Sick of hospitals and sick of waiting

Not a good day today, I'm sorry to say. I suspect this will be a rather short blog as I'm utterly wiped out in terms of energy. So, hey, there's always a silver lining for my reader then ...

Most of my day has been spent ringing PPP, ringing the hospital and ringing the Surrey Park Clinic. Over and over and over again. All I want is for someone - anyone, please! - to give me a code for a D&C operation, as PPP won't speak to me, or even acknowledge my presence without it. It was actually so incredibly stressful that at one point I couldn't stop shaking, so lay down on the bed and cried for a while. I still feel incredibly tearful now, as it's late afternoon and nothing's been resolved. I desperately, desperately want it to be sorted out by tomorrow as I can't bear the thought of starting the working week next week, knowing the op is on Thursday and I'm still struggling with the admin side of it all. I think that, if I don't hear anything from anyone today that's remotely helpful, I'm going to drive to the Clinic tomorrow and just sit there sobbing until someone gives me the fucking code. I mean, for God's sake, how hard can it be?? Give me the fucking code, for crying out loud!!!! I'm not even worried about whether it will or won't be what they end up doing to me next week - I just want the code so it goes on PPP's paperwork and is therefore an option I can have. I don't know why everyone is making it so bloody difficult. Fuckers, all of them. Even the nice ones.

Not only that, but I am utterly and completely arsed off with waiting, waiting, waiting. I'm waiting for publishers to reject The Gifting so I can get on with finding my own small publishers, selling my usual 50 or so copies and then having done with it. (Though actually I've already sent a partial MS out to a couple of small fantasy/gay publishers as I really don't see why I have to sit around doing nothing with what I know is a damn good book ...). I'm waiting for my agent to acknowledge receipt of my email with The Bones of Summer in it. I really don't want to have to contact him via Facebook again simply in order to get a response. I understand quite well that I'm barely in the category of pond life - people don't have to keep rubbing that fact in ... Plus I'm waiting for both him and PD Publishing to acknowledge receipt of my email of a couple of weeks ago telling them I was going into hospital. And I'm sorry but if I get an email from someone I know telling me they're going into hospital, then I do acknowledge it and ask after them - it seems the least I can do ... I do know everyone's too busy these days to communicate, but surely it's not too much to expect? Hell, more fool me then. I'm fed up with waiting - it's crap. Such a bloody, bloody waste of time and spirit.

Honestly I hate the writing business. It's horrible, horrible, horrible. Sometimes I wish I'd never bothered to put pen to paper for that long-ago first novel after all. Fuck it eh. It's been a bad writing week too. I've only managed a few hundred words of Hallsfoot's Battle today and I can't get my head round what I'm supposed to be doing. Neither can I find the energy to care.

Sorry, but I can't be bothered with Writerly Facts - I'm too arsed off to think about them. And I'm too arsed off with finding today's nice things too. I can't think of any. Sigh.

Anne Brooke
Anne's Nearly Pondlife Website

Timetabling, drama and royalties news

Lots of strange dreams last night about baths which I couldn’t really make a lot of sense of. Always good to be clean, I suppose … Still, at least I did get to sleep at a reasonable time, hurrah, so feel less like a squeezed-out sponge with no soul. If sponges even have souls, that is … Meanwhile at work, the saga of the info talks timetabling continues – some of it is gradually falling into place, or simply falling perhaps, I think, but it’s hard to say. At the moment it feels as if I’m still battling for survival in the middle of a rather large jungle. And I’m not sure which direction the enraged puma will leap from next. As it were. Ye gods, but my mind needs to chill out more for certain. Even I’m not quite sure where that image is going … Anyway, all the different talk timetables seem okay for this week at least, and possibly even next, so probably best to leave it there and not look too far ahead where the undergrowth is thickest. I’ll do that when I’m feeling stronger.

Chaplaincy Ruth brought in a dramatised Bible readings book today, which we’ve had fun looking at. It brings back happy memories of when Pauline from Kent and I used to spend Sunday evenings with a bottle of wine and reading aloud the plays of Wilde, Shakespeare or Shaw. Or anything else we could get hold of really. With the two of us dividing all the parts between us and battling over both of us wanting the more evil roles. It’s possibly the strangest activity I’ve ever done with a friend, but I have to say it was one of the most enjoyable. And I have fond memories of it still. Ah, I should have been an actor, you know, but I grew too tall.

I walked into town this lunchtime to try to sort out having a flu jab with Superdrug, who offer it cheaply during October – I don’t want one before the operation, but I don’t want to miss out either, so I hope they can book me in for a couple of weeks’ time possibly. I can’t miss my flu jab – my winter would be unbearable without it! UPDATE: The nurse there advised waiting until a few weeks after the op and said Superdrug would be offering the jab up until Christmas, so I’ll have to think about it again in November. Ah well, always good to have something to look forward to in the diary indeed.

Oh and PD Publishing have emailed to say that the first quarterly royalty statement for Maloney’s Law is in the post, presumably to the agent. Hmm, something else to worry about then – as my usual poor sales, which up to today I’ve managed to keep from the agent, will from now on be pretty obvious, I assume. Groan. Still, at least that does mean he’ll have to contact me in some way, even if only to wonder why he’s representing me at all … Which I can understand, to be honest – authors like me who aren’t commercially successful by any measure are not what the up-and-coming agent needs on his books. Anyway, all I can do is wait for the news, whatever it may bring, to filter through at some point, I suppose. Sigh.

Tonight, it’s Claudia and the Strictly Come Dancing gossip again, and I might try to watch the video of Jodi Kidd in Who Do You Think You Are too. We’ll see.

Time since The Gifting submission with no response: 4 months, 1 week, 4 days
Time since The Bones of Summer agent submission: 3 days

Today’s nice things:

1. Feeling less exhausted
2. Remembering drama evenings
3. TV.

Anne Brooke
Anne's website

Muddling through the day

Things seem slightly calmer today, thank goodness. Possibly because I’m simply too tired to respond to difficulties with anything other than a grunt. And, if I’m feeling energetic, maybe even a shrug. Heck, I’m such fun at parties, you know. No, really …

Anyway, I’ve decided to go for the D&C at the hospital next week, so have sent letters to all and sundry, telling them this. Whether this will mean anything to the hospital by the time I turn up remains to be seen, so I’m planning to take all my correspondence with me so I can wave it at them at the due time. I think I’ll also ring up on Thursday when I’m at home, just to make sure – and then, if they do end up taking my leg off, it will most definitely not be my fault.

At work, after the rollercoaster ride of yesterday, everything is strangely subdued. Perhaps the students are either (a) shocked by the amount of work they have to do now the courses have started; (b) still recovering from the excitements of last week; or (c) too tired to speak. Perhaps all three. Really, I have every sympathy – my feelings are much the same.

I was planning on coffee and chat with Sally from Advice at lunchtime today, but unfortunately she’s off sick (get better soon, Sally …) so I walked round campus instead. All very soothing.

Meanwhile, this week’s heroes are: (a) Professor Gerald O’Collins, S.J., who wrote a lovely thank you letter to Chaplaincy Ruth; (b) Claudia Winkleman because I think she's the best thing on TV; and (c) Carol’s friends, Richard and Neil, who have been telling her husband how lovely she is. Which is true of course!

Tonight, I shall pop into see Gladys on the way home and see how the bird table is doing. UPDATE: it's not doing well. A lot of swearing and general nastiness tonight (just what I needed, eh!) so I didn't stay long - the poor old girl was obviously upset to see someone from beyond the four walls of her health prison ... Later it’s the vital catch up with the lovely Claudia and the Strictly Come Dancing gossip and then sleeeeeep. Though I might do some writing or at least stare at Hallsfoot’s Battle for a while, but I’m not confident that any words will come out. Which is in fact my usual state, I suppose.

