Ailsa Abraham's Blog: Ailsa Abraham, page 62

Pick up the phone

 

Someone saved my sanity this morning. A friend from FB, not someone I’ve met face to face but a good “mate”. He knew I was feeling pretty down and that my major psychotic episode is less than a fortnight behind me.

A voice from a quarter of the way around the world made me laugh, made me feel cared about. Never, ever underestimate the power of hearing a human voice. I had masses of wonderful supportive messages on FB which made me feel heaps better but…this was a vocal hug.

So if you ever think “I should phone” but hesitate – don’t. Your call could make a world of difference to someone who is at the end of their tether.

Thank you, Sir, you know who you are and would hate me to name you but – you are a true gentleman.

 

 

Pedlars

Now, THAT’s my kind of cycling

 

I have several very good reasons to loathe the Tour de France. It follows me. No matter where we decide to escape for a break, we find ourselves stuck in roads closed for two hours to allow a bunch of bicycles flash through in two minutes flat. Inevitably it is 30°C and a toss-up between who is going die of heat exhaustion first – the dogs or the Old Feller.

Even this time, with the Old Dude being safely in the UK, coming home from his grandson’s passing out parade, guess what? Yup, the route he needs to take to get to Dover tomorrow morning crosses the blasted two wheelers. It doesn’t matter how carefully we plan our route, they buggers catch up with us.

Secondly, living in France, inspired by the national rapture, there is a rash of elderly TdeF wannabees who turn out with their podgy bodies in cling-film tight outfits on a Sunday. That in itself is an offence to my sensibilities but they have decided that, being in a big gang, they can do what they like. Pootling along the main street on my motorbike I suddenly find myself inundated by a swarm of grandads swearing at me as they shoot out of a side street, ignoring the stop sign.

I can’t blame them. Most cyclists merely using it for transport are self-declared exempt from the Highway Code.

Red light? Naaaaaaah – not me, mate, I’m on a bicycle. Pedestrian crossing? Knock ‘em over! Pavement? Much less traffic on there – here I go!

I have, when nearly mown down leaving a shop, given a straight arm jab at the stupid bint responsible and then leaned over, all concerned as she lay on the floor. “Shall I call the police?” I enquired sweetly. Strangely enough she didn’t want me to.

OK it’s not entirely their fault. Towns here are not designed for cyclists, unlike the Netherlands and Belgium where bike lanes are clearly indicated, even when they form part of the pavement and pedestrians are not allowed to walk there. That’s good. That’s a great idea. Unfortunately where that system doesn’t exist, I don’t appreciate someone aiming their Hi-Tech, dayglo machine straight at me while I’m going about my lawful business.

Coming, as it does, in the midst of football and tennis, knowing that my religion forbids me to follow any sport apart from equestrian…you may understand that I am somewhat grumpy with hearing nothing but Turd France on the news. I wouldn’t mind but it’s all down to who has managed to ingest the most boost-juice without being noticed! I’d rather watch a Hash Bash – the music is usually better.

oops!

Local News.

International News – Rolf Harris

On a more serious note today, we have all been appalled by the number of “celebrities” that we grew up thinking of as “great people” who have been convicted of paedophilia.

This whole subject is a minefield but with my usual “tin helmet on and sod the consequences” attitude, I’m going to tackle it. Anyone who has issues with this subject might want to stop reading now.

The perp doesn’t have to be famous because, believe me, in their home town, village etc, they are front-pagers overnight. The devastation that all of us feel today, finding that our childhood heroes were monsters, is exactly the feeling that entire populations get when nice Mr. A, father, uncle, scout leader, shopkeeper etc., turns out to be a child-molester.

I’ve witnessed this at first hand in my own locality and my thoughts turn first to the victims, obviously but then to the second line of victims. The perp’s family. The utterly innocent kin who honestly had no idea what was going on in that seemingly loving head of his. The wife who thought her husband was “just not into much” any more. The kids who have to face the fact that their own school friends were being abused by their father.

