Well yes actually, it is all about me.

'11% of staff feel sexually harrassed at work.'

2008-03-12T21:34:00.004Z

Job hunting. It's swings and roundabouts, isn't it? Some days there's a lot to apply for, some days there's only the, 'NO EXPERIENCE? NO PROBLEM! EARN £60k+ A WEEK. MUST HAVE OWN CAR AND OUTGOING PERSONALITY' kind of adverts. Which are about as appealing as a case of crabs or hammering out your own teeth.

So, tonight was the jobs section of the Evening Post. Good news. 500 jobs inside, it boasted. I opened it, all anticipation, and was greeted with the headline, '11% of staff feel sexually harrassed at work.'

What a feature to have on the first page you come across IN A JOBS PAPER. Still, it didn't put me off, quite the opposite, and I've seen maybe two jobs I'm going to apply for.

Fingers crossed. (That an application is successful, not that I fall into the 11%).

xx

2008-03-06T20:47:00.002Z

I can breathe through both nostrils again! What a treat. For the last week or so, I've been cold-ridden, waking up with a bone-dry mouth and my tongue stuck to the roof of my mouth. Not nice. Horrible, in fact.

So, this week I've just been working really. I watched this programme last night, The Whistleblower, which was pretty distressing while I was having my dinner. If you haven't seen it, it's kind of 'journo under cover' reporting to The Whistleblower (a woman with a bob who, it seems, we only ever see the back of. I presume this is to avoid someone who she has 'unmasked' battering her should they meet at a zebra crossing). Anyway, last night was a look into nurseries of the child not plant variety. A woman went undercover as a nursery assistant and the findings were not good, least of all because all the kids she was involved with had Crimewatch fuzzy faces. She found out that staff were being underpaid, kids were being burnt left right and centre on uncovered radiators and, most worrying, were left around drills and other such tools while the builders were in. It was pretty uncomfortable viewing, especially when we found out she hadn't had a criminal record check and had been there for months. No one was hurt, but a lesson was learnt: DON'T TRUST ANYONE. (And don't touch uncovered radiators).

xx

'Shall I stay on the phone with you while you do it?'

2008-02-26T18:06:00.002Z

I never, never want to be on the phone to someone from BT for 45 minutes again in my life. The other week, Ian got a wireless Hub delivered from them and all was well for, oh, about twenty minutes. We turned it on, it went green, we connected to the internet through my laptop and looked at websites just for the sake of it. Bedtime came and we turned the Hub off. A mistake, it turns out. When we turned it on again, it just flashed red (which is never a good thing) and refused to do anything else. We'd clearly upset it, but neither of us knew what to do, so Ian called them up and was told, 'Just put the CD into the computer.' So, we did that, no joy. So, on Sunday, I was given the task of calling them up since we both decided I was probably slightly more technicallu savvy. NEVER AGAIN! Ugh, it was horrible, like some kind of pennance for a sin I've forgotten. We went through everything.

'Have you turned it on and off again?'
'Have you put the CD into the machine?'
'Have you right-clicked this, that, the other?'

The most painful part though was when he told me 'keep pressing the resest button for thirty seconds', (which meant jamming it down with a pencil. It took ages to work out if he meant keep pressing it or keep it pressed. Anyway, neither worked but I had him breathing in my ear for the whole time before asking, 'What colour is it now?' 'Flashing red.'

We tried three more buttons. None worked. 45 minutes and nothing had happened. Then he said, 'Have you connected the Hub with the computer using the yellow cable.'

Realisation hit me like a kipper round the face.

'No,' I said, 'I'll try that now.'

'Shall I stay on the phone with you while you do it?'

NO! I couldn't think of anything worse, so told him I thought I would be okay now. It took another three hours last night to get it all working though. Horrible. I'd rather knock my teeth out with a hammer than go through that again.

Anyway, though it feels like I have been crouched down in front of the desktop for three weeks, that's not true. Since my last post, I have had two interviews for publishing jobs and was offered one job I didn't want and turned down for the one I wanted. Handing an application in for another tomorrow, so hopefully that will work out.

Things got from bad to worse at the temp place I was working in and I woke up on Monday thinking, 'I can't bear another week here.' Hurrah, then, that my old job rang and asked me back. Much nicer place, nicer people, wine. All good, and they know I am looking for something else so I won't have to pretend I want to stay forever.

Oh, I think my misery of Monday morning was also influenced by the fact that on Sunday night Ian and I went to see Into The Wild. It's a film based on a true story about a 23 year old, Chris McCandless, who gave his savings to charity before disappearing into the wild and ending up in Alaska. Everything about the film was amazing (apart from his watch being in so many shots, but that's a minor thing) and the ending was so moving that I was choked until we got back to the car. I bought us a Flake and a Ripple to cheer us up on the way home.

Anwyay, so, I need to get going. Meeting old itchy feet Bollive for a meal before she disappears off travelling again.

xx

It's a game of chance. Russian roulette.

2008-02-13T23:10:00.002Z

So, it's been a while and I feel wracked with guilt. That sounds sarcastic, but it's actually the truth. There are a couple of reasons for my blogging absence, mainly that I have been staying at Ian's where I'm in a black hole when it comes to internet access. It's like being back in 1994. But without a homework diary or tipp-exed pencil tin.

Right, since my last posting I've been tackling my novel with (very) mixed results. At some points I wanted to just scrap the whole of what I'd written so far. I compromised and got rid of half. Ugh. I'm now working on a scene by scene plot breakdown because I've come to realise I'm the kind of person that needs to have a clear idea of what's happening next. So that's good. A decision has been made.

Aside from the novel, I've been job-hunting and working in the temp position I've been in since December. All okay and now working on a new campaign with a few of the hardcore crew I started with at the beginning. Better the devil(s) you know.

I'm looking forward to this weekend. My friend, Jo, is back from Canada and I'm catching up with her and some other friends in London. The big smoke, if you will. Should be good. I'm actually looking forward just to the coach journey. I bought a few good books the other week and so quite excited to have an excuse just to sit there and read for a couple of hours. I was moaning to Shakira at work the other day that I don't seem to have any time to myself at the moment. It will be nice to have some solitude forced upon me. Saying that, I'll probably end up on the coach beside someone whose legs are akimbo for the entire journey and I'll be putting most of my attentions simply into staying on the seat. Ah, public transport. It's a game of chance. Russian roulette.

xx

HARSH EDIT 2008

2008-01-28T17:50:00.000Z

Ooh, I've been a misery guts of late, but I think I've reached a turnaround. Today is the first day in what feels like months that I've actually done something constructive. It's also the first day in what feels like months that I haven't donned a headset and harrassed members of the public. Yes, there probably is a connection between the two.

So, today I have started a new file in regards to my novel. It's called KYAS HARSH EDIT 2008. I've been going over my novel once again and getting rid of so much, killing off one character, axing the beginning and am about to introduce a whole new element that I think gives the whole thing a lot more credibility and realism: a funeral. Whoopo! When in doubt, bring in a funeral. It means getting rid of the coma, but that's all okay. This whole process is killing me a little bit but, like I said to Ian last night, it's only because I have had some time 'away' from it and have been beating myself up about it. When I was back in Falmouth, I had a spell during which I felt in control of everything and was being very productive, working on my novel for six hours a day. Since I've been back I've done so little, but am going to stop that right now. I was talking with Ian the other day about making a plan for each month, kind of like people do at the end of a year, and have decided that January has pretty much been a fun month (bar the call centre) and February needs to be a month of productivity (and some call centre).

I've decided that, by the end of February, I need to have a new synopsis and plan for the whole novel. I think that I'm facing problems because I keep getting to points where I think, 'And what happens now?' I need to have a clear idea of what happens in the story so that I can just keep going rather than re-writing and re-writing the same sections which, as well as driving me a bit mad, probbaly isn't the best use of my time.

Anyway, that's that for the time being. Back to the novel I go.

xx

The scary thing is, though, that I don't know where my novel is going next in terms of plot.

2008-01-14T23:09:00.001Z

Good God, was it really the first of January when I last posted on this blog? That's ridiculous. Anyway, tonight I came back from work and finished off a job application I started working on last night. Fingers crossed I get asked to interview. It sounds like a good place to work and the job sounds interesting, so we'll see.

Aside from that, today has been pretty non-eventful. I'm in the temp job for another week, this time ringing people up and letting them know there is money available for them to claim from dividends. It's certainly nicer than the last campaign

I got back home tonight and realised just how hard it's going to be to carry on working on my novel while managing full time work. But, as I read on a horrible poster in the office today, 'To get what you never had, you must do what you have never done.' Good advice. I just can't believe that I have been so busy, what with work and seeing friends etc. I guess I just need to get my time better organised. I think once I start working regular hours, I will be able to get into a new routine and that will help matters. At the moment I feel as though I'm just bouncing from place to place and not really getting much done at all. Still, like I said, it's down to me to sort myself out.

The scary thing is, though, that I don't know where my novel is going next in terms of plot. That's not a good feeling. I kind of feel as though I've got to the end of the first third of the story and am about to tackle the difficult middle. I'm sure it will be fine and I need to just take a deep breath and get on with it. Once this temp job is over, I think I'm going to take two weeks to focus just on plot of the next chunk of story and decide whether or not to keep certain parts of the narrative. The main concerns at the moment are the coma and Daniel and Robin's jobs. I feel as if there needs to be more tension that could come for the jobs they have, but I'm rambling. I don't know. Gah.

xx

I'll use all three and let the customer choose which they like best.

2008-01-01T23:08:00.000Z

So, I started a new blog, you can see it here. I had been meaning to do something like this for ages, and when better than the first day of a new year? The plan is to write under three hundred words about something I have learnt that day. People always say, 'You learn something new every day,' but can this be true? I'm going to find out. I say this now, but my commitment might wane. We'll see how things pan out.

Anyway, 2008, eh? How exciting. I just read my entry at the beginning of 2007 and I was very positive about the year. And I was right to be. I had a great 2007 and I think 2008 will be just as good if not better. That's if I'm still sane after two weeks in this temp job. It's very repetitive and I've only been in training so far! The best thing from that day was being told, 'When you call someone, you can see from your script that it says Good Morning/Afternoon/Evening. You will have to decide which to use depending on the time of day.'

I don't think I'll bother. I'll use all three and let the customer choose which they like best. I might even add 'delete as appropriate.'

xx

It was so dull that I thought I would slump out of my seat, under the table and die.

2007-12-30T22:40:00.000Z

So, that's Christmas over with for another year. And it was a good one. If we overlook the virus that woke me up three times in the night and kept me in bed for most of Christmas Eve. Everyone I know seems to have been ill at some point of this festive season. Where's the fun in that? There's no 'ill' in festive. Anyway, feeling a lot better now, thank God. I couldn't have felt much worse.

Yesterday, Ian and I went to see Avenue Q in the Noel Coward theatre in London and it was so much fun. I was laughing so hard at one point that I had tears rolling down my face. Aside from Ian, it was only me laughing so much, so perhaps the joke was a personal one. I don't know. Anyway, the show is kind of like a live action 'adult' (not Jim Davidson in Sinderella adult) Sesame Street that's very, very witty. Plus, it has a Miss Piggy style character called Lucy The Slut. What's better than that?

Oh, and I'm now employed (temporarily at least). I think I was in the right place at the right time on Friday. I went into the centre with James, shopping, and thought it would be a good idea to pop into the job agencies that I had previously been registered with to see if I was still on their books. I went into one, let's call them P, and they said that yes I was still on their books and was I free for a job on Monday for a couple of weeks. How good is that? Admittedly, the job isn't a great career move, but the money is good and that's what I need at the moment. I'm even looking forward to starting tomorrow, though slightly anxious about the stipulation for 'hair to be professionally groomed.' What does that even mean? Should I hire someone? How long should I style for? I don't know, but I'm guessing back-combing and talc are out of the question. Or maybe I should risk it. I'm undecided.

Anyway, in the job agency, I had to redo the tests that I have sat there before (hence redoing them). There are three. One is a data entry one, typing in the information that a robot lady gives you, one is spelling (cities, the hardest being Edinburgh) and the third was a 'information retention test' which involved listening to aforementioned robot lady talking about iron gates. It was so dull that I thought I would slump out of my seat, under the table and die. However, I didn't, and passed all the tests. Hurrah! If I had got 23% like in my psychosymetric test, I don't know what I would have done. Screamed, probably, and maybe never stopped. Oh, and just in case I thought I was still in Cornwall in the summer, the recruitment agent told me 'there's no beach wear in the office.' Glad we cleared that up before tomorrow.

Right, so, that's it so far.

xx

What kind of question is that to ask someone? Horrible.

2007-12-23T12:40:00.000Z

So I'm home for Christmas which, so far, has been lovely bar meeting a crazy at the bus stop last night. I was catching the bus to Ian's and was at the bus-stop when some guy sat next to me and said:
'Alright mate? What bus are you waiting for?'
'The number five.'
'I'm getting the number four. What's your name?'
I know I shouldn't have told him, but I did, and he then carried on asking questions about what I was doing etc, all the time using my name at the end of the question. Anyway, I told him I was a student studying Creative Writing (I didn't want to discuss my novel with him) and then he started asking questions about the course.
'What kind of writing?'
'All sorts.'
'Do you read?'
'Yes.'
'On the course?'
'Yes.'
'What books have you been reading?'
'Um, lots.' I couldn't think what to say, and then he asked, 'Is this conversation boring you? Am I not asking the right questions?'

It was really uncomfortable, and I was really glad when the bus sailed round the corner. What kind of question is that to ask someone? Horrible.

Aside from that, yesterday was okay. I'd stayed at Ian's on Friday night for a Winter Solstice celebration, which was great, and then went Christmas shopping with him and James. I don't know why I leave it so late every year, but it's a tradition I don't seem to be able to shake. Still, managed to get most of the things I needed with as little stress as possible and went down to my nan's with my Ian and my parents last night where he experienced my nan's heavy handed whisky measures for the first time. That's what the festive season is all about.

xx

That's going to play on my mind from now until I see it.

2007-12-15T16:39:00.000Z

So, I found out that you can actually get get paid for blogging. How fun is that? I can't remember how I found the website Smorty, maybe through a search engine or something, I don't know, but it's really good, easy to use and understand with only a few rules to follow. At first I thought it would be like blog advertising, or like you sometimes get emails that are just full of links, but it's not like that at all. All you have to do is mention a service or company and give your opinions on it. They don't want you to sing their praises in a way that seems completely forced, and they don't want you to have every other word hyperlinked. They just want your opinions, which is kind of cool. Where else would you get paid just for what you think, I ask you? Nowhere. No, no.

Anyway, I'm glad to be blogging for a moment now after spending the last three hours in a row on my novel. I can't believe how long it's taking to get things how I want them. It's like every time I read from the beginning, I find something else that needs to go in. I wonder if I'll ever be 100% happy with it. I guess I will at some point, but right now I'm feeling like I can't move on until I get everything in the first eight chapters and interludes sorted out. It's like having my wings clipped. If I had wings. I'm looking forward to taking my diary entries along to my last novel meeting (sob) on Monday. It will be good to get some feedback as the voice I have used is different to the rest of the novel and it's all very early stages in concept and writing, so it'll be interesting to see how it goes down.

So, tonight I'm going round to Frea's to watch the X Factor final. I heard a rumour that Sam Difference are singing All I Want For Christmas Is You. I love that song. I hope they do it justice. Ooh, I hadn't even though they wouldn't before I mentioned it just then. That's going to play on my mind from now until I see it.

xx

'Christmas can be a lonely time for people with no family.'

2007-12-14T16:29:00.000Z

There's something about getting into the chair at the hairdressers that robs me of any social skills. It's always been this way. I don't know why, but I suspect it's the awkwardness of having someone so close to me and not having anything to talk about. This morning was no different. I sat down and we had the usual, 'how are you?' chit-chat. Fine, no problem. 'Can I take your jacket?' Yep, yep, fine. Had my hair washed, all want AOK. Then I got sat down in front of the mirror and started to gabble like a crazy.

'How long was it before?' she asked.
'Oh, I don't know. Maybe six weeks or so. Does that sound right?'
I saw her confusion in her reflection and realised she was talking about the hair length, which actually makes more sense anyway than how long it had been since I'd last had my hair cut.
'Oh, you mean the hair,' I said. 'It was a bit longer than it is now.'
'And how much do you want cut?'
'Quite a bit.'
She held up some hair. 'About this much?'
'Yes, that's fine.'

And then she set to the job. In silence. I'm normally okay with silence, but not when I'm getting my haircut, so I started talking:

'Are you watching X Factor this year?'
'Yeah.'
'The final tomorrow night.'
'Oh, yeah.' Snip, snip, snip.

Then, to the other side of me, a woman having her hair dyed blonde who'd been quiet since I'd come in said, 'Christmas can be a lonely time for people with no family.'

What a conversation starter! I wish I'd said that. The guy doing her hair, asked, 'Sorry?' and she repeated herself. I don't think he said anything in response, but then heard her again say, 'Sometimes I wish the baby Jesus had never been born.'

I don't know if she was 'joking' or not. But if she was or wasn't, it's a pretty amazing thing to just come out and say. Not, 'Are you looking forward to Christmas?' 'Done all your shopping?' No, 'Sometimes I wish the baby Jesus had never been born.' Priceless. I might start saying that mid-conversation as if it's been playing on my mind all day.

Anyway, that was a nice start to the day. After that, I went into town and picked up a few Christmas presents. I say a few, I actually mean two. One for Ian, one for me. I think this 'one for you, one for me' policy is a good way to tackle what's otherwise a very stressful time.

Writing is going well. I think I'm on target for 50,000 by this time next week. I started writing Daniel's diary entries the other day, which I'm really enjoying, but haven't had a very productive couple of days. I've taken on some other work that's great, but means I need to section novel aside for a while.

Right, that's that. Off I go. Only one week left in Falmouth but, as Ian said, the end of one era and the start of the next.

xx

Cats. In slutty wigs. It just has all the ingredients of amazement.

2007-12-09T23:12:00.000Z

Why, why, why do I insist on changing things in my novel just as I think things are going along well? On Friday, I changed a major aspect of one of the three central characters and have spent the weekend making necessary changes. Oh, and having found the horrifying 'Statistics' part in Word, I learnt I have spent a total of 775 minutes and 665 revisions on that alone. 775 minutes. That's, like, twelve hours. But I'm a lot, lot happier with what I have done. I also managed to tackle whole chunks of prose that were, 'tell, tell, tell,' and are now 'show, show, show.' I know I'm moaning (in good spirit, mind) but I actually couldn't be happier with the way things are going.

So, what with this drastic turn of events, the weekend has been pretty good. I went out for a cheeky drink on Friday night with Ben, Frea and Andy, intending to be out for a couple of hours at most. I got home at 3.30 and woke up at first wondering if a train had run over me in the night. I woke again a little later and found I could actually move all my limbs and get out of bed. A great improvement.

That was yesterday and today I have just been getting on with work, still aiming for 50,000 words by a fortnight's time. Should be do-able, so we'll see. I just want to get as much done as possible as I know that as soon as I get back to Bristol it'll be Christmas and I'll be busy, busy, busy. And probably drunk, drunk, sick. What else is the festive season for if not that?

Ooh, and this week I also learnt about this through my friend, Jo. This may well be the best thing I have discovered since 2001's revelation of Scampi Fries. Cats. In slutty wigs. It just has all the ingredients of amazement. And it doesn't disappoint. The blue one gets my vote. So jazzy.

Right, on that note, bed.

xx

There's something about winning that's great, isn't there?

2007-12-06T00:02:00.000Z

There's something about winning that's great, isn't there? It doesn't matter what the prize is, it's the winning that counts. I remember a few years ago I was on Brighton pier on one of those grabby machine things. You know the type. They have a really slack crane thing that hovers over soft toys/empty Nintendo DS boxes/anything else that can appeal to all age ranges. Anyway, the one I was on was for Muppets soft toys. I had my beady eye on Kermit, but, half an hour later, I was clutching Animal as if was a life-ring and I was drowning at sea. Why? Because I won him. It might have cost me more than buying him, but that's beside the point.

So, on a similar note, I have the worst poker face. I can't blag in the game, and I can't raise the bet when people are watching. This is probably why I can only actually play properly online since I don't have to physically face anyone at all. And, because of this, I can actually win. Since I hadn't played any online casinos before, I thought I should probably search the web and see if there was any way I could find which ones would be worth visiting, and which ones would be well worth avoiding. You can imagine my excitement when I typed online casino into the search engine and found Pro360. It's so handy. It's kind of like one of those comparison shopping websites that gives you a grid of attributes and rates each one out of five or something. Included in the comparisons are the maximum amount you can win, editor and player ratings, and full reviews. Not knowing where to start choosing an online casino, it was great, particularly because it lists the casinos in order of best to worst, some with a 100% editor rating.

If, like me, you're a newcomer to online casinos, you'll do well to visit the website before going any further. The reviews from fellow users are so useful, giving detailed information on the games available to play, whether there have been complaints about the ethics/fairness of the casino, and the level of online customer service skills.

When will something similar be designed for those machines on Brighton pier?

xx

I love charity shops, but there's a morbid feeling that washes over me when I see whole collections of things that have been donated. In my mind, it c

2007-12-04T15:23:00.000Z

I love charity shops, but there's a morbid feeling that washes over me when I see whole collections of things that have been donated. In my mind, it can only mean that the owner has slipped away to another realm. Why else would they want to part with the entire series of Star Trek: The Next Generation? Why would they allow their prized Catherine Cookson to be snatched from their hands? Their beautiful range of porcelain owls? Surely death is the only answer.

On Sunday, Antje and I went into a charity shop in Penryn and saw a whole table full of face saunas and foot spas with the sign 'Perfect Xmas Gifts.' Now, either these all came from one person or, weirder still, they came from several. All at once. Who on earth donated these? And why? Who wants a second foot spa at any time of the year? Let alone Christmas. Ugh. I didn't even think charity shops were able to sell electrical items, let alone ones that were so intimate. If someone gave me one, I'd have to re-evaluate their place in my life. Still, just because I didn't want one, doesn't mean my family and friends feel the same. I bought three.

So, what with that joyful discovery and the fact that I've been tap, tap, tapping at the keyboard resulting in 36,500 words, I'm feeling good. I've made a deadline with myself to get 40,000 words by Thursday night and 50,000 by the time I go to Bristol at Christmas. This actually doesn't feel implausible, which is good since I usually set demands of myself that leave me frazzled and weeping on the keyboard, 'Why did I bother?' This is not a good frame of mind. No, no.

Oh, I'm life modelling again tonight, and I'm feeling much more in the right head-space than last week when I would rather have eaten my own skull. I think it's partly because it's the last class this term, and also because I'm feeling as though I've been really productive these last few days. Hurrah!

Right, I'm going to walk the streets. I haven't been out of the house at all today and it's starting to get to me.

xx

I feel fat and horrible after, but I don't care.

2007-11-30T22:34:00.000Z

Christ, another week gone by. Where does the time go? I can't believe it's December tomorrow. Scary.

Anyway, this week has been kind of good. I've been getting myself back into work mode after last week's hectic graduation weekend. I had such a great time with Ian and my family down, but it took a couple of days to recover. It didn't help doing life modelling on Tuesday when the last thing I wanted to do was stand naked in front of a room full of people. Admittedly, it's not often the first thing I ever want to do, but Tuesday was hard bloody work, and I agreed to do two sessions next Tuesday. Why?! One is a two and a half-hour pose, which makes me feel a bit wobbly just thinking about. Still, I'm just thinking of the money and, besides, I'm not here much longer so I should embrace all my Falmouth experiences.

So, yeah, graduation weekend went well. The ceremony itself was actually really nice. The guest speaker was Jill Murray who wrote The Worst Witch books. She was very encouraging and motivational and by the time she finished, I was like, 'Yezh, whoop! Let me back at my novel.' A few hours later, however, I was slurring my words and telling everyone, 'I'm very easy on the eye.' This has become something of a habit of mine when I'm drunk, but a friend had the best response, which was, 'Yes, you are easy on the eye, but you're not easy on the ears.' Cheers, Sara!

Oh, I had an uncomfortable moment the other afternoon. I popped out to get some Baked Beans (let's be specific here) and was waiting in the queue when a woman came up carrying two (large) turkey drumsticks. I'm quite keen on talking to people in queues and things, so said, 'It's busy, isn't it?' So, we got chatting, and she held up aforementioned (large) turkey drumsticks and said, 'These are gorgeous, these are. You a vegetarian?' I shook my head. 'Ooh, they're gorgeous. What I do is I stuff 'em with stuffing and then eat 'em. There's enough for two really, but I eat 'em all myself. I feel fat and horrible after, but I don't care.'

I don't know why this made me feel a bit sad, but it did. It was kind of like she know what she was doing wasn't making her feel good, but she couldn't stop anyway. I was tempted to snatch one of the frozen things from her and clonk her on the head, 'Stop,' but decided that I was next in the queue and didn't want to be lugged out by security. Who wants that on a Tuesday afternoon? No, no. Not me.