I’ve finished reading The Sunday Night Book Club, which is a collection of short stories from best-selling (always a suspicious and highly unlikely term …) authors in aid of Breast Cancer Care. A very worthy cause indeed, but my goodness what a motley collection of tales. A large dose of cliché and clunkiness pervades, with particular no-hoper agonising-to-read offerings coming from Santa Montefiore and Lynne Truss. Shame on you, girls. There are a couple of good stories, but they’re wasted here. I’d just give the money directly to the charity if I were you – it’ll save you a couple of hours of your life for sure. I’ve also just finished This Is It – The Art of Happily Going Nowhere by Maurice Fullard Smith – which was an interesting but flimsy take on stillness and meditation. A good outline but really it needed more substance.

Time since The Gifting submission with no response: 4 months, 1 week and 3 days
Time since The Bones of Summer agent submission: 2 days

Today’s nice things:
1. A quieter day
2. Lunchtime walk
3. This week’s heroes
4. TV
5. Sleep.

Anne Brooke
Anne's website

Mad timetabling and medical rows

Much to my astonishment, I actually managed to get an appointment with the nice doctor at 8.30 this morning, so as I only found out at 8.10am, it was a mad rush to get there. Once again, he was very sweet and helpful, but I’ve been left with even more confusion and decisions to make than I had before. Groan. The upshot is that he's concerned about:

1. The ablation - he doesn't think I need it and says the new consultant does have a rather steamroller approach to stuff, even though she's good. He suggests a coil (which I don't want) or a D&C which is an alternative and less extreme option. To be honest, I really didn't want to have to think about anything the week before the op, but it appears I must. I just feel really upset and confused about it all, particularly as the consultant said the doctors probably wouldn't like it. I'm stuck in the middle of a medical disagreement - not a great place to be. At the moment I'm leaning towards a D&C, if that's the moderate answer, but I suppose I'll need to write yet another letter to the hospital & everyone, plus ring PPP up again. And I suppose I'll have to do it this week if it's going to mean anything. Deep deep sigh.

2. Plus he doesn't think I really need to be on the HRT patches or the Metformin, if I didn't have any real symptoms I was worried about beforehand to justify it (though he's happy with the gel). He's therefore taken those off the repeat prescription info and suggests I use what I have, then come in to see him after I've seen the consultant at the end of next month so we can see how things are. Lordy, but I’m muddled. I shall definitely try to persuade Lord H to go with me to that appointment – maybe all the appointments – as otherwise who the heck knows what will happen. Honestly, it’s all very disheartening, and I am so tired and fed up with it all. I could sleep for a week, I can tell you. Another deeeeep sigh …

In the meantime, work has been hugely busy. Lots of stressed students to deal with today, plus concerned parents, and I’ve spent most of the morning trying to find solutions to complex issues. Though I do sympathise – I hated my Freshers’ Week too (way too much forced fun and forced socialising – it drove me insane …) and didn’t actually make any friends I liked until the second year. The only thing that got me through it at all was how much I loved the academic work. Perhaps that isn’t what I should be telling them though – not at this stage, I fear.

Thank goodness for my lunchtime session of reflexology – I couldn’t have got through the day without it.

I’ve also been playing with the Timetable from Hell. Which is strangely satisfying in a secretarial sad way. We’re giving three sets of 10 minute talks to each department on campus, and I must slot them all in before (a) my brain explodes; and (b) Christmas. Never say we don’t care here in Student Care Services.

And, if I can get all that under control, I’m having to do the shopping after work – Lordy, what a joy today is turning out to be. Not. Thank goodness for Who Do You Think You Are to relax in front of later, hurrah. Now there's a question.

Time since The Gifting Submission: 4 months, 1 week and 2 days
Time since The Bones of Summer Agent Submission: 1 day (though this isn’t entirely fair as he’s not back till Tuesday …)

Today’s nice things:

1. Getting the doctors appointment without too much effort
2. Reflexology
3. TV.

Anne Brooke
Anne's website

Digging up the Bones

A nice lie-in and a lazy start to the day today, hurrah - I didn't even surface until nearly 9am. Bliss. Plus Lord H made scrambled eggs with chicken on toast for breakfast, so that's set me up for the morning at least. And I've made a plum and nectarine crumble for lunch, so I have Wife Points too, aha!

And I needed all the energy I could get, as the whole day has been spent editing The Bones of Summer and updating the synopsis. Much to my joy and surprise, the editor hadn't suggested any major changes so most of it was tweaking and tightening up the text. So that was great, as I've done it, read it through for sense, improved the synopsis and then sent the whole bundle off to the agent for his delectation. Or possibly not. This time, bearing in mind that Bones is the sequel to Maloney's Law and won't therefore attract the interest of any mainstream publisher, I've suggested that I would be happy to tackle the small press with it myself, to save him the wasted effort of contacting the big boys. I do think that's the best way forward on this occasion but, for courtesy's sake, I'll see what the reply might be.

I've also struggled - and I mean struggled! - my way through Colm Toibin's The Blackwater Lightship. Groan. Is it just me or is AIDS literature hugely hugely dated now? Call me a mean-spirited bitch if you must (and I won't blame you at all if you do), but I am bored witless by novels about fragile young men wilting around waiting to die while their friends and family hyperventilate around them. Which is basically the storyline. All hugely sad in real life, I know, but dull dull dull in literature. And, for a Booker shortlisted novel, some of the writing was very clunky indeed (though that's par for the course these days, I fear ...). A couple of times - well, more, actually - I found myself laughing when I shouldn't have at the melodrama of it all. Or maybe I just have no soul. Very possibly. Also, I don't know if Mr Toibin has ever met a split family at all - speaking as one who knows, some of the scenes were completely unrealistic and Helen would never ever have confided in Paul at all, let alone as quickly and easily as she does. If I'd been in that situation, I would have called him a no-good interfering fucker (which he is, btw) and told him to leave. (Actually I did that to an old boyfriend once in the middle of a party - everyone was most surprised, but it did get rid of the problem. We all had a great party afterwards ... And I so enjoyed laughing at his attempts to reverse his car - ah happy days). But back to the book - as well as a cliche of a plot, there are no nice or sympathetic characters either. Except possibly Larry who only turns up on Page 123 - and is a breath of the proverbial when he does so. Unfortunately, he's not around enough for the novel to improve. It was a relief when Declan was finally rushed - hopefully for ever - into hospital. Frankly, I wish he'd died sooner - which reminds me of my mother's critique of the film, Titanic: for God's sake, sink, damn you, sink ... As you can tell, I'm going to have such fun discussing it all at the University's book group in October, ho ho.

Anyway, tonight, I have the thrills and spills of the Strictly Come Dancing results programme, and then the pain and misery of Part Three of Tess. Don't tell him, Tess - you can still save yourself!! Damn it, no - the girl just won't listen. If only people paid more attention to me, their lives would be so much happier, you know.

This week's haiku:

Days of mist and ghosts.
The house holds its history
to itself. Brooding.


Writerly Facts:
Time since The Gifting submission to publishers: 4 months, 1 week and 1 day
I get most thrills from writing a novel, but most satisfaction from editing it.

Today's nice things:
1. Cooked breakfast
2. Editing Bones
3. Haikus
4. TV.

Anne Brooke
Anne's website

Bones and birds

Was delighted to receive The Bones of Summer back from my very charming editor Sarah Abel yesterday, so that's something I can start working on tomorrow - thanks so much for your help, Sarah! I was especially pleased that she was very positive about it, saying the following:

"I have thoroughly enjoyed reading your novel. It is apparent that you have crafted it very carefully. Your characters are well-defined and believable ... The plot rolls out confidently and builds gradually, holding the tension ... and your final scenes are extremely atmospheric."

