What is it about family? Or, maybe it would fairer to say, what is it about my family?
I often worry that I like other peoples' families a lot more.
I have spent more than a few hours today getting myself into a major funk over my nearest and dearest. I have been in Devon 21 hours.
I think I am a little out of control.
I guess that the dispute over where I'm spending Christmas isn't really helping but that can't be blamed on anyone but Gerard and he's not here to hear it so never mind.
I don't know that I will ever get over being the eldest child. Forging that path; being the first one to break a bone, have a drink, get caught smoking, swear at your parents, get a double bed, move out etc. That's hard work you know. Younger siblings will never understand how much they got away with because someone came before and did it already and made it so, so much easier on the second time round. A little appreciation for my ground work wouldn't go a miss you know.
But there you have it. The truth is that I have no right to expect that from anyone and even if it was acknowledged so what? I wouldn't gain anything or be any better off. It's not as if the younger child doesn't have his or her share of unique and equally frustrating crosses to bear. Always coming second, being the butt of all the jokes, getting locked in wardrobes, never getting to ride in the front, the never-ending comparisons, the older siblings friends, not being able to join in with that brother or sister because you're too young, being left behind when they move out, the hand me downs. Tough life.
If Christmas teaches me anything this year I hope it is tolerance.
I am patient. I can be kind. I have been known to do things I didn't want to just to keep the peace, but tolerant I am not. Not of the adverts on television, not of traffic wardens, not of my family and their very lovable annoyances and especially not of the chips on their shoulders.
But I do have an almost totally intact family, although they are disparate and I don't think I am as grateful for that as I should be.
When I go to church this Christmas Eve I will pray for them and for you and yours. If you're only going to do it once a year - make it count!
21 December 2008
15 December 2008
Mincemeat
Christmas Baking is a strange thing. I spent a few hours this weekend making mincemeat. Everyone I have told about this thought it odd that I should choose to grind my own beef when there is perfectly good packets of the stuff in the supermarkets. What has happened to our generation? Am I the only person I know who used to bake with my mother?
I have one vague memory of making mincemeat with my Mum. I mostly remember the extreme angst that surrounded the baking required for the festive season. There were two very distinct phases of my childhood; the one in which Mum cooked everything, even making her own pizza dough and cheese soufflés (my favourite mother-dish), and the second, in which all unnecessary cooking was abandoned. This included dough and mincemeat, Christmas cake and soufflé. Sadly. I think these periods must have coincided with the year that my father gave my mother a food processor for Christmas. It was the final straw and the poor object was never used except by me to whisk eggs.
For the record mincemeat is a mixture of chopped dried fruit, distilled spirits and spices and suet and although originally it did contain meat, it doesn’t any longer. ‘Mincemeat, and similar variants are found in the UK, Ireland, Brittany, northern Europe, as well as the United States and Canada. It is not to be confused with minced or ground meat.
This whole vein of thought reminds me of the book that Simon gave you “Baking with Jesus” written by that priest who loved the lord through the medium of bread. Maybe he had a point. I am not a believer in any kind of God but I do still hold some fondness for the idea that Christmas is Jesus’ birthday. If you were going to commune with God at this time of year wouldn’t baking be one of the best ways? Besides all we really do at Christmas now is eat. It amazes me that no one I know is baking anything for Christmas. Even if they only believe in better television over the holidays.
This apparently unpopular weekend activity also led me to the resolve of one of the great conundrums that has troubled me often; what is the difference between a currant, a raisin and a sultana?
Here is what I found out:
There are two distinct fruits which are called currants: (1) the dried zante grape; like a raisin which is used in baked goods and (2) a fresh tiny berry related to the gooseberry. Currents are black, red, or white. The black ones are used for preserves, syrups and liqueurs; while the red and white berries are for eating out of hand. They come from Greece.
The sultana is a type of white, seedless grape of Turkish or Iranian origin. It is also the name given to the raisin made from the same grape (!). They are typically larger than the currants made from Zante grapes, but smaller than "normal" raisins. Sultana raisins have a delicate and unique flavor and are especially noted for their sweetness and golden colour.
And finally, raisins are dried grapes. They are produced in many regions of the world, such as the United States, Australia, Chile, Argentina, Mexico, Greece, Turkey, India, Iran, Pakistan, China, Afghanistan, Togo, and Jamaica, as well as South Africa and Southern and Eastern Europe.
Does it not strike you as amazing that we have developed three separate ingredients all made from the same thing (in varying degrees) and that all three of them are vital in the making of mincemeat?
I consider it my Christmas miracle.
