Poem(s) for the Day

If I were a cassowary
On the plains of Timbuctoo
I would eat a missionary
Cassock, bands and hymnbook too!

The joys of a well stocked mind mean that there is always something drifting around in one's brain for no particular reason.  I have always loved this poem, which was written by a jovial Victorian clergyman I think... Samuel Wilberforce according to some. There is an authoritative blog piece (illustrated!) about it here http://www.nonsenselit.org/wordpress/archives/2009/08/22/cassowary-vs-missionary/  but I quote it not for academic reasons, but just as a weird example of how things float into one's mind unbidden.

I think cassowaries are native to Australia.  It is just such a delightfully ludicrous rhyme - and the opening phrase "If I were...." sounds as if it is the opening of a sentimental love lyric, the sort of thing Tom Moore might have written.

However, no sooner do I think of Thos. Moore than I start thinking of this

Believe me, if all those endearing young charms,

Which I gaze on so fondly today,

Were to change by tomorrow and fleet in my arms,

Like fairy wings fading away.

Thou wouldst still be adored, as this moment thou art,

Let thy loveliness fade as it will;

And around the dear ruin each wish of my heart

Would entwine itself verdantly still.

It is not while beauty and youth are thine own,

And thy cheeks unprofaned by a tear,

That the fervor and faith of a soul can be known,

To which time will but make thee more dear.

No, the heart that has truly loved never forgets,

But as truly loves on to the close:

As the sunflower turns on her god when he sets

The same look which she turned when he rose.

In fact, until I Googled it, I only knew the first line... and it's rather a treat to find "and around the dear ruin each wish of my heart..."  when one feels a bit of a "dear ruin" oneself - the idea of love as a sort of ivy that takes hold of the beloved and so on - feels very romantic until you think what ivy does to a building.  It's a striking metaphor though - and I'm tempted to steal it... but I think it would be improbable that my hero Leo would know the song, so a tender scene of him singing it to her will not be written!  

What T. Moore and I have in common is the use of the sunflower metaphor - and a horrible romantic sensibility which I sometimes think I would do anything to get rid of.   The last 4 lines of this poem c'est moi.  If I were married to my "god" and had been for 20 years or more, would I still be turning the same look on him?  That's the question.  I have never quite believed in lifelong love, because I haven't married it - or rather, I believe that over-close proximity may curdle love somewhat.  Is it possible to love someone, marry them and then really love them all your life?  The fact I don't entirely believe it possible is either a romantic defect in myself or perhaps a sensible pragmatic "love the one you're with" argument.  Nevertheless, it would have been nice to find out.  

It's a long way from Cassowaries...

Studio Ghibli and the return to pleasure

Well, after yesterday's dark afternoon of the soul, I began to recover: first I watched Spirited Away with Ned.   The film was complemented by fish and chips (maybe I was suffering from malnutrition) and by the end of the evening I almost felt cheerful again.

I've never seen any anime films before - I've seen some cartoon children's programmes in this style and been a bit underwhelmed by them, but this was in a completely different class . Tonight I watched a second film Princess Mononuke which was initially less extraordinary - but a better film in many ways.  There is a season of them on Film 4.  Ned is delighted to have introduced me to something new, and I feel my life is all the better for having some new experiences.

I hardly know where to start: the colour is the most striking - lots and lots of greens - incredibly beautiful nature scenes, with real plants (not stylised Disney-esque blue daisies etc.) recognisably azaleas, hydrangeas and penstemon.  In PM much of the action takes place in a beautifully observed temperate rainforest - the moss on the trees and the rocks in the river made me feel as if I were in Glengarriff or Goughane Burra again... The leaves, the details, the depth that gives an almost 3D sense and the fact that they will hold a shot where nothing is actually happening simply because it is beautiful.  It is incredibly realistic when it comes to the scenery.  In SA there's a train that travels on a track that's under water, which just skims along showing the waves and the ripples perfectly.

Less attractive are the characters - there are a number of stereotypes - the face of one character recognisably the same as a character in another film - perhaps suggesting the use of actors.  Then again, the stories have a strong folk talk elements - so stereotypical characters are very appropriate.  Both these two have a teenage/pre pubescent protagonist - and an impossible sexless love interest.  Perfect!

The genre is fascinating too - these are chiefly for children, full of jeopardy and a lot of really frightening things happen, but the films don't turn the volume up and use a lot of music - so one is able to enjoy the "horror" visually without the shocks and the build-up.  Because I know very little about Japanese culture (apart from the sexual side of it, as a result of reading the book Pink Geishas) and virtually nothing about their mythology and folk tales (there were ten thousand myriads of gods - I remember that much, and a moon goddess called Amaterasu who made them all laugh by showing them her bottom by accident) it is quite difficult to understand what resonances these films have, hence one is able to focus on their beauty and grotesqueness (apart from the fact that in SA the scene is largely set in a bathhouse for deities, so it did evoke that bit of mythology).   It is interesting to see that familiar themes from European folktales - youthful protagonist, things happening in 3s, good deeds being rewarded, talking animals, shape-changing etc. are in the Japanese versions as well, but why wouldn't they be?  These things are older than language groups and nations probably..

