On the gin

Spent a lovely evening with Alexander - first he came here to collect his plants, then I went over to his house to admire his garden and drink his gin.  He is having a fiscal crisis and gin is all he has left to drink.  First we had Plymouth gin - and then London gin - a very different one, definitely not Gordons, didn't discover what it was: perhaps it was French or Belgian gin.

I think 1:1 Alexander is easier to get on with - it isn't that he's less challenging in some of the things he says, but if you're the only person there, one can argue with him amicably without putting him down in front of other people.  I really enjoy talking to him, but he is extravagantly sexist at times.  Mark very kindly came and collected me, I was prepared to walk home, but I was getting chilly.  Summer clothes are now out - but occasionally not enough are on.

Life is almost normal at present, there is shopping, cooking, gardening, and even bits of work for the Summer Squall.  I have done my first PR for it, and written an article for the Isle mag.  I also had several hectic meetings about Squall in the Park... which isn't going to happen this year, a blessed release really.  Tomorrow I must do finance and cleaning.  As I said, life is normal.  I am not writing, I am having a break.  I do need to read more and research more before trying to do this rather challenging thing.


When I feel happy, I sometimes have this inner voice saying "I'm in love"... I think it's just a memory of the past, an echo of how I used to feel.  It's a sunny day, expansive feeling... and its aftermath is a kind of sadness because even if I am (not sure about that) it's not reciprocated.  I definitely feel happy now - somehow love ought to be part of it.  A and I were discussing (or rather he was) why one ought to be able to be celibate at this point in life, once one had had children.   I did not confide in him, he regards me as "grounded" i.e. married with children, stable etc.  "Uninteresting" may be what he really meant.  Perhaps it was just his way of reminding me that greater intellectual intimacy didn't imply any other kind of intimacy.  As if.... much as I like him, he doesn't have the kind of mind I'd fall in love with.  I'd still like someone to explore new ideas with - I'd still like some time to explore new ideas.  More and more I fantasize about lying on the bed reading a book all day.  Soon I will I think.

More on Limerence

The first and the biggest sign of limerence is hiding one’s feelings for someone.

This is what lovepanky.com says... hhmm, perhaps it has been limerence all along, a morbid fear of expressing oneself. On the other hand, the LO had a copy of "the book" - which is pretty explicit about the heroine's feelings...  and two people who are married to other people, have to be pretty cagey about their feelings.   A lot of the stuff about limerence is very close to what I have felt - except that I haven't sought gratitude from the LO - or perhaps I have, in a rather perverse and torturous way.  I think there are dozens of reason why people "do not speak their love" - not just limerence, insecurity, fear of rejection etc. Are they saying that people who have experienced a great deal of rejection are unable to fall in love?  If you are insecure about someone's feelings does that mean you cannot really love them?

I know that is an illogical conversion, but it's interesting.   Why do people not declare the love they feel?  Because they feel foolish, because they hate themselves for making themselves vulnerable to others, because they fear rejection, because they haven't yet got to the right moment... those all seem to me to be valid reasons. Perhaps they aren't, and perhaps if you can't tell your love then it isn't love?   Oh dear, now I feel a bit miserable... was it all about getting his attention?  I don't think it was, just about wanting to continue a conversation, I haven't felt jealous, or annoyed when people have interrupted our conversations etc. Perhaps what he felt towards me was limerence?  Oh for heaven's sake!  I'll never know, nothing will ever come of this. I just wish it would resolve itself or go away.

Should I even publish this - is it too personal?  Oh, what the hell.  

Love objects

Having doughtily fought off all thoughts of the distant love object - and having finally begun to feel I might have won... I now find myself all of a quiver.   There was an interesting programme on the radio about being a human in a digital context and it talked about people who met on line and got to know each other through correspondence.  There were analogies with Eliz Barratt and Robert Browning and how an epistolary relationship can cause real love to flourish.  There was also a warning that sometimes the feelings that could be engendered could be rather more obsessive - "limerence" was cited.

It is interesting how "new" forms of love are being identified over the years: limerence is apparently obsessive and unrequited, and contains many vivid images of rescuing the other person - it is certainly not about equality and shared experiences.   I didn't think it was an especially new form of love though - I daresay a lot of the romantic poetry of the middle ages focuses on the man's service to the woman, on a willingness to face dangers for her, to rescue her etc.etc.   What is the legend of George and the dragon or Perseus and Andromeda based on - surely a sort of archetype of limerence?

I really ought to read more about this sort of thing - trying to write about love basing it only on one's own experiences is a bit short-sighted really.   Perhaps I can do some "research reading" over this summer and then hurl myself at 17Y and Conscience in the autumn.   I expect I will need to re-write some of the bits of TRF as well - perhaps I can add limerence somewhere...

