Inspiration... or lack of.

I am in a state of limbo with writing at the moment. I am still waiting for rewrites on the Christmas book, which is hovering round the edges of my consciousness, and preventing me from going full speed ahead and getting properly started on my next book. Uggh. I wish I could do this another way. It would be lovely to sit down for three hours every morning after Spouse has gone to work and the kids are at school and just WRITE in a focussed and meaningful kind of way. But. I. Just. Can't....

Instead I witter about, putting off the housework. Now doing THAT would be at least productive. Visiting blogs I like, joining in chats on my online groups, surfing the net ostensibly for research, getting on with editing stuff I also need to do, and ... looking up songs I want for the soundtrack for the next book.

Starting a new book is incredibly daunting. In fact, it seems to be getting more daunting every time I do it. Is this the time the muse will fail to strike? Will someone find me out for the fraud I am? Will everyone hate it? Will I hate it?

Oh stop buggering about and just DO it...

I know once I take the plunge it will probably be fine, and this frittering/wittering time is I am convinced part of the process for me, because although I still haven't completely worked out my plot, or my structure, or even all of the characters' names, my subconscious is working over time at the moment, and every day throws up another good idea, which goes conscientiously down on the huge list I seem to be writing for all things relating to this masterpiece, and which I am hoping I still remember when I come to write it.

This book, as I've mentioned before is going to focus on female friendship. So the story is about four girlfriends - I've called them the Fab Four in honour of a quartet I was part of with my twin in our teens, and I've tried to give them significant names according to important female friendships I've had at various points in my life.

So I have: Sarah, who represents my Fab Four era, Beth for my university days (named after Beth Jordache from Brookie, which was a formative influence at the time) Doris for the time I got married, as a friend jokingly named me that, and I'm a bit stuck on number four who is representative of my friends now. I'm toying with Fran or Frankie as a nod to Dirty Dancing which is the favourite film of a good friend of mine, but I don't really like that name, so I may just ask my mate her second name instead, or possibly use a character from Desperate Housewives. Having not named number four is one of the reasons I'm a bit stuck, as until her name's right I can't get properly going on her story. I am comforting myself with the fact that Emily wasn't going to be the main thrust of Strictly Love, but came good in the end. So I'm sure my unnamed heroine will be fine... in the end.

In the meantime I am getting lots of ideas about music....

White Wedding by Billy Idol is a must, as is Here Come the Girls, by the Sugababes. But I'm also lining up: Ever Fallen in Love by the Buzzcocks, Shadow of Love by the Damned, Don't You Forget About Me Simple Minds, Always on my Mind Pet Shop Boys (all of which were part of the soundtrack to my own love life, and I need to tap into that emotion). I'm also considering Man with the Child in his Eyes by Kate Bush, Before I Fall to Pieces by Razorlight and Let me Entertain you by Robbie (good old Robbie, what would I do without him?)

Part of the process of this for me also is that I need to be working towards a major pivotal emotional scene which occurs at the end of the book, and always before I start writing I have that scene in my head. In Pastures New I soundtracked it to Sing by Travis, in Strictly Love it was Feel by Robbie Williams, and in Last Christmas it's Pretty Amazing Grace by Neil Diamond.
This time around, I had worked out what the scene was, and also worked out how I was going to utilise some spare untapped emotion I needed to get rid of without upsetting people I know in my real life, but I hadn't got a song. If I wasn't stupid, I'd have picked up Mad Twin's reference to it month's ago, but somehow I didn't, and I only got it from Medium Rob's blog last week, and then heard it again used to fabulous effect in Being Human. It's Johnny Cash's version of Hurt. Apparently recorded just before he and his wife died. Listen and weep...

Being Human

Last year I stumbled by accident on a pilot episode for a series called Being Human. Only being a dickhead, I didn't realise it was a pilot and wasted a week scouring the airwaves to try and find an elusive and non existent part 2. Given that Spouse and I are both big horror/fantasy fans, we couldn't have stumbled across a programme we were going to like more. The plot (if you haven't seen it) features a werewolf, a vampire and a ghost flatsharing in Bristol. It was properly dark, properly funny, and featured three engaging characters. I haven't been so entranced by a new series of anything, ooh, forever...

I was therefore delighted to discover it was going to be made into a series, but slightly disconcerted to find out that two of the orginal trio (Guy Flanagan who played the vampire, Mitchell and Andrea Riseborough who played the ghost Annie) had been replaced. Also gone was the malevolent head of the vampires, Adrian Lester, which was a shame I thought as he was shaping up well as a character.

However, having watched episode one last night, I was really pleased that if anything I enjoyed it more. Russell Tovey as George really carries off the horror of turning into something you don't want ot be. Mitchell as played by Aidan Turner, feels a lot more dangerous and you get the sense he is grappling hard not to succumb to his bloodlust. The moment when George the werewolf discovers that the colleague whose memorial service he's just attended is in fact a vampire created by Mitchell was spinechilling, particularly when he also realises that Mitchell may have designs on the girl they both fancy. I liked the tension of George not being sure he can trust Mitchell, and yet Mitchell is the one who protects and helps George overcome the difficulties inherent in his condition.

There were also some really touching moments in this. Annie's shock at seeing what happens to George when he transforms; George's irritation towards Annie's obsessive tea making transforming to tenderness when she realises the loss of her fiance once again; George's realisation at the end that by allowing the girlfriend to die Mitchell has actually saved her.

The ending was heartrending as you really felt Mitchell's pain. Thanks to Medium Rob I was introduced to a great song last week, Hurt by Johnny Cash, and it was used here to fabulous effect. (In fact I like it so much I think I may have to steal it for the soundtrack for the new book).

By the end of this episode I felt all three characters had really grown and understood one another more. It was great.

