Well, no not really, I think I am writing out of boredom, or frustration or both. I have been having an interesting email correspondence on the subject of love (inter alia) and it is frustrating because it is difficult to write about these things - obviously I can and do, but I like reponse, nuance, discussion - and discussion is difficult in emails. I had a similar frustration emailing J (when we used to email each other she said with an Eyore like gloominess) because I wanted to discuss - not simply have a transfer of opinions. And you need to see people for that.
It was lovely seeing Eyvor today - proper conversation and finding lots of similarities. She's actually read Finegans Wake - Respect! Perhaps a retirement project for me (assuming I have all my brain cells left).
Cheering to note that optimistic people tend to live longer (no surprise really, but that helps) - this is one of those health facts that I am hoarding to encourage myself to live a long healthy mentally alert life. Like the one about heavy calves being an indication of broad blood vessels and less likelihood of stroke.... my mother's obesession with her delicate lower legs! And her pessimism - well, there are two aspects I don't take after her in. My father, for all his faults, is a cheery soul really and a great "encourager of the brethren". He was feeling all guilty about buying people books and tapes and urging them to listen. I just assumed it was a desire to share, but someone has suggested it might be an attention seeking device. I expect he does want to talk to people about the books etc. but I just saw it as a very commendable form of evangelising... kind, generous, so he cheered up a bit when I told him that. The great thing about my mother dying (?!!??) is the chance it has given me to appreciate Pa more and he has finally begun to respect my differences (I think) so things are less quarrelsome between us now.
Reading while dead
Tuesday, 28 June 2011
Monday, 27 June 2011
The Lost Blog
This is a blog entry that I saved somewhere: I don't know what the title is, but it was written on 1st June. Put here for historical interest.
What a very European sort of title - but I have been curiously upset today by Lloyds Bank. We have a business account, it is in M's name because he's a sole trader, and they won't speak to me about anything, because it's not my account, even though I am the signatory on the cheques...and do all the admin etc. So today when he called he wanted to transfer some money from one account to the other, and his computer interaction did not ask him for his password - so he was put through to someone who asked him security questions. If these were questions about mother's maiden name, telephone number etc. that would be fine, but they were questions about our bank accounts, none of which he knew the answer to - well, some, but apparently because I was telling him the answers it didn't count.
Eventually - on the third phone call, where the questions had become things like "What did you pay for with cheque 185?" Answer (should have been) "How the f8ck should I know?" since our current cheque book only goes up to 180 (was there a second chequebook that we have mislaid...? Or possibly a trick question?) In the end he was told he had got too many answers wrong - when obviously to get any of them right would largely prove he wasn't a fraudster... and they were concerned that someone was prompting him with the answers. Damn right I was - otherwise he wouldn't have got anything right. How can they expect a distinguished scholar and Fellow of the Society of Antiquaries to know what his overdraft limit is? Sadly, this reminded me of a conversation with my father (nearly 84) on the subject of the decline of the cheque.... "what will I do?" I explained about debit cards... he must know about these, but he cannot remember a pin number to save his life. I can still remember the fuss he made when cheque cards were introduced and no one would take a cheque without one any more. It offended his sense of gentlemanly honour - and his ability to blithely extend the overdraft.
Oh hell - it is frustrating when we are so near to leaving the bloody bank that we get all this trouble with them. M said it we weren't leaving them anyway this experience would have tipped him over the edge. I am still trying to work out how we can pay Santander two cheques from our current account that won't bounce. I suspect as soon as we transfer the money to the current account Lloyds will scoff it all into their debt payment... never mind. But I would like to pay some of the mortgage this month....
Meanwhile, the next cheque from G is due soon, and hope that that will arrive in time to put it into the new AA account. Oh this is boring stuff, but it is Quotidiana... Viv says she's starting a sort of group blog for women like us (whatever that means) - and wants me to contribute - it's meant to be about daily life... perhaps I can just link people through to this one... don't think I have the energy for two blogs.
Meanwhile, I am getting closer to doing the tax return for last year - really very exciting!
I am wondering whether we have reached rock bottom yet - or whether the worst is still to come. My normal insouciant nature says that making the decision to do it was the crisis - everything will now be easier, since I know roughly what I'm doing and why I'm doing it. However, the continuous ebb and flow of good and bad news make us continuously uneasy. One moment people want work from us, then they say nothing... so a nice little local job just disappears... the offer of a cash in hand job never materialises. Can't bear to look into the abyss and see disaster - but let's face it, nothing is working brilliantly well at the moment. M does have a good deal of work - but a lot of the more tentative stuff has vanished - apparently for good?
What a very European sort of title - but I have been curiously upset today by Lloyds Bank. We have a business account, it is in M's name because he's a sole trader, and they won't speak to me about anything, because it's not my account, even though I am the signatory on the cheques...and do all the admin etc. So today when he called he wanted to transfer some money from one account to the other, and his computer interaction did not ask him for his password - so he was put through to someone who asked him security questions. If these were questions about mother's maiden name, telephone number etc. that would be fine, but they were questions about our bank accounts, none of which he knew the answer to - well, some, but apparently because I was telling him the answers it didn't count.
Eventually - on the third phone call, where the questions had become things like "What did you pay for with cheque 185?" Answer (should have been) "How the f8ck should I know?" since our current cheque book only goes up to 180 (was there a second chequebook that we have mislaid...? Or possibly a trick question?) In the end he was told he had got too many answers wrong - when obviously to get any of them right would largely prove he wasn't a fraudster... and they were concerned that someone was prompting him with the answers. Damn right I was - otherwise he wouldn't have got anything right. How can they expect a distinguished scholar and Fellow of the Society of Antiquaries to know what his overdraft limit is? Sadly, this reminded me of a conversation with my father (nearly 84) on the subject of the decline of the cheque.... "what will I do?" I explained about debit cards... he must know about these, but he cannot remember a pin number to save his life. I can still remember the fuss he made when cheque cards were introduced and no one would take a cheque without one any more. It offended his sense of gentlemanly honour - and his ability to blithely extend the overdraft.