Mud is slung and it sticks. Stupid phrases and accusations are made. “They must have known”. Well, no if they had known they would have gone to the police, it is what any sane, sensible person would do, even if the perp is their own family.

It breaks everything apart. A universe implodes and usually the answer is for the innocent parties to move away and try to put the pieces back together to start a new life elsewhere.

In these cases there are two sets of victims and neither ever, ever gets over it.

 

PC going a bit mad

 

A delicate subject today treated with my usual blend of bloody-mindedness and tongue in cheek.

Racism.

Oh dear – see, even the word and there are people bristling and trying to decide if they should read on or not. So before I lose half my readership, let me say, out and proud:

I’M AN IMMIGRANT (I live in a foreign country)

OK? And that is part of the problem. Most of the people I know who get all hot and bothered about racism are natives of the land in which they live. They aren’t immigrants. They get upset and angry with people on OUR behalf. That’s very kind.

While I would like to thank them, I have some news: we really are capable of telling the difference between an insult and a bit of good-natured joshing. When we find ourselves on the end of the first, we stick up for ourselves and anyway, there are a lot of things I would prefer to be called other than a “humourless bitch”.

Verily I say unto thee, when someone is joshing me, I know it and I come back with something equally funny, trite, vulgar etc. I can shock people by telling them I can fart the Marseillaise and ask if they can do the same, because that is what makes a true French person.

If someone is being unpleasant, I adopt Ali G’s phrase and say, completely dead-pan “Is it because I is black or Muslim?” That’s when they realise that if I were black or Muslim and said my nationality was French, they wouldn’t question it, no matter how ear-splitting my accent or grammatical mistakes.

I take the piss out of myself – I have just ordered new stickers for my ex La Poste van with warnings saying “Danger – Celtic Lady Driver” and pictures of the Saltire and bagpipes – now THAT is racist and sexist at the same time – I win, I win!!!

It also seems to be a rather Brit / USA concept. Nobody here has ever said – hey don’t pick on her, that’s racism. I’m here, I’m expected to be able to cope. There are some quarters where I’d get off lighter for saying I was from Brixton or Handsworth than being “proper French”.

Some “racist” jokes are hilarious. Sometimes just the odd word can betray a mindset that is very upsetting but, for your own peace of mind, let us sort that out for ourselves eh?

Now – who is for some warm beer, crap food and men in skirts?

 

 

…hail, Fellow Scribblers and Bloggers… well met, even if it’s only virtual, I salute yeez all… #TBSU…

…hail, Fellow Scribblers and Bloggers… well met, even if it’s only virtual, I salute yeez all… #TBSU….

 

Ma pal Seumas puts it so eloquently that all I can say is – Yer, wot he sed!

 

BROTHERS IN ARMS – a joint post with Sue Barnard.

Whilst recently chatting over a glass or three of wine, I and fellow-Crooked Cat author Sue Barnard  realised that our male lead characters (Lorenzo in The Ghostly Father and Iamo in Alchemy and its sequel Shaman’s Drum) have a great deal in common.  They come from similar backgrounds, they’re both monks, and they’re both somewhat unorthodox in their outlook on life. So we decided to get the two of them together and ask them a few questions.

Let’s start at the beginning – what made you enter a monastery in the first place?

 

LORENZO – I had no choice.  I was told by my father that this was what I must do, and he threatened to disown me if I did not obey him.  To say that this was a shock does not even come close to describing how I felt; he was a kind and just man, and for him to behave thus was completely out of character.  I did not find out the real reason for his actions until almost twenty years later.

IAMO – I had felt a sense of vocation from my early years and studied with the Temple while I was at university. It was a natural progression for me to take my vows as soon as I finished my studies.

Did you have a happy childhood? Had it always been your ambition/vocation?

LORENZO – My childhood was privileged.  My father was a Venetian count and we lived in a palazzo.  All our needs were taken care of by our servants.  I had one brother, three years my senior.  Sadly I never knew my mother, who had died at my birth.

It was never my ambition or vocation to enter Holy Orders.  My one desire was to become a physician.

