You'll be pleased to hear (at least if you live in the UK) that Lord H has come up with a top-notch solution to our present prison overcrowding difficulties. The simple answer is to let all the prisoners free (as half of them seem to be on the run, missing or generally involved in other ghastly goings-on anyway, that shouldn't take long ...) and then put all the innocent people in prison. That way we'll be safe, and the criminals will be free to run riot in the streets as seems to be their wish. Also the prisons will be less overcrowded as there appear to be fewer innocent people as it is. And everyone will be happy. Hurrah! Crisis over. The government will be pleased.
I decided not to go to church today, as it was the big do for the new priest's first service, which meant incense, processions, loads of people (God, I hate crowds!) and the full monty works - no doubt including healings, raisings from the dead and the parting of the waters in the village pond (that'll surprise the ducks) - and not forgetting a performance sermon from the dean. Who can't resist a do, dahlings. So I couldn't really be arsed. Lord H went, of course, as he was chief incense swinger, but even he says the sermon was a tad too long and everyone got a bit anal about who did what to whom and when. Sounds much like a normal Sunday to me ... I didn't do much of note while I had the chance though - no more than a page of "The Gifting" and a nice long bath, but hell I think I deserve it.
But the elongated holiness meant that Lord H was late back from church so we had to rush like mad things to get to our 1pm golf match. Which we eventually made at 1.30pm, so gold stars to Marian & Siegi for being as patient as angels. We had a good game in the end, though Marian and I were crap - as we always are when the menfolk are around, I have to say. But I did manage to beat my previous course record of how many bunkers I can go into during one game. Next time, I think I'll cut to the chase and just take a bucket and spade. Afterwards, it was lunch at Marian's - meatballs are one of my favourites, hurrah! And I drank like a fish, so obviously my alcohol go slow days are well and truly over. Thank God
Which meant that my weekly phonecall to mother was very jolly indeed - note to self: drink hugely before phoning mother on a regular basis as it definitely oils the wheels of family chat. And talking of oiling the wheels, Lord H has nobly WD40'd my golf trolley wheels which have been squeaking like garrotted pigs for months now, and they made not a sound today. Did I notice until he told me? Did I heck! Bad wife points for me then ... Again.
At home, I opened the note which the Church Secretary gave Lord H to give to me - and found a really sweet thank-you letter from the PCC for my years of service as Sacristan, together with £50 in book tokens. Bloody hell. Apparently I've been a "quiet presence in the vestry" - bloody hell again: is everyone deaf? I always swore like a trooper in the vestry and was regularly nasty to visiting priests. I saw this as part of my job description - that'll teach the bastards to come here and start changing things, eh? Hmm, perhaps they were turning the other cheek? Feel quite pleased though - but it would have been nice if someone had bothered to thank me while I was doing the job (which isn't the easiest), I have to say. Still, I shall write a nice thank you note in reply and shall thoroughly enjoy spending the tokens. Maybe there's another church job I can apply for and then leave dramatically, if that's what I get for it?... Never say I don't have an eye for the main chance.
Tonight, I've written some more of "The Gifting" and got some ideas for later on in the scene, which I'm pleased about. Ideas are normally so bloody hard to come by - I try to make a point of having very few, as they do mess up the flow ... I'll type up the stuff I've written tomorrow. Later, we'll watch our video of Midsomer Murders, whilst snuggling down in our dressing gowns and slippers. Life in Surrey is a hot-bed of action, you know.
This week's haiku (ironically enough) is:
Hush! Tread carefully,
wait for the priests to pass by:
lying low from church.
Today's nice things:
1. Writing
2. Golf - and meatballs!
3. Getting a nice letter & £50 in tokens.
Anne Brooke
http://www.annebrooke.com
http://www.goldenford.co.uk
ANNE BROOKE BOOKS: Independent writer of modern fiction
Showing posts with label alcohol. Show all posts
Showing posts with label alcohol. Show all posts
Sunday, January 28, 2007
Sunday, January 07, 2007
Some advice for authors ...
It's struck me that over the last couple of days, a few no doubt kindly and well-meaning authors have sent me their words of wisdom about their long journeys of writerly suffering followed by (oh! what a surprise!) the joy of commercial discovery by the publisher of their dreams. I imagine these classic and rather cliched tales of rags to riches are offered in the spirit of encouragement. Shame then that they only come over as condescending and banal.
