Have stayed in the flat today with a major focus on getting better, so cancelled golf with Marian, which was a bit of a shame. But in the end I think it was a wise choice as I do feel on the mend more now. If seriously tired.
But the good news is that I am now included as a regular reviewer on the Vulpes Libris site, so that's lovely. And in preparation for being able to get in and book review posting time, I've spent the morning writing up a full review of Caroline Rance's wonderful novel, Kill-Grief, and here's a very brief taster of that review:
".... The novel tells the story of Mary Helsall, who arrives in Chester in 1756, carrying her own bitter secrets but determined to carve a future for herself, despite the men who lay claim to her, body and soul. The setting is so densely and sharply described that it becomes a character in itself, and carries equal billing with the marvellous character of Mary. In essence, it's dark and rich and strong, like the best brandy, and I can thoroughly recommend it ..."
More like this please, Caroline ...
Other than that, I've spent a large part of the day asleep. I've eaten one bowl of cereals and one half-coated chocolate chip cookie. That was nice. I'm drinking bucket-loads of Lucozade. And I'm doing an awful lot of coughing. In fact, I think I may well be the best cougher in Surrey. Possibly the UK. My tissue supply might be running low too, but I shall worry about that tomorrow.
Oh, and I forgot to say that for some reason the US tax office have rejected my claim for literary tax relief, so I have to fill in the forms again and send them off. It appears I may not need to go up to London and go through the whole process a second time though - which is a blessed relief. But I think if this attempt fails, I may well simply grit my teeth and accept the double tax whammy. After all, it's not as if I actually earn anything to make a third try worthwhile - but for the sake of those wonderful people (thank you hugely, Clare & Sharon!) who talked me through the process and emailed lots of support, a second go will be had. Watch this space ...
Finally, Chris Brown from new media agency, Chris Brown Media is kindly helping me with an upcoming book trailer for A Dangerous Man as a low-cost way of building up his post-University portfolio - so thank you, Chris, and I'm looking forward to seeing what you might come up with.
Today's nice things:
1. Writing a review for Kill-Grief
2. Books
3. A Dangerous Man potential book trailer.
Anne Brooke - down but not yet out
Cancer Research Race for Life - give generously to help others ...
ANNE BROOKE BOOKS: Independent writer of modern fiction
Showing posts with label tax. Show all posts
Showing posts with label tax. Show all posts
Friday, May 15, 2009
Friday, December 28, 2007
Tax returns and no dead bodies
Had very noble plans today of leaping up at a suitably ungodly hour and spending some time on the golf course. Naturally this didn't happen and once again I only just made a morning entry into the day. Ah, I could get seriously used to this kind of life, you know. I think of it as a vocation.
Anyway, once up and suitably attired, we checked that our post was as boring as it was yesterday (answer: yes) and then had a brief walk into Godalming through the country routes to stare at birds and see if there was anything worth buying. Interestingly, we came back via a route I've never been, not in the 14 years of being here, which just goes to show (a) how terrified I am of new routes and (b) how often Lord H goes out prowling the woods of a dark night when the moon is full ... oo-err, missus. Didn't spot any bodies though - I've always rather fancied being a walker without a dog who comes across a dastardly crime. But I suspect that may be my twisted mind. And too much TV whilst growing up.
Not many birds around either - though we did see some redwings and a white-fronted goose, and the trees were alive with long-tailed tits, as is their wont, apparently. And there wasn't anything worth buying in town. In spite of the fact that Lord H and I spent some time poring over the wisdom of getting some special gum protection mouthwash for my delicate gums. God, I sound so old - I fear I am turning into my grandmother after all, and so ruddy soon. Anyway, the information on the gum mouthwash bottle told us that my teeth and tongue would change colour if I used it, but that they would (probably) go back to being normal again once I stopped using it. Ye gods, how Dickensian. I think I would rather have a gum problem than a green tongue & teeth (or whatever colour it turns you into - it didn't specify ...) so I shall continue using my normal one and hoping for the best.