Why the quivering though?   I guess it suddenly sparked thoughts of my famous, now lost, email correspondence with the LO - perhaps we were falling in love through that - perhaps that's why he needed to stop.  It is good to know that relationships that start with these correspondences often prove to be very enduring - as long as the initial physical meeting doesn't result in repugnance... anyway, I was glad to see that what I was feeling was much more like "real love" i.e. wanting to share the best bits of life with another person (their definition) - rather than limerence.  I can categorically state that I have never dreamed of rescuing the LO from a burning building only to hear him confess his love to me with his dying breath.  A dead LO would be no good at all: even a Fantasy Husband has to have a bit of life left in him... something friskier would be better.   I suppose there would be a comfort in knowing the LO loved you, but having them die immediately they said the words sounds strange - perhaps masochistic - or a denial of wanting the real thing.   I think I've probably never experienced limerance... as far as I can remember.  Love objects must live and flourish!

So as a result of hearing this I experienced a few moments of longing and connection... and now it must stop.      I had a lovely weekend with M - have had two jolly meetings today and am generally feeling positive about things.  So the LO must go back into his marriage and just stay there.

Summer - finally! (after another burst of conservative Catholicism!)

After about 6 weeks of cold, wet, changeable, windy, sunny weather.... a short patch of settled sunshine has begun.

Yesterday I felt sufficiently energised to trot down to St. Pugin's to hear a high mass with great music.   OMG.  If Mrs Bogle hadn't put me off the faith of my fathers - this hammered another couple of nails into the coffin.   It was the 1962 Latin rite, celebrated by a sallow, unkind looking priest called John Saward.  His Latin pronunciation was beautiful, very Italian sounding - no doubt the product of years in Rome.  It was all done back to the people, everything including gospels in Latin - only the sermon in English (wish it had  been in Latin too - then I wouldn't have understood so much of the sectarian, authoritarian stuff).  It did not feel inclusive or engaged with the people - it was performed rather than - well, what should an act of worship be?  It was an extraordinary spectacle - although there were some very odd clergy there... and a vast gang of "simple faithful" pilgrims... from an organisation called "A Day with Mary" - who organised a procession with a flower clad statue processing around the greens of the West cliff, singing Ave Maria and saying rosaries.   Clare and I got into the church in the middle of a full Latin litany of Loreto (don't think I've said a full one of those for years... and never in latin : turra eburnea - ora pro nobis, rosa mystica - ora pro nobis etc.).  Some of the music was very beautiful and moving and any moments of spiritual stirring were during those moments.  I did pray a bit, but I felt at the end of the Mass that this has been God's way of telling me not to go back to the Church!

After Mass Clare came back for wine and we hung out for ages - then she went off to hear more music - and then later, came to us for supper.  We had our first barbecue in the garden - fantastic hot charcoal, only slightly spoiled by not very exciting meat from local butcher - sausages, chinese ribs, thin beef steaks and pork chops. We had asparagus, salad and fried aubergines... and then some coconut cake with blueberry fool (something I've just invented).  Then M and Clare and I saw the sun set and the dusk fade and sat in the dark with blankets on us for hours - then we went in, and eventually M went to bed and Clare and I carried on talking until 2.00pm when I rudely suggested she leave!

Needless to say, I felt utterly crap the following morning - but eventually forced myself to get up and M, Finn and I went to the beach - where there was swimming!   Amazing.  I paddled, I might have swum if I hadn't been feeling so ghastly.  Then we lay in the sun toasting and reading.  Finn dug himself a hole to sit in - and we chatted.   We made our way up the beach and stopped at Alexandra's for a drink (2 spritzers) and a snack - garlic bread and olives and a pizza - we began talking to the couple at the next table - really nice people.  I especially liked the woman, felt she was intellectually curious and probably quite fun.  It turned out they are the people who are now operating the Maritime Museum - a useful contact I think.  He is keen to work with the Summer Squall - which is great.

Then we came home - where, despite exhaustion, I managed to make chicken baked in mango chutney (very good - my own invention!) with rice, beans and a tomato, pepper and courgette thing -  it was delicious... followed by last night's pudding - plus some new homemade Oreo cookie ice cream - also good.

I must say that this is very detailed and perhaps a little boring - BUT - there's a reason, because it was - apart from the hangover - a perfect summer weekend... a barbecue, a friend around, a trip to the beach, a friendly conversation with strangers... and not too expensive.  The sensation of feeling warm and happy and unworried has been rare in the last few months - so is to be cherished.

When we began to make our way home, I felt too knackered to go any further, so I waited with the baggage and M came to get me.   While I was standing there a elderly lady, leading a tugging dog, spoke to me.  She was a local woman, in her 60s/70s... only 3 teeth, she just smiled and said "Hasn't it been a lovely day? I hope it goes on like this!"
I replied that I'd heard there were a few more days like this to come.  She was so full of joy - she made me feel very happy and blessed and glad to be able to share more words with a stranger.  There are so many good people in the world, and just experiencing a bit of her pleasure in life was a great treat - and infected me with a similar delight!

