Home V Health

I've given up chocolate. No it's not for Lent: it's for health and agility. I drove number-one son and three of his sons towards their camping spot on Loch Lomond today; I even got out of the car and walked...yes I said walked, along a lovely wooden boarded path, through the woods - in the rain I should add, under my big umbrella. All very earthy and natural (not to me) and I did enjoy breathing in fresh air - as opposed to the cloying lily-air in my flat (someone gave me lilies). So, when they climbed the stile and set off in a more difficult direction, I continued along the path to see the pretty view I'd been promised.

And it was nice but not really interesting enough, light-wise, for photography. The wind belted right across the golf course at me and my umbrella; it turned us all upside down and outside in. Definitely time to go home. Oh my legs! I must've walked all of 500 yards. So that's my exercise done for this weekend.

GLASGOW HAS SNOW AT LAST

Oooh we got snow! And it looks like the real thing; there has been the odd fifteen minute flurry over the last few weeks but this is lying on road and roof. Maybe I won’t have to go to the dentist on Tuesday. Luckily I can work from home if I have to but I can’t see it lasting – we don’t get snow in Glasgow! Well not the kind that grinds everything to a halt, not for years and years. In fact I only remember it happening once, when my son was about three; 1979, maybe. Diesel had frozen and there was no public transport – main roads were packed white and hardly a car to be seen.

I’m sitting here, cosy and warm with the heat of the laptop melting my knees, watching a repeated CSI and trying to pad/edit the novel. I do have to go out tomorrow but just along the road. The car is invisible; not in a drift – it’s not that bad. I love being inside when the weather is interesting and made supper suit the mood - a bowl of mashed potatoes. Life is good.

Of course I could check out the weather forecast but I never believe them anyway. Maybe we’ll be buried in it by next weekend. I went for a drive around my loch yesterday; blue sky and sunshine made it feel like a spring day; I got out of the car and sat on a bench for about a minute before changing my mind. I’d taken the SLR camera that had survived the fire, to test it and finish the film still in it, but the sun was too low and glared off the water right at me. Oh the mountains were stunning in their whiteness; I was right under Ben Lomond. It would all look fabulous now.

I'm reading Steph Penney's The Tenderness of Wolves so feel completely swamped by snow. Oh God what a life they led then, those early Canadians - here's a toast to all adventurers and settlers who drove themselves to early graves because they wanted something better.

MORE THAN THINKING

I am a good editor; I love nothing better than ripping writing apart, cutting and stripping, always trying to sharpen and hone – that’s why I never get to the end of anything except poetry! That and ideas for new novels. I can’t sit down and write a simple short story because I find subtext, themes and before you know it there’s another book in the wings. So, it’s either poem or novel; there’s nothing in between – even the flash fiction I write demands to be big, bigger, biggest.

Inspiration, stimulation and perhaps increased circulation has got me moving in the right direction and I’ve been working on two of these poor, neglected works. Maybe this year. Have I said that before? Definitely.

This time though, I’m approaching projects that are well developed and am charmed by the characters and their stories – bloody impressed is what I am! I created these babies and they’re okay, so I should finish them. I will. Then why am I fannying about on here?

Alright, I’ll do something in a minute; I’ve also neglected my lovely blog; I’m supposed to be a serial blogger, but not this month, or last month. Hopefully when I look back on this time, from my busy writing routine, I’ll name it My Thinking Phase and have fond memories of how comfortable this sofa was. I’ll wonder why I thought I could write whole novels from that position instead of sitting properly at my desk or at least a table. But I know writers who write in bed!. Why can’t I be a better writer on my sofa?

Of course it doesn’t help that the telly is flashing in the background; I can’t hear it over the noise of the washing machine but I’m still aware of the movie and keep pausing to catch up – it’s a bomb on a plane thing, and I have seen it before – yeeeaars ago…so why am I watching it? Because I can.

RESOLUTIONS

All I’ve got to do is stop
eating trash – start
walking fast, to slow
down the onset
of death.