I also liked Jason Fleming's Herrick - the head vampire, who somehow seems more menacing played as a policeman. Not quite so sure yet about Lenora Crichlow's Annie, but Andrea Riseborough is a tough act to follow, so maybe she'll get better.

But still, it looks like I've got something to keep me occupied for the next few Sundays. After the disappointment of Demons which is much sillier (and not in a good, silly Primeval/Dr Who kind of way) then I thought after episode one, that is a relief. My only problem now is persuading the two big ones that they really aren't quite old enough to watch this...

The Audacity of Hope

While I am intensely interested in politics, it may not have escaped the notice of readers of this blog that I am also incredibly cynical about them.

My first memory of politicians were fuzzy black and white pictures of Harold Wilson, Ted Heath and Jim Callaghan in the grim years of the 1970s (oh how well Life on Mars recaptured that era), but my first political awakening came one sunny day in 1979 when I woke up to discover that Margaret Thatcher was our new Prime Minister. I was fourteen years old, my parents were so fed up with Callaghan they were thrilled, and it was to be nearly twenty years before I experienced a Labour government as an adult. Such is the general foaming at the mouth hatred engendered by the liberal middle classes in this country, when they think about Thatcher, it is easy to forget that actually that last Labour government was shit. I remember my childhood as being a time of strikes and bread shortages, and the Winter of Discontent was certainly not the best advert for Labour. So I do recall that mood of optimism sweeping the country (or well parts of it anyway) at the thought that now there would be change.

By the time of the next election, my political mindset was more set, and less focussed on what I'd overheard my parents say. I just missed voting that year and was quite glad I did, as I hadn't a clue who I'd have voted for. Although I did know one thing, I wouldn't have been voting for Thatcher by then. The next two elections I could vote in, it felt like I was wasting my vote. The Tories were going to be back by a foregone conclusion (even when Neil Kinnock made that dangerous speech in 1992), my natural inclination to vote Liberal was a waste in Labour Liverpool where I first voted in '87 and even more of one in sunny Tory Surrey where I've voted ever since. By the time John Major came into office I despaired of ever seeing a Labour government. Now of course, I despair of ever getting rid of one.

But in all that time, I have never ever felt (even when Tony Blair came in and the winds of change did seem for a moment to blow across the land) that there was someone in government to inspire, to lead, to somehow make us better then we are. And being the old cynic I am, I always thought it would stay that way. Politics is a rough and dirty business, you probably can't retain much integrity and survive, at some point your morals will have to be compromised. It is I think, the nature of the beast.

Or that's how I've always looked at it.

Until today.

Now I'm not going to go over all gushy and write some tosh about how Barack Obama is the new messiah or anything, but hearing him speak tonight, I thought finally we have a leader of the free world who can speak with compassion and feeling, who has a sense of his nation's past, and the humility to realise the problems of its future. He makes no bones about the difficulties that lie ahead or the problems of the task that faces him. Crucially (I think, having witnessed far too many new bosses sweeping in making huge changes without figuring out what actually works) he doesn't seem to be in a hurry to change things too fast, which I hope means that he's going to give himself time to work out how the hell he's going to do this job.

Now it may be that in a year's time some skeleton will come out of the closet, or Barack will have fucked up in a major way. Or god forbid, someone will have taken a pot shot at him. But...

JFK died two years before I was born. No one who's ruled his country or mine since has made me feel in the slightest bit inspired.

And today, Barack did inspire me. He did make me think, even if only for a moment, that things could and will be different.

So for once I'm going with the flow and put my cynicism aside. It may be in four years time I'll be saying I was wrong, but for this one tiny moment in history I'm going to allow myself the audacity of hoping that change really is on its way...

Barack O'Bama

Given that tomorrow is going to be a day that for once really deserve the title "historic", I couldn't resist reposting the Barack Obama is Irish song, as it made me laugh so much. (Sorry Lisa, you've probably only just got the tune out of your head.)

I really hope that Barack doesn't turn out to be all blarney and hot air. At least he is sensibly not rushing into change things too quickly, and recognising he has one hell of a job on his hands. Maybe, just maybe America and the world have got the president we need for the times we live in. Wouldn't it be just wonderful for once to have a world leader we could all say in ten years time was truly great? I'm not sure that that's ever happened in my lifetime, and I'm such a cynic I'm not sure it's going to happen now.

But... for once. I'd like to be idealistic, and am crossing my fingers and hoping that he truly can effect change. (And sort out the credit crunch to boot...)

Find the nude dude...

Today started with a phone call from social services to say they were coming to assess mil's needs (this is a Good Thing I hasten to add). Unfortunately said assessment was taking place at 8.45 when I'm on the school run, and I had the phone call two minutes after I'd arranged a GP appointment for no 4 at 9.50.

So I had to drive like a maniac to school, drop the older two off, run into the office to let them know no 4 was going to be late, and get back to mil's in time to meet the carer. I just about had enough time to go through all the necessary paperwork, but en route to the doctor's remembered I was supposed to be answering an urgent request about a book title on a project I'm working on.

No time before the docs (I still ended up late), and by the time I'd dropped no 4 back at school I was running late for my very expensive pilates class which is paid for up front, and I hadn't had breakfast... Stuffed a banana down, did my email and got to pilates ten minutes late (which wasn't bad going actually). Felt like death warmed up afterwards, and not cheered to discover that my pilates teacher recommends more physio for my back and mentioned the dread words swollen disc and operation (ouch, ouch, ouch!!)

So by lunchtime you could say that I wasn't feeling a happy bunny. Then I went onto one of my online groups and someone had posted this. Well. It made me smile. But little things etc...

http://www.realholidays.com.au/nudedude/index.html

My mama said...