I have one vague memory of making mincemeat with my Mum. I mostly remember the extreme angst that surrounded the baking required for the festive season. There were two very distinct phases of my childhood; the one in which Mum cooked everything, even making her own pizza dough and cheese soufflés (my favourite mother-dish), and the second, in which all unnecessary cooking was abandoned. This included dough and mincemeat, Christmas cake and soufflé. Sadly. I think these periods must have coincided with the year that my father gave my mother a food processor for Christmas. It was the final straw and the poor object was never used except by me to whisk eggs.
For the record mincemeat is a mixture of chopped dried fruit, distilled spirits and spices and suet and although originally it did contain meat, it doesn’t any longer. ‘Mincemeat, and similar variants are found in the UK, Ireland, Brittany, northern Europe, as well as the United States and Canada. It is not to be confused with minced or ground meat.
This whole vein of thought reminds me of the book that Simon gave you “Baking with Jesus” written by that priest who loved the lord through the medium of bread. Maybe he had a point. I am not a believer in any kind of God but I do still hold some fondness for the idea that Christmas is Jesus’ birthday. If you were going to commune with God at this time of year wouldn’t baking be one of the best ways? Besides all we really do at Christmas now is eat. It amazes me that no one I know is baking anything for Christmas. Even if they only believe in better television over the holidays.
This apparently unpopular weekend activity also led me to the resolve of one of the great conundrums that has troubled me often; what is the difference between a currant, a raisin and a sultana?
Here is what I found out:
There are two distinct fruits which are called currants: (1) the dried zante grape; like a raisin which is used in baked goods and (2) a fresh tiny berry related to the gooseberry. Currents are black, red, or white. The black ones are used for preserves, syrups and liqueurs; while the red and white berries are for eating out of hand. They come from Greece.
The sultana is a type of white, seedless grape of Turkish or Iranian origin. It is also the name given to the raisin made from the same grape (!). They are typically larger than the currants made from Zante grapes, but smaller than "normal" raisins. Sultana raisins have a delicate and unique flavor and are especially noted for their sweetness and golden colour.
And finally, raisins are dried grapes. They are produced in many regions of the world, such as the United States, Australia, Chile, Argentina, Mexico, Greece, Turkey, India, Iran, Pakistan, China, Afghanistan, Togo, and Jamaica, as well as South Africa and Southern and Eastern Europe.
Does it not strike you as amazing that we have developed three separate ingredients all made from the same thing (in varying degrees) and that all three of them are vital in the making of mincemeat?
I consider it my Christmas miracle.
8 December 2008
My life as you know it . . .
So much has transpired since my last blog. It’s that fantastic season where so many things do happen. Most of the year I don’t do anything! This weekend I have managed to cram in works drinks and dinner, a trip to London to see lovely Jeni and visit St. Paul’s and a day out to Hever Castle!
Really there should be a ‘Other People’s Children Part II’ (this time it’s personal) Because it was personal. To sum it up very quickly . . . Youngest Child did not go to school on the Monday and so Oldest Child and I could not go into Brighton in the evening to enjoy the delights of the pier. Oldest Child did not go to college on the Friday and so, really, was also in trouble. As much as any one else’s kid can be in trouble with someone who is not its parent (or legal guardian) and has no authority. Where is that line? Anyone know? It is a tangled web.
Anyway, on the last day of child sitting my mother came to see me – the children were left alone on their last night and seemed ok. They went to school the following morning and I cleaned house and left to take my mother to the airport thinking all was well. That evening, alone at home with a bottle of wine (such a relief after a week of no alone time and no drinking) their mother (not mine) rings me in tears explaining that thy have attacked one another and that blood has been drawn. Youngest Child tried to kick Oldest Child down the stairs and Oldest Child responded by kicking her in the face (accidently) and splitting her lip.
Shocked was I. Although it does beg the question . . . what the hell did I do to them?
Since then it seems that things have settled down and all the Christmas decorations are up and the maybe-we’ll-all-make-it-through-this-without-killing-each-other smiles are firmly in place. Ahhh, families at Christmas! Not that I’ll see mine this year so it will be an interesting experiment in other people’s families at Christmas!
Then there should probably be a ‘My Boyfriend Is Moving to the Middle East’ update. He is not. He did not get that job. And, although I have always known myself to be emotionally imbalanced, I did feel genuine regret/sadness for him and think that given that this is the millionth knock back that he’s doing very well. We had a lovely weekend together so my opinion is slightly weighted at the moment.