IAMO – Not particularly. Like Lorenzo I was born into an aristocratic family but I found myself unable to take an interest in the things expected of me and I became interested in the Path very early on. I had almost no contact with my parents but adored my Nanny. It was probably through her that I found my vocation.

Were you not bothered about the vows of chastity etc that you had to take? Did you give those a lot of consideration before making your decision?

LORENZO – Having lost the love of my life before I entered the order, the vows of chastity did not cause me any problems.  I knew that I could never replace her.

IAMO – in my Order we were only required to take celibacy vows after a certain time and by then I was so set on my career as a priest that I gave it very little thought. I had never been in love and felt that the pro outweighed the con inestimably.

Once in the order, were you happy?

LORENZO – To my great surprise, yes.  I am sure this is due in no small part to the influence of Fra’ Roberto, the Father Superior who became my own “ghostly father.”  He displayed a level of kindness, sympathy, compassion and good sense which I had never anticipated of a monastic.

IAMO – Probably less so than Lorenzo. I became the assistant to the High Priestess of our Order and my responsibilities were onerous. I failed in my duties several times. Although Scribe has never said so, I think she has hinted that I was itching for adventure.

 

 Did you ever envisage leaving the order?

LORENZO – Never.  Indeed, I did not imagine that it would even be possible.  I had always understood that the vows were for life.

IAMO – As far as my past life was concerned, I had burned my bridges. All contact with my family had been cut and they were furious that I was not going to return to give them the heir they wanted. Not having considered any other way of life, I never imagined anything else.

Did you have much of a life on the outside “in the world” before taking your vows?

LORENZO –- I was eighteen when I first entered the friary as a postulant, but for the year before that I was apprentice to an apothecary.  This is where I learned the skills which prepared me for my later tasks as herbalist and infirmarian.

IAMO – Yes. Like all privileged little boys of my class I went to prep and public school. My studies were then pursued at university because I wanted to study under Professor Oliver, so I had the life of a student with all the attendant excesses. Also, in an effort to marry me off and dissuade me from the monastic life, my mother had shoved various prospective brides at me. Yes, I think it’s fair to say I had my share of “real life”.

How did you decide on your monastic name?

LORENZO –- My real name is Sebastiano Lorenzo Matteo Giovanni Battista Da Porto.  I was always known as Sebastiano, but when I came to take my vows I was asked to choose another name because there was already a Fra’ Sebastiano in the friary.  I chose Lorenzo because it is my second given name.

IAMO – I would rather not reveal that as I have been Iamo for so long now and will stay that way. Perhaps if I just say that it is composed of my initials.

When you entered the order, what did you miss most of your earlier life?  How did you cope without it?

LORENZO – It was all so different from what I had previously known that for a long time I was not comparing like with like, so the question did not arise.  Once I had accustomed myself to the new way of life, the biggest difference was being a servant rather than a master.  But that was the way of the Franciscans – their task was to serve.

IAMO – Nothing. Oh yes, the occasional cigarette. Mostly I was very happy in the Temple.

Was there anything you were glad to leave behind when you entered the order?

LORENZO – Unhappiness.  I had just had to bid farewell to the love of my life.  And also (I am ashamed to say this), following my father’s inexplicable change of demeanour, I was glad that I should not have to have any further contact with him.

IAMO – Yes, killing. My father belongs to the “hunting, shooting, fishing” brigade and such things leave me cold. I cannot bear the taking of sentient life for no reason. I’m vegetarian and the only things I kill willingly are demons, but that is a moot point. Are they in fact “living” in the first place? I was glad to get out of a world I didn’t fit into.

From what we can gather, neither of you seemed to have had much difficulty about bending the rules when it suited you.  Do you feel guilty about that?

LORENZO – I had to (as you describe it) “bend the rules” on one particular occasion – which was to help a desperate person out of a desperate situation.  I have no feelings of guilt about that – but I cannot even begin to imagine how I would feel if the outcome of my actions had been different.

IAMO – I have to agree with my brother monk here. I didn’t just bend the rules, I broke them, threw them on the ground and jumped up and down on them. I had to pay for that but no, I do not regret it for a moment because I did it for the finest of motives – love.