All I’ve got to do is be
energetic
tick the boxes – see
entertainment
in gym.

All I’ve got to do is swim
instead of float
facing front – not up
pay attention
take part.

All I’ve got to do is grow
a love of sport
bore myself to death –
not list’ning, go
away.

All I’ve got to do is find
a way to play
when I’m not looking –
vacate my mind
maybe.

All I’ve got to do is stop
messing around
pound the pavements, right?
You’re hounding me
I’ll try.

All I’ve got to do is learn
to accept death.
Flattened by a bus
or heart attack –
who cares?

HOLD THE FRONT PAGE

I’ve been writing!!! I think I’m back in the swim. Also been spending time on the collaboration site Protagonize but it seems to have been taken over by young writers from a site that’s closing down; it’s all very cliquish and busy with their chatter. I’m hoping the excitement of a new place will settle and things will return to some kind of normal, but it still has the same effect on me – it makes me write, is still stimulating as long as you don’t mind being ignored. I’m not there for ratings – I want more than that; I want writing practise and collaboration.

This has been a great weekend in that I’ve done nothing but read and write…and watch a little telly; I’ve been cool, calm and collected. There has been NO decorating or cleaning or cooking – tomorrow is another day and I plan on doing all three. The slow cooker is set on top with a chopping-board, bags of ancient potatoes and all the veg from the fridge; I’ll be making Stovies (Glaswegian stew with sausages). I’ve lived on pies all weekend; they were wonderful, mostly because I haven’t been able to cook or heat pies for the past 18 months. My little oven & grill is great…but the good news is that I’m being given a gas cooker, but will have to pay to have it fitted. Still, it is good news; I haven’t stirred anything in a pot for a long time.

I’m beginning the New Year with bank charges and visits to the dentist for root treatment – but what a slap in the face! I hope it acts as a torrent of cold water to wake me up and make me use the space I’ve created for anything other than watching bloody TV. I will turn it off. I spent hours last weekend in front of so many repeated episodes of CSI. This weekend might’ve gone the same way if I hadn’t set up the table in the corner here and brought in my twirly chair – I usually curl up on the sofa with the laptop which is not really conducive to writing. I promise to turn it off and write.

TURNING

I’ve just finished reading Dodie Smith’s ‘I Conquer the Castle’. It’s absolutely fabulous. I bought it a while back – see earlier post – and read a couple of chapters but had gone back to my phase of not-reading-books-but-reading-blogs-and-watching-too-much-telly. So, I picked it up last week, when I’d finished the first novel I’d read for ages, Carol Shields’ ‘Swann’. Now that was interesting for different reasons but I’ve left my notes on that in a little book at work, I hope – I can’t find it here. Anyway, back to the castle; this is a book to dive into – amazing narrator, I loved it the whole way through and wanted to live there, with them, but only in the summer and autumn months.

It’s cold here; the sun has shone like a little liar through the windows all day but I was suspicious and put on my boots and woollies even though I would be in the car, mostly. I did everything I was supposed to and treated myself to skin treatments for my poor old face which seems to be suffering from some kind of teenage flashback – SPOTS; the kind that turn up and hang around for ages then another arrives just as that one is fading – so that there is always two…and I can’t keep my fingers off them. Disgusting I know, but there it is. In my new life I’m going to be rid of them, fitter and healthier. I might even attempt to walk around my loch.

Just been over at Poppy’s place, catching up; she wasn’t in so I had a good read but no tea or sherry or cake. I need to get back to my literary life; been back with readitswapit.co.uk and getting rid of novels I’ve read or don’t want to. This morning I received a beautiful hardback, ‘Essays on Women’s Lives’ by Kennedy Fraser. I’m going to prowl through that next, before a second Carol Shields and a Margaret Forster. But first, I’ve got to get up off this sofa and TURN THE BLOODY TV OFF!

