Browsing the shops, picking out costly but pointless bric-a-brac used to be a favourite of mine. Lately, I can't say I've been particularly bothered about wandering the High Street, searching out bargains.
Could it be the economic downturn? The double dip recession? (No, I don't fully understand that one either but figure it must mean that now I'm really, really broke instead of simply really broke.)
It's true that like many people, I haven't had a pay rise for some considerable time but it's not solely about the money. Shopping is stressful.
It begins with traffic queues and trying to find a parking space. Parking in much of the UK is a skill. I feel that we missed out in the Olympics and should have introduced this as an event. I'm sure it would have won us another gold medal. Having spent many holidays in both the USA and France, the ease of parking always amazes me. With the exception of the centre of main cities, parking is often free of charge in these countries. I do realise that there is more space than we have here per person but it does mean that a shopping trip is made that little bit easier.
I'm more in the mood to spend money I don't have when the trip has started on the right foot. Having driven through a congested town, queued for the entrance, patrolled around the dingy car park all eagle-eyed, shouting 'there's one' when I spot an empty parking bay with the enthusiasm that should be reserved for seeing a leopard in Kruger National Park, I usually feel momentarily delighted when I reverse in. Yes, that's right fellas - when I reverse in.
I never pull into a parking spot without taking the trouble to leave it facing my direction of departure. I never know when I'll have to make a quick getaway. It's one of the rules I have. Another is that I use my debit and credit card as often as I can. My rationale for this is that you should always leave an electronic trail. It gives the Police something to follow if you're murdered.
Wednesday, 7 November 2012
Monday, 15 October 2012
Unaccustomed as I am to public speaking...
Several months ago, my dad asked me to attend a Freemason Ladies' Festival with him. He asked if as the President's Lady, I'd mind delivering a speech.
I said, "Yes, not a problem, dad."
The weeks flew by and the weekend was upon us. Until last week, I think it's fair to sum up my knowledge of all things Freemasonry as nil.
Several members of my family were in attendance as well as about 50 complete strangers. I like both a challenge and the chance to get involved in new situations, so I was more than happy to be there and be part of something completely different. My lack of research, however, was to come back to bite me.
It really was a great weekend, spent in the early autumn sunshine when such weather feels like you've cheated nature in some way by avoiding October winds and lashing rain. The two days were filled with good food, fantastic company and enough alcohol to quench anyone's thirst. Not knowing what to expect of the weekend, I had no preconceived ideas. I was given a very warm welcome by the North Star Lodge and the other guests, and would like to thank them for their friendliness and encouragement.
My big moment came when I stood up to give my speech. It seemed to go without incident and they laughed in the right places. Relieved it was over, I was able once more to down some wine without having to worry about slurring and making a fool of myself. Or so I thought.
This was where my lack of fact-finding prior to the event took more of a chunk than a bite out of me.
"Ready for the first dance with your dad?" asked the Toastmaster.
"My what?" I asked.
"Can you waltz?" my dad asked.
"No," I said.
I didn't stand a chance. Following three embarrassing sweeps of the dance floor, I asked, "Can't I just do the speech again? That was less humiliating."
Not to worry, I think only about 50 people were watching.
I said, "Yes, not a problem, dad."
The weeks flew by and the weekend was upon us. Until last week, I think it's fair to sum up my knowledge of all things Freemasonry as nil.
Several members of my family were in attendance as well as about 50 complete strangers. I like both a challenge and the chance to get involved in new situations, so I was more than happy to be there and be part of something completely different. My lack of research, however, was to come back to bite me.
It really was a great weekend, spent in the early autumn sunshine when such weather feels like you've cheated nature in some way by avoiding October winds and lashing rain. The two days were filled with good food, fantastic company and enough alcohol to quench anyone's thirst. Not knowing what to expect of the weekend, I had no preconceived ideas. I was given a very warm welcome by the North Star Lodge and the other guests, and would like to thank them for their friendliness and encouragement.
My big moment came when I stood up to give my speech. It seemed to go without incident and they laughed in the right places. Relieved it was over, I was able once more to down some wine without having to worry about slurring and making a fool of myself. Or so I thought.
This was where my lack of fact-finding prior to the event took more of a chunk than a bite out of me.
"Ready for the first dance with your dad?" asked the Toastmaster.
"My what?" I asked.
"Can you waltz?" my dad asked.
"No," I said.
I didn't stand a chance. Following three embarrassing sweeps of the dance floor, I asked, "Can't I just do the speech again? That was less humiliating."
Not to worry, I think only about 50 people were watching.