As well as the familiarity of the themes there were dozens of uniquely Japanese styled oddities - monsters and demons quite unlike anything in European literature (well, anything I've encountered).  Froglike creatures, a witch who looked a bit like Mrs Thatcher - the spirit of the forest who is and isn't a huge multi-antlered deer.

Both the films were in Japanese - so I have now learned that hai means yes and ninjin (I think) means human, arigato I already know.  I don't expect to learn much more Japanese somehow... and I also heard the phrase good ruck in SA...and some other Japlish phrases.

What amazed me is that recently I have had very little patience with films, I often "watch" them with my back to them - but these were utterly visually gripping, and even though I wanted to turn away and do other things I couldn't.  It was a complete and utter return to pleasure.  At last I have found something new and exciting that I enjoy... I will not be able to see tomorrow night's offering, but there will be more in the next few days.  I really hope they won't be in American - I was fascinated by the voices - none of the women speak in any kind of "nightingale" voice - and the she-wolf spoke in a man's voice - although she was voiced by an actress in the US version.

But mostly - the colours, the depictions of nature won me over.  At least there is sunshine on film!  (Actually, the sun shone a lot today, and I worked in the garden, which must have supplemented my good mood!)

Weather despair!

Alas, the cold continues, and although I am deeply thankful that we have working electricity unlike the poor people in the Isle of Arran and the Mull of Kintyre, somehow having to supplement the central heating with a fan heater is not much fun.

I woke up despairing this morning.  I don't know why.  Is it just the weather?  Or will it continue when the sun finally shines.  Today it's minus 1 first thing - and the dreaded east wind making it feel like minus 5 outside.  I have to go to Weight Watchers, I had a bad week last week because of the weekend - so I am tempted not to go.  If I have put on more weight I will simply feel like giving up, even though I have told myself I am in it for the long run.   I walked there last week, and it was actually nice and sunny.  There is no way I will walk there today.  But maybe I should get out more.

Anette came yesterday - that was jolly.  We mostly talked about our kids - she's another mother of two boys.  What a lot of friends I know have 2 boys (Linda, Tara, Anna T, er.... oh, is that all?) and no girls.  We need to form a solidarity front - all of us have a lot of toughing up to do for our old ages, when we will not be nurtured much by our sons - or else ensure that the sons find really nice girls who will nudge them into being nice to us.

Ok - that was me trying to be positive - but basically inside I am howling again.  Even my treasured fantasy doesn't sustain me.  All I can imagine is how many things would be awful if it was ever fulfilled.  I'm not depressed in the self-pitying, highly-sensitive, bursting into tears way I was in the summer of the Citalopram events... was that 2010?  I think it was.  This is something different.  Will I feel better if spring comes?  I suspect that every winter I go onto "coping mode" but I only set the timer until mid-March - and now "coping  mode" switched off, leaving me with my natural, resentful and unhappy feelings.  I'm only resentful about the weather - but it's this horrible sense that nothing feels right, that nothing is pleasurable.

It is in this state that I must summon the clan to come and see the Tom Taylor extravaganza!  I am doubtful whether the weather will have improved by 4th May!

Weekend in retrospect: neurotic?

Quite honestly, this was a perfect Thanet weekend - first down with the natives on Friday, at the Friends of Ellington Park fundraising quiz - which we won.  I was a little underwhelmed to win a tube of smarties - the losers got lemons, at least I could have used the lemons!  But it was quite fun, met some nice people, and felt reasonably warm and friendly.  And before that I had had a very agreeable coffee/lunch/drink combo with Denise and Tara - vaguely talking about a pop-up cafe idea - but without really firming things up.  Denise departed and T and I continued to chat and sip for another couple of hours.

On Saturday we had a DFL evening - a private private view at the Updown Gallery to meet Piers Secunda - although weirdly enough we didn't.  Other guests included Sam and Graham (my former business partner, which I find slightly awkward), Fran F and family, Lesley Gray (the Zambian artist), the dealers in French antiques from Margate (know them by sight), a very tall man, a very blonde woman, Suzy, a handful of people I don't know... and two couples, Jenny and Brian who I've met  before - and are both very interesting and David & Julia who have lived her for 12 years, in Liverpool Lawn, but we've never met them before.  David came back and had a bottle or two of wine afterwards.   I had a hangover the following day - and wasn't functioning well until the evening when I managed to cook roast lamb and syrup sponge and custard.  Brian used to work for the BBC, the Museum of London and so on, David used to work for the Cayman Islands police force...Julia was PR suprema for the Council here for a while  (presumably after John B). I didn't manage to speak to Kate or Guy - who had prepared a feast of canapes of such excellence that few people were bothering with the smoked salmon.

