Tum te tum te tumdle dee...

I'm so very sick of watching telly. I'm in this weird middle state right now, not very ill but not quite better either, and having to take it easy in case the illness comes back... and yeah, all right, I've got into bad habits. I've spent weeks sitting in a rocking chair watching the goggle box and I've got stuck in that mode.

I made a list of horrors while in hospital, and there's a post brewing about the state of the NHS, but I can't face writing it. Don't want to be reminded, I spose. So I got distracted waffling on endlessly on Ally's CiF thread instead, then had to forcibly remove myself before I became a One-Woman Thread-Answering Band and alienated myself from the whole CiF community.

What can I do? I need things to do. I can't write for any length of time cos it still makes me ill, I can't do anything physical cos I went for a walk today (first exercise in weeks, woohoo!) (well, apart from when I wnt swimming yesterday, which was actually the first exercise I did in weeks) (but "second exercise in weeks" sounds less impressive) and I'm knackered, I've done all the jigsaws in the house, I'm here on my own so I can't get anyone to play a board game with me...

But never mind all that whingeing. The fact is, I feel better than I have done in weeks. And my pleasure centres are returning. I ate a chocolate, and enjoyed it! I went swimming! I climbed a hill!

When I was in hospital, as I felt gradually more well, I found myself anticipating more and more all the things I might soon be able to enjoy again. Being in water. Being on top of a mountain. Eating biscuits. It was the start of optimism, and I'm still feeling it. There's a definite psychological boost in having 2007 behind me, as it really was rather rubbish (losing a baby, losing my job, getting ill). 2008 stands a good chance of being better.

Sadly there's still quite a high chance of me getting ill again, which is why I have to carry on being cautious and can't just do whatever the hell I want (oh how nice it will be), but even if I do I should be close to the end of it.

Hurrah for that, and hurrah for chocolate.


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Also...

Can you catch a cold from a cat? Like, when they wipe their snot all over you and then sneeze in your face, do you have to worry about droplet infection??

P.S. I'm glad I worked out how to lock my computer. I just came upstairs to find one kitten snuggled up happy-as-you-please on my laptop keyboard.


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Kitten-Claw Advice Wanted

Hello.

We have kittens. They are very cute. They chase each other up and down the stairs all day. The dog chases them up and down the stairs. They chase the dog up and down the stairs. They sit on my lap. The dog sits on my lap. The dog growls at the kittens when they sit on my lap. They ignore her and sit on my lap all the same. We are one big happy family.

Apart from the sitting-on-the-lap thing. Which is very nice, don't get me wrong. They snuggle and purr and nuzzle and stick their bums in my face and try and eat my food. That bit's not so great. I sometimes chuck them out when I'm eating. Unless, like this morning, I forget to close the door and one of them runs into the room, jumps on my chair, runs across my lap putting one foot square in the middle of my cereal bowl and runs out again. But apart from that. The snuggling thing. That's nice.

Except.

When they are happy, they do that stre-e-etchy thing. Very cute. Only they don't only stretch their legs, they also stretch their claws. Then forget to retract them. Then stick them in my leg. OW!

So, does anyone have recommendations for how to train cats to snuggle without making holes in you with their sharp painful piercey things? I've tried giving them little pats on the claw and saying "NO!" firmly. I've tried throwing them off my lap and shouting "OW!" loudly. It makes no difference. They jump straight back up and do it all over again.

I could relent and just put a layer of protective padding in my lap whenever I sit down, but this seems a little cumbersome. Maybe I just need more patience with the "NO" thing?

All suggestions welcome.


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Something Else

OK, I'm done writing book reviews now. It's like the dirt under your fingernails. Save it up and then clean it all out in one great satisfying go. Except most people probably don't do that and it's not really fair (or accurate) to compare book reviews to dirt. But apart from that, it's exactly the same.

Problem is, I don't have much else to tell you about. No book news (yet), and I've not been well so I've been sitting about on my rocking chair a lot and not doing much else.

I love my rocking chair. I can't remember what life was like without it.

This Friday I'm doing some more storytelling at the Chopin Bar in Chorlton (Manchester), but tickets were very limited and will almost certainly have all been booked by now. I'm hoping to write a new story for this tomorrow, health permitting.

Then on Saturday me and Felix are doing some, er, thing. Something on the telly. Or maybe it was the radio. At the BBC. Or perhaps it's Granada. Something to do with storytelling. I think we're helping to make a soundtrack. Er. This is what it's like in my brain most of the time. All a bit vague really.