Two of the most important people in my life, my mother and Spouse still fail to understand why I blog, and what I love about it. Well dear people, it's this. Picking up on my slightly frantic post from yesterday, lovely Persephone all the way from Canada posted two links on my blog to cheer me up. You don't get that sitting at home on your own NOT hooked up to the internet. Before I had an online life, when my children were small, and the walls of my home were closing in on me, I was going slightly demented. I may still be slightly demented, but at least I have found lots of friendly people to share my dementia with. The blogosphere gives me so much more then mere procrastination (though it offers that too, and I accept gratefully. If I didn't procrastinate I'd never get ANYTHING done.)

On the subject of my mother, about whom I write rarely to protect her privacy (though as she a) doesn't own a computer b) would never go online and read this even if she did, I maybe being over zealous about that), I will tell you that she is an ex nurse (her set at the London was the first to be trained in Bevan's new NHS. I keep telling her she needs to write a nurses version of that book about the East end midwife), and is a fantastic source of old fashioned remedies.

So among many other things my mama has said to me over the years, I have learnt you can use magnesium sulphate to draw out pus from horrible boils (Spouse wouldn't believe that one), a gin and tonic really does work wonders for period pain, and once when no 1 had a horrible gash we felt sure needed stitches, she pulled the skin together really tight, bound it up with steri strips and plaster and lo and behold the gash healed up in days.

Of late she has been giving me helpful advice about the ongoing back problem. One of her suggestions was to take Syndol as a muscle relaxant. I was a bit wary about it because it can also make you sleepy (and contains codeine, which is a cureall my mother used for years before it was banned from the shelves because of it's addictive properties). However. I was in so much agony on Monday night, and swimming which normally helps didn't, I took one before bed. It didn't do a lot and yesterday morning I had another one. Still no effect. The packet has dire warnings about only using Syndol for three days at a time. So I had one last night, thinking I'd give up on it after today, and lo and behold. I woke up this morning relatively pain free. So thanks mama. I'm glad I listened to what you said.

And thanks to Persephone and Jaywalker for sharing this. May those of you who are enjoying a rubbish start to 2009 (and I profoundly hope you aren't) sit back, relax and enjoy...




And if that hasn't done the trick. Have a butchers at this. I laughed out loud watching it this morning. Thank you soooo much, Persephone. I can only dream about my traffic bastards having been that good looking. Or romantic...

It's official

I want 2009 to STOP. Right. Now...

So far this year:

I've spent time trying to sort out social services to help with mil, and since we discovered she's not eating well am providing an impromptu meals on wheels service

Been unable to get any work done because I STILL have two children off school (back tomorrow, everything crossed)

My back trouble has resurfaced (not helped by long overdue hoovering of the house yesterday)

Spouse and I were back and forth to mil's three times yesterday to help sort out a leak from the upstairs flat (actually that could have been worse, when she first phoned me I assumed it was a veritable flood, rather then the massive amounts of damp it turned out to be, but it still involved a lot of toing and froing), plus running to the doctor for antibiotics for her.

And if that wasn't enough, Saturday proved the icing on the cake.

When I was taking the children to their various activities on Saturday morning, I foolishly parked in a bay marked private, which is part of an office car park which acts as an overspill at the weekends. Everyone does it, and like a twit I assumed that the council notice advising you you can park in the office car park out of office hours applied to those spaces too. But apparently not.

I was sitting at the leisure centre having a cup of coffee with a friend while no 4 was having a gym class. Spouse was coming to meet me, and en route in noticed I'd been clamped. I went out to find a number to ring, and discovered a happy little notice on the car telling me that I was going to be charged £75 for parking illegally and a further £125 for the bloody clamp to be removed.

There was no one around. The office was shut. It started to snow. I couldn't get through on the number I tried to ring (mind you I was using Spouse's ancient mobile which is increasingly dodgy), so I went back to the leisure centre, where they said I could use their phone, but for some reason everytime I rang the number it kept coming back to reception. By now convinced I was part of some Real Hustle scam (you've seen the one, the wheel clampers park round the corner, come back take your money and clone your card. Cynic.Qui moi?)

Spouse meanwhile returned home to pick up the other car, while I headed out into the cold . And boy was it cold. Persephone if you're reading, I realise by your standards it was probably like a spring day in the park, but I hadn't wrapped up that warmly, not thinking I'd be standing outside for an hour when it was -3. Earlier in the morning I'd also taken the kids to their swimming lessons and walked through the damp floor to the changing rooms in my socks. They were so wet I took them off, not anticipating that I would be spending over an hour in the freezing cold.

Eventually some little oiks turned up in a van with a pleasing dent in the side (unhappy punter anyone?) and aggressively told me that it was my fault for parking in the wrong place. I didn't know I couldn't, was my not unreasonable response, but reason doesn't mean anything to these people, and I have to admit in these situations my tolerance levels are precisely zero. Before long we were trading insults, and I was demanding proof of identity. He flashed a badge which meant precisely nothing, and then I spoke to his oiky manager who was somewhat less then helpful and cut me off. At that point I decided to ring the police to check the company out. By now I'd been joined by a friend who helpfully lent me her phone, and a stranger who usefully had the numbers of Surrey Police and the local council on hers. She also told me she had a WRITTEN letter from the council saying it was possible to park in the offending bays. Not that that cut any ice with my oiky friends of course...

The council offices were of course shut. The police response was to suggest I ring the Office of Fair Trading, from where I got no answer. At that point my kind friends had to disappear home, Spouse arrived back with my phone, and I spotted two other poor sods in the same situation. So we teamed up to confront the oiks, who grew quickly more aggressive once they realised there were several of us, and threatened us with a tow truck and the possibility of the fine growing larger. One of the clampees who rather usefully had an offduty copper mate with her, paid the fine, but then we spotted the council notice telling us we could park at the weekends. We tried to point it out to clamping vanmen, but they weren't interested. Our copper friend suggested we ring the police to clarify the matter, at which point they promptly fucked off, confirming all my suspicions. The other couple were so irate they were talking about getting bolt cutters by this time, and our copper friend told us that it would be criminal damage, but probably nothing would come of it. We were all pondering the possibility of becoming criminals when the police arrived.