Sunday, 7 October 2012
The curly edge of friendship
This year has seen large scale celebrations in Great Britain along the lines of the Queen's Diamond Jubilee and the Olympics. My own celebrations were on a much more modest scale with six close friends enjoying a day out in London yesterday.
Thirty years ago, hideous brand new blazers on our backs, we all set foot in our secondary school for our first day. Good fortune put us in the same class. Over the next couple of years, we became friends sharing the ups and downs that accompany being teenage girls, though it was missing today's complications of Facebook, texting, instant messaging and cyber bullying. A Walkman taking four AA batteries was an object of desire in the 1980's.
The seven of us realise that despite living farther away from each other than we used to, despite the husbands, children, jobs and geography, it's something unusual that we're all still friends and remain in touch. As well as other gatherings, every five years, we arrange a day out and yesterday to mark our 30th anniversary, we met up to laugh and talk our way through the afternoon and evening.
After meeting in a pub along the Strand for a libation we then headed to a nearby hotel for afternoon tea (I said it was a celebration - I never said that we were hell-raisers). It wasn't a cheap day out for any of us and I was dismayed to find that after waiting some time for the sandwiches the size of postage stamps and a glass of champagne at the princely sum of £35, the bread was hard. Two out of seven of us had been given food clearly on the turn. We complained. Very un- British but thirty five quid is thirty five quid.
Fairness to the manager, we all got replacement sandwiches. The other five had eaten their allotted trio of tiny triangles so a row was on the horizon. After thirty years, we're not worried about shouting the odds over an egg and cress sarnie. Squabble quashed by the careful dibs of the unexpected treasure, we carried on with the cakes and scones.
Heading off to another bar, high on a sugar rush, we drank some more and wandered in the direction of our next instalment in the form of 'Rock of Ages'. Before we disappeared into the theatre, we tried to come up with a date for our next get-together. Diaries and planners at the ready, we crossed off one weekend after another before coming up with the next available date that all of us could manage - Friday 4th January 2013. Hope wherever we book doesn't make the sandwiches too far in advance.
Thirty years ago, hideous brand new blazers on our backs, we all set foot in our secondary school for our first day. Good fortune put us in the same class. Over the next couple of years, we became friends sharing the ups and downs that accompany being teenage girls, though it was missing today's complications of Facebook, texting, instant messaging and cyber bullying. A Walkman taking four AA batteries was an object of desire in the 1980's.
The seven of us realise that despite living farther away from each other than we used to, despite the husbands, children, jobs and geography, it's something unusual that we're all still friends and remain in touch. As well as other gatherings, every five years, we arrange a day out and yesterday to mark our 30th anniversary, we met up to laugh and talk our way through the afternoon and evening.
After meeting in a pub along the Strand for a libation we then headed to a nearby hotel for afternoon tea (I said it was a celebration - I never said that we were hell-raisers). It wasn't a cheap day out for any of us and I was dismayed to find that after waiting some time for the sandwiches the size of postage stamps and a glass of champagne at the princely sum of £35, the bread was hard. Two out of seven of us had been given food clearly on the turn. We complained. Very un- British but thirty five quid is thirty five quid.
Fairness to the manager, we all got replacement sandwiches. The other five had eaten their allotted trio of tiny triangles so a row was on the horizon. After thirty years, we're not worried about shouting the odds over an egg and cress sarnie. Squabble quashed by the careful dibs of the unexpected treasure, we carried on with the cakes and scones.
Heading off to another bar, high on a sugar rush, we drank some more and wandered in the direction of our next instalment in the form of 'Rock of Ages'. Before we disappeared into the theatre, we tried to come up with a date for our next get-together. Diaries and planners at the ready, we crossed off one weekend after another before coming up with the next available date that all of us could manage - Friday 4th January 2013. Hope wherever we book doesn't make the sandwiches too far in advance.
Sunday, 30 September 2012
Writing without any pressures isn't for me.
Having moaned like heck and told everyone how hard done by I was that I didn't have time to write because I was under pressure, had too many distractions (our hefty Labrador climbing on my lap for a start when I write), work, you know the usual excuses, Dr Who is on the telly, I thought that my week at West Dean, Chichester would be just the ticket.
In short, it's a fantastic place with beautiful scenery, fantastic people, a relaxed atmosphere and incredibly good food. I was lucky enough to have won a week's residential stay courtesy of Myriad Editions back in May and took my week's stay two weeks ago.
I arrived on Sunday 16th September and was allocated a room in the Old Vicarage. I couldn't have asked for a better room. Its double doors gave me great views of the gardens but I was far enough from the main building so that I was completely undisturbed. I think that this may have been my problem.