Thank you hugely for that indeed - though I was rather amused by the careful crafting comment. I have to admit much of my plot (plot? I have plot? Goodness me!...) is done on a wing and a prayer, so if it works I'm always amazed. Anyway, with such praise ringing in my ears and spurring me onwards, I'm looking forward to getting my teeth into the edit. After that, of course, I'll start the two-year scrabble for a publisher before someone takes pity on me. I hope. Ah, a writer's life ... Who the hell said it was supposed to be glamorous and fulfilling?!? Whoever it was, have them shot at once, Carruthers.

Today, Lord H and I have spent a lovely day at the Seven Sisters Country Park near Lewes, and what glorious weather we've had for it too. Only wish we'd thought about taking our sun hats - we could well have done with them. Armed with our usual determination and a good pair of binoculars, we've spotted goldfinches, wheatears, a meadow pipit, little egrets, herons, a zillion Canada geese and a hobby. All very satisfying. Plus we had a wander through the very shingly beach at Cuckmere Haven and shared a table with a mad woman at lunch. Well, I think she was mad - though she was also very lovely and perfectly charming, and we had a nice chat while we waited (one hour!!!!) for our baguettes to be grown. She was a New Age therapist and was enthusiastically telling me about her new treatment of a Gong Bath - ie she gets a lot of Tibetan gongs, places them round the client and then plays them so the client is bathed in sound. I had to remember not to look at Lord H while she was telling me this for fear of causing offence - but actually it all sounds rather relaxing to me. Never say never, eh.

Tonight, I will be glued to Strictly Come Dancing and I am determined to vote for Gillian Taylforth. I do so love her - she has a voice and a laugh to die for. Go for it, Gillian!

Writerly Facts:
Time since the submission of The Gifting with no response: 4 months and 1 week
Happiness rating percentage when someone gives me positive feedback on a book: 300%
Despair rating percentage when someone says they don't like a book: 1000%

Today's nice things:

1. Sarah Abel's lovely comments about Bones
2. A day out with birds
3. Tibetan gongs
4. Dancing on TV.

Anne Brooke
Anne's website

Of shopping, plays and assorted trivia

Well. I must be the only girl I know who can rush with cries of glee into a hoped-for Glam Shopping Experience (GSE for short) and after two hours come away from the shops with ... um ... a flannelette nightie for going to hospital in. Ah well. It's evident I haven't got the concept of Being A Woman (BAW for short) quite right yet. Not that Guildford helped at all. Yesterday, there was absolutely, entirely nothing in the whole of that fair metropolis that I actually wanted to buy. In fact, 90% of shoes, trousers and tops appear to be only available in brown or black this year. Is it the effect of the Credit Crunch or another Government directive I have missed??... Anyway, the urge is gone now - and as I only get the shopping urge once every decade, you'll have to wait to my mid 50s to see me in pink or green or orange. Which is no doubt a good thing of course.

However, my mood of total despondency yesterday afternoon was much lifted by (a) a great meal at the Riverview Restaurant, which we shall definitely be visiting again, play or no play; and (b) the best, most incredible and richly human play I've seen in a long, long time. Yes, The Drawer Boy (it's "draw-er" like an artist, rather than "drawer" like a table, and yes I should have realised that from the blurb but I didn't, sorry ...) is a real-live tour-de-force and a total pleasure to watch. It's like witnessing the creation of genius before your eyes. This is what the theatre is really about. Every line is perfect and the actors were brilliant - excellent individual performances all round (and that even with one of them being a stand-in at only seven days' notice as the original actor broke his leg last week - yes really) and even better teamwork. Honestly, I can watch a play like that every day and never get tired of it. If The Drawer Boy comes anywhere remotely near your way and even if they're acting it in a shed with no lights, drop everything and sell your body for a ticket. It shines. Great stuff.

Anyway to today. I have been beaten into exhaustion by a wave of tiredness and have only managed 500 words of Hallsfoot's Battle, with little inclination for more. I've also managed to get my medication sorted out, thank the Lord, and now have the right pills in the right dosages. I think. Mind you, the pharmacist said the nasty doctor had still not got one of them written out correctly, but she dispensed it anyway along the lines of the hospital instructions, the sweetie. So at least I have them, phew. However, the pay-back is that I have to make an appointment to see the nice doctor - who was also kind enough to respond to my letter in writing today - just to get some kind of grip as to what's going on, and hopefully before my operation on 9 October. That said, the nice doctor has no more appointments until 13 October when he's off on holiday anyway, so I have to do the irritating "ring up first thing in the morning" palavar and not get anywhere until we all self-destruct or something. How I hate that same day appointment nonsense. It's soooo wearisome and, really, I'd rather book ahead - in an emergency, I'll use the walk-in centre at hospital. Still, I'll start the 8am ringing routine on Monday and see how I get on ...

In the midst of all that, I've nipped into Godalming to stock up on essential items - the local paper, a sandwich, flowers etc - and fitted in a two-hour nap. Which has been bliss, and I feel more normal now, hurrah. Though, with my recent history, I doubt that will last. Tonight, there's the joys of the Strictly Come Dancing gossip, Ugly Betty and QI to look forward to, and I really do have to do some ironing. Sometime.

Ooh, and I've finished the marvellous and very enlightening "Hadrian - Empire and Conflict" by Thorsten Opper. It's the book that goes with the British Museum Hadrian exhibition. A lovely and very worthwhile read, and I can highly recommend it.

Writerly Facts:
Time since The Gifting Submission with no response: 4 months and 6 days.
Number of copies of A Dangerous Man sold since 2007: 145 (though I admit I haven't asked Flame Books for an update since the end of March 2008, as it's too depressing).

Today's nice things:

1. Dinner at the theatre
2. Thinking about the really wonderful play
3. Writing a little more to Hallsfoot
4. Napping
5. TV
6. The Hadrian book.

Anne Brooke
Anne's website

Of doctors, massages and theatre

Slept like the proverbial last night - at last - and was indeed barely awake whilst waving Lord H goodbye on the school run (as it were). Mind you, I deserved the lie-in as I have at last reached the magic number of 40,000 words of Hallsfoot's Battle so, hell, a day off is mine, all mine, mwa-aha-ha (that's evil laughter, by the way ...).

But what fun I've had with the doctor this morning. I ordered more of the Metformin and the HRT patches last week online and put all the information down on the description box as per the hospital notes. Today, I've collected my prescription and nipped next door to the very lovely pharmacist to get it made up. Which she duly did. At home, I did what I always do (BIG NB: ALWAYS DO THIS YOURSELVES, AND IF YOU IGNORE EVERYTHING ELSE ON THIS BLOG, FOR GOODNESS SAKE DON'T IGNORE THIS), which is to check the new packets with the packets I had before, ie the ones from the hospital. My dears, they were all wrong. I looked at the prescription the doctor had typed out and she'd put down (a) the wrong type of Metformin tablets; and (b) (which was rather worse) she'd quadrupled the dosage of my HRT patches. So instead of Slow Release Metformin, I'd been given the non Slow Release version, and instead of 25 mcg HRT patches, I'd been given 100 mcg. Ye gods indeed. None of this of course was the pharmacist's fault as she'd obeyed exactly what the doctor had typed. So I've rung the pharmacy and talked to the lovely lady there - who was totally shocked, I have to say - and the upshot is that the pharmacist is going to talk to the doctor, get the right information sorted out for me and then I have to go in again tomorrow morning to get the right medicines. Phew! Thank goodness I always restock in advance and I don't need the new packets for tonight, eh? But I'm making damn sure I triple check them tomorrow, I can tell you.