I mean: do these good people imagine that I have not heard these tales before? (Oh Lord, countless, countless times, and no they don't help. Not one jot). It may come as a complete shock to an author's delicate constitution, but I do actually attend writers' conferences, speak to fellow writers, belong to an extremely high-quality but as yet commercially unpublished writers' group (http://www.guildfordwriters.net) and am a regular contributor to an equally high quality writers' site (http://www.writewords.org.uk). Ye gods and wash my mouth out with Carbolic - but I almost sound like a professional myself there. (For which apologies: I would never want that dubious label attached to my t-shirt ...)
So forgive me if I don't fall down in gratitude and throw my pen at your authorial feet. In fact, my advice to authors is this: if you do have a typical writer rags-to-riches tale that you are desperate for the world outside to hear, take the nearest sewing kit and use it accordingly to button the proverbial lip. We've all heard it before and we're deeply, deeply not interested. It might have been interesting and useful the first ten times (though I have my doubts even about that ...), but now I'm afraid your market has moved on. I suggest you might be wise to move with it. Find another angle. As they say.
In fact, dear author, I have news of my own, which may come as a complete surprise to you, so I hope you're sitting down and within easy reach of the nearest whisky bottle: hush my mouth, but it may even be that your own commercially published status does not come from the fact that your book has any intrinsic merits or quality of its own, but purely because it is deemed marketable in the current climate. Oh, my dear, pass the smelling salts, do ...! After all, the fact remains that our bookshops are stuffed with crap (some of which even wins awards - take the utterly unreadable Booker Prize shortlist of the last two years, for instance - though I do admit that the shortlist with Morrall on was one hot cookie) - and, oh dear me, your own book may well fall into that category. The fact is that commercial publication is nothing to do with quality and everything to do with luck.
In fact, if poor old "A Dangerous Man" ever struggles its way out of the Flame Pit of Despair (thanks again for the phrase, Jonathan ...) into the cold light of day, it will itself be my first, extremely small (and probably only) commercially published novel. It will be in that position (if it ever is) entirely due to luck. And if I ever once start to bore people with the completely uninteresting tale of how it got there, blah, blah, blah, I fully expect to be beaten to death with a copy of the Oxford English Dictionary. In fact, I shall probably do it myself, to save you all the effort. Hey, but what a way to go ...
Which brings me to a proposed punishment for any more authors who try to force their tales of woe and joy upon us benighted writers: every time their deeply dull and unhelpful story is told, they have to lose a finger. With no appeals. Hah! Bet that stops 'em. Three cheers for Writer Power!
Advice over. Phew.
The rest of my day has been spent battling with the Cold From Hell (which comes with special stomach side effects - what joy!). The plus point of this meant I could skip church without too much residual guilt, so Lord H had to go on his own and do Server duties. Apparently the Serving team managed to fool the visiting low-church vicar into doing lots of fun high-church stuff, including incense, without him realising that we don't always do it like that. Never say that the High Church regulars don't have some fun at the expense of their Lower (and of course much-loved ...) brethren. Even though the UK press always reports it the other way round. Sigh ... Apparently today's vestry gossip has been the upcoming installation of the new vicar at the end of January, which will be a bells 'n' smells party & lunch, to which all the local church Dames (and we suspect some of their Principal Boys - cue such phrases as: what a charming young man? Is he a relation? No, we didn't think so either ...) will be invited.
And, thank God, Lord H cooked today's lamb joint. Which meant it was edible for the first time in what seems ages. He had to leave the kitchen afterwards though, as I spent my usual ten minutes tearing off the rest of the meat from the bone, sucking up the marrow and laughing maniacally. Just like the home life of our own dear Queen ... Anyway, it's good for colds.
Tonight, I still have to ring mother (argh!) and try to sound normal, if ill. But that will cheer her up - she does so love a sick child. It takes her back to the good old days when she had some modicum of control over me. Aha! Then, I'm going to slump like a couch potato and wait for the Great White Hunter. My, but Sundays are fun.
Oh, and I've just finished reading Paul Auster's "The New York Trilogy". Bloody genius in my opinion. He takes the detective format and rips it apart to make something wild and literary and incredibly strange and human. It's like opening a box of Black Magic and finding it full of the utterly orgasmic Lindor milk chocolates instead. Read it. You won't regret it. He is soooo on my list of good authors now. Hey, there's a novelty!
