake. Secondly, we had a good Easter thanks to a lovely visit from my Swiss Miss friend and Spanner's sheep giving birth to very sweet lambs (a particular favourite of the Swiss Miss). There was much gambolling and frolicking; difficult in a muddy farmyard but enjoyable all the same. Other pluses were the Loathsome Imp being taken away to a caravan in Wales; so no tantrums, screaming or antisocial behaviour here - Wales will be bearing the brunt of that. The house got cleaned due to our visitor being here so is quite pleasant to be in and I even managed to float round the garden, clipping things in a satisfyingly random manner. Now the deadline has gone, I can look forward to something other than completing a book. There’s an umpire’s seminar at the weekend - perhaps not grippingly thrilling (definitely not the bit that says 'rules quiz' either) but a nice change from being locked down at the computer. The Little Man is off for a few days over the next few weekends too so I can watch all the trashy DVDs that I’ve got that he can’t stand. And glowing like a pearl in the distant future is a trip to India with the Ancient Crone, helping her spend my inheritance. Can't wait. Hope you all had a good Easter too. |
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Tue 23 March 2010 I'm temporarily back in the land of the living. The first draft of the 'how to get published' manuscript was sent off last night to my editor so I have a bit of time to catch up with people and projects who have been sorely neglected while I tried to meet the deadline (and let's face, technically, I didn't meet the deadline and had to negotiate a couple of extra weeks). There's a slight feeling of relief that it has gone off but that has been replaced by a dread that it will come back, rather like homework, covered in red pen with the comment, 'Could do better; please try again'. I hope to goodness it won't be like that. If it does, expect me to disappear again for a while. It's due out in July this year (please take note) so there will be very little time to fiddle around with rewrites. I realise that in writing the book there was lots that I did wrong when writing previous books. If nothing else, I hope it has made me a 'better' writer. Not necessarily better writing style, but a better writer at getting the manuscript ready and sent off. Publicity and promotion has been an eye opener too. There is so much a writer can do to help push sales. Let's see if I am successful in shifting a few! When the manuscript gets final approval, normal life should return. Dog walking has been taken over by the Little Man so I need to share that a bit more. Piles of dust in the corners of rooms have to be tackled at some point (the Little Man doesn't do vacuuming... at least not to my standards) and I think a bit of painting and decorating wouldn't go amiss. All that talk of housework has worn me out. time for a cup of tea and a read of a trashy novel... only thing I can read when writing. |
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Mon 22 February 2010 Yesterday, I went to see how the Royal Shakespeare Theatre rebuild was getting on. It was depressingly like home; unfinished jobs, cables and ducting everywhere, bits of plastic where doors should be and very dusty. Just made me wish the downstairs loo at home was finished and I had the money to convert the attic space. Once I got over that, though, it was lovely to see the huge space that will be the stage. It really does stick right out into the auditorium. There is also an enormous pit under the stage, where actors and props can rise majestically into the action. The depth was apparently worked out by getting an actor, wearing a crown, to sit on a throne on a hydraulic lift. The wood from the original 1930s stage will be used in the foyer so everyone can then say they trod the boards at the RST. They will be using lots of the old bits of the theatre (wood, windows, the clock, the ticket office) and we were told something about the old wood being brought back to the theatre once the temperature was right so it wouldn't either get damp or dry out too much... I wasn't concentrating at that point. There was a beautiful, huge curved brick wall which surrounds the back of the new big stage. It would have been lovely to see the rest of it (the new dressing rooms overlooking the river, the restaurant with views over the town, even the peculiar tower with its viewing platform) but I think those bits are still a building site. I've come away with a sheet of 'interesting facts' that I've managed to put somewhere safe so I can't quote verbatim from it. The one other fact I remember was that there will be 24 urinals fitted in the gents loos. I lived next door to a man who put a urinal into his bathroom. Every woman I've ever told that has pulled a face, declared it disgusting and wouldn't want to have anything to do with him (I don't blame them; he wasn't what one would call a thing of loveliness); every man I've told has also pulled a face and said they didn't like the idea... but I'm not sure if they are saying that for my benefit or if they are secretly jealous at the thought. Answers on a postcard please. |
