FIRSTS

This is my first day of doing nothing and boy was it good? Oh yes! I did crochet 100gms onto a blanket while watching telly but that doesn’t count – I can do that with my eyes shut and it only took an hour. I feel as if I’ve been eating all day; I’ve had meals, even pudding – all from New Year’s Eve leftovers. My first dinner party in the new flat was successful even though there was a hitch with the mashed potatoes. Five grandchildren and their parents around my little drop-leaf table; I need to get a board to make it bigger for next time.

Time has disappeared under all this house-moving, decorating, xmas, new year and birthdays - we have three birthdays: 20th 24th and 26th. Power Ranger turned 6 on the 20th and had a family party with all his cousins there; it was pretty mental. When I was a child we were all shy about dancing, either by ourselves or in a group – especially the boys. You should’ve seen these boys go; number-one grandson, Bouncer, suggested a dance-off and they were up birling and twirling, legs all over the place, elbows jigging, faces twisting… I was ill laughing, but I made a terrible judge. I could knock a couple out but couldn’t make the choice at the end. Stunningly noisy.

So, I’m trying to set myself some routines, one of which is swimming or/and aqua aerobics, but the main ones have to be writing and art – I’ve just gotta get myself under some kind of control; I can feel life drifting under the front door!

My friend, Oracle, is beginning a new job tomorrow; I wish him well but will miss him at work so much. Even at work, I need to conduct my spare time when I’m not on the phone; I’m going to set myself some writing tasks – I think everyone has a blanket so I should stop crocheting, for now.

Right, that’s me sorted. All I have to do is do what I’m told, what’s expected of me.

KLIMT TAROT

These have been very hard to capture; the gold embellishment glares back at the camera – I’ve tried it from all directions and this is the best I can get. I haven’t got a scanner. The art is just wonderful but there is no explanation as to how they’ve created them or who for that matter; I assume that Klimt is dead and these seem to be collages of his collages – some kind of insightful collaboration.



I’ve been browsing the cards at work – not using them yet; I need to know them a bit better for that. Angel and I were discussing the interpretations of some of them last night; for example the 4 of Wands is a woman with a baby – we are more used to the house image here, but I suppose you would have to feel secure and safe to create a family…barring accidents. And I love the way the women swim under the 7 of Swords, with that knowing and clever manipulation. The 9 of Cups is satisfied indeed but the absolute beauty in the overall picture of the 5 of Wands takes my breath away; you have to allow yourself the freedom to see the fragility of bones here as strength and determination to overcome obstacles – the background is stunning.

The 10 of Cups is a true representation of the life I lead in my early thirties; it was all wine and beer and 'Does my bum look fat in this?'

It’s always amazing to work with a new pack of cards; there is suddenly space inside your head, room for reaching out and catching new inspiration – time also to discard familiarities and lazy readings. I’ve got about six but used to have a lot more. There is always more than one way to read a card so replacing the usual image in front of us frees our minds. I spent time with a spiritual mentor many years ago and she taught me to read from nothing; the cards are just tools and we take notice of the details that are meant to capture our attention – that’s how the connection or bond is made between the reader and the questioner, that’s how we can pick up and describe parts of their lives that we could never know.

I’ve found reference to the designer in the little book (I hadn’t looked properly). It says, ‘Klimt and his strong allegorical subjects inspired the Tarot designed by A.A. Atanassov…The symbolism inherent in the Tarot is perfectly coherent with that symbolist culture that also gave origin to Klimt’s artwork.’

TRAVELLING

I’ve been on the road for years, well the best part of five, and the idea of settling on solid earth is fascinating; my mind is running with streams of images and the possibilities are endless – there will be no patterns on my walls; I want to be surrounded, in that new place, with memories. I also dream of organisation and industry...from me. Hope lives here.

19th April 2005
On a Virgin train to Bristol

Grey clouds under white; the sky is thick with British summer-time. I’m travelling backwards; there’s more time to think about what’s before you, like tiny lambs that are just a crumb on the landscape, and screaming fields of rape blaring at you. Across the world a grandson is stomping around beneath a blue sky and I’m on my way to join him. This trip, I’ve learned to tell the difference between the songs of the robin and the blue-tit, and a larch tree from a birch (not silver – I’m not that bad). Also I was reminded how to make a white sauce; I haven’t done that since I was in school. I come away from this month in Devon a wiser woman.

