Of Extraordinary Employment May 23, 2008
Posted by Jen in : Journal , 22commentsI don’t talk about my job much, mainly due to having had my blog rumbled before I even started there. Trying to explain to your new potential boss via mobile phone through a mouth of egg sarnie in a Waitrose car park what you meant by describing him as ‘indecipherably posh’ is not a lunchtime pursuit I recommend.
But. How can I ignore it? It consumes a huge part of my day. It will also be consuming my Saturday.
While my usual working week usually contains a mix of old boys with farms and swathes of agricultural legal head-popping typing, there is the occasional glimmer of glamour. 70s rock stars, bullion dealers and llamas have featured briefly in the past week, amongst the chickens and silage. And tomorrow will be in a class of its own: I will largely be found making cups of tea on a Calor Gas stove aboard a double decker bus to which will be attached a marquee for our clients’ drinking pleasure. If it rains today, as forecast, I’ll be performing this clever routine in wellies.
I have always wanted to be outstanding in my field. Tomorrow, I shall simply be out, standing in a field. Loitering within tent, as it were.
Fodder for the next novel? You really think so?
Of Bus-like Brainwaves May 20, 2008
Posted by Jen in : Journal , 16comments‘I don’t think I’d write another novel,’ I said to lovely bf a while ago.
It’s hideously hard, pouring so much time and emotional energy into something that will almost certainly sink without trace. I could hardly remember how I managed to sit there last summer, trying to wrench out at least a hundred words so I wouldn’t have to lie when asked how I was getting on at the end of the day.
Never. Again.
But I had an idea last week. I don’t think it’s even a new idea – it’s just one that keeps bubbling up and getting stronger each time. A bit like the smell of a blocked drain really. The Idea came while I was driving to work and I dashed up the stairs to my office, scribbling frantically to get it down before it evaporated for another few months.
And. I had another idea this morning. Well, it was a dream actually which became An Idea when I woke up properly. Bursting bladders have a lot to answer for. It wasn’t even just The Idea for a story – it had the characters and lines of dialogue and everything, fizzling and sizzling and spitting hot fat at me. I had to get up, despite it being 5.20am, to write it all down before I made a mess. Hmm, great image there; my new story is clearly a sausage.
Now that my first cup of tea has gone down the hatch, the initial euphoria has worn off and I’m wondering whether I should knit the two Ideas together. Or whether they’re actually both crap and I should’ve stayed in bed. Sausages and blocked drains; perhaps that sums it up.
God. I hate writing.
***
On another note entirely, lovely bf has made an observation:
When Princess Diana was alive, she used to visit war-torn countries strewn with landmines. Fergie, God bless her, has been sent to Hull. The Royals aren’t what they were, are they?
Of Determined Doingness May 15, 2008
Posted by Jen in : Domestic Doings, Journal , 25commentsI remember reading somewhere that ‘having it all’ means ‘doing it all’. It sounded tough, in a kamikaze 1980s shoulder pads sort of way. All of a sudden, though, I seem to have adopted this red-lipstick and high heels approach. I want it all and I want it now.
Hmmm. I think I’m having a mini-mid-life crisis. I don’t like being 39. I blame the ‘life begins at 40′ thing: I somehow feel that the next 355 days or so are the end of an era somehow. Not in a bad way; just life being marked. A defining thing.
I want it all. I really do. Predictably, I’m on yet another ‘get thin’ regime. I’ve been running nearly every day and lovely bf hasn’t sniggered even once while trying to winch me out of bed the following day when my muscles and joints are seizing up. Needless to say, he doesn’t quite get the mid-life thing. I’m not sure it’s entirely fair that he’s only just turned 32. Perhaps I should trade him in for a doddery old duffer and then I’d be all spritely by comparison?
I haven’t done even an eeny weeny bit of editing; when the new sofas for the conservatory come, that will be the place to edit. No, really. I mean it. Honest Guv.
Yes, dear reader, living in The Cul de Sac means that I now have a conservatory from which to watch my life hobble past. It’s a beast of a room and will be separated into two areas: a chill-out zone with huge great big sofas for sprawling editing and the other end containing a new dining table at which we will hold dinner parties in a most middle class sort of way. It’s getting to me, The Cul de Sac. I’ve even bought new clothes. From Boden. Shhhhhh… you see what I mean? It’s all creeping insidiously into me; I even conformed and put the recycling bins out in a co-ordinated fashion on Tuesday. I didn’t mean to. But every other house had their bins lined up like soldiers by their beds. I couldn’t help myself.