Also, me and a delightful laydee wot I 'ave never met called Lynda Mangoro have created a kids' book together. We're getting the proofs this week, then once we're happy with it all we'll start flogging it. Me and that Ms Pepper are doing one, too. About a dragon. Called Stinky.

Apart from that, I ain't bin doin' nuffink. Well, I went to York. And walked some dogs. And cuddled some kittens, and laughed at their antics (they played Backgammon with us this evening). Nuffink else though.

Maybe tomorrow I'll think of something more interesting to say. Or maybe not.


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Kitten Bookends

Sorry, I'm rubbish at photography. I tried several times, and this is the best I could do.

They're currently playing with each other, which is unusual. Except really they're fighting. And I think they mean it. Eek.




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Domestic Minutiae

Firstly, I had a bath this morning. I had a bath because my hair needed washing, and washing it in a bath is so much more enjoyable than any of the alternatives. But it was really hot and I started to feel faint and ill, so I got out again. Thinking back, it was immediately after the lying-back-and-dunking-whole-head-in-steaming-hot-bath thing that I started feeling ill. Which is why my hair was wet. But as I sat in my favourite rocking chair eating breakfast and watching some kind of house-selling thing with my head wrapped in a towel, something didn't feel right. I couldn't work it out. Had I actually washed my hair? Well it was wet, so I must have done, right?

Wrong.

I had a shower second time round. It didn't make me feel faint.

Secondly, I have spent most of the morning in my towelling dressing gown. I wanted one of these for ages, cos I loved the idea of not having to dry myself after the bath. I'm a big fan of long hot deep baths, cos they make me feel relaxed (when they're not making me feel faint). And the thing to do after such a bath is to lie down. Or sit in a rocking chair watching daytime telly. But drying yourself is not a relaxing activity. It's frenetic, and it involves bending over a lot, and it just isn't relaxing. But when you can encase yourself entirely in towelling you don't need to dry yourself! So I asked for a dressing gown for Christmas. And I got one. A fleecy one. No good for getting dry after a bath. Don't get me wrong, it's a very nice snuggly dressing gown, and furthermore it is the correct colour. A nice dark blue. But it won't dry me.

In films people have white dressing gowns, all fluffy and glamorous-looking. But I don't live in a film, I live in the real life of lazy people who don't want to wash enormous bulky dressing gowns every time they have a bath, and like to laze around drinking tea and eating jam on toast whilst wearing said garments, and are a bit clumsy and have a tendency to spill stuff down themselves. But not only am I a lazy housewife, I am also a lazy shopper, and when I went in TWO SEPARATE SHOPS and neither of them had navy blue dressing gowns for girls, I had to plump for a hideous mauve colour. I may as well have got white. At least I like white.

So anyway, not only is it a horrible shade of lilac it is also, now, obviously, covered in tea stains. It's a disgusting article altogether. And ever since I bought it, I've wanted to replace it with a nice navy one. But ever since I bought it I've been skint, and not able to justify the expense.

And anyway I'm not much of a consumer. Although it's true that every time I go shopping I come home with three items for every one on my list (cos I'm hopeless at making decisions - most recent example is coming home with two kittens instead of one), I only go shopping once a year and I hate buying new stuff if I can't mend or reuse old stuff. And not only am I not interested in labels or snazzy techno-items, I don't even recognise the names of high-prestige designers, etc. Apparently I once bought a designer dress. I didn't have a clue. I just liked it.

Anyway. All this means I won't let myself buy a new dressing gown. Cos although this one is BLOODY AWFUL, it does the job. There's nothing functionally wrong with it. And I don't have any money.

That was a really boring post, wasn't it?

Anyone want to buy me a new dressing gown for Christmas?

Actually, I don't mean that. That would be weird. Unless you're my mum.


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Kittens!

I have new kittens. Two of them. Little cats. And that's all I'm saying, until I've found a way of blogging about them that isn't either unbearably twee or unbearably mean. I mean to say, for fuck's sake, kittens. I can't do it.

[they're very cute though]


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Discombobulation

I've been saying the same thing for months now.

My future is uncertain. I don't know what's going to happen. I'm teetering on the brink of The Rest Of My Life, but although the water is gushing behind and beside me and I can see the drop below, my kayak has got snarled on a twig.