This week's haiku (in honour of Lord H) is:
Home is for coffee.
Abroad, you taste the wild sky
and, smiling, choose tea.
Today's nice things:
1. Not going to church
2. Reading the bloody brilliant Auster
3. Eating lamb marrow.
Anne Brooke
http://www.annebrooke.com
http://www.goldenford.co.uk
I mean: do these good people imagine that I have not heard these tales before? (Oh Lord, countless, countless times, and no they don't help. Not one jot). It may come as a complete shock to an author's delicate constitution, but I do actually attend writers' conferences, speak to fellow writers, belong to an extremely high-quality but as yet commercially unpublished writers' group (http://www.guildfordwriters.net) and am a regular contributor to an equally high quality writers' site (http://www.writewords.org.uk). Ye gods and wash my mouth out with Carbolic - but I almost sound like a professional myself there. (For which apologies: I would never want that dubious label attached to my t-shirt ...)
So forgive me if I don't fall down in gratitude and throw my pen at your authorial feet. In fact, my advice to authors is this: if you do have a typical writer rags-to-riches tale that you are desperate for the world outside to hear, take the nearest sewing kit and use it accordingly to button the proverbial lip. We've all heard it before and we're deeply, deeply not interested. It might have been interesting and useful the first ten times (though I have my doubts even about that ...), but now I'm afraid your market has moved on. I suggest you might be wise to move with it. Find another angle. As they say.
In fact, dear author, I have news of my own, which may come as a complete surprise to you, so I hope you're sitting down and within easy reach of the nearest whisky bottle: hush my mouth, but it may even be that your own commercially published status does not come from the fact that your book has any intrinsic merits or quality of its own, but purely because it is deemed marketable in the current climate. Oh, my dear, pass the smelling salts, do ...! After all, the fact remains that our bookshops are stuffed with crap (some of which even wins awards - take the utterly unreadable Booker Prize shortlist of the last two years, for instance - though I do admit that the shortlist with Morrall on was one hot cookie) - and, oh dear me, your own book may well fall into that category. The fact is that commercial publication is nothing to do with quality and everything to do with luck.
In fact, if poor old "A Dangerous Man" ever struggles its way out of the Flame Pit of Despair (thanks again for the phrase, Jonathan ...) into the cold light of day, it will itself be my first, extremely small (and probably only) commercially published novel. It will be in that position (if it ever is) entirely due to luck. And if I ever once start to bore people with the completely uninteresting tale of how it got there, blah, blah, blah, I fully expect to be beaten to death with a copy of the Oxford English Dictionary. In fact, I shall probably do it myself, to save you all the effort. Hey, but what a way to go ...
Which brings me to a proposed punishment for any more authors who try to force their tales of woe and joy upon us benighted writers: every time their deeply dull and unhelpful story is told, they have to lose a finger. With no appeals. Hah! Bet that stops 'em. Three cheers for Writer Power!
Advice over. Phew.
The rest of my day has been spent battling with the Cold From Hell (which comes with special stomach side effects - what joy!). The plus point of this meant I could skip church without too much residual guilt, so Lord H had to go on his own and do Server duties. Apparently the Serving team managed to fool the visiting low-church vicar into doing lots of fun high-church stuff, including incense, without him realising that we don't always do it like that. Never say that the High Church regulars don't have some fun at the expense of their Lower (and of course much-loved ...) brethren. Even though the UK press always reports it the other way round. Sigh ... Apparently today's vestry gossip has been the upcoming installation of the new vicar at the end of January, which will be a bells 'n' smells party & lunch, to which all the local church Dames (and we suspect some of their Principal Boys - cue such phrases as: what a charming young man? Is he a relation? No, we didn't think so either ...) will be invited.
And, thank God, Lord H cooked today's lamb joint. Which meant it was edible for the first time in what seems ages. He had to leave the kitchen afterwards though, as I spent my usual ten minutes tearing off the rest of the meat from the bone, sucking up the marrow and laughing maniacally. Just like the home life of our own dear Queen ... Anyway, it's good for colds.