May 18th 2005
Back to work in lovely Budleigh Salterton

It always surprises me when I arrive at a new place that even though the house might be sparkling and clean there are basic stuff that isn’t done; when I got here the out-going carer was listing and worrying about everything and anything, but the mugs were stained and the fridge full of white-label food! And the washing-up liquid was watered down again. I like her but she is bringing the client down to her level rather than keeping them at the level to which they are accustomed.

May 21st 2005

I'll do a writing exercise to jump-start the novel again; haven't touched it for many, many months - every time I decide to work on it I change the format or the focus or some bloody thing or other; I can't even get to the middle of it never mind the end! I'm not just a lazy writer; I'm a lazy everything; artist, potter, photographer. The job I do to earn a living consists of me keeping the elderly company in front of their telly! I try to be some kind of productive by crocheting or sewing patchwork - life is just too diverse. I can't finish anything, except blankets.

June 2nd 2005
Budapest for Bree’s hen-party.

The first meal I had was Chinese! Lovely, and only 900ft which included a glass of beer; that’s about £2.43, in a little fast-food buffet just along from St Stephen’s Basilica. So far, I’m not terribly impressed with the city. My hotel is pretty crumbly and tatty, in fact quite a lot of the place is like that - Budapest could do with refurbishing. Now I’m sitting at a pavement café and have just paid 700ft for a cup of tea! It was Earl Grey though. I’ve got to sort this money out. I think bloody Travelex have done me; I just don’t know where it’s all gone, and now I’m confused about the value of the forint.

1st December 2005

God knows what I’ve just eaten on this plane…and what the hell is Emmental cheese? At first glance I thought it said elemental. There were 14 E numbers in that sandwich, and it tasted like nothing, with a hint of ham. 7 euros for a sandwich and a cup of tea!

Jan 1st 2007
Three weeks in Glasgow

Again I wonder what the hell I am doing, wandering around the world, homeless, rootless, when I’m fast approaching sixty; and then I think, I’ve got years to sit doing nothing in some old-folks home. Though I’m sure I’d have them all doing arty-crafty stuff and turn the place into a growing concern, selling artwork, greeting cards and performing poetry. I’m beginning to fall apart; tomorrow, someone at the gastroenterology department is going to chuck a camera down my throat and check for inappropriate behaviour of my body against itself. I’ve been tidying out some of my life, trying to remember stuff and get it written down for my children, and I have got rid of a lot of junk - but I keep buying more.

April 29th 2008
From my cave

I might have stopped moving, for now, but I’m still travelling in my mind; I see the lovely new flat, the stretch of floorboards and empty walls – Loch Lomond, are you ready for me?

WOOLY THOUGHTS

I couldn't get my wifi to work this morning and went off in a huff, thinking, I'm not staying in here with no internet! I took myself up town to buy wool. Oooooh, it's lovely. I've got three blankets on the go in work right now; I was trying to use up the old stuff that's been lying around for ages - that means that they are interesting!

If you're ever in Glasgow and want to buy wool, pop into Watt Bros on Sauchiehall St. I needed white cotton to do a doily thing for my boss so had to get it in John Lewis (hardly anywhere sells wool these days - shocking but true). I prowled the shelves looking for the cheapest and it was £2.50 for 50g! Anyway, there I am, standing in the queue to pay when I notice this woman with a handful of assorted balls, which I imagined were for blankets or craft work; I whispered to her that she'd find better bargains in Watt Bros and shook my huge carrier bag at her. She was three behind me in the line, so I don't think the whisper was invisible.

