Adele Archer's Blog, page 7
March 10, 2018
We are the Champions, My Friends
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Well, I wasn’t supposed to be writing a blog this weekend (I mean, I was, but I couldn’t be arsed). And some may argue – quite rightly – that this isn’t really a blog post at all (if a blog is to be considered a thousand words or more, which it isn’t – it can be as long as you like). So, this is rather an impromptu blog written on the day of publication – which I hate to do. For one thing, it means the editing process is likely to be sh*te under par. Anyhoo, I digress. I’m writing today to advise you that we attended our local school’s annual pop quiz last night. I’ve written about this before (HERE, it’s up to you, but I’d suggest you read it to get a feel of how important such a trivial event has become to me), and I wasn’t intending to write about it again. However, after many, many, many years of trying, (and usually placing third) last night, our long-term team, the Quizlamic Extremists…won!
[image error]Top of the scoreboard.
Coupled with being rather hungover, which comes from drinking too much gin (a drink I should never touch because it makes me overly-competitive and a tad aggressive), I am still in a bit of a state of shock over this. Like I say, I hadn’t even prepared a blog, because I didn’t think you’d really want to hear about us coming third again. And third was really all I was expecting last night – at best. I’m just not sure how it came about. I think our performance was similar to past performances. Some may say that there were a few key pop quiz super-brains missing from the contestant list (some may, but not I), some may say that it was a fluke (some may, but not I). I say we won it fair and square. I say the stars finally aligned. I say it was just out time. And the universe decreed it. Which isn’t an overstatement at all.
[image error]The most gracious winners ever…
So, what to do now. Next year NONE of our team will have a single child attending this primary school. And some may think now is a time to bow out gracefully. I mean, what if we came back next year and…I’m retching as I write this…didn’t win…? Next year, all our team’s kids will be attending the same secondary school. Perhaps it’s time to drift on to that school’s quiz (every school seems to have a quiz for parents, it’s the law). But it’s not a pop quiz, it’s general knowledge. And my general knowledge is okay – but music is my thing. And could it ever be the wild and debauched affair that this longstanding pop quiz has become? I mean, it’s utterly mental. If you were a fly on the wall, you’d be horrified that most of us are actually parents.
[image error]We’ve broken the glass on this already…
Anyway, as I sit here at my laptop, frequently glancing with a happy gaze at the winner’s gold disk (our team comprising of three couples, decided that I needed to take the disk home for the first stint. They thought I might cry if I didn’t. They’re wrong, though. It was never about the prize, it was about the winning – and gloating. Plus, we need to give the plaque back next year anyway, so it’s not really ours), I’m thinking that life is pretty good. Perhaps last night wasn’t life-changing, but it was a little victory, and I’m fairly sure that life is made up of those – not large ones. So, you must celebrate your victories when they come about – and gloat a little bit, if you want. And I do want.
PS: Well done and thanks to Danielle, Jo, Gareth, and Adam – the team. Sorry you couldn’t be there again, Robin. But if you will insist stag do’s are more important than the annual pop quiz, then… And thanks again to the quiz organisers. You rock. I’d also like to thank my mother, my agent…
PPS: A longer blog next time, I promise. Well, I don’t promise. Not on my life, anyway. And when ‘next time’ may be, one can never be sure.
We are the Champions, My Friends
[image error]
Well, I wasn’t supposed to be writing a blog this weekend (I mean, I was, but I couldn’t be arsed). And some may argue – quite rightly – that this isn’t really a blog post at all (if a blog is to be considered a thousand words or more, which it isn’t – it can be as long as you like). So, this is rather an impromptu blog written on the day of publication – which I hate to do. For one thing, it means the editing process is likely to be sh*te under par. Anyhoo, I digress. I’m writing today to advise you that we attended our local school’s annual pop quiz last night. I’ve written about this before (HERE, it’s up to you, but I’d suggest you read it to get a feel of how important such a trivial event has become to me), and I wasn’t intending to write about it again. However, after many, many, many years of trying, (and usually placing third) last night, our long-term team, the Quizlamic Extremists…won!
[image error]Top of the scoreboard.
Coupled with being rather hungover, which comes from drinking too much gin (a drink I should never touch because it makes me overly-competitive and a tad aggressive), I am still in a bit of a state of shock over this. Like I say, I hadn’t even prepared a blog, because I didn’t think you’d really want to hear about us coming third again. And third was really all I was expecting last night – at best. I’m just not sure how it came about. I think our performance was similar to past performances. Some may say that there were a few key pop quiz super-brains missing from the contestant list (some may, but not I), some may say that it was a fluke (some may, but not I). I say we won it fair and square. I say the stars finally aligned. I say it was just out time. And the universe decreed it. Which isn’t an overstatement at all.
[image error]The most gracious winners ever…
So, what to do now. Next year NONE of our team will have a single child attending this primary school. And some may think now is a time to bow out gracefully. I mean, what if we came back next year and…I’m retching as I write this…didn’t win…? Next year, all our team’s kids will be attending the same secondary school. Perhaps it’s time to drift on to that school’s quiz (every school seems to have a quiz for parents, it’s the law). But it’s not a pop quiz, it’s general knowledge. And my general knowledge is okay – but music is my thing. And could it ever be the wild and debauched affair that this longstanding pop quiz has become? I mean, it’s utterly mental. If you were a fly on the wall, you’d be horrified that most of us are actually parents.
[image error]We’ve broken the glass on this already…
Anyway, as I sit here at my laptop, frequently glancing with a happy gaze at the winner’s gold disk (our team comprising of three couples, decided that I needed to take the disk home for the first stint. They thought I might cry if I didn’t. They’re wrong, though. It was never about the prize, it was about the winning – and gloating. Plus, we need to give the plaque back next year anyway, so it’s not really ours), I’m thinking that life is pretty good. Perhaps last night wasn’t life-changing, but it was a little victory, and I’m fairly sure that life is made up of those – not large ones. So, you must celebrate your victories when they come about – and gloat a little bit, if you want. And I do want.
PS: Well done and thanks to Danielle, Jo, Gareth, and Adam – the team. Sorry you couldn’t be there again, Robin. But if you will insist stag do’s are more important than the annual pop quiz, then… And thanks again to the quiz organisers. You rock. I’d also like to thank my mother, my agent…
PPS: A longer blog next time, I promise. Well, I don’t promise. Not on my life, anyway. And when ‘next time’ may be, one can never be sure.