I would like to mention at this point that it is my Christmas party next week and that even if there are stacks of glamorous helium balloons this year that I have no one to drunkenly bring them home to. And that it still feels like not so long ago that we went to France and that actually it’s a whole year. Those lovely Kays catalogue shots . . . whatever did become of them?
I have a meeting in London this afternoon and then hopefully I’ll get home early enough to clean the bathroom and the kitchen and force myself to the gym. Although going to the gym is not working out well for me at the moment. I just can’t motivate my arse off the sofa. And it’s becoming a sizable arse these days! One of G’s friends has been quoted as saying “Hasn’t she filled out?” Need I say more?!
Loving you long time. Wishing I hadn’t left my car parked on the park – bloody traffic wardens (and Australian towing people) should all be shot. Hoping you find the Christmas spirit soon. Missing you like hell. x
Really there should be a ‘Other People’s Children Part II’ (this time it’s personal) Because it was personal. To sum it up very quickly . . . Youngest Child did not go to school on the Monday and so Oldest Child and I could not go into Brighton in the evening to enjoy the delights of the pier. Oldest Child did not go to college on the Friday and so, really, was also in trouble. As much as any one else’s kid can be in trouble with someone who is not its parent (or legal guardian) and has no authority. Where is that line? Anyone know? It is a tangled web.
Anyway, on the last day of child sitting my mother came to see me – the children were left alone on their last night and seemed ok. They went to school the following morning and I cleaned house and left to take my mother to the airport thinking all was well. That evening, alone at home with a bottle of wine (such a relief after a week of no alone time and no drinking) their mother (not mine) rings me in tears explaining that thy have attacked one another and that blood has been drawn. Youngest Child tried to kick Oldest Child down the stairs and Oldest Child responded by kicking her in the face (accidently) and splitting her lip.
Shocked was I. Although it does beg the question . . . what the hell did I do to them?
Since then it seems that things have settled down and all the Christmas decorations are up and the maybe-we’ll-all-make-it-through-this-without-killing-each-other smiles are firmly in place. Ahhh, families at Christmas! Not that I’ll see mine this year so it will be an interesting experiment in other people’s families at Christmas!
Then there should probably be a ‘My Boyfriend Is Moving to the Middle East’ update. He is not. He did not get that job. And, although I have always known myself to be emotionally imbalanced, I did feel genuine regret/sadness for him and think that given that this is the millionth knock back that he’s doing very well. We had a lovely weekend together so my opinion is slightly weighted at the moment.
I would like to mention at this point that it is my Christmas party next week and that even if there are stacks of glamorous helium balloons this year that I have no one to drunkenly bring them home to. And that it still feels like not so long ago that we went to France and that actually it’s a whole year. Those lovely Kays catalogue shots . . . whatever did become of them?
I have a meeting in London this afternoon and then hopefully I’ll get home early enough to clean the bathroom and the kitchen and force myself to the gym. Although going to the gym is not working out well for me at the moment. I just can’t motivate my arse off the sofa. And it’s becoming a sizable arse these days! One of G’s friends has been quoted as saying “Hasn’t she filled out?” Need I say more?!
Loving you long time. Wishing I hadn’t left my car parked on the park – bloody traffic wardens (and Australian towing people) should all be shot. Hoping you find the Christmas spirit soon. Missing you like hell. x
21 November 2008
Somebody Else's Children . . .
Day 2 in the Burgess Hill House . . .
According to the careful list left by Mother today Oldest Child is to attend college in the afternoon and Youngest Child is to attend school as normal. Oldest Child requires £8 train fare and Youngest Child £2 for lunch. Ok, pretty straight forward, only Youngest Child stayed with a friend and having lost my purse I have no change so Oldest Child gets £20. Not likely that I'll see change from that. Amazing that in such a short time I am £2 up and then £12 down.
I can't complain though; so far they’ve been very good. No one has sworn too profusely, no one has thrown food and physically attacked anyone. The worst things I have discovered are that Oldest Child hoards disgusting crockery in her bedroom and that Youngest Child smokes. Not too bad.
I have also learnt a very valuable lesson – rejection. No matter how much you look forward to going home and getting the school report and making carbonara and playing happy families teenager girls will want to do things involving drinking, boys and bus shelters that no one over the age of 17 can remember their motivation for. I guess for a real mother it’s a very difficult transition.
Anyway, on the plus side tomorrow we are attending the cinema and getting a takeaway. So long as no inticing bus shelters or bottles of cider intervene.
Not much to report on the house as I haven’t been there for a few nights. Cats are well. Paul has become very house proud and is apparently having a “Boys Night” on Saturday . . . I asked if porn was going to be involved and he said no, but I know that strange things happen at these gatherings.