The sun was shining, I hadn't worn a jacket; this is when Glaswegians go mad, thinking that summer is just around the corner but the old Scottish adage is...'Ne'r cast a clout till May is oot!' I felt elated and free, brave in the face of chill air; when the sun landed on me it warmed the dark corners of my memory - dreams of flip-flops and strappy tops. I've cooped myself up in that room every weekend with a machine on my knees; suddenly the other day I realised that I was in danger of Deep Vein Thrombosis if I didn't get some exercise. The fifty yard walk from Buchannon St subway is better than nothing, it's a start.

It was unbelieveably quiet in work tonight and I crocheted up a whole 100g ball between calls. There was only three of us on, and no food being passed around - so I was a good girl. I'll take the camera into work tomorrow and catch the WIP.

HEADY DAYS 1969

I saw a sign in the local shop for dry cleaning; it costs £5.30 per item. Seeing that notice took me back to 1969, when I thought I was a woman - a fifteen year old piece of skin and bone with no breasts. Out in the wonderful world; my first a job was in a Glasgow boutique. Walls painted black, clothes rails hooked on chains that dangled from the ceiling and music on a loop so that we all knew which song came next; My Cherie Amour crawled through our minds, Proud Mary boomed, and Back in the USSR banged. We boogied Bad Moon Rising and blasted Alright Now out of the open glass doors; we were the biggest attraction in the street.

I was the youngest on the staff, and last in, so it became my job to take the shop-soiled merchandise to be cleaned at the nearest launderette with a dry-cleaning machine. I’d get on the subway with my bag, and a little pile of money. It was a good skive and got me away from the manageress! Shetland wool crew-necks had black lines across the shoulders from dust and customers’ grubby fingers, sliding the hangers along and along. I got to read my Mills&Boon in peace for an hour and smoke loads of fags before smoothing and folding and stacking the laundry back into the bag; the fumes from the chemicals would turn my head. Later in the day I’d have to iron everything and return them to the rails. I often wonder if shops still do that; or do they just sell off the soiled and damaged stuff cheap. That was another thing; I had to make repair whenever I could, invisibly – burst seams, hems, replace buttons…I even had to dye something once, I think; perhaps it had faded from being in the window. I’m sure I had to sign the official  secret’s act.

After a couple of months, and with a few wage packets under my belt, I became a fashion statement. We would strut out at lunchtime, and sail through Central Station to the chip shop - sure that everyone was staring at us and turning green with envy at our daring style. We wore midi skirts, maxi skirts, tightly-fitted corduroy bell-bottoms and long-sleeved, narrow T-shirts with stars on; were made up with Miner’s Face Shapers and Rimmel Black Tulip lipstick (my father told me that if I ever collapsed in the street people would think I’d had a heart attack…my mother was mortified every time I left the house). We could only afford chips for lunch; most days I brought in bread for the toaster upstairs; I needed all my money for cigarettes – Players No10 were the cheapest, and if I paid child’s fare on the bus to and from work I could afford a pack of 20 a day. Sometimes I just stared out of the window and didn’t have to pay at all.

The Look was everything; I’d never been so stylish in my life. At one time we all had page-boy hairstyles, and we’d dot a few freckles across our noses with a brown eyebrow pencil. False eyelashes spiked from top and bottom, like long spiders’ legs; underneath we’d either draw or paint spiked lines – eyes were the thing. I have a vague memory of leaning on the handbag counter and looking up at boys who’d come in with their girlfriends. I thought I was stunningly beautiful, and, the sad look was in. When I was sixteen I assumed the world had been created just for us. It was a private club and we were the only members; no-one else could ever be as fabulous as us - except those who could afford to shop at Biba or Busstop.

The window dresser began to train me up, and the window became my stage; I would strike a pose, sitting on the floor at the feet of my mannequins…a doe-eyed dreamer, catching the attention of passing boys, sailors and unbeautiful teenagers. A new girl took over the dry-cleaning, though I still spent a lot of time at the ironing board, getting the packing-creases out of window stock. After many months I felt I was in control of my environment; choosing colour themes and styles gave me the confidence to argue with the manageress about sale items of the wrong hue going in my display. She didn’t have a creative bone in her whole body. I stormed out of my beautiful career and took a job in a café on West Nile Street. It was late 1970 and things were never quite the same again.