We are the Champions, My Friends
[image error]
Well, I wasn’t supposed to be writing a blog this weekend (I mean, I was, but I couldn’t be arsed). And some may argue – quite rightly – that this isn’t really a blog post at all (if a blog is to be considered a thousand words or more, which it isn’t – it can be as long as you like). So, this is rather an impromptu blog written on the day of publication – which I hate to do. For one thing, it means the editing process is likely to be sh*te under par. Anyhoo, I digress. I’m writing today to advise you that we attended our local school’s annual pop quiz last night. I’ve written about this before (HERE, it’s up to you, but I’d suggest you read it to get a feel of how important such a trivial event has become to me), and I wasn’t intending to write about it again. However, after many, many, many years of trying, (and usually placing third) last night, our long-term team, the Quizlamic Extremists…won!
[image error]Top of the scoreboard.
Coupled with being rather hungover, which comes from drinking too much gin (a drink I should never touch because it makes me overly-competitive and a tad aggressive), I am still in a bit of a state of shock over this. Like I say, I hadn’t even prepared a blog, because I didn’t think you’d really want to hear about us coming third again. And third was really all I was expecting last night – at best. I’m just not sure how it came about. I think our performance was similar to past performances. Some may say that there were a few key pop quiz super-brains missing from the contestant list (some may, but not I), some may say that it was a fluke (some may, but not I). I say we won it fair and square. I say the stars finally aligned. I say it was just out time. And the universe decreed it. Which isn’t an overstatement at all.
[image error]The most gracious winners ever…
So, what to do now. Next year NONE of our team will have a single child attending this primary school. And some may think now is a time to bow out gracefully. I mean, what if we came back next year and…I’m retching as I write this…didn’t win…? Next year, all our team’s kids will be attending the same secondary school. Perhaps it’s time to drift on to that school’s quiz (every school seems to have a quiz for parents, it’s the law). But it’s not a pop quiz, it’s general knowledge. And my general knowledge is okay – but music is my thing. And could it ever be the wild and debauched affair that this longstanding pop quiz has become? I mean, it’s utterly mental. If you were a fly on the wall, you’d be horrified that most of us are actually parents.
[image error]We’ve broken the glass on this already…
Anyway, as I sit here at my laptop, frequently glancing with a happy gaze at the winner’s gold disk (our team comprising of three couples, decided that I needed to take the disk home for the first stint. They thought I might cry if I didn’t. They’re wrong, though. It was never about the prize, it was about the winning – and gloating. Plus, we need to give the plaque back next year anyway, so it’s not really ours), I’m thinking that life is pretty good. Perhaps last night wasn’t life-changing, but it was a little victory, and I’m fairly sure that life is made up of those – not large ones. So, you must celebrate your victories when they come about – and gloat a little bit, if you want. And I do want.
PS: Well done and thanks to Danielle, Jo, Gareth, and Adam – the team. Sorry you couldn’t be there again, Robin. But if you will insist stag do’s are more important than the annual pop quiz, then… And thanks again to the quiz organisers. You rock. I’d also like to thank my mother, my agent…
PPS: A longer blog next time, I promise. Well, I don’t promise. Not on my life, anyway. And when ‘next time’ may be, one can never be sure.
February 24, 2018
The First Two Months of Living Dangerously (Possibly the Last)
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Hello, ‘tis I once more! ‘Who?’ I hear you cry. I know, you’ve almost forgotten me. You’ve almost (happily) deluded yourself into believing the only Adele you’ve ever heard of is the famous one who doesn’t need a surname – like I do. But don’t worry (you weren’t worried), I’m still here! Just about. Now, I’ve been deliberating over this particular blog, and I really don’t want to put you through yet another ‘thespian’ post, and yet I’m going to. Look, rehearsing and performing are the ONLY thing I’ve been doing these last two months, so if I didn’t talk about that, the only thing left to discuss would be my unhealthy love of cheese. And I’m not sure even I could spin a thousand words out of that. So, I’m afraid a postmortem of my acting debut must be written before I can move on to pastures new.
[image error]The Twits, by kind permission of Thom and Jacs (if I’d asked permission, which I didn’t).
To recap – and in case I didn’t bore you to death enough with it the first thirty-eight times – I have just been in a play; Roald Dahl’s ‘The Twits’, to be precise. Yep, I’ve dipped my toe in the dramatic waters of theatre; it’s all over – done and dusted. And did I enjoy it? Well yes, by and large, it was a blast – a very bloody stressful blast. No, honestly, it was great, but during the preceding weeks there were many, many, many times when I said to myself, ‘why the hell are you putting yourself through this?’ and ‘I am NEVER doing this again!’ and ‘why doesn’t anybody in my family put their sodding shoes back on the shoe wrack?’. But said I wanted to live dangerously; I said I wanted to step out of my comfort zone, and I can categorically state I stepped WAAAAAAYYYYYY out of it. Yet, in spite of the nail-biting angst, I’d say the performance nights were a big success. People came, people laughed (when they were supposed to), and nothing too terrible happened. Actually, the show was totally sold out weeks in advance – which I understand is unheard of – and certainly not because of me. You’re thinking of the wrong Adele. But the full-house-ness (real word) didn’t please me a great deal, it merely increased my sense of trepidation more so.
[image error]The Roly-Poly Bird (aka me).
The biggest drawbacks to this thespian lifestyle arose due to my own crippling self-doubt. I’ve got to admit I spent the lead-up feeling continually anxious; I confess I let fear of failure consume me a wee bit. It was far worse than publishing my novels for public inspection for the first time (I could still hide away in the comfort of my own bedroom under a duvet when I did that). But there is nowhere to hide when you’re on the stage. I was so afraid I’d **** it up, I spent weeks and weeks worrying about it, and weeks and weeks more pouring over my lines like a demon. If I’d worked this hard on any of my exams when I was younger, I would probably be a very successful woman right now (but I didn’t – hence I am not). But that’s what fear does to you, and I was truly afraid. To be fair, that fear resulting in strict revision paid off; I didn’t forget a single line on performance nights. I may have come on too early once, and not come on soon enough to remove a table on another occasion (ha-ha-ha, I can laugh about it now), but other than that, I didn’t really put a foot wrong. The trouble is, even the few mistakes I did make, at the time, I beat myself up over them. I couldn’t just tell myself, ‘well, never mind, it’s an amateur production’. I assured myself the mistakes wouldn’t have happened if somebody else had been chosen to play my part. I assured myself that the theatre group were ruing the day that table-forgetting woman ever turned up at the auditions. I assured myself the audience were rolling their eyes in irritable contempt. But that was anxiety talking, self-imposed anxiety. If I stop and think about it logically; I largely did okay. I can’t tell you if I acted terribly well, I was far too busy trying to summon-up my lines at the right time, and at what point to exit and enter the stage, and how many seconds I had left to change costume again to be entirely certain if I did the role any justice. You movie and TV actors with your cuts and retakes don’t know you’re born!