After this weekend of horror I naturally felt full of self-loathing and rounded off the weekend by watching a DVD of Borat with M and the boys.  I am worried that such a pleasant sociable weekend is filling me with misery.  What did I want to do instead?   I have this illusion that if there had been some sunshine I would have felt much better.  But there wasn't, and although some was forecast for today it lasted all of ten minutes.  I can't believe it's the weather that's making me feel like this.  For several years I have wanted my life to change - and it hasn't.  I think that's probably the problem.  I had vaguely thought it might have begun to change by now, but it hasn't really.  Still, beware of what you wish for: it could change in very negative ways that would make me look back wistfully to the tranquil boredom of this era.  

The Russian Audience

I have always been weirdly fascinated by the fact that my blog has regular followers in Russia.  However, I also wondered what they were really interested in.   Today I have the answer: nothing.   My stats show 30 pageviews today from Russia - yet none of the pages have actually been viewed - so what's going on?

Is it just some computer-generated thing hitting on it in someway?  Are they attempting to hack into it to get close to the heart of the British Establishment (dream on Oleg!)? Or use it as a vehicle to hack into emails...  whatever it is, I am going to have to lose my fond idea that I was in some way diverting a couple of Russians with my exquisitely precise English.  Or perhaps the 30 pageviews are from a class of students learning English?

Who stole the spring?

I am used to toughing things out - but I am not used to a winter that shows so little sign of shifting.  By my calculations, since February we have had approximately 4 sunny days with anything approaching springlike warmth, we have had two or three sunny days with biting winds and freezing temperatures, and the rest of the time it has been largely overcast, when not actually raining, snowing or sleeting.

It is true that the plants in the garden are making slow progress, the snowdrops have only just ceased to flower - whereas usually they are over by my birthday in this area.  The camellia finally opened its first flower on March 21st - the day after this year's Vernal Equinox - and probably is now regretting it as we are suffering 30 mph easterly winds, with snow from time to time and sub-zero temperatures.

So far I have only once had coffee in the garden.  Next week looks a bit better, with temperatures heading for 4 degrees - and some "sunny periods".   It is all getting me down though, it is the combination of the lack of a sense of progress in any area of my life coupled with the financial crisis which will hit us in late May if Mark doesn't start work soon which are the underlying complaints - and the sodding weather just makes things worse.  Even the thought of going to an informal gathering with the artist Piers Secunda and others at the Updown tonight isn't enough, even the great joy of having won the Ellington Park Quiz last night (ooh, we do have a glittering social life!) is not enough to remove the sense of gloom.

I have an untidy kitchen, an untidy house and it is very cold.  I am going to have to escape from it all by doing some writing I think.  Fortunately, the one bright spot was talking to Tara yesterday about what I'd done to amend the weaknesses of TRF - she liked these, felt it made things a lot stronger.

Spring 2

Well, yesterday was also the first day of spring - and yet.... the skies are almost perpetually overcast, except on Tuesday, and snow is forecast down here for the weekend.  So I'm not sure about this.   However, the first camellia has flowered (yesterday) - the latest ever... and there is frogspawn in the pond, with the frogs crooning their little motor bike noises to each other.  There are a couple of daffs, primroses, crocus, violets, snowdrops hanging on, pulmonaria, blue anemones, and the quince is budding nicely.  Also birds have been seen.  There was a period during January and February when we didn't see any birds apart from seagulls for days.  Now a few blue tits are hanging around, and a blackbird.  Mark finally mowed the lawn.  It's not terribly satisfactory though - it's still bloody cold, so I am hoping for great improvements in April!

Haircut 100

No - not the band - just a new haircut... a new hairdresser, a new experience.  I have had a notional £40 for a hair cut hanging around for sometime, the problem was always going to be getting the hair cut and coloured for that amount, but yesterday it was £45 for a "rug re-think".   I had to go all the way to Sittingborne to achieve it - but it was worth it.   Anna T (who is currently in the middle of a major low in the bi-polar cycle) has a friend who I've met before called Marion - who she used to teach with.  She lives in a close of large modern houses in Borden - right across the road from where we did our first historic recording job in Kent.  Curiously, we've had two quite good jobs in Borden.  She has a peripatetic hairdresser called Tim - and a huge, spotless kitchen... ideal for hairdressing.

So, I have just transformed from long "spaniel" hair - auburn at the ends with a grey crown, to dark brown hair, auburn at the ends with blond highlights, in a shorter, shaggier style - but not having had it all shortened back to the "poodle" - what kind of dog do I now look like?  A long haired dachshund perhaps?  We had a couple of glasses of wine afterwards with Martin, her husband - and Anna was observed to laugh and enjoy herself.   Martin asked me how I felt being introduced to everyone by Anna as "my bridesmaid" - I said it made me feel like Edna Everage's sidekick Madge Allsopp...