After much discussion (and a lot of verbal on behalf of the other couple) it transpired that the police can do precisely diddly squat in these matters. The council also have no jurisdiction. So therefore a bleeding private firm can screw the pants off you and you have no recourse to any kind of justice. After a standoff lasting a further half hour (during which Spouse rounded up all the offspring and took them home), we all had to capitulate and pay the sodding fine - you can't appeal it unless you pay, you see...

By now my feet were like blocks of ice, and I couldn't feel anything from my shins down. When I walked I felt like a little old woman. I hobbled my way back to the car followed by Oik no 1 who had been so aggressive at the start. He undid the offending chain and mumbled, Sorry for the inconvenience in a not very convincing manner. I am not at all a violent person, but Ihave never ever felt more like committing an act of physical violence on another human being. I am amazed I manage to resist thumping him, although the thought of doing it in front of a copper was quite a good incentive not to...

So there you have it. We're only thirteen days in and already 2009 is a pile of crap. I think I may spend the rest of the year in hibernation.

Roll on 2010....

Turns out...

I have maligned the local County Council, as the school DID have a frost resistant system in place which has to kick in when it gets cold. However, I still think it seems daft not having the heating on AT ALL in the coldest winter we've had in over a decade. From the pics I've seen the culprit appears to be a pipe that may not have been tightened properly, so I forsee a nasty legal battle ahead.

Good news is the school are reporting today that they nearly have upstairs sorted, a temporary office is on its way, and with luck and a following wind we might get the kids back on Monday. I have a feeling though that they'll phase them in gradually with Year 6 (No2) going in first because the school will be so worried about the blasted SATs (about which I give not an iota as I think their educational value is about zero), so that means I'll probably have no 3 off on her own for a few days...

Still at least I got them to clean out the animals yesterday....

Water, water everywhere...

In the attic and down the stairs...

So it turns out that the damage at the Junior School is catastrophic. The wiring is soaking wet so no one is allowed in the building for Elf and Safety reasons, the new girls' toilets are completely trashed as the ceiling has come down, the school office is ruined, as apparently are all the school records, two staffrooms are a mess, plus two classrooms, the school hall (ceiling and floor allegedly in dodgy state) and the saddest thing the school library is completely destroyed. The books can of course be replaced under the insurance, but the school have a policy of the children being able to donate a book to the library on their birthdays, and all those memories are now gone. Not that I've ever been efficient enough to do that mind you, but I know plenty of people who have, and it does seem rather sad.

The story at the moment is that school will reopen on Monday, but barring miracles I can't see it myself. Which does rather beg the question as to how my children are going to catch up on the week they've already missed and however many subsequent days they are going to miss. I appreciate it isn't the schools' fault, but the situation regarding the kids' education is a huge concern if the situation is ongoing. And I would question the wisdom of the local education authority's alleged policy of keeping the heating OFF over the winter holiday. I know we've had mild winters of late, but that strikes me as beyond stupid. If they were thinking of saving money, that's come back to bite them in the butt - on the first day of term there were apparently lots of other schools also off with "boiler" problems, one hopes not quite as drastic as ours...

So in the meantime I have two very bored children, I am going demented as I have work stacking up and can't attend to it, the which dementia being exacerbated by lack of ability to get any exercise in thanks to said children's prolonged stay at home, and it's been so cold they STILL haven't cleaned the animals out.

I can feel January is going to be a long long month....

New Dr Who

So we have a new Doctor Who. And he seems to have been a surprise (I missed the last minute rumours at the weekend.) After months of speculation, I have to fess up to being quite pleased they managed to keep it quiet for so long, particularly after it looked 99.999% certain it was going to be Paterson Joseph.


As to who Matt Smith is, and whether he's too young etc, well let's wait and see. I glimpsed him briefly in Party Animals and Ruby in the Smoke and liked him in both. He has a rather alien looking face which works. And given that I knew very little of David Tennant when he started I'm open to the possibility that he might just blow my mind (or not). I quite like the fact that he is an unknown, because in a recent Dr Who Confidential I saw, DT made the rather valid point that Dr Who is a blank canvas for each new actor. An unknown one can therefore bring something new and different, in a way that some of the more famous names being thrown into the ring might have had difficulty with. I've also just caught up with his interview on Dr Who Confidential and I rather like what I see. (The only thing is he is sooo young I'm going to start feeling pervy if I lech after him, so it might be time to turn my Dr Who lovin' into a more maternal kind).


As far as the children are concerned they're delighted it isn't David Morrissey who they thought was far too pompous. While I enjoyed DM's stint in the Christmas edition, and was rather hoping that we'd been double bluffed and it WAS him, I think I prefer this solution. And I'm really pleased to have been surprised. So fingers crossed that the new era of Nu Who is as much fun as the previous one...

Snow on snow...

So just to make our Christmas Cup of Happiness complete the snow waits till the first day of term to fall. No1 wasn't going in anyway (to the envy of her sisters), but I got inundated with text messages this morning to let me know that nos 2&3 would also be spending the day at home as a pipe has burst flooding the school. So poor no 4 went sorrowfully off to school, bribed with chocolate in her lunch box, and the not unreasonable feeling that life is a little harsh (she, you may recall had to go to school for three extra days in the summer when her sisters' school was closed for building work). To make matters even worse the juniors aren't apparently going back till at least Thursday. Bang goes my work patterns this week then.

On the upside, I was planning to tackle the after Christmas clearup today, and as another bribe to get no 4 in, I made the others promise to help. And to clean out the animals as well.