Back home, I have been scribbling away like a woman obsessed (so no change there then) at The Bones of Summer while Lord H has nobly been doing my tax returns. You'll be pleased to hear that in 2006-2007 I earned precisely £249 for my writing, which consisted of an article bought by the BBC and some money from the Authors' Licensing and Collecting Society, Gawd bless 'em, which I get for being poor and unloved. Please send more, eh. I suspect I won't be giving up the day job any day soon.
And we're one step closer to my new website - UK Hosts has acknowledged our transfer request and given us a number to quote when nothing happens. Not that I'm being cynical here - perish the thought!
Tonight, I'm doing a shit-load of tax papers filing (hell, it's the least I can do really!) and staring at the cleaning. Oh, and there's the inside story of "Strictly Come Dancing" on, so I can't miss that. Gossip? Bring it on!
Today's nice things:
1. The walk into Godalming
2. Writing
3. So nearly earning £250 in a year, hurrah!
Anne Brooke
Anne's creaky old website
Goldenford Publishers
Anyway, once up and suitably attired, we checked that our post was as boring as it was yesterday (answer: yes) and then had a brief walk into Godalming through the country routes to stare at birds and see if there was anything worth buying. Interestingly, we came back via a route I've never been, not in the 14 years of being here, which just goes to show (a) how terrified I am of new routes and (b) how often Lord H goes out prowling the woods of a dark night when the moon is full ... oo-err, missus. Didn't spot any bodies though - I've always rather fancied being a walker without a dog who comes across a dastardly crime. But I suspect that may be my twisted mind. And too much TV whilst growing up.
Not many birds around either - though we did see some redwings and a white-fronted goose, and the trees were alive with long-tailed tits, as is their wont, apparently. And there wasn't anything worth buying in town. In spite of the fact that Lord H and I spent some time poring over the wisdom of getting some special gum protection mouthwash for my delicate gums. God, I sound so old - I fear I am turning into my grandmother after all, and so ruddy soon. Anyway, the information on the gum mouthwash bottle told us that my teeth and tongue would change colour if I used it, but that they would (probably) go back to being normal again once I stopped using it. Ye gods, how Dickensian. I think I would rather have a gum problem than a green tongue & teeth (or whatever colour it turns you into - it didn't specify ...) so I shall continue using my normal one and hoping for the best.
Back home, I have been scribbling away like a woman obsessed (so no change there then) at The Bones of Summer while Lord H has nobly been doing my tax returns. You'll be pleased to hear that in 2006-2007 I earned precisely £249 for my writing, which consisted of an article bought by the BBC and some money from the Authors' Licensing and Collecting Society, Gawd bless 'em, which I get for being poor and unloved. Please send more, eh. I suspect I won't be giving up the day job any day soon.
And we're one step closer to my new website - UK Hosts has acknowledged our transfer request and given us a number to quote when nothing happens. Not that I'm being cynical here - perish the thought!
Tonight, I'm doing a shit-load of tax papers filing (hell, it's the least I can do really!) and staring at the cleaning. Oh, and there's the inside story of "Strictly Come Dancing" on, so I can't miss that. Gossip? Bring it on!
Today's nice things:
1. The walk into Godalming
2. Writing
3. So nearly earning £250 in a year, hurrah!
Anne Brooke
Anne's creaky old website
Goldenford Publishers
Saturday, January 20, 2007
Fruitcake and Ver-ses
Following on from yesterday's National Insurance sad person's issues, I must say that when Lord H came home last night after work, I told him the story of my conversation with the Tax Office, and he at once came out with the correct version of not only his own National Insurance number, but mine also. Yes, folks, we are indeed the perfect example of sad Mr Accountant and His Wife. We really ought to get out more ...
And as usual the Church Times arrived with yesterday's post. The top story on Page Two was of a man who has spent three years building a four foot high replica of St Paul's Cathedral. In a fruitcake. With icing. After Lord H and I had finished shrieking with laughter and rolling about on the floor clutching our stomachs, we had to agree the following: (a) it's nice to know that some people are even sadder than ourselves; (b) it may indeed be a cunning plan actually to replace St Paul's with a fruitcake replica, life-size, at some stage, and this is only the working model. This, to my mind, could only be a good thing - as every time in my life I've visited St Paul's I've always been told either to stop talking or to leave. They are not the friendly face of the Church. A fruitcake version may be more socially useful; (c) there is at last proof that the Church does provide an important function towards society, as it's obviously where they put the mad folk. At least the streets of the UK are safe on Sunday mornings.