Rather annoyingly when we drove off again Anna subsided into "I haven't been very well" a phrase which she must have used about 30 times yesterday - and seemed to forget that she'd been cheery for at least 10 minutes.  There was almost a sense of wanting to forget it - of wanting to hang on to the gloom and not wanting to see or hear anything positive.  I always feel like such a bully when she gets like this (not that often really) but I think a bit of tough love and amateur CBT can't really do her much harm.  She is in a glorious situation now - retired, mother in a home, nice husband (ok, he's not the DIY king, but you can't have everything) and soon she will have extra income from her mother's house.   So - if it were me I would be dancing a jig.  Marion said they could go and live in France and let their Canterbury house - which Anna would never do, since "the boys" live there - 30 and 32 now... Marion is clearly as exasperated with her as I am, I do have sympathy - I have had those catonic days too - when you can do nothing except sit at the computer and stare at it.  I find it hard to motivate myself in certain directions... And this week it's already Thursday and I don't feel I've got very far.  But Anna's catatonia is clearly worse than mine - and she doesn't have quite such good support.  Actually, I think Robin is rather wonderful - but she tends to infantilise him because of his problems (hearing, sciatica and the beginnings of vascular dementia).   I can see where this is all going.... and I don't like it.  Old age not for sissies etc.

I found the day not stressful exactly - but had to be on "best behaviour" and watching out, making sure I said the right things etc. When I came home I drank 4 glasses of wine and scoffed some crisps... just from relief really.  Haircut did not astonish the family - but I like it - think I prefer it to the "half-poodle" but it still doesn't quite meet the heroic standards of my Italian haircut in 1981/2 - not so much the cut itself ("FULL poodle") but about 3 months after when it grown into something I have aspired to ever since...

Post librum omne animal triste est 2

I can only think that is why I am feeling in such a slump today. I decided that I would have a day off from TRF - having submitted the 1st 3 Chs yesterday and planning shortly to review the re-written passages.

I felt undermotivated when I got up and didn't do any of the things I said I'd do, but at least I did walk to Ww class, only to find I'd put on another pound - despite having been v. good last week - no extras, hardly any wine - etc.  I went to the shops with Clare, M came along and was clearly not at his most cheery - then I wolfed down a small but perfectly formed lunch and spent the rest of the afternoon starving and trying to work out why (a) I didn't want to do any of the things I'd said I'd do today (b) why I didn't apparently want to do anything - even listen to Radio 4.

Eventually I settled down to read Chapter 4 of Claudius's Elephants - which is full of good stuff, but - as is often the case with M's work - rather ramshackle in structure in places.  However - I promised to edit it for him - so that should be a distraction.

I was in such a bad mood at one point that I thought I would write a chicklit novel in 30 days about a couple who are splitting up but are stuck with each other - and can't afford it.  She loses her job, he makes Airfix kits all day long - she pulls herself up by her brastraps and starts a catering business - and eventually gets enough money together to leave him - having of course attracted the attention of her attractive client - chiefly by tipping a tray of stuffed eggs over him... etc.  I think I could do it - whether I would want to acknowledge it would be another thing, but after writing 300 words I got a bit bored... I really wasn't in the mood for writing today - which is a bit like saying I wasn't in the mood for eating or drinking -

So, today's achievements: I walked for 15 mins, I did the shopping, I made supper, I prepared a PR and I did this blog.  I also slightly cheered up a depressed friend - oh yes, there are clinically depressed chums who are worse than me... and perhaps I can help her when I see her tomorrow.

I think I am annoyed because this was a day that could have been for me - yet I had not appetite to do anything... I felt quite cheerful when I turned up at St. Luke's for the class...it was downhill from there.

This evening, having eaten virtually nothing, I succumbed to a gin - and discovered, because I actually measured it, that my "small gin" is a pub double - I need to go and get some small gin tumblers - I've already moved to smaller dinner plates and smaller wine glasses - and eating puddings from ramekins rather than soup bowls (not that I eat puddings any more).

I am just incredibly angry - why can't I get below X stone - why does my body drag me back every time I go over the edge?

Maybe a bath will help relax me and make me feel better and stop me feeling just so darn cross.

Time-wasting attractions? Unrequited love 102

I have been thinking - in connection with my writing - about why people (myself in particular) have a "type" they go for.  The sort of person they are attracted to again and again, and will fall for even though similar relationships have failed.  People they fall for who never return their "love".  There are all sorts of psychological reasons advanced to explain the "types" we are attracted to.  I am not entirely sure that I've ever quite conformed to those reasons.  I have ultimately conformed in that I accidentally married someone quite like my father (although more critical, but probably a little less stubborn) but I don't think I've ever been really attracted to anyone else like him.  In fact I know I haven't.