Supposedly recruitment agents are handing my details out to employers who might want me to do short-term IT work and thereby earn some money. Timing-wise, the sooner this starts the better. No word on that so far.

Apparently there are publishers interested in my book, and some time soon I may be receiving concrete details of that. Not yet though.

Rumour has it that romantic weekends in Paris are good for procreation. But not so good if your body refuses to ovulate. Every morning I piss on a stick and wait for a little blue line to tell me to fuck off and make like a rabbit. Not today, apparently.

I know I know, it's old hat. I've been droning on about the same old stuff for months and months, and none of it ever goes anywhere.

Meanwhile there are hooks of the tenter variety firmly lodged in the back of my neck, and my Deluxe Swivel Office Chair is redundant, because I'm dangling from the ceiling as I type.


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Old York, London, Paris, Frankfurt!

This week I have been mostly looking for IT contract work, having eyedrops put in my eyes, Doing Sums, Dreaming About The Future and dreaming about the future.

I've decided the obvious solution to all my money-earning woes is short-term software engineering contracts, and I'm not sure why I didn't think of this before. I guess I was a little bored of software engineering, but you know what they say about absence... after spending a day last week reading this site here, I got all nostalgic for my days of geekery and now I want to be a software engineer again. Just for a little while. Just while I earn a pile of dosh (it's SHOCKING what IT contracters get paid) And then I'll stop and be a novelist again. And that way I'll never get bored of either of them! Hurrah!

And in the meantime I might even get a publishing deal. Did I mention my book is going to Frankfurt? Well, it is. This weekend. Eek!

I had a lovely long telling-bone conversation with another writer-woman the other day, and she was full of praise and plaudits for my literary agent, who is also her literary agent, and apparently he's really rather good at this selling-books business, and blimey maybe he might actually sell my book too. But even if he does it'll take ages for any money to come through so I'll still need to do the short-term IT contract thing but still and all the same... ooh!

Oh, and today an optician put drops in my eyes and dilated my pupils and blinded me for three hours and it was really weird cos it made me feel like I was on drugs and made me realise how hard it is to see proper when your pupils are dilated and he looked at my eyes under a microscope and I have an area of pigmentation called a nevus (sp?) on my left retina and I was ever-so-slightly worried about it but it's OK and really it's just a freckle and I like the idea of having a freckle on my retina.

And that is all.

Oh, and I'm going to Paris! On Friday! To see a Chinese Opera! But I'm barely even aware of it cos I'm too busy being excited about Frankfurt.

And I'm going to York tomorrow. I'm only mentioning that so I can give this post the title it has. But never mind that, my book's going to Frankfurt.

Oh 'eck.


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Same Old Same Old

Nothing's changed really. Same old obsessions.

Not pregnant. Want to be. Haven't a clue how I'll manage it if / when I finally get there. Sad about menstruation, which is also physically painful.

Terrified and excited about book. Might get sold, might not get sold, might not know for long time, might have to wait for ages to get any news. Obsessed. Trying not to be.

Worried about money. Running out of. Haven't earnt any since I was made redundant. Need to make a living. Can't decide what to do about it. Can't afford to wait and see what happens with book. Too many options, not enough confidence or motivation. Would rather stick head in sand.

Sometimes pleased with how varied my life is and how many different interesting things I get to do per week. Sometimes terrified by future prospects, or lack of. Happy one minute, sad the next.

In short: all over the fucking shop. Again.

[sigh]


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Back

Last night airport security staff confiscated and destroyed my 22-yr-old sentimental-value-and-also-immensely-useful Swiss Army penknife.

This morning I discovered Felix and I have heads overrun with lice - just the latest infestation to add to a house full of mice, a snatch full of thrush and a foot full of verruca. This afternoon I ran out of fuel and had to push the car off a busy road.

Oh, and the dog has cut her foot again.

Still, Andalucia was beautiful and I'm glad to be back.

But what with only getting eight hours sleep in the last three days and having a week of busy-manic work ahead, I may leave the detailed explanations till later. Much later.

[scratches head]

[stumbles into bed]


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But it Huuuuuuurts

Look, I know I'm the queen of prorastination and a hypochondriac and all that, but I really am having difficulty concentrating today due to this almighty bloody blistery boily GIANT insect bite on my right-back-upper thigh and the fact that I have to SIT on it all the fucking time and it HURTS.