[image error]The lovely cast of twelve.
Still, the best part is, I’ve worked with some lovely adults, teens and kids – all extremely talented with bright dramatic futures ahead of them. The cast were just very likeable people of all ages – and the kids couldn’t have been sweeter or more polite. The ‘Twits’ themselves were true pros, the monkeys had skills beyond their years, and the puppeteers were magnificent. I’m not so sure about the Roly-Poly Bird – she was a bit ropey. I must admit I did envy those kids in the cast sometimes. They seemed to take everything in their stride – happily mucking around in the greenroom, blasting out music on their phones from ‘The Greatest Showman’ pre-show. Some of them even had a school production going on in unison with our play, and they never seemed phased (maybe they were, but they didn’t show it). I wish I’d done a bit more am-drams when I was a child, perhaps it would be second nature to me by now. I had less to worry about as a kid, but lots has happened since then, and I’m just not that happy-go-lucky youngster anymore. When you’re an adult, that unshakeable notion that every little thing you do must be performed flawlessly and with perfect precision is far too heightened. Well, it is for me.
[image error]The Roly-Poly Bird (aka me again).
So, the million-dollar question; would I do it again? Right now, I’m not entirely sure. There are actually auditions this week for an upcoming July production (a show I secretly quite fancy a part in – there’s a small part for a baddie I feel I’d like to have a crack at – well, somebody mentally disturbed. And who’d make a better mentally disturbed baddie than me?). But, I’ve weighed up the pros and cons and I’ve decided I’m not going to attend. No, I’m sorry, you can’t convince me otherwise. I’ve made my choice. I am greatly in need of a break. I just require a few months without anything to worry about; without anything scary looming in the near future (well, things that I can control, anyway). Maybe I’ll audition for the next show after that, we’ll see. I do have this deep-seated desire to sing publicly, and not just karaoke in my friend’s front room (God knows why), so I’m counting on a musical so that I can strike that dream off my bucket list next. Or maybe I’ll just join a choir. My friend Jo assures me there is nothing better for your mental health than singing as a part of a group. She read an article about it (possibly THIS one). I google it do the research so you don’t have to. You’re welcome. But as life-affirming as singing in a group may be, I still want a solo (just so we’re clear; I’m still an introvert with an extrovert trying by very drastic measures to get out).
What I will say about my dramatic experience is that it has really made me want to start writing again – books, not just blogs. I don’t know why, and I haven’t been magically gifted with some plot inspiration because of the play – unfortunately. I’ve simply been reminded writing is a slightly less stressful hobby that I truly miss. And hopefully, once I’ve had my little hiatus (mostly consisting of lying around on sofas eating cheese), I’ll really miss treading the boards too. You never know.
NB: I pinky-swear that I will most definitely be talking about something other than ‘acting, darlings’ next week. However, I couldn’t swear on a stack of bibles that the blog won’t be cheese-related.
February 3, 2018
Nothing to Fear but Fear Itself (and Roald Dahl dialogue).
I apologise. I’m nowhere to be seen in the blogasphere lately (‘hooray!’ says everybody). My life is currently a little bit mental, so sitting down and writing a blog just seemed like an impossible task. It still is, so this probably won’t be a long one (‘hooray!’ says everybody). This craziness is totally self-inflicted, so I’m trying not to whinge about it. Okay, I am totally going to whinge about it, because to do anything else would be so totally out of character that you’d all be thinking there was some ‘invasion of the body snatchers’ type deal going on. As you know, from past (but very similar) blog posts, I am soon to be starring as The Roly-Poly Bird in an local performance of Roald Dahl’s ‘The Twits’. I’m really sorry to go on and on and on about my upcoming theatre debut (YET AGAIN), but it is an all-consuming issue in my life right now. D-day is fast approaching. The 15th February, actually. That’s…like…less than two weeks? Yes, in less than a fortnight I am going to be up on stage for the first time since school, very possibly making a total bloody arse out of myself. I am so afraid of the looming prospect that I can’t quite put it into words. And I call myself a writer (ahem).
[image error]Quentin Blake’s Roly-Poly Bird
I have to say this production has been a complete whirlwind – perhaps only ten weeks of rehearsals (discounting the week off over Christmas), and BOOM, off you go, Adele, get up there and perform! Eeek! I have somehow acquired approximately 88 sets of lines (some are short lines, but some are sizeable chunks). I do appreciate that Mr and Mrs Twit have a far bigger task than myself and are doing it admirably, but my part has somehow become the third largest (what with all the extra narration thrown in). And I’ve found it a little bit tricky to get my head around it all. I guess this maybe wasn’t the ideal first production for me; I guess I was expecting a smaller part to wet my beak, as it were (do you see what I did there? I’m The Roly-Poly Bird! I know, this blog isn’t just thrown together. Most of the time…). So this is a bit of a baptism of fire. Maybe it’s the best way. I’ve been thrown in at the deep end, and I’ll either sink or swim.
[image error]Thank you, Erin, for the app advice!
I have a newfound respect for actors. I always used to sit in the audience watching a play, or watching a TV series or movie, and I’m ashamed to say that I often thought, ‘I could do it better than that’. But the vital thing I’d forgotten was that whilst that actor was trying to portray a character, they were also attempting to remember a vast number of lines. That’s two very difficult things to do at once. I never really took stage-fright into account either – until now. I can totally see my mind going blank on the night. I know my lines. I’ve worked damned hard so that I know my lines, but the added extra pressure of stage-fright was never something I’d factored into the already very big equation.
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I’ve recently been using an online/virtual cue card system to help with the line-learning process. It’s called Quizlet (thank God for modern technology! And thank God for daughters that know about modern technology [Erin]!). What you do is write in the line before yours, then write in your line on the ‘virtual’ reverse of your cue card. Then you test yourself on a daily basis (sometimes three times a day if you’re as terrified of f***ing up as I am). It’s fantastic. But it isn’t foolproof. If the person with the line before yours forgets their line, you’re screwed. If the person with the line before yours doesn’t speak like a robot (as does the audio voice in Quizlet) you’re equally screwed. Also, Quizlet gives you no overall sense of the play as an entire entity (and not just a random bunch of lines). So I regularly have to read the play itself to memorise the order of events. But still, thank God for Quizlet.