Your Dad has left and today is Simon’s birthday. Happy Birthday to him if you speak to him which I’m sure you will.
Crisis talks with G. continue. It seems that our communication problems are deeper than first anticipated and that no matter how many times I say “It’s not good enough” he still hears “It’s ok I’ll get used to it.” Distance is the best thing at the moment. I have cancelled my attendance to the family dinner on Sunday as I cannot stomach pretending to be happy when I am so bitter with disappointment.
Although this quote has given me reason to think:
“We are like sculptors, constantly carving out of others the image we long for, need, love or desire, often against reality, against their benefit, and always, in the end, a disappointment, because it does not fit them.”
How much of what disappoints me is born of my own inability to accept that you cannot control others? Maybe a lot. But, the questions that perplexes me most is, what do I do then? Accept that nothing will ever be perfect or fight on to find something close?
His first interview for the Qatar job was a success and he has gone through to the second round.
It is nearly six weeks since you've left and that is longer than you were on the Tall Ships race and trekking back though Eastern Europe.
It is very odd that you are still away. I am not quite used to the idea that you will be away for a long time yet.
Missing you.
According to the careful list left by Mother today Oldest Child is to attend college in the afternoon and Youngest Child is to attend school as normal. Oldest Child requires £8 train fare and Youngest Child £2 for lunch. Ok, pretty straight forward, only Youngest Child stayed with a friend and having lost my purse I have no change so Oldest Child gets £20. Not likely that I'll see change from that. Amazing that in such a short time I am £2 up and then £12 down.
I can't complain though; so far they’ve been very good. No one has sworn too profusely, no one has thrown food and physically attacked anyone. The worst things I have discovered are that Oldest Child hoards disgusting crockery in her bedroom and that Youngest Child smokes. Not too bad.
I have also learnt a very valuable lesson – rejection. No matter how much you look forward to going home and getting the school report and making carbonara and playing happy families teenager girls will want to do things involving drinking, boys and bus shelters that no one over the age of 17 can remember their motivation for. I guess for a real mother it’s a very difficult transition.
Anyway, on the plus side tomorrow we are attending the cinema and getting a takeaway. So long as no inticing bus shelters or bottles of cider intervene.
Not much to report on the house as I haven’t been there for a few nights. Cats are well. Paul has become very house proud and is apparently having a “Boys Night” on Saturday . . . I asked if porn was going to be involved and he said no, but I know that strange things happen at these gatherings.
Your Dad has left and today is Simon’s birthday. Happy Birthday to him if you speak to him which I’m sure you will.
Crisis talks with G. continue. It seems that our communication problems are deeper than first anticipated and that no matter how many times I say “It’s not good enough” he still hears “It’s ok I’ll get used to it.” Distance is the best thing at the moment. I have cancelled my attendance to the family dinner on Sunday as I cannot stomach pretending to be happy when I am so bitter with disappointment.
Although this quote has given me reason to think:
“We are like sculptors, constantly carving out of others the image we long for, need, love or desire, often against reality, against their benefit, and always, in the end, a disappointment, because it does not fit them.”
How much of what disappoints me is born of my own inability to accept that you cannot control others? Maybe a lot. But, the questions that perplexes me most is, what do I do then? Accept that nothing will ever be perfect or fight on to find something close?
His first interview for the Qatar job was a success and he has gone through to the second round.
It is nearly six weeks since you've left and that is longer than you were on the Tall Ships race and trekking back though Eastern Europe.
It is very odd that you are still away. I am not quite used to the idea that you will be away for a long time yet.
Missing you.
14 November 2008
Last night I got home to three bits of post from you! One of which is that gorgeous photo that made me remember how warm it was in Morocco and what a lovely place we stayed. I have pinned it to my desk and it makes me smile too.
It’s been a quiet week really. I saw Katie on Wednesday night and she made lamb tagine. I had Henry and Natalie over for dinner last night to eat steak and watched some of Godzilla with Paul. He made a very tasty banana and carrot cake and we had some apple and blackberry pie from Waitrose.
Tonic had lots and lots of love from Natalie and is looking very well and the moment. Steve needs her very expensive booster injection. Might have to take her to the vet in December. Nice Christmas present for her!!
I’ve been thinking a lot about how much has changed and how much more is going to change. I don’t like change very much. I guess I’m one of those people who is bored by routine, pretends to be spontaneous and then abhors change and is vicious towards anything that disrupts the routine I made while no one was looking. Being a control freak can be exhausting.