Oh hell - it is frustrating when we are so near to leaving the bloody bank that we get all this trouble with them. M said it we weren't leaving them anyway this experience would have tipped him over the edge. I am still trying to work out how we can pay Santander two cheques from our current account that won't bounce. I suspect as soon as we transfer the money to the current account Lloyds will scoff it all into their debt payment... never mind. But I would like to pay some of the mortgage this month....
Meanwhile, the next cheque from G is due soon, and hope that that will arrive in time to put it into the new AA account. Oh this is boring stuff, but it is Quotidiana... Viv says she's starting a sort of group blog for women like us (whatever that means) - and wants me to contribute - it's meant to be about daily life... perhaps I can just link people through to this one... don't think I have the energy for two blogs.
Meanwhile, I am getting closer to doing the tax return for last year - really very exciting!
I am wondering whether we have reached rock bottom yet - or whether the worst is still to come. My normal insouciant nature says that making the decision to do it was the crisis - everything will now be easier, since I know roughly what I'm doing and why I'm doing it. However, the continuous ebb and flow of good and bad news make us continuously uneasy. One moment people want work from us, then they say nothing... so a nice little local job just disappears... the offer of a cash in hand job never materialises. Can't bear to look into the abyss and see disaster - but let's face it, nothing is working brilliantly well at the moment. M does have a good deal of work - but a lot of the more tentative stuff has vanished - apparently for good?
Sunday, 26 June 2011
Pictures
Sur la Plage
Mark and I walked down to the beach with Ned. We could see little scraps of cloud/fog wrapping themselves around some of the taller buildings, occasionally hiding church towers and the Granville Hotel from view. At the beach we could see a long strand of grey fog stream in over the east side of the town. We settled on the top of the ridge where the beach slopes down sharply. The tide was already a long way out, we got undressed and went immediately into the sea. It was cold but, it was after all nearly the earliest I have ever swum (the earliest was off Brighton with James - about 30 years ago on 21st June). Most unusually I was the first person under the water. We had a lovely swim for about half an hour. I went back first, and managed to break the ambre solaire bottle while trying to squeeze the viscous stuff out. We therefore covered ourselves liberally with it, and then became coated with sand.
We ate tomato foccacia and olives and drank rose, and tried to read. Then the fog drifted over us - it was strange, the sun was visible but it became chillier - there was a breeze which there hadn't been before - and it was grey. I was reading A Single Summer with Lord B by Derek Marlowe, but I dozed off - fatal! Then I woke up - and it was hot and sunny and windless and I felt burnt - I probably only snoozed for about 20 minutes. Ned decided to leave. Five minutes later Finn rang to say he was coming to join us. A few minutes after he joined us Ned rang furiously to say that he was locked out. Fortunately the back door was unlocked, so we recommended that, and went for a second swim.
Such was the density and tack-power of the ambre solaire that despite a bit of buffetting by the waves, the second swim did not remove the carapace of sand on my back. We left the beach and went to see Bella and had a coffee with her, some others came past.... so we chatted. Mark went to get the car because Finn had hurt his foot - nasty blister on the heel. Finn and I sat on some benches near the fish stall and the Channel Dash memorial - and it was thoroughly agreeable. Sometimes days can just be some pleasant and cheerful.
When we got home had a lovely bath and made supper - stew followed by frangipane tart (there was pastry in the fridge already - which I made a few days ago) and the frangipane is very easy. "I would have preferred a different jam" Ned said - I used homemade mirabelle jam. Next week I might make a crostata della nonna with jam - and I really must go and buy some strawberries for jam. The only blight on today is the sun burn - Ambre Solaire may be a great glue, but factor 8 isn't much use against the burning English sun!
We ate tomato foccacia and olives and drank rose, and tried to read. Then the fog drifted over us - it was strange, the sun was visible but it became chillier - there was a breeze which there hadn't been before - and it was grey. I was reading A Single Summer with Lord B by Derek Marlowe, but I dozed off - fatal! Then I woke up - and it was hot and sunny and windless and I felt burnt - I probably only snoozed for about 20 minutes. Ned decided to leave. Five minutes later Finn rang to say he was coming to join us. A few minutes after he joined us Ned rang furiously to say that he was locked out. Fortunately the back door was unlocked, so we recommended that, and went for a second swim.
Such was the density and tack-power of the ambre solaire that despite a bit of buffetting by the waves, the second swim did not remove the carapace of sand on my back. We left the beach and went to see Bella and had a coffee with her, some others came past.... so we chatted. Mark went to get the car because Finn had hurt his foot - nasty blister on the heel. Finn and I sat on some benches near the fish stall and the Channel Dash memorial - and it was thoroughly agreeable. Sometimes days can just be some pleasant and cheerful.
When we got home had a lovely bath and made supper - stew followed by frangipane tart (there was pastry in the fridge already - which I made a few days ago) and the frangipane is very easy. "I would have preferred a different jam" Ned said - I used homemade mirabelle jam. Next week I might make a crostata della nonna with jam - and I really must go and buy some strawberries for jam. The only blight on today is the sun burn - Ambre Solaire may be a great glue, but factor 8 isn't much use against the burning English sun!
7 Deadly Sins
I was thinking about Pride - and it occurred to me that the chief victim of one's pride is oneself, it is pride that prevents us from admitting difficult truths about ourselves or our situations and as a result one is unable to act correctly, and may thus make ourselves unhappier, and indeed make others unhappier as well.
What occurred to me though is that the chief victim of the 7 deadly sins is usually the person committing the sin, other people maybe victims - but the damage being done is to that person committing the sin and their relationships with others and primarily (from a Christian perspective) with God. But taking God as read, examining what happens when one commits these sins, one sees that they are chiefly sins against oneself, although of course others get caught in the cross fire.
Actually, that's what I want to prove, but I haven't thought this through - so first, perhaps, I can see if I can remember them.