Interestingly, of course, the doctor who wrote out the prescription is the nasty doctor I never go to, and also the one from a while back (if you remember) who said there was nothing wrong with my hormones and I should stop being silly, and from whose appointment I drove home in tears, swearing I would never see her again. To paraphrase a great man the buckles of whose sandals etc etc: to mess up with a patient once is unfortunate, but twice looks rather like carelessness ... Unless of course Nasty Doctor really is in cahoots with Scary Consultant and they're out to get me, by George. Hmm, time for my anti-paranoia pill, I feel - which I would take, but can I be sure it's the right dose??

Anyway, this afternoon, I'm buggering off into town and looking at things for me. Ye gods, yes, I'm going to bloody well do some shopping. I might even get some shoes. I feel the urge, strangely. Must be my hormones, Carruthers ... And I also have my glorious Clarins facial and massage booked with Thirza, so am hugely looking forward to that. As my massage won't finish till 5pm, I've arranged to meet Lord H in Guildford rather than go home and rush back out again, so we're eating at the Riverview Restaurant at the theatre and then we're off to see the award-winning The Drawer Boy at the Mill Studio. Fabulous. I can't wait.

Time since The Gifting submission: 4 months and 5 days
Amount of royalties I've received for the award-winning A Dangerous Man since 2007: £0 (I have to get more than £100 in royalties before the publisher pays me and I haven't done that yet. It's unlikely now I ever will. Really, sometimes I'm amazed I have the chutzpah to carry on writing at all, you know)

Today's nice things:

1. The pharmacist's reaction to my news
2. Shopping
3. Massage
4. Dinner out with Lord H
5. Theatre.

Anne Brooke
Anne's website

Slightly Less Frazzled of Godalming Day Three

Not quite so much rushing around today, as there’s no Student Care Services stall to worry about, thank goodness. Mind you, I think it went very well, and everyone seems to be very enthused about it and the big presentation it was linked with. I’m hoping we’ll be able to do the same again next year, but I imagine it depends on budgets. As ever.

So this morning, I’ve been sorting the talks out for next week – as even though the big first week is over then, we still have individual talks to do. Thankfully, I’m not doing them though – I’m just arranging the dates and equipment. I don’t have to appear in public, thank the Lord. That would be enough to terrify all the unsuspecting students away.

Ooh, and the Chaplaincy have just received a bundle of very arty posters which are quite charming and we all love them. There’s a whole variety and they go by titles such as “Stillness” and “Listening”, which are very soothing indeed. Though we are rather amused by the ones called “Overwhelmed” and “Agonised Pleading”. In the middle of Freshers’ Week, we already know what that feels like. Maybe we’ll stick to the soothing options and hide the rest. Probably a good plan. On the other hand, I have a sneaking suspicion that “Overwhelmed” might well be my word and my poster – I am strangely drawn to it, Carruthers. In fact, I’m so taken by the whole idea that here’s the site where you can admire them for yourself. I think they’re great.

At lunchtime, I managed to have my first lunch hour of the week (hurrah!) so walked round the campus and looked at the new art exhibition. At the moment they’re showing paintings by Mike Francis, who’s very photographic in his style. I enjoyed them, particularly the marvellous Beachcombers, where the sky and sea are huge and such a calming colour. Just what I needed. I also admired the ducks. Who, incidentally, seem to be performing a series of duck tricks today. This morning they were all lined up along the grass in perfect formation like a receiving line as I walked to the office, so who knows what they’ll get up to this afternoon while the Freshers’ Fayre is on. Which I’m glad I’m not doing anything for this year, as I don’t think I could summon up the energy. The last two days have wiped away any abilities I ever had (doesn’t take much, does it …) – in fact yesterday I was so spaced out with it all, I had trouble forming words and when Carol asked me where I was off to next in my wild rush, I couldn’t actually get the sentence out to explain it to her. I knew what it should be but couldn’t push it past my teeth. The curse of the family stammer, you know – when I’m excited or stressed or simply exhausted, the ability to speak disappears entirely or simple words become great mountains to conquer and I have to resort to saying something entirely different, or just silence, dammit. Though maybe that’s a good thing for the rest of the world indeed …

Here’s a poem about it:

A sentence is a mountain,
its crags and sharp pebbles
catch my tongue,
twist it to silence.

The thing I want to say
is not the thing
I can say.

I hold the words
in my mouth
but their shapes are out of joint,
unpronounceable.

Best swallow the thought away,
learn not to speak at all.



And all the time, I’m feeling so darn tired anyway that I can barely move, let alone speak.

Tonight, I shall pop into see Gladys in the certain knowledge that if she doesn’t make much sense, then heck neither will I. We’re a perfect match. And I have the delights of It Takes Two and Lost in Austen to look forward to. I will have to video Who Do You Think You Are and save it for another time. I’m also now at c 39,600 words of Hallsfoot’s Battle so only 400 words to go to reach my September target. Lordy, but I am indeed an obsessive crazed writer. A fact you already knew, I’m sure. At the moment, I’m having trouble working out what the heck the snow-raven is doing and how much he knows, though the scene with Simon and Annyeke, and possibly Johan later, is shaping up nicely. So far. I really must get back to Ralph and the mind-executioner at some stage as well – they’ve been waiting a while and I can’t have them getting bored. Who knows what they’ll do then.

Ooh, and it looks like some kind person has bought a copy of Maloney’s Law at Amazon.com as my rating has suddenly shot up and the stats tell me that 73% of people viewing my book there actually bought it, rather than 70%. Well gosh. Whoever you are, Kind Person, thank you a million times – and I hope you enjoy the story. If you do, please tell 10 of your friends; if you don’t, please tell me and I’ll try to improve for next time …

Amount of time The Gifting has been out with no response: 4 months and 4 days
Number of Pink Champagne and Apple Juice copies sold since June 2006: 131
Expected sales of a self-published book in the first year: 200. Sigh …
Average review rating of all my available books: 4 to 5 stars (out of 5)

Today’s nice things:

1. A quieter day
2. Chaplaincy posters
3. Art
4. Ducks
5. Poetry
6. Selling a copy of Maloney’s Law.
7. TV.

Anne Brooke
Anne's website

Frazzled of Godalming Day Two

Here we are again. Day Two of Freshers’ Week. I got in early – though not as early as yesterday – and set our table up. Thank goodness no-one had taken anything overnight so I actually had stuff to put on the table. Even the tablecloth was still there – well, gosh. This year’s intake is very kind indeed. It wasn’t such a wild rush as yesterday either – so far, anyway. The queries were steady but not overwhelming.

Due to various staffing issues, I fiddled around with the rota and was on duty from 11am till 2pm, so lunch was a distinctly movable feast. Or not much of a feast really. I also managed to squeeze in to see one of the presentations myself – it’s fabulous. Really zappy and gives the students everything they need in a funny way. Plus the nice-to-look-at presenter too – mmm. Just what I need to round the care services table staffing extravaganza off nicely, hurrah.

Oh, and this week’s heroes are: The Presentation Man (for reasons outlined above and yesterday), the Student Care Team (because we're wonderful), and the Induction Week Organisers (because they're great too). Well done to us!

Tonight, Lord H is off to Aldershot to see Annie Get Your Gun, as one of his colleagues is in it – but I couldn’t face it so I’m crying off. I’m peopled out, you see. Well, I was peopled out by 9.30am yesterday, to be honest, and am already in injury time now. Neither am I sure how much Lord H will enjoy the show – but I admire his loyalty. However, if he does come home slapping his thigh and yelling yeee-ha, I shall check the drugs cabinet at once.

So I’ll watch Strictly Come Dancing It Takes Two instead, and my video of Stephen Fry’s programme on the Gutenberg Press. I think I’ve given up on Mutual Friends – it was way too depressing last week, and I can’t take another dose of that. I have enough worry of my own. Hell, I might even try to write something – who knows … If I can summon up the energy, that is.