A friend of mine paid me a compliment recently. I don’t think he wanted to because we’re very British and compliment-paying isn’t really in our nature. Nevertheless, a compliment was paid. He said he admired how I’d ‘thought about doing a thing, then did a thing’ (i.e. not just dreamed about going to an audition, but actually getting up and going). Maybe it’s something about being in my forties, I stopped just dreaming about writing and publishing books in this decade too. Anyway, I was very grateful for the compliment. The trouble is, just thinking about doing a thing, then doing a thing doesn’t always necessitate that you’re going to do the thing with any level of success.
[image error]Learning lines has been unexpectedly hideous…
There have been times over this last couple of months that I’ve wanted to punch Roald Dahl (God rest his soul) right in the neck for the overly-repetitive lines I’ve been given (though it’s really more the fault of David Wood who adapted The Twits into a play). But I’m trying to think of the positives. Maybe I’ll get a big old buzz out of this. Maybe I’ll be hooked on treading the boards. Or maybe I’ll be a miserable failure and I’ll wish I’d never told anybody I was even in a play, then at least I could have performed to a hall-full of randoms for four days in a row – instead of people I actually know. I’m such an idiot.
Anyway, I just needed to vent about this very current fear of failure I’m facing (that’s a lot of ‘Fs’ in one sentence, isn’t it?). I’m not merely afraid of letting myself down, but a cast-full of very talented actors and a long-standing theatre group who are only as good as their last production. Still, next time I speak to you, I hope very much to be talking about something completely different other than amateur dramatics. No, that’s a lie, I will almost certainly be dissecting how the play turned out in minute detail – hopefully for all the right reasons – not because of how unbelievably terrible I was. But the post after that – yeah, that one will defo be about something else…like cats or something (‘hooray!’ says everybody).
PS: Sorry, 1000-odd words is still kind of a long blog. I guess I really needed to vent…
January 13, 2018
This IS the Blog you are Looking For…
Next month, I will celebrate my third year in blogging. Woo-ha! I know, I should have written this blog in February, but I’m not very good at waiting for things. I mean, in early February, I could fall down a ravine or be trapped under something heavy. So why put off until tomorrow what you can do today? That’s the motto I always live by (I don’t). Therefore, with this (ahem) astonishing landmark coming up (which I haven’t quite reached yet), I have revamped my site. I hope you like it. I’m a bit concerned that it’s very generic and looks like a lot of other blog sites, but I think it’s cleaner and more polished. Anyway, I think I’m stuck with it now. The old template seems to have been retired, so I don’t think I can go back even if I wanted to. Oh, and I’ve updated my head-shot to reflect my semi-blondness. So don’t worry if you think you’re reading somebody else’s blog. You aren’t, it’s still mine. This is the blog you are looking for. I think. But as-per-uzsh, I’m not feeling especially ecstatic to have scraped through another year on the blogosphere (and I mean scraped). Every year it gets harder to stay motivated; every year I wonder how much longer…I will be here. And yet I’m still standing, as Elton John would say. And I suppose that’s because I still have thoughts I believe to be worth sharing rattling around my head.
…in with the new.Anyway, whinging aside, this post isn’t really about blogging, as such. It’s more about writing as a whole; writing books, if I’m honest. And as my third anniversary as a blogger comes around (and certainly my third anniversary of being a self-published author – that I did do in January 2015), I’ve noticed just how much I miss writing. I must never forget that writing books is the reason I’m a blogger at all. I wouldn’t be here writing this post now if it hadn’t been for the books. To be an author, you must have a blog – dem’s the rules. Sometimes I miss writing novels so much that I almost feel a little heartsick about it. That sounds very melodramatic, but it’s true. If I think about it for too long, I feel incredibly sad – my safety valve has gone. And I know what you’re thinking, ‘write a novel, then’ (thanks, you’re no help, Mr State-the-Obvious). Because that’s not the way it works – not for me, anyway. I need a clear plan; I need a defined destination of what I’m writing and exactly how I want it to end. Even if the middle bit is a bit fuzzy, that’s okay, but I need to know where I’m going. And although I have flashes of ideas, that’s not enough for me to commit to making a start.
[image error]Go follow my Amazon Author Page, you will literally never be reminded when I write a new book.
It’s not so much that I want to have a book (or screenplay) in progress for eventual publication. That’s not what I miss. It’s the very act of writing a story itself. I have spent countless years involved in writing my trilogy; be it the first or last draft stages, be it editing, or promoting (although I hate promoting). But I always had something to do. If I was waiting for an appointment in a GP surgery or sitting in a car to collect a child from one of their various extracurricular activities, I always had a laptop handy to pull out and crack on with some writing or editing. In my free time, I always had employment. And now I don’t. It’s not that I’m not busy. I am – crazy busy. I feel like I’m never at home. I have a busy work schedule and rehearsals and ‘Adele’s Kid’s Taxi Service’ to keep me thoroughly occupied. But I just don’t have…the book. And the book wasn’t ‘work’. I simply enjoyed doing it.
I miss being lost in it. I miss being engrossed in something. I miss the escapism. That escapism has now gone – there is no escape from real life. I am immersed in real life 24-7. And since I once had a get-out clause, that’s kind of hard to take. I have come to realise, since finishing my trilogy, that the books were pivotal to my mental health. Whenever anything unpleasant or downright awful happened, I would bury myself in the writing. When my sister died, I did little else but write. It got me through tough times that I’m not sure I would have made it through without it. Some may think it was just a way of running away from my problems. Maybe so, but it worked. I was a happier person because of the books.
This blog makes me happy too, don’t get me wrong. I am very proud of it. Let’s not forget, without the blog I wouldn’t currently be writing at all. I do love the way it can bring you closer to friends and people you’ve never even met before. Finally, you can be 100% honest with yourself and everyone else. If people didn’t understand you before, they certainly do after reading your blog for a while. When I’ve got a topic to write about, I can fill a contented couple of hours getting it all down, polishing and editing it into the wonderfully-crafted piece like the one you see before you (I am joking, don’t worry). But those couple of hours have soon gone. That blog post is done and dusted. You just have to worry about dreaming up the next one. And I think that’s the crux of the problem. It means I’m forced to start something new. And I’m not particularly fond of new things. I much prefer tried-and-tested, familiar ones.
[image error]I realise a light-sabre would have assisted this visual gag, but it’s gone missing.