So, the week has actually been pretty productive. Kath has gone back to Cardiff for a week, so I'm cat-sitting and have learnt this evening that cats can be very, very loud when they're fighting. I was sitting down reading just now and heard two cats knocking hells bells out of each other, so I opened the door and called, 'Larios, Larios,' (the cat's name). All went silent. Sat back down again, and then, 'Yolwwwl, yoooooowlllll.' It was horrible. I had visions of him walking back into the house with no eyes or something, but he came back about half an hour absolutely soaked but with all limbs attached, thank God.

But, I was saying, productivity-wise, I have got quite a lot done and aim to have 40,000 words by next Thursday. If I don't, I will eat a hair sandwich. And that is that. I don't know why, but I kind of think I wnat to get that much done before sending it out to agents. Some might call this procrastination, but I prefer to think of it as 'effective time management.' I just think I only get one chance to make an impression with an agent, and I don't want to bugger it up. The more I write, the more my beginning changes and the more foreshadowing I am doing. It's a really interesting part of the process and I can see why people finish their work before sending it off. During the course, we were encouraged to send only the first three chapters, which I think is fine in terms of drawing attention to my writing and the story, butm as a first-timer, they need to know I have the longevity to finish a works of that length. And so I want to get to 40,000 words because that's near enough half way. I figure if I can get to half way one side, I'll be able to get the other half done too. If that makes sense. I think it does. I'm confident, anyway, whatever. Saying that, I'd quite like to get it out before I turn 25 in January. We'll see.

Right, I'm off. I have a great book I'm reading at the moment, 'Me Talk Pretty One Day' by David Sedaris. It's so funny, I've almost wet myself twice already. I say 'almost' in the loosest sense of the word.

xx

2007-11-26T23:25:00.000Z

Rightly or wrongly, I'm wracked with guilt. My novel and I have had the weekend apart and I feel as if I've done nothing for weeks not days. I have a good excuse though since I graduated on Saturday and had everyone down to visit: my parents, sister, nan, and Ian. It was such a nice weekend, and so good to see everyone from the course too, hearing what everyone is up to post Falmouth. Everyone was on good form and the ceremony was really well done. The guest of honour was Jill Murphy who wrote The Worst Witch books. She was really encouraging about the whole writing thing, about ignoring anyone who tries to stop you and about pursuing a passion. By the time she'd finished her speech, I was all fired up. A few hours later in the Tap Room, though I was not fired up. I was practically lying down. I blame the gin.

I bet I'll have dreams of having my head fried in a chip pan tonight.

2007-11-21T23:47:00.000Z

My washing smells of chips. Why does my washing smell of chips? I haven't eaten chips for about three weeks, there were no chips in the washing machine or the tumble drier as far as I saw. There were no chips in the pockets of jeans I put in, nor were there any in my duvet cover or pillow cases. So why does my washing smell of chips? I bet I'll have dreams of having my head fried in a chip pan tonight. Horrible.

So, other than this hoo-hah, today has been a really productive one. I carried on my re-read, cut loads and am now under 30,000 words again. Boo. Still, quality rather than quality, and it's getting better with each edit.

My keyboard and I had a falling out earlier (pre chip-gate, so you can see I've had a hard day). I don't know I thought a battery operated keyboard would be a good idea. It's not. Sure, you don't have the wires running all over the place, but you do run the risk of it suddenly conking out, mid flow. It's a real game, I tell you! Oh, what a laugh I had running down to Tesco in the teeming rain to get new batteries! Sick.

I've spent most of the evening frowning at the monitor while working on my website, which is now so much better than it was. I was having a real quandary about what to do about my CV and toyed with getting rid of the link all together as it had so much 'irrelevant' information on it. Since the website is mainly for agents and writing jobs I'm going to apply for, a lot of my work history is pretty unhelpful. So I decided to keep only my last employee, then a paragraph saying that since graduating in 2004 I have worked in a variety of temp roles and am now dedicating myself to writing. I'm a lot happier with it, which is good, and also updated work on my non-fiction section. I really thought doing all of this would be really difficult, but it was actually okay. Fiddly, but okay. I won't apply for any web design jobs yet though...

So, that was today. Looking forward to tomorrow. Jen is coming down from London for graduation, and Ryan and maybe a couple of others too, so will go out for a cheeky drink in celebration! Whoopo!

Right, the chippy bed calls.Salt and vinegar?

:(

xx

I don't think it's very good form to be rude to the only nude on the room.

2007-11-21T00:01:00.000Z

So I'm back from another nudey Tuesday evening and, because I've done it a few time now, I think I might have gone through my whole repertoire of poses: hands on hips, hands behind head, sitting, kneeling, arms folded, arms by sides. I spent the whole time worrying that I'd hear and angry voice from behind me, 'YOU DID THAT ONE LAST TIME,' but no one said anything and, to be honest, I don't think it's very good form to be rude to the only nude on the room. That's my view, anyway.

Oh, while I'm on the subject of nudity, why do I go to the washroom to get changed afterwards? Doesn't that seem completely backwards? I spend two and a half hours naked in front of these people, and then excuse myself to put my clothes on. Silly Skullers.

Anyway, for the rest of the day during which I was mainly clothed, I have been pretty productive and have finished a mammoth Chapter Seven that's teetering at 8000 words. I need to start cutting it down but, because I've spent the last couple of days on it, need a bit of distance and have started re-reading from the very beginning. It's amazing what stands out on each read. So many passive sentences, so many parts that can be embellished, and a dog that I keep forgetting exists. I'm starting to think the dog might have to go. Apart from a nice little metaphor about letting sleeping dogs lie, dog isn't contributing much at all. She is not pulling her weight, just settling at people's feet when I remember her, and probably languishing in a corner when I don’t. I feel it's time to kill another darling before she dies from literary neglect.

Right, so that's that. I have to get into bed RIGHT NOW before I fall asleep on the keyboard and wake up with indents on my forehead. Never a good look. No, no.

xx

Other than stinging eyes and married men, things are good.

2007-11-19T22:26:00.000Z

My eyes sting. I went to bed early last night at about midnight, which is good going for me at the moment, and lay there for ages, tossing and turning. When I checked the time again, it was 2.30. 2.30! Isn't that sick? Two and a half hours pressing my head into the pillow wondering if I should get up and try and do something with the sleepless time or 'lie it out' like some sadistic game of sleeping lions. I chose the latter, getting up today at 8am for novel meeting and feeling as though I'd tried to gouge my own eyes out with a spoon. Not recommended. No, no.

Anyway, novel meeting went well. I took along scenes from Chapter Seven and got in a bit of a flap (again) about my married man character, which is always a nice thing to go through in a Monday morning. Still, the hysteria and wondering if I should 'just change the whole thing around' has passed. For now. I've spent most of this evening working on the scenes I took along and am feeling really good about things once again.

This process could be the death of me, mind. It's so bloody painful. One day I'm feeling so positive about all the work that I've done, and the next I read it and think I should just start again. Recently though, it's been less of the second and much more of the first. Thank God.

So, this is brief, but there you have it. Other than stinging eyes and married men, things are good.

Isn't that always the way?

xx

I don't think I've ever said or written the word 'balloon' so many times.

2007-11-17T18:31:00.000Z

So, I've decided that my time in Cornwall has come to an end and the decision feels like a weight has been lifted.

I had been thinking that I wanted to stay down here to get on with my novel, get a job and avoid any distractions since I don't know as many people down here as I did when the course was in full swing. And, for a couple of months, I've done exactly that, getting on with work while looking for a job to tide me over financially. Then writer's block kicked in last week and I think something snapped inside me, so I fled back to Bristol. Coming back to Falmouth, I've realised there's not much keeping me here and have decided that I'll move back. I know it means I'll have to be more self-disciplined with my novel, but that's fine. I think I need more of a balanced life.

Anyway, that's that. This week has been pretty good. I've practically finished Chapter Seven now, and I'm really pleased in how both the story and characters are developing. I now have about 30,000 words that I'm happy with after correcting things like passive sentences and incorrect usage of colons (the punctuation, not body part). I've been delaying a scene I know will be a sod to write, but am going to bite the bullet and start it tonight. I think I'm just worried about it because it's the first time the three main characters are together in the same place and I don't know yet whose point of view I will favour. I guess I'll just take a deep breath and get on with it and just see what happens. Whoop!

Other than that, my week has been pretty non-eventful. I had a great time back in Bristol and went out last night to an Amnesty International 'do' with David and Toni, which was more fun that it sounds. It was all done to raise awareness of prisoners of conscience and the recent Burma protests. It was pretty enlightening.

Oh, and there was a buffet there and it made me think that there are probably etiquette rules to such things. Whenever I go along somewhere where there's a buffet, I always feel really anxious that someone's watching me and thinking, 'He's had four lots of Doritos' or whatever. I think I try and overcompensate for this by making sure I take some celery sticks or something healthy to balance out the amount of junk I've eaten. I wonder as well, how many trips to the food table is too many? And is anyone in charge of it? Ugh, that would be horrible to be gripped by the wrist on your seventh visit and be told, 'I think you've had more than your fair share.'

Also, a definite no-no in buffet etiquette has to be taking the bowl/plate of whatever and sitting with it in your lap, denying anyone else access. I think that's guaranteed to piss people off.

Right, I'm digressing, I was going to write about the Amnesty event. So, I was talking to this guy who had an origami lotus flower in his hand and asked what it was all about. He told me about this form of meditation in China that became so powerful that the government had the man who created it executed. I probably wasn't listening properly, because I said, 'For making those flowers?' The guy looked at me like I was a knob and said, 'No, for the meditation.' 'Oh.' Then I shuffled over to the information stall and picked up a leaflet.

Since I went over with David and Toni, Kumali, their three year old, came too and she's so cute. She had this big yellow balloon that she was playing with the whole time and at one point I was sitting beside her while she swung it about. It kept hitting people and so I said, 'I wouldn't swing it around so much, Kumali.' Then fibbed a bit and said, 'It might burst.' No sooner had the words left my mouth than BANG and she looked at it for a mournful moment before smiling at me. Sadist. That poor balloon had a rough ride.

I remember I was at a guy that I used to work with's leaving do last year and my friend's son was doing that really annoying thing of rubbbing his fingers up and down a ballon so it made a horrible noise. This was when he wasn't hitting me on the head with it. Anyway, my friend said to him, 'Stop worrying that balloon,' which seemed a really bizarre way of wording it. I can't imagine the balloon was happy, but worried? Surely not. It didn't burst anyway, so that's something. That was probably it's main concern all along.

I just read what I've written and I don't think I've ever said or written the word 'balloon' so many times. And I never will again. Who knows?

Right, on that note, I'm going to eat something. Something that's not in a party ring or sausage roll.

xx

She must have opened it and thought I let a chimp at the keyboard.

2007-11-08T21:20:00.000Z

So, I did the life modelling again the other night and had a run in with one of the people in the class. During the break, I wandered around and looked at people's work and got talking to a woman who asked, 'And are you an artist?' Whern I said, no, that I was working on a novel, she asked what it was about and, when I told her, asked, 'And how old are you?' '24.' 'You're very young to be writing about things like that.'

What a rude thing to say! I said that I didn't think you need to experience something firsthand to have an idea how it feels, and that I've shown my work to many people who are older than me and have had positive feedback. Then I pushed her easel over. Just to amplify how mature I am. I'm joking. In part.

Anyway, other than that, my week has been a bit hit and miss. I don't seem to have been able to get into moving on with my novel as I'm worried sick about not having a job, not knowing how long I'm going to be in Cornwall, when to send my first agent's package out, etc. And so I'm going back to Bristol for the weekend to get some distance from everything. I was thinking about sending out my first package tomorrow, but I think I might be rushing it in order to do so. As happy as I am with the first three/six chapters, I still feel there needs to be more information about the three main characters brought in as soon as possible. We'll see. I'm going to get onto it in a minute.

Oh, a low of the week was realising that I had sent a rough, rough, rough draft of a review to the editor of a website. She must have opened it and thought I let a chimp at the keyboard. Loads of the sentences were underlined by Word as not making sense, and there were several double spaces where they should have been. I'm so embarrassed. I emailed her, but she's not in the office again until Monday, so I'll see what happens then. Horrible.

Anwyay, I'm off to get on with filtering my first three chapters.

xx

Bloody Sunday Express.

2007-11-03T21:35:00.000Z

I can't believe what I just saw on TV. Kath and I were watching X Factor when the commercial breaks came on and, in between an advert for Argos and Orange mobile phones, there was an advert for the Sunday Express blasting out a cheery, 'New Maddie Suspect.' How bad is that?

A second before we were being told how cheap Argos were doing a combi-TV and DVD player for this Christmas, then being sold the sensationalism of the Madeline McCann story in a way just as blatant. It was horrible. I know that the whole thing has been a massive news story since it broke in May, but it's gone beyond that and now it's become a misery marketing commodity for newspapers that have no interest in the people or truth involved.

I understand that a newspaper is a profit making business just like any other, but the advert I saw tonight just made me feel a bit sick.

Anyway, that's the entirety of this blog entry. And that is that.

xx

THE MAN.

2007-10-26T21:51:00.000Z

Disaster struck the other day. The Sky box broke. We're not sure if this was because there was a wire hanging loose at the back, because the cat was sitting on it, or a combination of both. Anyway, whatever, we had to call THE MAN.

THE MAN came this afternoon and at first things went very well. He was chatty with Kath and I and made a fuss over Tia (he had a dog just like her). But then we hit an awkward patch when he mentioned he's been doing a lot of work for Polish families. He started saying things about 'foreigners coming over here' and he didn't mind that, so long as it didn't 'get silly.'

While he stood in the middle of the living room fixing the box, Kath and I sat, mouths open like fish, as he carried on: 'My parents live up in Yorkshire and my nephews are at school and they don't know anything about Christianity. They're being told all about all these other religions.'

When he realised we weren't about to agree with him about what he was saying, he said, 'Mind you, there's an Indian family who I fixed the Sky dish for and they work bloody hard,' and finished his coffee in silence. Then off he went.

Creepy.

Anyway, besides that bigoted interlude to the day, I've had a kind of productive day. I woke up feeling a little ropey from last night and read my book on the sofa for a while before getting on with some work. Oh, and good news. I've been asked to a job interview in town on Tuesday of next week, which I hope goes well. Fingers crossed. It sounds like a nice place to work and it's local, so that's what I'm looking for really.

Tonight I've been cracking on with my synopsis, trying to get it from three pages down to one or one and a half at the most. It's not meeting me halfway, so I'm going to leave it till tomorrow.

Looking forward to the weekend, even though I have loads to do. I'm meeting Sara on Monday for some help in getting my website updated with new work, so need to get that organised, and am meeting Andy in Fowey on Sunday, which will be an adventure. Also need to do a dummy run to this company before Tuesday as I have visions of not being able to find it and having a crash with a deaf man again. But that's a whole other story.

xx

Chicken breast with crushed up garlic cloves as a coating isn't a very nice meal.

2007-10-24T22:22:00.000Z

I think I may have just entered a dangerous zone. I spent the last hour working on a paragraph in which a character opens a wardrobe, out some clothes, picks up a radio, and walks to another room.

Why would I do this to myself? Because I thought there were too many passive sentences. Isn't that sick? Still, I guess it's good I can read the first three chapters and only find fault with something like that. Oh, and the fact that someone who was pregnant five years ago only just had her baby. Stupid me.

Anyway, I'm planning on getting my first agency package together by the end of next week. I've got three or four that I want to approach and most ask for the first three chapters, synopsis, and covering letter, so I'm going to work on the last two this week in between job applications and look over a hard-copy of the first three chapters. It's all very exciting, if a little scary.

So, other than writing, I've not done a great deal today. I filled in another job application form, learnt that cooking chicken breast with crushed up garlic cloves as a coating isn't a very nice meal, and had another run-in with the bank about my credit car going missing for a second time. What a day!

xx

It felt as if someone had slammed by entire body in a car door.

2007-10-23T17:32:00.000Z

I've been putting it off long enough, but no more. I couldn't let my blogginglessness get to two months. It would have been too much. And so I'm reviving it now so that it's not some lifeless limb of a link tacked onto my website.

So, I finished the course and am really happy with the results, and now looking for a job to tide me over while I carry on writing.

Two things I've learnt while job-hunting in Cornwall: there are a lot of openings for 'personal care', and having studied an MA for the past year is the equivalent of being in a coma if you're approaching an employment agencies.

I trudged around Truro the other week and dropped my CV into places, telling them I was looking for part-time/full-time/temporary/permanent work, and two of them said,

'You're going to find it hard in Cornwall as you've been out of work for a year.'

'But I've been studying. It's not like I've been out of work for years.'

'We'll keep you on file.'

Excellent. Anyway, that was only two of a possible six, so I'm not completely disheartened. Yet.

Employment agencies are funny old places though. I went into one and had to do all these tests, one of which was typing to see your accuracy and speed. They give you a document to onto the machine and you have five minutes to get as far as you can.

Now, I don't have a recruitment background, but if I had the choice of what to give people to copy, it wouldn't be something that begins along the lines of, 'In this modern, fast moving world, it's extremely difficult to find long-lasting employment.'

Talk about kicking you while you're down. Anyway, I got an average speed of 55 words per minutes and humiliated myself again by not knowing (or caring a great deal) what 'mail-merging' is.

So, that's how I've been spending the last few weeks: filling in applications, looking for jobs, and getting some more writing done. I'm on chapter seven now, but have made a lot of revisions to the work I handed in, mainly changing it to present tense and introducing a third character in the second chapter as opposed to the first.

Oh, and how could I have forgotten. I was a life-model about two weeks ago. A friend of Kath's runs an adult (not as in Adult Channel) art class and needed a male nude. Why not? I thought, and said I'd do it.

And it was actually fine. Once the towel was off, I was fine. I guess I was nervous before, but it was kind of like getting into the sea or something. The build up is worse than the actual doing it. What did I learn from this naked session? Well, mainly that if you've been in a certain position for half an hour, sompletely still, it's not a good idea to up right away really quickly. It felt as if someone had slammed by entire body in a car door. Horrible.

Anyway, that's it for now. I think, like withthe life-modelling, I need to warm up to get back into blogging again. I think this was enough to get started again.

xx

Even the drive down was nice.

2007-08-28T20:46:00.000Z

Oh my God, the weekend was so nice. I could go back and do it all over again (but not go in the sea with my sunglasses).

I went camping over at St Minver with Olive, Gemma and some of their friends and had the nicest time. It was so relaxing not to be thinking of anything work related, and while I took my essay with me, it didn't move once from the boot of my car. I think I needed to get away for a little bit. I've spent the last coupld of weeks making really fine tweaks to my work, and I was going a little bit mad. A weekend away was just what the doctor ordered.

I realised that I'm quite easily pleased on the weekend. I was walking back from the shower blocks and was just really content. The night before we'd had a campfire and barbeque and just chatted out under the stars. It was so nice. My family always used to take us camping when we were younger, so I think I got a taste for it then, but I haven't been much since I've been old enough to go on my own, and I think I really like it. I'm going to get a tent, so then I feel guilt tripped into going more often.

Even the drive down was nice. It took me an extra hour, because I got lost, but it was gorgeous weather and the radio was playing great summery music and the scenerey was stunning along the coast: it was perfect.

And now I only have a week left before hand in, well, less than a week. It all needs to be in on Friday, but I'm up together and feeling good. Of course, it doesn't end on Friday. If I want this novel to get published, which I do, I have to carry on the hard work, but I'm aiming for a first draft by the end of February. Need to find a job though, which could be difficult. My stipulations are that it has to be walkable and part-time. Still, I'm applying to a job at the campus library, so that would be good.

Anyway, this is rambling and rubbish, so I'm going back to work.

xx

Who knew ASDA was so much fun?!

2007-08-10T11:04:00.000Z

Why is Lisa Tarbuck doing the ASDA adverts? I've just seen two in the space of about an hour and feel a bit sullied. I used to quite like her, but now she's all done up like an ASDA worker and gushing about four bags of pasta for a pound before giving a hearty chuckle. Who knew ASDA was so much fun?! What's going on? In the second one, it gets even worse when she tells the customer, 'I'm a bit worried about your hot chicken on top of your other things. That's why I'm here!'

What's the point in having these people in the adverts? A couple of months ago it was Paul Whitehouse, and that was sick enough, but now Lisa? It's not right. And nobody's fooled. And that is that.

xx

It’s not disguised. It looks like any other bin.

2007-08-07T12:32:00.000Z

There's a weird sense of finality floating around my room at the moment. I sent the first three chapters off to my tutor the other day and, since then, even though I know I shouldn't, feel like I'm at the end of everything. But that's ridiculous since I sent about 18,000 words and I still have another, ooh, 62,000 to write. Anyway, I started chapter four yesterday which is a bit weird because it's the first time I've thought properly about this part of the story and some of it involves flashbacks in the present tense, which I'm not used to writing and keep slipping into the past tense by accident. Oops!

Anyway, I need to get myself back into work mode after the weekend. Ian came down on Friday night, so I did nothing novel related for the time he as here, which was actually really relaxing as the week before had got a bit hectic.

We went over to Trelissick Gardens on Saturday and Ian was almost bullied into taking up National Trust membership by a woman in a red dress. She worked there, though, let's make that clear. The conversation went something like this:

Lady in red: You could join today. It's only £43.50 and you can come in for free today.
Ian: I'll give it some thought. Do I have to decide now?
Lady in red: No, no. You can come back later. Are you local?
Ian: No, I live in Bristol.
(She pulls out a map of National Trust places and points to those closest to Bristol)
Lady in red: We've got lots around Bristol. And you can park for free. You only need to go to eight to make your money back.
Ian: Maybe...
Lady in red: Well, hold onto your receipt and then come back later.

And off we went. I said she was probably a used car saleswoman at some point in her life. Ian said she has the red dress as a selling outfit. I think we were both right.

So, the rest of the weekend went without a hitch with us avoiding the bad weather and embracing the good and then Ian went off again on Sunday. It all went so quickly, but I introduced him to the pleasures of The Ghurka along with Jenny, Emily and Jack and he was won over. So, that's good.

Oh, the other day I had a bit of a puzzle on my hands. Well, a week ago today to be precise. Kath has gone away for a couple of weeks and left me in charge of everything like the bins etc. So, last week I put the bin out the front of the house and went back in the house sure that it would be collected. Why wouldn’t it be? It’s outside the house. It’s not disguised. It looks like any other bin. It even has handles on the sides to make sure that the lid stays on and the seagulls can’t get it off. Racoons probably could, but they’re not so much of a threat here in Cornwall.

Anyway, I went outside the morning after to put the bin back in the yard and had that horrible thing when you pick something up expecting it to be light and it’s heavy and your muscles feel like they’ve been torn. The handles had been unfastened but the bin bag was still inside. So I had to wait another week to get rid of a bin full of junk. So, yesterday when I saw the neighbour, I asked what I needed to do differently and he told me, ‘You need to leave it at the back. I saw you’d left it at the front and I was going to say something, but then thought I’d better not.’
What a useful thing to tell me.

xx

Larios and I are going to have a falling out if he bites my ankles again.

2007-08-03T15:26:00.000Z

Larios and I are going to have a falling out if he bites my ankles again. Or any other part of me.

Larios is Kath's cat who I'm living on my own with while Kath is away in Wales. Things started off well enough. He would only bite Kath, the hand that fed him, but now I'm feeding him and so he thinks he should bite me. I've tried reasoning with him, but it's no use and now I'm living in fear whenever I walk around the house in flip-flops. Luckily, as well as being snappy with his teeth, he yowls really loudly, so I can hear when he's approaching. But still, who wants to live like that? Not me. No, no.

And that is that. Ian's coming down tonight and I have to get the first draft to Sam by the end of the day, so I should get off.

xx

I look like a sausage that someone left on the grill and forgot about.

2007-07-31T10:46:00.000Z

The sun has come out again. It's good news for everyone, except the angry parents on the beach who, for practically the whole time I was there, were shouting at their kids, 'DON'T EAT YOUR SANDWICH THERE,' 'MOVE TO THE RIGHT,' 'DON'T WAVE YOUR SPADE LIKE THAT.'

So, that added to the relaxation of being in the sun about as much as being burnt all down my right hand side. I look like a sausage that someone left on the grill and forgot about. It's horrible. I texted Ian last night to alert him of my frazzled state and was told to be lobster red all over by the end of the week. I think he thought I was being quite half-hearted about the whole thing.

But I'm staying out of the sun today to get some more work done. I'm really happy with my Chapter One and the majority of Chapter Two, but I need to write a scene into it that I'm delaying doing because I know it will be difficult. I'm biting the bullet today though and spending one of my two hour stints writing a rough draft of that, then going out in the sun to edit it. It sounds like a plan because it is one! Whoop!

Oh, and the latest in my being able to concentrate involves putting in earplugs but also having classical music on at the same time. There's something about the earplugs that works wonders, and for some reason I can't listen to music with lyrics while I'm working. Why don't I just wear headphones? That doesn't work either. It's bizarre, I know, but it's doing the trick.

xx

It's a multi-media torture.

2007-07-26T12:01:00.000Z

Ugh, if I have to fill in one more form, I'll eat my own spine. All morning I've been filling things in, on paper and on the phone with the car insurance people. It's a multi-media torture. Still, I guess it's all being done for a reason. But it's one o'clock now and I've hardly done any work. Gah!