I feel quite isolated at the moment. Plenty of people around to play with but it’s just not quite the same. I very much need my own kind and it’s a bit like being ship-wrecked at the moment. I have written a poem – nothing special, but it came to me after reading Rapture by Carol Ann Duffy again.
Sometimes I wish I lived in the Jane Austen Book Club. Sometimes I wish I lived in Mary Poppins. Mostly I’m glad I don’t live in Apocalypse Now.
Poem
If you are a sailor,
then I am a boat.
If I am a castle,
then you are my moat.
If you had a party
I’d rain on the parade
If this is my future,
then I am afraid.
If you were a wheel
then I’d be the spokes
You deliver the punch line
but I am the joke.
It’s been a quiet week really. I saw Katie on Wednesday night and she made lamb tagine. I had Henry and Natalie over for dinner last night to eat steak and watched some of Godzilla with Paul. He made a very tasty banana and carrot cake and we had some apple and blackberry pie from Waitrose.
Tonic had lots and lots of love from Natalie and is looking very well and the moment. Steve needs her very expensive booster injection. Might have to take her to the vet in December. Nice Christmas present for her!!
I’ve been thinking a lot about how much has changed and how much more is going to change. I don’t like change very much. I guess I’m one of those people who is bored by routine, pretends to be spontaneous and then abhors change and is vicious towards anything that disrupts the routine I made while no one was looking. Being a control freak can be exhausting.
I feel quite isolated at the moment. Plenty of people around to play with but it’s just not quite the same. I very much need my own kind and it’s a bit like being ship-wrecked at the moment. I have written a poem – nothing special, but it came to me after reading Rapture by Carol Ann Duffy again.
Sometimes I wish I lived in the Jane Austen Book Club. Sometimes I wish I lived in Mary Poppins. Mostly I’m glad I don’t live in Apocalypse Now.
Poem
If you are a sailor,
then I am a boat.
If I am a castle,
then you are my moat.
If you had a party
I’d rain on the parade
If this is my future,
then I am afraid.
If you were a wheel
then I’d be the spokes
You deliver the punch line
but I am the joke.
12 November 2008
Shooting The Dead . . .
So I spent my weekend rejuvenating my romance with Brighton. We walked, we talked, we drank coffee together and ate a lot of cake (I felt ill for days). I got very wet and a little bit drunk on cocktails. I realised why not having a car sucks even in Brighton (it costs a fortune in taxi fare to arrive anywhere dry).
I also discovered this: BRITAIN's Biggest Photo Biennial - BRIGHTON PHOTO BIENNIAL.
I had to see this. I had to add this to my falling in love all over again and what did I get? An exhibition of graphic exhibit of Dead People. Yes. I know. What the hell do you do with that experience?
There I was minding my own business, wandering into a disused church/art space with my friend to discuss in an artistic manner the lighting in whatever pleasant, symbolic shoot of rural France was about to greet us and instead . . . someone has been motivated by the lack of the portrayal of death in the coverage of the Iraq War to actually seek out gruesome, disturbing shots of very dead/hideously disfigurered.dismembered people and stick them on a massive banner.
I am not a lover of horror films. I do not have an appreciation of gore but I was strangely compelled to (at a distance) stare at death. A very real, already passed, nothing-I-can-do-about-it death. And it sickened me. There is a very good reason why that stuff I have seen is NOT on the news.
Pickle, you would have been very upset. But perhaps we would have talked about it and discussed it’s usefulness as a demonstration of reality. Perhaps not. We may have cried together.
This experience has reinforced my total belief that if there was any kind of disaster/war/outbreak of zombies that I would be one of those people who very insignificantly and gruesomely dies at the beginning of the film for effect.
Only a few weeks ago Rob asked me how I’d get from Calfornia to Hawaii if there was no one left on earth, it was my only chance of survival and I only had one month to do it in. Initially my response was simple enough; I’d sail. I can’t fly a plane obviously and I don’t fancy my chances swimming (I have a very serious fear of sharks). I gave myself a 50% chance of living.
Then I did some research. Was I mad? Have I really no idea how difficult it would be to navigate that? Let alone survive the weather? Please see the links to the left and read about some people who tried (Ican’t be held responsible for how unattractive they are). I have reconsidered my options and I now give myself a 0% chance of survival and therefore decided that should this occurance ever arise I would stay on land and wait for my inevitable death in style. There’s be no one to stop me moving into a very nice hotel and sleeping in a different room everynight for a month would there?
Oh and by the way, looks like G might be working in Qatar. Joy.
I also discovered this: BRITAIN's Biggest Photo Biennial - BRIGHTON PHOTO BIENNIAL.