WHAT A WORLD

I’d rather be a cleaner than a teacher; when people tramp all over your work they apologise, and sometimes ask your permission to continue. Students don’t usually say that they’re sorry for giggling in your class and disrupting the lesson plan you spent ages working out. Thank the stars I didn’t spend time in that area. I did quite enjoy popping in at Book-week and doing creative writing workshops, or reading something with the younger years. Teaching English to ten 10yr old Spanish kids just makes you paranoid. I couldn’t hack it – give me a mop every time.

I like adults; people should be born at nineteen, with all the angst already flashed through their dreams, although babies are nice – maybe we could have babies as toys. But I quite like four-year-olds, they’re funny, and intense. Though I have seen some awful little beasts on the streets here; I saw a male one last week, belting around on a bike, swearing and growling to himself. He looked about five! And I have seen worse on the streets in the west end of Newcastle; carrying their booty from houses the older boys had broken into. Even comparing kids in the same family, the cousins, my God! When Amazon took her lovely, only child up to visit the Loch Lomond mob she was traumatised watching ToughGuy put the half-nelson on her little red PowerRanger. My older son, TocToc has five children and they all just tumble over each other. One of them can be sitting watching television, quietly, and another will suddenly leap on him. It’s a mad house. Just watching PowerRanger’s face is great entertainment.

I don’t visit often – I like to talk to them on the phone. Though, maybe that’s why they all go a bit hysterical when they do see me. On their own they’re fine, and I would take them most places without having to go back and apologise. I once took three of them out, together…oh my God! Never again. Comedian was about two and I had him in the buggy. As we walked around the west end of Glasgow he leaned out, calling ‘Dickhead!’ at people passing by. I was mortified. My oldest grandson said, ‘Just ignore him granny, he’s a bad boy.’ But they are usually good, and they stop swearing before they turn three. When PowerRanger was about 14mths I held his hand at the top of the stairs, in TocToc’s house, and went to take hold of ToughGuy, he suddenly sat and slid down the stairs on his straight legs! I don’t know why I was surprised. My only granddaughter is three, and is as tough as any of them; they used to drag her around like a rag doll.

It’s a wonderfully strange world; I’m told that their teachers love them, but it wouldn’t be me.

MY SLOT IN LIFE - HERE AND NOW

Well, I breezed into the new/old job and felt as if I’d come home; there were all these people still there, and they remembered me. I just slotted right in and felt soooo comfortable, it was wonderful…as though my space was waiting for me to come back.

The place has changed some, for the better, so I’m looking forward to stuffing my stuff into my little nook. We used to be able to see around the room from where we sat but now we’re in our own small world, a carved cave of shelves and cupboards, with electric sockets – I could even bring the laptop! But not now; now I need to make Xmas cards. You see, that’s what I like/need in my work; space and time to do my own thing while I’m getting paid to do something else at the same time. When I was looking after my old people I could do all kinds of crafty work or writing; I can do this here while waiting for calls. Last night I had a whole hour between calls at one point.

And from the first call I knew I had made the right move; I loved being back with my tarot cards, reading for someone, discussing problems and advising positive steps to take. I think of myself as a life-counsellor, giving people energy and hopefully the impetus to make changes in their lives. The cards are only a tool to make people talk about and pinpoint their problems. That is the best part of this job but there are those who spoil it and drive you to distraction; that’s why I left six years ago. They are the ones who call every day, every week and obviously don’t listen to the advice they’re given; they ignore what they don’t want to hear. In every industry there are those who make things difficult; in the psychic world there are questions and accusations hurled – not everyone is a charlatan. I know that a lot of poor people spend money they can’t afford trying to glean answers from the cards or the dead, but there are also other outlets that don’t receive the abuse that psychics get, like shopping and sky-tv-till-you-drop. There’s nowt as queer as folk, and you can’t tell them what to do with their money.

The other reason that this all fits in is that there are psychics and tarot in both of the novels I’ve got on the go; I didn’t plan it, it just happened and I hadn’t really noticed – perhaps I see it as just part of reality. And, the beginning I’ve written for Susan Hill’s CW course is going in that direction too. I think I’ve been guided back here for a reason and am where I am supposed to be at this time in my life. I hope that the new piece I’ve begun isn’t another novel; I can’t deal with three at once…I don’t think.