I've been re-eading my work for the last few days and my eyes are stinging from looking at the screen. I think it's less damaging to actually write since at leats then you're glancing down at the keyboard. But editing is taking forever. And my first chapter is too long - 29 pages. I don't know what to do!

Right, that's that for the time being. I'm off to put my ear plugs in and set my alarm for a two-hour stint.

xx

A dog on heat does not have much fun.

2007-07-22T18:58:00.000Z

A dog on heat does not have much fun. That's the lesson I've learnt this week living with Tia who's presently in her second season. She looks so confused by everything that's going on. And she's meeting her boyfriend tomorrow for 'the deed.' It was arranged by each dog's respective owner. No dinner, no dates, just straight into the bedroom/garden (not sure where it will take place). Who says romance is dead?

So, other than that, this week has been peaks and troughs in terms of productivity. I had a bit of a flap on Wednesday I think since, living with Kath who has millions of writing books, I keep picking them up and panicking that I'm not doing some of the things they strongly advise. So I called Sam, my tutor, and he put me back on track, which is great because now I'm really happy with what I've got. My first chapter has really come along, the second is completely all over the place and the third, well, that's best looked at through fingers. But it's the early stages and the main thing is that I've got the bare bones to build the body on. There's a nice thought.

The weekend has been really good. I went out for drinks on Friday night and last night after spending the day working and editing. Jenny and Kai came over for dinner and then we went to the pub, practically at the end of my road. Getting there was fine, but I got a bit lost with Ryan and Duncan on the way back. It took about fifteen minutes as opposed to the five it took us to get there. But it was a lovely evening.

Today I went with Kath to Pendennis Castle to walk the dog. It's kind of crazy going around with a dog. People always stop and talk. To the dog first, then to the humans. As soon as we got out of the car, some woman was saying, 'She's lovely, isn't she?'Then, as we walked around, everyone who had a dog stopped for a chat and we all swapped stats: Ýes, she's two, yes she's on heat. Yes, she's lovely.'

I said to Kath after, it's kind of nice how people get talking about the dogs and she told me that she only knows some people because of their dogs. She knows the dog's name, but not the human's, only as 'Millie's owner.' How funny.

Anyway, I'm going to pull my lower lip over my head if I don't eat something soon. All I've had eat today is a bit of last nights leftovers and four doughnuts. Yes, four. I'm very ashamed.

xx

'You better think, think about what you're trying to do to me.'

2007-07-20T13:47:00.000Z

I'm sat in the library surrounded by foreign exchange students and every couple of minutes, Aretha Franklin's 'Think' keeps blasting out of someone's computer. It all goes a bit quiet for a minuite, people tap away on their keyboards, and then it comes on again: 'You better think, think about what you're trying to do to me.'

I wouldn't mind, but the image that comes to mind is the jazzy sheep in the TV advert for some bank with the lyrics: 'You better think, think about your current account today.'

I'm going to go home before I scream.

xx

EDIT: So, I was wrong. The jazzy sheep were NOT advertising a bank, but instead Co-Op. But some bank, Halifax maybe, used that song. It's no wonder I was confused. When you get sheep singing, anything can happen.

After about an hour I called the bank and put a stop on it, convinced it was going to fall into a ne'er do well's hands.

2007-07-17T17:58:00.000Z

Just when you think everything's going swimmingly, someone pisses in the pool beside you. That's not to be taken literally (this time at least), but I was feeling really on top of things until the beginning of this week. I'm putting it down to the fact that I've just moved house, but I'm feeling like things might have got a bit much all of a sudden. I looked over my work last night and can see so much wrong with it that it's a bit overwhelming. Still, at least it's there to be knocked into shape I guess.

To add to stress though, I had a flap last night at the thought I might have lost a cheque for over a grand that I wrote to myself. Not a nice feeling. 'It mist be in my wallet,' I thought, and rustled through receipts for drinks I can't remember buying and some I wish I could forget. Not a nice feeling. It wasn't anywhere to be found. 'Maybe it's in the car,' I rushed out. Not there either. 'Maybe it's in one of my bags?' No, not there either. Now, is it just me or when you lose something do you even look in places it just wouldn't be. I even looked in a bag that I haven't used since I moved here. Nowhere to be found. After about an hour I called the bank and put a stop on it, convinced it was going to fall into a ne'er do well's hands.

I found it this morning in the first place I looked, wrapped in between two twenty pound notes. Isn't that the dirtiest thing? Sick. Still, at least I know where it is: torn up in my bin with a busted lightbulb. The best place for it.

So, what with that mild panic and the fact I've got three deadlines for the end of the week (two of which I made myself), I'm feeling a little on edge and whenever I sit down to do work find myself fidgetting, unable to focus on what I'm doing and thinking instead about what else I need to do. And then nothing gets done, does it? Still, I have the basis of my essay done, and the profile I'm writing for the magazine, but everything feels a bit half-done. I guess that's just the way things go though, isn't it?

Right, I'm going to get back to work.

xx

Twice I heard honks from outside.

2007-07-15T11:54:00.000Z

I moved out! Hurrah! What a bloody long day though. I woke up at about half seven and started clearing my room, putting everything into boxes and all that malarkey, then had to have the usual panic of çan I park my car in the lane for long enough not to block anyone in?' The answer's no, by the way. Twice I heard honks from outside, despite the fact that I had put a note on my windscreen to say I was in number ten, so that was annoying. But I got everything out and down to Kath's in two journeys, which was okay really. I was watched for pretty much the whole time by her nosy neighbour. He didn't even offer to help.

So, here I am, in a nice house with Kath, a cat and a dog. It's great and nice to be able to walk more easily into town. Went back to Emily's last night after a curry and I did my usual stint of nearly falling asleep, but was able to just walk over the road and home. Perfect!

So that's that for the moment. I'm going to start my profile for Big Screen. More later. xx

It shouldn’t grate on me, I know, but it does.

2007-07-11T11:41:00.001Z

So, I'm back in Falmouth after the Priddy Folk Festival with Ian, which was great. I wasn't really sure what to expect, but it was such a good weekend with some really good music and, of course, lovely company.

It was a bit scary though, because just before I left to go back to Clevedon, I heard from my parents. My Dad had to go into hospital with water on his lungs. They drained the water from him, and he's out now, but will have to go back in again sometime soon for electric therapy to get his heart back to the right rhythm. I went to see him in the hospital a couple of times when I was back and he looked well. You could actually see where the water had filled up in his body and, when I saw him, he looked a lot slimmer than he had at Easter, or whenever I last saw him. He was pretty perky, too, making jokes with the nurses and winding them up, so that was good. For him, at least, not so much for the nurses who probably thought he was a loon.

So, as I drove back yesterday, I heard on the radio about a new policy that the Tories might bring in: a tax break for married parents who will receive up to £20 a month, so long as one of them stays at home to bring up the children. Apparently, a lot of problems in society stem from the lack of family values. And in some ways, I can understand that. But who's to say what a family unit is made up of, or how well it functions? I remember when I was younger and we had a book in school that was all about how different people have different families: some children might only have a Mummy, some might only have a Daddy; some children might live with their grand parents or aunt or uncle, or foster parents or adoptive parents. Some might be brought up by Siamese cats. But, as it was keen to point out, each child had a family that loved them no differently.

I don't think this Tory policy is definite yet, but it jarred with me because, as I've ranted about before, I don't think that the best place for a child to grow up is always with both parents, and who's to say who's a good parent and who isn't? If the Tories are going to start rewarding people, they should do so on merit as opposed to what they see on paper.

Right, I'm heading home (IN THE SUN) to eat something before getting on with polishing up Chapter Three for Friday's meeting, and making a start with my Critical Essay. Whoop!

Oh, and just one more quick moan. I went to use the hoover the other day, but it was nowhere to be found. 'Strange,' I thought, 'why would someone want to take the hoover out of the house?' Anyway, it turned out my housemate (not Antje) had taken it to clean her car and left it at her friend's house (I've no idea why it was at her friend's house. It's not even that nice a hoover). 'I'll get it back today,' she said.

That was nearly two weeks ago and we have to be out of the house on Sunday. She's staying with her parents until Friday (and I won't be home), which means we'll have to do almost everything house-cleaning wise, on Saturday, when I'm meant to be moving in with Kath. It shouldn’t grate on me, I know, but it does. But I feel better for getting it off my chest.

And that is that.

xx

I was part strict teacher, part reprimanded student. It felt good.

2007-07-02T09:25:00.000Z

I'm convincing myself that not having posted anything on here since the 19th of June is in fact a good thing, because all my efforts must have been going into other areas. And this is true. But: the 19th of June?! That's scary. I knew I hadn't been on here for a while, maybe a week, but not nearly a fortnight. Ugh.

Anyway, things have been really good. Other than the weather. I've written over 10,000 words now, which, having looked back on last night, is in parts good and in parts 'why the hell did you write that?' But it's there to be worked with, I guess. Also, have been in touch with my MA tutor, who was encouraging and positive about the work I sent to him, so that made me feel really motivated.

Other than work, I haven't really been up to much. I've got myself into a routine of going to the gym in the morning every other day, then going back and doing work. Oh, and I've learnt that I work better if I put ear-plugs in, the ones that you use on a plane. But I had a bit of a fright using them on Saturday night. I was sat at my desk, which is right next to the door into the garden and public footpath. Anyway, I heard loud 'bang, bang, bang,' on the door. I thought it must be my housemate having locked herself out. She must have been knocking for a while, I thought as I pulled back the curtain. But, no, it wasn't my housemate, it was a really drunk woman carrying a bottle of vodka who couldn't really string a sentence together. It turned out she was looking for the house on the corner in a row parallel to mine, so I took her down the road. And that was that. Oh, and then I was treated to an impromptu firework display. Literal fireworks, not a blazing row.

Yesterday, I have to admit, I did absolutely nothing until about 10pm. I read the paper from Saturday, I started reading a really good book (Eat, Pray, Love - my favourite line so far is, 'I sounded so surprised, as if I'd seen a camel using a payphone. I just like the image), and I watched about four episodes of The Office. Oh, and I went out for a bit with Devi. Then I decided enough was enough and sat down to re-read my first two chapters and made a point to be as critical as possible. So now about 80% of the text is highlighted yellow where I've inserted comments such as, 'Awkward. What are you trying to say?' and 'Cliche,' or, 'REPETITION.' I was part strict teacher, part reprimanded student. It felt good.

So, that's that for the time being. Now I'm off to the gym. I feel like a regular there now. In fact one of the men who's always in front of the mirrors with the free weights started a conversation with me the other day. But the (awful) music was so loud, I couldn't hear him and so just nodded. I could have been agreeing to anything. Still, nice to be friendly.

xx

Like an old lady after a couple of sherrys.

2007-06-19T14:43:00.000Z

I woke up at 5.30am this morning with a sense of dread in every bone of my body. It was horrible. Everything that I thought was going well with my novel suddenly seemed completely wrong and now I've pretty much changed back to the original idea which places the husband and wife characters at the centre of the story, which makes a lot more sense as this is where the majority of the conflict lies. This probably doesn't make much sense to anyone, but I just wanted to get it down for my own reference. I feel like I've reached another landmark with this project. But last night, God, I thought I'd never get to sleep, my mind was just working overtime thinking of how I could steer the story back on track. And now I feel I may have done. So that's good. Hurrah!

So, aside from that, my housemate, Antje, left yesterday which was really sad. I'm going to miss her a lot and probably won't see her now for months, if I'm still here in Falmouth when she comes back, that is. We'll see what happens. But she's on Facebook now so I'll keep up with her antics on there I guess.

The weekend went by so quickly, yet again. I went to the sea shanty festival on Friday night, which was a really nice Cornwall thing to go to. I didn't sing along much (at all) but I smiled a lot, so that makes up for it I think. On Saturday I went to Truro to do some shopping and get out of my house for a couple of hours, then ended up going out in the evening, ending up at a house party of people I didn't know clutching a child's umbrella and falling asleep on their sofa. I don't know what's happened to me in regards to that. I never used to fall asleep when I was drunk but now I do it all the time, like an old lady after a couple of sherrys.

So that's that for today. I'm going home now to get on with some work.

xx

I've just learnt that no matter how many weights you can lift, it's no excuse to sing along to Girlfriend by Avril Lavigne.

2007-06-15T12:05:00.000Z

I don't know why they do it, but in the gym all the men with tiny legs and massive upper halves go around in pairs on the weight machines and I've just learnt that no matter how many weights you can lift, it's no excuse to sing along to Girlfriend by Avril Lavigne. And that is that.

I was just witness to some massive man finish his 100 reps on one of the machines, then watch his friend do the same while singing along 'Hey, Hey, You, You, I don't like your girlfriend.' And he knew the words. Even the bit in the middle, which is quite impressive. But also a bit weird. He didn't do the dance though. :(

So, other than that, everything's going along pretty well. I spent yesterday hard at work and met my 2,000 word limit and am about to go back and get on with some more. I want to get a first draft of the first chapter from the three points of view across to my supervisor this weekend as I haven't been in contact with him yet and am feeling a little behind. But in terms of the actual work, I'm feeling pretty positive and keep having pangs of excitement. These are followed by stabs of dread, but it can't all be rosy, can it? No, no.

Hmm, I'm a bit anxious that I keep having the 'biting my teeth out of my head' dream. I had it again the other night and apparently it signifies the death of something, which can't be good. I told Ian I had it again, and he said he hoped what happened to his Gran would happen to me. What happened to his Gran? Well, she had really bad headaches and went to the doctors and/or dentists and they told her, 'It's probably your teeth,' (which is quite a random thing to blame in the first place) and then suggested she have her teeth out. So out teeth went. But she still had the headaches. Isn't that sick? I think I can put up with the dream if that's the option. I quite like being able to eat apples, see. And you can't do that without teeth. In fact, there's probably a very long list of things you can't eat sans dents but I won't go into that now. It's only tempting fate.

So, that's today's entry. I can't think that I have anything else to write now, so am going to head home and delve into my novel.

xx

'Why did you do this to me sun?'

2007-06-11T12:30:00.000Z

Me and that sun are going to be having words if it carries on the way it has been. Saturday, and there it was, all shiny and nice, luring me away from the computer KNOWING FULL WELL I HAD A 2000 WORD LIMIT TO MEET. So I shook my head at the orange globe, 'No, sun, I will not fall pray to your tricks. Let me be, I will join you tomorrow.'

And then I sat in my room forcing myself to do work, thinking 'Oh well, tomorrow I can get the paper and sit on the beach for a while in the sun.'

But no, the sun doesn't like that. I woke up on Sunday and the sky was grey with cloud, the sun hiding behind and only peeking out every so often like the tease it is. Still, I thought if I got myself together and went down to the beach, it might make an appearance in its flirty way. So off I went, blanket to lie on and all. And it came out for a while but the wind was more noticeable, blowing the paper around and getting on my nerves. I shook my fist at the sun. 'Why did you do this to me sun?' I asked.

I'm still waiting for a reply. But I've learnt to take advantage of the good weather while I can. It may not last.

xx

Overdue.

2007-06-08T17:33:00.000Z

Christ. The 14th of May? Is that really when I last blogged? I can't believe it. How much has changed. The sun's come out for a start and I'm finally 100% happy with where my novel is going. I think it's going to be a good summer. Well, so long as I stick to the timetable I've drawn up and therefore can enjoy some guiltfree time on the beach.

Anyway, what has happened since the 14th? That fateful last posting. Was I temporarily left paralysed by a potion handed to me by a witch doctor? Had I forgotten how to blog? (Maybe). Had I had my finger tips bitten off by vile crows? No, no, and no! I simply fled Cornwall for Bristol for a week off. As if a week off exists with something like a novel. But I came back completely refreshed and ready, for about the third time, to start from scratch. It felt good to finally say, 'No, this isn't working,' to the previous drafts I had written, and to begin again. I've decided on three narratives going from gay man, to wife, to husband, and have drawn up their character journeys and arcs, which has given me a) a lot more structure and b) a lot more confidence in completing a first draft. I'm feeling great about the whole thing now, especially after today in the sun at Sara's for our new weekly novel session. Each of us has about 45 minutes in which to have sections of our work we want feedback on read aloud by someone else, then focus on firstly the good, then the bad elements of the work. It's really useful, particularly to hear someone else reading. And you can sit in the garden and tan while you do it. Oh, and watch grubby, slutty dogs try and sit on each other's faces. How better to spend a summers afternoon?

So, yes, as I mentioned, I went back to Bristol for a week. It was lovely to see everyone. Ian's had a tough time of it though. All set for getting a cat, he went and met several of the feline world, all prepared for one of them to become his. The choices were wittled down to two before he discovered he's allergic to cats, cue 'What a catastrophe' 'That's not purrfect' 'He's not feline good.' It was horrible. We ended up going to casualty on the Saturday because he was so worried that the reaction hadn't calmed down. The woman at the counter of the hospital was reassuring though, commenting on the puffiness of his eyes with:

'You looks like a panda.'

Nice. Thanks for that. Still, all's well now, but cats are not for me to touch when I'm with him from now on. Unless I'm feeling particularly malicious. Or catty. Whoop!

So, other than that, the Bristol jaunt also included seeing two fantastic films: Jindabyne and The Lives of Others, and spending some time with my parents. It was great to see them before they went away to Holland (they arrived today - all well and good). I was glad to have gone back really because it meant I came back a lot more refreshed and completely ready to get on with the task ahead of me.

Right, so on that note, I'm going to head off and will write again soon (ish).

xx

I felt my will to live slide down my trouser leg and die in my shoe.

2007-05-14T13:36:00.000Z

So, all my classes are over now. How weird. Now, it relies on strict self-discipline to make sure that I get as much as I can done on my novel over the summer. I think I'll write up a timetable. In fact, I know I will. Hurrah! I feel better already.

Anyway, the weekend trickled by; on Saturday I spent the majority of the day in bed feeling like I might slip away at any moment after the damage I must have done to myself the night before. Eventually got out of bed at about 6pm and drove to St Austell (in still three handled car) to Judy's for a meal, which was lovely - thank you Judy.

Then on Sunday I swang down to see Jenny off before meeting Holly in Citrus Cafe for a stressless breakfast (the last time I was there I had a bit of a strop and left, but I can't be bothered going into that now). After breakfast we went to Woolworths where they had a massive sale on CDs and DVDs and I bought possibly the worst films ever to be put onto disc. One was called The Social Climber which, from the back cover, was described as 'Bridget Jones meets Sex and the City'. If it had been the mix of these two, I'd probably have been pretty happy. But it wasn't anything like either of these. In fact it was probably as comparable as Mother Theresa and Rose West are: ie, not very. I made Frea and Oz watch it with me and it was so bad that I felt my will to live slide down my trouser leg and die in my shoe. The narrative was all over the place, the dialogue was horrible and the characters were all so dislikeable. But we stuck it out, the hardened viewers that we are. Then we watched Big, which was perfect for a rainy Sunday afternoon. I'd seen it when I was younger, but yesterday I couldn't help but feel a bit creeped out that the woman falls in love with Tom Hanks' character who's a twelve year old trapped in a thirty year olds body. Thinking about it now, it's a little sinister, isn't it? Not as bad as if it was the other way round though. But I don't think that could ever be a film. Ever. No.

So, today has been kind of productive. I've spent most of my time researching comparable books in the market and now feel I have a few names and titles to refer to. I'm already feeling a bit nervous about the presentation next week. I just hate the idea of having to stand in front of everyone on the course and explain why I'm the best person to write my novel. I'm fine with the plot at the moment I think, and my characters are coming together, but the thought of selling myself makes me feel a bit wobbly. If it was strangers I was talking in front of, I think I'd feel happier, but because it's everyone on the course it seems more daunting for some reason. I think it's because there's more expectation. Still, it's going to be great practice so I should just shut up and get on with planning it.

So, that's been my day so far. I'm going to go home now and get on with some character development for my married man. Whoopo!

More soon,

xx

I can enjoy their company without gazing off into the distance and thinking about word counts and deadlines.

2007-05-03T15:18:00.000Z

My room's come alive with Post-It notes, and I love it. I took Sara's advice of writing down the twelve stages of story, then sticking individual scenes under these headings - the joy being that you can move them around. I'm so pleased with it. It makes it all seem a lot more real, more visible in my mind and I can remember exactly what's happening and when and see where scenes will best compliment one another. Hurrah!

Anyway, the novel has kind of taken over my thinking over the last few days since I have to write a new MA proposal for tomorrow and send it to my tutor for her feedback. I've pretty much done it now and since the genre and style haven't changed dramatically, there's not much to tweak. I just need to hack my 800 word synopsis down to 500, which is a good exercise anyway.

So, aside from that, things have all been pretty good. Went out for a walk this afternoon with Jen, Kath and Tia, which was great. I've been feeling a bit guilty for staying in and working when the sun is shining and the days are gorgeous. But then, saying that, I feel equally guilty when I'm out in the sun and my work is sitting at my desk awaiting my return. Sometimes you just can't win.

Still, it's nice that Summer is here. It's weird, I always think it's funny how quickly you get used to the seasons. Like, one minute it's raining and I'm wrapped up in so many layers in my room that I can barely move, then the next it's so nice and warm that I have my windows and door open and find every excuse under the sun (since it's there) to go out and lounge around.

Right, well, I need to get on with some more work I think. Ian and my parents and down this weekend, which will be really nice and so I want to make sure I've got as much done as possible so I can enjoy their company without gazing off into the distance and thinking about word counts and deadlines.

xx

I'm going to decipher my spider handwriting.

2007-04-27T14:12:00.000Z

After nearly a week of feeling so stuck with my novel idea and wondering if I should just forget the whole thing, I finally got myself into the feel of things today and began making a character factfile for one of my protagonists.

I'd always dismissed things like that as being a waste of time, seeing the vast amounts of information that probably wouldn't be used as pointless. But now I've changed my mind. I think it's important to think about all these different things to create a character that's believeable and likeable. So have just listed 131 things about my main character from his breakfast to what book's on his bedside table. Some of it will be used, some of it will just stay in the back of my mind but will be good to think about from time to time.

I feel so much better today than I did even yesterday. I feel like I've been walking around with a frown on my face for ages now and am so glad that things are looking up a bit. And now I feel that I'm developing my characters more and more, I'm looking forward to getting on with the writing. I have the plot in mind, but without knowing the character's who are involved it all seemed a bit futile.

Right, now I'm going to decipher my spider handwriting and type up these 131 characteristics.

Hurrah!

xx

'Well, we tell them they're going to Hell.'

2007-04-24T14:25:00.000Z

So last night I watched that documentary that was on earlier this month: Louis Theroux Meets America's Most Hated Family.

That was a treat.

The family was headed by Pastor Phelps who looked like a more fleshy, but equally frightening, Skeletor, and his daughter, Shelley.

Basically, they picket the funerals of American soldiers who died in Iraq. (As if there could be an acceptable one). Well, they didn't think soldiers should be fighting for a nation that is accepting of 'fags.'

The programme was pretty intense to watch and I don't know how Theroux managed to keep a straight face for some of it, particularly the picketing of a hardware store that sold Swedish vacuum cleaners. No, not because God hates the machines that make household cleaning easier, but because Sweden is a tolerant country in regards to sexuality. So, out came the 'GOD HATES FAGS', 'THANK GOD FOR 9/11', and 'GOD HATES YOU,' pickets. Nice.

I think the best part for me that I actually laughed out loud at, was when Theroux asked Shelley's teenage daughters of they had many friends at school:
'No, we don't have many friends. We have some acquaintances.'
'Why's that?'
'Well, we tell them they're going to Hell.'

Why wouldn't you want to be friends with that?

On a sombre note though, there was a part when the family are standing on the street with their signs and a passenger in a passing car throws a drink at one of the seven year old children (who is holding a sign that says something along the lines of 'GOD HATES YOU' - you get the drift). The carton cuts the little boys face and the family get really annoyed: 'How could someone do something like that to a child?'

I think the person that threw it was probably trying to hit one of the adult members of the family. And I can understand why.

But, to echo the question in regards to seven year old holding a sign that they don't understand the meaning of: 'How could someone do something like that to a child?' That child was hit in the face for something they had no say in, something they were born into and will probably always be involved.

It's so sad that the family message is, 'We're okay, but everyone else is going to Hell.'

Oh, and the woman said the word, 'Hon', after everything she said. As if you couldn't hate her enough already.

xx

You know you're in Cornwall when you're subject to a conversation like that.

2007-04-23T14:10:00.000Z

Just when I thought I had my novel all planned out, something comes up and I realise it's not tied together as seamlessly as I'd thought. But I guess that's part of the writing process; things taking shape over time.

Anyway, it's Monday and the weekend crept by like a dying sloth with me finding it hard to get any inspiration to do anything but sit in the sun and panic about things. I seemed to have hit a brick wall that only now have I managed to climb over and drop down the other side of. Thank God. If I was still in that situation now, I think I would probably have eaten my own head in frustration. And no-one needs to see that.

On a different note, I've had some horrible dreams recently.