Oh, and I forgot to say that I finally got round to visiting poor Gladys yesterday. Post the storm, she was very shaky indeed. We spent some time having the same conversation about Christmas that we had before - but, as Lord H says, at least she does know Christmas has happened, which can only be a good thing. And she seemed more deaf than usual, so I was in full shouting mode to ensure she heard me. Unfortunately, the thing with shouting is you grow quickly used to it, so when Gladys' fully hearing neighbour came round to tell us something domestic about the garage, I found I was shouting at her too, and couldn't seem to switch into normal voice levels at all. Still, I suspect the neighbour must be used to this, but she did step back a few paces with the shock to start with; I don't have a quiet voice in the best of circumstances. Ah well.
This morning, I've been reading through my Coping with Change course notes, and embedding some of that very useful stuff in. Or trying to. I've also jotted down a useful reading list for future reference, although already Lord H has nipped out in full marital support mode and bought one of them for me - Susan Jeffers' "Feel the Fear and Do It Anyway". What a sweetie he is. And, much to my delight, it seems that one of my poems, "Sundays", has been accepted by the Ver Poets short poetry anthology, which should be out during February, so that's something to look forward to. I've also entered for a couple more poetry competitions today in my usual monthly routine. Which makes me feel that I've achieved something useful in the writing world, even though I haven't actually done any writing.
Had an utterly delicious nap this afternoon - well, submitting stuff to competitions is sooooo exhausting, m'dears ... And tonight Lord H is taking me out for an airing - we've having a meal at one of our local pubs, The Seahorse in Bramley. This is truly exciting as we'll be able to find out if they are likely to have fishcakes (one of Lord H's favourites) on the menu this year - each time we go, they're always "off". Perhaps 2007 will be their year? You never know ...
Today's nice things:
1. Getting a poem in the Ver Poets anthology
2. Thinking through my course notes
3. Dinner out with Lord H.
Anne Brooke
http://www.annebrooke.com
http://www.goldenford.co.uk
And as usual the Church Times arrived with yesterday's post. The top story on Page Two was of a man who has spent three years building a four foot high replica of St Paul's Cathedral. In a fruitcake. With icing. After Lord H and I had finished shrieking with laughter and rolling about on the floor clutching our stomachs, we had to agree the following: (a) it's nice to know that some people are even sadder than ourselves; (b) it may indeed be a cunning plan actually to replace St Paul's with a fruitcake replica, life-size, at some stage, and this is only the working model. This, to my mind, could only be a good thing - as every time in my life I've visited St Paul's I've always been told either to stop talking or to leave. They are not the friendly face of the Church. A fruitcake version may be more socially useful; (c) there is at last proof that the Church does provide an important function towards society, as it's obviously where they put the mad folk. At least the streets of the UK are safe on Sunday mornings.
Oh, and I forgot to say that I finally got round to visiting poor Gladys yesterday. Post the storm, she was very shaky indeed. We spent some time having the same conversation about Christmas that we had before - but, as Lord H says, at least she does know Christmas has happened, which can only be a good thing. And she seemed more deaf than usual, so I was in full shouting mode to ensure she heard me. Unfortunately, the thing with shouting is you grow quickly used to it, so when Gladys' fully hearing neighbour came round to tell us something domestic about the garage, I found I was shouting at her too, and couldn't seem to switch into normal voice levels at all. Still, I suspect the neighbour must be used to this, but she did step back a few paces with the shock to start with; I don't have a quiet voice in the best of circumstances. Ah well.