SING-A-LONG

I’m singing Abba’s 'I do I do I do' as I write this. One of the guys from my writing group got married on Tuesday so he brought in a box of favours today, with cake and everything. I chose a CD of the music they had at the ceremony and party; it’s classic cheese, including YMCA, Shania Twain and Amarillo – of course it was a civil partnership. So, a great start to the day; cake and favours of chocolate pretending to be sugared almonds, and now relaxing on my bed with the lovely Shania wailing (with me) ‘From This Moment On’, and twiddling with sunset photos I took from my window the other night…ooooh, and just as I speak there’s another one just beginning. Life is nice tonight.

Oh, and I think I've managed to change the settings of comments so anyone can leave one without all that hassle.

I got a new job; going back to the psychic world of tarot reading. I start on Tuesday so will be spending the next few days pouring over my books to refresh my memory. And the only job application I haven’t missed the deadline for is that of the lollipop lady; my colleagues from the call centre job voted and said that they want me to do that anyway, so it’s kind of serendipitous that I’d missed all the others. It’s only temporary, till Xmas I think so it would be an interesting experience…maybe a little wet, but I quite fancy it for a laugh. God, my life is just a barrel of laughs – I’d be dead by now if it wasn’t.

I picked up my ordered books at the library; The Hours, The Awakening and The Quiet American so am looking forward to browsing. I’ve just finished reading Margaret Atwood’s Penelopiad; and I didn’t love it. It was okay, but it didn’t evoke any laughter or tears – maybe a little smile, once; but it’s only small and I read it in a couple of days.

Actually, the next few weeks is looking good, and I’m going to give myself a right good talking-to….oops, I’ve gone off, singing along with The Hucklebuck’…a little bit of that …a little bit of this….’

I went off a little while ago with, ‘you spin me right round baby right round like a record baby right round…’ I LOVE THAT! Not sure if I can remember who sang it.

I am loving all this forum stuff with Susan Hill’s writing course but it’s all just more procrastination for me. But then it’s all about writing and literature so it’s allowed, but I really need to take myself in hand. I should announce a deadline; that usually works for me. A map would be better. I’ve found a nice big table for my room so maybe I’ll work on a plan. When I hear of all those writers who sit down at a certain time and make themselves stay in the chair till they write something I want to do that; I want a more ordered life – things would move on if I was more regular in my habits…but people wouldn’t recognise me, I might disappear. Maybe I like being a whacko.

Also today, I discovered that some of my writing group have been hiding the fact that they belong to a craft group! I NEED to join; I’m only ever happy if I’m spread farther than cheap margarine.

Doing the Time Warp now.....

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.

DOWN BUT NOT OUT IN GLASGOW

I managed to stay in the job for one and a half hours this morning, then I sloped off for my tea-break and kept right on walking...around the corner to Cafe Nero, stopping off on the way to buy a job paper. I just couldn't bear it for a minute longer; that lonlieness in a room full of people, all connected and talking into the ether - none of them speaking to each other. When I think of my days with my old people, even the thought of constant BBC1 is appealing; numb-bum syndrome is looking very attractive.

I've called several job options and asked for application forms to be sent out, including one for a part-time lollipop lady! That's a nice sociable job, isn't it? I want to talk to real people, bump shoulders and swap stories. I also called the WEA; I worked for them years ago, tutoring all kinds of stuff, but this time I'll restrict it to only those I love; creative writing and scrapbooking. I know that I hate teaching, but I can handle those - they are the only subjects that make me high as a seagull on the wind.

Perhaps I can make myself do a bit of writing on the novel - no excuses now that time is no object. I really think I will end up back in carework, though one of the jobs I will be applying for is a housekeeper in a temporary house for relatives of cancer patients in hospital.