Anyway, I will start a new project this year; I feel sure of it. But I’m not going to get started in some half-arsed, cockamamie way. I’m not even going to attempt to write anything until I have a proper vision in mind. If I ain’t feeling it, I ain’t doing it (perhaps that should say, doin’, I’m not sure. I haven’t lived in East London for a long time). I couldn’t give a monkey’s-toss if it’s something I feel confident enough about to publish and let human beings read, I just want to be writing something that means a lot to me; something I care about. And whilst I wait for that day, I still have my three-year-old (nearly) blog to fall back on. It may not be the blog you are looking for, but you’ll still listen to me bleat on every (within reason) Saturday morning, won’t you…?
PS: I promise I won’t crow too much about my blog’s three-year birthday next month…because, well, I already have.
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December 30, 2017
2018: A Year of Living Dangerously…
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2017 is about to draw its final breath. 2017, of course, was unlucky enough to have to follow 2016 – which was an unbelievably sh*tty year, I think we can all agree. Everything went wrong in that year: Deaths on both a personal and celebrity level, terrible political decisions, too many kitchen appliances needing replacement…well, it was just the worst. And 2017 had no option but to be a year of reflection, a year of mending, a year of licking one’s wounds. But because of that, for me at least, I feel it was kind of a stagnant year (apart from going blonde, that was a bit of a departure for me). But then, my life has been kind of stagnant for a while… You know what? I think there’s something about being a parent; it makes you play it safe. Or at least, it really should. Those who carry on with their youthful, hedonistic, risk-taking lifestyle after childbirth are not doing a terribly good job. Having kids is partly about self-preservation; in that it isn’t all about you anymore, but you still must take better care of yourself. For one, you can’t take risks with your life or your health (your children need you), and secondly, you must live in a financially stable way (your children need to eat). And that’s all good, that’s the way it should be. Preserving yourself preserves them.
The trouble is, after a while, those children stop needing you quite so much, and you have gotten too used to playing it safe. And you can’t remember what it’s like to take a few risks – live on the edge a bit – because it’s been so long since you did. And that’s what I’ve been thinking about with 2018 looming just around the corner. My life has become a little too tame; a little too sedate. That’s fine and all, because I really rather like it that way. But the problem with a staid life is that you can get stuck in a rut, nothing amazing ever happens because you never take a chance on anything.
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My best homemade (and most fitting) meme ever, I think.
I have become rather too adapt at living a quiet life. I go to work, I come home from work, I cook a meal, we eat the meal, we have baths, we watch something on Netflix, we go to bed. We get up the next day and we do the same thing all over again. And that was the way I liked it. I’ve been largely very happy in life’s mundanity (stop underlining this word, WordPress, it’s in the bloody dictionary!) . So much so that whenever something comes along to break up the monotony (not that it’s really monotonous if you aren’t bored – and I’m not), I get anxious about it. I enjoy going out with friends – I really do – but the thought of it always makes me anxious. I know I’ll enjoy myself when I get there, but I worry about it. I worry I won’t have anything interesting to say, I worry I won’t be on form – or I won’t be funny enough (perish the thought!). That’s what living a safe life can do. You get scared about doing anything remotely new, or being someplace you don’t know like the back of your hand.
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I wish I was better at learning lines…
So, I have already made a start on spicing up 2018. As you know, I’ve joined a theatre group – and once I’ve got my head around that new facet of my life (which I haven’t, I moan about my hectic rehearsal schedule all the time), I aim to throw in a few more activities that are completely alien to my world. I’ve got to be honest, I’m not entirely thrilled with all these current and potential amendments. You see, I haven’t changed; I’m still the same person who truly enjoys living a quiet life. Living outside my comfort zone is…well…uncomfortable. I’ve never really enjoyed learning new things or meeting new people. I take an incredibly long time to grow accepting of new beings and new environments. I prefer my old friends and my own familiar surroundings. But I just feel that 2018 needs to be a year of pushing myself, even if it means pushing myself into places I don’t really want to be. Because if nothing changes, perhaps I’m not growing (apart from in size, I’ve eaten thirty times my body-weight in food on a daily basis this Christmas).
Of course, everybody needs something a little different to break up the day-to-day routine, and I suppose writing books was my difference; my escape. Not that I wanted to escape, as such. I did and still do like my calm little reality. But writing books was a way of living a different life through somebody else’s eyes. A life you can walk away from whenever you want to just by snapping shut the laptop. However, I haven’t written anything new (other than this blog) since the summer of 2017. I haven’t wanted to. I see other writers finish one book, and instantly start on a new and completely different one. And I think, wow, how were you inspired to create something else so quickly? I just want to eat cake and drink coffee. But I’d like to think that writing a new novel/play/screenplay in 2018 is on the cards. Currently, I am still not inspired to make a start, but maybe that’s because my life has become so safe that there aren’t any new experiences to write about or weave into a story. Maybe my quiet life is the cause of the (dare I say it) block. Which is a shame, because my quiet life is super secure and comfortable – and I enjoy it.
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But these guys will always the best part of my day
Like I said, changes in daily activities will invariably bring changes in people. But this year, I’d also like to make the most of the people who already exist in my life too. I am truly terrible when it comes to taking friends and family for granted. I, who should know better. I, who have had to learn the hard way that the people you care about won’t always be around. And yet there are still people I don’t see year-in, year-out, and I can only put that down to my debilitating apathy. Yes, that’s what it is – apathy. And another thing, my husband and I need to go out on the town by ourselves more. We have a babysitter on hand at all times (my seventeen-and-a-half-year-old), but we hardly ever ask her because we’re too lazy. And she’ll be at Uni by the end of next year, so time is running out on that score. Look, all I’m saying is I’m forty-six; I’m over halfway through my life. By now, I ought to have started doing some of the things on my bucket list. I don’t even have a bucket list! Why don’t I have a bucket list…?
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Because nothing says danger like cowgirls
To you, none of this may be classed as ‘living dangerously’. But for me, well, I’ve been playing it safe for far too long, and any change is a big deal. I’m not about to start riding a motorbike or take up base-jumping or eating cooked rice that’s two days old or anything. I enjoy being alive and I’m still a parent, and I think some risks just invite trouble. Let’s be clear, I haven’t altered my personality, and I don’t plan to. I’m still a bit boring and I make no apologies for it. I’m still going to relish those cosy nights sitting comatosed (did you know comatosed is only a word in the urban dictionary? Me either) on the sofa – we all need some downtime. But they say that change is as good as a rest (I can’t see how, rest is bloody awesome!), so maybe it’s time to start changing – living. Even if that means I’m not really enjoying myself, at least not at first anyway. Oh well, here goes. So, lastly and not leastly (not a real word), Happy New Year blog-friends. Let’s hope it’s a good one, without any fear. Well, maybe some fear, or we’d still be stuck in our comfort zones, wouldn’t we?