Pride, Sloth/accidia, Wrath, Gluttony, Lust, Avarice, Envy, (ok, I had to be reminded by Wikipedia - curiously I always forget Gluttony!)
According to Wikipedia these were originally called the capital sins, from caput - and were the cause of other sinse. But I think the head bit could be seen differently - they are all things that originate in our heads/minds - and their initial impact is on us - our identity, the way we relate to other people. They do of course result in impacts on others: Wrath for example, could lead to murder (as could avarice, lust, envy, pride - though probably not sloth - unless killing a wealthy relative for gain would be easier than going out to work. I suppose conceivably Gluttony could lead to murder - but is perhaps less likely.
Actually, any of these sins could be outwardly manifested in various ways. I am not feeling up to further discussion on this at present. But I think I may return to the topic.
What occurred to me though is that the chief victim of the 7 deadly sins is usually the person committing the sin, other people maybe victims - but the damage being done is to that person committing the sin and their relationships with others and primarily (from a Christian perspective) with God. But taking God as read, examining what happens when one commits these sins, one sees that they are chiefly sins against oneself, although of course others get caught in the cross fire.
Actually, that's what I want to prove, but I haven't thought this through - so first, perhaps, I can see if I can remember them.
Pride, Sloth/accidia, Wrath, Gluttony, Lust, Avarice, Envy, (ok, I had to be reminded by Wikipedia - curiously I always forget Gluttony!)
According to Wikipedia these were originally called the capital sins, from caput - and were the cause of other sinse. But I think the head bit could be seen differently - they are all things that originate in our heads/minds - and their initial impact is on us - our identity, the way we relate to other people. They do of course result in impacts on others: Wrath for example, could lead to murder (as could avarice, lust, envy, pride - though probably not sloth - unless killing a wealthy relative for gain would be easier than going out to work. I suppose conceivably Gluttony could lead to murder - but is perhaps less likely.
Actually, any of these sins could be outwardly manifested in various ways. I am not feeling up to further discussion on this at present. But I think I may return to the topic.
Literature? Illiterature?
Hmm. This is another snotty entry about other people's blogs. Recently the random blog selection thing has been linking me to blogs about books. I should be thrilled, but I am mystified by the book lists. They are of course American - and therefore inevitably contain details of many writers I have never heard of. Curiously these are balanced with extremely high-minded, impenetrable blogs which are written in a quasi-structuralist lingo which is largely impenetrable and is probably, at bottom, not saying very much of interest. I know that sound arrogant, but over the years when I have managed to penetrate the meanings of structuralist writing I have found that it is usually stating the bleeding obvious anyway. So the language isn't there to illuminate, or elucidate, but merely to conceal - first from the profani, and secondly to hide the author's unoriginal ruminations. And that's a shame really, because it means, like management speak, it is a weapon in a not very interesting struggle between colleagues - who uses the hottest technical jargon = who gets to crow on top of the dungheap.
But I digress - the blog I looked at was called Lost in Literature - the lady concerned had read about 4 books this year (so lost in each one she couldn't get out?) and it made me wonder what the definition of literature was - really, it is just reading material I suppose, as in "Would you like some literature on our automatic potato peeler?" In that context I suppose glamour novels, and chick lit with a bit of a supernatural spin rates quite highly as literature.
So where did the idea come from the "Literature" was proper writing - and how can these two ideas be accommodated? A literary novel isn't remotely related to washing machine instructions after all. Perhaps readibility is the criterion... and many washing machine instructions used not to be readable - having apparently been translated from German to Japanese to Serbo - Croat to English, with much damage to clarity in the process. And Finegans Wake is apparently unreadable (mind you some idiots believe Ulysses to be unreadable - which makes one wonder if they really know how to read (don't ask me - I love the book, but I'm no expert on how to read)).
So literature doesn't in practice have to be readable... so maybe we should change it's name - to? Er, scripture? Because the common feature is that the stuff is written down, and readability is not claimed for it.
What else is unreadable? This is a subjective matter - I may find things unreadable which other people enjoy tremendously, I cannot really understand writing on linguistics or electronics. I didn't find A Brief History of Time unreadable exactly, but one needs to hold on tight and keep reading (and I didn't, so I didn't finish it). I ought to compile a list of illiterature!
But I digress - the blog I looked at was called Lost in Literature - the lady concerned had read about 4 books this year (so lost in each one she couldn't get out?) and it made me wonder what the definition of literature was - really, it is just reading material I suppose, as in "Would you like some literature on our automatic potato peeler?" In that context I suppose glamour novels, and chick lit with a bit of a supernatural spin rates quite highly as literature.
So where did the idea come from the "Literature" was proper writing - and how can these two ideas be accommodated? A literary novel isn't remotely related to washing machine instructions after all. Perhaps readibility is the criterion... and many washing machine instructions used not to be readable - having apparently been translated from German to Japanese to Serbo - Croat to English, with much damage to clarity in the process. And Finegans Wake is apparently unreadable (mind you some idiots believe Ulysses to be unreadable - which makes one wonder if they really know how to read (don't ask me - I love the book, but I'm no expert on how to read)).
So literature doesn't in practice have to be readable... so maybe we should change it's name - to? Er, scripture? Because the common feature is that the stuff is written down, and readability is not claimed for it.
What else is unreadable? This is a subjective matter - I may find things unreadable which other people enjoy tremendously, I cannot really understand writing on linguistics or electronics. I didn't find A Brief History of Time unreadable exactly, but one needs to hold on tight and keep reading (and I didn't, so I didn't finish it). I ought to compile a list of illiterature!
Diamonds
I am so glad I woke up early this morning - there was a half hour radio programme on the history/symbolism of diamonds - the final piece of information was a report from NASA about a massive diamond 50 light years away from us in the Centauri area... it was the remains of a white dwarf - a huge diamond, just "hanging" in the sky - the carbon remains of a sun(?). This is apparently what will happen to us - to our sun, that whatever happens to humanity on this planet, there will be a diamond in the sky eventually, marking that we were once here. And that diamond - does that mark the site of a whole solar system with planets? Maybe, maybe not.