Good Lord. 7am now, time for a run before I wriggle into my flippy skirt or hotchpotch top. Bloody hell. How on earth am I supposed to be a writer when I carry on like that, eh?
Of Mundane Mumblings May 8, 2008
Posted by Jen in : Domestic Doings, Journal , 20commentsDear Blog,
I’ve been neglecting you. You sat there, despondent, empty, waiting for my input and there was none. Zilch. Bugger all.
Soz.
I’ve been busy, Blog. I’ve cluttered up the new house with things I’ll never need and can’t find the essentials. My lady’s bathroom accoutrements are missing; I now go by the name of Olga and have been asked sweetly by lovely bf whether I will be taking up shot putting.
I have ripped brambles out of the garden with my bare hands and resemble a murder with cuts and bruises everywhere.
I have tried to catch up with my photography course. Mission, should you wish to accept it: Message in a Bottle.
‘Yes, I really feel you’ve found your level in academia,’ smiles lovely bf as I stumble about madly, clutching camera and half-empty wine bottle.
I’ve also had another birthday and have that sinking feeling that, during this last year of my 30s, I should be achieve something in the next 360 days.
But still, the sun’s shining and the swallows are a-swooping. What better day to start my shot putting career. I’ve got the frowning and grunting part mastered so far…
Of Continuing Comical Karma April 19, 2008
Posted by Jen in : Domestic Doings, Journal , 37commentsThey say, don’t they, that things happen for a reason. Eight weeks ago, we were told that our landlady had decided to sell the house we live in. No problemo, I thought jauntily, I now have a proper job earning a splendid number of Great British pounds. I shall procure a lifetime of debt in the form of a mortgage and purchase a humble hovel in which to house my offspring.
Apparently, however, due to apparent crunchiness of credit and my unwillingness to live in a chicken shed, this was something of a non-starter.
I pestered every letting agent in Sussex and could I find a house? Could I ‘eck. On Friday, however, our luck changed. And, um, all change is good. Isn’t it?
Of all the houses, in all the many countrified places within striking distance of the boys’ school, we have agreed to hand over the paltry sum of £1300 a month to live in a cul de sac. Gulp. Lovely bf has already been instructed to purchase some pastel-coloured sweaters and to get his sideburns trimmed. This is serious middle-class suburban stuff. We do not do that sort of thing. We stride about, mumbling madly, covered in mud and like to Not Really Talk to People.
It gets better. In The Novel, I have a character called Rajni. Rajni is based very heavily on someone I used to be very friendly with. In fact, she was very much my bestest friend when I came to live here. We shopped, lunched, drank, did playground gossip, dinner parties, the lot until she tore whole heaps of friendships apart with the winning cocktail of resentment, poison and Merlot coursing through her veins.
Reader, in my new teeny tiny suburban strangulation of residential ruin, the woman horrid enough to have inspired The Novel will live directly opposite me. I will be able to see into her living room and her into mine.
And I think the next door neighbours might be Christians.
And we have to move next week and haven’t yet booked any hairy, sweating removal men to transfer our dismal lives from our sprawling rural lair to this stamp-sized suburban sorrow.
So. Working full-time in brain-squishifying job. Moving house with one week to organise. Two children to look after. The Novel to edit. I shall be wearing my cross face quite a lot over the next ten days. I shall be saying swear words aplenty at work; I will not be able to shout at ‘home’ in the cul de sac. The neighbours will Think Things and give each other Knowing Looks.
And, inspired by Nez and Lucy, I’ve just signed up for a photography course with the Open University as part of my degree which also starts next week. To add to the jollification, I’m hormonal and have a great big spot on my snozzle.
I’m trying to be pleasant. I really am. But arses. Oh bugger. I hope the new neighbours can’t hear…
Of Observational Observances April 13, 2008
Posted by Jen in : Journal , 21commentsI could blame tiredness. But I should probably blame the wine. I was a genius last night, articulating my Saturday night trashy telly thoughts so brilliantly, I realised I should be writing them down in my writerly notepad.
The wine has worn off now, more or less. And, just in case you were wondering, it really wasn’t my idea to watch Britain’s Got Talent.
So. (And I quote.)
“Amanda Holden is made out of discarded carrier bags”
“What is Dec wearing? He looks like an evil dentist” (I seem to remember thinking that ‘malevolent’ would be better then ‘evil’ but was too squiffy to spell it.)