Time since The Gifting submission with no response: 4 months and 3 days.
Number of times I submitted Pink Champagne and Apple Juice before giving up and going the Goldenford route: 22

Today’s nice things:

1. A quieter day than yesterday
2. The fun presentation
3. TV
4. Writing.

Anne Brooke
Anne's website

Frazzled of Godalming: Day One

First day of Freshers’ Week – say no more. Just wish I’d managed more sleep last night, but it was not too be – sinus troubles kept me awake and I now have a cold, dammit. Still, I got to work at about 8am and then didn’t stop rushing about like a demented gazelle (but not quite as nimble) until the finale. It’s madness out there, Carruthers … Though what a lovely bunch of first years – all totally charming and so far they’re laughing at my countless mistakes, thank goodness. I hope they’re as generous tomorrow. Because, as usual, I’m winging it. I do rather like our “Here to Help You” sashes though, sadly – slung over the shoulder, it makes us feel quite the thing, m’dears. Ho ho.

People are also enjoying the new style presentations, acted out by an external company this year. All very now, of course. And the speaker’s quite hot too, mmm … Nice tattoos. I was quite overcome when I caught a glimpse. A statement which surely shows my mid-40s status more than any other.

Plus in my moments back at the desk I am struggling with an urgent complicated timetabling job that the boss wants done this week. I don’t have any real idea what exactly is needed and at the moment he’s too busy to ask, dammit. I’m hoping we can sort it out tomorrow, but I’m doing the best I can. For what it’s worth. UPDATE: I think I've had a reasonable attempt and even sent out some emails about it (good Lord!), but let's see what tomorrow brings as to whether it's right or not ...

Tonight I am collapsing like a squeezed-out sponge in front of the TV. I don’t give a damn what’s on – I’ll watch anything, frankly. Oh, but I must watch Strictly Come Dancing It Takes Two - I do love that Claudia.

And we do it all over again tomorrow, hurrah …

Time since The Gifting Submission: 4 months and 2 days
Number of times A Dangerous Man was rejected before Flame Books took pity on me: c50.

Today’s nice things:
1. Nice freshers
2. Hot presentation speakers
3. Surviving the day
4. TV.

Anne Brooke
Anne's website

A slow day, some Hallsfoot inspiration and poetic measures

A lovely lazy lie-in today, hurrah. And I have not done anything too strenuous. Not that I ever do, really. But I thought I ought to say it. After all, I need to conserve my energy for the existential horrors of the week ahead, AKA Freshers' Week or The Week Of Hell. As I have termed it on the kitchen calendar.

Lord H also wins Husband of the Week competition (as always, naturally ...) by rustling up a cooked breakfast, consisting of scrambled eggs, ham, mushrooms and tomato (for me - he hates tomato) on toast, that was at least a zillion times better than my poor attempts of last week. It was seriously scrummy and if I hadn't married him already, then I definitely would now. Ah, I've always known who the real chef in the household was ...

Buoyed up by breakfast, I have bravely faced the traumas of Hallsfoot's Battle and - bloody hell and put out the bunting! - even enjoyed it. Plus I had ideas and things to say. Bloody hell twice. Obviously, my writing enthusiasm is much enhanced by a good hot breakfast - makes mental note to remember that next time I'm stymied. I'm at just over 39,200 words now, so have that big 4-0 in my sights, aha. For today, I've quit while I'm ahead though - I want to come back to it, feeling hopeful rather than battered.

Lord H and I have also watched the first of last night's Medieval videos - The Medieval Mind. It was great - really gripping and I'm looking forward to the next one already. And, talking of TV, Strictly Come Dancing last night was also great. I voted for Austin - his waltz was magical and romantic and whisked me away, which is just what the waltz should do. Mind you, I was glad to see that John Sargeant didn't do too badly either - bloody good for him - a clean and moving performance. Not sure if poor Gary Rhodes will last the course however ...

Anyway, I've written a poem, which seems as if it's the first in a while, but may not be. I'm not sure. It's untitled. Titles are sooo last century, you know.

Measure the hours
like a poem;
steady each one
as you walk.

Savour the day’s jewelled metronome
and let the night fall

when it chooses.


Later I'm planning a nap. Well I don't want to overstrain myself - a novel chunk and a poem in one day is beyond the call of duty really. Tonight, there's the results programme for Strictly - though how I wish they wouldn't divide them up like this. It's such a bore and I do soooooo hate the irritation of the dance-off. Groan. Still, being an addict, I'll watch it, of course. And then there's poor Tess - don't tell him, Tess!! It's not worth it! Does she ever listen? No, no and no. Sigh.

This week's haiku:

I turn to winter
and mark the path with silence.
The wild gulls fly free.


Today's nice things:

1. Breakfast
2. Getting excited by Hallsfoot
3. Poetry, twice
4. Napping
5. TV.

Anne Brooke
Anne's website

Hadrian city, UK

Lord H and I have spent a wonderful day up in London visiting The British Museum and enjoying the wonderful and sparky Hadrian exhibition. Definitely worth a visit if you're in the area, but do book a ticket. However, both Lord H and I are now worried about our ear lobes - as we have the same diagonal mark on them that Hadrian had, which is apparently a sign of heart disease. Oh goody, another medical worry - just what we need, eh!... Anyway, I'm actually halfway through the exhibition book, as Lord H kindly bought it for me a couple of weeks ago, but I also bought the gift-book small version while I was there. Finished that on the train. I do love Hadrian. As you can tell. What an interesting chap and of course so wonderful Greek in his ideas. In oh so many ways.

Whilst at the Museum, we also paid our respects to Cromwell's death mask, admired the Elgin (sorry - Parthenon now ...) Marbles, gasped at the mummies, and wandered round the Living and Dying exhibition, and also the Japanese galleries. All great fun. I was particularly taken with the vast shawl of pills (which is really the only way to describe it) in the Living and Dying section, which told us that each person is on average prescribed about 14,000 pills in a lifetime. Goodness, it's amazing we survive at all really - though Lord H did remind me that I'm taking his ration too, so it saves him the effort. Dammit, he's probably right - shake me and I'll rattle.

Strangely, on this Hadrian-obsessed day, I've finished Marguerite Yourcenar's Memoirs of Hadrian. Some fascinating facts for sure, but I don't really think it works as a novel. It's too constrained by the amount of its research to have any life of its own. Which is a shame, as it could have been brilliant. But it's not. Plus, it's very, very French - they do have a particular style of writing in a philosophical bent which I don't think any other nation does (though feel free to prove me wrong!). Perhaps it would be better in the original French indeed? The poetry would come out more then. Anyway, it's an interesting lesson of how you can get so consumed by your novelistic research that you are totally unable to write the book. That's my opinion at least.

Tonight, I'm getting my glad rags on for Strictly Come Dancing, and I'm videoing the plethora of Medieval programmes there also appear to be on. I'm a sucker for anything Medieval really.

Time since The Gifting submission: 4 months

Today's nice things:

1. The Hadrian exhibition
2. Seeing Cromwell's death mask
3. TV.

Anne Brooke
Anne's website

Golf, haircuts and yet more hospital fun

Had a great time on the golf course today - amazing to see the summer at last. Mind you, I went out fully equipped in jumper, woolly hat, gloves and coat, and spent most of the time gradually stripping off. To a reasonable level, of course ... Not that there was anyone to see if I had gone rather more insane than usual as the course was virtually bare. Ho ho. All very odd anyway, but Marian and I appreciated being almost the only ones there. And I soooooo nearly got a birdie on the 9th. Honestly. I was only this much away from the hole. See? Still, I had to make do with a par. Oh how sad. I shall have to trade off the memory though as, what with Marian now being on a long holiday, we won't be able to play again for ages. Sigh.

Back home, I was just in time for the hairdresser, so now have a haircut that makes me appear normal. We're growing it long, you know. Soon I will look soft and feminine and elegant. Hmm, don't wait up then is my advice.