Tonight, I still have to ring mother (argh!) and try to sound normal, if ill. But that will cheer her up - she does so love a sick child. It takes her back to the good old days when she had some modicum of control over me. Aha! Then, I'm going to slump like a couch potato and wait for the Great White Hunter. My, but Sundays are fun.
Oh, and I've just finished reading Paul Auster's "The New York Trilogy". Bloody genius in my opinion. He takes the detective format and rips it apart to make something wild and literary and incredibly strange and human. It's like opening a box of Black Magic and finding it full of the utterly orgasmic Lindor milk chocolates instead. Read it. You won't regret it. He is soooo on my list of good authors now. Hey, there's a novelty!
This week's haiku (in honour of Lord H) is:
Home is for coffee.
Abroad, you taste the wild sky
and, smiling, choose tea.
Today's nice things:
1. Not going to church
2. Reading the bloody brilliant Auster
3. Eating lamb marrow.
Anne Brooke
http://www.annebrooke.com
http://www.goldenford.co.uk
Friday, January 05, 2007
Whisky and words
Have been feeling like I've been drained of all energy today (query: is it Torchwood's revenge?) and am hovering delicately on the edge of a cold. Hell, and the year had been going so well - up until yesterday, that is. I decided last night to drown my sorrows in whisky (and consequently have thrown my new alcohol-lite regime into the roadside bushes with merry abandon). This helped a surprising amount - which just goes to show that the Scots are right after all. Och aye, the noo (or similar). As a result, I wrote a poem about it which - equally astonishingly - is longer than my customary three lines. Here it is:
Whisky song
Sometimes alcohol is the only way:
when you’re hunting the wild dogs,
or being hunted by them,
or when the blue day
you were stepping into
turns black
after all
and just when you thought
you’d cracked the bloody secret
of how to be happy.
Don’t believe it.
That’s when the dark rages roll,
those hours, days,
you can’t control
and when it happens
there’s no way on earth to do
what your precious gurus recommend:
walk away; procrastinate;
drink water or calming tea;
meditate.
No. Instead
do what your heart’s need tells you:
take the secret bottle of heathered gold;
pour long and deep; breathe in
the warm satin richness;
let its fierce kiss
burn crimson on your tongue;
swallow down that longed-for surge of happiness
into your body’s constant, clamouring
ache;
and medicate.
So there you go. Maybe poetry only turns up when I'm spitting feathers or in the black gloom. Or both. It's a mystery. But, hey, it's more than three lines - hurrah!
And, talking of writing, it's interesting how today's 1000 words of "The Gifting" have been full of poor Simon getting enraged and doing a lot of yelling. Perhaps my novels should be read purely as a diary exercise to see what mood I was in when I was writing them. Or, more accurately, what mood I was in the day before. But where does that leave the sex scenes? Hmm ...
Meanwhile, the march of time has journeyed onwards ... I picked up my new (name drop alert!) Armani glasses today (which look fine, thank you) and at once the world became significantly larger and more in focus. And there was I thinking that everywhere I went the world was slightly misty. Much like the Queen Mother, who must have imagined that England was terribly clean and strewn with rose petals. Bless her. Still, it meant that the residents of Godalming were far safer on my journey home. And Lord H has already emailed to say I look lovely. What a smoothie, eh? Though actually Lord H has gained at least a hundred brand-new Husband Points from last night - when he spent a long time listening, nodding sympathetically and hugging, even though he'd only just arrived from work and had yet to take his coat off. And he didn't even frown at the amount of swearing going on. What a hero. I can see I shall have to do extra cleaning and (perish the thought) even perhaps some home cooking in order to balance the marital niceness scales once more. What's that? Did someone say I'm overly competitive? Ah, surely not ...
This afternoon, after hammering out Simon's latest trauma, I gave in to the siren call of the sofa and have had a glorious two-hour nap. I can see myself becoming more and more like Lydia Languish who, from memory, spent most of her theatrical fictional time swooning on the sofa and taking smelling salts. Hell, don't knock it. It's a career after all.