I always have the dream that I'm biting my own teeth out and the other night I dreamt that I had done that again and all my teeth were loose in my mouth. In the dream I was telling myself 'this isn't happening, this is just a dream.' But then, in the dream, I woke up and my mouth was toothless. Then I woke up properly in a cold sweat, teeth still in tact, but it was pretty distressing as you can imagine.

Then, the other night, I was an idiot and took Saw III out from the DVD place after I'd had a few drinks with some friends and a takeaway. Anyway, I got home and started watching the film. It was pretty gruesome and, although I've always been kind of okay with horror films, this was a bit too much. I think because I heard of the Virginia shooting the same day, it all felt a bit weird to be watching people be hurt and things on screen. If that makes sense?

Anyway, I fell asleep halfway through and was having a horrible nightmare that I was in a situation like that shooting with all my friends and family. Then I woke up to someone screaming, snapped my eyes open and the TV was still on and someone was getting tortured in the film. I nearly died. Ugh, what a trauma. I turned it off and went to bed feeling like a big old jelly, waking up on Wednesday and checking I still had all my teeth and limbs intact which, needless to say I did.

So there we go, those are the highlights of this week. Oh, and here's a highlight from Friday when I went to Miss Pea-Pods in Penryn with some friends. I was sitting down next to my friend Ryan, who's from Indiana, USA, when some random bloke bumped into me and then said:

'Are you gay?'
'Yes.'
Seriously, are you really gay?'
'Yes, seriously, I am gay.'
'Are you messing around?'
'No.'
(Then he turns to Ryan:)
'Is he really gay?'
'Yes, he's really gay.'
'Are you American?'

OH MY GOD! Painful! You know you're in Cornwall when you're subject to a conversation like that.

Right, anyway, I have to go and get some work done. I took a DVD out of the library to watch if and when I manage to get a lot done tonight - Louis Theroux Meets America's Most Hated Family.

What a treat.

xx

'REMEDIES. IT WAS GREAT. GOD, WE WERE ALL SO DRUNK.'

2007-04-19T11:47:00.000Z

Just when I thought I'd suffered sitting opposite the most annoying person in the library, another irritant comes crawling out of the woodwork and tops the list.

This one is sat next to one of his friends and is talking to him as if a) he's deaf and b) in need of hearing the word 'drunk' in every sentence. Here's an example of the conversation being bellowed the other side of my monitor:

'I WAS SO DRUNK LAST NIGHT.'
'Were you?'
'YEAH, REALLY DRUNK. YOU KNOW WHAEN YOU'RE REALLY DRUNK AND PEOPLE KEEP SAYING TO YOU 'YOU'RE REALLY DRUNK' I WAS THAT DRUNK.'
'Where were you last night?'
'REMEDIES. IT WAS GREAT. GOD, WE WERE ALL SO DRUNK.'
'Was Alice drunk?'
'YEAH SHE WAS REALLY DRUNK, SHE WAS JUST REALLY, REALLY DRUNK. AND TOM WAS REALLY DRUNK TOO. WE WERE ALL REALLY DRUNK.'

Aaagh! Why do people like this exist? Why? I don't care if someone was drunk last night, I couldn't care less, but I hate hearing this kind of weird boasting so loud that I can't even ignore it.

Every so often I let out a sigh and glare, but it doesn't seem to do anything. But I know if I go to say something I'll snap and end up looking like a crazy. Which I'm not.

Anyway, that's that.

More later, maybe.

xx

What's its game?

2007-04-16T09:46:00.000Z

Ugh, why does the library catalogue do this?

I just typed 'Anita Shreve' into the search field and it came up with 'no results found. Did you mean Anita Shrive?'

So then I clicked 'Anita Shrive' and still nothing came up. What's it playing at? What's its game?

WHY IS IT TORMENTING ME IN THIS WAY?

Unless I get touched (appropriately) by a miracle.

2007-04-16T09:42:00.001Z

Back in Falmouth, how exciting! And my house is actually warm, yes, warm! Leaving the heating to come on auto over Easter paid off and I'm very smug that I wasn't blue with cold after twenty minutes in the house, like has been known to happen in the past.

Managed to get quite a bit of work done over the weekend and have made some progress on my novel, though am still nowhere near the 75 pages he wants for Tuesday, unless I get touched (appropriately) by a miracle, anyway.

So, not much else to report on really. This week should be pretty stressful since we have to hand in our websites and Industry Analysis by Friday, but (touch wood) I'm feeling kind of on top of things in that area. It's with novel and features I'm feeling a bit anxious.

Right, I'm going, it's going to take me a couple of days to swing back into the blogging thing. And these things can't be rushed.

xx

I'm stooped over like an old woman.

2007-04-08T16:16:00.000Z

So there goes Easter for another year, and very nice it was too. I spent Friday in a park in Bath with my friend, Sophie, before going to Ian's to eat with a couple of his friends and playing a very complicated dice game - Perudo. Even though I'm the one that introduced him to the game, I still don't understand the rules and each time I play need to be taught as if I've never seen it before in my life. Which is always a chore.

Yesterday was great too; I went for a meal with my family in a Turkish restaurant in town. I swore that they had booked the table for 1pm, so arrived accordingly. Anyway, when I got there, they weren't there and the waiter told me the table was booked for half past. Then he said, 'You could go out and find some girls.' I kind of laughed awkwardly and said I might have a walk around and then come back. Then he said it again: 'Maybe you'll find some girls.' I don't know what he was getting at. It was all very strange, but the meal was really nice.

Then last night I went out for a friend's birthday and fell asleep in a club. You know it's a good night when that happens. Well, unless you get thrown out. Not so good then.

Anyway, I'm really uncomfortable. I'm at my parents and they have a very bizarre arrangement with their computer desk and the keyboard's too low so I'm stooped over like an old woman.

So, on that note, goodbye.

xx

2007-04-04T16:20:00.000Z

After an hour and a half in the gym with The Hits on the TV, I have learnt that I hate Madness and Suggs more than I thought.

xx

:)

2007-04-04T10:31:00.000Z

Panic on...panic off.

The memory stick has been retrieved. Thank God. I was on the phone to Jenny on Monday afternoon after I'd given up looking and resigned myself to the fact that it was gone. Anyway, while I was talking to her, she said: 'Have you looked everywhere? Just then, I picked up a newspaper on my desk and there was the memory stick. Hurrah! I was so happy. And still am. I still don't know how it got where it was though because it was under so much stuff that is only ever moved as a stack; you know, that pile of stuff that 'needs to be sorted out soon' and never is.

Anyway the lesson learnt is: make back-ups. Oh, and the staff in The Famous Barrel don't know what a memory stick is if you think you've lost one in there and will probably think you're a witch doctor.

Moving on...yesterday was a really productive day in that I managed to cut my first chapter down from twenty eight pages to seventeen, which was pretty good really I think. Then tidied up and cleaned the house and had friends round to eat in the evening. Lovely.

And today looks to be equally productive. I'm going to the gym in a minute, then home for lunch and then work for a few hours. Oh! And I need to pack because I'm going to Bristol for a week tomorrow. Hurrah! I'm really looking forward to seeing everyone when I get back and I'm not taking my computer with me, only some books and print-outs of my drafts so I can get some work done but won't be tied to a monitor.

Whoopo!

Right, the gym calls...

xx

:(

2007-04-02T09:28:00.000Z

Today isn't going to be a good day.

Last night I couldn't find my data/memory stick and got in a real state about that as I have some work I don't have on my hard drive. Thought I would come into college and find it either in the library or the baseroom. It's not in either. Now I'm really frustrated about that and won't be able to concentrate on anything for the rest of the day. Oh, and emails I was expecting still haven't arrived which is crap too. Ugh.

I don't know what to do with myself.

xx

'I know, let's have a key that acts like Pac-Man and gobbles up whole pages of text before the user realises. Let's call it 'insert.''

2007-03-30T11:12:00.001Z

If someone can explain to me the use of the 'insert' key on a keyboard, I'll be over the moon.

I hate the bloody thing. It's so annoying. I just looked at a chunk of text that I wanted to add to, right in the middle of the paragraph, pressed delete, but my finger must have slipped and landed on 'insert', which meant I overwrote loads of work. Ugh.

What use does this key have? What benefit is it to anyone? I guess the people that designed the QWERTY keyboard thought, 'Well, we've got space for six keys. What have we got so far? Home, (makes sense, useful), page up, (makes sense, useful), delete, (makes sense, useful), end, (makes sense, useful), page down, (makes sense, useful). What should we use for the sixth? Oh! I know, let's have a key that acts like Pac-Man and gobbles up whole pages of text before the user realises. Let's call it 'insert.'' (Doesn't make sense. Shit).

And what does 'insert' even mean? Insert what? Just loads of frustration in my opinion.

Anyway, I'm back to work (insert key avoiding).

xx

'Nope, had enough, go out and play in the hail instead.'

2007-03-29T15:06:00.000Z

Ugh, what happened to the sun? That slutty little tease. One minute it's all, 'Here I am, feel my warmth, mmmm,' and then the next: 'Nope, had enough, go out and play in the hail instead.'

Well, Mr/Mrs Sunshine, aren't you a temperamental little beast, and, at the moment, top of my hitlist.

So, today I woke up nice and early to get my hair cut. All very well and good. The sun was shining as I slid out of bed and got in the shower (via the stairs). And the sun was still shining when I came back downstairs and got dressed. Oh, lovely, I thought, I can have a wander around the town after the hairdressers, maybe sit outside with my book and a cup of tea, maybe have a walk on the beach before coming home and getting on with work.

All set for the day ahead, I opened the front door and the sun was nowhere to be seen. Gone; or at least hiding very elaborately. Not nice. Oh, and there was a dead rat in the row which just added to the whole bleak feeling.

Anyway, had my haircut and happy with that. While I was there about three or four old(ish) women came in saying, 'Oh it's miserable out there,' and each time one of the hairdressers would say, 'Oh I know, and it's been so nice all week.' Painful.

One of the women to the side of me was getting a full report of her hairdresser's life which, if all's to be believed, has been full of injustices of late while another, having just had a perm, was in a quandry about what to do about the rain. It was all very dramatic.

So after that I had a nice-but-would-have-been-nicer-not-in-the-wet-and-wind-and-hail wander around town. I went to the little grocers that I like and bought some guilt free vegetables (as in I was guilt free not shopping at Asda. The veg themselves may well have been wracked with guilt. I do not know.) and then went to some charity shops to look at books and belts. And only in that order, never belts and books.

One of the charity shops was just amazing. Not because of the stock, but because of the conversation. While I was there I heard this:

Woman one: I'm just going out to get some coffee
Woman two: We've got coffee
Woman one: But it's decaf. I don't like decaf.
Woman two: Oh. I need caffeine! (Laughs and leaves)
Woman two: I didn't think about that. I thought it would be the other way round.
Woman three: Me too.
Woman two: Do you like coffee?
Woman three: No, do you?
Woman two: No.
Woman three: Janine loves coffee.
Woman two: Who?
Woman two: Janine, red Janine, comes in on a Saturday.
Woman three: Oh yes, I know. How is she feeling?
Woman two: A lot better.
Woman two: Oh, that's good.

I just wanted to ask, 'Why is she red Janine?' Not red haired Janine, just red Janine. I wonder if her redness was anything to do with her illness. Or her coffee intake. Oh, so many questions....and probably no answers in regards to that little riddle.

Anyway, last night I managed to get a lot of my Industry Analysis done. In fact I've written the word count and just need to speak to some people to get some quotes in so am going to start ringing people tomorrow and then cut down what I've already done. I know that sounds like a bassackwards way of doing things but I've learnt it's easier to approach get information out of people if you know what you want them to say. Since I've written the body of the text, I can just ask their opinion and then fill in the blanks. Perfect!

On another note, I started watching a film last night called The Death Of Mr Lazerescu. I'd wanted to see it for ages but missed it at the cinema and so took the DVD out of the library. I couldn’t get into it at all but stuck with it for about an hour before giving in and fast forwarding it and getting eye strain reading the speedy subtitles. Still didn’t get to the end since it was about 1.30am by that point.

Anyway, I think that's the lot for today. Now going to go to the gym, then home to get cracking with the plan for Chapter Three.

xx

Yes, 924.

2007-03-28T13:16:00.000Z

Ugh, I've been in the library for about three hours and have written, wait, let me check, 924 words. Yes, 924. What a pitiful amount. Still, it's going in the right direction. I've just started my Industry Analysis, which is on finding and approaching a literary agent. It's not the most exciting thing I could be doing, but it's okay. I want to get as much as possible done before I go back to my parents for Easter next Thursday so I can actually relax a bit. Not that I will. I'm sure I'll be thinking about all the things I could/should be doing.

Anyway, it's such a beautiful day outside, I don't think I can stay here much longer. Oh, and I haven't eaten since breakfast so I'm feeling a little light headed. I'm gonna go and get some water and then head on back over here I think.

More later (maybe).

xx

'I've been asleep for four hours, where are we, and why do I smell bad?'

2007-03-26T11:38:00.000Z

Right, so a quick recap since last time I wrote, which was on, I think, Wednesday. I got a lot of work done and am now 60 (needing a lot of work but basically okay) pages into my novel and am really happy about that. On Thursday night my housemate had some friends round for dinner and we all drank a lot. At about midnight one of her friends was playing the guitar and I fell asleep, drunk, with my wine glass balanced in my hand. My housemate took the glass out of my hand, which stayed as if it were still holding said glass, until she lifted me up and took me to my room at which point I woke and said adamantly: 'I wasn't asleep.'

It reminded me of a time when I went to Amsterdam with some friends and fell asleep all over the place, waking up and saying, 'I was just resting my eyes.' In other words - 'I've been asleep for four hours, where are we, and why do I smell bad?'

I don't know why I seem so in denial of my sleeping when drunk. I think it's because it feels like I've been rude, missing the rest of the conversation.

Once, in Amsterdam, we were all in a bit of a state and I fell asleep in a tea shop and the woman who owned it told me off saying I couldn't sleep there. My friend then went on to tell me: 'You look awful Skully. I think you're going to die Skully.' It was horrible. I must have looked pretty bad, but hearing this news made me feel even worse, as it would.

Ah. thinking about that Amsterdam trip brings a smile to my face. We had such a good time. A couple of days into the holiday we saw a street performer in the main square dressed as the Grim Reaper/Death. This sighting prompted the game (yet to be suggested to MB) 'Where's Death.' Each person has to draw a picture using a felt tip pen of Death in a funny situation. We had a lot of laughs at: death at the vets/gay club/golf/beach/hot air balloon/casino. Oh, they were great. I think the game needs a bit more development, but I think it could be a winner.

Anyway, waking up on Friday I was in no state to work so cleaned the house for Ian's arrival, then went to meet Frea for coffee. Then came home feeling a bit brighter and did some editing of my second chapter, cooked dinner with my housemate, and then Ian arrived. Hurrah!

Saturday here in Cornwall was beautiful. It was like a Summers day, really warm and cloudless sky so we got the boat across to Flushing which is a small town near Falmouth. There isn't an awful lot to do there but it was like being in another country - the roads were quiet, the houses were amazing and the people were really friendly. We had lunch next to a yachting club before coming home in the late afternoon.

The rest of the weekend was pretty lazy. We went to David and Toni's for another lovely Sunday lunch, then Ian left and I spent last night watching Brass Eye with my housemate. We had tried to watch Six Degrees of Separation, which is a really good film, but the disc was scratched and made me feel on edge watching it because I kept waiting for the next bit to jump.

Oh, that reminds me, films. On Saturday night I watched this film called Sonny, which was about a male prostitute who leaves the army, comes home and is undecided about what to do with his future. Should he return to prostitution as his mother (yes, his mother, she's his pimp) tells him to? Or should he try and do something else?

Now, the general idea of the film is okay, but we don’t really get any feeling of what it is that the protagonist actually wants and, therefore, why he can't get it. There is a vague love story with a girl that his mother is pimping out, but it's all a bit hit and miss, and the film is made of so many scenes that don’t do anything to move the plot on and instead add too many characters. I think that if this film had been more linear, it would have been quite effective but, as it is, it came across as badly acted with a lacklustre story. Even Brenda Blethyn who played Sonny's mother was a bit ropey with a strained Queens accent pronouncing 'girl' as 'goil.'

I'm only mentioning this because it made me think about my novel and worry that I might be trying to do too much in one story. I really need to look at some parts of it and decide if what I'm doing is relevant. My main concern is one of the subplots involving the love interest, in which we hear a lot about his past, but I think this will slow things down and might be a story in itself.

Oh, I don’t know. I'll have to sit in a dark, cold room and have a think.

xx

A rant.

2007-03-21T16:19:00.002Z

So I just finished reading someone else's blog in regards to the 'gay children's books' and, subsequently, gay parenting. The person was against both, stating that the best place for a child is with both a Mum and Dad. Of course there was no mention of whether this Mum and Dad were the best parents for the child.

But then, being heterosexual and also in a couple, surely they must be?

Well, no actually. What about the parents recently in the news who starved their eleven month old baby to death weighing only 10lb? Or the Mum who pitted her children against each other making them fight in front of a video camera 'for a laugh'? Or, in the most extreme circumstances, Fred and Rose West?

Are these people good parents? No. Not by any stretch of the imagination. But they're the child's natural parents. So should they be left with them? Apparently so if 'the best place for a child' is with their Mum and Dad.

The UK recently ranked lowest in Europe for our children's well-being, so clearly something is going wrong somewhere along the line. Could it possibly be that so many people are getting pregnant without thinking of the consequences, later treating the child no better than they would a dog?

I don’t think that a pregnancy has to be planned. But I do think that when a child is brought into a home it should be looked after and loved.

And love has nothing to do with sexuality or marital status.

I guess the point I'm making is that parents should be assessed on the people they are as opposed to the label they carry.

A good single or gay parent is better than an abusive mother and father.

The people who hide their own prejudices under the façade of 'children's best interests' are doing no-one any good, least of all the children they're claiming to protect.

In an ideal world a child would be safe with any adult it was left with. But this isn't an ideal world by any means, so wouldn't it be better to find parents that will look after children properly?

xx

One does not have to be a teacher to do this and help is available if needed.

2007-03-20T16:46:00.000Z

Parent power
I have to write in response to Stephen Soos. I agree wholeheartedly with his assertion that teaching children, of any age, about homosexuality as a norm is perverted, pornographic and paedophilic. What I don't agree is that he will find anywhere else that is not tainted by this same malaise or, if not yet, will be very soon.

Parents in this country need to start forming small groups and teaching their children at home. One does not have to be a teacher to do this and help is available if needed. Home schooling is the way forward until we can be assured that the cultural Marxist brainwashing has been swept from our schools. And don't think it isn't going on everywhere in the West, whether it is the lie of global warming, the white guilt over slavery, the rubbishing of white Western history or the promotion of Islam.

Guess which website this came from?

The part in bold is the part that's most bizarre and worrying. I pity the poor kids learning life lessons from bigoted parents like this. Now, not only will they be ignorant about diversity, they'll also be socially stunted from years out of school. What a step forward.

xx

I found a fox in the road so I took the skull.

2007-03-19T11:17:00.000Z

So there goes another weekend. It was a good one, but I feel I have to cover some of last week’s adventures before I reach the weekend.

So, Wednesday was pretty unmemorable in that nothing very interesting happened. Oh, I went out for a curry with Jen and Joe since it was his last night in Falmouth until after Easter and that was very nice. Then Thursday we had a guest lecturer come in, a children's book author. And that was good, but she was really nervous about speaking in public and it was all a bit awkward. Particularly because she rushed and any jokes she made were lot in the blur of her chatter.

Thursday night I went out for drinks with the guys from my course and it ended up being quite a messy night. My friend Sara stayed at my house and in the morning neither of us could remember how we got home. Bit concerning. Still, we managed to make it in for the MA class at 9.30am which was pretty good going I think though I was a bit hysterical by that time.

I can't remember what happened on Friday night...oh yes, yes I can. I went out for dinner with Jenny and her visiting friend from London, Lizzie. Lizzie works as an editor and had with her a client who only addressed her at the table. He didn't even try to engage Jen or I in conversation. It was pretty painful. It's so weird when you meet an adult who acts in that kind of way, as if they have no social skills at all. In children you can kind of understand it, but in adults it's just bizarre and a bit creepy.

Saturday I spent doing a bit of work on my first chapter, then went to the gym, then back to work before going out for Ben's birthday which was great fun. We got drunk and danced. The way a birthday should be. I felt a bit ropey yesterday, but after a three hour walk on and around the beach with Antje, everything felt a bit better. Worked again for a few hours and then we settled down to watch Fried Green Tomatoes, which made us feel warm and fuzzy. Just as well since living in my house is like being in a morgue. Honestly, it's so cold. I woke up this morning and swore I must have left the window open, but I hadn't. It was so freezing I didn't want to get out of bed. But I made it in the end and am now at Kath's babysitting Tia (her dog). I've told Tia that I'm going to get some work done and then we'll go out for a walk and she seems fine with that plan.

God, I completely forgot about a mad person I met on Saturday night. When I got to the pub on Saturday night to meet Ben and co, there was a table with a seat free while everyone else was standing. So I sat down, turned to my right and said hello to the girl next to me. We were introduced and then got talking./ At which point it became clear she was a crazy. Here are a couple of lines I remember:

Her: I had a really good day.
Me: Oh, that's good, what happened?
Her: I got my microscope fixed and someone gave me a box of slides of viruses.
Me: That's...that's good. Great.
Her: There's loads in there. Malaria, meningitis....

Another:

Her: I found a fox today.
Me: ?
Her: I found a fox in the road so I took the skull.
Me: Why?
Her: I collect bones.
Me: Oh, okay...
Her: I set my alarm for five months to go back and get the rest. I'll be tempted to go back sooner. I hope no-one else takes it before I can get there.
Me: I'm sure you'll be fine.

So that was nice. Turns out this girl is more an acquaintance of Ben's and known to be a bit loony. Ben came to get me after I'd been sitting with her for about an hour, saying, 'Come and meet someone.' He said he felt sorry for me and that he could see I needed saving.

But, as painful as the conversation was, I kind of loved it. I wished I had a transcript of the whole thing. It was all so weird. I'd love a friend like that to take with me to places and introduce to people before waking off and leaving them for hours.

Anyway, more later. I have to do some work.

xx

Nick!

2007-03-13T09:32:00.000Z

So, just came out of my meeting with Derrek, my novel tutor, and got some good feedback. He was pleased with my pace and synopsis but said I tend to repeat some sentence structures and styles, so that's something I need to look out for. He was also saying that in general people need to evaluate everything they're writing to make sure that it's moving the story along, which was kind of comforting. I feel like I have to write descriptions of places and things like that, really lengthy colourful ones, but having spoken to old D today I realised these might not always be neccessary. I know I'll need to use some physical descriptions, but using lots will just slow things down. So feeling quite peaceful so far today and looking forward to getting on with features later.

Right, I'm off into town now with the following written on the back of my hand:
Nick!
Toothbrush
Attitude
Tesco!

It's all very cryptic.

xx

Don't give ugly people authority.

2007-03-12T16:52:00.000Z

Right, so the weekend is over and was in part horrendous and in part very relaxing. The horrendous part was Friday night. Having got a lot of work done, we decided to go out for some drinks and a bit of a dance. So started off all very nice in the Seven Stars with some Fish and Chips, then walked down to Falmouth (a fifteen minute walk, Holly said; more like a fifteen minute for each foot) and met some more friends in Jacob's Ladder. All very well and good so far. I had a few G and Ts and then we all headed down to this dive of a club called Remedies. It's not nice by any stretch of the imagination but it has later opening hours and a dancefloor. It ticked all the right boxes for the evening. Anyway, off I was at the bar when I come back to the table and see that there are three security guards surrounding everyone but mainly Frea. I didn't know what was going on and no-one around did either. It later turned out that Frea had put her head down on the sofa for about 20 seconds when the security morons lynched her and told her she had to leave. Now, while we had all had a few drinks, no-one was overly drunk and we were all able to speak without slurring and make sense. Frea told them that she would go after her drink and that she hadn't done anything wrong. The woman bouncer then gave her her drink back and then the next thing I knew I was being taken down the stairs with my arm up my back and my head pushed down.

They completely over-reacted to nothing. It was ridiculous. So we stood outside and got a policewoman involved who was useless and did absolutely nothing to help. It really annoyed me that we were treated in this way in a place that was a complete hole. If those bouncers acted that way in somewhere that actually did have trouble going on, they would be out of a job. And also, if we had been different people who had turned violent in such a situation the whole thing could have kicked off majorly. They just can't act like that for no reason. I was so angry and even thinking about it now makes me irritated. I just hate it when people use their 'power' to abuse people. Still, there is a lesson learnt: don't give ugly people authority.

Right, after that it's on to rant number two. So today I was reading The Sun in the bar, simply because it was there, no other reason. Anyway, I came across a headline: You couldn't make it up - Fairy Tales. You can read the article here:

http://www.thesun.co.uk/article/0,,2-2007110660,00.html

It's about a new line of books that feature gay characters and is part of a new scheme to try and lessen prejudices about homosexuality USING TAX PAYERS MONEY (the usual flag when The Sun doesn’t like something). It's kind of along the lines of what I was thinking about on Valentines Day in regards to how soon are we making children aware of their sexuality. Anyway, the article is outraged about these books, practically saying that they shouldn't be allows. One loony Christian group is calling them “outrageous and wicked” when the only thing that is wicked is these people's prejudices. What really riles me about things like this is the fact that this paper, The Sun, was taking the moral high ground only a few months ago in regards to the 'race row' on Celebrity Big Brother, completely vilifying Jade Goody et al and going along with every other headline in the country saying her behaviour was, as one front page declared, 'pure evil.'