It occurred to me that I have had something of a pattern in LOs.  Whether this is psychologically significant I do not know, but to some extent I have been seeking genetic diversity: firstly they have had to be (or appear to be) very intelligent.  It helps if they are intelligent in a way that I am not - have a skill or scientific background that is quite unlike mine.  When I met these types I would be very intellectually excited/attracted by them - their appearance was not usually a factor, I mean, I may not be Marilyn Monroe, but some of my exes would make Arthur Miller look like Mr Universe.    It usually takes me several months before I accept that the feeling isn't mutual, during which time I have been thinking and scheming and trying to see them and fantasising that they will soon see the error of their ways, and see me in all my virtues.  Usually they find a nice woman who is markedly less intellectual than them, and I realise that they did not long for an equal relationship, a marriage of true minds - but something a bit more humdrum.

There was a certain relationship in the late 80s which I almost cringe to recall with someone so inappropriate (but clever!) which used to make me think of a 1960's cartoon by Timothy Birdsall for That was the week that was.  It was a series that showed a small moustachioed man - a bit like those in the cartoon below - conversing with a gigantic and very beautiful naked woman who is deeply attracted to him.  Eventually she is seen kneeling while he stands in her hands shouting indignantly "But I can't love you - you're a giantess".   I felt there was that thing occasionally - that one loved the undeserving - and however lovely you were you were just "too big" for them.

Sometimes I suppose it's very simple - they don't see the sympathies you see, they don't have the same vision of relationships, they quite simply don't love you/fancy you etc. Sometimes they are not interested in an equal relationship, it is necessary to ensure that they remain top dog.  It hasn't always been a disaster, sometimes I have had relationships with clever men who admired me as much as I admired them - which worked, sometimes for long periods - on a couple of occasions we have even been in love with each other.

On the whole these unrequited love affairs are not so much fatal attractions as time-wasting - one spends a lot of time assuming that these people will see the error of their ways, understand you are the right woman for them, take you into their manly arms and swear to love you for ever.  (I am talking about the past here).  You can spend a year or two dreaming about someone - and nothing ever comes of it.

But where is this getting us?  I am still not sure that unrequited love has any useful social/emotional function - and seems to exist simply to generate great cultural artefacts, Shakespeare's Sonnets, Stendahl's Love etc.  It is a complete and utter bugger to suffer from, and never seems to end well. I would like to prove this wrong, but I don't suppose I ever shall. However, arguably, all those years "wasted" inventing elaborate stories and fantasies and coincidences and scenarios are now going to pay off in a series of books which use this material.

However, that is a bit of a circular argument - i.e. unrequited romantic love (inspires) - fantasy (creates) - literature (promotes) - unrequited romantic love.  Where's the evolutionary biology explanation for that then?

This is a cartoon by Timothy Birdsall which I copied from the University of Kent Cartoon collection.  The Archaeologist is saying "As far as I can make it out, it reads "Pervert Slays Three in Society Brawl"...".    I only discovered just now that this cartoonist, who I loved as a child had actually died in 1963 - the same year as my grandfather.  I must try and find the book at my father's that had the TW3 cartoons in it.

Oooh - nice Pope!

When I heard annuncio vobis gaudium magnum I felt very emotional, I didn't recognise who the Eminent Cardinal Giorgium was - but I was thrilled to hear he was going to be called Francis - which I knew was a new name, and presumed meant Francis of Assisi (a man devoted to poverty, who didn't deeply repect popes...).  I really thought it might mean a change of direction.  After a little while I realised it couldn't and wouldn't mean a change of direction but it could mean a continued emphasis on good social teaching, and he might be someone who could get hold of the corruption in the Curia - perhaps some of those cardinals mentioned in the Relatio (the dossier compiled about the curia's more nefarious activities) will be finding themselves taking early retirement - or being moved into supervisory roles in some difficult spots.

I am thrilled to hear that David Cameron has tweeted about this already.


Anyway, he's a Jesuit (good!), cooks his own food (good), keen on social justice, easy going style - humble - getting crowd to pray for him... he makes a nice little joke... and prays for his predecessor - and that's the good news.   Less encouragingly, he's "traditional" theologically - so I don't think we can expect any major changes - no married priests or contraception... probably.  A bit anti-gay adoption and marriage (is that a surprise?).  I'm still excited, wasn't disappointed at all!

Mother's Day - and beyond!

Ah yes, the day on which the little darlings - under strict supervision and muttering "it's only a made-up holiday anyway" reluctantly drag up breakfast in bed (fruit salad, malted wheatflakes and cream) and present one gruffly with flowers, cards, and a DVD... Ned's home made card said U Luv Me on it - a slightly bewildering sentiment for the day, but no matter... perhaps he wanted reassurance. I was able to reassure him that Mother's day had medieval religious roots - and that it was American Mother's Day that was made up,. Recently he has begun to notice that I know more than him about certain things - and has actually deferred to me occasionally.  It is still a delight when he is the one who knows - he loves explaining the history of some band, or the back story to Kerouac's writing, or Charles Bukowski's life story.  I'm learning too.