And I've spent a large part of the rest of the day ringing up clinics and booking myself in privately for my upcoming operations. Well, I'm covered via Lord H (neither the University nor my royalty penny stretching to such luxury, of course ...) so why not, eh? So, I've rung up PPP, then I've rung up the NHS hospital, then I've rung up the Clinic. Then I've rung up the Clinic again just to chase them, and have booked D Day as 9 -10 October in the very lovely Mount Alvernia Hospital. I then rang PPP again to let them know, plus the NHS hospital to cancel my place on their waiting list. I then sat down and completed the claim form which PPP kindly emailed to me, and on Monday - if I get a chance at the onset of Freshers' Week, groan - I shall copy it and send it over to the consultant at the Clinic - as she also works there as well as at the hospital, apparently. And then all I have to do is wait till the 9th, when she will no doubt take her revenge for my daring to answer back by taking my fingers off while she's fiddling around on the rest of me, sigh ... Oh, and I've cancelled the dinner with friends we'd scheduled for here on the 10th, as I suspect I won't be up to anything much more than groaning at the point. I'll have to reschedule later.

After that, I've had a well-earned nap. Which I desperately needed as I only got about 4 hours sleep last night as I was too busy worrying about all the crap and hyperventilating. As you do. At least I feel more in control today and am hoping for slightly more sleep tonight. Please God. Thank goodness for the joys of Ugly Betty and QI on TV though - can't wait.

Number of days since The Gifting submission: 3 months, 4 weeks, 2 days.
Bonus fact: Number of times I've actually met my agent in the 3 years I've been with him: None.
My consequent status as Viable Commercial Author: Low to negligible.

Today's nice things:

1. Golf
2. Haircut
3. Getting an operation date
4. Napping
5. TV.

Anne Brooke
Anne's website

Getting to grips with the novel, a satisfying critique and hospital miscommunication

Have spent some of today attempting to get more to grip with Hallsfoot's Battle. Much to my relief, I've finally finished the scene with Johan's battle preparations that was giving me so much trauma. Thank the Lord. I think part of the problem for me is that the battle training scenes bring in a fresh supply of new characters as they can't all just be faceless Gathandrians - I have to give some of them a personality and a voice, otherwise the whole scene is dead in the water before it even sets sail. And to me, too many characters can be overwhelming - much as in my own life, I find it sooooo hard to deal with more than four or five people at once. Most of my novels have a very narrow stage with only a few people able to stand on it - that's how I work best and where I'm happiest. Even in The Gifting (of which more later), the character numbers aren't huge as most of that novel is a journey from one place to the other. Now in the second of the trilogy (trilogy - God help me!), they're staying in one place - and, worse, of necessity the novel is set in two countries - so the character numbers have to mount. Doubly. Help! All this makes me feel rather out of control and is giving me the heeby-jeebies, which is thus causing me to view Hallsfoot as a great, unwieldy solid mass of stone tumbling down on me from a great height. And I'm unable to jump out of the way. Lordy, what an exciting hobby writing is, eh ... Still, at least it's a chance to learn new ways of writing. Ho ho. Anyway, I'm now scraping in at 38,000 words and I've put some titles for additional scenes in the few blank pages ahead of where I'm at, so there's hope, Carruthers, hope. Possibly.

I was also hugely thrilled (if you can be hugely thrilled - you're probably either thrilled or you're not, really) by one item of today's post, which contained a very satisfying critique of my short story, "Connections", from the Winchester Writers' Conference. This meant such a lot as, originally, when I took the story to my former writers' group, they disliked it so much that when I'd finished reading it out, there was a terrible, terrible silence in which I felt utterly crushed. The silence was so long and so terrible that I was forced to break it myself and apologise for the tone and subject matter of the story. Dammit. Which brings me to the subject of writers' group etiquette: please, please, please, people - if you're ever giving verbal critique in a public setting, never let a silence of more than two seconds go by after the author has finished reading out. It's soul-destroying. When I was a member of the group, I always tried to say something positive once the reader had stopped, even if I hated the piece with my whole heart. It just breaks that terrible tension. Mind you - good comes out of bad, they say - and at least that experience confirmed my decision to leave the group and not to look for a replacement. Not that I'm saying that writers' groups are a bad idea - they're just not helpful for me, I think. I get my writing kicked more effectively into shape via online groups and professional criticism.

Anyway, here's the critique of the story:

"A very 'cool' and well-controlled account of a sexual encounter. I felt the extremely clear, focused and steady nature of the prose reinforced the slightly detached, almost meditative quality of the woman's retelling. This slightly distanced and objective feel adds considerably to the power of the story; the reader has the sense that the energies flowing through this encounter are part of the wider lives of these two people. The writer manages somehow to convey a strong sense that this encounter - in its urgency and inevitability - is part of a wider rhythm, a bigger picture. To make the reader look beyond this immediate scene into a wider context is a rare achievement."

Thank you, Mr/Mrs/Ms Adjudicator - that means a lot. Even though it wasn't placed in the competition (you can't win 'em all, you know!), it means a huge amount. Thank you.

However, in any day, there's good and bad, double dammit. I had a letter from the hospital today, which told me that as well as the laparoscopy and the ablation (thanks for all the notes about my appalling spelling, people, btw! - though I have to say I still prefer oblation ...!), the scary consultant also thinks I ought to have a hysteroscopy as well. Ye gods, at this rate, I shall be tied up with operations between now and Christmas. If I have any bits at all left by 2009, it will be a bloody miracle (buy my books now while I still have fingers to sign them with, hint hint ...!). I was also rather pissed off by the huge numbers of inaccuracies in the letter (which has also gone to my GP) so I sat down and typed out a two-sided reply correcting them all. Which I have posted to the hospital consultant, the Surrey Park Clinic consultant and to my GP. Honestly, I fear the scary hospital consultant didn't really listen to a word I was saying during that appointment (not that I was able to say very much at all, as there wasn't much space left for replies ...). Deep deep sigh ... Well, this time, I'm not bloody taking it lying down (as it were - though I suspect once they've got their instruments poking round in my essentials I will be lying down - and possibly regretting that letter too), and I want them to know my side of it. Plus I want my medical notes to be as near to the truth as possible, rather than a web of fanciful fiction. It would be nice to get a reply of some kind, and it would be nice to feel listened to in the middle of all this, but my family have in the past had horrendous dealings with the medical profession (after all it took years for them to work out that my father had diabetes - diagnosed at last by a locum on a week's holiday cover by the simple measure of sniffing the breath - and by then the poor bloke was all but dead anyway), so I'm not holding out much hope. Though, unlike my poor father, I have every intention of being alive after the doctors have had their way ...

Harrumph!

Anyway, after all that, I've had a much-needed nap. Bliss. Tonight, I might look at Hallsfoot a little more, and then there's Mock the Week and 8 out of 10 Cats on TV, hurrah. Talking of which, I am loving Lost in Austen, which I watched last night. Elliot Cowan is the best Mr Darcy I've seen. Hot stuff and sharp, focused characterisation - well done, sir! That first almost-kissing scene was far sexier than Colin F's wet shirt moment, and indeed better than Elliot's wet shirt moment. Here's a picture of the man, just to cheer us all up:



And here's a picture below of the man in character as Mr Darcy. Also cheery!



Ooh, and I've decided to make a daily total of the time spent waiting for The Gifting to get a reaction. Today I'll add in a few extra facts about the process of being a writer that you may not have realised - just for the fun of it, eh!:

Time since The Gifting submission to publishers: 3 months, 4 weeks and 1 day.
Number of responses: 0 out of 11
Number of times publishers have been reminded by agent: 1
Number of times author has been in tears about the process: 5
Number of times author has felt like crying: c20, but it's hard to be accurate here. It might be more - probably is, really.
Number of times author has felt remotely hopeful: 2.