A dream

As Galateo said "it is impolite to recount your dreams" or words to that effect, however last night's was a classic.

I was at Oxford where there was a sort of reunion going on - there were people I knew who were friends from the past (I wasn't at Oxford, but had a group of friends who were).  So I was with a woman a bit like Charlotte (who's younger than that group in reality) who was feeling a bit left out - we were delighted to see each other and were talking animatedly - but all the while men we had known kept appearing and sitting at a large table.  Meanwhile an Indian man kept coming over to us and trying to interest me in strange things - such as a collection of seals, some crochet, some petit point cushion covers - I kept saying "Not now - there'll be plenty of time to look at those over the weekend" because he was interrupting my conversation with the woman.  But he was very persistent and annoying and didn't seem to want to connect with anyone else.  Over at the men's table there were shouts as new people arrived - and at one point there was a great shout of "Ambrose!" and a round-faced, frizzy haired man appeared.   It was extraordinary, in the dream I realised that he was someone who had belonged to that set of people and whose existence I had forgotten.  Later in the dream we were beside an underground railway line - and someone was throwing things or doing something vaguely dangerous. Later again I met Jim Leigh - and was promised that Tristram Clarke would be there and also Superdog...

It was an odd dream, especially Ambrose, because he really existed, although I hardly knew him.  He might have been on the Greek course I went on in Cheltenham as well as at Oxford later.  I had completely forgotten about him, but he did exist... weird that he should float into my unconscious mind.   And the persistent Indian student - that sort of badgering you when you're doing something else, more like a trader than a friend... weird, but also a slightly aspergice/out of it behaviour.

I think I had this dream because I noticed someone going to a UCL history alumni dinner... but what, if anything, is it telling me?

Joanna Bogle

Despite sleeping most of the morning - due to the return of the virus I suppose - I awoke still steaming about Joanna Bogle... I looked at her blog, and googled her.  I think she is just a very conservative Catholic - not actually a convert but from a "mixed" marriage - do people really care about that sort of thing in Britain nowadays?   Judging by her blog she spends all her time with fellow Catholics and doesn't mix much with others - hence her apparent ignorance of the rest of the world.   She is also obsessed with tea time - she went on about teashops - and there's lots about that sort of thing on her blog - which is called Auntie Joanna - which I guess indicates her slightly childish out look.   Still, unless we are like little children...    I would hate to think I was too sophisticated for heaven!

She is also obsessed with the Ordinariat of Walsingham - that is Church of England priests who opposed the ordination of women and joined the Catholic church... a special ordinariat was set up for them - which was slightly annoying to the CoE (something she has conveniently forgotten).  So these married priests are the only ones allowed... and finance dictates that the church is more likely to ordain women than start allowing its clergy to marry (this would be much more expensive).,

What I didn't like about the talk was (a) it was superficial (b) didn't really examine the issue, was rather bitty.  Ok - that must be enough about her.   I note she belongs to the Guild of Catholic Writers - so I expect Mary Kenny knows her.  The bottom line about her is that beneath that earnest, whiskery charm, is a horrible authoritarianism - I was briefly reminded of Sister Mary explains it All.

19 Glorious Years

Ah - here's one I prepared earlier!

Today is my 19th wedding anniversary - apparently the rest of the country is bathed in broiling sunshine, but down here, unusually, we are covered with light clouds and there is a stiff wind!   Nevertheless, I am in holiday mood and thinking about doing some gardening, making a cake and generally enjoying life.

We exchanged gifts and cards - and we are going out tonight to a lecture on Pugin! and then perhaps to Albarino, a local tapas bar.  It is debateable whether we can afford this, but I am feeling a bit rebellious.  We have so often postponed outings, and meals out on various anniversaries and birthdays in the past.

It is interesting that the boys have no involvement with the anniversary at all: when I was a child my father would organise us to do nice things for Ma and to give her cards etc.  M of course does not do this sort of thing: because his family didn't, and now my family are conforming to Samuel standards of unconnected behaviour, rather than Hamlyn standards of affectionate behaviour.  They would of course like to come out to dinner with us - but even if we wanted them to, we can't afford it.

Wedding Anniversary: Catholicism and Food

Yesterday we our had 19th wedding anniversary - it was actually one of the nicest ones I've enjoyed for a while.  We gave each other small presents, and I got another lovely bunch of wild flowers picked from the verge near Westwood Cross (our local shopping centre).   It was - after a dully windy start - a beautiful sunny day, and I spent time gardening, and making a lovely sourdough carrot cake and some bread and tidying the kitchen.  I was quite domestic.