There's no point having children if you aren't going to exploit them ruthlessly is there???

And lo...

... it came to pass that they all vomited eventually.

Actually, that's not quite true. The bug confined itself mainly to the young and old, but just to make life really interesting it operated on a Just When You Thought It Was All Over No It's Not approach. So it was that, having delayed a trip up north to spend time with my family because it got mil, five minutes before we were about to leave it got no 1. After a heavy night involving rather too much port and red wine then was good for me (what can I say? Christmas was rather stressful to say the least), I woke up on Sunday feeling like death warmed up. Despite Spouse's ridicules, I don't think the resulting day spent collapsed on the sofa was entirely due to alchohol. To make my cup of happiness complete, we were woken at 4am Sunday night to the dulcet sounds of no 2 succumbing to the bug. So far, it doesn't seem to have got Spouse, but I reckon there's still time.

Things I have subsequently learnt about this particular variation on the winter vomiting bug...

1) it has a two day incubation period
2) it is just possible to avoid throwing up if you have enough will power, stay in bed and keep your eyes shut for a very long time. The result is you spend two days feeling like crap instead of one. So maybe it isn't worth it...
3) given that we have probably given it to every member of my rather large family who are now dispersed the length and breadth of the nation, it's probably soon coming to a town near you...

Sorry about that.

Hoping your Christmas was somewhat less eventful then ours, and wishing anyone decent enough to have come by the blog and read my witterings, whether you've joined in the chatter or not a very Happy New Year. Life in our household has held a bit too much excitement of late, so I wish you, as I wished Spouse last night, an uninteresting 2009. Interesting times are overrated I think...

Simply Having a Wonderful Christmas Time...

...or not.

The most stressful Christmas I ever spent was six years ago, when no 4 was hospitalised with asthma the week before, and only came out about two days before the day itself. At the same time Spouse was down and out with tonsilitis, so unable to share hospitalbythebedsitting duties (our local children's ward seems to think that parents of patients only ever have one child). I was allowed out of prison for a couple of hours to finish my Christmas shopping, and I remember a hideous experience of standing in M&S heart so firmly in mouth I thought I might actually be sick from the stress, and just frantically grabbing anything I could without even looking at it, just so I had something to wrap up for people. I call it bulimic shopping. Don't try it at home.

We had six people for lunch that year, including aged mil and fil. Fil was very very poorly at the time (in fact he died six weeks later), and sil and I had hysterical conversations in the kitchen over the turkey about whether in fact he would make it through the day. He did hang on in there, choosing to depart on no4's birthday instead, which I suppose was marginally better...

Ever since then (I hadn't even bought vegetables, so bil and sil provided them already peeled on the day), I have refused point blank to stress about Christmas. As far as I am concerned, it is a day to be spent with loved ones, anything else is a bonus.

It's just as well I have adopted this approach, as this year, I can feel a sense of deja vu coming on.

Last week I went round to see mil to find her sitting on the floor where she'd fallen, going to answer the phone to me. She's ok, but coming on top of a dizzy fit she had the other week, this has prompted a trip to our saintly GP (the model for Ben in Pastures New if you're interested) who wryly reassured me he will be working over the festive season. Hmm...

On Sunday no 3 came in looking pale and wan and then spent the day throwing up. We were going out to sing Christmas Carols in our local pub, but decided not to risk passing the bug to mil. No3 is now recovering, but no 4 has taken her place. and mil is coming to us today, so she may get a Christmas present she wasn't expecting after all.

I was planning some last minute shopping today, but will have to defer till tomorrow when Spouse will be here. I've just realised we've run out of vegetables and are about to run out of washing powder (which in view of the vomiting is NOT good news), so I may well be putting in a repeat performance of last Christmas and experience trolley rage in Sainsbury's tomorrow. Oh joy.

I've also just taken the turkey out of the freezer and realised it needs 48 hours to defrost...

On the other hand we might get all the vomiting out of the way by tomorrow, my credit card could do with a rest, and I could always provide Christmas dinner instead of lunch, and unless I'm sitting in A&E I should get to see David Tennant on Christmas Day.

Whatever happens. I ... AM... NOT... GOING... TOO.... STRESS....


....MUCH

Talking of nativities...

I won't reveal what my perfect nativity is, cos otherwise you might not buy the book, but it's loosely based on this.

20 odd years ago I was lucky enough to take part in the Nativity Play part of the Chester Mystery Cycle, which takes place every year outside Chester Cathedral over three successive nights. We were on the first night, after a rather arty farty depiction of Genesis. God was on top of a tall tower I seem to remember, and there was a lot of dancing with scarves.

I played a midwife together with my actress friend who is very funny and brilliant, so I spent most of the time trying not to giggle. Particularly as the director (who was also one of our lecturers and had translated the Cycle into modern vernacular) took it upon himself to dress us in Red Cross uniform and hide us in the audience. Joseph at one point calls for a midwife so my friend and I had to start some chatter about, Did he say midwife? Does that mean us? etc - it was always entertaining to see the audience thinking we were proper hecklers and start telling us to hush.

My other chief memory from the experience was of the two lads playing Octavian Caesar's messengers going out to the pub while the dreary Genesis dancers did their stuff, and staggering back on pissed. This infuriated the director who had a hissy fit of such magnitude we ended up dumping him out of the minibus on the way home. Ah. Those were the days...

Anyway. That's where the idea for my nativity has come from, minus the pissed messengers.

But I've also gone out seeking ancient carols, as I LONG LONG LONG to go to a carol concert where they sing some of the really old stuff. We have a fabulous tradition of carols in this country, and certainly my experience of attending Christmas shows over the last ten years leads me to suspect that a lot of that tradition maybe lost on the next generation who never get to sing anything much which isn't modern.

