Short post: Feel like crap… November 22, 2010

I’m not forgetting today’s post but as I’m suffering from the onset of a cold I have nothing to say that wouldn’t result in any reader taking a knife to their wrist.  Been steadily getting achey throughout the day which wasn’t exactly an asset to the proofreading workload I had but that’s life.  Cr*p.

Had to share a bath with my youngest as she thinks that’s fun from time to time so couldn’t stretch out properly and laze.  Nor could I have the water too hot (even though that’s how I like it) because of said rugrat.  Difficult conversation with my mother did not help matters so I’M OUT!

Weekends: Motivation Sappers November 21, 2010

I would love to know if there are others like me out there, Mr. WordPress. 

You start your week and have renewed energy, if not moodiness, to get as much work done as you can for as much money as possible.  You spend every weekday morning counting down how many more will involve the alarm before it’s the weekend and you can have a lie-in.  The rest of the week crawls by and you long for Friday tea-time knowing that there is a small pocket of time for you to do what you like, when you like.

I make plans during the week.  When I haven’t the time to clean something properly, do more washing or put stuff away then I think, “I’ll do it at the weekend”.  Before I know it, the whole two-day bonanza is full.

Then the weekend arrives.  Most weekends I’m still finishing some work from the week gone by as well as spending an hour or two updating my social media (something I don’t tend to get time to do during the week).  Then I tend to get settled on the settee and it’s dinnertime before I’m even dressed.  Then when the afternoon rolls round I’m too knackered to do anything than the sheer basics – which is clearing enough dishes away so that we’re not eating out of newspaper – or cooking the flimsiest of meals so the kids don’t start dialling Childline.

Why is this?  I’ve never been one for jam-packing wall-to-wall activities on a Saturday or Sunday but why am I so goddamn lazy?  Take today, I had an hour’s worth of work to do that I started at noon.  It’s now 5 p.m. and the work was long since completed yet the last four and a half hours have been lost to random internet surfing.

Even when the computer doesn’t move form its bag all weekend I find I can read the contents of the house – anything to delay the onset of something physical, like getting up.  I have even read the backs of shampoo bottles and electronic manuals to pass the time.

Am I crazy, Mr. WordPress?  The idea of physical exertion on a weekend makes me break into a sweat.  Why should this be so?

Anyway, can’t talk – must dash to read the back of this juice bottle.

Christmas shopping and aching feet are my excuse… November 20, 2010

I know I said I was flagging on Thursday but that’s not why I didn’t post in my challenge yesterday.  I had taken the day off and so had my hubby, the kids were going to their nanna and granddads and we were going to blitz the shops to get all the Christmas shopping done IN ONE DAY!

Quite a task, and one which we didn’t really expect to achieve.  On reflection, we didn’t do bad – more than I thought, in fact – but probably only three-quarters of the way to finishing the Christmas gift shopping for the year. 

What amazed me was how unfit we both were.  We only walked round for three hours and you’d have thought we’d have run the marathon.  Our feet were aching, we’d even had to stop for a sit-down and a coffee half-way through, and yet we were nearly crying with exhaustion on the way home.  The town was mobbed – especially Argos, it looked apocalyptic.  There was no staff, only mobs of moaning people who were shuffling backwards and forwards looking for their stuff.  The branch in Pontefract must haul in millions for Argos yet they never make it bigger or put more staff on – crazy.  Contrast that with M & S where there were more staff members than customers which was just as unsettling.

Then we piled our swag into the car and set off down the road to Xscape/Freeport.  It’s great having this so nearby though the shops at Freeport aren’t that fantastic.  Let’s just say the older or thinner shoppers are well catered for.  Overweight 30-somethings, not so much.

The hubby was pleased because he found ‘That’s Entertainment’ – a shop that practically pays you to take their music.  3 albums for a fiver!  Which meant we had to listen to even more of the hubby’s guff as we came home as it was his car we’d gone in.  Instead of Beautiful South which would have been my choice, we had INXS.  Rock on.

We then walked over to Xscape which was surprisingly quiet given that the new Harry Potter was premiering, then again, it was only 4.30 p.m.  We sat in Frankie and Benny’s which I’ve never seen as empty (I even started smelling my armpits, it was that quiet) and had a lovely meal (drooling now just thinking about it).  By the time we’d finished, our limbs had completely seized up and we had to prop ourselves up to get back to the car.  We must have looked like a pair of winos.