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Sat 6 February 2010 Trip down to London on Thursday for a dull, dreary Government seminar. Lots of waffle in a hot, airless room. But I did manage to pick up dozens of very nice pencils that the hotel provided which will be excellent for crosswords. The toilets perplexed everyone; well, at least the Ladies did; it was probably even more gadgety in the Gents. I think the flush was automatic but no-one could be really sure. The taps seemed to have minds of their own too; you tried to operate your own taps, failed and then had to leap across the cloakroom to shove your hands under other taps that had mysteriously come on in the meantime. Still not sure what was going on. London looked very dull, grey and monochrome. I don't think I've ever seen it look so flat and uninteresting. Glad to leave, to be frank. Travelled back home in the quiet carriage of the train. I don't know why I do that because I just end up being enraged by the noise other passengers make: talking loudly on their mobile phones, allowing their phones to ring (am I the only person who can turn their mobile to silent/vibrate?), listening to music on headphones that give off that irritating metallic noise or talking to each other LOUDLY. We are all too British and never say anything to anyone. I saw a man reprimand some excitable Chinese teenagers once who were fizzing with excitement because they were going to Bicester Village. I think he only did that because they were foreign and unlikely to let rip a stream of obscenity back at him. I usually settle for Paddington Bear hard stares and looking martyred. Sometimes it works. Had to spend a good part of the journey listening to a dreadful Brummie who had gone all the way down to London for a meeting that had been cancelled; nobody had told him. He rang everybody he could think of to moan about it to them and we all had to listen. Very soon, I was glad he'd had a wasted journey, thrilled he'd had to spend money on a 'very expensive sandwich' and even more delighted that he'd dropped all his change and lost at least £2 in the process. Luckily, we went through the mobile phone black spot that starts somewhere around High Wycombe and he finally shut up. You see, travelling in quiet carriages really isn't good for my blood pressure. Got back and have, since then, been chained back at the computer, transcribing various interviews for the book. Alfie, our house guest dog, is terrorising the cats and there's a fear that they'll leave home. I'm not so sure; life's too good for them here, once they've managed to run the gauntlet through the kitchen and avoid having a hairy, exuberant dog pounce on them wanting to play. Any tips of trying to train him out of it would be gratefully received. |
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Fri 29 January 2010 The phone call I was waiting for finally came in at around 2.30pm yesterday. Good to get hold of her but frustrating to have to wait. Nevertheless, it did mean that the vegetable patch got partially dug over by the Little Man in an uncharacteristic spurt of energy because he had to hang around the house too. Woken far too early this morning by the loathsome imp next door having his usual tantrum. Lay there thinking murderous thoughts before getting up and planning the day. Quick trip to drop the Little Man off at his job out in the country, back to town to drop off bits and bobs at my mother's before she sets off on her weekend away; will attempt to get my fringe trimmed because I'm vying with the dogs for unruly hairiness and then back to the computer. What I'd like to do is carry on driving once I've dropped him off and have a wander around the countryside. Not that it will look particularly glorious at the moment; it's damp, grey and soggy but I haven't seen it in a while. But I will resist the siren call of wet Warwickshire and dutifully return home to work instead. Todd will be calling this afternoon from San Francisco so I can ask him what the weather's like there and get some Californian sun via the telephone. Not quite as good as the real thing but it will have to do. |
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Thu 28 January 2010 Late start today due to late night yesterday, getting lost in Bordesley Green in Birmingham. Not much fun but the shops looked fascinating. Fruitless morning, waiting for a phone call that never came. It's thrown the day out completely. The Little Man can't get a lift up to his job because I'm stuck here; I can't go into town to run a few errands; and I can't phone anybody else up because I'm waiting for this blessed call. And no, I can't phone them up because it will begin to look like I'm stalking them. They said they'd phone me this morning so that's what I'm waiting for... and waiting... and waiting. |
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Tue 26 January 2010 Trip to Warwick Hospital today. Nothing serious, just the Little Man's appointment with his cardiologist. Dropped him off and then onto the park by Warwick Castle to exercise the dogs. It was all a bit bleak and deserted; the pool was empty, the boat shack was shut, the teas & ices hut was closed. Not a soul on the swings and roundabouts; nobody fishing. A few hardy pensioners were walking their Yorkshire terriers wrapped in spiffy tartan jackets and some yummy mummys were having a chat in the middle of the green field while their dogs (one lurcher, one chocolate labrador and one saluki by the look of it) raced around. We walked past St Nicholas' Churchyard which faces the entrance gate to Warwick Castle. Years ago, when he'd been evacuated to Warwick during the Second World War, my father found himself walking down the main path that was lined with yews and ran from the church door to the entrance to the churchyard. As he walked towards the gate, he