The historian in me loves the idea that our solar system will still have a marker - even if it tells very little more than that a sun was once there - and has no information about the activities of the carbon-based lifeforms that depended on it. And the idea that when (if) the universe's stars all go out there will be - what? A great void studded with diamonds. It makes me curiously happy.
The historian in me loves the idea that our solar system will still have a marker - even if it tells very little more than that a sun was once there - and has no information about the activities of the carbon-based lifeforms that depended on it. And the idea that when (if) the universe's stars all go out there will be - what? A great void studded with diamonds. It makes me curiously happy.
Saturday, 25 June 2011
In the Aftermath
I woke up this morning at 8.30 - to an automated phone call from the Nationwide Credit Card Company. At last today they acknowledged our letter and we have to send more information to them to let them know the true extent of our debts. Meanwhile both Lloyds credit cards have agreed to our proposals - and we are getting going on that - made first online banking payments - this is real high-tech stuff for me, but it's incredibly easy. Everything is going OK at the moment, but I suppose once the standing orders start coming out of the account things will be different and more difficult to keep on top of.
Meanwhile, the house and the garden were fairly chaotic - 50 plus teenagers could have done so much worse harm - so a broken tomato plant, rosemary bush, sage bush, and torn down parthenocissus were not the worst things. Some of the kids had cleared up a bit - but it is astonishing how much cider etc. they got through. Ned was given a bottle of rum - he didn't seem especially drunk last night. Presumably he will store the rum - to be doled out in small bottles. They all have old water bottles full of booze...
The mysterious stuff was boys who opened packets of food (noodles, yeast, pearl barley) and scattered the contents. There also seems to have been a lot taking bites out of lemons. Strange - is it like eating chillies - they do it for a dare? Some of them were out of their tiny minds on salvia - a legal high that they claim makes them hallucinate....? Really?
Today was therefore a day of reconstruction and restoration: garden (bought 2 new tomato plants at vast expense) and cleared up, pruned and dead-headed. Then inside to do some financial work. Boring but essential. They are promising boiling hot weather tomorrow - so Mark and I are going to go to the beach, taking wine, olives and foccacia and books. We might even swim, if it's warm enough.
Meanwhile, the house and the garden were fairly chaotic - 50 plus teenagers could have done so much worse harm - so a broken tomato plant, rosemary bush, sage bush, and torn down parthenocissus were not the worst things. Some of the kids had cleared up a bit - but it is astonishing how much cider etc. they got through. Ned was given a bottle of rum - he didn't seem especially drunk last night. Presumably he will store the rum - to be doled out in small bottles. They all have old water bottles full of booze...
The mysterious stuff was boys who opened packets of food (noodles, yeast, pearl barley) and scattered the contents. There also seems to have been a lot taking bites out of lemons. Strange - is it like eating chillies - they do it for a dare? Some of them were out of their tiny minds on salvia - a legal high that they claim makes them hallucinate....? Really?
Today was therefore a day of reconstruction and restoration: garden (bought 2 new tomato plants at vast expense) and cleared up, pruned and dead-headed. Then inside to do some financial work. Boring but essential. They are promising boiling hot weather tomorrow - so Mark and I are going to go to the beach, taking wine, olives and foccacia and books. We might even swim, if it's warm enough.
Tuesday, 21 June 2011
Idle Thoughts
- well, do I have any other kind? [Removed]
Meanwhile I am in correspondence with a keen teenager called Jay who is helping doing all the Squall in the Park fun work... he's really enjoying it and keen to come to meetings etc. I am so grateful to him. I have no idea what sort of music we will get. Loud I fear!
Sheree came over and talked to me about it - which puts my mind at rest. She's the right combination of sensible but not stuffy - in fact rather right on in an old-fashioned way... I like her very much. Funny how long it takes to find one's elective affinities some times.
It was an uneventful day today really - enjoyable, but rather cat-dominated. Bernard only wants to sit on my lap during the day when I am trying to type. I gave him access to the garden again this afternoon. Then I brought him in - he scratched my face - wanted to stay in the garden. In the kitchen he stood by the door and gave an indignant miaow (his voice is breaking). I showed him the cat flap - he gave me a dreadful look as if to say "what use is that to me?" (it is too high for him to use it, he's so tiny). So I risked letting him out alone and he then scampered in and out - he now has a long scamper track from halfway down the hall through the kitchen and out to the back... it was so sweet to see him dashing about "Oh, I am a cat that likes to dash about doing good...". He encountered a very sleek black cat who often passes through, Bernard arched and fluffed up and the black cat reversed away. A little later Mushu, the ginger tom came by and didn't take much notice of Bernard, since he thinks this is his garden. Bernard arched and fluffed, but Mushu ignored him, merely scenting the air in his direction in a pleasantly interested way (Mushu is a very good natured cat). Bernard finally he had had enough garden and came in to sleep in one of the magazine baskets - in an interesting semi-upright position.
Look - I know, I complain about all soppy entries about dogs, cats, babies, elsewhere - but at least I have not used the words cute or adorable. Bernard is not adorable - he is busy, active and curious - an ideal kitten really. He has just whizzed past along the scampertrack...he is bigger already after only 5 days. I am sure he will turn into a very dignified clever cat - as long as we can keep him away from the road for a while.
Meanwhile I am in correspondence with a keen teenager called Jay who is helping doing all the Squall in the Park fun work... he's really enjoying it and keen to come to meetings etc. I am so grateful to him. I have no idea what sort of music we will get. Loud I fear!
Sheree came over and talked to me about it - which puts my mind at rest. She's the right combination of sensible but not stuffy - in fact rather right on in an old-fashioned way... I like her very much. Funny how long it takes to find one's elective affinities some times.