FIRST DAY GRIPES

I was soooooo bored today, doing the first ten-hour shift, my first day of real work. It's not as sociable as I thought it would be; I was a little lonely. Though mostly, I was on the phone, slaving my brains out trying to solve problems without asking for tooooo much help. So really, there was only a few minutes now and again when the phone didn't ring and I could swing around in my chair, looking out of the window. And poor old Billy-bob wanted a window but he's stuck way inside the room, in a different team on his lonesome. I never got to speak to him because he's on an earlier shift. A very flat day all round.

I kept picturing myself leaving and not coming back, but I can't afford to walk out on a well-paid job before I have another one in place; and I can't just leave just because I'm bored. So, I'll be there tomorrow, for another ten-hour shift, counting the pounds in the pay-packet - admiring the lovely figures on my payslip.

Must speak to someone tomorrow about going part-time before I do something stupid.

TIME, BEER & ROSES

I'm feeling a whole lot better about the job now; I had the fantastic idea to ask if I could go part-time, so it doesn't look so daunting. If I'm knackered just working 4 weeks 9-5, what would I be like ploughing through ten hour shifts? When I first looked at the rota these huge shifts seemed to be across five days but it's only 9-5 Saturday and 10-2 on Sunday. Hopefully I'll only have to do this one week; am sending up little prayers for part-time status. I won't have a life otherwise; won't have time to write, to finish the novels, play with my arty-farty stuff. I look at the pile of scrapbooking goodies I haven't had time to even open and wish I was ten years older and retired!

We all went for a drink in town last night; first time I've been in a pub for a couple of years, I think. Back to lovely pints of beer; went down a treat but I was kind of nervous of getting seriously pissed and being sick - never a good idea when you have lockjaw. I hadn't been in the Horseshoe Bar in an age, but I'd never been upstairs in the karioke lounge. It was amazing. Our two young men got up to sing and were fabulous; Billy-bob was brilliant at 'Bed of Roses' and got a standing ovation, which we started. A great night out to seal our new friendships.

I haven't had the energy to do anything here all week, even to put down the stuff that happened with Amazon on Thursday...I'll get to it later tonight, maybe.

DUMB, DUMB & DUMBER

Today was hard; I felt out of control and lost most of the time. This is the last few days of training then we will be let loose on the unsuspecting world; there will be help and supervision but I just pray that I don't feel like this, then. I have never felt so useless and stupid - I keep making the same mistakes over and over again; not immediately following each other, no: I get it right sometimes then go all to hell...it's a bit like pulling the petals off flowers, now you see it now you don't. Yesterday I was depressed and planning on looking for a job in a sandwich shop. Today I wanted to be a cleaner - I know how to do that, and I'm good.

I almost burst into tears this afternoon. I can't bear not being in control of my mind; it just won't do what I want it to do. By the end of the day I felt a little better but then I took a call that was someone accepting a quote he'd got earlier; I missed out a whole page of script!

It's so annoying to discover that you're much more stupid than you thought you were!

CUSTOMERS, HERE I AM!

Well, tomorrow is the last day of study in our training period; we take to the phones in the model office on Monday!!! My head is full of criteria, excesses and vehicle details, which will all drain right out when I answer my first call. We spent a day on the phones last week, doing sales, and that was a complete nightmare. The talking to customers was fine; it was just the idea of keeping them on hold while we bumbled around trying not to make serious mistakes. It’s amazing how the mind copes with the strain of all this – it just pops off on holiday, dressed in a Hawaiian shirt and flip-flops.

Customer Support is a little different; we’ve spent a few hours listening-in to seasoned agents, some of them pretty fresh meat themselves. I’m sure I’m going to like the job; I mean what’s not to like? There are quiet times when you can chat to colleagues, read your email, scribble some poetry or have a quick manicure…and, you get your own desk where all kinds of paraphernalia can adorn the divider in front of you. I’ve never had a job with a desk; I’m 53 and have my own desk - isn’t that cute? They operate a tidy desk policy, so I don’t think plants are allowed, but I can have a photo of one, I suppose.

I do like the idea of just sitting there, queen of my little castle, solving myriad problems with a click of my wand/mouse…oh my god, I’m the Fairy Godmother!