So, we were back in for 5.30 pm.  No kids – we should have been dancing till dawn.  Instead, we played some X-Box RPG and watched I’m a Celebrity.  The stark realisation that we’re getting old could not have been stronger. 

I’m flagging already… November 18, 2010

I made a vow less than a week ago to post jibberish on here every day.  Already I’m flagging, my jibber has started to become a chore.  Mr. WordPress, I will soldier on a little longer, the brave soul I am, just so you can see just what a nutjob I am.

I’ve been trying to drive both companies today – http://www.clericalandcontent.co.uk and http://www.thewritinghall.co.uk (Whoops!  There I go again!) on various mediums but the thing with me – and the thing that drives others up the wall – is that I’m so damned impatient.  I put out the feelers that companies should come to me, so they should come – NOW!

Work-wise, I’m actually booked up for the next couple of weeks, run off my feet in fact.  However, Thursdays are banking days and that’s when I get the wobbles.  The ‘quiet’ weeks that I enjoyed because I could scoot off home after a couple of hours, that saw me surfing the net more than working, have failed to produce an income (what a surprise!).  Therefore, I don’t look at what work I’ve got on but go into full panic.

“Mr. Mainwaring, Mr. Mainwaring!” I’ll inwardly holler.  I’ve no money, Christmas is coming, the goose will not be getting fat.  (And neither will I…well, fatt-er.)

A good friend keeps telling me that what I do now will pay off around three months down the line – so mid-Feb I’ll be snowed under, don’t call me.

A pre-teen ‘tude and a living nightmare November 17, 2010

I knew, when I gave birth to two girls, that their teenage years would be my nightmare.  I gave my mother some hell when I reached 14 and was an absolute monster.  Thankfully I grew out of it and now I’m an absolute darling.  However, my eldest daughter has only just turned 11 and is giving my gip on a daily basis.  She talks to both her Dad and I as if we were dung she’d walked in and has so little respect for her sister or anything in our home it’s a wonder she deigns herself to live here.

I know all this is ‘normal’ (though why it is, beats me) but I thought I had a good couple of years yet.  Does the teen years finish earlier if they start earlier?  Usually she knows that she’s pushed me too far but this is the first time she’s gone beyond that boundary and not seemed bothered.  She’s not exactly sulking, just acting as if I’m just some nasty landlady that happens to frequent the rooms.  Uncaring, unrepentant and unlikeable.

You nurture this tiny person for 9 months, let them ruin your body (to be fair, my body would not have given Heidi Klum a run for her money before I got pregnant anyway) and you suffer the indignities and bruises associated with squeezing a bowling ball from a 10p slot.  Then there’s the worry, the sleepless nights, the tantrums (they’ve not actually ever gone away) and the horrible toddler years (far worse than the baby years for me).  You lose your privacy and mostly your sanity as this being looks to you for everything – guidance, care and a drink as soon as you’ve sat down to relax.

Perhaps that’s the thing – we’ve spoilt and mollycoddled her.  Her attitude is one of distaste because the little princess has not been pleased.  So what do I do?  I’m currently ignoring her as she’s ignoring me but this seems just childish behaviour.  I’m not ready to talk to her when I’m still as angry as I am – so I’m at a loss.

Tell me, Mr. WordPress – have you little Wordies running about?  Perhaps they’ve left cyberworld and you and Mrs. WordPress are enjoying LABPs – Life After Baby Programs.  I hope it’s as good as I imagine – I’d hate to go through all this crap then realise life on the other side of the fence is just as crap too.

A Royal Wedding! William, you could have been mine… November 16, 2010

Lovely to hear the news of a Royal Wedding next year.  Even though I was only seven, I can remember Charles’ and Di’s wedding and thought that princes were easy to come by.  Needless to say, that notion soon got lost.  William – typically handsome, albeit with a balding patch (then again, how many men don’t?) – he has enough good points to make this pale into insignificance.  His position, good nature, fabulous manners (so important, dahling) would get me up the aisle.  Had I not traversed up there with my frog, that is.