It was an uneventful day today really - enjoyable, but rather cat-dominated. Bernard only wants to sit on my lap during the day when I am trying to type. I gave him access to the garden again this afternoon. Then I brought him in - he scratched my face - wanted to stay in the garden. In the kitchen he stood by the door and gave an indignant miaow (his voice is breaking). I showed him the cat flap - he gave me a dreadful look as if to say "what use is that to me?" (it is too high for him to use it, he's so tiny). So I risked letting him out alone and he then scampered in and out - he now has a long scamper track from halfway down the hall through the kitchen and out to the back... it was so sweet to see him dashing about "Oh, I am a cat that likes to dash about doing good...". He encountered a very sleek black cat who often passes through, Bernard arched and fluffed up and the black cat reversed away. A little later Mushu, the ginger tom came by and didn't take much notice of Bernard, since he thinks this is his garden. Bernard arched and fluffed, but Mushu ignored him, merely scenting the air in his direction in a pleasantly interested way (Mushu is a very good natured cat). Bernard finally he had had enough garden and came in to sleep in one of the magazine baskets - in an interesting semi-upright position.
Look - I know, I complain about all soppy entries about dogs, cats, babies, elsewhere - but at least I have not used the words cute or adorable. Bernard is not adorable - he is busy, active and curious - an ideal kitten really. He has just whizzed past along the scampertrack...he is bigger already after only 5 days. I am sure he will turn into a very dignified clever cat - as long as we can keep him away from the road for a while.
Sunday, 19 June 2011
Habemus cattum!
This deserves its own entry. We have been subject to a long campaign to get a cat, we went to look at some RSPCA cats, but at the time - about 2 months ago, we felt £70 was more than we could afford - so we shelved it. But the boys did not forget, there was some mention of kittens, and then it was forgotten. Then last week Ned said there was a single kitten, it was found to be black, male, 10 weeks old and housetrained (not neutered or flu-injected, de-fleaed or wormed) but generally available. So I agreed and we went and got it.
It is a very intrepid kitten, currently fighting with my mp3 headphones... we have called it Bernard. This was my idea and I have no idea why, but I didn't think much of other ideas (Withnail, Ginzberg (Ned) and Hannibal (Finn) ) I was dubious about Claude (Mark's suggestion). Bernard seems to suit him somehow. He is a very wild and active creature, with intolerably sharp claws. Last night he slept between us in the bed. He is so tiny we were both terrified of rolling onto him, but our bed is so large there is no danger of that.
It is surprisingly nice to have a kitten - we are all talking to each other. Ahmed, our student from the UAE, likes him too. But in the first day or two Bernard was very needy and squeaky - missing his mother and his larger cat family at Marianna's house, so I spent a lot of time just holding him cuddled against my chest, while he stretched out his paws cheerfully and snoozed. He seems to have settled in now - but it was funny having to look after him like that, I remember that feeling one has with babies, they go to sleep on you, but then you can't put them down because they'll wake up so you sit, semi-paralysed, maybe with a free hand, maybe not. Bernard of course is so small that his rear end fits neatly into one hand.
A charity has sent us a syringe - and he is batting it around the floor. The boys took photos and put him up on Facebook almost at once. I hope he'll flourish. Mark has never had a kitten before - neither have the boys - and I had forgotten what fun they are.
It is a very intrepid kitten, currently fighting with my mp3 headphones... we have called it Bernard. This was my idea and I have no idea why, but I didn't think much of other ideas (Withnail, Ginzberg (Ned) and Hannibal (Finn) ) I was dubious about Claude (Mark's suggestion). Bernard seems to suit him somehow. He is a very wild and active creature, with intolerably sharp claws. Last night he slept between us in the bed. He is so tiny we were both terrified of rolling onto him, but our bed is so large there is no danger of that.
It is surprisingly nice to have a kitten - we are all talking to each other. Ahmed, our student from the UAE, likes him too. But in the first day or two Bernard was very needy and squeaky - missing his mother and his larger cat family at Marianna's house, so I spent a lot of time just holding him cuddled against my chest, while he stretched out his paws cheerfully and snoozed. He seems to have settled in now - but it was funny having to look after him like that, I remember that feeling one has with babies, they go to sleep on you, but then you can't put them down because they'll wake up so you sit, semi-paralysed, maybe with a free hand, maybe not. Bernard of course is so small that his rear end fits neatly into one hand.
A charity has sent us a syringe - and he is batting it around the floor. The boys took photos and put him up on Facebook almost at once. I hope he'll flourish. Mark has never had a kitten before - neither have the boys - and I had forgotten what fun they are.
Freedom!
Curiously - or not, because we are probably in the eye of the storm - I feel quite calm and free. A lot of this is due to the decision to abandon the market stall - I got to 7 cons and only 1 pro - so I decided it must be rather like the decision to leave ChristChurch - when there were 7 objections to a matter... it sounds rather biblical... it was time to go. I can't remember what the pros were with CC - nice congregation? proximity to house? The pro with the market was small amounts of cash every week - but the small was too small to exchange the whole of the weekend for.
Went out to a party at Alex's last night. I am noticing a weariness with social engagements recently, I had to drag myself out - actually Alex offered me £20 to do some starters for him... It was a nice party, but I felt unengaged, lost my desire to charm or "sparkle" can't be arsed, there were nice people there, but maybe I was tired, or is it just that despite having apparently gone native, there are bits of me that find reading the book section of the Guardian a more stimulating activity.
Simon has sent me a book by Von Hugel as a pdf. and I am hoping to read it slowly.... I like the sound of his ideas, it's always good to feel one's weird theology has company. VH was a Catholic - so it will be interesting to see how far I agree with him, ever since I converted to the CoE years ago my explanation for my position has been that I am "culturally Catholic and theologically Protestant". I certainly don't have a trace of ultramontaneism in my make-up. If there is a word to describe someone who disrespects the office of Pope it would be me (the word Protestant?).
Went out to a party at Alex's last night. I am noticing a weariness with social engagements recently, I had to drag myself out - actually Alex offered me £20 to do some starters for him... It was a nice party, but I felt unengaged, lost my desire to charm or "sparkle" can't be arsed, there were nice people there, but maybe I was tired, or is it just that despite having apparently gone native, there are bits of me that find reading the book section of the Guardian a more stimulating activity.