Then I got up and made a cake for them - a new recipe which is not quite to my liking - it works, just.  Then Stella arrives and we progress to the Harbour Brasserie where a brisk wind is whipping the waves around us as we sit, and the condensation on the windows gradually obscures the 300 degree views of said waves.   We ate the usual Harbour Bra mix of very nice things with very inadequate things - unfortunately Mark and Stella got the rough end of the pineapple - their lamb was tough and the dauphinoise was undercooked.  My bouillabaisse was quite nice, if not exactly a totally mediteranean experience - could have done with some rouille I think (or maybe that's just served with fish soup).  On this occasion the wine was cold which was a great help.   I am not going to list all the things that were wrong - but I am not impressed with the Harbour Bra... in future it's for drinks only I think - or maybe a single plate of food - but I'm not going to trust them with a full meal again.  Shame really.

We came home - ate tea and cake - then minestrone and cheese (a greatly superior selection to what we had in the HBra) and saw some slides.  M found some from about 1961 - of Ireland, very beautiful - all the children looking adorable, Stella looking glamorous, everyone happy.  Then saw slides of 2002 - including a great many of the masonry of Richborough Fort (taken on a trip to scope out Ramsgate), and lots of the boys with hideous haircuts (my hairdressing skills never advanced - it was a money saving measure) - pictures of their school nativity plays at St. George's - and the boys complained about the hideous clothes they were wearing: plaid shirts, brightly coloured fleeces and chinos - not so different from what they wear now...there was a picture of me and the boys sitting by the window in our old kitchen.  I felt a bit of a pang.  Our kitchen here is so huge that I am almost overwhelmed by it, so cold that it never feels cosy, and so damp that there is mould.  However, today we acquired a new fan - so things should improve, as long as I remember to turn it on.

Today was full on work.  I've spent a lot of the weekend fretting about the story.  I've finally "got" what JM meant about the story - how the scenes should contribute to the story - rather than just be an amusing expatiation on what I want to write about.  So darlings are being slain and falling by the wayside.   I may even finally have to remove some of the much loved historical material.  Going back to snip some more away.  Down to 111,000 words from 116,000 - but also have a few tucked away to add... it WILL be shorter.

The fury abates - a bit!

Last night I was so furious that I worked until 1.00 am and let him get on with some sleeping.  This morning I got up at nine and found I'd resolved something useful about the book.   I discovered that it was easier if I wrote the new scenes in a separate document - so that I could then insert them and edit/re-write the subsequent passages afterwards.

I am still struggling with the demand that for the story to succeed, the heroine must have "learned" something. I am not sure if she's "learned" enough - she's clarified things, rather than learned them... but perhaps by putting the focus more on Leo what he learns and how he changes it will expand that a bit.  I don't know.  I am having a sneezing fit as I type, so not really concentrating.  Get Leo's friend in more?  The great thing about writing these scenes separately you can calm down, and realise that you are not actually adding 000's of words - but honestly, if I did everything everyone has suggested we would be looking at something Tolstoyan in length - every POV used and analysed.  It would be great to do that...perhaps I could do something with Conscience?

Oh brilliant! - The beginning of the end?

Tonight I've discovered that my husband thinks of my writing as a vaguely therapeutic activity that I do to keep sane but which unfortunately prevents me being quite as full on with the housework as I might be (read "ought" there).

I have seldom in the last 20 years have had quite such comprehensive evidence of his density and lack of interest or understanding of my motivations.  He thinks TRF is just a sort of apologia which I am working on for psychological reasons.  I freely admit that that was its origin - but it's moved on a lot since then.  And I've written another novel in the meantime. He does not understand that I need to make my own life, that I need to earn some money, that I need to have an outlet for my talents and abilities which I am generally denied elsewhere. He seems to be unaware that I was writing for years before I met him (admittedly with less dedication and conviction) and that my first husband diverted me from a writing project that had gained the interest of a publisher (yes, I can barely bring myself to recall this now) by telling me I couldn't sit around writing and researching, I needed to "get a job".  I didn't then have the confidence to believe I could do it - I didn't have the confidence to tell James to fuck off and let me get on with it.  Mark has forgotten that I was earning money from commercial writing and journalism before he met me, he doesn't seem to be aware that this is what I have always been good at, and is the obvious thing to try and earn money from.

I don't know what his motivation is - probably it is just stupidity, but maybe he's jealous or threatened or something. It maybe because he is upset about the personal/autobiographical elements of TRF (even though he's been written out of it).  I sometimes feel as if this book would be the end of all my relationships if it ever gets published.  None of my cousins will ever talk to me again - and M and the boys are getting full of resentment.  I could have reminded him that they all make it so difficult for me to write that I had to go to a convent to get some writing time.  Our bedroom is not the ideal place to write, especially in the evening when it is his tv room.  I must reclaim the upstairs office and work there I think.  I can just stay there all evening without having him looking over my shoulder or watching tv in the same room.