For my ideal nativity, therefore, the most modern carol I've chosen is In the Bleak Midwinter, which I love for the tune. (The words frankly are quite weird Victorian sentimental nonsense, but the tune is lovely.)

So here it is, sung by Gloucester Cathedral Choir:



And here's the King's College Choir singing Adam lay y bounden, which I may have forgotten to put in, but will do when I get my next round of rewrites.



And here are the fabulous Mediaeval Baebes (whom I discovered thanks to my lovely ebuddy and fellow RNA member, Elizabeth Chadwick) singing I syng of a Mayden that is Makeles



My last two choices are probably my favourite carols.

The first is The Coventry Carol. Here's a version with Aled Jones and the Royal Chamber College of Music. This sums up Christmas for me, and I never can hear it often enough.



Last but not least, is the beautiful Ballulalow, the words of which are ancient, but here comes from Britten's fabulous Festival of Carols. I love the harp in this, but the whole thing gives me goosebumps. And it's the perfect accompaniment to my ideal nativity (should I ever get to see it of course...)



So I've told you my favourites. What are yours?

And Lo....

... Mary was a rap artist.

No, I never knew that either.

I have today sat through two performances of no 2/3's nativity (no 4's was last week) as I took mil and me ma in the afternoon and everyone else was going this evening.

Over the many many years I have been watching nativities I have seen all sorts I can tell you: from a ridiculously over the top one at the nursery no 3 attended, which featured Father Christmas. lots of toys, fairies, elves, mice and oh yes, that staple of the Christmas story Mary and Joseph, to a blink and you missed it moment with no1 when she had three lines and forgot to say them. (And yes the OTT one has gone in the book). I've seen the Infants do Ambitious and fail, and the Juniors do Dull and succeed. I've watched all of my children being angels, and managed one year to have sprogs in four different plays (that took some stamina).

And in all those years I have yet to see the nativity that I really really want. Namely a traditionally told, simple tale with PROPER carols wot I can sing along too. (I have been so disappointed in this modest ambition, I have in fact made up my perfect Nativity in Last Christmas. One day maybe someone will read my mind and show it to me. )

Both schools tend to go for trendy modern stuff, and the Infants generally aim for a big show that normally falls flat on its face. The Juniors have in the past taken a Get It Over And Done With As Quickly As Possible Kind of Approach. At best we might get to sing one or two carols, but I am greedy and as well as Once in Royal David's City and Hark the Herald Angels, to feel properly Christmassy I want: Silent Night, O Little Town of Bethlehem, In the Bleak Midwinter, O Come All ye Faithful, The Coventry Carol and God Rest Ye Merry Gentleman.

Sadly enough (as no 4 would say) I didn't get it this year either.

However, I did get a rather sweet nativity last week in which no 4 was the narrator. Normally the narrator doesn't get to say a lot, but in the past the narrators have tended to be the teacher's pets. Nos 1&2 clearly weren't the chosen ones as they never narrated anything, but during her time it the infants no 3 got to narrate an embarrassing number of times - it got a bit tiresome going to school plays with my head down to avoid the backstabbing. I was rather hoping to end my tenure there as modestly as I started it, but at least I was comforting myself that she wouldn't have much to say. Got much to do? I asked her. Oh no, was the glib reply. Thus reassured I arrived last week to watch her in action, only to discover that the Infants have gone completely against type this year and produced a SIMPLE Nativity, with mainly groups of children singing the story so everyone got a turn rather then having a huge long play to learn. No 4 had to do inordinate amounts of reading and is still proudly boasting that she managed to say traditionally and tradition.

After nine years at the school, this is my last Infant nativity, and I have to fess up to having a pang (but not a tear) at the thought that part of my mothering life is over. Luckily it didn't last long as I was ducking to avoid the brickbats from other mothers jealous that their little darling wasn't a Chosen One again. But I was pleasantly surprised, having sat through some really dire events, that it was actually rather sweet. Nice to go out on a high as it were (and such a relief to know that I'll never have to sit through a dire one EVER again).

Scroll forward to today and I was once more in front of my offspring watching them perform. Now, like I say, if the Infants have put on ambitious productions in the past, the same cannot be said for the Juniors. What parts there are always minimalistic, and no 1 got all the way through without doing anything more then light a candle in her last year (and that only by default as someone was ill), and up until this year no 2 has never had a part either. The service is held in the church that the school belongs to, and it is the most useless place to have anything like that. It tends to get packed out so most of the time I spend an uncomfortable hour craning my neck round a corner to catch a glimpse of the children who are always tucked away in an inaccesible corner somewhere. In fact there have probably been years when I haven't seen them at all.


However, that has all changed. Because after years of having an indifferent attitude to the music, the school finally has a decent music teacher. And boy has she made a difference.

I still didn't get my traditional Nativity (maybe they'll have come back in fashion in time for my grandchildren), but it was rather fun.


Each year group got to tell a bit of the story (which incomprehensibly featured two burglars and some talking animals who apparently were supposed to be arguing at the beginning but I couldn't understand a word they said - I still didn't get it second time around), interspersed with songs. For the first time ever we had a band, with trumpets no less, and a rather (inevitably) scratchy violin.

The afternoon's performance didn't go quite according to plan, and there were some unintentionally hilarious moments when the wrong people came in at the wrong time, or the instrumentalists carried on playing when they shouldn't have, but for the first time EVER at a Junior Christmas play all the kids looked like they were having a blast, and even the ones who didn't have anything much to do were involved.

Mary of course was fantastic. Actually I realised after I started boasting about it, that Mary is usually the most rubbish part because she doesn't usually do or say anything. However in this version of events Mary had quite a few lines. Which I couldn't hear this afternoon as her head was below the microphone. Luckily they'd sorted that technical hitch by the evening. My favourite moment though was when she said to Joseph, The baby's coming and he started running about in a paddy calling for towels and hot water. No 3 then sat down, and a minute later triumphantly stood up holding a baby, saying Here's the baby. You probably had to be there, but considering her own birth was an epic event, I couldn't help laughing at the ease with which Our Lord made it into the world...