I had to see this. I had to add this to my falling in love all over again and what did I get? An exhibition of graphic exhibit of Dead People. Yes. I know. What the hell do you do with that experience?
There I was minding my own business, wandering into a disused church/art space with my friend to discuss in an artistic manner the lighting in whatever pleasant, symbolic shoot of rural France was about to greet us and instead . . . someone has been motivated by the lack of the portrayal of death in the coverage of the Iraq War to actually seek out gruesome, disturbing shots of very dead/hideously disfigurered.dismembered people and stick them on a massive banner.
I am not a lover of horror films. I do not have an appreciation of gore but I was strangely compelled to (at a distance) stare at death. A very real, already passed, nothing-I-can-do-about-it death. And it sickened me. There is a very good reason why that stuff I have seen is NOT on the news.
Pickle, you would have been very upset. But perhaps we would have talked about it and discussed it’s usefulness as a demonstration of reality. Perhaps not. We may have cried together.
This experience has reinforced my total belief that if there was any kind of disaster/war/outbreak of zombies that I would be one of those people who very insignificantly and gruesomely dies at the beginning of the film for effect.
Only a few weeks ago Rob asked me how I’d get from Calfornia to Hawaii if there was no one left on earth, it was my only chance of survival and I only had one month to do it in. Initially my response was simple enough; I’d sail. I can’t fly a plane obviously and I don’t fancy my chances swimming (I have a very serious fear of sharks). I gave myself a 50% chance of living.
Then I did some research. Was I mad? Have I really no idea how difficult it would be to navigate that? Let alone survive the weather? Please see the links to the left and read about some people who tried (Ican’t be held responsible for how unattractive they are). I have reconsidered my options and I now give myself a 0% chance of survival and therefore decided that should this occurance ever arise I would stay on land and wait for my inevitable death in style. There’s be no one to stop me moving into a very nice hotel and sleeping in a different room everynight for a month would there?
Oh and by the way, looks like G might be working in Qatar. Joy.
7 November 2008
Mailing Dead People . . .
It has come to Friday again. I am looking back on my week. Not bad really. Yesterday was pretty awful, but I’ve only drunk two half bottles of wine this week, which by comparison to other weeks recently, is pretty good.
I have just come out of a training course about suppressing data. The science (or not) of making sure you never mail dead people, never contact Mr Grumpy from Slough and never ring up Mrs. My-Baby-Died flogging Early Learning Centre products. Couple this experience with the program I watched last night on “The Credit Crunch” and you have my current mind set. Almost, accept for the gradual acceptance that perhaps the only way to escape the consequences of my actions, and moreover the consequences of our actions as a larger social community, is to declare myself dead. To disappear. Fade Out.
More on the finer details of this plan later . . .
I am looking forward to a weekend of having a visitor in Brighton which is when I love this city the most. You cannot help but become complacent about living in Brighton. It just isn’t possible to go to the Pier, or walk on the beach, or fall in love with the lanes every weekend. Occasionally great things happen like the discovery of the Choocy Woccy Doo Dah Café (which could kill a full grown man in under an hour), but mostly you go to the same places and do the same things. Let’s face it, when you have to take you dry cleaning in every week the city is bound to get less glamorous. But when people come to visit!! It’s a glorious discovery all over again. You see it all from the poor deprived perspective of a stranger. Someone who has not known what it means to be a native. You re-discover. You grow.
Also I am planning to try out my pastry making skills with a nifty steak pie and some ratatouille for next week’s lunches. This is the extent of my domesticity. I have given up cleaning on the basis that the cats trashed the sofa’s that Paul so diligently applied soap to, and that I actually discovered some kind of worm in the bottom of the shower. I believe it resists the application of bleach. Gross.
So items for consideration this Friday evening are; How To Be Dead Without Dying, Can You Shower In A Plastic Suit And Still Get Clean and Pastry: When Should You Say No.
I’m sure my feline audience will by thrilled.
I have just come out of a training course about suppressing data. The science (or not) of making sure you never mail dead people, never contact Mr Grumpy from Slough and never ring up Mrs. My-Baby-Died flogging Early Learning Centre products. Couple this experience with the program I watched last night on “The Credit Crunch” and you have my current mind set. Almost, accept for the gradual acceptance that perhaps the only way to escape the consequences of my actions, and moreover the consequences of our actions as a larger social community, is to declare myself dead. To disappear. Fade Out.
More on the finer details of this plan later . . .