I had the most fabulous gown when I got married, none of those chic, figure-hugging ones they have now – pure toilet-roll holder fluff.  It was gorgeous.  I WAS Princess Di (my name’s Diane, geddit?).  Sadly, and something I bitterly, bitterly regret, I was told it’s a nice tradition to make your first-born’s christening gown from your wedding dress.  Without thinking, and being the heady fool who does stuff like this, I got it cut up.  The frock lasted about three hours on my daughter then she inconsiderately grew at such a pace that it wasn’t even worn as a fabulous party dress after that.  My beautiful dress, gone forever.  It’s not even as if I can cherish the christening gown, it was used as a playing up dress and got ruined, but by then it didn’t resemble its former glory anyway.

Sometimes, and don’t let on to my husband, I feel like tracing the dress from its designers and buying it again – just to gaze at it and try it on in the bedroom.  I’m such a hopeless romantic, I dream that my real prince has yet to show up and whisk me away.  Away from my life of drudgery and being skint, to a palace far, far away.  He would look like Aragorn (yes, I know I keep harping on about him, Mr. WordPress) but if he didn’t I wouldn’t be tempted to move from the sofa.

Royal weddings and similar state occasions make us happy – they force us to forget our own lives and imagine what it must be like to be a prince, princess, king or queen.  Probably restrictive, hard work and majorly boring if we’re to be anywhere near the mark.  None of the shouting at servants and relaxing, uninterrupted, for hours on end in bubble baths whilst half-clad hunky men feed you grapes (just how the hell do you get that to happen?).  I can’t wait for next year, even if it means I’ve got to stick it out a little longer with my frog and not my prince.  Hubby, if you ever read this, you know I’m only joking – you’re the only one willing to feed me grapes in the tub…

Professional Blogging: My thoughts November 15, 2010

I class myself as a professional blogger, because clients pay me to write on their blogs.  I am not in the ranks of making a six-figure salary from the task but it’s an area I’m developing to become even more lucrative.  I recently read a book that gave you the tips and tools you need to become a professional blogger and the overriding message was to find a niche.  I agree with this, in retrospect, but this blog – it’s for me.  Mr. WordPress, I know you’re reading my thoughts, and that’s great.  I write so much for other people that this is all about ME!!

I’m sat in my office typing this with the winter sun beating on my back (I wish it would actually sod off) and listening to the sound of silence.  That’s the benefit that working from an office has given me, even if it eats a chunk of my purse and gives me a few sleepless nights each month.  I sometimes play my pan pipe collection if I want to mellow even more because, yes, I am that person.  The one that can’t wait to hand over my credit card details whenever that sort of guff comes on the telly.  (Simon and Garfunkel rock BTW.)

Yesterday’s birthday party went great – the child’s mother and a lovely friend of mine – said it was okay to drop Zara off and collect her later so I didn’t have to endure the motherly cliques or the sight of 25 kids screaming and running about to deafening music for two hours.  I thought I’d been dealt a great card, until I crept in with five minutes to go until the end of the party and the twisted DJ made us all do Black Lace’s Superman in our seats.  I could have refused but he warned he’d humiliate us individually if we didn’t do it – so there I was – balloon and Zara’s coat in hands yet waving them manically, trying to ‘ski’ then ‘comb my hair’.  Forget the furore with waterboarding, the US government should use this guy.

Sky Plus has decided to conk out altogether last night so I had to rely (Oh no!) on the main five channels.  Luckily, it was a Strictly/X Factor results night with the added benefit of I’m a Celebrity chucked in so all was tolerable.  Until IAC finished and I was forced to watch The Impressions Show.  (John Culshaw, mate, just hand the show over the Debra – you don’t deserve it anymore.  At least she’s more hit than miss.)

Got the ‘tude from my eldest, Caitlin, this morning when I told her that her hair looked like a chip pan (it really did).  “GOD!” she screamed.  He probably agrees with me.

Trotting off home soon to pick up the little beggars.  Hubby back on nights again so he’ll be a bundle of laughs.  Still, it’s a short week for him this week, we’re both taking Friday off work to start – and finish – the Christmas shopping.  All of it, in one fell swoop.  My mum’s having the kids overnight which I think is the second time this year but I could be wrong, it may be the first.  We may really push the boat out and have a Burger King.  Until tomorrow, farewell, Mr. WordPress.