Which brings me to thoughts of professionalism. There seems to have been a lot of talk about this on various writing sites recently, but I don't think that on a personal level I can subscribe to its unnatural demands. Rest assured that, whatever happens in the Curious World of Brooke, I shall never turn into a scary professional anything. Please God. I hope I shall always be me - a small corner of the virtual world which shall remain forever determinedly amateur, threateningly unprofessional and (hopefully) as searingly honest as I can be. Please God I never turn into one of those authors who (if I ever make it anywhere else but where I am now, ho ho) smile and smile, and say how wonderful the publishing world is, dahlings, and how charmed their life is now, and how absolutely awful those other wretched would-be writers are. And have one of those cut-glass accents too, even though they came from Bognor and spent most of their childhood in a caravan. Why do they all sound like that? Ye gods, is there a Stepford Authors club out there? Do you have to have your personality removed if you make it into the hallowed corridors of a mainstream publisher? And don't even mention those irritating airbrushed photographs which make every author look the same. I mean, I ask you! Perhaps it is after all a cunning plot dreamed up by a Government marketing department with way too much power and time on its hands. It wouldn't surprise me.
Today's nice things, then:
1. Writing
2. Getting new glasses - Armani! Hey, babe ...!
3. Still having a personality. (You might not like it, but at least you know what it is!).
Anne Brooke
http://www.annebrooke.com
http://www.goldenford.co.uk
Whisky song
Sometimes alcohol is the only way:
when you’re hunting the wild dogs,
or being hunted by them,
or when the blue day
you were stepping into
turns black
after all
and just when you thought
you’d cracked the bloody secret
of how to be happy.
Don’t believe it.
That’s when the dark rages roll,
those hours, days,
you can’t control
and when it happens
there’s no way on earth to do
what your precious gurus recommend:
walk away; procrastinate;
drink water or calming tea;
meditate.
No. Instead
do what your heart’s need tells you:
take the secret bottle of heathered gold;
pour long and deep; breathe in
the warm satin richness;
let its fierce kiss
burn crimson on your tongue;
swallow down that longed-for surge of happiness
into your body’s constant, clamouring
ache;
and medicate.
So there you go. Maybe poetry only turns up when I'm spitting feathers or in the black gloom. Or both. It's a mystery. But, hey, it's more than three lines - hurrah!
And, talking of writing, it's interesting how today's 1000 words of "The Gifting" have been full of poor Simon getting enraged and doing a lot of yelling. Perhaps my novels should be read purely as a diary exercise to see what mood I was in when I was writing them. Or, more accurately, what mood I was in the day before. But where does that leave the sex scenes? Hmm ...
Meanwhile, the march of time has journeyed onwards ... I picked up my new (name drop alert!) Armani glasses today (which look fine, thank you) and at once the world became significantly larger and more in focus. And there was I thinking that everywhere I went the world was slightly misty. Much like the Queen Mother, who must have imagined that England was terribly clean and strewn with rose petals. Bless her. Still, it meant that the residents of Godalming were far safer on my journey home. And Lord H has already emailed to say I look lovely. What a smoothie, eh? Though actually Lord H has gained at least a hundred brand-new Husband Points from last night - when he spent a long time listening, nodding sympathetically and hugging, even though he'd only just arrived from work and had yet to take his coat off. And he didn't even frown at the amount of swearing going on. What a hero. I can see I shall have to do extra cleaning and (perish the thought) even perhaps some home cooking in order to balance the marital niceness scales once more. What's that? Did someone say I'm overly competitive? Ah, surely not ...
This afternoon, after hammering out Simon's latest trauma, I gave in to the siren call of the sofa and have had a glorious two-hour nap. I can see myself becoming more and more like Lydia Languish who, from memory, spent most of her theatrical fictional time swooning on the sofa and taking smelling salts. Hell, don't knock it. It's a career after all.
Which brings me to thoughts of professionalism. There seems to have been a lot of talk about this on various writing sites recently, but I don't think that on a personal level I can subscribe to its unnatural demands. Rest assured that, whatever happens in the Curious World of Brooke, I shall never turn into a scary professional anything. Please God. I hope I shall always be me - a small corner of the virtual world which shall remain forever determinedly amateur, threateningly unprofessional and (hopefully) as searingly honest as I can be. Please God I never turn into one of those authors who (if I ever make it anywhere else but where I am now, ho ho) smile and smile, and say how wonderful the publishing world is, dahlings, and how charmed their life is now, and how absolutely awful those other wretched would-be writers are. And have one of those cut-glass accents too, even though they came from Bognor and spent most of their childhood in a caravan. Why do they all sound like that? Ye gods, is there a Stepford Authors club out there? Do you have to have your personality removed if you make it into the hallowed corridors of a mainstream publisher? And don't even mention those irritating airbrushed photographs which make every author look the same. I mean, I ask you! Perhaps it is after all a cunning plot dreamed up by a Government marketing department with way too much power and time on its hands. It wouldn't surprise me.