My first afternoon, I got to my room, unpacked, opened the doors to the garden, got my laptop out and prepared myself to write. There was only one problem - without the pressure of 'I must write now while I have an hour', I couldn't think of anything to write.
The plan was to start on book two. It was looking like more of a pamphlet at this stage. My progress was slow until the next day when something clicked into place and I got cracking. I'm even pleased with a lot of the work I did. I wrote 20000 words and spent two days working on my third lot of edits for All Fall Down. This may not sound very impressive but this was on top of three meals per day, morning coffee, afternoon tea and the bar opening at 6pm. All in all, I think that I did pretty well.
Perhaps I've hit the nail on the head - it was the pressure of having to be at the dining room five times a day that inspired me to well and truly pull my finger out and get scribbling. That's my excuse for a tea break sorted then.
In short, it's a fantastic place with beautiful scenery, fantastic people, a relaxed atmosphere and incredibly good food. I was lucky enough to have won a week's residential stay courtesy of Myriad Editions back in May and took my week's stay two weeks ago.
I arrived on Sunday 16th September and was allocated a room in the Old Vicarage. I couldn't have asked for a better room. Its double doors gave me great views of the gardens but I was far enough from the main building so that I was completely undisturbed. I think that this may have been my problem.
My first afternoon, I got to my room, unpacked, opened the doors to the garden, got my laptop out and prepared myself to write. There was only one problem - without the pressure of 'I must write now while I have an hour', I couldn't think of anything to write.
The plan was to start on book two. It was looking like more of a pamphlet at this stage. My progress was slow until the next day when something clicked into place and I got cracking. I'm even pleased with a lot of the work I did. I wrote 20000 words and spent two days working on my third lot of edits for All Fall Down. This may not sound very impressive but this was on top of three meals per day, morning coffee, afternoon tea and the bar opening at 6pm. All in all, I think that I did pretty well.
Perhaps I've hit the nail on the head - it was the pressure of having to be at the dining room five times a day that inspired me to well and truly pull my finger out and get scribbling. That's my excuse for a tea break sorted then.
Sunday, 26 August 2012
Alcohol or horses? I've made my choice.
Despite Great Britain's gold medals in the Olympics for various horsing events, and I'm very proud of my country for doing so well in a number of sports, horses don't do very much for me. I realise that they are majestic creatures and rule many people's lives but they scare me a bit. They're quite big for a start.
There are probably a few similarities between drinking too much and being taken by surprise by a horse. I should think that both end badly. My point to all this is that I've asked my husband to plan our holiday next year. "We'll go wherever you fancy," I said. I knew that I was pretty safe in my decision as he won't go anywhere in the world where you can't drink the tap water or where anything more than malaria tablets are advised to prevent curtailing your life expectancy.
"I was thinking of America," he answered. I had foreseen this reply.
"How about Texas?" he asked. I had not foreseen this one.
After many days of internet research, map books strewn across the dining room table and weighing up the options available, he devised a route from Dallas taking in San Antonio, Roswell, Austin and a stay on a ranch.
"I love the idea of a ranch," I ventured, putting aside my horse-hesitation for the sake of an experience.
"There's a small problem with it," he said.
I ran through the possible scenarios in my mind: bucking broncos, horses with rabies (I'm not even sure horses get rabies), wobbly bits jiggling up and down as the horse moves (mine not the horse's), I even thought about drive-through ranches (this is America after all). It was none of these.
It was much worse. "Most of the ranches have no alcohol," he said.
If there's a choice of horse or hangover, it will always be the booze.
Is that why cowboys carried canteens?
There are probably a few similarities between drinking too much and being taken by surprise by a horse. I should think that both end badly. My point to all this is that I've asked my husband to plan our holiday next year. "We'll go wherever you fancy," I said. I knew that I was pretty safe in my decision as he won't go anywhere in the world where you can't drink the tap water or where anything more than malaria tablets are advised to prevent curtailing your life expectancy.
"I was thinking of America," he answered. I had foreseen this reply.
"How about Texas?" he asked. I had not foreseen this one.
After many days of internet research, map books strewn across the dining room table and weighing up the options available, he devised a route from Dallas taking in San Antonio, Roswell, Austin and a stay on a ranch.
"I love the idea of a ranch," I ventured, putting aside my horse-hesitation for the sake of an experience.
"There's a small problem with it," he said.
I ran through the possible scenarios in my mind: bucking broncos, horses with rabies (I'm not even sure horses get rabies), wobbly bits jiggling up and down as the horse moves (mine not the horse's), I even thought about drive-through ranches (this is America after all). It was none of these.