 

 Thank you both, gentlemen – this has been a fasinating discussion

This post is also available on Sue’s blog here

25 Of The Cutest Otters To Ever Grace This Planet

25 Of The Cutest Otters To Ever Grace This Planet.

 

As you may know – I am an otter freak. To the point where it is one of my names. Most people seem to think it suits me and it is my shamanic name.

So let’s make it a game – which of these pictures MOST makes you think of  THIS otter? Just answer with the number and we’ll publish the winner shortly.

Dreaded Deadlines

As an author I’ve always taken the Pirates of the Caribbean attitude to deadlines “more of a set of guidelines than rules”. That was until this morning when I crawled to my desk, swigged some coffee and realised with horror that I had a fantasy story due in tomorrow.

The worst part of writing fantasy is thinking up names. They can’t be “normal” like Jane, Lisa and Paul, they have to be like some race-horse “by Pratchett out of Tolkein” or they don’t sound right.

In desperation I started writing. This would be a very short story, not much more than a flash fiction and I would just have to take whatever inspiration shot into my head for names. I didn’t even bother to turn off the TV which is normally a pre-requisite for me working. Between staring out at the garden and drinking a couple of litres of coffee, I finished and sent it off.

Never underestimate the power of daytime advertising and TV shows because THIS is the load of hooey that I jotted down.

Princess Nivea decided that it was time she married. It was becoming hard work ruling the Forest of Loriel on her own. Her brother, Nokia was of no use at all and she wanted a husband. So in the way of all good fairy tales she would throw a ball and invite all the eligible bachelors near-by. She would not invite Duke Duracell and his ghastly wife Danone because of that regrettable incident last New Year.

Calling her scribe, Vistaprint, to her she started to dictate the list. Her cousins Porphyria and Dementia would have to be invited with Dementia’s brother Psoriasis.

Eligible males were a problem. Earl Rowan, of the Ash Mountain, he was good, she’d invite him and certainly the mysterious magic user Sumak. Douglas Fir and his brother Leylandi were good sports but even though “Horsey” Chestnut had been at school with Nokia, he ate like a pig and knocked over the candles all the time, usually when drunk.

She had a brilliant idea. She would go in disguise, a reverse-Cinderella move and see if any of them paid her any attention just as a woman. A dress! She would need a dress that was much less fine than her usual ball-gowns but not the rags of a serving maid. Her seamstress Amazon Dot would be able to run her up something in 24 hours.

Being part-elf she was ninety eight even though she appeared in her early twenties so, throwing her Over-50s Life Cover around her shoulders she dashed down the Stannah stairs, calling her dogs, Trust and F’Life to accompany her, she twinkled her way along the castle corridors, ready to put her plan into action.

She hoped the party would go with a Cillit Bang!

I had a note back from my editor.

“I don’t know what you are on, Ailsa but can I have a couple of drags?”

She has kindly put my deadline back a week.

TURN IT OFF!

 

 

 

 

 

Hot cakes…or books

Debate still continues amongst authors on the advisability of discounting books. Those against say that even though e-books are normally quite cheap, really stingy readers will wait til they are on sale at some ludicrous price therefore having a negative effect on full-sale (still not dear) prices.

Those who don’t mind, generally those who would stand naked in the middle of the largest roundabout in town to sell books and get their names known reply “Well if people buy my books at 77 p and like them, when the next one comes out they might be just dying to buy it at full price (£1.50-ish) and not be mean about the extra 60 p which wouldn’t even buy you an ice cream.

Whatever. I am sharing the fact that Crooked Cat Publishing has the last day of its Summer Sale today so this is your last chance to fill your Kindle with goodies for the amazingly silly price of 77 p. What are you waiting for? Available on Amazon or from Crooked Cat Books

PS – both my books, Alchemy and Shaman’s Drum last MUCH longer than even a really expensive ice-cream!

Magic Oxygen Literary Prize: animated trailer | Magic Oxygen Publishing

Magic Oxygen Literary Prize: animated trailer | Magic Oxygen Publishing.

 

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