TEA PARTY

Tilly and I spent the afternoon at ZaZa’s yesterday: sandwiches, cakes, shortbread and more cakes – all home-made, for breakfast, lunch and I took some away for dinner at work. Howzat for bad habits? Then I began today with two of her rolls and am planning the last of the shortbread for lunch, in a minute! Just as well I’m arranging to begin a new life next week, isn’t it?

We had a great time talking nonsense; of course funerals came up, and the outfits we would wear, and what would or should happen to our bodies. ZaZa said that we should send her ashes off in a little boat onto Loch Lomond, on fire, while we sway and dance to the music she’s chosen - she made us listen to it and Tilly and I had a few practice hand and arm movements, while describing the trailing black lace of our gothic sleeves. I offered to create the little boat and Tilly, of course, will do the herbs and spells.

So there we sat all afternoon, stuffing ourselves…oooh, did I mention the merangues? FAB. And all with French cafe music in the background; there was also a touch of Russian as ZaZa showed us her Russian fox-fur hat. She paraded around, wearing it and a machine-washable afghan coat but wouldn’t allow me to photograph her because she wasn’t made-up. Life doesn’t get much better than this; I’m so glad I came back from my travels.

I can't believe I've managed to do this! How great is this? I have impressed even me.

THE REAL RANDOM FACTS

Tagged by Poppy, so this is a chance to do the 6 random facts over again; the last ones were a cop-out.

1.
I have the most ridiculous things for breakfast; tradition has never made an impact on my life, except where porridge is concerned – salt not sugar. After the first (now, only) coffee I start to think about what to eat, and there are no limits; when I was a lush/drunk, in my thirties, it was often cold curry from the night before (lots of coffee) and craving for cold samosas would drive me around the west end of Newcastle searching little corner shops. I always have or try to do what I want, in the moment. I’m sitting here eyeing up the choice of:

White chocolate; orange Areo; toast; cream crackers and cheese; toast with sliced chicken; or marshmallows - I think I'll begin with them.

2.
I like the CSIs and would sit through millions of them, one after the other, all day and night. I wonder if there’s a name for the kind of person I am; I once watched the whole set of Buffy in a week – that’s a season a day; more than twenty episodes in each. I am perfectly happy with my own company and the added dimensions the laptop and TV can bring. My son and I are rubbing along together in this tiny flat, very happily, as two similarly occupied individuals; separate but together; I write and watch drama: he creates music and plays computer games. We also make use of Instant Messenger; he demands food. I demand that he gets on his bike and go get chocolate!

3.
When I was twenty, Roseanne and I led a starving life in Manchester; not through any kind of altruistic or creative leanings, but because we spent all our money on drinking, parties and night clubs – there was none left for things like food. We were living in a women’s hostel (which is now a nice hotel) which was pretty much a prison at the time; we made lots of friends, who readily shared their food with us; one woman worked in a butcher shop and used to bring me bacon. This is not the first time I cultivated friendship in order to eat; we had just left a job in a hotel in North Berwick where I had to sell my body to both a chef and a night porter to keep hunger at bay – staff meals were terrible.

4.
‘Do it to Marion too,’ was something I said often to my parents, apparently. M-a-r-i-o-n was my imaginary friend. So, after swinging me between them my parents had to swing her too; they had to lift her on buses; search for her in shops; and tuck her into bed. The only memory I have of her now is the name, and how I said it; she was part of my life for over a year and this is one thing I regret not investigating closer – there are a lot of things I should’ve paid attention to that my mother could’ve shed more light on. Why didn’t I think that stuff was important enough to dig it out of her and write it down? I did once tape her talking about her family but it was already too late because she was forgetting names, though she reeled off a huge list of cousins in the order they were born. That tape is lost now. So, I will just have to re-imagine Marion; I don’t know if she was a child too or something quite else.