I am looking forward to a weekend of having a visitor in Brighton which is when I love this city the most. You cannot help but become complacent about living in Brighton. It just isn’t possible to go to the Pier, or walk on the beach, or fall in love with the lanes every weekend. Occasionally great things happen like the discovery of the Choocy Woccy Doo Dah Café (which could kill a full grown man in under an hour), but mostly you go to the same places and do the same things. Let’s face it, when you have to take you dry cleaning in every week the city is bound to get less glamorous. But when people come to visit!! It’s a glorious discovery all over again. You see it all from the poor deprived perspective of a stranger. Someone who has not known what it means to be a native. You re-discover. You grow.
Also I am planning to try out my pastry making skills with a nifty steak pie and some ratatouille for next week’s lunches. This is the extent of my domesticity. I have given up cleaning on the basis that the cats trashed the sofa’s that Paul so diligently applied soap to, and that I actually discovered some kind of worm in the bottom of the shower. I believe it resists the application of bleach. Gross.
So items for consideration this Friday evening are; How To Be Dead Without Dying, Can You Shower In A Plastic Suit And Still Get Clean and Pastry: When Should You Say No.
I’m sure my feline audience will by thrilled.
4 November 2008
Half a day in the life of . . .
I thought maybe it was about time for a short description of my working day. I know that even now after over a year that you have no idea what I’m doing here.
I’ll take today as a typical example (although Tuesday’s are quite special) and walk you through it.
08:00 – Henry arrives at 51 to collect me
08:00 – 09:04 – He drives me to work mostly discussing odd topics such as horror films, who’s friend did what, the most recent argument either he or I have had with our respective partners, my most recent theory of political terrorism at work, etc.
09:06 – Swipe into work. Yes. Swipe. I am tagged.
09:15 – Computer finally wakes up. Eat bowl of Crunchy Nut Cornflakes (the type of cereal varies, or most likely I eat biscuits).
09:30 – Check all emails that I didn’t read yesterday. Realise something important was supposed to happen. Worry about it.
10:00 – Emma arrives (although on Tuesday she doesn’t because she’s in London)
10:10 – Make Emma a cup of coffee (but not on Tuesdays)
10:30 – By now I am into full report mode, or I’m checking a file or I’m writing a brief, or I’m discussing a job with someone - or all of the above at once.
11:00 – Make coffee for me. Have proper coffee in my drawer – process takes time and dedication. At the moment it's French Continental Blend. It's slightly bitter.
12:00 – Start report for Status Call, get updates on status of various jobs running, fill in template.
13:00 – Dial into call. Wait.
13:05 – Everyone who is supposed to be on call is in another meeting. Hang up.
13:10 – 14:30 – Load checking program and check that data received is correct. Raise quote, deal with queries from suppliers, book in meetings, file list orders, and print labels.
That's my day so far.
I have a list of ten things to do. They include creating two LOL's (List of Lists), sending some extracts, discussing a suppression file and outputting some returns files.
Discussions have arisen in the office about there being too much stuff on my desk. I believe that you once had a similar problem? I don’t appreciate it. My dying creativity needs an outlet. It’s a small, malnourished whelp that gets no sunlight.
I will write to you. I promise.
31 October 2008
Mind Over Mutant
It's Friday evening. The night that the young, well-hung working masses pour into the bars and clubs and head-bang their cares away. They drink, they dance, they make eye contact across crowded rooms. Anything could happen. It's great to be young.
I will not be one of those Friday Night People. No. I will be here, at my desk, until at least 19:00. From here I will drive the hour home, collect another bottle of wine and go to my boyfriend's sister in law's house for the Trick or Treating I will have missed. Better late than never? Maybe not. My only saving grace at this point is the fact that I have not invested in a costume. I did go to Sainsbury's to buy a witch's hat but I left with no hat and an impressively expensive scratch down the side of my car. What is it with me and cars?
Speaking of which, tomorrow I shall be going to see a car. A potential addition to the metal graveyard that is my legacy. I'm not even excited.
I feel a little scared.
I have eaten half a chocolate loaf cake today. I have been in touch with Kate's people about getting her to release a statement about what she's eaten. It's coming people . . . it's coming.
I've been working on The Small Cat Diaries - I think it needs some photo evidence. I am planning some kind of permanent toy installation to keep Steve occupied. The furniture can't take much more.
Must busy myself. Must complete Friday night tasks. Must supply data to Scotts of Stow.