Now though it seems that The Sun is off its soap box, and it's okay to be narrow minded and prejudiced again. Phew! It must have been confusing for a while in The Sun office: 'Are we racist today or aren't we?'

I just can't believe in 2007 there has been such a reaction to such publications. How can parents be horrified, as The Sun claims them to be? Don't they want the best for their children? Isn't that what being a parent is all about? Wanting your child to be happy and content in their life? Well, clearly not if you're a Sun reader. The kids of narrow minded bigots like these people will only be happy with a child that is suffering in silence for years because they were never happy about their sexuality. If these books get pulled it will be a real shame because it's about time that material like this manifested. I knew that I was gay as young as about 8 and it was a weird feeling, imagining that this was something only I was going through. I for one would have been happy to read something like this. Children need reassurance. The only people that can corrupt a child's mind are the adults in their life and if this continues to happen we'll never breed a new generation.

Anyway, I have to confess something. I have a weird addiction to the BNP website. I hate it, but every week I find myself looking at what they write about news events. So today I couldn't help myself. Obviously they weren't happy about these books claming that they were teaching CHILDREN AS YOUNG AS FOUR YEARS OLD ABOUT GAY SEX. Which obviously they're not. Anyway, this is the most upsetting bit of their rant:

'The Equality Act states that all public institutions must meet the needs of gays and lesbians, but surely this shouldn't include the brainwashing of children as young as four years old!'

Brainwashing? Hardly, just letting kids know that you don’t have to be the same as everyone else in life.

So depressing.

xx

A cheap blog posting...more to follow.

2007-03-10T14:56:00.000Z

1] What were you doing Feb 14th?
Babysitting a nine year old with my friend Jen and watching Thank You For Smoking. It was all very romantic.

2] What kind of cell do you have?
A slippy slidey black one.

3] Color socks you wore today?
One blue, one black. I never match. Well, rarely.

4] How many Harry Potter books do you own?
I have one. The first one. I have never read it though.

5] Paper: College ruled or Wide lined?
I don't know what that means. If it means tiny blocks like French exercise books or normal lines, then I choose the normal lines. Everytime.

6] Do you have a digital camera?
Yes, I do. And very nice it is too.

7] Do you have a job?
No. But I have had. I wasn't enamoured by it.

8] What color is your jacket?
Brown.

9] Does it snow where you live?
On occasion.

10] Ever see a ghost?
No. But once I thought I got felt up by one. It was a horrible experience but I think it may just have been a bad blend of too much drink and an open window. Sarah Green need not be alerted.

11] Do you keep your movie tickets?
If the film and night was nice, then yes.

12] How many phone numbers do you have on your phone?
No idea.

13] Who was your last text from?
Jenny.

14] Who's your #1 on myspace?
James I think.

15] Do you have a yellow shirt?
No. I would look horrible in a yellow shirt.

16] What month is it?
March

17] You ever lit a match?
Yes.

18] Can you start a fire?
No.

20] Is your bedroom window facing south?
Ugh I have no idea.

21] Current crush?
Ian I guess, though I think we're past the crush stage.

22] You have an older brother?
No I don't. Who told you that?

23] Have you ever STARTED a food fight?
Maybe. Not sure.

24] Can you walk in High Heels?
Yes. Many times Moira would swap shoes with me on the walk home and I'd stagger home in them. So maybe walk is a bit generous. I can walk like I've soiled myself in heels. That's better.

25] Collect anything?
No, actually. I don't anymore.

26] Steve or Joe?
Joe. Very nice he is too.

27] Aren't penguins awesome?
They're alright. A bit overindulged with the making of March of the Penguins though. They're not my favouraite cold animal.

28] Who'd miss you most if you died?
God, what a horrible think to answer. And so I won't because it's tempting fate.

29] Do you own a scarf?
No.

30] Bald or Fat?
Bald.

31] What color is the blanket on your bed?
Brown. From design, not accident.

32] Do you have an orange ball?
No.

33] Ever been snowboarding?
Nope. I would probably fall and break myself.

34] Ever seen a starfish?
Yes.

35] Can you juggle?
No.

36] Do you tear open your gifts?
No. I hate seeing people do that. It makes me think of You've been Framed when they have nasty kids screaming, 'THAT'S NOT THE ONE I WANTED!'

37] Mittens or gloves?
Gloves. I hate mittens, they're so restricting.

38] What's the longest Halloween candy has lasted with you?
Hmmm, I don't think I have ever had much halloween candy so no answer for that one.

39] You're wearing pj's arent you?
No I'm not. So accusing.

40] Fly or laser vision?
I don't know what fly vision is. Do you mean seeing everything loads of times? That would proably make me sick. So laser vision.

41] Looking back- what was your least favorite school year?
Year 9 I think at St Bedes though I can't think why.

42] Ever answered a phone that wasn't yours?
Yes.

43] Hit anyone with a cart lately?
Ha ha, no. A car, yes. A cart, no. I'm joking by the way...

44] Where did you work last year?
Avery's Wine Merchants. It was good fun and I made a lot of friends there.

45] How was your last birthday?
Good. I went for a meal, then for a dance.

46] Last song you heard?
Nelly Furtado - Sat it Right.

47] Who WONT repost this?
James and others.

48] Roses or carnations?
Rose.

49] Last person you yelled at?
One of those bouncers from last night. What a bizarre time. More details to follow.

50] Italian or Mexican?
Mexican, though both have their appeal.

51] Ever eat an entire can of frosting?
No, I don't have a very sweet tooth.

52] Strange belief as a child?
That I had a brother called Daniel who was in a war. My sister said I shouldn't mention it to my parents because they would get upset, so for weeks I thought I had another sibling when in reality the only one I had was filling my mind with rubbish. Thanks Sara!

53] Favorite candy?
Hmm, probablycola bottles.

54] How old were you when you learned to read?
I have no idea.

55] Who was your last phone call?
Dialled or received? Dialled - Sophie, received - Devi.

56] Last time you had a headache?
Last week sometime.

57] First car?
Citroen Saxo. It was very nice until some deaf man crashed into it and it was written off.

58] Do you have barbies?
Nope.

59] Whats on your bedroom walls?
A calendar, a canvas painting and my degree certificate.

60] Do you own anything sharp?
Yes, scissors and the like.

61] Whats the first word you think of when you hear- lake?
Water.

62] What color is your watch?
I don't have one. But I was planning to get one this year. How distracted I have been...

63] Ever been pushed off something?
I can't remember. Karma pushed me down a muddy slope recently though. Not nice.

64] Last time you were hyper?
Yesterday after a G and T and handing two chapters in.

65] Any plans for tonight?
I'm probably going to be working on my feature and novel. I might watch a film. Maybe Live Flesh or All About My Mother.

I just know that I can't bear to see any more of these wretched grinning faces.

2007-03-07T12:47:00.000Z

I'm not the most tolerant person in the world. I'll be the first to admit that. Lots of people's face and voices annoy me and I'd rather eat my own face than be stuck with someone who talks about themselves more than they ask questions.

But my intolerance reached an ugly peak in the last week or two. The reason? The millions of posters persuading me to vote for someone to be Student Union president. Now, when I was doing my undergraduate course, things like this were around too but they never bothered me. And so I don’t know why these posters and flyers annoy me so much but they do. I think it's because none of them actually say anything! They're all the same. They say: Vote for XXXX and have a nice picture of the person in question. But they give you no reason as to vote. For all I know I could be voting for a Neo-Nazi. And that would not be good. I think they get on my nerves too because they're just an ego boost for the people in the running. They just seem to like the idea of being voted for and I bet they haven’t even thought of what they would do if they were voted. Nothing will change whoever wins, I bet. Maybe I'm being cynical, do you think? I don’t know. I just know that I can't bear to see any more of these wretched grinning faces. Ugh, the most offensive one is this really smug looking guy whose posters have him stood in front of Honk Kong. What relevance is that to a campaign?

I know I'm being really sensitive about the smugness of people but I can't help it. I know people can't help the way they look. But they can help putting their picture all around the campus. If you have a smug face, you don’t do that. Especially if you’re running for president. You want to make people like you surely, not think you're a complete twat. Oh, maybe it's just me. But having spoken to other people, they seem equally annoyed at the lack of information these posters have on them. Not annoyed by the faces though, disappointingly.

Right, rant over. Moving on. I have written the basic skeleton for my first chapter which is fifteen pages at the moment which I'm kind of happy with. I still need to send at least two chapters to Derrek by Saturday which is a little scary BUT it will get done.

So there we go, I'm going to finish on that note and head off home. I'm meant to go to Asda tonight but I don't know if I can face it. There's always a guarantee of miserable faces there.

xx

It's not often you hear complaints about giraffes.

2007-03-05T16:07:00.000Z

So, another weekend done and dusted; it was quite a good one though I was crippled with fear for some of it, worried about the amount of work that I'm meant to be handing in. Still, I managed to finish my feature on friendship off, the first one that I'm actually positive about handing in. But not started with the novel yet. Was meant to be handing in four chapters tomorrow but that's never going to happen. I got myself in a bit if a state about it on Saturday to the point that I had to have a bit of a lie down to stop thinking about it. So, I've decided that the reason I haven't been able to get into the writing of it yet is because I haven't yet done the preliminary work around it. So yesterday and today I was working on the main premise and also the synopsis which has made me feel a lot more confident and happy about what I'm doing. It's kind of good actually, because I recognised from times before that I was suffering from writer's block and remembered that I got through it before so I can do it again. So tonight I'm going to make sure I have my synopsis completely tightened, a structure for at least the first four chapters and then I can go to bed happy. I'll still have to tell Derrek I haven't done the four chapters in the morning but never mind. It's in my own best interests to get it done and I will when I'm ready. The first 10,000 words I handed in were awful and a waste of time because I didn't really know what I was doing and I don't want that to happen again.

Anyway, steering off the subject of work; yesterday I went round to my friends David and Toni's for a Sunday lunch. Toni is a fantastic cook and made the best roast chicken I have had outside of my Nan's house. I went with Jenny and we had a really nice afternoon. Their daughter, who's three, was so sweet. When we arrived we asked how her weekend was. She had been out for the day in the rain with David and replied with, 'It's miserable out there. Bloody raining.' It was so cute. Then later, she was telling her stuffed (not taxidermy style) giraffe off saying, 'He's not even walking properlay. He has to crawl.' I didn't know how to reply to that. It's not often you hear complaints about giraffes so I just said, 'Oh no. Is he okay?' And then she wandered off chattering to herself.

It's kind of funny how advanced children are at three. I always thought that kids couldn't speak at that age, that they were just bigger babies. With hair styles. But how wrong I was. Or maybe David's daughter is an exception to this rule. I don't know since I can't remember being three myself.

Anyway, I'm off to have a drink with Jen and Joe and then home to dive into the novel.

Hurrah!

xx

I can understand if you feel taken for granted, cheap and unloved.

2007-03-01T20:09:00.000Z

Dear Blog,

I'm writing to apologise for my constant neglect over the last few weeks. I'm ashamed of myself. I can understand if you feel taken for granted, cheap and unloved. Maybe even ugly. But you're not Blog, you're really not. Please don't feel this way. I know I haven't been there for you recently as much as I have been: a couple of lines here, a paragraph there. But this does not mean that I care for you any less.

I know what you're thinking Blog; I can sense you despising the words, 'novel' and 'features.' I can see your face wincing at the words and I can understand your frustration at these demanding my time, but you must remember that we have something between us that they will never take. Our relationship has been wonderful since October and I love spending my time with you (though I do feel it's one sided at times; I do a lot of the talking but you're a perfect listener). You've been there through some good times and some bad, you've taken the rough with the smooth and I appreciate this. The next few months are going to be hard Blog. But together we can do it. Honestly.

I don't want us to drift apart. I really don't. But right now Blog, I need to invest some time in some other areas of my life. I'll be thinking of you every day and I'll visit as often as I can.

Love as always,

Liam

xx

The evening started on a very chavvy note.

2007-02-26T11:31:00.000Z

God, the 26th already? Terrifying. The time is going by so quickly and I can't believe that I haven't blogged for nearly a week now! Bad, bad, bad.

Anyway, have a had/am still having a great weekend. I came back to Bristol on Friday night and went to see Ian's new house. And very nice it is too. We went out to eat, then shopping on Saturday and out for James' birthday on Saturday night. It was such a good night. We went to a club night called Lipstick on your Collar which was music by only girl singers. Perfect. Oh, but the evening started on a very chavvy note. I have no idea why, but James decided to meet everyone in The Berkely, a Wetherspoons in town which was full of pram faces and ugly, nasty people who all looked the same. Not good. But after that things got a lot better and everyone had a great night. I was quite drunk by the time we got back to Ian's and went past a car that had been broken into and asked, slurring, 'Is that mine?' despite it being a different colour and make. And on the other side of the road. I think I just have a heightened sense of paranoia about such things after my car was violated last year. I had sympathy for the person. I say 'had' as opposed to 'have' because last night they terrifed m by putting masking tape where the window had been. The noise was horrible, like someone was getting their whole body bound up.

Right, I'm back at my parents now and have to go and get Nan X for lunch. So will write more tomorrow. Oh, and Britney's looking in a bad way. That was a sour note of the weekend.

xx

If it's not I'll tremble with panic and probably wet myself a bit.

2007-02-20T16:43:00.000Z

God, nearly a week has gone by now and I haven't been blogging. Lazy, lazy, lazy. Anyway, I've actually been really busy actually (deliberate use of two 'acuallys' to emphasise) what with working on that feature on social anxiety disorder and putting together loads of work for my novel which, at long last, is starting to take shape and today my tutor seemed a lot more impressed by the structure etc.

So, the weekend was nice. I went to help Frea move house for a bit, then out to a burlesque evening which was good but the music was harrowing and getting to the bar took forever so I left kind of early and woke up in Sunday feeling surprisingly chipper. Hurrah!

So that's that for the moment. I'm in a rush to get home because I have a horrible feeling that I may have lost my wallet. It wouldn't be the first time. It wasn't in my bag this morning so I'm hoping that it's on my desk/bed/floor/makeshift wardrobe. If it's not I'll tremble with panic and probably wet myself a bit.

Whoopo!

xx

It didn't act like a sadist playing cruel hot/cold/scalding games with me.

2007-02-14T16:49:00.000Z

There's a girl opposite me in the library who is probably the most irritating creature I have ever been near. She's even worse than the girl I couldn't stand a few months ago. Awful. She's reading everything that she's reading from the screen out loud and she's so annoying. She just picked up the monitor to hug it. I can't bear it much longer.

Anyway, bar this moronic girl, the day has been pretty good. I went to the gym bright and breezy this morning and had my first shower in the changing rooms. It was actually nicer than the shower in my house, meaning it didn't act like a sadist playing cruel hot/cold/scalding games with me.

Then went to a course meeting and have done the tiniest amount of work on my novel and ran some errands.

Oh, my housemate's luck has gone from bad to worse. I spoke to my other housemate yesterday and she was telling me that the annoying one had gone home because of all that had happened to her car. On her way back here she lost her phone on the train. It just goes from bad to worse. Some woman from Virgin trains called this morning and I had no idea what she was talking about. I then text my housemate to let her know that this woman had called, forgetting that obviously she wouldn't have her phone. Oops.

Anyway, off I go. Well, I'm just going upstairs to read the papers and wait for Jenny. She's coming round to have takeaway tonight since we are both dateless on Valentines. Sob. I hope I have a card on the mat when I get home...

xx

I feel like some sort of action figure that the elastic's gone in. Not nice.

2007-02-13T18:33:00.000Z

So, today was my long day. Started at 9am and finished at 4pm. I know it doesn't sound that long and it's no longer than a paid working day, but taking so much in in rooms with no windows takes its toll. I felt like I had no air all day so refused a lift home from the bar with Frea so I can walk back in the very fresh and wet air. Anyway, today was great. I am feeling a lot more confident about my novel idea having spoken to the others about where they are at in terms of words and ideas and it seems we are all pretty much in the same semi-comatose state of fear.

It was funny, today I saw this girl in a really nice skirt but a horrible, nasty top. She could have looked really nice had she chosen something else to wear instead but didn't. It made me think about when you know someone who has something wrong with them like bad breath or body odour. I never say anything if someone suffers from something like that, when I probably should; for their sakes and everyone else's. I wonder if that's being over polite or not polite enough. Whenever I feel like I reek after a night out I always make sure I tell everyone, 'I smell awful, I haven't been home/woke up when I should have been here/lost all sense of time.' I would rather people knew that I knew that I smelt bad than have them talking about it behind my back as if I didn't know. Does that make sense? I think so.

Anyway, so tonight I am Frea bound to watch Legally Blonde. The people on the TV course have to watch it because it follows this story structure that we have learnt perfectly. I'm just going along for a jolly! I think it's for the best. Plus, I have had such a mind blasting day today that I know I won't get too much done at home. I want to get some research done into selling short stories and also, I want to write a column for a magazine so I need to look into that. I'm really desperate to get stuff published soon and have been giving myself a hard time about my time management since handing my work in last month. I feel as if I have been a bit slack but, in my defence, I have been doing a lot of reading. Also, I am trying to get myself into a new routine of getting up earlier and having a full day and going to the gym more. Though saying that I went yesterday and I think I might have pushed myself too hard because I can't stretch my arms out straight. That's a bit worrying. I feel like some sort of action figure that the elastic's gone in. Not nice.

Bit anxious at the moment about my housemate. As anxious as you can be about someone you're not too keen on anyway. The last time I saw her was on Thursday I think and my other housemate hasn't seen her since Saturday and she was meant to be in class yesterday. But she always does this, disappears for about five days then comes back and says, 'Oh, sorry I meant to leave a note.' I don't think we have anything to worry about but it might be nice if she let us know what she was doing so we didn't have to think about it. Still, she had a shitty week last week. She was driving to her shift at the radio station and her car came off the road. She called the police and they told her to leave the car where it was, because the roads were so icy. So she did. In the morning they called her to say that the car had been broken into and all her stuff had been stolen. Not good. But it doesn't make me like her anymore. I know that makes me sound awful but you have to bear in mind that this is the girl who can't hold a conversation about anything but herself, never does anything in the house to help out, can't wash up, wakes me up in the mornings storming down the house with lead legs and often forgets to lock the front door. And those are her good points. No, I'm joking (only about the last bit). She's hard work.

It's so weird, I can normally find something in everyone that I like and can usually get on with most people. But with her, I literally find myself gritting my teeth when she's talking. I can't stand it. Everything has to come back to her and how hard her life is. It's like, 'I'm not interested, go away or get drunk.'

Anyway, enough of that. I think I needed to get it off my chest. So, on that note I'm heading home.

xx

Karma came round and pushed me in the mud with a smug look on its face.

2007-02-12T15:08:00.000Z

Well, another weekend flew by and was in parts productive and in parts very drunk. So that's good. I managed to get that feature on morals finished and emailed across but struggled with it to be honest. I think it's because it's a different writing voice to fiction which I have mostly been writing recently.

Anyway, so on Friday I went out for my friend Ryan's birthday which was a nice evening. APART FROM, when I was walking home I was running very late. There's a short cut down the campus which is a muddy, steep slope. I never, I repeat NEVER usually use this route because I KNOW that I will slip and end up caked in mud. But, needs must so I walked down and slipped a bit so, to compensate, I did that sort of jog thing when you stumble. Then seconds later I was flat on my back in the mud with wet in my sleeves and up my back. I did that thing where you look around really quickly to check no-one saw and then carried on my way. Luckily no-one did see. But I'm sure many saw my mud stained trousers and bag on my shame soaked trek home. On my way back I called my friend Moira because about six years ago when we were studying our undergrad course, a similar thing happened to her and I couldn't stop laughing at her misfortune. We were walking past our friend Amy's room in halls and were calling her name. Moira started walking up a muddy bank shouting, 'Amy! Amy! Amy!' and then fell face first in the mud. I laughed and laughed. But now I have had my comeupance. Karma came round and pushed me in the mud with a smug look on its face. Hmph.

But it doesn't end there! I got home and thought, 'Well, I should rinse the clothes before I throw them into the washing machine,' so lent over the bath to wash them off. Our shower/bath is one of those with a lever to differentiate between the two. So, in my hurry, I turned on the tap quickly and ended up with my head soaked from the shower. It was like a Mr Bean sketch. Horrible and not funny in the 90s, let alone now in 2007. Still, I saw the funny side which I think you have to in situations like this else you'd never leave the house.

So after Friday I spent Saturday doing a bit of work and reading books and then went to a panto in the pub at the Seven Stars down the road. It was Jack and the Beanstalk and was really good fun. The West Country Golden Goose was particularly amazing. We ended up getting locked in and not leaving until 2am. I woke up with a mouth as dry as sand and then lay in bed watching my DVD of the Royle Family (this was the less productive part of the weekend) before forcing myself out of bed and struggling with my feature.

So that's that. Just come out of the gym and am really pleased with myself because I pushed myself a little harder and have set myself new goals.

Right, now I'm going to head into town with Frea and then home to get something to eat.

xx

'Are our morals slipping?'

2007-02-10T15:02:00.000Z

Well, today has been educational so far to say the least. I have been researching a feature, 'Are our morals slipping?' focusing on the scavengers at Branscombe beach earlier in the year. I didn't realise until recently that some of the goods in the containers belonged to individuals. I'd thought that they were retail stock. Not that that makes the theft of them any better. Anyway, I found on the BBC website that there was a woman who saw her belongings being stolen on the beach. This made me wonder why the people who were taking any of the things thought that their actions were any different to stealing from a shop because, in essence, the two actions aren't very far apart. So today I have been looking at books about group psychology and the need to own material items. It's interesting and I'm enjoying it but I don't have long to get the piece written so I'm going to head home soonish and start the actual writing.

Right, on that note, off I go. Will write again soon.

xx

Go and tell someone else before I poke you in the eye with a stick.

2007-02-09T17:53:00.000Z

Ah, today is the first day I have been able to sit down properly and plot my novel. And it feels good for having everything loosely in place. I'm really excited about getting it started properly and now need to decide on chapters and chapter length. I think since a standard novel is about 260-300 pages, I will have about 15-20 chapters, so the next thing I need to do is break all the action into chapters and go from there.

The only difficulty I am having at the moment though is deciding how it should be written. I might have mentioned this before, but I think I want the main character to be written in first person and the other characters in third person. I think it's going to be a process of trial and error.

Anyway, aside from the novel, today has been pretty good; I found out why I have been frozen to near death in my room: the fucking window doesn't close properly. So I get a silent but deadly draft through my room making my fingers freeze and my will to live slip out of the door. So I did what anyone would do and jammed a towel into the sides of the window and hoped for the best.

As I was leaving to come up to campus my housemate came home and started telling me about a really bizarre dream she'd been having last night. Now, I know I'm not the most tolerant of people, but hearing people's dreams makes me want to run a cheese grater up my face. I HATE IT. It's the detail that people go into: 'I was running down a long purple, no, red corridor and this dragon, no, snake was running after me and I jumped through a hole in the floor and saw a massive duck.' Ugh, I hate it. It's so annoying and long winded and there's nothing you can say other than, 'Oh, I wonder what that means,' while grinning inanely. I would rate dream dictation as one of my top three annoying things that people do, close to those people who ask, 'Are you in the queue?' when you blatantly are. So, if you had a dream last night, go and tell someone else before I poke you in the eye with a stick. I DON'T WANT TO KNOW.

So, there we go, best to get that off my chest as soon as possible. I can't believe that it's six already. I don't know where the time is going. Ridiculous.

Have a nice weekend ahead. Going out for Ryan's birthday tonight and working on novel and a feature about morals and the lack of them tomorrow and then my friend, Perham is arriving on Sunday which should be good.

Anyway, I'm off for the time being and will write again tomorrow.

Oh, looking over what I've just written, I've realised I keep typing 'anwyay' instead of 'anyway.' I wonder what that can mean.

xx

I'm too hungry to think at the moment.

2007-02-08T12:18:00.000Z

Hurrah!

I had marks back today from the three modules of last term and got two distinctions and one high pass so I'm really pleased. It's encouraging having good feedback and I'm glad my hard work paid off.

Went to see Derrek's play, Gilgamash, last night. Didn't really understand what was going on but it was nice to see.

Anyway, for the moment, that's it and I'll write again later. I'm too hungry to think at the moment.

I shouldn't really worry too much.

2007-02-06T19:19:00.000Z

Oh my God, what a long day. I started at 9am with my novel course, had lunch from 12.30pm till 1pm, then started my feature writing from 1pm till 4pm. Naturally I had a few drinks after with Frea and Andy and am now sitting in the library.

I'm really excited about getting into my novel but, after hearing other people's ideas, am a bit anxious that my story doesn't have much going on. But the stories that scared me in this respect are in different genres (mainly thrillers) so I shouldn't really worry too much.