5.
I much preferred my father to my mother and when he died I was devastated. We had so much in common that my mother hated; Benny Hill, Monty Python, Cook & Dudley – our sense of humour left her cold and she would clank about the kitchen whenever they were on. I was nineteen and he had just turned forty-eight, that day. He died at the exact time he was born. I’d been sleeping on the sofa, looking after him – he had emphysema, we knew he was dying but weren’t ready for it right then. It was a very strange feeling, losing him like that; as if someone had slammed a heavy door in my face. I know I went all peculiar; I couldn’t speak to anyone, not even my friends; couldn’t lift my eyes to people in the street in case of some kind of acknowledgement or something. I think maybe I was hiding from his death.

6.
I worry about what’s going to happen to the bits of writing I leave behind; unfinished, unread. Will they just disappear back into the universe... for someone else to find? I hope so. It would please me immensely if someone could finish them for me. I was thinking about Julia Darling’s unfinished work last week, wondering what happened to it and how it could be finished for her, keeping her voice intact; now that’s something I would love to do, and in a purely selfless and invisible way. I do hope that one of my grandchildren, or their progeny, get the writing bug and can use what’s left of me. So I’m leaving my work to them and my body to science. Sorted.

A MARRIAGE

I'm spending the day in bed with my lover, the laptop: not going to visit the Polok mob and being sociable, again. Happily, there's a chunky chicken stew bubbling in the slow-cooker. I want to play in my blog; just discovered labels, and a lot of the old stuff needs sorting. Well, that's my excuse; I never worry about these hermit periods that dot my life: I do often give a second glance to my eating habits, which become stranger by the year. Breakfasts this week have included: beef stew; marshmallows; Tuc crackers followed by custard creams; Hamwiches, without bread; but the most normal was probably cheese sandwiches made with Scottish rolls.

I must go up town tomorrow and buy a pair of decent walking shoes (lost mine in the fire) so I can walk to work and get a smidgen of exercise. I blame the laptop; I just can't bear to take my eyes off it. I thought Amazon was going to borrow it last night and was distraught at the thought; when I arrived home from work at 1am and saw the beautiful beast smiling at me from its place by my bed I almost sobbed with relief. I've only come to notice this passion in the last year and now I'm ready to embrace it, go public - make some kind of anouncement.

I AM IN LOVE WITH A MACHINE and if it asks me to marry it I'll say YES!

OLD OLD OLD

Well, I think I’m finally falling apart; I was at the hospital yesterday morning, at the face clinic and I am suffering from DMT which means, Dysfunctional Mandibular something. She said that my jaw might not return to the way it was; I should get my mouth open wider than it is now, but don’t think I’ll be facing a future that includes Big Macs. They had to take impressions of my teeth to make me some kind of shield that I’ll need to wear at night to gently relax the tissues in my jaw area. Apparently, I’ve been overworking my poor old jaw, because I have to chew on one side – there being no teeth on the bottom of the other side! Long and convoluted, I know, but let this be a warning to those of you out there chewing on one side…GIVE IT A REST!

The making of the impressions was pretty hysterical, considering I can only open my mouth about half-an-inch! It was painful, still is. I hardly slept last night, kept waking up with acid in my throat, having to sleep sitting up and coughing it away. My body is fast approaching ancient; I can see myself being fed through a tube – that’ll keep the acid-reflux at bay. I shudder to think what it’ll be next. Last night was my own fault; I had cake about ten o’clock. I need taking in hand – I still haven’t had a vegetable since I left Devon! I blame it all on Musician – if he had a cooker and a fridge I’d be able to cook proper food. He did have a fridge, I bought it for him, but he blew it up a couple of months ago; cleaning the icebox with a knife’ll do it every time. He is definitely not mine, this changeling.

I find myself disappearing into the land-of-lie-about-all-day; I’ve watched several movies today and my excuse is that I was tired after last night. Tomorrow, I will go to the library; I will go buy the house-warming present for my brother-in-law; I’ll have lunch with Morag; and I’ll walk instead of taking a taxi. I didn’t do any writing today but I did last night, and am half-way through ‘End of The Affair’. Feeling old and decrepit but still optimistic.