December 24, 2017
So, this is Christmas…
Credits to my daughter, Erin, for the photos
Here it is; my annual Christmas blog post! I’m publishing this on Christmas Eve because, let’s face it, tomorrow both you and I are going to be way too busy stuffing our faces with Cadbury’s ‘Heroes’ (probably not ‘Celebrations’ as I heard on the grapevine that they took out the nice ‘Maltesers’ chocs) to faff around with posting and reading blogs.
Last Christmas, I’m not ashamed to admit, I wasn’t in a very good place. No, I’m not talking about Swindon; I’m talking about emotionally (that is my very favourite joke, so again, apologies to Swindon). This year, well…I’d say I’m okay. But I must confess that I’ve not particularly enjoyed the Christmas build-up. I sound like a real Scrooge when I say that. I know my husband thinks I am. All I’ve had to do is attend a few school carol concerts, Christmas shows, rehearsals etc. All enjoyable once you’re there and in the moment, but the expectations on a parent, every night of the live-long week for a fortnight or more, it’s just a little relentless. I must say I was exceptionally relieved when Friday (just gone) bedtime rolled around.
I must count myself lucky; I have all of Christmas week off – hoorah (let the congaing commence)! But actually, I won’t be dancing; I will finally be letting my guard down. I am going to try to spend my entire week lying horizontally on some sofa somewhere (be it at my house or at somebody else’s) as much as womanly possible. But sitting here on Christmas Eve, I just want to talk about the stress we put ourselves through – simply so that the Christmas period can be as relaxed and as horizontal as possible.
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I’ve said this before, but one of my least favourite tasks is writing Christmas cards. It’s only then that you wish you’d been more of a hermit and not made any friends. I’m joking, of course, but although a necessary tradition that should never be scrapped (without Christmas cards, you’d lose contact with many people entirely), writing Christmas cards makes me want to kill myself. I did ALL of our family cards this year. I’m not sure how it happened, but one night, my husband said he would make the dinner if I wrote all the cards. And I agreed. Because I didn’t want to make dinner. But it really was the worst deal I ever made; Grannies, Great Aunts, friends, friends of friends, friends of dog’s friends – I wrote them all (horrible glittery things that they were. Can you die of glitter consumption? Because I have inhaled/consumed an unhealthy amount. Even to the people I knew full-well wouldn’t send cards or only send e-cards; I sent real cards to those people too. The feeling of smugness was my reward. Throwing a huge stack of cards into a post box on the last second-class posting day was exhilarating.
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Sadly, a couple of people were missed (eek)! An unlucky few friend’s addresses haven’t made it across from the archaic ‘address book of doom’ to my iPhone contacts (the address book is in an IKEA bookcase that I currently can’t reach because of a stack of records blocking the way [your fault, husband]). Then there are those people who have thoughtlessly moved house this year. I mean, they may have passed on their new address to my husband or myself in some way or another, but then again, maybe they didn’t. But either way, their lack of Christmas card can’t be my fault; they shouldn’t have moved house. I was still managing to ride the ‘smug train’ in spite of these errors. At least I was until I arrived home from the post office and saw a golden envelope on my mat with that familiar writing… No, it wasn’t from Willy Wonka; I have a very good British friend in America who always manages to catch the last foreign post to ensure I get a Christmas card. And nine times out of ten, I will have missed the last U.S. post (14th of December, folks – I don’t think I’d even bought Christmas cards by then). And what’s worse, her cards are always beautifully printed with a picture of her family on the front – with a lovely, thoughtful letter inside about their family news over the past year. Perhaps my friend is better off without my paltry effort (i.e. a crappy, glittery, asthma-inducing card from Sainsbury’s with my illegible scrawl all over it). Anyway, to my Anglo-American friend, those of you who are in the inaccessible address book of doom, those of you who have moved and neglected to tell me, and those I just plain forgot – I’m sorry. But you know you have my sincere thoughts and best wishes this Christmas – with or without a card.
On the plus side, I have managed to get out of wrapping the lion’s share of presents this Christmas (my other least favourite task). That job was delegated to my seventeen-year-old (who even uses string to jazz up her presents, so she does a better job than I ever would have). My eleven-year-old has also been roped-in. She uses a little too much paper for my liking, and sometimes her presents are a tad on the ‘baggy’ side, but she’s getting better – and it still beats me doing the wrapping.
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Having a weekend falling just before Christmas at first seemed like a good thing, but in actuality, it just means everybody is hitting the shops to do their last-minute panic-buying at the same time. I think I’m pretty much up-together on the present front – apart from my husband. What do you buy the man who buys things he wants the moment he thinks of them, and only really likes gifts he thought of himself? Hmm, answers on a postcard please. But by then it will be too late (it’s not too late, I got him a couple of gifts he won’t really like yesterday).
This blog is sounding a little too much like a Christmas rant – but it isn’t supposed to be. I’ve never liked the lead-up to Christmas, but Christmas itself is usually pretty great. And I’m just glad the run-in is nearly over. I’ll be spending Christmas day at my mother-in-law’s like I have for the past umpteen years. And no mother-in-law jokes are required. She’s the best, kindest, and most self-effacing MIL I could ask for. My kids are very lucky to have a Grandma like that. And now, I can’t imagine spending Christmas Day anywhere else. Apart from Santa, I don’t think anybody works harder than her to make Christmas perfect (although her efficiency does bring out my lazy streak, and I can usually be found lying horizontally on her sofa).
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Erin and the historically inaccurate cake
On Boxing Day, we have our own family Christmas Day – just the four of us – with yet another roast dinner (although probably a little less fancy than the day before). All the house presents are opened (I think it’s good to stagger children’s presents over two days, to ensure that present-opening doesn’t just become a chore). Then, hopefully, we might head out for our traditional Boxing Day walk in the country, which sometimes gets pushed over onto the 27th if we’re feeling particularly apathetic – which isn’t unknown for us. Board games will most certainly be on the menu, but usually carefully-vetted ones (by me) – there’s nothing worse than an overly complicated board game. I hate being giving instructions at the best of times – even less so at Christmas.