Today's nice things, then:
1. Writing
2. Getting new glasses - Armani! Hey, babe ...!
3. Still having a personality. (You might not like it, but at least you know what it is!).
Anne Brooke
http://www.annebrooke.com
http://www.goldenford.co.uk
Tuesday, November 28, 2006
Reflexology & Kinesiology
Goodness, what an action-packed life I have ... Today was very dull. I read some more about how to be a depressed Christian - and got very pissed off with the author being rather high-handed about things about which he obviously knows nothing. Funny how you can tell a straight, white middle-class Evangelical at 50 paces. Anyway, I now have my doubts about the validity of the bloody book for me, and am significantly less keen about finishing it. Looks like I'll have to make my own ruddy way through the jungle. As per usual.
Still, reflexology (http://www.optimum-fitness.co.uk) was wonderful - as ever - and once again I fell asleep in the middle of it. I definitely need the relaxation time. And after work, I had another session with my kinesiologist (http://www.kinesiology4health.com) and - very reluctantly - have decided to give up alcohol for 3 weeks and see what happens. Annoying - but it does gel with what I've been thinking recently, and if it improves my health - even if temporarily - then who am I to argue?
Ooh, and Ellie on MySpace (http://www.myspace.com) left me a comment saying she'd enjoyed my website and the short stories on there - huge thanks, Ellie - that's really cheered me!
Today's nice things:
1. Reflexology
2. Kinesiology
3. Ellie's kind comments.
Anne Brooke
http://www.annebrooke.com
http://www.goldenford.co.uk
Still, reflexology (http://www.optimum-fitness.co.uk) was wonderful - as ever - and once again I fell asleep in the middle of it. I definitely need the relaxation time. And after work, I had another session with my kinesiologist (http://www.kinesiology4health.com) and - very reluctantly - have decided to give up alcohol for 3 weeks and see what happens. Annoying - but it does gel with what I've been thinking recently, and if it improves my health - even if temporarily - then who am I to argue?
Ooh, and Ellie on MySpace (http://www.myspace.com) left me a comment saying she'd enjoyed my website and the short stories on there - huge thanks, Ellie - that's really cheered me!
Today's nice things:
1. Reflexology
2. Kinesiology
3. Ellie's kind comments.
Anne Brooke
http://www.annebrooke.com
http://www.goldenford.co.uk
Thursday, November 23, 2006
Counselling and a good review
Woke up this morning, terrified by the amount of stuff I had to do today. And rather befuddled by the bottle of red Lord H and I consumed last night. (He was making stew, so naturally we had to finish the bottle ...). Hell, I'm too old for this midweek drinking lark. Mind you, I probably shouldn't have had that sherry first. Hmm ...
So, a bright and early doctor's appointment (8.30am - what was I thinking??) to look at how I'm doing in the depression stakes. I do think those Vit B pills he gave me might be kicking in now, as I feel a bit stronger. I've another month's supply left and apparently I could buy them over the counter afterwards, which I think I will do. We'll see. I'm still trying to take it easy and not push myself too much. Once again, the good doctor was super-keen on a few moments of prayer at the end of our discussion - which this time I rather felt was something of an imposition. Please, oh good Christian people! I'm not of that mindset at the moment - it's hard enough being me without having a frame of references pushed onto my head ...
Which made my first counselling session at the Castle Street Clinic (http://www.castlestreetclinic.com - but it's probably not working right now ...) very good, as I could tell my new Counsellor, Kunu, this and she seemed to think it was all very normal. For a mad person (sorry - that's my addition, not hers!...). Actually, she was great, and I felt very positive afterwards, so I've booked a set of six with her, starting next week. Then, it was onto the garage to sort out my broken wing mirror - which Lord H has managed to knock back into a position where I can now partially use it. The garage are going to get a new one and give me a ring when it's in, but until then I shall be a bird with a broken wing. All very seasonal, somehow. The thing that made me most proud, however, was the fact that the girl at the Service reception actually recognised me from her time as the barmaid of The Squirrel in Hurtmore. Hell, at last I have local contacts!! Though of course everyone in the garage instantly had me marked as a rampant alcoholic. Mind you, after last night's wine, I can't say I blame them ...