COMPLAINTS & EXCUSES

My excuse for not writing in here last week is….my nails were too long. I can’t bear the feel and sound of fingernails clicking on the keys, sometimes slipping from one to another and just generally making a mess of everything. So, I soaked some washing in the bath, squeezed and swirled till the said nails were pliable then I cut them all off. Now I’m whizzing around the keyboard like a wild thing, loose and fancy free…and unemployed. I’ve now got five application forms to fill out; will force myself into it tonight, when my bum is numb from sitting here surfing.

I had a few lovely drinks with Herman Saturday night; we got to sit out in the garden with our little tubs of melon (reduced), glass of wine and enjoy the strange and wonderful feeling of Glasgow sunshine. He’s house-sitting out in the burbs north of the city; quiet and lush grass under my bare feet. And the luxury of a huge telly to ignore while we babble on about god-knows-what, and my future, both work and medical; I’m still locked up – nothing wider than a finger can get between these teeth.

I spoke to a doctor from the face clinic on the phone the other morning, and told him how worried I was about being lock-jawed for three weeks, and whether I’ll stay like this forever, and is it wise to leave me until my appointment on the 17th. He said I’ll be okay. I’m just wondering how they’re going to get my jaw going again after all this time. I told him that I was thinking that my jaw might just fuse and never move again. I think he thought I was mad, but I had the impression that he was about fifteen and had mistaken me for his old granny, and was therefore invisible.

So, I had to drink white wine; I didn’t want a repeat of the last red wine episode with the projectile vomiting – I would’ve drowned. And, I had to get on a train and travel by myself to get home so didn’t want to end up toooooo pissed. So there was me, standing at the train station and admiring my sobriety and the fact that I’d only drunk one bottle when Herman disabused me of that; he just hadn’t brought the bottles into the living room. Well I was pretty well-oiled, but got home safely, and am still alive.

We met about eight years ago when we were working in the psychic centre. One of us had the bright idea that I go back there to work, for now. I think it was me; I was worried about my poor old references having to be bothered again for all these jobs I’m going to be applying for; I won’t need one there. So, I called them this morning…and they remembered me. There’s probably going to be an opening in a couple of weeks and in the meantime I can refresh my skills with the lovely tarot cards. I think this is all a great idea because there’s a lot of psychic and pagan stuff in the novel; it’ll be good for me to be steeped in it all again. I’ve spent most of this morning studying and playing with some of my cards. I’ve got three packs here but no books; the books are all packed away somewhere and I know that some of them GOT IT in the fire. But I’ve got stuff in the laptop, enough for now. One of the packs hasn’t been used but the book is still somewhere in the box; it’s called The Greenwood Tarot – some amazing images, but different from most other tarot so I’ll need to find the book. My other two are old favourites; The Shakespeare Tarot and the Native American Deck. I’m really looking forward to doing this. Wonder if the place has changed much.

SETTLING IN - OLD HABITS

As far as food goes, today is Hedgehog Bloomer Day; I have to eat it while it's fresh, soft and crisp, so that means lunch, dinner and supper - even though lunch was around 5pm. I've been to visit Morag in hospital and she looks great. Things are moving along nicely and she might be out in four or five weeks, hopefully; if she doesn't get any infections that is.

I spent most of yesterday working my way through a website-builder wizard and I am happy to say that it's all looking rather bloody good. It'll be a writing website mainly but it will include the arty farty, and stuff for sale. I haven't attempted to upload photos yet, I think I'm going to leave that for tomorrow night. At this rate It'll be a couple of weeks before it's finished and published. The whole arty stuff for sale bit has given me an idea; I thought I might make up a little book of my published poems and scrapbook them - something simple, cheap but that will effectively make them different and attractive.

The rain has stayed away today, though the sky was purple in the distance as I taxied it back from Asda with the lovely bread. I'm finding it difficult to believe that I'm in the same universe these days; four years in Devon has wiped all memory of Glasgow summers. I look at the sky most days and am astounded that it is still only August; it feels like February.

DINNER

And another lovely weekend hovers; I've never looked forward to weekends for years - never worked 9-5 or these regular hours for decades.