In the evening we went to hear a talk by Marcus Holden - a local Catholic priest on Pugin and the conversion of England.  Unfortunately he had had to swap with Thursday's lecturer - Joanna Bogle who is a woman who,. while enthusiastic and friendly, had an underlying awfulness which I spotted quickly.  Ultramontane, big on rosaries, said that Benedict XVI was the finest theologian since Aquinas.....?!!!!  and talked to us as if we were 11 year olds - and told us we must sign the petition against gay marriage and that the church would NEVER allow women priests and wasn't the Ordinariat of Walsingham wonderful....  I would like to say I had learned something new - but I learned one thing: that the abbot of Glastonbury was hung on the top of Glastonbury Tor, and that it totally shocked people - also, the interesting thought that people didn't think the Reformation would last....

So, what to do?  I felt reminded of all the worst traits of the church.  Being talked down to was just appalling, however lovely and well-intentioned she was.  I tried to analyse what made me so cross - and it was this, that in a time when people are trying to understand religion honestly, and are put off by ritual and silly beliefs and exclusivity - she was talking up all the things that most alienate outsiders from the faith.  But perhaps she never meets any non-Catholics or new agers or atheists in her daily life?

It was a relief to get out and go to supper at Albarino the lovely new tapas bar in Broadstairs - we had the chef's selection of tapas - plus some fantastic olives and almonds to start, a bottle of Spanish white Viura and 2 coffees.. £52 not bad.  One of our cheaper anniversary meals... the food tasted very fresh and lovely - lots of bits of roast veg, amazing chickpea and fennel chips with mayo, lovely hake, good salad - leaves unbelieveably fresh and tasty... stuffed aubergine a bit boring, venison burgers nice - but thinking eating the bun was a mistake... shortly after that I began to feel a bit crap.. white flour and alcohol do seem to do that to me.  We walked along the seafront briefly - it was so warm and lovely, that holiday feeling!

This morning the sun is not yet out - thin cloud - soon to be burned off, but I feel awful - my virus seems to have returned!  All my joints ache, and I may just go back to bad.

Another one bites the dust

So, having talked to Marge and Viv and discussed the life and times of Mike Marwick, I also learned from Marge about the death of another of John and James's contemporaries at school.  This was a guy called Dave Price, an architect, who coincidentally married a girl I was at school with.   Apparently he became a pretty hopeless alcoholic - lost his architectural practice, and marriage - couldn't be responsible for anything - lived in complete chaos.  He died of pneumonia - but it could have been anything, his system was pretty much shot to hell.

Perhaps the moral of this story is - don't call your friends to announce someone's death, you'll only get more deaths announced back at you.  I must admit to not having been DP's no. 1 fan - but we went to his wedding.  I never really got to know him.  He had a twin brother who was gay and whose story is somehow intertwined with someone else... there's clearly some unhappiness there.  DP had become a totally chaotic alcoholic - while MM was - if he was strictly an alcoholic rather than a "heavy social drinker" - more of a functioning alcoholic, he still appeared to have a job.

Viv did not have any deaths to announce mercifully - but then again, our friendships were less overlapping.

The overwhelming sense of mortality that one has is ghastly.  I don't mind the prospect of dying very much, but I thoroughly object to my friends dying before their time.  The cancer score has been high amongst friends and acquaintances (I didn't add Johnny Dunhill - local restaurateur and friend of some of my friends) recently.  Denise has recovered from hers, but so many people haven't.  What is so frightening is when, as with DT, the drugs simply don't work and the cancer just grows regardless.

Anxiety

I think yesterday's gloom and stuff has promoted this, but all day I've been thinking worriedly about Strat... hope he's all right, and hasn't succumbed unexpectedly to his prostate cancer.  I think there are other sources of anxiety too - going to get some money out and finding we had only £6 there.... eeek.  Of course this is of minimal importance compared with Strat's situation, but it provides another focus for the anxiety.

None of this is my fault, or exactly Mark's fault, but when it happens I feel quite angry that I have to go and juggle tiny bits of money.   We are down to the last £100 in the savings account sadly - so I will have to borrow more from Ned.  There should be a payment any day from the Museum and the Corporation of London - but these always seem to be late.   And I am worried because after the current pieces of work there is nothing in the pipeline except development work - none of which is coming on stream at all.  On the other hand, there was that little job for Julian N. last week - which might lead to something else.  Good news that we have some money coming in over the summer from students - about £1,000 and we are getting dribs and drabs from the BnB stuff... but not enough to get us through really.

There are times when one feels life is such a struggle that one might as well give up... not die exactly, but the thought of death is less unwelcome.   We are so far from the kind of horrors people have had to live through in other cultures at other times, but the thought of going on getting progressively poorer is not good.  This then is my anxiety.  In my heart, for some reason, I feel that there is a big lump of money coming just around the corner (I hope it isn't my inheritance) - and that things will get better.  I know in part this is because in 1989 I went to an Indian astrologer who was remarkably correct on a number of things.  He said I would be very wealthy and influential from the age 57 - 63 - only 6 years, but better than nothing I suppose.  I'm not sure if I can wait another two years.  Sometimes it becomes very hard to cling on by the fingernails.