After all that, it was a quick sprint home for my lunchtime golf game with Marian - we had fun, but did badly. We blamed the wet grass of course ... Decided to come home without seeing Gladys, as I think I've had too much social inclusion for one day. Way too much! I'll see how I feel about popping in tomorrow.
But - joy! At home, I found another 5-star review of "Pink Champagne and Apple Juice" on Amazon, which has really cheered me up. I attach it for your amusement below:
“A cracking good story and such wonderful characters, none of them too wicked nor too pious. They are all so real and colourful. John aka Jolene has just the right mix of impudence, sauciness and humanity to make us love him/her. It is, of course, Angie's story, and we are with her all the way. This is one of those books you don't want to put down or finish. Another story about Angie would be fantastic!”
Hurrah - people are reading the darn thing - miracle of miracles! Not sure I'm much of a sequel person though ...
As you can tell, I've got no writing done so far, though I might manage a few lines this evening - in between catching up with "Strictly Come Dancing" and various TV comedies. How I love Catherine Tate - especially Nan and those wonderful ginger-haired people!! Nothing wrong with a redhead though - but hell we do need our sun-block ...!
Today's nice things:
1. The review
2. Counselling
3. Golf.
Anne Brooke
http://www.annebrooke.com
http://www.goldenford.co.uk
So, a bright and early doctor's appointment (8.30am - what was I thinking??) to look at how I'm doing in the depression stakes. I do think those Vit B pills he gave me might be kicking in now, as I feel a bit stronger. I've another month's supply left and apparently I could buy them over the counter afterwards, which I think I will do. We'll see. I'm still trying to take it easy and not push myself too much. Once again, the good doctor was super-keen on a few moments of prayer at the end of our discussion - which this time I rather felt was something of an imposition. Please, oh good Christian people! I'm not of that mindset at the moment - it's hard enough being me without having a frame of references pushed onto my head ...
Which made my first counselling session at the Castle Street Clinic (http://www.castlestreetclinic.com - but it's probably not working right now ...) very good, as I could tell my new Counsellor, Kunu, this and she seemed to think it was all very normal. For a mad person (sorry - that's my addition, not hers!...). Actually, she was great, and I felt very positive afterwards, so I've booked a set of six with her, starting next week. Then, it was onto the garage to sort out my broken wing mirror - which Lord H has managed to knock back into a position where I can now partially use it. The garage are going to get a new one and give me a ring when it's in, but until then I shall be a bird with a broken wing. All very seasonal, somehow. The thing that made me most proud, however, was the fact that the girl at the Service reception actually recognised me from her time as the barmaid of The Squirrel in Hurtmore. Hell, at last I have local contacts!! Though of course everyone in the garage instantly had me marked as a rampant alcoholic. Mind you, after last night's wine, I can't say I blame them ...
After all that, it was a quick sprint home for my lunchtime golf game with Marian - we had fun, but did badly. We blamed the wet grass of course ... Decided to come home without seeing Gladys, as I think I've had too much social inclusion for one day. Way too much! I'll see how I feel about popping in tomorrow.
But - joy! At home, I found another 5-star review of "Pink Champagne and Apple Juice" on Amazon, which has really cheered me up. I attach it for your amusement below:
“A cracking good story and such wonderful characters, none of them too wicked nor too pious. They are all so real and colourful. John aka Jolene has just the right mix of impudence, sauciness and humanity to make us love him/her. It is, of course, Angie's story, and we are with her all the way. This is one of those books you don't want to put down or finish. Another story about Angie would be fantastic!”
Hurrah - people are reading the darn thing - miracle of miracles! Not sure I'm much of a sequel person though ...
As you can tell, I've got no writing done so far, though I might manage a few lines this evening - in between catching up with "Strictly Come Dancing" and various TV comedies. How I love Catherine Tate - especially Nan and those wonderful ginger-haired people!! Nothing wrong with a redhead though - but hell we do need our sun-block ...!