Party time today! Here come the cliques… November 14, 2010

My six year old is at a party this afternoon which is great for her, but at her age, I can’t leave her while she’s partying.  Instead, it means taking two hours from my weekend to sit and watch her run around.  If this sounds grouchy – good.  It’s not so much that it can be boring (kids’ parties usually are) but the parent cliques you have to suffer while you wait.

As my eldest daughter takes herself and her sister to their school in the next street, it’s rare that you’ll see my in the school playground of a morning.  My husband does the coming-home school run which means I don’t get to mingle with the other children’s parents.  I know them by face and to say ‘hi’ but that’s as far as it goes. 

This creates a chasm come party time.  The mums who all huddle and chat when dropping/picking up kids to and from school have found nice little groups that become very apparent when parties occur.  If I arrive early and sit next to one of the mums where there’s plenty of space, within ten minutes I’m surrounded by all the other members of the clique that are all giving me the look, “why can’t you shove off?”.  If I arrive later, everyone else has found their appropriate clique and I just plonk myself, billy-no-mates style, on the end before staring out of the windows for two long hours.

It’s not that these women are nasty or being unkind, because they’re not really.  They just don’t know me very well and I’m not the sort of person to just infiltrate a group then proceed to become the life and soul.  It’s easier to let them get on with things than feel a square peg in a round hole. 

I’ve tried to get my hubby to come along with me but he’d rather pull his own toenails out with his teeth.  He gets to stay at home and look after my eldest, whom, needs no looking after.  A nice job if you can get it.  I should also remind myself why I am torturing myself for two hours – so my youngest, Zara, can have a great time.  I figure I can stomach my social faux pas for that reason.  Speak tomorrow, Mr. WordPress – it’s party time!

More on my challenge, Mr. WordPress November 13, 2010

So, now I’ve been inspired, I’m going to try and write a blog from my personal point of view every day.  I mean REALLY try – even on those days I’ve been looking at a computer screen for hours and cannot physically stomach any more.  Neither shall I write for anyone’s pleasure but my own – and yours, Mr. WordPress, of course.  For you shall be my audience – and you will neither clap nor frown but just, well, fictionally exist.

As it’s the weekend today, I woke after a lie-in still feeling inspired from last night.  I tried to get what I plan for my blog over to my husband but it was like explaining algebra to a two year-old.  He doesn’t really understand my writing; he doesn’t read anything other than his girly mags and thinks all writers are weirdos and geeks – yep, even his own wife.  Then again, he can watch History channel programmes and documentaries on things that happened in the past that do not interest me one iota.  I don’t really care what happened in history – I’m sorry, Mr. WordPress, but I don’t – it bores me.  I can appreciate it makes me what I am and gives me the freedom and tools to be able to do what I do every single day – but it doesn’t excite me and I could live without knowing about it too.

I like to hear about the future -sci-fi and astronomy, etc. excites and inspires me.  I wonder if that makes me an eternal optimist, always looking forward rather than back.  I doubt it, because if you knew me, Mr. WordPress, you’d know I’m no glass-half full woman.  I can moan and rant with the best of them.

So I thought, “should each blog post have a theme?”.  In Julia and Julie the writer’s theme was about cooking, even though Julie included parts of her life in the blog.  I think I’m too lazy to commit to a challenge like that as it means doing something and I’m a protagonist.  So, no, my theme is just to write to you – Mr. WordPress – with anything I choose.  Narcissistic?  You betcha.  Do I care?  As I doubt many people will see it, no.  If people like someone rattling on about themselves and their life, then it will be something they’ll want to read; if not, they’ll think, “jog on” and click another link.

But you, Mr. WordPress are forced to read it, seing as it is your blog platform.  You have to be here all the time.  I’m going to picture you as tall, dark, long-haired in the way that Aragorn looks in Lord of the Rings – in fact, you are Aragorn, Mr. WordPress.  Brooding, passionate and lusting after me.

After my husband derided me, and effectively, everyone who may ever read this, it did take the shine off my challenge a little.  He doesn’t understand a lot of what I do – my job, my tastes, my passions, so this is only following protocol in our marriage.  Should I have a hit bestseller like J.K. Rowling, I’m sure he’d see some value in it then.