I wonder how Strat's family will survive when he goes.  Perhaps publishing Magnificat will provide a living.  Their situation is like ours - reliant on irregular, and fairly meagre, incomes, but perhaps the Magnificat thing has provided a stable income.

It's an eclipsed new moon in 0 degrees Gemini - it ought to be all exciting and lovely, but it doesn't feel it at all.  However we had a treat - I said we should show our faith in God - that he would provide and everything would be all right - by going and having a cheap lunch together.  And I spent a massive £2.99 on a pashmina scarf in a charity shop.  "Go on, treat yourself!" the boys and Mark said - that doesn't happen very often, they must finally have noticed how difficult things are.  I tend to retreat into writing and the computer when things get tough - they don't really understand it.

Funereal thoughts

When I rang James to tell him about Mike Ms' death, he told me that he had recently been to the funeral of another friend of ours (from the old days) Aymun El Fatatri... a lovely Egyptian scientist who I'd always liked (despite his views on Israel!!).  He died of pancreatic cancer which changed to liver cancer... We knew him pretty well, James worked with him, we went to his first wedding to his Greek wife Lia

I know that it is the awareness of one's own mortality that gets to one - but the cancer thing is awful: with Strat and David T both in the anteroom I thought I knew enough cancer cases - but with Mike and Aymun they seem to be falling thick and fast.  I suppose this is how it's going to be as one gets older and it won't get any better.

So here is some Gerard Manley Hopkins:

Spring and Fall: To a young child

Margaret, are you grieving
Over Goldengrove unleaving?
Leaves, like the things of man, you
With your fresh thoughts care for, can you?
Ah! as the heart grows older
It will come to such sights colder
By and by, nor spare a sigh
Though worlds of wanwood leafmeal lie;
And yet you will weep and know why.
Now no matter, child, the name:
Sorrow's springs are the same.
Nor mouth had, no nor mind, expressed
What heart heard of, ghost guessed:
It is the blight man was born for,
It is Margaret you mourn for.

"A short life, but a happy one."?

This morning I heard news of the death of Mike Marwick.  He was a great friend of mine and James (my first husband's) and a group of us seem to have spent most of our 20s together.   He was always a heavy drinker - except during Lent, when he gave up and drank nothing for a month, breaking out on Easter Sunday.   He was always a smoker - so it was not a surprise that lung cancer got him at 56, and he liked a flutter, which caused the odd problem I fear.

So far, so predictable - yet he had extraordinary charm and warmth, he did light up a room - he included people, he joked incessantly, had a great way with words.  I never ever didn't look forward to seeing him.   He could be exasperating - difficult - but I never really experienced that.  He had great humility - and when he was younger spent a lot of time helping out as a volunteer with disabled children.

There was great complexity in him - his surface charm hid a lot of pain.  I found out a little about this when our relationship briefly made the transition to the sexual when I separated from James.  I don't remember now how or why it transited back to friendship, but I wish now we'd made an effort to spend more time together and I'd got to find out a bit more about the underlying stuff.

Mike always said - when one pointed out the dangers of fags/drink etc. "a short life but a happy one".  56 years is short in our society - I hope he was happy.  I hadn't seen him since about 1997-2000? - when I asked him and some others to dinner.  It was a disaster: he was drunk when he remembered the party - but sped up the M4 from Newbury - and was stopped by the police.  Peter F had to go and collect him from Hammersmith Police Station.  I felt idiotically guilty for inviting him.  It was a fateful evening in other ways, someone who was hoping to find chambers managed to alienate the two barristers I'd invited to meet her by slagging him off.  Moral: when invited to dinner, do not alienate others by slagging off one of their best friends. Mike got two years suspension from driving - he avoided prison somehow.

Was Mike happy?  I know nothing about his last 12 years or so.  We invited him to a party in 2007 but he didn't reply.   We all meant to get in touch - but he was so hopeless about being in touch that it was too one-sided to ever happen. I heard that he had married, but nothing more than that she was Swedish.  He had a good job with an interesting company, and I hope that continued, and that his last years were not years of decline.  But there was that chaotic element in him, that one sometimes felt, despite his ability and charm, that he might be only hanging onto jobs by the skin of his teeth.

I can't help thinking of the James Taylor song Fire and Rain


I've seen fire and I've seen rain,
I've seen sunny days that I thought would never end,
I've seen lonely times when I could not find a friend,
But I always thought that I'd see you baby, one more time again


but we don't, although we should.