It was much worse. "Most of the ranches have no alcohol," he said.
If there's a choice of horse or hangover, it will always be the booze.
Is that why cowboys carried canteens?
Wednesday, 15 August 2012
Laughing Gravy wore my jumper and we came up with a title for my book
Friday evening I got home late from work. I found my dog at the front door wearing my jumper. I'm not sure how he got his head through the neck hole either or what he thought he was doing. It was an old jumper I'd given him to play with. I know how cheap this makes me. Honestly, we've tried him with all sorts of toys but they don't last very long. We thought that we'd struck gold by giving him our old clothes to play with. We stopped short of my husband's old pants.
That would be a whole world of wrong. They're supermarket own.
After a very long weekend at work, I had Monday and Tuesday off and like all work-free days, they sped by, leaving me with a list of stuff I haven't tackled. I forgot a friend's son's birthday for a start.
Most of Monday was taken up with a visit to Brighton to meet up with Myriad who are publishing my book next year. I have a lot of work to do on this rewrite. The meeting went really well though and at last, we've come up with a title.
As myself and my long-suffering husband who I talked into coming with me, were out of the house for so long, we'd asked a friend to nip round and let the dog out for a while. She sent me a text to tell me that she wasn't sure if he should be chewing random items of clothes and had rehung them on the washing line.
Really glad now we didn't let the dog have the second-hand underwear. I'd never be able to look my friend in the eye again.
That would be a whole world of wrong. They're supermarket own.
After a very long weekend at work, I had Monday and Tuesday off and like all work-free days, they sped by, leaving me with a list of stuff I haven't tackled. I forgot a friend's son's birthday for a start.
Most of Monday was taken up with a visit to Brighton to meet up with Myriad who are publishing my book next year. I have a lot of work to do on this rewrite. The meeting went really well though and at last, we've come up with a title.
As myself and my long-suffering husband who I talked into coming with me, were out of the house for so long, we'd asked a friend to nip round and let the dog out for a while. She sent me a text to tell me that she wasn't sure if he should be chewing random items of clothes and had rehung them on the washing line.
Really glad now we didn't let the dog have the second-hand underwear. I'd never be able to look my friend in the eye again.
Saturday, 4 August 2012
Spreading joy on the M25
Let's be honest, it could do with it.
Returning from Wales yesterday afternoon by car, the journey took me along the M25 (anti-clockwise past Heathrow if you care, but I'm guessing you don't). The traffic was its usual stop-start along the temporary speed limits. It seems to me that the traffic flows until the temporary speed restrictions are in use, but perhaps that's just me.
Lanes in both directions crawled along for miles, most of us with better places to be on a Friday afternoon which crept into Friday evening without too much effort.
As we made our way along the outside lane, one of the passengers in the Golf VW in front of our car opened his window and began to wave at those static on the clockwise carriageway. He waved at about fifty or so people until a concrete barrier stopped his good cheer.
Hardly anyone waved back. A few looked the other way. Some smiled that embarrassed smile. Some were clearly just humouring him.
I'm not sure why that was. It was making me laugh but then being stuck in traffic with the fumes getting too much may have made me delirious. Thing is, we were on the M25 for a considerably long time but the fella in front waving is just about all I recall.
Who'd have thought that the M25 could be so amusing? But before you all rush there giving the Edinburgh Festival a run for its money, bear in mind I usually start drinking at 7pm and the sun was well and truly over the yardarm.
Returning from Wales yesterday afternoon by car, the journey took me along the M25 (anti-clockwise past Heathrow if you care, but I'm guessing you don't). The traffic was its usual stop-start along the temporary speed limits. It seems to me that the traffic flows until the temporary speed restrictions are in use, but perhaps that's just me.
Lanes in both directions crawled along for miles, most of us with better places to be on a Friday afternoon which crept into Friday evening without too much effort.
As we made our way along the outside lane, one of the passengers in the Golf VW in front of our car opened his window and began to wave at those static on the clockwise carriageway. He waved at about fifty or so people until a concrete barrier stopped his good cheer.
Hardly anyone waved back. A few looked the other way. Some smiled that embarrassed smile. Some were clearly just humouring him.
I'm not sure why that was. It was making me laugh but then being stuck in traffic with the fumes getting too much may have made me delirious. Thing is, we were on the M25 for a considerably long time but the fella in front waving is just about all I recall.
Who'd have thought that the M25 could be so amusing? But before you all rush there giving the Edinburgh Festival a run for its money, bear in mind I usually start drinking at 7pm and the sun was well and truly over the yardarm.
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