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Of Being a Bit Bitchy July 20, 2008

Posted by Jen in : Journal , 87 comments

One of the things I’m guilty of is impressing upon people that nothing much happens on this patch of the world I call home. Last week, however, in the small market town where I work, there was excitement afoot. There were rumbles, rumours and billboards to convey the impending event.

The local Co-op has been refurbished. On Thursday, there was an official opening. You know, one of those swanky openings that have a superstar celebrity. Sadly, the Co-op being the Co-op, Jude Law was mysteriously unavailable so they got they next best thing: Keith Chegwin. Gawd. I don’t know who was more desperate, Cheggers or the Co-op.

Music burst through my office window as the off-duty local deejay shouted into his microphone at the collection of local primary school children and smattering of dusty old dears.

‘Let’s make some noize,’ he yelled at their bewildered faces.

The music was pumping as the posse of pensioners body-popped through gritted dentures to Steps and the Macarena. Cheggers appeared just in time to count down excitedly to the 10am opening. I could hear him smiling inanely through my window but, no matter how hard I watched, I didn’t spot his limo. I think he may have come on the bus?

Once the automatic doors were opened, the marauding grannies flooded in, one at a time. The Co-op had been shut for three days, you see, and they’d run out of Rich Tea and Stork margarine.

Cheggers gamely tried a bit of pork pie* before checking he had his bus pass and shuffling off home.

I actually felt a bit sorry for old Keith. Oh, hang on, no I didn’t. Sorry about that.

* I made this bit up. I am quite sad. The body-popping pensioners rocked though. Hip displacement as entertainment. Mesmerising. It’ll be on Britain’s Got Talent before you know it. **

** You know I’m just joking, right? Being nice can be terribly dull sometimes.

***** Edited to say: please do read the comments. They are far better than this post. Thankyouverymuch.


Of Non-Highbrow Hilarity (or Needless Nerves) July 15, 2008

Posted by Jen in : Journal , 25 comments

And so it was that Saturday morning saw me running about like a mad thing, whipping off snippy comments to lovely bf and generally behaving as if I were embarking on the biggest blind date ever. Which I was, in a way.

Why I ever thought I would be brave enough to meet 16 strangers all in one go, I’ll never know. The Novel Racers, as a group, has been oomphing along for 18 months or so now. As an online writing group, it’s brilliant for helping those of along who are hesitantly groping our way along this writing lark in the dark. Without its encouragement I would probably have abandoned The Novel, given up writing and adopted a general air of misery.

So, online writing group = fab. Actually meeting and having to talk to real, proper writers who, unlike me, actually write stuff = absolutely terrifying. I woke in the morning with my tummy feeling proper scared. It was a washing machine, churning and gurgling away on stain-buster mode. If it wasn’t a blind date, it was a blind blogging orgy. What to wear? Which book to take in case anyone sneaked a peek? Should I sport a carnation waxed moustache for the purposes of identification?

‘So will you be taking one of those clever books you put on your blog or one of the cheesey ones you actually read?’ asked lovely bf. He can be quite cutting you know.

I took Mike Gayle’s Wish You Were Here. I hid it in my pyjamas though. No one will ever know.

Sitting on the train, I decided to jot, scribble and write my fears away.

Do not sit by Cal, it says. She is too clever, glamorous and tall and I will not be able to speak or stand up until she goes for a wee. Oh yes. When my notebooks are found after my death, I will be hailed a literary genius. Sigh.

My fears were unfounded. We managed to talk about bums and sex just like normal people do after drinking our own body weight in wine. Or was that just me? Oh.

Of Feeble Photographic Frenzies July 9, 2008

Posted by Jen in : Journal, Photos , 26 comments

Jolly good then. Photography course finished, portfolio submitted. Well, when I say portfolio, I do of course mean a set of ten surprisingly rubbish and random photos, edited and snappily titled. ‘Sky in Saucer’, anyone? (It’s a play on words, see, rhymes with flyin’ saucer. Geddit? No, me neither.) I was quite pleased with my whizzy titles until I bothered to read the guidelines which said ‘do not give images whizzy titles’ or somesuch. I’m glad I read that. After I’d submitted the rotten bloody thing. Yay.

So. Some lucky clever-clogs will get to peruse, amongst others, a ghostly, aging, sepia-toned local cottage, mainly obscured by a hedge; my new music stand; some honeysuckle wot I squirted wiv a squirter; some bits of deckchair in the dark. Oh yes, I bet they can’t wait.

My one example of being experimental, however, got the best feedback from No. 2 Son.

“Oh dear, Mitzy, what have you done to it?”