This morning, I've been reading through my Coping with Change course notes, and embedding some of that very useful stuff in. Or trying to. I've also jotted down a useful reading list for future reference, although already Lord H has nipped out in full marital support mode and bought one of them for me - Susan Jeffers' "Feel the Fear and Do It Anyway". What a sweetie he is. And, much to my delight, it seems that one of my poems, "Sundays", has been accepted by the Ver Poets short poetry anthology, which should be out during February, so that's something to look forward to. I've also entered for a couple more poetry competitions today in my usual monthly routine. Which makes me feel that I've achieved something useful in the writing world, even though I haven't actually done any writing.
Had an utterly delicious nap this afternoon - well, submitting stuff to competitions is sooooo exhausting, m'dears ... And tonight Lord H is taking me out for an airing - we've having a meal at one of our local pubs, The Seahorse in Bramley. This is truly exciting as we'll be able to find out if they are likely to have fishcakes (one of Lord H's favourites) on the menu this year - each time we go, they're always "off". Perhaps 2007 will be their year? You never know ...
Today's nice things:
1. Getting a poem in the Ver Poets anthology
2. Thinking through my course notes
3. Dinner out with Lord H.
Anne Brooke
http://www.annebrooke.com
http://www.goldenford.co.uk
Friday, January 19, 2007
Teeing up in the mud
Whirled round the Godalming shops today like a dervish, and even had enough courage to go into the boy motor shop in order to get more oil for my car. Not that it is a boy motor shop, you understand, but it is a motor shop, so full of boys. Mind you, as I was wearing trousers and a woolly hat, they may not have known the difference, especially with my grandfather's nose. Darn it. However, being a girl in spite of it all, I did have to stand in front of the oil shelves and take out my diary to check the exact type of oil I needed, even though I had memorised it before entering. They may well have cottoned on to my gender at that point - as of course boys don't have diaries. They have funny electronic things they can poke at (as it were), if they have anything at all. Or they are born knowing oil types as part of the species. It's hard to say. There were several smirks while I paid for it at the counter, but I frowned and refused to make eye contact, so honour of some kind was satisfied. Probably.
Back at home, I tackled The Gifting again with the kind of sinking heart that says: hey, babe, you can't write a novel so don't be ridiculous; or you'll never finish this, so why bother? But after the first few stabs at the keyboard and maniacal laughing, I actually managed to get a scene transmission half-page across in some kind of fashion (though I may well tweak it with vigour later), which brings me to the point where Johan (secondary character, but a key man) has to tell the story of where he's come from. I like to get my teeth into a main section, so that's good news. And - great excitement - I've thought of a cunning twist for 3/4s through which will shake everything up once more. Hurrah! Just have to write the darn stuff then ... Ay, there's the rub. And I've done (almost) another 1000 words, which cheers me. Achievement obsessive that I am.
Which brings me to teeing up in the mud. Though, come to think of it, that phrase also describes my writing life pretty damn well. Marian and I played golf in a post-storm Britain, and had fun bouncing off trees which hadn't been there last time we'd played - or at least not in that position - and landing splat in the mud, when we were hoping for something of a run-on effect. Hell, is that too much sad golfing terminology? Well, you know what I mean ... Actually, one of Marian's shots was utterly fantastic, over the ditch and curving beautifully onto the green, and looked really professional (argh! that word again! somebody beat me, now!), thus gaining a "10" in the Golf Cool stakes. Or it would have gained a 10 if I hadn't shrieked with joy at the sight of it and danced up and down with my club in the air. Hmm, bet that's not done during the Ryder Cup ...
And, talking of sad people (ie me), I was on the phone to the Tax Office today to make sure I could pay in their kind rebate cheque without fear of arrest and incarceration, and when the woman on the phone asked me to give her my National Insurance number, I found myself quoting it to her without even looking it up. Bloody hell, but that's sad. And it was right too. God, but that's even sadder. I should really get out more. Or possibly stay in more and not interfere with the day-to-day lives of normal folk.
Tonight, I'm going to do as little cleaning as possible, eat pizza and ice cream till my brain explodes and drink lots of red wine. It's good for my heart, apparently. But who the bloody hell cares about that?