Ah well, we struggle on in the silence, eh ...

Today's nice things:

1. Writing some of Hallsfoot
2. The story critique
3. Cowan's version of Mr D
4. TV.

Anne Brooke
Anne's website

Tea habits, Star Trek, chat and visiting

Lord H was hugely pleased today at the discovery that three cups of tea a day is good for you, as advised on the BBC news site. I suggested it would be a good idea to up our intake then as we hardly drink tea at all. Ah, innocent wife! Lord H casually replied that he drank loads of tea at work anyway, so it wasn’t a problem. I think he was about to go on with some other remark but I was staring at him with such stunned surprise that he was forced into silence. In all the years I’ve known him, and in fifteen years of marriage, I’ve never realised he drank tea at any other time than on holiday. Aha, the truth is coming out now - obviously I just don’t understand him, you know …

Well, I am now enlightened and will have to add tea to my shopping list at the next available opportunity. However, Lord H says he doesn’t drink tea at home, as it’s for work. And holidays. Um, obviously. Marriage: the last great mystery indeed. The whole revelation and the fun we’ve had with it reminded us both of the episode in Star Trek TNG where Keiko O’Brien is mourning her supposedly dead husband, Miles, and watching DVD clips of his last few moments before he vanishes. She only realises the clips have been tampered with by evil aliens when she sees him drinking a cup of coffee even though he’s on duty after 7pm. Being his wife, she is convinced he never drinks coffee after 5pm as it keeps him awake at night so, on her say-so, the ship rushes back to where Miles was taken and eventually finds him alive and well, hurrah! The joke is that in the episode’s conclusion, we see Miles enjoying a well-earned coffee last thing at night and saying he always has a cup during his last half-hour of duty – under Keiko’s astonished gaze. So, if Lord H ever gets snatched by evil aliens, that may well be my way of foiling their evil plans, aha. Mind you, as I have now discovered the fifteen-year tea drinking secret in advance of such an event, the jury’s still out on whether I’ll rush to his rescue or not …

Anyway, today I’ve taken the afternoon off as time in lieu for my recent Saturday working. On my way home, I popped in to see Jane H to pick up some Nutrimetics products (I do love their soothing facial mask – it’s bliss) and have … um … a cup of tea. Well I have some catching-up to do after all. And lovely to see you, Jane. I then popped into see Gladys and restock her birdseed. She was drinking tea as well – so it appears the aliens have got everyone I know already. Hell, I may actually be the only person left to save the universe – Lord help it. Am I up to the task?...

While I ponder on how to save the universe, and inspired by Sharon, I’ve decided to look at another later section of Hallsfoot’s Battle so I have more of an idea as to what I'm aiming for. It's a plan anyway. Funny how books are all different, dammit. Like children. I imagine. And thanks for the tips, Sharon – very much appreciated.

Tonight I shall be glued to Lost in Austen on TV, but will have to video Who Do You Think You Are? David Suchet’s such a charmer – I can’t miss him.

Today’s nice things:

1. The amusement of tea and Star Trek
2. An afternoon off
3. Tea – again! – with Jane H
4. Doing something different with Hallsfoot.
5. TV.

Anne Brooke
Anne's website

Minutes, heroes and the writing game

Managed to get the first draft of the minutes from yesterday’s meeting done this morning, so I am obviously cooking on gas in one aspect of life at least. Hurrah. Only wish the same could be said of my writing, which is rather fading into obscurity at the moment. If only I could drum up some enthusiasm from somewhere for the novel, eh, but I simply can’t. Ah well.

Still, at least we have this week’s heroes sorted in the office: they are (a) Bruce Parry, as Andrea likes him; (b) Carol’s husband for taking such a fabulous photo of a bridge built by; (c) Isambard Kingdom Brunel, whose bridges rock (according to the Dean); and (d) the new Chaplaincy flat and toilet, which are both wonderful and no-one dare use for fear of taking off the shine. As it were.

Meanwhile, I’ve been trying to sort out the furniture for next week’s Freshers’ SCS stall. I couldn’t find where it was supposed to have been stored, so sent various panicky emails out, hoping someone would enlighten me. Best to find out now before I arrive first thing on Monday morning and have nothing to sit on or set up on. Sigh. UPDATE: Apparently, all we need is stored in the post room which is called the store room and which isn’t the one they direct you to even though it’s the one they use for post. Aha – that’s why I couldn’t find it then!... Problem solved.

At lunchtime, I chaired the University Writers’ Group in its new venue – nice to get back together after the summer break and catch up with what’s been going on. And I made them play a quite challenging game and got some great writing out of it too, hurrah! I’ve even given it to them for homework (cue evil laughter …). Oh, that means I’ve got to do it too. Dammit.

This afternoon, I squeezed in time to have a Starbuck decaff cappuccino – ah bliss – and tonight I’m paying my respects to Mr Tesco after work, groan. From the sublime to the proverbial indeed. At least there’s the next episode of Mutual Friends on TV later.

Oh, and I’ve managed a rather strange piece of flash fiction, my first in a long time, I think. So I can do some writing then, even if not the novel ...

Woman on Top

Angelina knew that Brad hadn’t expected to have to climb up Beachy Head in the middle of the stormiest day of the year. Purely in order to gain her affections. But she always liked to offer her potential menfolk a challenge – it was what all the magazines told her to do.
Right now, she was inspecting her French manicure – freshly painted today – and trying to ignore the grunts, groans and muffled shrieks coming from the cliff. She assumed it was Brad. It must be. There wasn’t anyone else vying for her attention at the moment, so no reason for anyone apart from her intended to be there. Was there?
Surreptitiously, she flipped open her mobile, trying to keep both it and herself dry in the torrential rain, and pressed the familiar code for her best friend.
Georgina answered at once. ‘Has he proposed yet, darling?’
‘No, don’t be stupid,’ Angelina shouted back, hoping she could be heard at the other end, but not by her clifftop Casanova. ‘He’s still climbing. Mind you, if I don’t see any action soon, I’ll ring the Coastguard. I don’t want to seem unreasonable.’
‘Darling, you never do. Good luck.’
And, with that, Georgina disconnected the call. Angelina grimaced. She knew Georgina wasn’t really a girly chat kind of person, but even so she’d hoped for rather more. She had nothing else to do now on the top of this god-forsaken cliff apart from wait for Brad. She was already fed up with admiring the odd gull brave enough to venture into the wind or watching people fleeing down the path to safety.
With a sigh, she stepped a little closer to the cliff-edge.
‘Brad? Are you there?’ she yelled. ‘I’m getting cold up here – can’t you hurry it up?’
No answer. Damn it.
Crouching down and clutching her Armani scarf so the wind didn’t catch it, she crept nearer still to danger and shouted again. ‘Brad?’
The response wasn’t what she expected. Instead of seeing her handsome hero ready to plight his troth, a distinctly female arm reached out from the cliff and grabbed her scarf, pulling her towards the wild sea. A moment later, and a sharp push from behind sent the unfortunate Angelina hurtling over the edge and down to the unforgiving rocks below. Her screams were whipped away by the wind.
A few moments later, and the taciturn Georgina was being pulled to safety by the treacherous Brad.
‘Thank God you’re safe,’ he breathed in her ear as he held her at last in his arms.
‘Of course I am,’ she snorted. ‘Around here there’s only room for one woman on top.’

THE END


And I've finished Christopher Hill's biography of Cromwell, "God's Englishman". Very interesting stuff, though more political than I'd anticipated. It sets the man nicely in his age and setting, so a very useful book. I still prefer the more personal approach of Antonia Fraser's biography though.