All in all it was a fun and enthusiastic performance, if a little rough around the edges, but my favourite bit was a Gloria Rap, during which all the children donned sunglasses (presumably dazzled by the angels' brightness????), including Mary who wore pink ones. As one of my friends said, that was the coolest Mary she'd ever seen...

So there you have it. I thought I'd seen it all as far as nativities go, but Mary rapping in sunglasses will take some beating...

Well I never...

As anyone who has ever had small children taking part in a nativity play can attest there is always much excitement in the maternal bosom when your child comes home with the dreaded piece of paper announcing their starring role in this year's event. Apart from anything else, this particular maternal bosom tends to droop rather when sewing is suggested (one year no 2 was a star and the request came back for a white shirt with stars sewn on it. I was rather pleased with my pathetic effort till I sat next to the mother whose child had a whole galaxy sewn neatly onto hers), it usually droops further to discover that yet again said child is playing an angel (that's what happens when you have fair haired girls) and has to be cheered up because she's not Gabriel or Mary.

What every maternal bosom of course wants to proudly declare is that this year their daughter is Mary - there is such hot competition for the part sometimes I swear there'll be blood spilt in the playground. However, I am a woman of common sense and I know that my children have no more chance of being Mary then flying to the moon. Besides, given that I always got to be a shepherd, I think they should be bloody grateful for being angels myself.

So imagine my surprise when no 3 came home from school yesterday with a big announcement.

Yup. After nine years of trying and watching more nativities nearly then I've had Christmas dinners I've finally achieved maternal nirvana. I have a Mary.

Better watch my back in the playground then...

It's a Wonderful Life...

Watching It's a Wonderful Life was one of the pieces of research I did when writing Last Christmas (I've even pinched a bit). I am currently supposed to be doing rewrites, but have hit a bit of a hitch. Given that this is probably the busiest week of my year so far (cf last post on same subject) I suppose it is fairly typical of my own wonderful life that I have managed to put my back out. I did it yesterday cleaning the wretched hoppers out (weekend too busy for the offspring to do it, grr). I have so far resisted the urge to turn Dandelion into a pie, but revenge is much on my mind at present...

I managed to get to the physio yesterday who ascertained nothing more dramatic but a pulled muscle, but one which hurts enough to preclude long spells at the computer. Or sitting down anywhere. Or picking anything up. Or lying down. So I am wandering mournfully about the house wondering what the fuck to do with myself.

This is also on top of a slightly more interesting birthday party then we'd planned, as my mother in law was taken ill before it started. All well now, but we did have a couple of nasty moments on Sunday and we kept her with us till today. Unfortunately I am now so cronky I couldn't get her home, but luckily she only lives up the road, so she staggered off with her zimmer this morning, while I retired to mournful wanderings round the house. Honestly, it's like the blind leading the blind - there was she trying to help me out who was supposed to be looking after her. They've got a lot to answer for those pesky hoppers.

So in the interim, and absence of anything else I can constructively do, I propped myself up on a chair with a bag of frozen peas on my back and have just sobbed my way through It's a Wonderful Life.

I'm rather hoping mine will feel a bit more wonderful tomorrow...

Deck the Halls with Boughs of Holly....

Tra la la la la la... NOT...

Be careful what you wish for.

You know what I was saying about the run up to Christmas being helpful for the old creative juices? I hadn't realised quite how helpful it was going to be...

I hadn't given much thought to it being December next week till Spouse suddenly pointed out what our timetable for the first week of December actually is.

The fun starts this weekend as it is bil's 60th and not only are we out with him on Saturday night, but also hosting a party on Sunday. (Which is one reason December hadn't yet featured on the radar).

In the meantime the children are developing far too interesting social lives/have too many activities.

This term they've all been doing drama at our local theatre, and sweetly they're all taking part in a show. Aaah. How lovely.

No 1 is a singer/dancer in Fame, Nos 2&3 are in Peter Pan (Nana and a pirate respectively. Do you KNOW how difficult it is to get hold of a dog costume for a ten year old? No, I didn't either...) and No 4 is driving the rest nuts by reciting that poem about stirring the Christmas pud.

What I hadn't factored into the equation of seeing my little darlings perform is how many rehearsals they're going to have.

So on Saturday Nos 2&3 are out for the afternoon rehearsing, while I have to get no 4 to a party. I then have to get No 1 to Reigate for a party at 6.30 before going out myself at around 7pm. No 1's party inconveniently ends at 9.30 (I can feel this is the start of Spouse and I spending all our weekends driving the offspring about), but fortunately I've managed to do a lift swap. On Sunday she is then going to miss the birthday party as she is at rehearsals from 12-7pm. I don't think she has a single line but the dancers/singers are in virtually every scene.

Next week her rehearsal schedule goes:

Mon 6-9 (bang goes my swim then)
Tues 6-9
Wed 7-9.30
Fri 6-11

I'm not QUITE sure how she's going to fit in any homework into that.

On top of that no 4 has her star turn in her drama lesson on Wed 5-6 (so at least we'll be at the Playhouse but No 1 won't get any tea), No 1 has her school carol concert on Thursday night, and Spouse suddenly announced last night his work Christmas dos take place on Thursday and Friday.

On the Saturday the middle two have their show at 12pm - I'd bought no 1 a ticket and then realised she needs to be in rehearsal at 12.45pm (as they clearly won't rehearsed enough by then) - and no 1 has a show at 3pm and 7.45pm. Forgetting all about this I some weeks ago accepted a dinner date in the evening. So for the second weekend on the trot I have been scratching my head working out how to be in two places at once.