Rest day

Well, after a really lovely 4 hours with Clare - a feast of reason, flow of wit and lots of laughter, I found I felt much much better, the pains had worn off, and the glands on my skull were much less tender.   I roused myself like St Peter's mother in law and made steak and homemade chips for supper - which was a real success, and Rafael said steak reminded him of home.  Then we had quite an interesting conversation about religion - Rafa insisted he wasn't a Christian - he was a Catholic - then he explained that Christians were basically protestant/evangelicals who didn't believe in Mary... we talked about how different people believed different things in different places.  He clearly felt the important distinction between Chrs and RCs was the belief in Maria - it was strange because Clare and I had had rather a lot of discussion about religion and agreed to go to the big high Mass at St. Pugin's next Saturday - and then in the afternoon, I had a surprise visit from Claudie, a French woman I haven't seen for a long time.  She's an odd bird - one of those who expects entertainment and chat from me - we agreed we might have a little walk together sometime...she mentioned as she left that there was a prayer group at Chatham House (the boy's school).  I remembered that she too was an evangelical Christian.

So a rather religious dominated day...I rather enjoyed it - and wondered if God was coming after me because I was straying too far... I realise that I hardly ever pray at the moment, and given that I've been ill for 3-4 days haven't actually properly prayed about it - too busy worrying about whether it's a virus or the beginning of something worse.  The fact that I've had this sort of virus before suggests that it's that, and I hear the inner voice say "it won't last".

Last night I slept badly - constantly waking up as a new bit of me began to ache: elbows, neck, fingers, knees, thighs etc. and the tenderness on my skull is back.   I spent the morning in bed reading a book by James Long. It was quite an enjoyable book - but there was something slightly amateurish about it.  I can't really explain, there was a good plot, one of these past and present linked things - through archaeology.  But I didn't really get a strong sense of the characters or their story - there was an American archaeologist that I liked, but most of the characters were a bit cut out...The book is published by Harper Collins.  I read it because Mark's 90 year old Uncle Peter recommended it to me - he's a great reader and likes to talk about books.  Sometimes he reads fascinating books - sometimes trash: he recommended Dan Brown's Angels and ?  which I don't think I'll go for.   But probably great plotting.  It's a salutory reminder - people like plots.  Need to work on that.

Aches and pains

Oh dear!  The aches and pains in my hands, knees, elbows, neck etc. are continuing.  My hands are swollen and until last night I couldn't remove my ring - they are now swollen up again.  Anna pointed out to me that the tender patches on my head were actually glands - the occipital lymph glands I now discover.  There is one little hard one, but the rest of it is just all over aching.

All the websites say "the most common cause" of these symptoms is viral infection, and I have had a sort of "viral arthritis" before briefly and it did wear off.  However, the fact that my left knee has been playing up for a week or so, makes me wonder whether I am actually getting one of the more sinister causes: rheumatoid arthritis... I am sure it isn't, I'm sure it's just the temporary one.  Anna pointed out that I was probably run down (two heavy drinking weekends in a row) and maybe it is.  Or it could be lymphatic cancer... but I really think it must just be the viral thing... anyway, it's a "don't bother your doctor" until you've suffered for a week, so I really do have to wait until after the weekend.

Apologies for the hypochondria.  There isn't much else happening: yesterday did the washing, went shopping, went to the dump, came home, collapsed.  Had a sleep - then saw Anna in the evening.  We talked about the usual topics, and about her new production company which is a way of her making some money out of projects for herself.  Really hope this works.  It was lovely to see her, but I wasn't absolutely brill. company - lying on the sofa feeling less than fully conscious.  Clare Dove is coming for coffee today - hope I've perked up a bit by then.  I will need to tidy up.  I can do everything - just much, much more slowly.  And standing up is painful.

Feel like retiring to bed and reading - which I may do later.

Energy

 or lack of, as usual.  I still don't seem to have recovered entirely from the party - and now I have lots of arthritic pains in my knees and my little finger.... grrrr.   Apparently the answer is exercise - I went out into the garden, but it started raining.  So that's put the brass hat on it.

Have been working on 17Y - but don't have an appetite for it at present.  Jane says she is still feeling "jet-lagged" after the party - so that suggests the reason for how I feel.  I must stay staying up until late (4.45am) and smoking dope are things I have not done for years.

I fear I may retire to bed again this afternoon.   At least I don't have any meetings or anything.  I will make a lasagne and I have a very nice baklava from yesterday - so those are my only tasks.

I went to a marvellous party....

not very like the one in the Noel Coward song, but very fabulous in its own way.   I enjoyed it because there was a select handful of people we know locally and really like - and a vast number of people who we'd never met - and some of whom were willing and happy to talk to strangers.  As a result we stayed until 4.45am - and returned in the early morning light.  Quite extraordinary, as was the hangover today.

It was Jeff's birthday party - Jane his wife is one of my mini-book group... Unfortunately, the effects of the alcohol mean I am not in my most concentrated writing mood - so perhaps the report can wait until tomorrow.

Looking forward to...

It is a miserably rainy day, but I am looking forward to seeing my son's girlfriend's parents for coffee, going shopping, watching the Leveson enquiry on tv and seeing Rebecca Brooks (I hope) and then just hanging loose, and perhaps finishing washing the kitchen floor (a mammoth task I began yesterday).