Anyway, going to do some research on comas, what fun. So will write again tomorrow. Very enamoured with the courses I have chosen and looking forward to developing my ideas.

xx

DESPITE THERE BEING ABOUT 40 EMPTY SEATS

2007-02-05T16:28:00.000Z

Ah, what a great weekend! First of all, let me talk about the film that I went to see on Friday - London to Brighton. I had been meaning to see this film since it came out at the end of last year, but kept missing it. So it was a good job the Arts Centre is a little slower in picking things up. It's a story about a prostitute who goes on the run from her pimp with a 12 year old girl and it was just fantastic. I'm not very good at describing things as well as they deserve, but I encourage everyone to go and see it. But it's very intense and my heart was in my mouth from the beginning till the end. Great film. The only bad thing, completely removed from the actual film, was the fact that some loon decided that DESPITE THERE BEING ABOUT 40 EMPTY SEATS he would sit right next to me. I moved in protest. I hate when people do that. It's so annoying.

Also, on the subjecy of this film, my cousin worked on the make-up. She told me that she hasn't been paid because the film hasn't done very well. Obviously, she was aware of this arrangement before she started the job, but it's so frustrating that a film as high quality and as gripping as London to Brighton hasn't done well. What annoys me about this is the fact that despite the film being completely shocking and upsetting, it didn't get any of the publicity that films such as Hard Candy and Hostel did; these films are based entirely on shock value and don't warrant the hype they receive. I think it's kind of a shame that we don't back British films with the vigour we do their American counterparts. Right, rant over...

Anyway, so I came home after the cinema and read my book for a bit, then met Joe on Saturday to find a gift for Oz, Frea's nine year old son whose birthday part we were headed to. We went halves on a Gameboy game for him which he loved and gave us both a hug for, which was sweet.

His party was fantastic! There were about seven kids and five adults and we all played pass the parcel, musical chairs and, for the closer, pinata. It was so much fun and jut took me back to when I would have parties like that. We even all got a party bag at the end! Fantastic!

Anyway, then I stayed round with Frea and Andy and we drank and watced some TV before going out for Sunday lunch with David and his brother on Sunday. A really nice weekend and I managed to get 5000 words of my novel done which I'm pleased with. Still leaves me with 5000 to do tonight, but that's all okay.

Anyway, I'm heading home now to carry on with that and will write more tomorrow.

xx

'Right or wrong? Should homosexuals be excluded from the boy scouts?'

2007-02-01T16:41:00.000Z

Now, I don't know why I did it but I thought it might be interesting to see what the BNP's take was on the recent 'race row' of Big Brother. Also, I think it's good to keep up to date with a range of views. Anyway, I went onto their website and their message board and found that they were annoyed about the three being labelled racist and questioned why Jermaine Jackson's 'white trash' comment hadn't been flagged in interview. Which is maybe a good point. However, after reading this, you have to wonder about the sanity of these people:

'The data indicate, therefore, that a homosexual foster parent is at least 16-30 times more likely to sexually abuse an adopted child than a 'straight' foster parent.

That is why the BNP must resolutely oppose 'gay' adoption. It isn't 'gay' for the children concerned.'

I'll have to explain that this came after a survey into gay parenting by a website in America called Family Research which, on its front page, advertises the book 'Right or wrong? Should homosexuals be excluded from the boy scouts?' The book was published 'on the basis that homosexuals pose a danger to Scouts.' So, obviously, any data that this website has should certainly be trusted. The editors clearly have no fundamentalist values at all, do they?

It's scary that this is kind of crap still exists and that people feel such fervour in their prejudice and hate.

A friend of mine saw a programme the other week about the guy that left the nail bombs in Soho, one of which was in a gay bar in Old Compton Street. The psychiatrist on the programme spoke at length about how the man had been bullied by his family who teased him by calling him gay from an early age which arguably led to his hate of homosexuality. While his behaviour and motives are clearly inexcusable and he'd proven to have mental health problems, this isolation and bullying created gay men as monsters in his mind.

This is an extreme case, but it just goes to show that the seed of hate can grow and grow. What would happen to the mind of a Scout who found himself shunned from a part of his lifestyle because of his sexuality? I don't know, perhaps he would be fine, but then again, perhaps not. Such exclusion is nothing more than bullying but disguised, often, in wrongly interpreted religion.

But, check out the website http://www.familyresearchinst.org/Default.aspx?tabid=145

It needs to be seen to be believed.

Anyway, enough for now. I need to get on with this novel. It's going in the right direction but it's taking its time...

xx

'Gay parents better than care homes.'

2007-01-31T15:00:00.000Z

Hmm, I just read in The Sun a column with the title, 'Gay parents better than care homes.' It's almost as if they left the, 'but only just,' off the end of the sentence.

Obviously it's better for children to grow up in a home with loving parent/s as opposed to a care home where they are more likely to be seen as just a number. I don't know why this column irked me so much. I think it's partly to do with the fact that The Sun has recently tried to become a reformed character with it's no tolerance attitude to racism in the light of Celebrity Big Brother. However it's still in the dark ages when it comes to homosexuality. But then why am I surprised when said newspaper printed the headline, 'Elton takes Furnish up the aisle,' when Elton John got married to David Furnish last year or the year before, I don't remember. I think it just goes to show that something like The Sun is keen to jump on the bandwagon of whatever everyone agrees with. Everyone felt disgusted at Jade et al's behaviour on Big Brother, so The Sun backed this up. They clearly have no real feeling for what they are printing.

Right, I can't write anymore, I have so much work to do and I feel like I have no time.

xx

'Why am I in a skirt and why do I have no underwear on?'

2007-01-30T14:56:00.000Z

Well, once again, I haven't blogged for almost a week. I don't know what's happened to me. But in my defence this is the first day I've been out of the house since Sunday. I had a horrible cough-till-your-back-hurts-and-hack-up-nasty-stuff type of cold which left me bed ridden and only today could I find the strength to rise from my sick bed. But I'm okay now, thank God, and ready to begin my 10,000 words to be handed in in a weeks time. Hurrah! *shudder*

So, as mentioned in my last post, I went to a Burns night in a tartan skirt for an 8 - 9 year old which I picked up for £2.25 in a charity shop. The skirt stayed on for the night, but I ended up losing my underwear under peer pressure and woke up on a settee wondering, 'Why am I in a skirt and why do I have no underwear on?' Frea, David and I then went to campus for a photography class still in our 'kilts' and only one person asked me why I was wearing it, which I thought was pretty good.

I went out on Saturday night for my course leader's birthday which was a good time. We went to the Gylly Cafe which she had hired out and the music was great, old sixties soul and Frea and I danced the night away. When I left though, I felt THE COLD coming on and on Sunday morning paid the price for having gone out. Oh, and the idea of whisky being medicinal, I've learnt, is rubbish. It made me feel even worse.

Dragged my poorly self over to Frea's to watch the Big Brother final on Sunday night and I was pleased that Shilpa won in the end, but maybe it would have been nice if Jermaine had made it instead. He seemed sweet and gentle and it almost seemed as if Shilpa had won because of all the controversy surrounding the programme this year. In some ways I feel sorry for Jade for the way that the media are treating her. Newspapers like The Sun and The News Of The World have suddenly taken a moral high ground and decided to bully her in much the same way as she bullied Shilpa in the house. I don't much like Jade but she's a mum of two kids and the way that she's being lynched, it wouldn't surprise me if something really awful happened to her. But I suppose that's what you get when you put your life in the hands of a television company that has little or no thought as to your well being.

I don't think that I could ever go on something like Big Brother. I've always said that I wouldn't trust how I was being portrayed. The way I see it is that people are really multi layered and throughout any one day we take on different personalities depending on who we are with etc. With Big Brother, the producers want to create characters in the same way as in fiction. Because to have anything other than 2D caricatures would be confusing to the public and then they wouldn’t ring to vote.

Anyway, today I have been emailing places for work experience which is getting a bit scary. One of the magazines that I wanted to go to has folded and another two say they are busy until May of this year. Which is no good because I need to have my industry analysis in on the 20th of April. Gah! But fingers crossed I will hear good news from those I contacted today.

Right, I'm off now to get on with some more work.

xx

Clearly, with age comes laziness.

2007-01-25T13:25:00.000Z

Well, first off, I can't believe I haven't blogged since last week. I feel ashamed of myself. Not one blog entry since I turned 24 last week. How awful. Clearly, with age comes laziness.

Actually, I have been very, very busy recently what with handing work in and having my birthday and all.

Right, I'm off. I need to dash into Falmouth and buy something with tartan in it for a Burns Supper tonight.

xx

THE CURSED HOOKY FIVE POUND NOTE

2007-01-16T12:35:00.000Z

I can't believe I wrote a blog yesterday and forget to mention THE CURSED HOOKY FIVE POUND NOTE that I was lumbered with at some point over the weekend. I went to pay for a couple of drinks at the bar with (unbeknownest to me at the time) THE CURSED HOOKY FIVE POUND NOTE. The barmaid told me, 'That one's old, see?' I looked at THE CURSED HOOKY FIVE POUND NOTE but saw no difference between the note in my hand and any other standard one. However, it seems that THE CURSED HOOKY FIVE POUND NOTE was one from about five or six years ago. I wasn't very happy and ended up having to have more drinks to spend the five pound minimum to pay on card. Oh, the hardship.

Anyway, so today I had been carrying THE CURSED HOOKY FIVE POUND NOTE in my wallet with a look of disdain whenever it crossed my mind. But, I managed to palm THE CURSED HOOKY FIVE POUND NOTE off on the woman in the shop when I bought the paper, so HA HA!

I wonder who will end up with THE CURSED HOOKY FIVE POUND NOTE next?

xx

I don't know if this is a good thing or not.

2007-01-15T20:04:00.000Z

Whooo! This is my 50th posting! How exciting!/?

So, to celebrate this momentus occasion I have done...nothing. I went to campus this morning to meet Jenny and finish off some promotions work that we had been ignoring over Christmas and we got a lot done, so that's good. Finished pretty much everything on my website which I am now really happy on and just came to the library after a few drinks in the bar. What a great day.

Last night I went to an open mic night with a couple of friends which was a nice way to say goodbye to the weekend. There was this girl on the 'dancefloor', which was just an area not taken up by tables, and she was dancing on her own for most of the night. I thought that was great. I've always thought that I was kind of free-spirited and un-seflf conscious, but I couyld never be dancing on my own in a place where everyone was looking at me. It's funny, I think, how we think we are a certain way but when we see others we realise that we're not always the way we think. Hmm, does that make sense? I mean that what we want to be, and what we actually are, are two very different things. Obviously.

I remember reading about this in a theory about 'self' and that we all have an ideal self, actual self and perceived self and they can never be the same. So, the person we think we are, the person we want to be, and the person we are seen as being are rarely, if ever, the same. I don't know if this is a good thing or not. I don't think it can be as it suggests that we are never fulfilled. I don't know. I'm going home now and will write more about this tomorrow.

xx

'I'm just going to hand in my letter of resignation.'

2007-01-13T15:06:00.000Z

I've gotten lazy. I admit it. I haven't been blogging with the best of them recently. Instead I've been sloppily throwing a few words on sporadically without a by/e or leave. But now I'm going to try and get back in the blogging spirit.

Right. So the first week back was kind of intense. I managed to get everything done and even got good feedback on the piece I wrote for Bill after four Pro-Plus at 3am. He said it was well written but not in the style of Kathy Lette as I had intended it to be. I'd re-written a part of The Phantom of The Opera, will post at the end of this entry. It was weird for me to be writing something kind of fun and light as I usually write things that are bleak and miserable.

Handed in my MA proposal too which was well received and, again, was given good feedback. I need to make some big decisions about my novel though in regards to tone and voice. Oh, and I've changed the protagonist so that will make a few differences.

So, last night I went round to Frea and Andy's with Joe and played/lost Poker. I don't really get the game. I think it's great if you have a good hand but I just can't do the whole bluffing thing. I get worried and end up just folding. I'm a wild one to play with evidently. I left Frea's at about half one and was really glad to get in bed. I was just dozing off when I heard a load of commotion outside; commotion that got nearer and nearer and nearer until our front door flung open and the commotion entered my living room. Now, because the weather has been so bad, the wood in the front door has swollen which means you have to slam against the door like a criminal to get in. So there's no way of coming in quietly. There is, however, a way to go up the stairs and not make much noise at 3am. My housemate had come home with two friends who went upstairs and put music on in the room directly above me. Then they were in and out of the room with the grace of hippos, with one of them shouting in a really annoying, attention seeking way, 'I'm just going to hand in my letter of resignation,' to which the other was saying, 'No, no, you can't.' I couldn't care either way and in the end stormed out of my room and told my housemate to tell her friends to shut up or to get out. The music then stopped and I fell asleep. I haven't seen her today yet but I'm not that angry really. It wasn't as if it was her making all the noise, but at the same time, they were her guests and they should have had more consideration.

Anyway, today I have come to the library to get on with sending emails about work experience. I had a response from Psychologies magazine which said they didn't have any vacancies and today have emailed The Independent and asked to spend two weeks with The Sunday Review. I'd love to do that. We'll see what happens.

So, other than that things are just going along pretty well. I'm looking forward to getting into my novel. I need to lay out the plot and think about what the book is about: is it a story of someone letting go of someone they loved? Someone who can never let go? Someone breaking out of loneliness? My course leader said I needed to think properly about what the theme is and to be able to summarise that in a line or paragraph. So, if I don't end up going out tonight, that's what I'll be doing. Whoo, Saturday night!

To be honest though, since I have been in Falmouth, the idea of Friday and Saturday nights is no longer about going out and getting drunk for me. I went out with some friends on Thursday night to eat, drink and dance and I had a really nice time. And that's enough for me for a week or two. I don't have the desire to be out all the time at the moment. I want to dedicate my time to my writing while I'm here, because otherwise I'll feel I have wasted my opportunity. That sounds like it has to be one or the other: go out and have fun or stay in and do work. And it's not, I don't think, it's more a case of balancing the pair. And at the moment, my work is the most important thing for me.

And on that serious note. I'm off.

Here's my Phantom of the Opera piece:

The Phantom of the Opera in the style of Kathy Lette.

It all started about six months ago and, to be honest, I’m surprised I’m still alive. I’m being serious.

Let me go from the beginning. I started in the chorus at the Paris Opera House about six months ago, like I said, and everything was just peachy for a while. It was great. The girls and me would just hang out, do each other’s hair and nails, make shit up about each other and generally be complete bitches. You know - the usual girlie things.

Anyway, one night the leading lady, Carlotta, God now she was a grade A bitch, she goes and gets a gammy throat. She can’t sing, she says/shouts, she can’t be seen on stage, she says/shouts. Blames it on The Phantom of the Opera, she says/whispers. Have you ever heard such trash? So anyway, who do they go and ask to step in for her? Well no actually, yours truly. I couldn’t believe it.

Still I’m not one to smack a gift horse in the mouth, as my Dad used to say, so I said, ‘Yeah, why not. I’ll give it a go.’

But bloody hell, looking back on it, the grief it gave me I wish I had smacked that bloody gift horse. I would have knocked it out.

Anyway so out I went out onto the stage all made up, bold as brass, sang the song, got a round of applause and came off again: all pretty straight-forward. But then things started getting a bit bizarre to say the least. Bloody barmy to tell you the truth.

I went down to my dressing room and started getting myself changed when this bloody bloke’s voice fills the room saying he’s my father, my dead father. I nearly shit myself. And in my best knickers too. But honestly, did you ever hear such crap? Then, then he goes and tells me to go over to the mirror. Now, I’m not one for narcotics believe me, nor am I one for ghosts. But when I looked in that mirror, I swear there was someone looking back at me. I nearly dropped down dead when a blinking arm reached out and grabbed me.

So, to cut a long story short, I ended up in some bloody underground tavern getting rowed about in a little boat by some bloke with half his face under a white mask. He was banging on about how much he liked my singing and for a while it was quite nice, very flattering. But after a while he got a bit much. Actually, saying that he got a bit much is like saying the sun’s a bit hot. He went bloody mental.

He was alright at first and we started seeing a bit more of each other. I used to go and sing for him while he played the organ. Oh, God, that bloody organ. I can still hear it now. And he only ever played about three songs. And nothing you could dance to, just dreary old numbers that made you want to hang yourself. Actually, I shouldn’t joke; he ended up hanging one of the stagehands and one of the chorus girls had a fit. I don’t think she’s out of hospital yet, not nice. Anyway I’d sing a bit for him and he’d make sure I got better parts in the productions. It was a nice sentiment and all but he was making me kind of unpopular amongst the cast, what with mystery letters, murder and smashed chandeliers.

So, as if all that wasn’t enough, the next thing I know my childhood sweetheart, Raoul arrives. Honestly, you wouldn’t see it on Ricki Lake. He’s all, ‘Oh, Christine, I love you. Oh, Christine, will you marry me?’ And I would have done but the Phantom wasn’t keen on him. And while he could be a bit dowdy and, well let’s say crazy, he was alright really. I’ll admit it. I had a soft spot for him. Apart from the times he kept saying he was my Dad, that was a bit creepy. I didn’t like that. I don’t think it was just his face he should have been worried about; I think he had some identity issues he had to deal with too. Still, if you lived most of your life in a mask scurrying around under the Opera House I don’t suppose you’ve ever got much chance of being nominated, ‘Most likely to succeed.’

xx

Nothing to see here.

2007-01-11T13:44:00.000Z

I needed to get something down on here because the guilt of not having blogged anything properly is hounding me.

BUT...I have nothing much to get off my chest. Oh, I was sat in the bar earlier with some friends when we saw these two girls, Emily had seen them before. One stands behind the other whose sat down as if in a hairdresses while the other brushes her hair, puts it up in an elaborate bun, does her make up and then they walk around for a bit in the bar.

All a bit bizarre.

And that, so far, is that.

xx

A long story.

2007-01-09T16:51:00.000Z

Ok, so first things first. I want to post my story assignment for this week here. It's pretty long, the longest I have written so far, and I'm pleased with it. I was up till 3.30am this morning working on it. It had to meet a structure we were given which I think it does. Anyway, here it is:

Ignorance Is Bliss.

I walked out of the office into the cool August evening and past the bar with the steel walls and big windows.

I felt someone’s eyes on me, a heat on the back of my neck like the first rays of summer sun. I turned around and that’s when I saw him; I felt my face burn red. He was looking directly at me, unflinching. His smile widened but I turned and carried on walking. My stomach twisted with excitement and I looked back; he was still smiling. I walked to the end of the road, then stopped. I slid off my wedding ring and turned around.

The moment I walked into the bar I panicked; what was I doing here? But I ordered a drink, picked up a magazine and sat alone at a table, pressing down my arms to stop them shaking. I knew he was watching me, waiting for me to approach him. But I couldn’t. I just couldn’t.

After a couple of minutes he came over.

‘Are you waiting for someone?’ He asked.
‘No,’ I replied.
‘Do you mind if I join you?’
‘No,’ I moved my briefcase from the seat beside me.
He sat down, his knee brushed against mine and I moved my leg as if it’d been scalded.

‘You looked in quite a rush just now,’ he said, lifting his glass to his lips.

I felt his eyes bore into me, looking through every pore of my skin.
‘I’ve got a train to catch.’ I lied, ‘I can’t stay long.’
‘So what stopped you?’

I didn’t know what to say. Lust had stopped me; lust that I’d only ever dreamed of satisfying.
‘I’m Cameron,’ he said, breaking the silence.
‘Stuart,’ I replied as we shook hands.

We spoke for a while and I liked him. I liked him a lot. He was good looking, witty, intelligent: everything my wife was. But his body wasn’t one I’d made myself desire; his was one I wanted to hold more than anything else in the world; a body to which I would never allow myself close: because this was the body of a man. The swelling in my trousers betrayed me; how could I lust after him? I wasn’t gay; I was married.
After an hour I made my excuses and left, ignoring the voice in my heart screaming for me to stay. He wrote his number on the back of a beer mat and handed it to me; I slid it into my jacket pocket where it rested against the cold silver of my wedding ring: guilt swelled, ugly through my body. I hoped it hadn’t shown on my face.

‘Call me sometime,’ he said.

I wanted to; I wanted to call him the moment I left him.

That night Sarah’s breathing was the only sound in the room as I lay staring at the ceiling with his face imprinted in my mind. I hated myself for the feelings I was having; feelings I thought I’d tied up with wedding vows, feelings I thought I’d suffocated with marriage.

I was wet, hard against the duvet; I wrapped my hand around myself and started to pull; I closed my eyes, his face was etched on the lids. My mind raced, became a blur of his face and blackness. A forbidden part of me wanted to imagine him: imagine the taste of his tongue in my mouth, the strength of his body, the smell of his skin. But the part of me that I knew wanted to drive him from my thoughts: to bind him with the other men in my mind. The men whose faces lay redundant throughout the day surfacing only on nights like this: men that my wife became when we made love.

I came in silence, biting down on my lip and holding my breath as my body trembled. And as usual she didn’t wake up.

I slid out of bed and walked to the bathroom. I wiped myself clean, threw the tissues into the toilet and pulled the flush watching the evidence of my fantasy disappear; if only it was that easy, I thought, if only it was all that easy.
The next morning we sat at the breakfast table because it was a Saturday; we always had breakfast together on Saturdays.

‘Chris,’ she said, as she poured coffee into the Saturday cups, ‘I’m sorry but I need to go to into work today. One of the nurses on my ward is off sick so I need to cover.’

Twenty minutes later she leant over the newspaper, kissed me goodbye and walked out of the house.

The moment she left I took my phone from my pocket and wrote a text. But I didn’t send it.

It was three weeks after that I sent it, when Sarah was away at her sisters.

And so it happened: I met him in a coffee shop in the centre of town; the whole journey there I thought I was going to be sick: my nerves were tightening my throat and pulling at my stomach.

I sat in the coffee shop and waited for him, my hand shaking when I lifted my coffee to my lips. The moment he arrived, my blood pumped so hard in my veins I thought they’d burst.

He sat opposite me.

‘So, did you make your train the other week?’

I must have looked completely blank because then he spoke again.

‘You were running for a train when I met you.’
‘Yes,’ I said, remembering the lie I’d told him. ‘Yes, I caught the train.’

I reached for my drink and that’s when he saw it, that’s when I saw it – my wedding ring. His eyes looked from my hand to my face but he said nothing; he must have seen my longing because he simply smiled a knowing smile that broke my heart.

We spent that afternoon together.

As time went by I began to relax, to feel more comfortable with him, with myself; the conversation flowed easily and everything felt right, as if it were meant to be. I couldn’t remember ever feeling like this.

After a couple of weeks we ended up at his flat and the moment we stepped inside, he pushed me against the wall and started kissing me. It was as if I’d never been this close to anyone before. And maybe I never had. His stubble scratched against my face, my neck; my hands dropped to his waist and slipped into his trousers. I felt him hard against me and I felt alive: more alive than I had in years.

We staggered through to the bedroom and had sex that I’ll never forget - sex that made me want to scream that I loved him.

Afterwards I went to the bathroom. I sat on the side of the bath and with my face in my hands, I cried; I cried for all those wasted years and all that I’d denied myself. I cried for the future I couldn’t picture.

I studied my reflection in the mirror; I looked no different but I felt like a stranger in my own body; was this really me? Had I finally done what I’d been afraid to for so many years?

I walked back into the bedroom where he lay naked on the bed. He patted the mattress and I slid beside him: my body the right piece of a jigsaw.

We lay like that for what felt like hours. And then my phone rang. It was Sarah. I answered, told her that I’d be home soon; that I was stuck in traffic. The lies got more complex as time went on; black and white lies woven to make a blanket of deceit that we hid under.

I hung up and kissed him goodnight.

Ten minutes after Stuart left, Cameron’s phone rang; he looked at the display – Philip. He answered and within a few minutes agreed to go round. He had a quick shower, called a taxi and left.

By the time he got there, it was 11.30pm. He pressed the bell for Philip’s apartment; the buzzer sounded and he walked in. As he walked up the steps he willed away the dread in his heart, telling himself, ‘It’s just a means to an end.’

He’d always liked Philip’s place: large Andy Warhol prints hung from the walls and the furniture matched the room perfectly: everything looked right; the whole place had style. Philip had good taste for a man of his age. Not that Cameron knew exactly how old he was, having always put him in his late 50’s at least. He’d never asked because he’d never wanted to know. Sometimes, he’d found, ignorance really was bliss.

‘So,’ Philip handed him a drink as they sat down on the leather sofa. ‘Long time no see.’
He pressed his face against Cameron’s; slid his hand up his shirt as his fat tongue filled his mouth.

Only moments later they were in bed, Philip inside Cameron and the cash in an envelope on the dresser.

Cameron stepped out of the shower and began drying himself. Feeling a presence, he turned to see Philip standing naked in the doorway.