Today’s nice things:

1. Getting draft one of the minutes done
2. This week’s heroes
3. University Writers
4. Starbucks coffee
5. TV
6. Flash fiction
7. Cromwell.

Anne Brooke
Anne's website

Meetings, hospitals and book groups

A sharp autumnal day today. I really needed my hat and fingerless gloves, in spite of the sun’s deceiving brightness. Though actually I do rather enjoy autumn. Indeed the season has most definitely turned towards winter, so the bad news is cold weather, but the good news is no more nasty insects, hurrah. Not that there have been that many of the latter this year, a miracle for which I am truly grateful.

This morning I have caught up with the last-minute panics about Freshers’ Week, and am still trying to thrash some of them out. Double dammit. I do like to feel in control at this stage (a false illusion, but a nice one), and this year I really don’t. I also had a phone call from the hospital admissions department asking me if I wanted to be transferred from the consultant I saw about my operation as she’s not free till next March to actually do anything. Um, yes please. I really can’t wait till the spring, dammit. So I said I didn’t mind who did the operation as long as they were (a) alive, and (b) sober, and am now awaiting their response. Mind you, once they’ve seen the extent of my notes, I guess it’s whoever draws the short straw, poor them …

I also nipped over to the new English department to see where I’m supposed to be taking the University Writers’ Group tomorrow, as it’s all change in the new regime of course. I hope I can keep up with the pace. And gosh, that room’s not easy to find. Lovely though it is. I got completely lost in several different buildings, but got there in the end, with the aid of a compass and some very sturdy boots. I have sent directions to the gang, in the hope that some writers at least might turn up tomorrow.

This lunchtime, I took the minutes for the Steering Group and attempted to look (a) like a professional, and (b) as if I knew what I was doing. Neither of which are true, of course. We all tried to gaze with calmness and logic (ho ho) at Freshers’ Week, but really it’s impossible to know what it will be like until it’s here. Every year is different. We’d probably get more sense out of interpreting animal entrails and the flight of birds. Hmm, there’s an idea for next year’s preparation anyway …

Mind you, I was really pleased when the Health Centre doctor said how much she’d loved Maloney’s Law, which she took on holiday with her, and she was very much looking forward to my next one. I just have to persuade a publisher – any publisher! – to take it, eh. But so nice to have good feedback – thank you, Vicky.

This afternoon, I attempted to write up the minutes and keep my head down. Much the best approach really. Tonight, I’m planning to go to the University Book Group and discuss Betty Smith’s A Tree Grows in Brooklyn. Heck, I’ve even remembered to bring my copy with me. Mind you, it will be a desperate wrench not to be able to flee screaming to the hills at 5.30pm from the office and (shock! horror!) to have to stay on campus till 6.30pm/7pm-ish, but I’ll do my best to survive … I soooo desperately long to be home. UPDATE: it was fabulous. I really really enjoyed it - lovely to be able to discuss books with such a great bunch of people. And with no pressure on me. Double hurrahs. Am already looking forward to the next one.

And I can relax in front of New Tricks on TV this evening once I’m back at base – bliss.

Today’s nice things:

1. True autumnal weather
2. Good reactions to Maloney
3. Book Group
4. TV.

Anne Brooke
Anne's website

Brunch, art and battle training

A lazy start to the day today, and a welcome brunch of scrambled eggs, mushroom and chicken - as made (just about acceptably - cooking not being one of my strong points) by me, hurrah. I then leapt womanfully into Sunday Suburbia mode and washed the car (well, gosh), while Lord H mended my brakelight. What a hero.

Talking of heroes, I struggled on with Hallsfoot's Battle and am now just about at 37,000 words where Johan's about to start his battle training. He's confident, but it won't go well, I fear. Well, the Gathandrians don't really do violent stuff so they're not used to it. I suspect he will have to swallow his pride and ask for Simon's help, in the long run ...

And Lord H and I have bid a fond farewell to The Watts Gallery as it closes at the end of September for an 18-month refurbishment. I shall miss the horse sculpture. I love that horse, aka "Physical Energy". I'm already making a mental note of the June 2010 planned big opening date so I can go and say hello to it again. Mind you, there are certain paintings in the gallery I love too, so let's not forget them either. Some of Watts' portraits are utterly gripping. And some of them will be on tour for the next 18 months, starting with London in November, so if you do hear tell of a travelling Watts exhibition near you, go and say hello from me.

Later this afternoon, I intend to carve out some napping time, if only in order to gear myself up for Tess of the D'Urbervilles on TV tonight. Even now (spoiler alert!), I'm yelling at the TV in the same way I always always always yell at the book: don't tell him, Tess, he doesn't need to hear about the baby!!! Marital Lesson Number One - your man doesn't need to know it all!!. Indeed, as my mother always says to any couple asking for her marital wisdom: have a joint account by all means but keep your private one going too - marriage has to come with some privacy attached ... Ye gods, my mother's not as crazed as I've always assumed after all then. Heck no, what am I saying? - she is.

I've finished reading Navkirat Sodhi's poetry collection, "Un". Very surreal and charmingly minimalist - some of the short pieces really rock. And such a beautiful green hardback cover too. Particular favourites were: "Untitled (You look into my eyes)" which says everything you need to know about being in love in just three lines; "Untitled (Tonight I return yet again)" which carries with it a dark punch of despair; "Shall" which tells how life is itself a story; and "Inhale" which focuses on the speaker's relationship with three very different men. They're poems you need to take time over to delve into the meaning, and are well worth the time spent doing so - but they have an essential feeling of breath and space which makes that process itself seem very easy. A poet to watch, for sure.

And talking of poems, this week's haiku is:

Sometimes words don't come;
I'm left a syllable short
of perfection.


Today's nice things:

1. Brunch
2. Getting to 37,000 words in Hallsfoot
3. The Watts Gallery
4. Poems
5. TV.

Anne Brooke
Anne's website

Birds, dinner and dancing

Lord H and I have spent a lovely day out, lurking behind bushes and staring at birds. As you do. We started off in Pagham Harbour (hard "g" if you're saying it in your head ...) and had a great time staring at lapwing, godwits, herons and the usual sea-loving suspects. Mind you, we were surprised by a determined flock of linnets who had obviously decided there was much safety in numbers and were brave enough to lurk on top of the bushes we were in and stare back at us. Shades of Hitchcock indeed ... We were also treated to an incredible and long-lasting view of a kingfisher flying up and down one of the creeks. Marvellous. All that electric blue and orange. And the turnstones were nice too - once we'd spotted them about ten yards away from us - the only reason we saw them at all was the slight clicking noise they made on the pebbles. They therefore win the Best Camouflaged Bird of the Year award - well done them!

On the way back, we popped into Pulborough Brooks and managed to spot a Little Stint - hurrah! So another tick on the great bird list. Ooh, and a greenshank too, which was fun although we have seen one a while back.

Once home, we had half an hour before getting out again for dinner at Prezzo in Godalming. Being a sad couple with no life, we like to eat early so were in at 7pm and out again at 8.15. Result! That's the kind of service we like here in the twilight zone. It means that we still have time to watch the Strictly Come Dancing preview which I videoed before we went out. Double hurrah. Must get my glitz-frock and strappy sandals on first though ... noblesse oblige, as they say.

And I've finished reading F Scott Fitzgerald's The Great Gatsby. Which I've never read before, and I know that's an appalling admission, but hey I'm from Essex and think Jilly Cooper is class. Anyway, I rather enjoyed it - lots happened but very subtly, including beating up and later "accidental" killing of a mistress, adultery and murder amongst the drinking classes. So kudos for Fitzgerald for being able to do any of that subtly at all. Not sure I could. And not bad for a literary novel. He should have turned his hand to crime - he would have wowed us all then.

Today's nice things:

1. Birds
2. Dinner out
3. TV dancing.

Anne Brooke
Anne's website