Simon has sent me a book by Von Hugel as a pdf. and I am hoping to read it slowly.... I like the sound of his ideas, it's always good to feel one's weird theology has company. VH was a Catholic - so it will be interesting to see how far I agree with him, ever since I converted to the CoE years ago my explanation for my position has been that I am "culturally Catholic and theologically Protestant". I certainly don't have a trace of ultramontaneism in my make-up. If there is a word to describe someone who disrespects the office of Pope it would be me (the word Protestant?).
Wednesday, 15 June 2011
Lunar eclipse
I believe there is a lunar eclipse today - I was expecting the heavens to open and huge foul missives from the banks and credit card companies to be hurled down upon me like thunderbolts. But no, not a peep so far. But it won't last.
Look at the disingenuity of the opening sentence, of course I know there's a lunar eclipse today and the fact that it's in my 8th house means big, shared, money - so potentially an awful thing. Maybe - insofar as eclipses often signify endings - it signifies the end of our slavery to Lloyds Bank. Cheery old Susan Miller who always predicts nice things says this is a wonderful eclipse - new jobs, money, lovers etc. will flood into my life. In eager anticipation I put on some earrings and went to a networking lunch. It was even less interesting than usual - and I actually had already met about 7 of the people there. However, the one person I hadn't met was a guy called Laurence Stone, an ex-Sun features writer who has just set up a PR company locally. Unfortunately I didn't get his card. He doesn't do marketing, so I guess we have stolen a slight march on him. He seemed curiously unconfident, which was upsetting, I felt like offering him a clear field and retiring from the business. But he had a very blingy partner with him, wearing white denim and looking as though she might be a retired glamour model....so I didn't feel too sorry for him. He's in Canterbury - so we needn't worry too much at present I feel. I don't think that was the big job opportunity. I didn't schmooze enough, but frankly there was no point, the drippy woman who does colour me beautiful and always looks pale and washed out was there. I wondered why she had half given up her business - I guess she too lacks confidence, if she had done some of the things we had suggested she'd be coining it. But perhaps she didn't have the money for it.
Is it worth doing this again? Not this particular group I fear. I sat next to 3 women who sold cosmetics, there were 5 alternative practitioners (1 hypnotherapist, 1 reflexologist, 1 reiki, 1 "relaxation techniques" (a representative of the massage community perhaps? and the empress of aloe vera), the usual accountant, a sales training woman, and 4 recruitment people. Hmmm. I moved away from the cosmetics women after one of them asked me (when I said I didn't really wear cosmetics) why I didn't use skin care products? I said I thought my skin was OK - "but don't you want to keep it that way?" I lack the resources of credulity to accept that whatever she was flogging would keep my skin wrinkle free until the end.... although my father claimed that my mother was wrinkle free until she died (not far from the truth - it softens rather than actually scrunches up). Anyway, I went to sit somewhere else as (a) I saw someone I wanted to speak to (well - sort of) and (b) I couldn't spend an hour sitting with 3 cosmetics vendors. They might have interesting stories, but I wasn't in the mood.
One good thing: recently I have been having ideas to put on paper - and I suddennly understood what the short story is for - it is to enable one to work out characters and situations... I decided I would write a story called "The Last Fat Woman" about a society where everyone has had hypnotherapy to cure all their naughty habits and no one craves fags, booze or carbohydrates... the last fat woman has nowhere to hide, she cannot disguise her corpulence... everyone is full of popular psychological theories about why she is like this - she becomes a public figure - and is of course, a raging feminist - refusing to conform to the norms..... [Did I mention the afternoon when I was chatting with 3 lesbians who were all discussing how tiresome it was to have to shave their body hair? Not doing was clearly not an option.] Of course she doesn't actually like being fat, but feels she owes it to diversity to stay that way... Or perhaps I should call it "A woman's right to choose". I quite like this idea. I'm not sure whether the blog is the place to think aloud like this... but at least I know where the idea is when I have time to sketch it out a bit.
I don't know what happened to my resolution to only write about interesting stories I heard. miserere dictu I have no stories to relate.
Mark is in Cambridge, which is always very liberating. I actually go to bed earlier when he isn't storming around the place complaining about me not coming to bed. Contrarian, moi? It is pathetic isn't it?
I have been working like stink on press releases etc. and am really tired, although it's only 9.15. Perhaps I will go to bed. I am reading James Shapiro's 1599 - about that year in Shakespeare's life. It's very interesting, but not quite illuminating. It is enjoyable though.
Oh - some girls on bikes have come to take Ned out for a crepuscular promenade. He will annoy them now by not having his bike ready - and I wonder whether he has any lights.
Well so much for the momentous day of the lunar eclipse - but then again as SM says "you may feel the effects 4 days either side of the date" - I did get a cheque for £160 yesterday - from my father - two tanks of petrol. What a saint he is! I ought to be doing stuff for him really. I wish I could (a) think of something to give him for his birthday (b) get him something really nice. Perhaps a free weekend in Ramsgate?
Look at the disingenuity of the opening sentence, of course I know there's a lunar eclipse today and the fact that it's in my 8th house means big, shared, money - so potentially an awful thing. Maybe - insofar as eclipses often signify endings - it signifies the end of our slavery to Lloyds Bank. Cheery old Susan Miller who always predicts nice things says this is a wonderful eclipse - new jobs, money, lovers etc. will flood into my life. In eager anticipation I put on some earrings and went to a networking lunch. It was even less interesting than usual - and I actually had already met about 7 of the people there. However, the one person I hadn't met was a guy called Laurence Stone, an ex-Sun features writer who has just set up a PR company locally. Unfortunately I didn't get his card. He doesn't do marketing, so I guess we have stolen a slight march on him. He seemed curiously unconfident, which was upsetting, I felt like offering him a clear field and retiring from the business. But he had a very blingy partner with him, wearing white denim and looking as though she might be a retired glamour model....so I didn't feel too sorry for him. He's in Canterbury - so we needn't worry too much at present I feel. I don't think that was the big job opportunity. I didn't schmooze enough, but frankly there was no point, the drippy woman who does colour me beautiful and always looks pale and washed out was there. I wondered why she had half given up her business - I guess she too lacks confidence, if she had done some of the things we had suggested she'd be coining it. But perhaps she didn't have the money for it.