‘God, Philip,’ he said, startled. ‘You scared me.’
‘I saw you the other day,’ Philip said, as if he hadn’t heard him. ‘You were with some man in a coffee shop in town.’
‘Oh, did you?’ Cameron asked casually as he tied the towel round his waist. As he went to walk past, Philip raised an arm blocking his exit.
‘I don’t like the idea of you seeing other men,’ Philip whispered, his face only inches from Cameron’s, ‘I love you.’
‘What?’ Cameron laughed awkwardly as he looked away. Philip didn’t move keeping his arm pressed hard against the doorframe. The silence between them was suddenly shattered by Philip’s laugh.
‘I’m joking,’ he said. ‘God, Cameron, you should have seen your face.’

Cameron walked past him into the bedroom. Unaware of Philip’s eyes on him, he picked up the envelope and counted the money inside. Philip watched him and felt his anger climb with every fifty-pound note Cameron counted.

I started seeing Cameron more and more regularly: lunches here, dinners there. I was falling in love with him. I loved him and the person I was when I was with him.
‘Don’t you find it difficult?’ He asked me over dinner one night. ‘This cloak and dagger routine. Doesn’t it drain you?’
‘No,’ I said, ‘I don’t care about it. I just care about you. Before I met you I felt nothing. I was numb. Now, I feel as if I’ve been given a second chance.’
‘What about your wife?’ He asked.

I hated talking about Sarah with him; it was only when we spoke about her that I realised I was unfaithful. Only then did it become clear that the man I was with her and the man I was with him were one; any other time it was as if they were two separate people: one I liked, one I hated.

‘I love her,’ I told him, cutting the steak on my plate into cubes. ‘After that long with someone you can’t help but love them, but when I’m with her, I don’t feel anything anymore. You must know how that feels? To be with someone but not feel anything for them, to be just going through the motions. You must know.’
‘Yes,’ he replied, not looking up from his plate. ‘Yes, I do.’

Sometimes I wondered what was going through his mind; sometimes he seemed so deep in thought, so tortured. But then, like everyone, he was entitled to his secrets.
That night we were lying in bed; I was holding him, my arms wrapped tight around his taut body as we drifted in and out of sleep. And then his phone rang. He checked it but didn’t answer.

‘Answer it if you need to,’ I told him.

He didn’t want to.

Then it rang again, and again, and again. In the end he turned it off.

‘Who was it?’ I asked.
‘No-one,’ he said. ‘Don’t worry about it.’

The restaurant was full but Philip had still managed to get the best table for them: if there was one thing about Philip, he never took no for an answer.
‘Don’t call me like that again,’ Cameron said after the waiter placed their starters in front of them.
‘I wanted to see you,’ Philip replied. ‘Isn’t that allowed? Isn’t that what I pay you for?’
‘But if I don’t answer, Philip, it means I’m busy.’
‘With him, you mean. You’re busy with him.’

Cameron sat back in his chair; this was getting to be a very tired routine. If it weren’t for the money, he would have been long gone by now.
‘Yes, actually,’ he leaned across the table, spitting out the words. ‘You’re right. You pay me for my time, Philip. And when you’re paying me, then I’m yours. But when I’m not with you, my time’s my own; my body’s my own. Do you understand?’

Philip didn’t answer, looking at Cameron with empty eyes as if he were speaking in riddles; he lifted the bottle of Rioja, pouring a glass for the pair of them.

‘I understand perfectly. And I’m sorry,’ Philip said, his words slow and deliberate as he lifted his glass. ‘A toast then; to you and all who sail in you.’
As long as I still get my time, he thought as he tore open a mussel, as long as I still get what I pay for.

After lunch Philip took Cameron to an exhibition in South Bank; Cameron didn’t want to go. He’d told Stuart that he’d meet him at 3pm and it was already 2.45pm. Thinking Philip wasn’t looking he glanced at his watch.
‘Am I keeping you?’ Philip snapped, irritated by his behaviour. ‘You do remember you’re still on my time don’t you?’
‘Yes, of course. I just don’t feel very well,’ Cameron lied. ‘I think it might have been something I ate over lunch.’ He pressed his hand to his stomach. ‘Sorry, Philip. I need to go to the bathroom.’

He pushed through the crowd who stood admiring the artist’s work and took the stairs to the washrooms two at a time.

Locking himself in the cubicle he took his phone from his pocket.

‘Shit,’ he whispered. It was already 3pm. He called Stuart who picked up on the second ring.
'Hi, it’s me. I’m going to be late. I’ll be there about half past. Yeah. Yeah, same place. Okay, see you then.’

He came down the stairs and joined Philip in front of a set of three prints of a man bound head to toe in leather.

‘Philip, I’m sorry. I have to go. I’ve just been sick. I’m sorry. I can make up the time with you next time we meet. I’m sorry.’
Before waiting for a response he walked out of the gallery and into the dense summer air; in his haste he didn’t look back to see that Philip was following close behind.

When I met him that day he seemed distracted, restless. It was as if his body was with me but his mind was elsewhere. I knew that feeling well. I suggested we went back to his for the evening; Sarah was at the hospital on a night shift. Those were the best times with him, the most intimate.

We were just about to get on the tube when a man tapped him on the shoulder. He turned around and the colour in his face disappeared as quickly as the train was approaching.
‘Cameron,’ the man said with a thin pencil smile across his face. ‘You’re feeling better I take it?’

I didn’t like the way he was looking at him, with eyes that were soaked with lust.

‘Yes, yes thanks,’ Cameron replied.

He didn’t introduce us; the train came and we got on.

‘Who was that?’ I asked when we sat down.
‘No one,’ he said, too abruptly to be believed.

The moment Philip got home he called Cameron; his phone went straight to voicemail. So he left a message.

An hour later, another message.

Two hours later, another message.

Every hour throughout the night he left a message.
But Cameron didn’t call back.

I woke that morning to find him sat on the side of the bed, his phone pressed to his ear; I reached for him; he almost jumped out of his skin.
‘What’s wrong?’ I asked.
‘Nothing,’ he said as he walked from his bedroom to the bathroom. He looked back and smiled that smile that had drawn me to him; that smile that made me remember I could love again.

And that’s the last time I saw him alive.

Cameron pressed the bell for Philip’s flat and, hearing the buzzer, pushed open the door. As he walked up the stairs he ran through the conversation in his mind, bracing himself for Philip’s disappointment, his hurt caked words.

The moment he walked into the flat, he knew that something was wrong: the pictures had been torn from the walls, lying in tatters all over the floor, there was glass everywhere and the room smelt as if it had been soaked in gin.

Hearing a sound behind him, he turned as Philip’s fist caught the side of his head. His temple cracked against the stone fireplace; his head bounced onto the wooden floor. He lifted his arms in an attempt to block the punches that fell like bricks on his face; he felt teeth fall back in his throat and his nose smear across his face. Philip was shouting something but after a couple of seconds all he could hear was a ringing in his head: a ringing that slowly, slowly, slowly, silenced.

When he woke in the hospital he thought he was dead, that he was dead and this pain in his head was his hell.

The curtain was pulled back and a nurse with hair like his mother’s walked in.

‘Hello, Cameron,’ she said, her voice as soft as wool, ‘I’m Sarah. You probably don’t remember but you came in last night. You had a knock to your head.’
‘Stuart,’ he said, ‘Stuart. You need to ring Stuart.’

Another nurse stood to his right fiddled with the bandage around his head.

‘And who’s Stuart?’ Sarah asked, but it was too late, he’d passed out again.
‘Jo,’ she said to her colleague over his unconscious body. ‘Can you find a contact number for Stuart in his personal effects.’

When I got the phone call my heart stopped beating; my legs buckled beneath me and I collapsed on the settee as I listened to the voice at the other end of the phone: stable condition: heavy internal bleeding: chances of brain damage. I couldn’t listen anymore; I hung up. I don’t remember how I got to the hospital anymore but I remember racing through the corridor, led by a black nurse to his bed.

She pulled back the curtain and I barely recognised him; she said something I don’t remember and walked away. I felt tears in my eyes seeing him lying there, his face swollen, smashed and scarred; I held his hand in mine. No sooner had I done so than the machine beside him made that noise; that long monotonous drone that no one wants to hear.

I pressed the buzzer again and again and again.

And that’s when she came running in, a man running close behind. In my worry she’d ceased to exist; she’d ceased to exist for years.

When she saw me it was as if the last few months pieced together in her head making a picture at which she couldn’t bear to look. And in that moment before she left I saw her heart break.

I watched as her colleague tried to resuscitate him. But it was no use; he lay there still and silent until the doctor looked at me and shook his head.
‘I’m so sorry,’ he told me.

I understood.

Death claimed three lives that day.

'Oh, I'll just pass you over to my friend who can see.'

2007-01-04T23:27:00.000Z

Oh my God, this has to be the best thing I heard today at work. I answered the phone and this man said - 'Oh, I'll just pass you over to my friend who can see.'

How bizarre is that? We then had a really awkward three way conversation with the person I was speaking to acting as the Whoopi Goldberg in Ghost. Not easy.

Anyway, today I also had a phone call for a colleague of mine from a Mr A (not his real name, but let's call him that for privacy). My colleague was busy so we ended up talking. For 20 minutes. He was really nice and I told him I was studying an MA in Professional Writing. He was really animated, telling me about how he always writes into The Times and sometimes gets a letter back. He kept saying, 'Oh, I shouldn't keep you.'

That really upset me. It was as if he felt he was wasting my time. But as much as that upset me, the fact he wanted to talk for so long was a bit sad too. I wondered if I was the only person he had spoken too for any length all day. Maybe I am being overly sensitive, I don't know.

So, other than that I have little to talk about. I had my THIRD last day at work since leaving once in September and again in December. Madness. Still, you have to milk those goodbyes right?

So, that being that. Good night. I'm off to bed to read my book.

xx

They had bags you could carry shopping from Makro in.

2007-01-04T00:05:00.000Z

I'm a worrier. I get it from my Mum and my Nan I think. I worry ridiculously about things, often without cause. And sometimes, if I'm not worried, I worry I have forgotten something I should be worried about. It's no good. So imagine how I felt when I read this on the course board from my course leader:

Liam – make sure you book a tutorial with me on Wed pm – I’d like to talk to you about the piece you submitted for bloc (don’t worry, nothing horrible!).

Gah. This is in regards to the piece I submitted about the woman who loses her daughter. I don't know what Christina is going to say and I am worried about it DESPITE her instruction not to worry! I can't help it. I wonder what it's about. I hope it ends up being put on bloc though. Ah well, will keep you posted.

Anyway, today I feel a lot calmer about my workload. I have plotted out my 12 page story and made progress on the other work I have to do so I feel better about all of that.

So that's that for today, last day at work tomorrow and back to Cornwall on Saturday. Bizarrely looking forward to returning to the cold house. I miss my desk there. And my double bed. And my friends. Not neccessarily in that order. Seriously though, I'm really excited about going back. I feel like I've been away for ages.

Right, off to bed now. I was going to stay up and do another 3am bedtime. But I can't bear it again. My eyes will hate me for it. They weren't feeling well at all today. They had bags you could carry shopping from Makro in. Not pretty. And I don't say that about myself often.

Oh, and read this - http://www.popjustice.com/index.php?option=com_glossary&func=display&Itemid=102&catid=32

It's a great A -Z of pop and popstars. They describe Christina Aguilera as, 'The sort of girl you knew at primary school who would show you her fanny for a 20p mix-up.'

xx

'Take a photo, it'll last longer.'

2007-01-02T01:17:00.000Z

So, 2007 is here. I'm very optimistic about the forthcoming year and very excited to see where I will be and what I will be doing in another years time. I think 2007 is going to be a year in which I finally get some directionas to what I want to do career-wise. I mean the course I’m doing is already doing that, but I think by the end of the year I’ll have a clearer focus of what I want to do. I'm very excited about it all.

Just finished my MA proposal but went over the word count by about 500 words. Might have a cut down on it tomorrow, but for now I'm too tired to try.

Today I went with my parents and Nan X to meet my relatives in Hungerford. We went to this hotel called The Bear which was very stylish and modern. (Read - the prices were extortionate and the food was minimal. But very tasty.) The only thing with places like that are the vile hard-faced monsters that they attract. I'm referring mainly to a hideous family (parents and po-faced daughter of about 30) who looked each one of us up and down with disdain whenever we moved. When they left, the man was rubber-necking as he went out of the door as if we were all sat chanting the C word. Honestly, I just felt like saying, 'Take a photo, it'll last longer.' He was such an eyesore too, one of those people who looks as if they always have a bad smell under their nose (and a copy of the Daily Mail under their arm). He had one of those faces that you just want to slap. If Cliff Richard had been there with that man and you'd said I could slap either with a wet fish, I would actually have had to think about it. And that's saying something if you know of my utter intolerance (I can't write the word hate, it seems a bit much) for Cliff Richard, you'll understand I don't say things like that lightly.

Anyway, a nice lunch all in all and then home to do some work. I actually feel a lot more on top of things now, certainly the pieces I have to hand in for assessment. The pieces I haven't done yet are non-assessed practice pieces so that's not so bad.

Right, it's 1.30am and I need to be up at 7.30am so off to bed with me.

Oh, but watch this. It's just bizarre. Why do people bother doing things like that? If you can't see it, it's three oriental girls lip synching to an S Club 7 song. Badly. One looks really into it, one looks really out of it and the other looks like she doesn't know what's going on. As if the world needs to see that.

xx

I'm going to have a lie down.

2006-12-31T16:27:00.000Z

I'm stressing myself out.

Since I came home I have hardly done any work and it just dawned on me that in a weeks time I need to have the first draft of my MA proposal handed in. That scared me a little. I'm annoyed with myself because I have been focusing on other pieces of work that need to be in on the 19th and done little on the work that has to be in sooner. Gah.

I'm going to have a lie down and read my book for 15 minutes and relax.

xx

'Can't you feel the wind? You wouldn't like it up there.'

2006-12-30T01:27:00.000Z

If I read my pieces for my fiction portfolio again this evening I will scream. I must have read them all about ten times today. I've decided to ditch the story about the young and the old man in the charity shop in favour of a story about a woman with a scar. I'll post the three I want to submit at the end of this blog.

Anwyay, today I woke up and got on with some work then headed to meet my friend, Olive for lunch which was very nice. Then I went to meet Ian. We were meant to go on the Big Wheel in Castle Park in town but, because of the gales, the ride was stopped. The man told us, well, Ian to be precise:

'Can't you feel the wind? You wouldn't like it up there.'

A bit presumptious we thought but he was probably just covering his back insurance wise.

Anyway, we went for a drink and then to see the Almodovar film Volver which was really gripping. We both really enjoyed it. I didn't credit Penelope Cruz as an actresss before, but now I do. She was fantastic. The story was about two sisters whose mother is presumed dead in a fire but she is actually alive and comes back to stay with them. It's very good. Go and see it. But don't blame me for ruining it for you.

So after that we went to get something to eat in the Watershed, then I came home to get on with some work and I'm pleased with what I got done.

Anyway, it's late and I'm tired and want to get into bed woth my book so here are the three pieces I want to submit for my portfolio. Bear in mind they will probably get another edit before I submit them.

Snow Angel.

What a perfect day, she thought as her footsteps crunched on the snow-caked grass. It just couldn’t have been any more romantic. She watched her breath in the air punctuate her movement and clenched her icy hands in the pockets of her jacket. Oh, it felt exquisite to know nothing could hurt anymore. No more surprise’s, no more disappointments, no more pain. She smiled at the thought and opened her mouth letting snowflakes land on her teeth and tongue. It felt like Christmas had before it became just another day to dread, another day to struggle through. Back when she and Rachel had woken in the early hours tiptoeing down the stairs to see what was under the tree; back when her father would take them tobogganing and there was nothing to worry about and the pressure hadn’t come on like a thousand ovens. Back when the simplest thing would have made him happy, just the simplest thing. She wished her father could see her now. Oh, she knew word for word what he’d say. The same he always had when she hadn’t met his sky high requirements, ‘‘Amanda, we had such high hopes for you.’’ She heard the disappointment in his voice even now; saw his shaking head and rimmed glasses at the head of the dinner table; at her sister’s graduation; at her own wedding; at the clinic yesterday. Had they all thought she hadn’t had high hopes for herself? Had they really thought that? Not that it mattered now. Nothing did.

The wind whistled in the background and she laughed out loud; a sound that shocked her. Wasn’t it funny how things like that happened? Here she was, about to take her own life and even nature was calling for her to stop and see sense. She stood still covering her mouth as she laughed and laughed while the wind cried out. How wonderful to imagine her mother and father and all the others who had put such strain on her calling out at the last moment and how reckless to be ignoring their pleas. She turned and looked at the trail of footprints she had left. Thank God he wasn’t here now with his pedantic eye for detail. Not a straight line at all! She laughed again, this time falling back in the snow looking up at a blue sky that felt as familiar as happiness. How relaxing to be lying here without a care in the world, to feel so removed from everything and everyone. Maybe this is what it’s like to be on the moon, she thought, as she put her arms out and waved them through the snow feeling the chill cover her hands like a pair of cold glass gloves. She closed her eyes and let the snow land softly and slowly on her face. Maybe if she lay here long enough she would get so cold she would die anyway. She smiled at the thought, licking the snow that had collected on her lips.

It could have been minutes or it could have been hours later when she opened her eyes again. She saw a man peering down at her with an expression as blank as the snow. How long had he been there? And what right did he have to distract her?

‘Sorry Ma’am,’ he said, his words melting snow in the air. ‘I saw you here and you looked like you were having so much fun I wondered if I could join you.’

What a stupid ridiculous man! Fun? Fun? This is exactly what is wrong with people, she thought. They see only what they want to see. They have no idea what goes on outside of their own silly little heads. Still it was her last day, so why not humour him? She patted the ground beside her and told him to lie down. He was a funny looking man with angry red skin and nostrils you could hide apples in. He lay back slowly and carefully and this annoyed her tremendously. Why take all the care in the world when you will end up wet and dirty regardless? But then why spend years trying to make everyone but yourself happy when you end up dead anyway?

What was she supposed to say to this strange man? He wasn’t saying anything at all; just lying beside her like a big fat slug; his breathing getting heavier and heavier.

An hour passed.

‘I’m John,’ he said, his words shattering the silence like a hammer on ice. She didn’t care who he was, not a bit. But she spoke anyway.

‘I’m Marilyn Monroe,’ she told him. She had always wanted to say that, always, but never had the nerve before. He didn’t say a word after that. She smiled. They lay there, still and silent in the snow for what felt like forever. She might have been asleep or she might just have been thinking, it was hard to tell anymore, but she felt his hand wrap around hers. Very strange, she thought, for someone to hold the hand of someone they don’t know. But she didn’t move it straight away. It felt almost ceremonial.

After a while she took back her hand and put it in her pocket as she stood up.
‘Where are you going?’ the man asked without moving.
‘I’m going,’ she said completely at peace, ‘to die.’

Goodbye.

11pm
He sits in the parked car; glances at the clock and feels tears threaten. Only four hours ago he’d had everything someone else could have wanted. And he’d left it for love. Now he has nothing, nothing. But now what is it that he wants? He doesn’t know. He shakes his head, his hands on the wheel. He doesn’t know. His mind thumps with questions, questions he can’t answer. Can’t or won’t. He flicks the lights on, where can he go? Off. On, what will he tell people? Off. On, is this what he deserves? Off. On, the brick wall in front of him. Off, the brick wall gone. On. And off. Silence. On, the engine starts.

10.10pm
The silence between them is like an overdose; it pulls hard at his guts, twists his stomach and steals the air from his chest. Did he hear Mark’s words right? Deserve; secret; married; love; sex; priorities; gay; wife; kids; gesture; decision. His mouth is dry; his tongue lies flat, futile against gritted teeth. Pain rushes from his toes to his throat, chokes him like gas. No words left to say; no words will change his mind. It’s too late. It’s over. There’s no point telling him about earlier. He doesn’t want to beg.

Mark stands slowly, awkwardly; pulls on his jacket, pushes in his chair. Goodbye Andrew, walking away. He nods once in response, glances up from his drink; sees the door open, sees the rain beating down, sees the door swing shut. His future, his dreams disappear into the night. Not been here since we first met, he’d said. They’d finished where they’d started - a palindrome. The voices in the bar blur in his head; blur into one. One voice asking the same question: what has he done?

9.05pm
He walks into the bar; a pool of chatter, jazz playing in the background, conversations scattered with laughter. He smiles; deep breath, Mark is there. He walks over. Memory washes over him, absorbed by every pore of his skin; two years ago, two years - was it really that long? Not been here since we first met, as he sits down. Sorry I’m late. He wants to kiss him, to hold him, but remembers one of his own rules - no affection in public. He wants to blurt it out - I’ve done it; imagines Mark’s face, imagines the future in an instant. But Mark speaks first; I need to talk to you, Andrew.

8pm
The car reverses slowly out of the drive. Rain hammers down so hard that the wipers stagger, moan as they tremble on the glass. He can barely see out of the rear window; his shirts are stacked on the parcel shelf - different coloured copies of his work self. The kids wave from the front door. He waves back. His hand drops, then raises, then drops to the wheel again. Her arms scoop the kids back inside and the door slams shut.

7.45pm
The kitchen table; the clock ticks loudly in the background. Was it always that loud, he wonders, or had we always filled the silence until now? She sits opposite him. Her eyes are puffy, bloodshot, streaming. She holds tissue to them; sniffs, sniffs, and sniffs again. The kids come in. Not now. She whips her arm; sends them away. She asks him something. He doesn’t hear. His heart is thump, thump, thumping in anticipation; drowning everything like a wave. I still want to see them. You must be joking. I’ll drag you through the divorce courts. I’ll take everything you’ve got. But she can’t. She can’t take everything.

She stands; slides the ring from her finger, drops it in front of him. He watches it roll from the table to the floor to the skirting board, watches it fall over. I hope she’s worth it. If you leave now, Andrew, you never come back. He stands slowly, walks to the door, every step stirring his heart. She crumples; her back to the wall, she slides down, her face in her knees. The door closes; her arms wrap around her legs, her body crippled with tears, the back of her head rhythmically hitting the tiles as her chest heaves.

7pm
He looks around the room, empties his wardrobe into a travel bag; throws in books, CD’s, jewellery, anything that’s his - his and his alone. The kids smile at him from inside a frame. He smiles back; places the picture carefully at the top of the bag, zips it shut. He glances at his watch – 7pm. What time had Mark said? 8pm? Maybe he’ll get away before she comes back. He’s a coward. He knows that. Of course he knows. He doesn’t want to hurt her. But he can’t keep lying, lying to everyone. He clears the en-suite; hears the front door open; hears it close - hears the kids laughing, her voice murmuring commands, her footsteps on the stairs. The door opens. She stands in the room; her face confused; her mouth open; her breath stolen. What’s going on?

7.45pm
Mark takes his phone from his pocket, checks the time – 7.45pm. What time had he told Andrew? 8pm? He picks up his book again but puts it down in an instant; he doesn’t mark the page he was on, doesn’t remember the words he read. He can’t concentrate; thoughts tangle in his mind and his head feels heavy. He loves him. He exhales, drums his fingers on the table. He loves him. But there’s no future. No future in black and white lies woven with secrets and empty promises – a basket full of nothing. He needs more than Andrew can give. More than he will give. Ice hits his teeth, slides over his tongue as he finishes his drink.

8pm
He waits at the bar. Another gin and tonic? The barmaid asks. He nods, yes, please. Double? He nods again, glances at the clock above the bar, thanks. Someone late? She looks behind her, the glass pressed to the optic; God I hate it when people are late. He forces a smile; Yeah, I’m always waiting around for him. Always. Well, least you got your book; she puts his drink down in front of him, £3.50 then please. The change falls into her hand; he walks back to his table and sits down. Looking out of the window he sees people running for shelter from the rain, their clothes soaked through, their faces distressed. You look how I feel, he thinks as he plays with a beer mat, you look how I feel.

9.05pm
He watches Andrew walk in and, smiling, walk over through the dense air of smoke, music and laughter. Even now, that smile almost works as he sits down; not been here since we first met, sorry I’m late. Almost works. But almost doesn’t count. He takes a deep breath; this has to be done, his mind is made up. I need to talk to you, Andrew.

10.10pm
Silence. He’s said it. He’s said it all. And word by word, brick by brick, a wall’s been built between them - deserve; secret; married; love; sex; priorities; gay; wife; kids; gesture; decision. Has he done the right thing? There was love there. There was passion there. Has he honestly done the right thing? The last two years flash in his mind: an amalgamation of cryptic phone calls, Christmas’ alone, awkward encounters. It couldn’t go on; he deserves more. So why is it so hard to leave? Why does he feel rooted in this seat? He stands slowly, awkwardly; pulls on his jacket, pushes in his chair. Goodbye Andrew, he walks away. Opening the door he glances back; swears he sees tears in his eyes. Never seen his tears before, never seen him cry, he thinks as he steps out into the rain.

11pm
He turns on the TV but there’s no room in his head for the sounds and the images. He turns it off, staring through the blank screen at his reflection. How had he ever let it get this far, to love? He’d known he was married. So is this pain what he deserves? He fills his glass, distant from his actions, distant from everything. It was the right decision; of course it was. His glass is empty; he fills it again with a shaking hand and falls back in the sofa.