Fortunately when I went to do the Brownie pick up last night I found a friend who couldn't pick up on Friday night but could on Saturday, so now have arranged a convenient swap, as well as doing some lift sharing for the rehearsals. I can see in years to come Spouse and are going to be turning down invitation after invitation as we split ourselves in two trying to be in three places at once...

On the Sunday no 4 is having her Christmas Fair (the last one I'll ever have to attend. Result!) While no 1 is going out (again) for a celebratory after show Pizza...

(We've decided to skip No 1's Christmas Fair, clashing as it does with her rehearsal this Friday evening and no 6's school disco...)

So that's next week sorted then.

I haven't dared to look at the week after, but at least I have plenty of material to plunder for the book...

PS Music

I'm also finalising the soundtrack for the book...

Currently I have for my married hero and heroine Noel and Cat:

Let's Stick Together, Bryan Ferry - their marriage is in difficulties but they're trying to remember they still want one another.
Your Love Alone is Not Enough Manic Street Preachers - Love itself doesn't save the world, you have to work that bit harder...
Put the Sun Back Coral - where ahs all the joy gone in their life, if only they could find that out, everything else should fall into place.

For my my other hero, Gabriel's s musings on his ex wife and how he is unable to help her:

Other Side of the World KT Tunstall

For Gabriel and Marianne, the other heroine (with huge thanks to Persephone for tracking it down for me), for that joyous tumultous early love feeling:

She's Got You High Mumm-Ra

For Noel's midlife crisis:

This is Where I Came In by the Beegees
and the fabulous brilliant
Pretty Amazing Grace by Neil Diamond which is the heart of the book.

Last minute additions from writing the last few chapters are:

Angel by Robbie Williams for the relationship Cat has with her mother.
Streets of London Ralph McTell for a scene which owes not a little to A Christmas Carol.
I Can See Clearly Now Johnny Nash for an epiphany moment for Noel, but also probably a bit for Gabriel and Marianne at different points.

There may be a few more where those have come from. Am thinking I need a song for both Marianne and Gabriel about mending broken hearts, but it hasn't quite found me yet...

Back to it....

Regular readers of this blog may have noticed that I have been rather chatty in the last two weeks. In fact there have even been days when I have written more then one blog post. This is mainly because I had finished the first draft of my next book, Last Christmas (which is coming out next Christmas).

I use the word "finish" advisedly. This is the fifth novel I've written (seventh if you include two unpubbed children's books) and over the ten years I've been plugging away at this I've come to realise that my MO tends to be to get the story out as quickly as I can, and then go back and fill in all the gaps, insert a bit more depth and spend lots of time polishing. When I first started out I used to revise as I went and it nearly drove me demented, as well as having the unfortunate effect of editing out any of the energy and impetus of the original version. Plus I usually hated it when I came to look at it again. This way I throw the story out warts and all and then take a long hard look at it when it comes winging its way back from my editor and agent.

Good news this time is editor and agent both like it (What, said Spouse, would you do if they didn't????), phew. Other good news it's coming back in time for me to be in the proper pre-festive mode suitable for writing a book about Chrimbo. I can't TELL you how hard it was writing about Christmas in July. I kept all the kids' nativity bits and pieces and letters to Santa (have been hiding them all year, they've just written new ones which is handy), have got stacks of Christmas books to look at, lists of Christmas carols to choose from and last year's Argos catalogue. But there is absolutely nothing like having that sinking feeling I got to today when I realised there's a month to go and I've barely started, to dig deep into what it really means to plan Christmas in all it's glory(which is vital for one of my characters).

For this book I have created a village in Shropshire called Hope Christmas, which is loosely based on the town where my mother lives, and where I got married. Hope Christmas is both like and unlike my mother's town as I have picked and chosen the bits I like best. I spent a few days with me ma and the sprogs over half term, really trying to get the geography and location really fixed in my head. It was quite weird in a way as I have been visiting my mother's town for twenty years and there were some views I felt like I was looking at for the very very first time. I tried to keep a very strong picture of the places I visited in my head, so I can write them properly into the book, but I also took lots of photos as an aide memoire.

So here are a few of the locations for Hope Christmas, which I like so much now I want to live there...
.
One of the locations I've made up in the environs of Hope Christmas is a place called Hopesay Manor. It doesn't look quite like this, but Stokesay Castle picture below was a great model.

Here's an outside view



Here's the mediaeval entrance, unchanged apparently since the 12th century. Fabulous.



And here's the Great Hall



I have also drawn huge inspiration from Walcott Hall which has a wonderful drive way and lake in front of it, for the outside of my manor.



Plowden Hall provided me with my initial inspiration, having as it does a mediaeval chapel, which I have used as the basis of the chapel in Hopesay Manor which is a vital part of the plot.



I also scoured the area to find various houses that my characters live in. Two of them live up a lane by a stream, which I found here, just outside my mother's town.

This is the track to my hero's house


And this is the track that leads from his house to the hills where he farms his sheep



And the stream near where he lives, which has a vital part to play in the story...


And finally, here is a valley which my heroine walks in constantly. It's also somewhere I have walked more times then I care to remember over the last 20 years, and for which I have an abiding passion. Every time I go there it looks different, depending on the season, the weather and whether the heather is in flower, or the gorse is going golden. It is the most wonderful magical place, and has had a hold on my imagination since I was a small child and first read Malcolm Saville's brilliant Lone Pine Adventures which are partially set in this area. My parents very conveniently chose to retire here so not only could I have my wedding in the most wonderful location,but also come and visit regularly and use it for my own inpsirational purposes. Thanks parents...


So now it's back to the grindstone. Doing a lot more research to make sure I have got things right. Trying to pull out the depth of emotion I'm after. Making sure my character's dilemmas feel real and true. Having actually the best time of my life, and best of all getting paid for it.

I can't wait.