Oh, and good news on the reading front - Roger Morris (http://rogersplog.blogspot.com) has another book out soon - "The Gentle Axe" - which, as a tip-off, will definitely be worth reading. His first book, "Taking Comfort", is seriously hot stuff and everyone should buy it. It's classy, readable and - to me - like an English version of Murakami. You heard it here first.
Today's nice things:
1. Writing more of The Gifting
2. Golf shrieking
3. Impressing the Tax Office.
Anne Brooke
http://www.annebrooke.com
http://www.goldenford.co.uk
Back at home, I tackled The Gifting again with the kind of sinking heart that says: hey, babe, you can't write a novel so don't be ridiculous; or you'll never finish this, so why bother? But after the first few stabs at the keyboard and maniacal laughing, I actually managed to get a scene transmission half-page across in some kind of fashion (though I may well tweak it with vigour later), which brings me to the point where Johan (secondary character, but a key man) has to tell the story of where he's come from. I like to get my teeth into a main section, so that's good news. And - great excitement - I've thought of a cunning twist for 3/4s through which will shake everything up once more. Hurrah! Just have to write the darn stuff then ... Ay, there's the rub. And I've done (almost) another 1000 words, which cheers me. Achievement obsessive that I am.
Which brings me to teeing up in the mud. Though, come to think of it, that phrase also describes my writing life pretty damn well. Marian and I played golf in a post-storm Britain, and had fun bouncing off trees which hadn't been there last time we'd played - or at least not in that position - and landing splat in the mud, when we were hoping for something of a run-on effect. Hell, is that too much sad golfing terminology? Well, you know what I mean ... Actually, one of Marian's shots was utterly fantastic, over the ditch and curving beautifully onto the green, and looked really professional (argh! that word again! somebody beat me, now!), thus gaining a "10" in the Golf Cool stakes. Or it would have gained a 10 if I hadn't shrieked with joy at the sight of it and danced up and down with my club in the air. Hmm, bet that's not done during the Ryder Cup ...
And, talking of sad people (ie me), I was on the phone to the Tax Office today to make sure I could pay in their kind rebate cheque without fear of arrest and incarceration, and when the woman on the phone asked me to give her my National Insurance number, I found myself quoting it to her without even looking it up. Bloody hell, but that's sad. And it was right too. God, but that's even sadder. I should really get out more. Or possibly stay in more and not interfere with the day-to-day lives of normal folk.
Tonight, I'm going to do as little cleaning as possible, eat pizza and ice cream till my brain explodes and drink lots of red wine. It's good for my heart, apparently. But who the bloody hell cares about that?
Oh, and good news on the reading front - Roger Morris (http://rogersplog.blogspot.com) has another book out soon - "The Gentle Axe" - which, as a tip-off, will definitely be worth reading. His first book, "Taking Comfort", is seriously hot stuff and everyone should buy it. It's classy, readable and - to me - like an English version of Murakami. You heard it here first.
Today's nice things:
1. Writing more of The Gifting
2. Golf shrieking
3. Impressing the Tax Office.
Anne Brooke
http://www.annebrooke.com
http://www.goldenford.co.uk
Sunday, December 31, 2006
Failed roasts & tax returns
Hey, never let it be said that I don't know how to party. Actually Lord H & I were appalling layabouts today and didn't actually get out of bed till gone 10.30am, and weren't capable of answering the door to anyone (at least not decently washed and with clothes on) till gone midday. Shocking behaviour. We decided the Finger of God would indeed point and find us wanting, but if we whispered, He might not hear us. Let's hope He doesn't read blogs then ...
However, we redeemed ourselves in the afternoon. Lord H nobly filled in my tax return (thus earning him at least 50,000 Husband Points - and, hey, Points mean Prizes! - for the year to come) and discovered that Gordon Brown owes me £120 due to general governmental cock-ups over my tax code. Mean bugger. I shall be straight round there on Tuesday demanding what's mine. Probably worth watching the news then in that case. And I sorted out our cars and attempted for the second time to cook a decent roast lunch. Which happened - again - to be lamb. Um, that'll be another failure then - is lamb supposed to be that pink? Really? Ye gods. We could have had starring roles in TV's recent adaption of "Dracula" and not have needed the skills of the make-up department. Suffice it to say that I will never again cook roast lamb, as I obviously have no talent for it. And Lord H is in charge of tomorrow's roast turkey for sure.