Musician brought me a box (a little one) of chocolate macaroons, so I'll be having them for dinner. See what I mean about me not eating proper food when I'm let loose in the world; I need old people around me to cook for. I don't think I've had a vegetable for four weeks!

So, I'm popping off now to eat my macaroons with a mug of Earl Grey.

TO DRINK OR NOT TO DRINK

This is a copy of the email I sent to Herman after a night on the lovely red stuff, last time I was in Glasgow. I'm just reminding myself not to do it again.

had a great night last week. i was pretty pissed; not sure if i remember
actually leaving! but i woke up in my own bed, with most things intact...except
for most of the wine i put away the night before!!! i was sick in a kind of
projectile-way over the side of the bed!! when i woke up i was totally
disgusted. don't think i should drink that much anymore, now that i hardly drink
at all. i thought i'd lost my white shirt, but i'd hung it up in the wardrobe!
God, what a state.

how were you? i'm piling through that airline 
novel; it's pretty much an info-dump but interesting. i remembered all that we
discussed on the writing front on formats, and have written it down. weather
here lovely. must remember to water the plants on the verranda.

Over the last five years I've spent so much time working away or driving, that I never get to have a drink; and I often forget, don't even think of having one; and now I can't drink properly - maybe I'll have to go into training.

Well, I'll have to find something else to drink; no more red wine for me; maybe I'll change to white.

RANTING ABOUT THE PASSPORT OFFICE AND SMOKERS

Hola....the sun is shining again on spain! Lexy is leaving today so the sun has come back to apologise for the last week of awful weather and she´s grabbed a desperate hour on the beach. the car was like an oven, just the way we like it.

Bingo is bringing my two oldest grandsons out tomorrow. Passport problems abound; they should have got them done last year when I told them! (I haven´t worked out what I want to rename them so they are still N01 and No2) She had to pay fifty quid to upgrade N01´s passport and, travel down to Liverpool to collect it! So, his passport will have cost over one hundred and fifty pounds! And they were all fast-tracked by the post office! Bingo´s was supposed to be in Manchester getting printed, so hers is not here yet either; she called me ten mins ago, but I know that their postman doesn´t arrive till about now. I told her to go ask her neighbours if he´s been. What a farce. No2´s arrived over a week ago! This holiday is costing me a fortune.

We´re off to the quizz tonight in one of the ex-pat locals, Dick Turpin´s. Thursday night is darts night - men against women. The whole pub has to play, it´s great fun. The only thing I hate about it all is that these pubs are so small and the cigarette smoke so thick; I´m watching the clock, waiting till the entertainment is over so I can go home. The other night was pretty bad; even though windows and doors were open, I was surrounded by six smokers at my table alone. It was really hard to breathe all night and I was looking forward to leaving. So, after the darts I was watching the level of the drinks going down, and we´d been joined by a few friends. It was after midnight. I said it was time to go home but Lulu and Chris didn´t want to go. It had been decided earlier that I was driving, so Lulu was pretty pissed. She was urging me to stay for another drink, but by this time I was desperate to get out of there, so I said that I wanted to go home. I began to look like the party-pooper, there was silence and crumpled faces. Lulu took some of Chris´ beer. I told them that I couldn´t breathe, that I´d been watching the clock and really had to get out of there. I felt bad but I couldn´t stay. I then suggested that I might stay while they had another drink if they didn´t smoke...there was silence. Then Chris said that she didn´t want anyone telling her that she couldn´t smoke. I stood up then, and they had to follow.

I felt that they´d put me in an awful position. When you think about it; I´d sat, breathing their smoke for 3 hours but they wouldn´t sit in my non-smoking air for 5 minutes! I´m not imagining this...that is selfish. I spend a lot of time with smokers and never normally mind (whether I catch cancer or not) because that´s life. I´ve never given it all a moment´s thought. Smokers are selfish. These people are my friends; they profess to love me, but they apparently don´t give me, as a non-smoker, a moment´s thought - they won´t give up one cigarette for me.