I can't even use one of those polo-shaped cushions people use for piles (not that I have one anyway) cos the sore bit is right on the part that would have contact with the cushion.

There's now a sore swollen red patch all around the bite with a diameter of 10cm, and ow ow ow ow OW.

And every time I get up or sit down again, it just gets worse. And it hurts to walk. And I'm convinced it'll stop me going to Spain or stop me from doing yoga or get all infected and manky while I'm away so that I have to have my leg amputated in Spain.

Does anyone know if the Spanish are any good at amputations?


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Ow Ow Ow

I have a giant insect bite at the top of my right back thigh. It hurts to sit down, and it hurts to walk. It's a bit rubbish actually. I am not impressed.


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Woohoo!

Phew, things are a little calmer than I expected, so I can tell the story of my week...

Monday: Felix's last day of summer hols. We plan to go to Monkeyland, which we both think sounds wonderful.

And then we find ourselves offering to take two more children as a favour to a friend... Monkeyland with two 5-yr-olds, a 6-yr-old and me! Woohoo!

And then the car breaks down... so we go to the Manchester Museum instead. On a bus. Stopping via a shop (because the other two children have crisps in their packed lunch and we don't have any) and a post box (to post the cheque to the yoga people because I'm not preggers after all, and can only go to Spain if I'm not). In the shop I am Generous Mummy and say they can all have one lollipop each. They choose fizz bombs instead, which go straight in their mouths before we even leave the shop... and straight out again. Three little sad faces. "I don't like it." "Neither do I." "I don't either, Mummy!"

"No, wait..."

Too late. Three very sticky hands, carrying three very sticky half-sucked sweets.

And although this is a shop which sells nappies and bog roll, it doesn't sell wet wipes.

And on to the post box, me no longer exhorting everyone to carefully hold hands. I'm not going anywhere near their bloody hands.

There are no bins. They are still holding blobs of stickiness, now passed cheerfully from hand to hand.

We go home again. We get wet wipes. We set out again. We have a nice day at the museum, and arrive home exhausted.

In the evening, I spend hours on the internet trying to do impossible price comparisons on complicatedly-differently-priced airline websites, finally managing to buy tickets for a flight to Spain, as well as a train to London and a Eurostar to Paris in October, when we are going on My Most Expensive Impulse Buy Ever - a trip to see Damon Albarn and Jamie Hewlett's Monkey thing at a posh Parisian theatre.

I realise my passport is about to expire in seven days' time. I ring the passport office and arrange to go to Liverpool first thing in the morning, buy yet more train tickets and count up the cost of the money which I don't have and yet still (oh fuck it, what are redundancy payments for after all?) am about to spend.

Liverpool is beautiful.

The passport office is terrifyingly efficient and organised. I think I must be in the wrong country.

I lose a screw from my glasses.

I find a friendly optician who mends them for me on the spot (hurrah for Liverpool!) and incidentally, seeing as it seems to be the day for helpful professionals, a jeweller who kindly removes the ring which has become welded to my finger due to my finger putting weight on. I admire the pretty indent left in my finger-fat.

On the train home I try yet again to work out how the hell I am going to make very-quick changes to my book so that it is The Best Book Ever instead of just A Good Book.

I come back to Manchester, take broken cars to garages, walk dogs, pick child up from school, go to garage again, take child swimming, swear at The Slowest Bus in the Whole History Of Buses ever, put child to bed, bang head against book once again, go to sleep, bang head against book, have enormous long phone conversation with MY LITERARY AGENT, bounce about the house excitedly, and now here I am.

Hmmm, time for another post methinks.


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Blue-Arsed

Not pregnant, but way too busy with other things to have time to worry about it. Going to Spain (yoga retreat, consolation prize for not being up the duff) in a fortnight, had to go to Liverpool at crack of dawn this morning for emergency passport renewal, car has broken down (AGAIN), lots of childcare, am just about to sign with a literary agent at last and am now beavering away at one last edit on the book before it's shown to publishers, so it's going to be quiet round here for a while...

Massive apologies if you're waiting for something, anything, from me. I'm going to be a bit distracted for a while. I'll do my best, but I know what I'm like when I get my head stuck into emergency edits.

Have some teenage diary to look at!


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More "Cheese Sandwich" Stuff

There's more! The posts on this page aren't the only "Cheese Sandwich" posts.

For all posts labelled "Cheese Sandwich" and posted before September 2007, please go here.


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