.... by the main characters in my novel, and what has happened to them, why and what they do about it.
Yet, I haven't written a word of it down. I keep making the excuse that I don't know where it should start - the options are Now and Then. I see the two main characters, I know which one is which, what they wear, what they smell like, etc, etc.
It's late now. But, I will definately write 1,000 words tomorrow.
I promise to myself.
And, you are my witness.
(Unless, of course, I do the meme that Breezy Break has set me (7 things about gardening & me; and tagging 7 other gardening (or not) blogs) - as a slight distraction excercise) tum, te, tum, te, tum.
Tuesday, 31 July 2007
Thursday, 26 July 2007
Up shit creek
In the words of some bloke off the telly 'I don't belieeeeeve it!'
Last Tuesday I reached the golden age of the half century.
By Saturday's post (some 4 days later, er, for those who can't count, or who've lost count) I recieved, from our local hospital, a kit for collecting poo, so that I can send it back to them and they can test it for bowel cancer!
In other areas you need to be 60 to do this.
I suppose if they look after us right, and detect it early - we may live until at least 60, eh?
Last Tuesday I reached the golden age of the half century.
By Saturday's post (some 4 days later, er, for those who can't count, or who've lost count) I recieved, from our local hospital, a kit for collecting poo, so that I can send it back to them and they can test it for bowel cancer!
In other areas you need to be 60 to do this.
I suppose if they look after us right, and detect it early - we may live until at least 60, eh?
Tuesday, 24 July 2007
Just Landed
I awake and look around me. Yes, it's my bedroom, my bed, and my man snoring next to me. Thank fuck, we're home.
We've just been to another planet for the weekend. A squeezy plane took us from normality, where bins are emptied, loos are clean and have paper in them, those nice police officers ensure everyone's car is checked for, well, you know. Those nice orange-clad people who staff the check-in desks ask inane questions; and yet more nice people (in stiffer uniforms) operate the boarder control, taking the opportunity to laugh at holes in your socks, and you having to hold up your belt-less trousers, and then have a free feel-up of you.
We've just been to a place where everything is filthy, flashy and fast.
But, this isn't the worst of it, dear reader. O, no!
We've just been darn sarf - to middle Hingerland. More yet, to a Family Wedding, groan you may, or titter you yet. And, even more, zoomer-ish, to a family wedding, in England with the fucking footballers wives!
Everyone has to drive a sleek, black car - bmw, merc etc. The wives have to be got up like make-up was slapped on with a catapult; with tallons wot mustn't be broke! screech!
There was a screech! if they lost their spectacles, or god forbid, their 'phone, which is constantly on the go wiv texts from 'me mate, yeah?' and rattled with designer dangly things.
Everything is in a panic. Now, I know weddings are stressful, expensive and the scene-setting for not letting the side down. Representing the family's wealth and status.
But, this is their Normal Lives, where every designer label (don't ask me, I haven't a clue) has to be Seen to be seen. Everyone Has to Have a Diamond. Even if they are only 8 years old, for gawd's sake, as a rite of passage into the World of Bling. I can feel myself getting all screechy! as I remember all this.
The designer holiday has to be taken. Even before the needs of the children can be met. 'A?' was the reply to a carefully worded query as to Why the Fuck has the holiday to be taken before, blah, blah, etc.
Heads seem to be filled with the latest must-haves of Things, Places etc. and we simply didn't fit in.
I must now be an official country-ophile. Much as I tried, through gritted teeth, I simply could not get them.
We've just been to another planet for the weekend. A squeezy plane took us from normality, where bins are emptied, loos are clean and have paper in them, those nice police officers ensure everyone's car is checked for, well, you know. Those nice orange-clad people who staff the check-in desks ask inane questions; and yet more nice people (in stiffer uniforms) operate the boarder control, taking the opportunity to laugh at holes in your socks, and you having to hold up your belt-less trousers, and then have a free feel-up of you.
We've just been to a place where everything is filthy, flashy and fast.
But, this isn't the worst of it, dear reader. O, no!
We've just been darn sarf - to middle Hingerland. More yet, to a Family Wedding, groan you may, or titter you yet. And, even more, zoomer-ish, to a family wedding, in England with the fucking footballers wives!
Everyone has to drive a sleek, black car - bmw, merc etc. The wives have to be got up like make-up was slapped on with a catapult; with tallons wot mustn't be broke! screech!
There was a screech! if they lost their spectacles, or god forbid, their 'phone, which is constantly on the go wiv texts from 'me mate, yeah?' and rattled with designer dangly things.
Everything is in a panic. Now, I know weddings are stressful, expensive and the scene-setting for not letting the side down. Representing the family's wealth and status.
But, this is their Normal Lives, where every designer label (don't ask me, I haven't a clue) has to be Seen to be seen. Everyone Has to Have a Diamond. Even if they are only 8 years old, for gawd's sake, as a rite of passage into the World of Bling. I can feel myself getting all screechy! as I remember all this.
The designer holiday has to be taken. Even before the needs of the children can be met. 'A?' was the reply to a carefully worded query as to Why the Fuck has the holiday to be taken before, blah, blah, etc.
Heads seem to be filled with the latest must-haves of Things, Places etc. and we simply didn't fit in.
I must now be an official country-ophile. Much as I tried, through gritted teeth, I simply could not get them.
Tuesday, 3 July 2007
Race for Life, Walked
Yep, done it! (That's me with the purple shower-proof jacket around my waist - that does not keep out the heavy rain, I found.)By gum, I am v. fat, v. unfit and v. untrained, but managed to complete the Race for Life in Perth on Sunday.
Though I had been warned that it would be an emotional day, I found myself overcome with tears. This was at the beginning as we pushed off; during the walk, while looking at others' back labels; and then at the end when we finally hobbled through the finishing arc.
What a wonderful outing it was. Nanny's best Girl and Lolly Dolly-pop came too and helped, assisted by Mr T and the girls' parents.
I can't thank enough the people who sponsored me - what a wave of good feeling and support it has been.
And, I shall definitely be doing it again next year. And, of course, I shall be thinner and fitter. Like every (next) year.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)