Is it worth doing this again? Not this particular group I fear. I sat next to 3 women who sold cosmetics, there were 5 alternative practitioners (1 hypnotherapist, 1 reflexologist, 1 reiki, 1 "relaxation techniques" (a representative of the massage community perhaps? and the empress of aloe vera), the usual accountant, a sales training woman, and 4 recruitment people. Hmmm. I moved away from the cosmetics women after one of them asked me (when I said I didn't really wear cosmetics) why I didn't use skin care products? I said I thought my skin was OK - "but don't you want to keep it that way?" I lack the resources of credulity to accept that whatever she was flogging would keep my skin wrinkle free until the end.... although my father claimed that my mother was wrinkle free until she died (not far from the truth - it softens rather than actually scrunches up). Anyway, I went to sit somewhere else as (a) I saw someone I wanted to speak to (well - sort of) and (b) I couldn't spend an hour sitting with 3 cosmetics vendors. They might have interesting stories, but I wasn't in the mood.
One good thing: recently I have been having ideas to put on paper - and I suddennly understood what the short story is for - it is to enable one to work out characters and situations... I decided I would write a story called "The Last Fat Woman" about a society where everyone has had hypnotherapy to cure all their naughty habits and no one craves fags, booze or carbohydrates... the last fat woman has nowhere to hide, she cannot disguise her corpulence... everyone is full of popular psychological theories about why she is like this - she becomes a public figure - and is of course, a raging feminist - refusing to conform to the norms..... [Did I mention the afternoon when I was chatting with 3 lesbians who were all discussing how tiresome it was to have to shave their body hair? Not doing was clearly not an option.] Of course she doesn't actually like being fat, but feels she owes it to diversity to stay that way... Or perhaps I should call it "A woman's right to choose". I quite like this idea. I'm not sure whether the blog is the place to think aloud like this... but at least I know where the idea is when I have time to sketch it out a bit.
I don't know what happened to my resolution to only write about interesting stories I heard. miserere dictu I have no stories to relate.
Mark is in Cambridge, which is always very liberating. I actually go to bed earlier when he isn't storming around the place complaining about me not coming to bed. Contrarian, moi? It is pathetic isn't it?
I have been working like stink on press releases etc. and am really tired, although it's only 9.15. Perhaps I will go to bed. I am reading James Shapiro's 1599 - about that year in Shakespeare's life. It's very interesting, but not quite illuminating. It is enjoyable though.
Oh - some girls on bikes have come to take Ned out for a crepuscular promenade. He will annoy them now by not having his bike ready - and I wonder whether he has any lights.
Well so much for the momentous day of the lunar eclipse - but then again as SM says "you may feel the effects 4 days either side of the date" - I did get a cheque for £160 yesterday - from my father - two tanks of petrol. What a saint he is! I ought to be doing stuff for him really. I wish I could (a) think of something to give him for his birthday (b) get him something really nice. Perhaps a free weekend in Ramsgate?
Monday, 13 June 2011
Abeste profanis!
There is a man who keeps an establishment in the Old Town in Margate. I visited it once, it was an unexceptional experience - perfectly average food, rather poor service and playing a little too much on itsextravagant decor. While some people fill their establishments with piles of exquisite vintage tat.... this was really unattractive stuff - a lot of Victorian/Edwardian china, family pictures of other people's families, and a great deal of Dianiana. My only criticism of this was that he really didn't have an eye for what was good - presumably he really liked this particularly lumpy style of stuff.
This man comes out of his establishment every week to buy more vintage tat from the Bazaar. He passes by my stall. He clearly finds it very threatening. He (did I write about this?) walked past a few weeks ago and gave me a reptilian look through his tiny (lashless?) eyes that seemed to be full of hate. I should have crossed myself, it left me with an unpleasant feeling. Subsequently he has come past and ignored me pointedly. Yesterday he bought something off the stall next to mine - I caught his eye (difficult since they are so small) and said "Hello" to him pleasantly (heap coals of fire upon your enemy's head!) he responded through clenched teeth and his eyes darted sideways to my stock. I feel - and this sounds mad I know - that he has a bit of an evil eye. I sold nothing for the next hour, until I prayed about it, and suddennly lots of people turned up and I made £50.
I talked to S - who had the stall next to mine.
"I don't know why he always gives me such a filthy look when he passes my stall."
She was silent a bit.
"You wouldn't believe what goes on in my head dear!"
"I can cope with most things."
:"I wouldn't eat in his place."
"Oh, I have once - it was OK"
"No - I couldn't - it's the thought of what he might have been getting up to the night before - you don't know where his hands might have been."
"Oh, it's not his sexuality that bother me."
"It bothers me dear!"
S and I were getting on very well, and I think years ago I would have been horrified at such sentiments, but either I have become corrupted by the narrowness of provincial life, or become so generous in my sentiments that nihil humanun alienum puto and therefore find her views no more or less abhorrent than his presumed sexual practices....
She is an interesting woman - she has considerable psychic powers - her mother was a medium, but she was frightened as a small child when she heard her mother channelling a man's voice, so never wanted to have anything to do with it. She is still rather frightened by it. She finds occasionally she "sees" things about people - but she was lamenting, as everyone does, about how it is only certain people, and you cannot reliably say things about everyone. Also it surprises her what she knows about people. We were talking about this because next week there is going to be a "psychic" at the Bazaar. Hmm.
Everyone is expecting a good week next week... it's Margate air show - and Father's Day - so lots of men to sell pasties to - and lots of bored women looking for a bit of shopping. I have test-frozen some of the left overs to find out how much can be re-used, because I am still wasting quite a lot. The fruit cake is amazingly successful - does better than brownies because grown-ups buy it. I might do flapjacks next week - with sunflower seeds... v. healthy. Sold most of the bread - not the olive bread though! Must try and work hard to make it a bit lighter.