became aware of a woman keeping pace with him on the other side of the trees. She was on her own and her figure flashed into view between the gaps, allowing him to get a quick glimpse of her as they walked. He realised that she was wearing a long dress that reached to her ankles and a small starched ruff round her neck. She was not of that time, he felt, although he wasn't scared by that thought. When he reached the end of the path and the yew trees stopped, the woman was nowhere to be seen. That sparked an interest in ghosts that never left him; although he didn't see his second ghost until years later. There wasn't anything as exciting in the park today. A lot of bored looking swans and seagulls bobbing about on the river was about as thrilling as it got. Although there were lots of little green shoots of bulbs peeping up between the sludgy brown leaves in the beds. I was too busy trying to avoid getting into a cat's cradle of a tangle of leads. Thank goodness it was quiet, I'd have attracted an amused audience within minutes if it had been summertime. It seems a good idea to practice with 3 retractable leads in the dead of winter and, after a hairy 5 minutes or so, we all got the hang of it (as long as I didn't lose concentration). After half an hour or so of trotting round the park, throwing a ball and some sticks, we high-tailed it back to the car where I read and the dogs slept. Summoned back to the hospital to pick the Little Man up. He'd been signed off by his nurse. He wasn't, he assured me, 'cured' (phew, thank goodness, it's a terrible thing when a hypocondriac loses an ailment); just that his condition could now be managed by his GP. So, back home where I grabbed a coffee and went back to work and he went off to his anticoagulant clinic. It's a good job he hasn't got a job at the moment; there'd be no time for it with all these clinic/hospital/doctor's visits. |
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Fri 22 January 2010 Raining heavily. The chickens are up to their wingpits in mud and there's a slightly damp dog smell in the air. The two (getting less damp by the minute) dogs are quietly curled up amongst blankets and throws while I work away. This is what I imaged having a dog would be like; a faithful beast curled up at my feet. The reality is more small fur balls hurling themselves at each other, at me, at visitors, at the cats... And if that wasn't enough, we've agreed to have Alfie (puppy number 3 from my Jack Russell's litter) for 6 months while his owner goes to New Zealand. He's an amiable soul, is Alfie, but I can't see this calm, relaxed air lasting for long once he turns up. He's also a sophisticated Notting Hill type dog; not sure if he's used to the rough and ready ways of the Warwickshire dogs. We shall see. |
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Tue 19 January 2010 The Little Man is lying on the sofa, looking like Elizabeth Barratt Browning but sounding like an old tramp. It's the season of bronchitis and he's suffering. In fact, we're all suffering. His breathing sounds like ancient Victorian plumbing with odd wheezes and rattles. This needs to be a day of blitzing around contacts and finding out more on the subject of the American publishing scene. Instead, I'm off to pick up a prescription. A late night beckons then. |
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Sun 17 January 2010 Deadline Looming Working furiously on the next book, Teach Yourself 'how to get published'. The deadline isn't just looming - it's galloping apace with a murderous look in its eye. |
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Sat 16 January 2010 Woke up to rain and no snow. I know the snow was beginning to get people down but I can't help liking it. It transforms everything.. and for the better. Even quite grotty places look good covered in white. On a drive out into the Cotswolds yesterday, the countryside looked stupendous with great acres of pristine white fields, dotted with soggy sheep. What is it about unmarked snow that makes you want to run across it? We took a wet and windy walk into town and then back home to stay dry, towel down the dogs, read the papers before I went off to fiddle around on the computer a bit more. Soon it will be time to go and get my Mum for our weekly supper and watch whatever family entertainment the BBC have provided for us (usually some kind of dance show - at least for the last 6 months anyway). I'm not one for wild night's on the town now (was I ever?). Tonight's supper will be roast duck provided by the Little Man whose current rattling cough makes me think of Dicken's novels. Doesn't sound like he'll last the night. |
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Fri 15 January 2010 Phonecalls Despite the fact that it's Friday evening, I'm still glued to the computer and waiting to phone the States. A delightful (but busy) literary agent has agreed to have a quick chat with me for the 'how to get published' book. Luckily, she's based in Washington DC on the east coast so I won't have to be too late. For the 'how to get on a tv show', all the key contacts were based on the West Coast. That meant staying up until midnight, trying to remain perky, restricting the wine consumption... all so I could attempt to have a coherent conversation. How do people conduct business so far apart? I was shattered the morning after and all I was doing was asking people what it was like being on 'The Wheel of Fortune'! |
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