So, back the writing. Thank goodness for that eh? I’m feeling cheery that it’s done despite the fact that, now that I no longer need to be sellotaped the PC or coursework, the outside world appears to have become some film set for the re-making of Noah’s Ark.

To celebrate my joy, I am singing Ronan Keating songs in the style of Pavarotti. This sounds rather like Pavarotti with a peg on his nose, singing quite crap songs. I knew you were wondering.

Of Vile Verbiage July 4, 2008

Posted by Jen in : Journal , 32 comments

I do, dear reader, wonder whether I might have some advanced form of verbal Tourettes. I do, despite evidence to the contrary on this blog of nonsense, try to conduct myself like an intelligent, sane person. This illusion is sadly shattered when I open my mouth. Is it not attached to my brain at all?

Here, have yesterday’s example.

Wise boss: ‘The important thing is to always be one step ahead of others.’

I nod sagely, full of gravitas, before adding my own salient point. ‘Of course, being one step behind them means you can look at their bum.’

Bugger. I suspect it’s not Teletubbies that got me where I am today. It’s my inability to stop saying stuff with my mouth before it has been filtered through my Brian. It’s a puzzle because I never waste my Brian power on anything less than intellectual and stimulating. Sigh.

Go go go GO! June 24, 2008

Posted by Jen in : Journal, Photos , 26 comments

I went to The London on Saturday to see the Queen. Sadly, she was out at her weekly darts match. Shame really, I’ve heard she has Rich Tea and everything.

Luckily, all was not lost. We had tickets to see Joseph and plans for a pre-theatre grub-up at a carefully selected but unbooked restaurant. I was a little bit excited. I absolutely love going into London; despite it only being an hour or so away on the choo-choo, it’s a million miles from this sleepy village and the workplace chickens and agricultural oddities which make up my life.

Now, I am not very organised. I was also sadly born without any sense of direction whatsoever. Luckily, lovely bf has grandiose ideas now and again of being a Proper Man and Looks at Things on Maps.

We marched about for an hour or so, him looking at The Map and me randomly stopping to exercise my camera and making people tut.

Love bf started to grumble. ‘It’ll be closed down by the time we get there,’ he growled.

Hmmm.

I know I’m a sap for those telly programmes that can turn you into a West End star, celebrity chef or brain surgeon in 10 weeks. But when Lee Mead floated majestically onto the stage, I couldn’t help but cry. Look at me, I’m living my dream, his smile beamed. Tears burst out of my eyes even now, just thinking about it.

Writing is my dream. In France, with just enough money for food, books and wine without worrying.  It’s good to have something to strive for, no matter what it is or how impossible it seems. Any Dream Will Do, as Andrew Lloyd Wurlitzer would say. I guess it’s time to pull my finger out. Still miffed about the Queen’s biscuits though. Don’t worry, by the way. I’m not going to start boring you to death with photos (much).

So what’s your dream? Your real ‘if I had one wish’ dream? I’ve been Thinking Things and feel something fascinating happening. I’m intrigued to know what you think you would really change your life and make it perfect for you. You can leave a comment anonymously. I feel a project coming on…

Of Determined Non-Dithering June 19, 2008

Posted by Jen in : Journal, Novel , 29 comments

Now then, now then, she said in the style of Jimmy Savile. Jangle jangle, etc. I’ve been Thinking. Yes, yes, alert the media.

You see, around three years ago, I had a different life to the one I have now. I didn’t live in a cul de sac. I lived in a nice house that I owned with a bridge and a river. I had all day to myself and went running, did yoga, flounced about in clothes from Jigsaw and generally had a very nice time.

But I wasn’t happy. I took a few packets of St John’s Wort and drank quite a lot of Merlot. I chuntered on (isn’t ‘chuntered’ a good word? It really does what it says on the tin.) about having to separate the strands of my life to see which bits were wrong because I really didn’t know. And no one else had the foggiest what I was talking about and just thought I was a miserable cow. And then, everything else crashed around me. It happens that way – the Universe likes to get its laughs where it can.

But I’d started writing. Hallelujah. I was saved by the power of the pen. Ugh, not really, I just thought I’d see if I could make you vomit. I have to get my fun where I can too. If it’s good enough for the Universe, it’s good enough for me.

But, actually, it’s sort of true. I’d always told people ‘I like to write’ though never actually wrote anything except lists of things that I might have forgotten due to aforementioned gulping of Merlot. I need to be creative, to write, to photographise things. Being creative from time to time also means I can make better use of the misery I secretly quite like. Can’t go round be jolly all the time, that really would be puke-inducing.