I am also noticing how much more agreeable Twitter is now that it isn't full of vapid tweets from a couple of the people I was following.  I have also noticed that following intelligent clergy (Richard Coles, Giles Fraser) is more fun than following Stephen Fry.  Weirdly, I am now being followed by Grant Shapps the junior Housing Minister - I think he's just trying to see if I tweet anything politically interesting (which I won't).

I am also looking forward to going out to the Society of Authors get-together tonight.  I have persuaded Mark not to come, because I want to have it as my own sort of space... but I'm not sure if that's fair - he might like to go and speak to Jak... oh dear, maybe I should say it's up to him.  Still don't know what the topic will be.  It's in Deal, a bit of a drive, which means I mustn't drink too much.

oh dear

...a gentle rain of gloom is falling on me, I have achieved very little today (the Tuggses was this morning).  It is true writing is the solution, but somehow I haven't managed to do any.  Perhaps if I did a little bit now...

No, I just looked at TFR and felt faintly ill - I need to get away from it.   This is the point at which I should be getting on a boat to France and driving to an isolated gite for a fortnight of writing on my own.  However...that's not going to happen.  Can I make my own gite here?  Or rather find some way of living that makes me feel free and happy?

I felt happy earlier because I thought I had no commitments.  I have the uneasy feeling lots of undone things have to be dealt with, but I'm enjoying feeling vaguely free.

I just didn't have the energy to start the great house-cleaning today. Perhaps tomorrow.  At this time of day I always feel a bit rattled, because I ought to be going down and washing up and making supper.  I am half off the hook because Rafa is going out - but even the thought of making bacon and eggs for everyone is oppressing me just now.  Am I just a completely lazy cow - or is it depression?

Boredom

I don't often get bored, but now I am.  I completed my dramatisation of The Tuggses of Ramsgate this morning and now I feel as if I have nothing to do.   Apart from getting on with something else, check the paperwork, sort out my desk etc.  Oh dear.

Actually, I am just verging on miserable.  Perhaps I should go into the garden - or start painting in the hall?  Maybe tomorrow will get some caulking and fill all the gaps between anaglypta and the skirting board.    Or maybe I could read - there's a thought!  Remember when I used to read?

Actually, what I really want to do is go on writing the novel, but as it is, generally speaking finished, that doesn't seem sensible, until I have some feedback.

Panic over

I woke up this morning feeling a bit stiff, but basically fine.   We agreed to work in the morning and then go for a late picnic at Sandwich Bay...we got there about 3 with a bag of snacks seized from the fridge (left over cake, tomatoes, smoked sprats and olives) and more things acquired from Asda: red wine, lemon and lime, crisps, taramasalata, houmous, nuts, apples.  It was a very nice picnic - apart from the wind... which seems to be a feature of Sandwich Bay picnics.   There was no swimming.  We came home and sat in the garden and the sun came out again.

The garden is looking lovely - although I am still annoyed about all the flowers that have been eaten by slugs and snails.  More snail killer has been purchased.  The red crab apple is flowering, as are the apple and the quince.  There are some black tulips, and some mini yellow ones, I am looking forward to the small white alliums coming out and mixing with the purple and  puce geraniums.  I hope this year there will be more late summer/autumn flowering plants.

Sick wife night

After a good deal of washing up, watching a film (Sister Mary Explains it All - hilarious and dark), then some gardening.   I suddenly felt overwhelmed by exhaustion and got into bed in my clothes, despite 2 jumpers, jeans etc. I was freezing - I got into a doze, still shivering, although my head was very hot.  I ache all over and have a chest pain and a back ache, a headache and my labyrinthitis is bad.  Moan.  M is being sweet - he worries that something serious is wrong, I am assuming it's just a virus. Have spent time since about 5.00pm lying in bed feeling cold and achey or hot and uncomfortable - brain not working.  Wonder if this state is what brought on the earlier conversation  - or vice versa.   Sorry for myself now, but will get better and try to see more clearly tomorrow.

Sad husband day

We had the conversation.  We both know we can't actually do anything - he said he'd leave if I wanted him to, but the fact is that I don't want him on his own, feeling miserable... I am still happy to look after him a while longer, but he says I have a tendency to look after waifs and strays and a lot of my male friends have been in that category - he's simply the most successful one.  I said that I felt he was in a better place now than when I met him - and I think that's true, not just me being complacent.

It is possible that if my life begins to take off a bit with the book, then I will not be quite so stuck here, there will be more money for things, and maybe our relationship will improve.  In a sense there's no impetus to change our life - it would take a third party to do that, and there is no 3rd party currently in view... so I suppose we will just continue.   Has anything changed?  I don't know - I don't feel I want to celebrate things like our wedding anniversary (imminent).  I actually feel rather sad.  Not depressed, just a bit low.  Unsurprising, and yet nothing will change.  I am more desperate to make money and get out from under the situation.  Nothing really to say now, but there is a definite change in things.