Oh, and I made a concerted effort and managed to squeeze out another 1000 words to "The Gifting". Funny how these ideas float around my head and they never actually make it onto the page. At least not how I envisage them. Do all writers have this terrible gap between imagination and reality? Hell, don't answer that - it may well just be me. Still, I can only do my best.
This sudden burst of activity has been followed by a much-needed nap and my usual bout of end-of-year depression: comprising of (a) oh God, I haven't done half the things I dreamed of this year and there's only five hours left to do them (b) there's only one full holiday day left and I have to drag myself to work again on Tuesday, and this week off has been such an okay time and I hate the thought of leaving it. So bloody much! However, the good news is that Lord H and I are being Class A Party Poopers tonight and are staying in and not even bothering to stay up. We have half a bottle of champagne in the fridge which we will have with a mince pie and rum butter (made earlier today - I remembered!) later on before turning in with our fluffy dressing gowns and slippers. Bliss indeed. This is so definitely the way we prefer to spend New Year's Eve - I hope I can make it a tradition.
And I've just finished Tim Cantopher's "Depressive Illness: the curse of the strong". First-class stuff. If you're depressed, or know someone who is, I can highly recommend it. Short, practical and clear - what more could you want?
This week's (and the end of year's even ...) haiku is:
Poems are for trains:
the rise and fall; the rhythm;
the lilt of the track.
Happy New Year, everyone. I hope 2007 will be good to us all.
Anne Brooke
http://www.annebrooke.com
http://www.goldenford.co.uk
However, we redeemed ourselves in the afternoon. Lord H nobly filled in my tax return (thus earning him at least 50,000 Husband Points - and, hey, Points mean Prizes! - for the year to come) and discovered that Gordon Brown owes me £120 due to general governmental cock-ups over my tax code. Mean bugger. I shall be straight round there on Tuesday demanding what's mine. Probably worth watching the news then in that case. And I sorted out our cars and attempted for the second time to cook a decent roast lunch. Which happened - again - to be lamb. Um, that'll be another failure then - is lamb supposed to be that pink? Really? Ye gods. We could have had starring roles in TV's recent adaption of "Dracula" and not have needed the skills of the make-up department. Suffice it to say that I will never again cook roast lamb, as I obviously have no talent for it. And Lord H is in charge of tomorrow's roast turkey for sure.
Oh, and I made a concerted effort and managed to squeeze out another 1000 words to "The Gifting". Funny how these ideas float around my head and they never actually make it onto the page. At least not how I envisage them. Do all writers have this terrible gap between imagination and reality? Hell, don't answer that - it may well just be me. Still, I can only do my best.
This sudden burst of activity has been followed by a much-needed nap and my usual bout of end-of-year depression: comprising of (a) oh God, I haven't done half the things I dreamed of this year and there's only five hours left to do them (b) there's only one full holiday day left and I have to drag myself to work again on Tuesday, and this week off has been such an okay time and I hate the thought of leaving it. So bloody much! However, the good news is that Lord H and I are being Class A Party Poopers tonight and are staying in and not even bothering to stay up. We have half a bottle of champagne in the fridge which we will have with a mince pie and rum butter (made earlier today - I remembered!) later on before turning in with our fluffy dressing gowns and slippers. Bliss indeed. This is so definitely the way we prefer to spend New Year's Eve - I hope I can make it a tradition.
And I've just finished Tim Cantopher's "Depressive Illness: the curse of the strong". First-class stuff. If you're depressed, or know someone who is, I can highly recommend it. Short, practical and clear - what more could you want?
This week's (and the end of year's even ...) haiku is:
Poems are for trains:
the rise and fall; the rhythm;
the lilt of the track.
Happy New Year, everyone. I hope 2007 will be good to us all.
Anne Brooke
http://www.annebrooke.com
http://www.goldenford.co.uk
Subscribe to:
Comments (Atom)