I'M BACK IN THE SADDLE, AT LAST

I am sooo knackered. Just got in from another gruelling day sitting down, listening and practising telesales; we have to do two days on the phone in sales…TOMORROW, as part of our training before we move on to the last two weeks. It’s scary stuff. I’m not scared of the talking on the phone but I hate the thought of ending up in a clunky babble and keeping the customers on the line for ages waiting for their quote. I know I’ll be alright eventually; it’s just trying to remember all the information that’s clogging up inside my head, and to get the right bits out at the right time.

I haven’t had time to go to Amazon’s and get online but we’ve got the landline here at Musician’s now, so everything is just hunky-dory. I've got him cooking lovely food at the moment so I will be quick here, for now. We're having bacon, sausage and scrambled egg; scrambled eggs with cheese is his speciality.

A BUSY LITTLE DAY

Well I got the lovely job; at least I hope it'll be lovely. I was out and about all day yesterday; all the things I had planned went off like a dream - timed to perfection.

I did my surfing at Amazon's new flat, had a bath and washed my hair there - because I'd given her my hairdrier and haven't found the other one yet. Then it was off to Morag's for lunch; she's kind of saying goodbye to her close friends and family because she goes in for a huge operation next Thursday and might not come out of it. She has Crohn's disease and had an operation that left her with a fistula (a hole in the wound that leaks into a bag) nearly two years ago. She could carry on living like that but she's had enough and wants to take the chance that they can successfully fix it. So I'm sending up prayers for her and if anyone wants to join in please do. It's an eight hour operation; a long time to be under the knife. My daughter was under for over five hours and that wait was a nightmare - especially after the surgeon had impressed upon us the fifty-fifty chance of death.

6pm found me and Musician buying tickets (buy one get one free with orange wednesday) to see TRANSFORMERS; it was a great movie - amazing how they make those intricate movements. Musician is always listening for interesting sounds; he'll get me to buy him DVDs so he can copy little snippets of sound, like explosions, and all kinds of whizz-bangs to use in his compositions.

Then it was straight back in a taxi for the third episode of HEROES on telly. It's so long since I saw the first two that I've forgotten a lot of it, but a little came back as I watched. I'll be working three twelve-hour shifts in the weeks to come and won't be able to follow all of it; working three days on and three off, but I haven't been able to follow serials for years - I'll buy it on DVD then I can have whole days to catch up.

TAKING WHAT WE GET

My god, Carrie is broken-hearted indeed; she called me last night in a real state. I keep telling her that it's okay to grieve, because it is like a death. Now all the unanswered questions are surfacing - bitterness and anger taking over in short bursts. I stand outside this evidence of love and thank my stars that I am completely closed for this kind of business. It's just excruciating to watch, knowing that there's nothing you can do except stand by as support and wait, till she moves on, till she gets over him - till hell's fires blink out.

I am lounging in Amazon's new flat, using her phone line; I have arranged for BT engineers to come put in a line at Musician's but it'll be two weeks. Soon, the smoky air will assault my lungs as we clear out more of our ruined possessions, then it's off back to prepare Musician's flat for decoration; I'll probably be there a few months.

The interviews went well and I should hear by tomorrow if I've got the job the agency has put me forward for; if so, I'll begin on Monday. If not, they'll set me on to something else. It's all call centre, customer services stuff; I'm trying to avoid the sales work first; I'll take them if I can't get in anywhere else - I haven't really got experience in this field so will have to take what I get in the long run.

BACK IN THE LAND OF THE ETHER

Well, the culprit was number two son; Musician had disabled the modem to make the laptop go faster while he was playing with the lovely thing. I had to trudge back to his flat this afternoon to get him to fix it; couldn't phone him because his phone is still in the pawn! I was not best pleased when I discovered what he'd done.

I've got an interview tomorrow afternoon for a job in a call centre; got to dress formally and not got a lot to choose from, so it'll have to be the navy crepe dress. I did think of popping into town to buy a new white shirt because I've got a couple of pairs of new black trousers but when I knew that the laptop was alright I couldn't wait to get back to Amazon's flat and play online. Right now the lovely navy dress is swinging on a carrier-bag-rope I've strung across the veranda...and we have SUNSHINE in Glasgow today; it's very hot, quite tropical actually, for here.