Yours sincerely,
Crash Bandicoot
I will not be one of those Friday Night People. No. I will be here, at my desk, until at least 19:00. From here I will drive the hour home, collect another bottle of wine and go to my boyfriend's sister in law's house for the Trick or Treating I will have missed. Better late than never? Maybe not. My only saving grace at this point is the fact that I have not invested in a costume. I did go to Sainsbury's to buy a witch's hat but I left with no hat and an impressively expensive scratch down the side of my car. What is it with me and cars?
Speaking of which, tomorrow I shall be going to see a car. A potential addition to the metal graveyard that is my legacy. I'm not even excited.
I feel a little scared.
I have eaten half a chocolate loaf cake today. I have been in touch with Kate's people about getting her to release a statement about what she's eaten. It's coming people . . . it's coming.
I've been working on The Small Cat Diaries - I think it needs some photo evidence. I am planning some kind of permanent toy installation to keep Steve occupied. The furniture can't take much more.
Must busy myself. Must complete Friday night tasks. Must supply data to Scotts of Stow.
Yours sincerely,
Crash Bandicoot
30 October 2008
The half of me that knows . . .
I have to say that it hasn't quite sunk it. That it isn't quite real yet. That I haven't really accepted it.
This is a tribute to my abandonment. A testimony to my singular existence. The friend who is half my life has moved to the other half of the world and by all accounts is having a great time! So these few words will be link to her - the news from this bit of earth to her bit of earth. Not forgetting of course, her intrepid partner in crime, Miss E. Godfrey who was crazy enough to go along.
I hope that this keeps the crazy monster that is insistent that you are missing something quiet - because Lady Let Me Tell You - there's nothing happening you should be scared of missing.
Sadly, it has taken some time to set this puppy up so there have been the first few precious weeks of loneliness missed. Good job really as all I have to report about them is the random bouts of crying and the general malaise. Oh, and the freshly painted living room. If there's anyone else out there who fancies coming to have a look at my handy work let me know!?
Hopefully later, I will be able to get Paul to post some exciting news about his gig last night - which I forgot to go to and then forgot to ask him about this morning. I am really sorry Paul.
Also, I have been in negotiations with the soon-to-be-massively-famous-Kate-Walsh and she has agreed to an exclusive column listing everything she's eaten. Although we may only get this pleasure once a week as she's so in demand these days.
I will also be posting the Small Cat Diaries - intimate and savage details of the lives of Steve and Tonic. I would include a list of everything they eat too, but seriously, who would want to know?
I'm sure that there will also be exciting added extras such as "I Don't Know What My Boyfriend Did Last Summer!" and "The Life and Times of Michael Baker" - but these wonders are yet to come.
Most importantly I hope that this will show how much I am missing you and how much of what happens here in Brighton is less exciting because you are both away.
But let's start as we mean to go on . . . .
Tonight, Matthew, I will be . . .
Watching Film 4 - drinking the half bottle of Rioja that I didn't finish on Tuesday and eating whatever is left in the fridge.
Oh the joy.
This is a tribute to my abandonment. A testimony to my singular existence. The friend who is half my life has moved to the other half of the world and by all accounts is having a great time! So these few words will be link to her - the news from this bit of earth to her bit of earth. Not forgetting of course, her intrepid partner in crime, Miss E. Godfrey who was crazy enough to go along.
I hope that this keeps the crazy monster that is insistent that you are missing something quiet - because Lady Let Me Tell You - there's nothing happening you should be scared of missing.
Sadly, it has taken some time to set this puppy up so there have been the first few precious weeks of loneliness missed. Good job really as all I have to report about them is the random bouts of crying and the general malaise. Oh, and the freshly painted living room. If there's anyone else out there who fancies coming to have a look at my handy work let me know!?
Hopefully later, I will be able to get Paul to post some exciting news about his gig last night - which I forgot to go to and then forgot to ask him about this morning. I am really sorry Paul.
Also, I have been in negotiations with the soon-to-be-massively-famous-Kate-Walsh and she has agreed to an exclusive column listing everything she's eaten. Although we may only get this pleasure once a week as she's so in demand these days.
I will also be posting the Small Cat Diaries - intimate and savage details of the lives of Steve and Tonic. I would include a list of everything they eat too, but seriously, who would want to know?
I'm sure that there will also be exciting added extras such as "I Don't Know What My Boyfriend Did Last Summer!" and "The Life and Times of Michael Baker" - but these wonders are yet to come.
Most importantly I hope that this will show how much I am missing you and how much of what happens here in Brighton is less exciting because you are both away.
But let's start as we mean to go on . . . .
Tonight, Matthew, I will be . . .
Watching Film 4 - drinking the half bottle of Rioja that I didn't finish on Tuesday and eating whatever is left in the fridge.
Oh the joy.
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