But I haven’t written anything for months; between the coursework, full time job and very slow editing of The Novel (now called Still Life I think - apt, too, given the speed I’m going) I can feel those feelings of dissatisfaction bubbling up again. But amongst those bubbles were a head-poppingly good idea that draws together the bits of The Novel together that were stranded. And like my own strands of life a few years back, just that one thing has made all the difference. Means a massive re-write before the August RNA critique deadline but hey ho.

So. There you go. Blimey, that was a bit boring, wasn’t it?

I’ll summarise, in case you nodded off. Have Had Idea. Will re-write or die. Will also write more new stuff before I go funny.

Will try to figure out why I woke up with the Jim’ll Fix It theme tune in my head and secretly hope that you, dear reader, will end up humming it too. Mwah ha ha, the power of brain bamboozlement is mine.

Of Reluctant Realisation June 4, 2008

Posted by Jen in : Journal , 25 comments

Awake at the crack of dawn as usual, I lay in bed listening to the Jurassic squeaks of the baby swallows in their mud huts outside the window. 5am and my mind lurched into action: had I remembered to edit the photos for work? Did I have anything clean to wear? Had No 2 Son emptied his lunchbox? Should I do photography coursework, edit the novel or actually do some writing before I clamber into my parachute harness of a bra and go for a run?

Ok. I admit it. I’m really tired. I know, I know. When you’re really passionate about something, there’s always time to fit it into your day. But what happens when you’re passionate about everything?

I don’t want to go to work today. It’s not that I don’t like my job; the work is interesting, I’m never bored, I get on great with the four other people in the office. It’s good. Really.

But I don’t want that to be my life. I can feel all my creative impulses slowly being tap-tap-tapped out of my soul. I miss writing; I want to pack up a bag and head down to Bexhill and take stark black and white photos of the pavilion or flounce around Brighton, searching for inspiration amongst the oddly pierced people in the twisting lanes, writing in coffee shops as salt and vinegar drifts into the sea air. But I’m not doing anything of those things.

And now I’ve wasted an hour of my life just sitting here, thinking that I can’t, just can’t, do everything. I haven’t studied or written or edited because it just all seems so hopeless.

I think I might need to have a little cry now. Best to get it over with early, don’t you think?

Of Shambolic Shopping May 28, 2008

Posted by Jen in : Domestic Doings, Journal , 27 comments

I don’t even know why I thought it a good idea. Last time lovely bf and me ventured to Ikea, we didn’t speak for an entire week.

Now and again though, I get this urge. I think I’m bored with the chickens and fields and wellies. I think I want to be a bit metropolitan. Reader, I don’t know what came over me but yesterday I went to Bluewater. Gawd.

There are several reasons I should not go to such places:

1. I am very crap at driving on motorways. When I learnt to drive in Jersey, there was none of this multiple choice of lane. No lurching, heaving lorries to squish my scaredyness until squeaks pop out of my mouth. If you drive too far or too fast in Jersey, you drop off the edge. Infinitely preferable method of dying to motorways.

2. I don’t like shopping. I am no good at it. I get bored after 20 minutes and decide that I will do the shopping after a jolly good lunch and some fortification of the vino-related type.

3. I am quite easily swayed. Self-control, in my book, is something to do with choosing to wear concrete pants and steel bras.

But, I had a foolproof plan. Ikea first, for the compulsory purchase of bookshelves and shoe racks. Then Bluewater, where I would single-mindedly hunt down a new pair of glasses as my lenses have mysteriously become so scratched that I can barely see. And no, it’s not like when I picked my Clarks school shoes apart with a compass point because I’d wanted some from FreemanHardyWillis. I honestly don’t know how they became scraped just as I’d gone off them. No, really.

Lovely bf had somehow been persuaded that this would be tolerable, if not fun.

‘Maybe we should just go to Bluewater,’ I ventured en route. ‘We can order the furniture online.’

Lovely bf mumbled something at the hard shoulder. It sounded a bit like ‘oh, for fuck’s sake’ but he’d been instructed to wear his happy face and the words weren’t coming out clearly through his gritted teeth.

I’ll cut a long story short. I still can’t see; the joy of specs was shortlived. Lunch at Loch Fyne was good though. Somehow or other, I came home with a fruit bowl and an SLR camera, having become a little overexcited about an idea for a book: a photo and haiku to mark every day for a year. Lovely bf was a trifle disappointed with his purchase of some headache tablets.

Four hours of driving, four hundred quid and eight hours of my life later I was broke and still blind. Oh dear. Perhaps I need more practice?