Anyway, that’s what we’ll be doing. I hope your day pans out in the traditional way that has become commonplace for you and your family. And if Christmas isn’t a jolly time in your life (we must never forget that it really isn’t for everybody) I hope you can enjoy the time off, at least, if you have any…
So, blog friends, it only remains for me to wish you the very best of Christmases. If your day cannot be merry and bright, may it be peaceful and pass without stressful or painful events. That said, I’m off to book my place on the sofa – because logistically, only so many people can be horizontal at one time. Happy Christmas to all, and to all a good night.
December 14, 2017
Hi-Diddly-Dee (an Actor’s Life for Me)!
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There are things in life you say you’re going to do for years and years (and I mean years), but at some point, you must simply bite the bullet and go for it. And that’s what I did about a week and a half ago. For many moons (about seventeen years to be precise), I’ve been threatening myself with the prospect of getting involved in Amateur Dramatics again. I even wrote a blog about it, ‘Exit Stage Left’. But only now did the time seem right.
I’d heard on the grapevine that our local theatre group were holding open auditions for a performance of Roald Dahl’s ‘The Twits’. It wasn’t my ideal choice of show; I liked the book well enough, but I was hoping my first foray into acting would be in musical theatre. As far as I can see, our local theatre group does alternate plays and musicals. Anyway, this one is a play. And I just didn’t feel I could put off dipping my toe in the water any longer. I couldn’t attend the last set of auditions because they coincided with my daughter’s school play. Who knew what would stand in the way next time? I’ve been involved in the world of am-drams in a very small way before – around the age of eighteen or so I did evening drama classes – before real life took over. But over the years I’ve been steadily losing my nerve with regards to getting back into it. Firstly, there were the years training to be a nurse, then there was full-time work (even shift-work at times), and starting a family. Only now that my children are seventeen and eleven have I felt ready to do something risky – do something for me.
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However, the thought of walking into that audition – a roomful of complete strangers – was a little more than my poor nerves could handle. But I recalled that a lovely author/blogger friend of mine, Lizzie Loughlin, had once commented on one of my blogs that she too had always had a penchant for doing some am-drams. Lizzie is not only an author/blogger friend, she and I also go way back, and are work colleagues. And fortunately for me, she lives just down the road. After persuading Lizzie to try-out for the play too, the audition date was set in stone. There was no wheedling my way out of it now…
The night of the audition arrived, and Lizzie and I nervously set out to our local music centre where try-outs were to be held. Neither Lizzie nor I quite knew what to expect, neither of us had attended an actual audition since school! On entering the room, we were surprised (and a little bit unnerved) to be greeted with a roomful of (mainly) children. Lizzie and I gave each other an awkward glance. Oh my God, what had I got her into? Had I misread the info? Was this a cast for kids only? Scouring the room with anxious eyes, we saw a few adults peppered about who appeared to be trying-out too. My nerves settled a little. But only a little. I remember sitting there trying to work out who was an established theatre group member and who was a newbie, like us. Only time would tell.
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Music Centre foyer.
Until that morning, I had almost forgotten the story of ‘The Twits’, but luckily I’d sat through the audio book before work to refresh my memory. I believe that little bit of prep proved to be helpful. Soon enough, my name was called out (the first name to be called). We were assigned parts to establish what we were capable of. Firstly, I was to read for ‘The Roly-Poly Bird’ – an exotic bird who helps to foil The Twits. Lizzie was asked to read the part of ‘Mrs Muggle-Whump’ – the mother monkey. My heart hammering in my chest and trying to control the shakes, I did my bit, and I felt I held my own. I think the gods had been with me too, because ‘The Roly-Poly Bird’ is a great part, so I had a lot to work with. And Lizzie was an absolute natural as Mrs Muggle-Whump. The first obstacle was over. Being a fairly animated and energetic show (oh God…), we were then asked to follow and imitate a dance routine in groups. Ugh, I was useless! My coordination seemed to fail me that night, and I couldn’t memorise that routine no matter what. Would that count against me? In about forty minutes, it appeared the audition was drawing to a close. I was a mixture of pleased and disconcerted – I would get to go home (yay!) but I hadn’t really proved myself (boo! [you see? I have a talent for pantomime too]). Sure enough, it was then announced that everyone was free to leave unless they were trying-out for Mr and Mrs Twit. I had never particularly intended to be ‘a Twit’, but I turned to Lizzie and said, “shall we… since we’re here…?” Lizzie shook her head adamantly. We were both new to am-drams and a leading role was not something she could face so soon. But me being me, feeling I hadn’t quite got into my stride yet, and having the overly competitive trait that I do, I felt it was worth a go.
The first two middle-aged ladies who tried out for Mrs Twit were unbelievably talented; strong, clear voices, and almost certainly blessed with extensive dramatic experience (they had. I Facebook-stalked them later that evening). What’s more, they were the right age group to be Mrs Twit. I was starting to feel a little queasy; not wanting to follow those two women with those performances, and with something that would doubtlessly be inferior. But the gods were with me again, and the scene was changed to one I felt more comfortable with; one I’d envisaged acting as Mrs Twit. So I was also free to do my own thing without sounding like a poor imitation of the two proceeding ladies. Now, those ladies still outclassed me, I’m sure, but I held my own again, and I felt I’d done the best I could.
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A relieved Lizzie and I post auditions.
So, Lizzie and I headed back out into the night. The audition was over, and the relief was palpable. There would be another open audition two nights later, and we were to wait until the weekend to find out the results. I didn’t sleep that night; the rush of adrenaline (fear) must have been too great, but I was in no real rush to find out who had been cast. In fact, in the intervening days my courage began to fail me again, and I thought it might be no bad thing if I wasn’t chosen at all. Y’know, rehearsals two nights a week was a big commitment, and missing all those cosy nights on the sofa would be a terrible loss to my couch-potato lifestyle.
Last Saturday afternoon, we were emailed the cast list. I tentatively scrolled down the list…and there it was…my name listed third! I wasn’t Mrs Twit…but I was cast as ‘The Roly-Poly Bird’! I scrolled down further and my initial pleasure was distinguished. The cast list was only ten names long. And Lizzie’s name wasn’t there. This certainly took the shine off things. This foray; this journey, this new chapter was supposed to be for both of us. We would be doing this together, and the pressure would be lessened because we had each other to bounce off. But now I would have to go it alone, with a bunch of strangers… Lizzie was disappointed, of course, but the cast is a small one, and it turns out all the cast – bar three of us – (Mr and Mrs Twit and the Roly-Poly Bird) are all children. So, a lot of great actors didn’t make it. And I was lucky – I really think if I hadn’t tried-out for Mrs Twit, I wouldn’t be in it at all. The judging panel got to see a bit more of me. But Lizzie is keen to try-out again in the spring for their new production. And next time, we’ll go in with better tactics. Or at least we’ll know what to expect.