I'm going to Aberdeen on Wednesday for a few days, so will not be writing writing writing as planned; I've only got about 500 words done of the sex scene I'm writing for the novel. I wanted to post it for my online writing group. So, the new plan is to get a least a thousand words tonight and see what they think of it. I want it done before I go.

As for the rejections; I can only find one, which was a short story for a lit. mag. called Planet, but they said that they liked it but couldn't offer publication, that they had so much stuff. So, I'm happy enough. I don't know if there are others that Amazon has misplaced; it took me ages to find my mail - and she couldn't find it after a good search.

I have to go now and use up the old milk on my Slimfast shakes.

SAYING GOODBYE TO TORQUAY

This is Torquay, pretty at a distance.

Torquay Harbour, winter sunset.

My 'Pink Rock Bum' I found this on Babbacombe Beach a couple of years ago. Don't ya just luv it?

I took my last walk downtown today, didn't have long so I stayed in town, mostly in Waterstones with a latte; see, I live at the seaside, and what do I do? Spend my time off, even in July, sitting in a bookshop! I don't deserve lovely locations - I should live in a block of flats in a manky city, which is just where I will be for the next few months, living with Musician. I can't even talk to him on the phone 'cause he's pawned it! He's probably spent all his cash on getting whatever he's pawned of mine out before I get back!

I'm all packed, and poor old Clara Bow has been weeping half the day. But she was better than I expected, and though she is upset, she understands why I have to go. She really is a sweetie.

REJECTION

Some of the things waiting for me at home are rejections; I don't know how many and what they are - so I'm looking forward to finding that out! But rejection doesn't faze me; been there done that - it's all part and parcel of a creative life and if you can't deal with it you're in for a rough time. An old friend of mine from Northumberland used to growl at the postman...

'Oh I know what you've got in there mister,' she'd mutter, while watching him stroll around the cul de sac; and there were several post boxes she refused to use because she always got rejections from them!

I just need to catch up with my mail and get the work back out there again.

I'm counting the days now; three to go, then I'll be out of here in a taxi by eleven on Tuesday morning to catch my train to Bristol. I've got an afternoon flight this time; I can't usually catch this but I think they must've changed it. So, I'll be in Glasgow by about 5pm. Really looking forward to this move; it's cost me a fortune to post my stuff - three parcels so far is approx. £35 and that's not counting the twenty quid I paid to send Amazon's goodies special delivery! I could have bought a car down here and drove it all up; but that would've taken all day and a lot of the night...and in this heat, with the traffic. Glad I've done it this way.

Clara Bow asked me how long I would be in Glasgow and I almost freaked; I don't want to actually lie to her but I don't want to tell her yet - she'd drive me insane. When my back to back said she was taking seven weeks off in the summer, Clara begged me to cover it; she said she didn't want a stranger. When I balked at seven and said I could do five, she wept. I told her I'd think about it, and after a couple of hours I said I'd do it. I've done seven weeks before, but that was with lovely Joan and Pete. I fobbed Clara off by telling her I was staying with Musician for a while then popping over to Loch Lomond to spend time with TocToc and the kids, then I changed the subject. It's been a long shift.

I had to tell her that I was leaving for good; couldn't justify lying. She was actually fine about it, and understood that my daughter needed me after the fire - and she knew that I was anxious to find out what was lost of my stuff that had been stored in Amazon's flat. Poor old Clara Bow; she weeps a little every now and then about who she's going to get now and will they leave her alone - because I've spent my time off (when there's no visitors) sitting at the dining table with the laptop so she won't be alone: there's not many carers will do that! I do feel sorry that I'm leaving her to begin again with strangers but am also quietly excited about a new life unfolding - I've been running around the world for four years, and it's time to go home. I've given her seven months of good care; it's not been as wonderful as the time I spent with Joan and Pete - they spoiled me for other jobs. I know that I'm not going to continue doing care-work; time to move on.