Pensions, Pilates, Poems and Panics

Ye gods, but it’s chilly today. It’s the third time this week I’ve opted for a jumper rather than a jacket in the office. Ah, we’re all downgrading now, you know. Soon I shall be rolling in wearing my pink fluffy dressing gown and bedsocks. That’ll get rid of the campus population for sure.

Anyway, the first night of Ruth being the backstage queen at “The Bohemian Girl” apparently went well. In spite of the fact that during the aria, “I dreamt I lived in marble halls”, some woman walked off the street and attempted to go on stage in search of a shower. Ruth had to forcibly stop her before the scene was ruined – lordy, but they’re a rum lot in Haslemere, you know.

One of the singers was also apparently chatting about the gun props and let slip that she was a dab hand with pistols, having had three ex-husbands. Really, m’dears, sometimes it’s better not to ask too much …

This morning, we have had a pensions talk – is there no end to the excitement? The new system will apparently mean we get more take-home pay and it doesn’t affect our pensions so hey I’ve no problem with it. And Lord H is happy too, so that’s good. One of the best moves I’ve made really – marrying my accountant!

This lunchtime, I am chilling out for an hour in the Pilates class, but I will be way behind, what with other meetings crowding it out and being away over the last couple of weeks. I’m not sure I can remember if I even have any core muscles, never mind where they are. Ho hum. Tonight, I am attempting again to tackle more of the edit for The Gifting and – joy! – there’s “Torchwood”.

And I’ve been thinking about soap – I have a lot of different soaps in the flat and can never find the perfect one. Sigh:

A longing for soap

The older I get
the more I long
for the perfect soap;

something soft
that smells of lemon
or perhaps vanilla,

a bar which lathers up
to a glamorous froth
at the touch

of a finger. Or maybe two.
I yearn for flowers,
spices, ravishment;

a shedding of the skin
to discover perhaps
the woman within.


Oh and it’s exactly one week to the launch of Thorn in the Flesh. Am I nervous? Petrified, m’dears, petrified. What if nobody turns up? What if too many people turn up and the Museum representative won’t let them in? What if I panic during the reading and sound like a squirrel? What if I’m sick? I swear I have the confidence of a gnat. A gnat that’s had a particularly disheartening day. Oh Lordy, time for a calming pill or two, I feel. And there’s still a week to go!...

Today’s nice things:

1. Opera amusements
2. Pilates
3. Torchwood.

Anne Brooke
Anne's website
Goldenford Publishers