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Lights, camera, action!
I had my first rehearsal on Tuesday. Me being me, I’d done my prep. My part is pretty sizeable and I’ve a lot of lines to learn (some of them are funny lines, too), so I’ve no regrets about not being cast as Mrs Twit. I’m a newbie, this is a good place to start. The production takes place in February, so it’s going to be a busy time ahead for me. My nights of slobbing-out on the sofa are going to be a thing of the past. But it’s a good thing. Sometimes you must push yourself. Sometimes you must face your fears, or you’ll never end up doing anything. I’m a mother and I have a responsible job. But this thing; it’s something for me. And next time, Lizzie will be right there on stage with me. Now, I just need to keep telling myself that when I’m so terrified about the opening night that I want to throw up! Wish me luck.
December 8, 2017
46 Things I Have Learned in 46 Years
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What in the name of all this is holy possessed me to write this blog? This is akin to putting 46 candles on a birthday cake – i.e., you shouldn’t! Oh well, it’s my 46th birthday today (‘How young you look, Adele’, ‘Oh gosh, thanks’), and I thought it my duty to have a stab at this ‘listing things you’ve learned according to your age in years’ that I’ve seen other bloggers do. The trouble is, most of those bloggers were young. A list of 46 things is difficult to achieve at the best of times – let alone things that I’ve learned. Because I’m not entirely sure that I’ve learned much of anything. Anyway, here goes; 46 things the world has taught me, I’ve learned about myself, or I learned to do/not to do during the course of my life…
As much as you like your own company, it’s really not good for you for any length of time. You are a people person (who needs space).
Skinny jeans are a curse on humanity (especially short, dumpy people like you), stop trying them on in shops.
Cherish the people you love, they definitely won’t always be there.
Everybody hates a Grammar Nazi. Even you. And you’re a Grammar Nazi.
Facebook is quite insistent that you know, ‘Amanda and Kezzia are interested in going to an event near you‘. At least now you’re aware of this.
Writing books is important because you need to do it for your own sanity, not because you need people to like them.
You will never own a new car – so get used to second-hand ones. And befriend your mechanic. Even if he is miserable.[image error]
Sometimes the worst does happen, but you will find a way to deal with it.
You don’t have to watch ‘Dirty Dancing’ if you don’t want to. Anyway, it isn’t on Netflix.
Your children are amazing human beings, it’s time you acknowledge you did at least one thing (two things) very right.
They lied, there is no money in blogging.
Being a nurse didn’t always make you happy, but… (no, I have nothing else to add to this).
You have managed sufficiently well in life without knowing about cloud formations and Roman numerals, it’s too late to take it on board now.
Marrying your husband was a wonderful decision; neither of you are perfect, but you’re meant for one another.
Duolingo is just flattering your ego, you are not 52% fluent in German. You can barely string a sentence together.[image error]
Stop obsessing over past mistakes. As Taylor Swift would say, ‘shake it off‘.
Don’t go to Bath between 23rd November and 10th December (Christmas Markets).
Not everyone you meet is going to like you (you’re an acquired taste), which is fair enough, but those that do are totally ace.
Peanut butter is a substance made by the Devil. Know your own mind; just because you quite like Reese’s Pieces, doesn’t mean you like peanut butter. Don’t ever let anyone tempt you to give it another try.
The years of your life that you were not a cat-owner were wasted years. The way they run out to greet you on the street when you get home from work is adorable.[image error]
Although there is clearly no money in blogging, ultimately it did you good.
One day, you are going to have to get over the fact that you can’t eat pies anymore.
Appreciate your eyesight, it is failing fast.
At some point in your life, you are going to have to learn how to spell definate…I mean, definite, without relying on spellcheck to correct you.
Your husband and your children will never understand that their shoes go on the shoe rack and their coats go on the coat rack. You will have to do this for them – for the rest of your life.
Step out of your comfort zone and face your fears. You will regret passing up opportunities due to ‘fear of failure’.
Fat doesn’t make you fat. Sugar makes you fat.
It’s okay to say ‘no‘; sometimes people respect you for it. At least you can respect yourself.
Facebook doesn’t really care about you. There is no need to constantly tell it what you are doing.[image error]
Always bring a cardigan. They’re very light and you can stuff it in your bag if you get too hot, but always bring a cardigan (PS: you never get too hot).
You were never anybody’s favourite child, but that’s okay, you were always your own favourite.
Laugh at your own jokes. Somebody has to.
Stop fantasising about having brown shiny hair. Your hair was never shiny when you were a brunette. And you’re too grey to be dark now.
Swearing within the context of writing is fine, but use sparingly. Bugger that, fire at will. It’s a major part of your vocabulary.
Never book a holiday that flies from Stanstead. It’s silly-far-away.
Take courage; there are only 10 more to go, and this nightmare will be over for all of us!
Your 20s were great. Your 30s where the wilderness years. But by your 40s, things were looking up again.
You were quite good at three things; writing, singing and acting – not sh*t-hot or anything – but quite good. And that’s something.
People won’t always bring a bag, and that means sometimes you will have to carry their stuff. Accept it gracefully (and don’t wind yourself up about how everybody treats you like a ‘bloody packhorse!‘), and remember the kind things they have done for you. It won’t kill you to carry their sh*t for a while.
From an early age, encourage your children to ‘always bring a bag‘ wherever they go.
You can only edit for so long, you must accept there will always be a few mistakes.
Taking up regular exercise at the age of 39 was one of your better ideas. Shame you didn’t start earlier.[image error]
Appreciate your days off on Wednesdays, one day they will be a thing of the past.
Not everyone understands that the box junction in town is wide enough for two cars to pass. You don’t always have to shout about it (Still, unless you’re a sodding massive van or something, please don’t stop! And if somebody must stop, the driver going uphill has the right of way!).
You will NEVER make your fortune (or living) from writing novels. But it was a worthy achievement that you ought to be proud of.
Never agree to write a blog post listing the number of things you have learned according to your age in years. You began to struggle halfway through, and the last few in the list descend into silliness.
Well, thank God that is all over. I was beginning to lose the will to live towards the end, I expect you were too. But I hope a few of these were relevant to you. I’ll be looking out for other people’s ‘XX things I have learned in XX years’ posts. But for your sake, I hope you’re not too old – and if you’re in triple figures, learn from my mistake – and just forget it.
PS: I am 46, right? I can never remember how old I am. I was born in 1971, if that helps.