Am I angry? Is it justtified?   It's obviously an area that is sensitive.  I was reminded of my argument with Markovitch a thousand years ago when he said "So where is this writing you talk about? Why haven't you finished a book yet?"   Good grief.  I shouldn't care, I should understand that non-writers DON'T understand, but it is deeply upsetting to discover that people you care about actually think you are just pissing around... when actually I'm busy burning with a hard, gem-like flame and cutting and snipping and re-doing and thinking and exercising my remaining braincells in the best way I know (don't talk to me about differential calculus - you try re-writing a novel to take account of several changes in character and motivation: it's like 3D computer programing, working with chaos theory - where every change in one character's behaviour has a knock-on effect on everyone else in the book).

Really, really, this is an entry that should go in the Only Writing blog.  But it is my everyday life.  And I wrote a blog entry in the other blog about two or three hours ago which was cheerful and more confident.  Then he made his fateful remark.  It's rather like the famous (to me) penis incident (no dear reader, I am not telling) - he says something pretty unforgiveable, blaming, hurtful and you get the cold water bucket of truth thrown over you "This is what he really thinks!"  Gradually the impression fades, eventually you challenge him, he makes feeble excuses about it, you get tired of hearing the fibs, and go away.  Eventually you haven't the energy to feel hurt any longer.  Now along comes this incident, and then "I don't understand why you are getting so upset about this".  And that's partly the problem: wound me about something very fundamental, creativity, sexuality - and then assume that your verbal klutzery is just part of the picture, and that I am getting excessively worked up about it.  

Perhaps in 4 years or so I will have forgiven him, in fact, I already have to an extent, it's just that I am not entirely sure if I can continue to live in this situation.  Usually when he upsets me like this I cry - but actually I am too angry to.  Of course the mature, committed adult thing to do would be to talk it through and deal with it - and sort it out, but I no longer want to do that.  I know this is childish, I don't harbour many resentments, but to be so comprehensively misread by someone you've spent 20 years tending and nurturing (well, 16 of the last 20 anyway) feels like something rather outstanding in the everyday slings and arrows stakes... Occasionally one just wants to tend one's anger, like in the Blake poem - one almost enjoys one's feeling of self-righteousness.  It's not very Christian or very likeable, there's no justification, apart perhaps from the fact that occasionally there is an insult to one's sense of self that is so egregious that one wants to set it apart and put it on a pedestal and indulge it a little.  I let a lot of things go by, I am pretty forgiving, I don't take offence, I see other people's viewpoints, understand their weaknesses and limitations as far as I can.

It is very sad.  When I came downstairs to cook supper tonight I was feeling low - the struggles with the literary differential calculus were getting me down - and I actually sought a hug and was relieved to find it still had some power to console, and was relieved that I still had someone to console me (it was a rather passive hug on his part).  Strange that about an hour later the consolation should so comprehensively have vanished and been replace by an utter emptiness and incomprehension.

Wildlife in the bedroom

Early this morning there was a rattling in the chimney as though small stones or bits of plaster were falling down into the hearth.  I was sitting at my desk when suddenly something fluttered out of the fiireplace - it moved swiftly - I thought it must be some sort of really large moth - before I could look at it it flittered away.  Then I saw it on the picture rail above the curtains - it was a wren, but it looked odd because a piece of fluff/nesting material about half its size had stuck to its foot.  When I went to open the window it flew away - couldn't see it anywhere and worried that it might have flown out of the bedroom door and got lost in the house, however, it hadn't gone far, and when I crossed the room it flew back over my head and straight out of the window.

I wondered whether it had been "hibernating" in the chimney - as wrens do apparently.  When I was in the garden later I saw a starling hanging around the chimney pots, and wondered if their plan to nest in the chimney had driven the wren out, I hope there aren't any other wrens stuck in there.   It was good to see that the wrens are still in the vicinity, we've seen hardly any birds for months, but the last two days have been sunny and one begins to hope that they'll be back.  

Hastings vs. Ramsgate

We went to Hastings today - it was miraculously sunny and I enjoyed the long drive over the Romney Marshes, seeing dead badgers and rabbits by the roadside (well, not enjoying that exactly, but...) as well as newish lambs, willows about to bud, alder catkins, daffodils in gardens and other irrevocable signs of spring.