That's enough market chat.
Elsewhere in my life - money- money - money - or lack of. No one is paying us at present. We have set up the new bank account - all the debt letters are going off this morning. Fiat justitia et caelum ruat! I think the sky will fall in once they get the letters. I wonder what Lloyds will do, we owe them so much money. I expect they'll take a charge over the house. I wouldn't mind that so much - it would mean we could pay the other creditors faster.
Conscience is at a standstill - HH is doing the PR for Ramsgate Arts and I have committed a most dreadful PR sin.... and I have sent TFY to a new agent whom I already like very much. Hope it's mutual, I have a good feeling about her, which I haven't had before. Hope it won't be another "yes - but..." the last agent told me I needed a "hook" - what? Make the J character a haemophiliac? That suggests that the sibling rivalry book idea (idea? it's already 20,000 words) might have more of a chance. After the last rejection I wondered whether I should concentrate on Conscience and try to push TFY as the second book - but how disappointed people who loved Conscience would be by TFY - still, Hilary Mantel doesn't write the same book every time. I wonder who her agent is.... probably someone fearfully grand at one of the big agencies. Anyway, she's a far more eclectic writer than me. I have been thinking that I have so many extraordinary ideas, that I ought to try and write about them. I am just so lazy, but perhaps after C and the sibling book I might get bored and try to do something more abnormal.
I just read a book of short stories by Susannah Clarke. I find her work delightful, it has a curious exuberance and courage that I really admire. And I love the writing - nothing jars. Grown up Faerie stories are an interesting phenomenon. But I know several people who find it twee. I thought JS and MrN was better than that - after all, it was about love too and had an emotionally satisfying conclusion.
Gosh what a long entry. It's at least 40 minutes long.
This man comes out of his establishment every week to buy more vintage tat from the Bazaar. He passes by my stall. He clearly finds it very threatening. He (did I write about this?) walked past a few weeks ago and gave me a reptilian look through his tiny (lashless?) eyes that seemed to be full of hate. I should have crossed myself, it left me with an unpleasant feeling. Subsequently he has come past and ignored me pointedly. Yesterday he bought something off the stall next to mine - I caught his eye (difficult since they are so small) and said "Hello" to him pleasantly (heap coals of fire upon your enemy's head!) he responded through clenched teeth and his eyes darted sideways to my stock. I feel - and this sounds mad I know - that he has a bit of an evil eye. I sold nothing for the next hour, until I prayed about it, and suddennly lots of people turned up and I made £50.
I talked to S - who had the stall next to mine.
"I don't know why he always gives me such a filthy look when he passes my stall."
She was silent a bit.
"You wouldn't believe what goes on in my head dear!"
"I can cope with most things."
:"I wouldn't eat in his place."
"Oh, I have once - it was OK"
"No - I couldn't - it's the thought of what he might have been getting up to the night before - you don't know where his hands might have been."
"Oh, it's not his sexuality that bother me."
"It bothers me dear!"
S and I were getting on very well, and I think years ago I would have been horrified at such sentiments, but either I have become corrupted by the narrowness of provincial life, or become so generous in my sentiments that nihil humanun alienum puto and therefore find her views no more or less abhorrent than his presumed sexual practices....
She is an interesting woman - she has considerable psychic powers - her mother was a medium, but she was frightened as a small child when she heard her mother channelling a man's voice, so never wanted to have anything to do with it. She is still rather frightened by it. She finds occasionally she "sees" things about people - but she was lamenting, as everyone does, about how it is only certain people, and you cannot reliably say things about everyone. Also it surprises her what she knows about people. We were talking about this because next week there is going to be a "psychic" at the Bazaar. Hmm.
Everyone is expecting a good week next week... it's Margate air show - and Father's Day - so lots of men to sell pasties to - and lots of bored women looking for a bit of shopping. I have test-frozen some of the left overs to find out how much can be re-used, because I am still wasting quite a lot. The fruit cake is amazingly successful - does better than brownies because grown-ups buy it. I might do flapjacks next week - with sunflower seeds... v. healthy. Sold most of the bread - not the olive bread though! Must try and work hard to make it a bit lighter.
That's enough market chat.
Elsewhere in my life - money- money - money - or lack of. No one is paying us at present. We have set up the new bank account - all the debt letters are going off this morning. Fiat justitia et caelum ruat! I think the sky will fall in once they get the letters. I wonder what Lloyds will do, we owe them so much money. I expect they'll take a charge over the house. I wouldn't mind that so much - it would mean we could pay the other creditors faster.
Conscience is at a standstill - HH is doing the PR for Ramsgate Arts and I have committed a most dreadful PR sin.... and I have sent TFY to a new agent whom I already like very much. Hope it's mutual, I have a good feeling about her, which I haven't had before. Hope it won't be another "yes - but..." the last agent told me I needed a "hook" - what? Make the J character a haemophiliac? That suggests that the sibling rivalry book idea (idea? it's already 20,000 words) might have more of a chance. After the last rejection I wondered whether I should concentrate on Conscience and try to push TFY as the second book - but how disappointed people who loved Conscience would be by TFY - still, Hilary Mantel doesn't write the same book every time. I wonder who her agent is.... probably someone fearfully grand at one of the big agencies. Anyway, she's a far more eclectic writer than me. I have been thinking that I have so many extraordinary ideas, that I ought to try and write about them. I am just so lazy, but perhaps after C and the sibling book I might get bored and try to do something more abnormal.
I just read a book of short stories by Susannah Clarke. I find her work delightful, it has a curious exuberance and courage that I really admire. And I love the writing - nothing jars. Grown up Faerie stories are an interesting phenomenon. But I know several people who find it twee. I thought JS and MrN was better than that - after all, it was about love too and had an emotionally satisfying conclusion.
Gosh what a long entry. It's at least 40 minutes long.
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