On to something today that inspired me: we took the kids and dog for a walk in the fields across from our home.  The weather was crisp and the scenery was beautiful.  Burnished yellows, russet reds and, unfortunately, muddy browns, were abundant.  I breathed in the autumn air and thought how much I love where I live.  If only you could’ve seen it, Mr. WordPress; had you not been a computer program, and all that.

Inspiration. A vow. A challenge. November 12, 2010

I’ve just watched an utterly inspiring film – Julia and Julie.  Not inspiring because I want to be the next Delia Smith (or Julia Childs) but because I empathised with Julie – a struggling writer who dreams of being noticed – of having others wanting to hear what she has to say. 

I’m a writer – and I’ve been told I’m a good one too.  I already have a blog (I have several)…but they’re for my business or for my clients.

Why do I never write about me?  Why do I never write what I want?  What I want to say, not what I should say or what I’ve been paid to say?  I should be writing about my hopes, fears, inspiration and feelings.  Even if Mr WordPress is the only person who’ll ever read them – at least they’ll be out there.

I used to keep a diary when I was a teenager and even though I’ve kept it, it’s full of tedious stuff.  Apparently in 1984 I loved chocolate drops, read ‘Girl’ magazine and fell out with my friends on a daily basis.  It never said anything of value and even I know I must have had thoughts of what I hoped to be at some point in my life. 

I wanted to be an English teacher when I was at school as I loved each and every one of mine.  Each one taught me something new and gave me the love I have for writing. 

I remember writing for a supply teacher once when I was about 13.  The task was to write a fictional interview with a celebrity and I chose to write one on behalf of a pop music magazine interviewing Bros (well, it was the mid-80s).  I’d read hundreds of these interviews, such was my love of Luke Goss (not Matt, everyone liked Matt – and I so hated conforming).   I proceeded to write a hypothetical interview about the trio.  At the end of the class the teacher came over to me and said I was wrong to copy: I should have written it from my point of view, not straight out of Smash Hits.  She will never know that her criticism was really the first, utterly beautiful compliment I’ve ever received.  God bless her.

The only other writing ‘moment’ from school is as clear as a bell.  We’d watched the film ‘The Elephant Man’ in class with the most wonderful English teacher that ever walked this earth – Mr Don Holmes (of Carleton High School, Pontefract, if he ever was to see this post).  His assignment to the class was that we had to write a letter from The Elephant Man to his doctor, Mr Treves.

I wrote from John Hurt’s heart; thanking the doctor for all the kindness he and his wife had shown.  I wrote that The Elephant Man physically felt the distinction of their treatment to that he received from other people.  He said the general public gave him pity.  The doctor and his wife showed him sympathy.  Qualifying the difference in this fictional letter, I said, “Pain is given.  Sympathy is shared”.  Mr Holmes was struck of this line, asking to see me after class and then where I had found the analogy.  I told him I had just made it up because I believed that is what The Elephant Man truly felt.

Mr Holmes said nothing further.  He gave me no praise but his twinkling eyes told me I’d done good.  Thinking of that moment still brings tears to my eyes -  I’m such a sentimental old sod.

I didn’t do any writing once I left school until after I married.  Then I enrolled on a writing course that told me how to make money from my writing.  I didn’t finish the course because it didn’t include what I wanted to know – how to make money from my writing and still love it.

This is still my aim.  Although I’ve won honours and accolades from small minority groups for my stories and also had a picture book bought from me (the content only – I have no idea what’s happened to it after that, other than I’ve spent the small sum of money), I’m still aspiring to my dream – to be a published writer.  Not as a career; I’d like to think that was possible but if I only ever had one book published I could die happy.  Not for the monetary gain either, though I wouldn’t say no – I’m not crazy.  But to have a book in my hand that I can give to people and say, “I did that”.  Self-publishing is fine but not the same as a traditional publishing house taking your book and believing in it – loving it - as much as you do.

So – my vow.  I will spend some time every day telling you about me and my life.  Some days it may not be awe-inspiring and tell you only what I had for tea and how the kids pushed me over the edge yet again.  Some days you may see a sliver of hope such as what has been jump-started by the film I’ve seen tonight.  If it’s only you who reads it, Mr WordPress, I have only one thing to say: Enjoy.