I last went to Hastings about 16 years ago, and had no great hopes of it, however, it was very attractive. It has an "old town" with a fishing area, which includes a good, cheap, locally sourced wetfish shop, two little museums and an aquarium.  There is also a very good restaurant called Webbs - which is run in a very traditional French way - good short wine list, nice menu (no specials) but very good fish and other things.  Mark had beef rib, I had mixed steamed fish in saffron sauce - very good - and we both had starters of great slabs of smoked fish in my case and rillettes in his. Their olives were fab, and everything was just perfect.  They had a maitre d' who looked like something out of a French film - pouchy-eyed (just my type - we matched!) a bit like a nice version of Nigel Farage (arrrrgh!).  I could have had rather more adventurous food, but I was trying to be "good" - however, I was undermined by slabs of homemade bread.  Sigh.  Well, never mind, I've  been pretty good this week.

Hastings is always held out as another example of a distressed seaside town like Ramsgate and Margate, which has to regenerate.  From what I saw it had regenerated.  From Webbs we walked into a little bit of the old town, lots of groovy shops, dozens of restaurants and cafes, the seafront busy with people walking, children trampolining and multi-generational crazy golf games, despite the whipping wind.  We sat in the sun and had the first outdoor coffee of the year (I think) and admired the bizarre architecture.  We took a funicular railway up to the ruined Norman castle - I sat on the sandstone outcrops and read while Mark inspected the premises.  It has all sorts of tourist attractions that Ramsgate doesn't have, and I honestly thought it was streets ahead of us in regeneration terms.   It also had a great new art gallery, the Jerwood, which was the chief reason for my visit - but we didn't visit this, because they charged £7 entry - and the show was portraits by local artists.  I don't know how it's funded, and why the Turner Contemptible is still free and showing work of international significance - but I wonder how many people want to pay £7 to see work by local artists - however good.  I personally hadn't heard of any of them, so I didn't feel enticed by the poster advertising the show, but perhaps some of them are famous.  But as Mark said (to my surprise) "For £14 you could have a bottle of wine in a bar!"  Sounds as if he's trying to ingratiate himself with me.  Meanwhile, I should very much like to know where to buy some Il Modello (sic?) Garganega - it was delicious.  Debateable of course whether a bottle of wine provides quite the same mental stimulus as a really good art exhibition - probably not, but it was a moot point whether Jerwood was showing a really good exhibition.  And, I should say of course, that I can go and see Bridget Riley around the corner for free at the moment at the Updown Gallery - and something just as good again in a few weeks time probably - and I don't have to travel far for the Turner (Carl Andre has his points I discovered recently).  So!  Hastings is far bigger and has more interesting shops and restaurants (and probably more holistic health practitioners and baby yoga classes) - but Ramsgate has a sandy beach, grammar schools and er.... well, better access to good art I think.

Not many dead...

I had this feeling at the beginning of the year that there might be a family demise during January/February - but we are safely through those months without this happening  (actually, I think March is something of a peak death month so don't count your chickens).   I am wondering whether my sense was simply an outward expression of inner gloom, or perhaps it was a sense that "all we needed" to complete the gloom scenario was a family death.  Well, mercifully everyone is alive and kicking still, although in a couple of cases it's not clear that their life seems like the result of mercy.  Can prolonged life after you've ceased to be able to think clearly, speak much, move much or read books really be anything of value?  But still, perhaps one is glad to look out of the window in the morning, see birds and plants and now signs of spring.  That must be something one can still enjoy.

Les Miserables

I've always felt I didn't need to go and see les Miserables partly because I don't really like musicals that much, and chiefly because I've read the book so I don't need to see it song and danced through at a great rate.   However, it is about 30 years since I read the book - and I would probably start re-reading it now, if I weren't in the midst of Anna Karenina.

However, having seen the trailer, I thought I'd quite like to go and see it.  It is a long time since I saw quite so tear-jerking a film - although I cried at all the religious/noble/moral bits - rather than the love bits - which were soppy and unconvincing although Amanda Seyfried and Eddie Redmayne looked wimpishly well matched.  Any normal person would go for Javert or, of course, Jean Valjean...

What struck me about the film, and thus about the musical, is what an incredible conspiracy of silence there is about the religious/moral content.  The film reduces it to a straight fight between noble Valjean and vindictive Javert - but I suspect that in the context it was written, it was partly about the different ways people interpreted their moral duty.   I.e. the law vs. the spirit of the law.  The musical has been intensely popular - I don't know how long it's been on for, but I can't believe it is only popular because it's a musical - people must have loved it so because of the overwhelming transcendant ideas about love and goodness and conscience and doing the right thing... the Marius-Cosette love story is a flimsy scrap of stuff floating about in it.  Then again, reading the precis of the novel in Wikipedia, I realise so much has been left out and simplified, that perhaps one might feel more engaged with them in the novel - in fact, I seem to remember that I did.

It really is an intensely religious story - which has many positive roles for clergy and nuns, not usually popular topics in fiction nowadays.  Lots about God, grace, mercy etc. in it.  Javert to some extent dies because he cannot forgive - or rather finds his emotions in conflict with his belief about the supremacy of the law.  Possibly a good advert for the Catholic church in some ways?