Bad husband day

Actually, he behaved like a lamb until asked to do something that wasn't on his agenda.  He has been decorating the hall. My decision to have "surprise guests"  was agreeable to him in the morning, but at about 6.00pm when we were having tea he got all snarky and difficult.  When I said I was worried about the time, he had a go at me.  Then he did something stupid, roared because he'd hurt himself, blamed me for it and I said "Good!" instead of "Darling! Are you all right?"

I was asking him to simply hoover sitting room, dining room and hall, he had 90 minutes to complete the task, I hoped he might set the table as well.  Instead, he got very technical and wanted to do other things.  In the end he went to get dressed, I didn't have a chance to change and had to tear off my apron to answer the door.  When he came down I asked him to get some drinks - he did that, but didn't bother to bring me one.  This made me cross, I think it was deliberate.  Then I had to set the table, sort out the candles etc. etc.  We had quite a fun evening, Kyle wasn't especially talkative, but maybe we were on the wrong topics... hope he wasn't too bored.  I always know when I'm bored, because I don't participate in the conversation...

Anyway, it was nice, we sat there having cheese and coffee and chocolate and armagnac/amaretto/grappa.  I love grappa.  I am writing this now after 2.00 am and feel perfectly OK.  I was nasty to Mark, he apologised for getting grumpy and saying "I never wanted these people to come, I have nothing to say to them."  But once again I felt "we can't go on like this!".   The fact is though, we have no alternative at present.  The boys would be very upset if we split up, especially, I think, Finn... but maybe Ned would feel it more - Finn would see the reasons.

I think of my parents, how often my father must have done idiotic and annoying things - how often my mother must have felt frustrated and sarcastic and unpleasant.  But she never left, she stayed and had a stroke.  Also her home was so important to her.  I could move, I could go somewhere else.  Except that I have no money.  

Next week I am planning to do a major cleaning job on the house.  That will be something.  Finn has promised another hour's work tomorrow. I might even do some painting, and filling holes.

What would I take if I left?  Some clothes, my unread book collection, the OED, the Thesaurus and some papers, a few CDs, a radio and the laptop. I could get by with so little these days.  I look at all the "objects" I have valued and see them as nothing more than stuffing, to fill the gaps in my life.  I do love the boys, but I also long for a neater, cleaner, more streamlined life.  I remember how happy I was in my flat in Dulwich - it wasn't especially tidy, but there was a place for everything.   I might take some of the herbs and spices from the kitchen.  But this is all fantasy.   I wonder what would happen if I went to the Job Centre - what would they do?

I would be sad about the garden, the cultivation of living things is a joy. 

That's more like it...

The book is finished and despatched to the Agent - who is on holiday!   I went out to supper last night with no very high expectations, and had a really delightful evening.  I can report a rare event - Alexander left first!

Anna made a really nice meal - and invited Bruce and Jo who live up the road, Alex and me to meet her US friend Kyle Smith.  He's over here working briefly for the Sun on Sunday - but he's actually on the New York Post as a film critic - once described as "America's most cantankerous film critic".  He reminded me of Markovitch in appearance - but quite a different personality.  I liked him a lot - having wittered on about my novel I discovered that he'd written a couple himself (neither published here I think) and they had been rather well received. He is the absolute antithesis of the American stereotype - being modest, uneffusive, ironic.   I discovered from Googling him that he had also been in the US army during the first Gulf War, so he's lived too.   We hope to see him tonight.

Dear Anna was talking up my book and this house - which is very kind of her, it makes me nervous, because I don't know if any of it will live up to the marketing spiel!  I've sent her the pdf. of the book - I hope she enjoys it.

And now POLITICS.  We had local elections, Labour made sweeping gains - the usual song is being sung - the "Mid-term Blues" and each side saying exactly the same things they always say in these situations, which must have occurred nearly a dozen times during my life.  Sadly Bozzer got in in London again - he is clever and amusing, but it would have been good to have Ken back, even if he is a slightly slimy life-form.  French election tomorrow - also very exciting - a Socialist president would be a nice change.  Wonder what he'll do.

I am going back to bed now - it's 8.00 am, I've been up for an hour, but only had 5 hours sleep last night.

Hurray, hurray, the 1st of May....

....outdoor f*cking starts today!

I first heard that from a boyfriend in 1974... I've repeated it every year since, it usually gets a laugh, because May day in England is usually rather a grim, wet, overcast day, and today is living up to that.  There is no prospect of sunshine today - so must enjoy a few bits of thinner cloud and brightness.

The red crabapple tree is coming tentatively into flower - but I'm not enjoying it for some reason.  Still, it is the best thing I can see from my window, so I must try.

I want to write - but I have tasks today - perhaps I will write a bit first, then do tasks.