“Ant and Dec always stand in formation so we can tell which is which”
“Nessun Dorma – engaging, just like writing…” (Wow, deep or what?)
“Ant and Dec: I’m going to marry it.”
“Why is that that really cool gay guys always end up as fat poofs?”
“Girl with no friends; her dog is James Bond and can walk backwards on two legs. We do canine freestyle, she announces proudly. Sounds pervy to me. Turns out they actually are best friends. Bf crying real tears at this point. Bloody hell. Dog isn’t wearing a Darth Vader outfit though. You can’t have everything.”
I even wrote down the adorable little thing lovely bf said to me:
“You promised you’d go to sleep but you’re still saying stuff.” Feel free to imagine him shaking his head and talking in quite a resigned sort of way…
Of Monday Marvelousness April 7, 2008
Posted by Jen in : Journal, Novel , 14comments
Ooh. I’m feeling a bit… a bit… a bit something? I’ve just started reading Books, Baguettes and Bedbugs and, well, it’s doing things to me. Especially now that I’m actually ‘reading like a writer’ instead of simply devouring any book that comes my way. It sounded ideal – books, food, Frenchness and – joy of joys – an alliterative title. I like those, in case you hadn’t noticed.
But it’s a bit too good. Every word is so perfect, so beautifully chosen. Not stodgy or highbrow, just evocative and perfect and slightly unusual. The trouble is, of course, that it’s making my own as-yet-unedited manuscript look as if it has all the grace of a baby elephant. And it’s made me realise that even if The Novel is something of a chicklit affair, it still needs enough poise and beauty to make it stand out from the queues of other wannabes.
I seem to be having one of those days when everything seems almost impossibly beautiful. Don’t worry. I’m sure I’ll be my usual curmudgeonly self soon enough. But the world really was dazzling when I got up. It’s Monday morning. I’m duty-bound to look a bit cross but I’m smiling inside.
And when the neighbour reports that I was hanging out of the window, photographing his cock, this is what he meant. Honest, m’lud.
Of Musical Musings April 3, 2008
Posted by Jen in : Journal, Novel , 23commentsIn the absence of anything sensible to say, I thought I’d do the decent thing and steal a meme from A Writer.
If Your Life Were a Movie…What Would the Soundtrack Be??
So, here’s how it works:
1. Open your library (iTunes, Winamp, Media Player, iPod, etc)
2. Put it on shuffle
3. Press play
4. For every question, type the song that’s playing
5. When you go to a new question, press the next button
6. Don’t lie and try to pretend you’re cool…because you’re not!
7. Stick the soundtrack on your mp3 player and listen away during the day.
Now, I should tell you that I never, never play music on ’shuffle’. I have to listen to the right thing at the right time. Control freak? Um, yes actually.
But.
Doing this soundtrack thingummy has made me listen to music that I love and I actually haven’t heard for ages. And listening to Morcheeba before brek instead of in the kitchen, cooking, makes it seem completely different. And, somehow, that has combined with the thoughts I’ve been having about ’skewing the perception’ after one of Lucy’s posts on Box Elder. Art, music and perception are the main themes in The Novel so it’s all ticking away in my noggin in a most whizzifying way. I digress. Here, have a soundtrack:
Opening Credits: Candyfloss Branches – Kat Flint (I do love Kat Flint)
Waking Up: No Bravery – James Blunt (so much for being cool, eh? At least you know I’m not cheating)
First Day at School: Situations – Jack Johnson (Ugh, have gone right off poor Jack)
Falling in Love: War in the Mind – Lauren Hill
Fight Song: Silver Dagger – Martha Tilston
Breaking Up: One More Cup of Coffee - Bic Runga & The Christchurch Symphony Orchestra
Prom/Dance/Ball: Down to the Sea – Tim Booth
Life’s OK: Mood for a Day (Live) – Yes (hmmm, some old fogey music slipped in there)
Mental Breakdown: Damascus - The Natacha Atlas & Marc Eagleton Project
Flashback: I Wanna Be Your Lover – Prince
Getting Back Together: Otherwise – Morcheeba
Birth of Child: I Don’t Know Enough About You – Peggy Lee (hmmm, cool pick)
Wedding: Re-Offender – Travis (ha!)
Final Battle: Chameleon Day – Talk Talk
Funeral Song: Late Light – Rosie Brown
End Credits: Allegri’s Miserere – The Tallis Scolars (might have this at my funeral for extra weeping value)
Oh, good, I’m late for work now. That really sums me up…