Today's nice things:
1. The review
2. Counselling
3. Golf.
Anne Brooke
http://www.annebrooke.com
http://www.goldenford.co.uk
Sunday, November 19, 2006
Shoebox Sunday and depression
Ah, the curse of Shoebox Sunday - it's here again, which means the hell of Christmas is only a stone's throw away. Damn it. For those not in the know (you lucky people, you ...), this is - in the Anglican church, and perhaps in others too, though I don't know for sure - the time when we all have to go out and buy toys to put in shoeboxes to send to children in the developing world. Lord only knows what they make of sparkly balls and white-faced dolls when they probably haven't eaten for a week, but far be it from me to attempt to rock the diocesan boat. If only we didn't have to wrap the damn shoeboxes up before we deliver them, then I'm sure many marriages would be calmer and the police stations sleepier. Hell, have you ever tried to wrap a bloody shoebox? It's impossible.
Naturally, I took the only course of action available to me at this point - after all, I hate children!! - and left it entirely to Lord H, and skipped church. However, in the general mild depression I'm currently wading through, I didn't do the writing I'd planned to do - and barely scraped out 400 words to "The Gifting" before giving it up as a bad job and playing Solitaire instead. Actually, I sometimes wonder if I should give up writing altogether, if only on a temporary basis, until the clouds have passed. Hmm, something to ponder on perhaps.
That said, I was given an unexpected boost by some lovely comments on "Pink Champagne and Apple Juice" by a writing friend (thanks, Gill - who can be found at http://www.gilljames.co.uk) and also from Joanie at Writewords (http://www.writewords.org.uk) on the haiku I uploaded this morning. Thanks, Joanie. Much appreciated.
The rest of the day has heaved itself by. There was an interesting article in the latest "Church Times" though, which I devoured - all about Christians and depression. I really clicked with the comment from a Canon about how his depression felt as if he were carrying round a lead ball in his stomach all the time. Hey, mate - yes. You've got it in one. That's exactly how it feels - 90% of the time. The rest of the time I'm probably asleep. Anyway, it's inspired me to buy a book recommended on Amazon (http://www.amazon.co.uk) about the subject - which apparently isn't judgemental, demanding or shallow. Good, I like warm and woolly. I get enough damnfool comments or implied criticism elsewhere. I need something to say what's real about how I am now. Not how I should be.
So, this week's haiku:
Home pressures dissolve,
interior skies lighten:
a few days away.
And today's nice things:
1. Not going to church
2. Bakewell pudding for lunch
3. A glass of pre-lunch sherry.
Anne Brooke
http://www.annebrooke.com
http://www.goldenford.co.uk
Naturally, I took the only course of action available to me at this point - after all, I hate children!! - and left it entirely to Lord H, and skipped church. However, in the general mild depression I'm currently wading through, I didn't do the writing I'd planned to do - and barely scraped out 400 words to "The Gifting" before giving it up as a bad job and playing Solitaire instead. Actually, I sometimes wonder if I should give up writing altogether, if only on a temporary basis, until the clouds have passed. Hmm, something to ponder on perhaps.
That said, I was given an unexpected boost by some lovely comments on "Pink Champagne and Apple Juice" by a writing friend (thanks, Gill - who can be found at http://www.gilljames.co.uk) and also from Joanie at Writewords (http://www.writewords.org.uk) on the haiku I uploaded this morning. Thanks, Joanie. Much appreciated.
The rest of the day has heaved itself by. There was an interesting article in the latest "Church Times" though, which I devoured - all about Christians and depression. I really clicked with the comment from a Canon about how his depression felt as if he were carrying round a lead ball in his stomach all the time. Hey, mate - yes. You've got it in one. That's exactly how it feels - 90% of the time. The rest of the time I'm probably asleep. Anyway, it's inspired me to buy a book recommended on Amazon (http://www.amazon.co.uk) about the subject - which apparently isn't judgemental, demanding or shallow. Good, I like warm and woolly. I get enough damnfool comments or implied criticism elsewhere. I need something to say what's real about how I am now. Not how I should be.
So, this week's haiku:
Home pressures dissolve,
interior skies lighten:
a few days away.
And today's nice things:
1. Not going to church
2. Bakewell pudding for lunch
3. A glass of pre-lunch sherry.
Anne Brooke
http://www.annebrooke.com
http://www.goldenford.co.uk
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