He wakes later; he doesn’t know the time. Peeling himself from the sofa he walks upstairs.
Opening the bathroom cupboard he sees the toothbrush Andrew had left. Don’t go getting any ideas, Andrew had told him. He spits into the sink, splashes the tap on, off, walks back to his bedroom.

Lying in the dark he wills himself to sleep; he rolls onto his left, onto his back, onto his right. Don’t go getting any ideas he hears in his head, remembering that morning; don’t go getting any ideas. But he had. A tear betrays him; he had been getting ideas.

The Scar.

Standing naked on the bathroom tiles Annette Ashley wipes the steam from the mirror and stares at her reflection. Like every morning for the past two months it’s there; an imprint of a night she can’t remember, a branding she can never forget. She traces the scar from her temple to the corner of her mouth; a dark red alien curl pressed into her skin.

She should count herself lucky; that’s what they told her in the hospital. After all she’s still alive, more than can be said for Danny. Swallowing the lump in her throat she wonders if life like this really is any better than death. Living in the same four walls every day of the week, a prisoner in her own home. How can it possibly be any better? The man she loved is dead and the woman she was has been torn from inside her. Now she’s nothing but an empty shell, void of any passion, interest, feeling. A tear slides in the scar to the corner of her mouth to be met by her tongue – tears, a familiar taste now. Wiping her eyes she finishes drying herself, pulls on her dressing gown and walks to the kitchen.

Since that night Annette’s mother has brought her meals daily, sat watching her push food round the plate in silence. But her mother won’t be coming today. She won’t be coming for two weeks.

‘I just need a bit of time to myself,’ she’d told her, ‘I need a break Annette.’

A break, Annette thinks as she peers into the fridge, I could do with a break; from my thoughts, my guilt, my nightmares; myself. But it won’t happen. It’ll never happen.

She takes out a pot of something her mother left, pours it into a saucepan and flicks on the hob. Still in her dressing gown, she leans back against the worktop and glances at the clock on the oven: 3pm. She woke early today.

Sitting at the dining table Annette picks at food that looks like vomit. The scraping of her knife on the plate grates on her bones making her gag and after three mouthfuls she pushes it away and falls back in the chair.

When she looks at the time again it’s 6pm. Was I asleep? She wonders. Or was I awake? But what does it matter? Awake I feel the same as asleep – disconnected, numb, paralysed. The days become nights and the nights become days. She knows what people will be thinking: get yourself together, don’t let this ruin your life. But it’s not that simple. If only it was. She can’t even bring herself to step outside; to let people see her; to have them stare. So she stays here in the house because here she’s safe, safe and in control.

She looks out of the window, a full moon lights up the night sky. Maybe I could go for a walk, she thinks, no one would see me properly; see my face, my scar. But it was dark the night it happened, she remembers, it could happen again and I’d never forgive myself for being so stupid. Once bitten, twice shy. Oh no, she shakes her head at the window, oh no I’m not going out there again. And she smiles at having taken back control.

She’s still smiling twenty minutes later when the doorbell rings. She stands quickly, then freezes. Her smile disappears. Who is it? She wonders. No one visits. No one but my mother and my mother is away. So who could be at the door? She takes deep breaths and presses her back against the wall. Am I too late? She panics. Have they seen that I’m home? God, oh God. What should I do? She covers her ears and counts to herself: 1, 2, 3, 4 – the doorbell rings again, a nasty rasping buzz. 1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6 – the doorbell again. Tears stream down her face. She feels sick; she can’t move; she can’t move a muscle. It’s as if her veins have run into the ground, tied around the floorboards and rooted her there. She hears the letterbox open.
‘I know you’re there, Annette,’ a female voice calls, ‘I know you’re there. Let me in.’

The letterbox closes and she feels her stomach churn and drop to the floor. The person knows her name; the person at the door knows her name. She counts again: 1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, 7, 8, 9, 10, 11, 12 –

‘I need to speak to you,’ the voice comes again, loudly and clearly, ‘I need to speak to you about November 23rd. You need to hear what I have to tell you. You need to let me in.’

November 23rd? November 23rd; that’s the date; that’s the date it happened she thinks as she feels blood pump through her body, tingling from her toes to her legs to her stomach to her throat to her face. It’s as if she’s been brought back to life.

Before she knows what she’s doing she’s opened the front door. She doesn’t care what happens now; she needs to know what happened then. The pale face looking back at her is familiar but she doesn’t know why. The woman steps inside locking the door behind her.

‘Thank you,’ the woman says, ‘can I sit down?’

There's no good line in this post to use here. Sorry.

2006-12-28T01:07:00.001Z

Right, this has to be quick or else I will actually fall asleep at my desk. I need to get to bed and read my book but wanted to get something on here before then.

So, today I went into town with my friend Laura which was alright, busy but bearable. One upsetting thing though was that when we were in Ann Summers we saw two kids who must have been about 11 looking at the dildos and porn. I don't know how they managed to get in since there is a 'bouncer' at the door. Horrible.

Anyway, I came home with a new pair of trousers and a couple of shirts, and got on with some work. I tackled that piece I was moaning about yesterday, the one about the record. I've now decided to write it in a first person perspective which I think gives it more style and, since we are seeing everything through one character's eyes anyway, makes more sense. I am happier with it now but think I need to develop the character of Greg more. I think something needs to be going on in his life that is reflected in the old man/the opposite of what the old man is going through. I'm going to think about that tonight and hopefully have some ideas by tomorrow. I really need to get it finished soon. I feel better about it though. I like the idea behind the piece but the way it's written I'm not so keen on. It doesn't seem to have as much voice as my other pieces. BUT this has happened before, I just need to work through it.

Other than that, today has been kind of uneventful. I got a bit panicked earlier about my work placements and have decided to spend tomorrow morning emailing magazines hoping for a response. I also need to look into going to London at the end of next week. OK, now I'm just rambling. I need to go to bed.

Oh, but watch this. It's Amy Winehouse singing drunk with Charlotte Church Michael Jackson's 'Beat It'. Good old Amy. I love her.

xx

I was a lesbian but got saved through the salvations of Jesus Christ.

2006-12-27T12:47:00.000Z

I have the DREADED BLOCK again...

For some reason, every time I sit down to write I just can't get into it. I have been working today on some of my portfolio and I'm really unhappy about one of the pieces I am submitting. I think it's because I have found a style that I like writing in and I think works well but I need to be able to show that I can write in different ways too so I feel obliged to include this piece. But each time I read it I feel a bit embarrassed and unhappy with the words on the page. I think I just need to fine-edit it and pick out what works and what doesn't. I'll paste it here and you can let me know what you think.

Anyway, yesterday was a really nice day. Ian came over and we gave each other our presents. He liked what I gave him and I liked what he gave me. His gifts were very well thought of and very 'me.' We went down to feed the donkeys with my sister and my Mum but they weren't there so we had to just throw the stuff into their area and hope for the best. Some thoughtful soul had hung a plastic bag of food on the gate, which we threw away for fear of them eating it and dying. Following that donkey disappointment, we walked home and played games until the evening when I went out with some friends and Ian went home.

I met my friend, Perham, in the pub last night and bumped into some people we know too. There was this guy that I haven't met before with them and he was really drunk. Nothing wrong with that, but he was just going on and on and on and on to Ann-Marie about his brother and his girlfriend, Becky, who is a friend of hers. He was saying how bad a girlfriend she is etc but kept saying the same thing over and over. It was horrible to listen too and I jsut kept thinking that he wasn't making her look bad, but instead making himself seem like a complete twat. No one needs that in their life. So then Perham left and I stayed with the others for another drink. We walked up to another pub in Clevedon, the Campbells Landing, which was too grubby for us to stay in so we went to Amy's house and drank there. It was really nice, because I rarely see her and it was great to catch up. I was still there at 3am this morning so wobbled home and fell straight asleep still with my Ipod on.

So, today has been kind of uneventful. I went down to Perham's house and had lunch with her and her family and then we played some games before I came home. I tried to get on with some work but it wasn't really happening so instead I did some research into similar books to my novel on Amazon. The idea being to get a grasp of format, publishers, market etc. It was worthwhile and I feel better for having done something work related. I am a bit worried though because I haven't done too much since I came back to Bristol but I have a battle plan for the time that I'm home. Tomorrow I am going to send off some more emails for work experience. That's the thing that's worrying me the most because, although there's a lot I can do, it's also down to someone else to say yes or no. It's not the same as the rest of my work if that makes sense.

Anyway, while I was researching similar books, I found this gem which someone actually handed to me at college once:http://www.amazon.com/Setting-Love-Order-Healing-Homosexual/dp/080105186X/sr=8-1/qid=1167248434/ref=sr_1_1/002-3131900-3748069?ie=UTF8&s=books

If the link doesn't work for some reason, the book is called 'Setting Love in Order: Hope and Healing for the Homosexual.'

The review highlights include:

Too often, I do feel that gay men are disrespectful towards people curious about our sexuality. Why?

^^That doesn't even make any sense.

I was a lesbian but got saved through the salvations of Jesus Christ. This book honestly tell the TRUE story of how the author became a gay but later saved by Jesus Christ.

^^ Both of those sentences are amazing. That lucky lady, saved from the grubby, grabby hands of lesbians. And the book tells a TRUE story. A TRUE one! About A GAY! Imagine!

I can't see why a book like this exists. Not at all. I can understand that some people may have difficulty coming out but for someone to say that a gay person needs hope and healing is ridiculous. It makes me so angry that religious people say things like this and just shrug it off as 'what Jesus would have wanted.' Why? If the Bible/Jesus had one message, from my years in Catholic education, it's that we need to love and respect each other regardless of our differences. But now, people read what they want to from it and use it as a weapon. Things change and this kind of reliance on religion is just stunting acceptance and diversion. Ugh, I can't even think about it without getting annoyed.

Fuc*ing book.

Anyway, I have to stop now. My friend is on her way round. I might add some more to this later.

Oh, but here is the piece I am a bit anxious about. COMMENT ON IT!
xx

Back to Happiness.

Connecting the speakers for the donated hi-fi, Greg looked up to see the old man still flipping through the vinyl in the corner of the shop.

‘Are you looking for anything in particular?’ Greg asked, leaning over the counter.

The old man glanced up and shook his head quickly before his eyes fell again on the box in front of him.

Greg was a people watcher. He could spend hours creating characters from the customers he dealt with in Oxfam; the people with stories to tell as they bought a fourth hand Catherine Cookson novel, a salt shaker in the shape of a snowman, or a jigsaw of the Queen’s face with seven missing pieces. It was the older people he liked to talk to; the regulars who came in after collecting their pensions, spending the little money they had on a treat for themselves.

He watched as the old man lifted out a record – ‘Patsy Cline, Love Songs.’ Turning it carefully in his hands as if afraid it would break, he lifted it to his face and smelt the sleeve.

‘You found something then?’ Greg asked as the man approached the counter, nodding as he handed over the record. He reached into his coat pocket as Greg rang the price into the till.

‘£2.50 then please,’ he said as the old man patted the pockets of his cream coat with urgency. Greg watched as embarrassment and shame filled every wrinkle of the man’s face.

‘Can you not find your wallet?’ He asked.

The man shook his head, his cheeks flushing the colour of mistletoe berries. His eyes stared down, fixed on the glass display cabinet of jewellery. It wasn’t just his wallet he was looking for,
Greg thought, but his dignity. How awful to have your mind and body betray you with age. He looked at the man standing before him and it broke his heart. Imagining himself in the same situation, he handed the record back.

‘Here, take it,’ he offered, ‘free of charge.’

The old man shook his head firmly but said nothing, only raising an out turned hand to signal his refusal.

‘You can pay next time you come in,’ Greg suggested, sensing the older man's pride. The man shook his head again before pointing to the vinyl, then to the hi-fi.

‘You want me to play it in here?’ Greg asked.

The man nodded, still staring down.

‘I’ll give it a go,’ Greg said, carefully sliding the record out of the sleeve, ‘but I can’t guarantee it’ll work. We only got this in today.’

He placed the disc on the turntable and gently lowered the needle onto the ridged black surface.

The old man watched in anticipation, his wheezing breath the only sound in the shop.
And then the record began to play. Greg sat on the stool behind the counter as Patsy Cline’s voice breathed life into the shop.

Have you ever been lonely, have you ever been blue?
Have you ever loved someone, just as I love you?

The man listened to the song, his eyes closed. Tapping his fingers on the counter, he stepped left to right with an invisible dance partner, a smile raising his glasses. Greg felt his heart surge as he watched the man delight in the song, delight in a memory.

The old man opened his eyes as the song faded out. Greg turned the hi-fi off and, looking back at the man, saw a single tear creep to his cloud white moustache. For the first time since the man had come in, the pair made eye contact.

‘Thank you,’ said the man in a voice that sounded stale and cracked. ‘Thank you.’

Greg smiled in response, gestured to the armchair beside the counter and started the next song on the record. The old man shuffled to the chair. Sitting down he rested his hands in his lap and closed his eyes. Greg watched as he absorbed the music, letting every word and every note take him back in time, take him back to happiness.

I love you so much it hurts me.
Darling that’s why I’m so blue.
I’m so afraid to go to bed at night, afraid of losing you.
I love you so much it hurts me.
And there’s nothing I can do.

Christmas over for another year.

2006-12-26T12:11:00.000Z

So there we go, Christmas over for another year. Yesterday was a nice day, pretty quiet really. I spent the day with my parents, Nan, sister and her boyfriend. Everyone was happy with the presents I gave and I was with those I received. So no demanding of receipts for me!

Anyway, I haven't written since the day before Christmas Eve so I have a few things to catch up on. On Christmas Eve I had to get Ian to drop me into town because my car was in the garage (it had a bubbly tum and kept having toxic farts, not pleasant) and went to do my last minute Christmas shopping. Broadmead was really quiet and I managed to get all the things I wanted fro other people and rewarded myself by buying myself a nice shirt. You reap what you sow.

I went out on Christmas Eve and was over-served. I don't remember much about the evening other than pouring half a glass of wine into half a pint of Stella and drinking it. So, moving on...

On Friday night, not sure if I mentioned this, but I found someone's phone on the floor outside the chavtastic Lloyds on the Waterfront. I had forgotten all about it until Christmas Eve, so turned it on and wrote the 'home' number down. Then I went to the police station to hand it in but it was closed so I thought the best thing to do would be to call the home number. So I did. No answer so I left a message on the answer machine and later in the day a woman called. It was her daughter's phone and we arranged for her to meet me in town and I would hand the phone over. She turned up about an hour later and said I had restored her faith in people and stuffed a tenner in my hand for my honesty. I'm a firm believer in karma so I'm sure that stint will have done me some good. Not that that's the only reason I handed it in of course...

It's because I know how it feels though to lose things. It's horrible. So many times I've lost my wallet, phone, camera, anything really but most of the time they come back to me. Except the camera, but that's a very miserable story and I don't want to go into it. It's my wallet that suffers the most though. I once left it on a coach to London and had to gt a taxi to follow the coach to the dept, and once I left it on top of a shelf in a bookshop in Toronto and someone took all the money ($80) out of it. Bad karma for them I hope. Oh, and I left it on a train too. Someone found it and called the video shop I have a card for who called my parents and then it was sent in the post to me by the man that found it. Recently though I have been a lot more careful and, touch wood, this will continue.

Anyway, not much else to talk about really. Ian is coming over soon so I need to go and get myself washed, dressed and decent.

So on that note, I'm off.

xx

I bought her a coat but it’s tartan and she hates tartan.

2006-12-23T22:27:00.000Z

I’m so tired. I know that’s the most annoying, self pitying way to begin a blog but it’s also the truth. So there.

I just got back to Bristol from London. I went with Ian to the Tate Modern (to go down a giant helter skelter) and the National Portrait Gallery (for a David Hockney exhibition). Both were really interesting and we had such a good day but it meant getting up early, very early and then waiting in the cold for AN HOUR before the coach turned up. I actually lost feeling in my feet and watched my will to live disappear into the morning. To make matters worse, we had to endure an hour with this awful Bristolian woman – Mrs Miller (she introduced herself). As you can imagine, she was no happier about waiting for the coach than us but she was a whole lot more vocal about it. Ugh, she kept going on and on. She rang Bakers Dolphin and got an answerphone message saying that the office wasn’t open till nine. So then continued to call, despite it not being nine yet and just making herself more and more irate. After a while she said that she was going to go, even though the bus was coming and said I should tell them she was, ‘climbing the walls.’ This was a lie. She hadn’t even stood on the bench in the shelter. It was annoying but sometimes you just have to accept things don’t you? Why get in such a state about things that are out of your control? Oh, we also had the company of a little Yorkshire terrier called Mitsy for a while too. She was with a human lady owner and shivering so much that her whole body shook which Mrs Miller had to comment on:

Mrs Miller: That little dog’s cold.
Owner: Yeah I know. I bought her a coat but it’s tartan and she hates tartan.

What? Why give her the choice? That’s overindulgence at its worst surely.

Anyway, after that ropey start to the day, we got on the coach and were told it was late because there weren’t enough drivers. I don’t think BD could only have found out about that today so will send in a letter of complaint from ‘Unsatisfied of Clevedon’ and see what happens. Will keep you posted.

Once we got to London I was really surprised as to how quiet it was. I was prepared fro swimming through masses of people but things were more subdued than I had anticipated. We went straight to the Tate Modern and got timed tickets to go on the slide and then went to the National Portrait Gallery. The David Hockney exhibition was great, we both really enjoyed it. It was inspiring to see someone’s work and development as an artist in one place. The exhibition focused on his very early work through to his most recent and also had sketchbooks he had worked in on display. It was great to see how he built on his style resulting in work that was unquestionably his. If that makes sense? I don’t know how to describe it. I guess I just mean that it was interesting to see how he managed to make his work stand out, how he developed sketches and drawings into his photographic work. I’m waffling, I’m sorry, I’m tired.

Anyway, I have more to talk about but I also have to eat so for now I’m off and will write more again tomorrow.

xx

I honestly would have dropped down dead.

2006-12-20T18:49:00.000Z

God, I am so tired. I have no idea why either. I haven't been over-exerting myself by any stretch of the imagination but I feel like if I close my eyes for two minutes I will wake up again tomorrow.

Last night I went to The Mall with my Mum for Christmas shopping. Ugh, it was so busy it was ridiculous and so many rough looking people. When we were walking in, there were this couple of girls behind us with potty mouths to put it mildly. I turned around and saw that they were walking with a child of about 8. Isn't that nice to grow up around?

Anyway, I managed to get quite a bit done but we didn't leave until about 9.30pm which was pretty sick. It was open till 10pm but if I had stayed a moment longer I honestly would have dropped down dead. It's such a stressy time of year and everyone looks so despairing wandering from one shop to the next with a glazed over expression that reads, 'Must buy, must buy, must buy.' Waterstones was one of the best places to be yesterday for stress levels. I was queueing at the enquiries desk; the queue was pretty long and every now and then the woman in front of me kept turning around, huffing and rolling her eyes. She was doing that thing when you're trying to prompt someone else to start a conversation, so she was trying to make me say, 'Oh it's busy in here isn't it/they should have more staff/I hate Christmas,' etc. But I was wise to her game so just stared blankly ahead. Do you know what I mean though? When you're in that kind of situation, no-one wants to be the one who starts the moaning. They want you to start it and then they can just moan and moan until they get served/the bus comes/someone slaps them. Watch out for it, and don't play any part in their twisted mind games.

So, aside from that, not much to report. One of 'The Temps' (Corinne to give her her real name) had her last day so I thought it would be nice to go for a drink. I just came in and about to cook, then unpack so that I'm no longer living out of bags and boxes like a gypsy.

xx

We had a few people passing out in the restaurant.

2006-12-19T17:51:00.000Z

I don't have much to talk about tonight but I feel a pang of guilt if I don't write something. So bear with me while I scrape the barrel of blogging. I went to a pub quiz with some friends from work last night, which we did pretty dismally in. I think we were probably the worst there, which is a bit depressing. Still, it's not the winning or the losing but the taking part. As all losers say.

Anyway, the pub we were in was boiling hot with all the radiators on full blast so I let one of the barmaids know -

Me: The radiator's on full blast and we're all a bit too hot.
Her: Yeah, we had a few people passing out in the restaurant earlier in the week.
I'll go and turn it down.

WHY HAVEN'T YOU TURNED IT DOWN BEFORE NOW THEN?

Wouldn't people passing out be an indicator that maybe the heating was bordering on nauseating? Ugh, it was unbearable. Even after she said she'd turn it down, it took about an hour to get back to a humane level. Honestly, I felt like a Christmas turkey in that place. Obviously, I didn't suffer in silence, every five minutes declaring I was too hot and tugging at the front of my shirt. It's the best way to deal with things like that and to ensure everyone else is as irritated as you. More from your actions than from the heat, but still.

Other than that, not much else to say really. I haven't done much work on my portfolios but am going to pick up my pieces again at the end of the week to look them over them and spot all the problems I had missed on the first 47 readings.

So, on that note, I am going to have dinner with my housemates (parents) and then head to Cribbs Causeway to do some late night Christmas shopping. I can't wait. Honestly, I just can't.

xx

Sonic is quite a speedy game to keep up with with a hangover.

2006-12-18T17:42:00.000Z

First day back in the job I had before I went to Falmouth and it felt like I was never away, in a good way I mean. It was really nice to see everyone and just be able to slip back into things.

Anyway, I haven't written for a few days now but, to be honest, there isn't too much to say. I think I last wrote on Thursday after I had stayed up for hours writing that piece about the Mum whose daughter goes missing. So, yeah, Friday I stayed in the house all day and did lots of work and then went to Frea's in the evening to do Sing Star and play Scrabble. She won at both and I was out-Whitney'd on Sing Star by her boyfriend, Andy. Other than being the loser of the night, it was a great time. I couldn't believe it though when I looked at the time. I thought it must be about 12am or something, looked at the clock and it was 3.30am! Not long after that I fell asleep/passed out on the sofa after a few glasses of wine and champagne cocktails. It was a really nice evening.

In the morning I woke up because the sun was shining right on my face. Horrible. I went into the kitchen and then played Sonic on the PlayStation with Frea's son, Oz. That was a nice way to wake up but we ended up playing the same level about seven times so after a while I started feeling a bit sick. Sonic is quite a speedy game to keep up with with a hangover I have learnt.

So after that I headed home and jumped in the shower to make me feel like I only had the one layer of skin, (I always wake up feeling like I have a horrible alcohol-based film over my skin when I wake up with a hangover). Then I went down to meet Kath in Falmouth and start Christmas shopping which was painful to say the least. I managed to find a few decent things for people, but the whole process was a bit hectic. The town was busy and I just wasn't in the mood to be buying things. I ended up feeling like I was just wandering aimlessly so in the end I bought a bottle of Baileys and headed home to watch Crash on DVD and finish reading Catcher in the Rye.

I woke up on Sunday feeling like I didn't want to get up. Not because I had drunk a horrible amount, but because I knew I had so much to do. I packed my stuff up to come back to Bristol, cleaned the house, made sure the heating was all set so that the house wouldn't dissolve and then had to race my stuff to the car before someone blocked me in. I then got just out of Penryn before I realised I had left keys in the house so had to drive back. After that though, the journey was pretty straight forward.

So there we have it. That has been my life for the past few days. The next few days will be busy too. I am working till the end of the week, need to do more Christmas shopping, am going to the theatre on Friday night and London on Saturday. Oh it's Christmas madness!

xx

Time is just flying by.

2006-12-14T17:16:00.000Z

I can't believe it's 5.15pm. I feel like I woke up about an hour ago despite getting up at 8am to go to the doctors. Time is just flying by at the moment which is really nice and exciting but kind of scary too.

Anyway, today has been really productive. I have practically finished Catcher in the Rye, did all my laundry, washed up, cleared out and vacuumed the house. Then I came onto campus and ran some errands so maybe that's why time seems to have raced by me; because I have been so busy.

It's funny, I stayed up last night till about 2.30am working on a piece for Bloc but when I woke up this morning I didn't feel at all tired. I was really into what I was writing last night and, after a few edits, was really happy with it. It's strange though because when I read it over I felt quite sad, because of the subject matter. So I hope it has that affect on people that read it cold. I'll post it at the end of this entry so feel free to comment if you wish.

I'm really excited about all the work I have to do over Christmas and today broke it down into smaller parts so that it seems more manageable. I need to produce three portfolios of 3000 words each, that all need a 1000 critical rationale with them. I need to finalise the content of my website, write a 12 page story following a certain structure and write a 1000 word essay on rhetoric. Ah, it's going to be a good holiday.

Anyway, I have to go and eat before I collapse. Have a read of the below piece and let me know what you think.

Cheers.

Torn Apart.

I hope it never happens to you, to you or anyone that you know. Because if it does then you’ll know the real meaning of heartbreak, just as I do now.

She hadn’t come home after school that day. I’d waited and waited; watched the hands of the clock casually turning as panic rose within me.

4.30pm, still not home. Maybe Denise had picked her up with her daughter, Kate, and they’d got stuck in traffic.

4.50pm, still not home. Maybe she’d gone to a friend’s house and forgotten to tell me.

5pm, still not home. Maybe she was at a Nativity rehearsal that had completely slipped my mind.

Maybe, maybe, maybe; a lot of possibilities but only one fact lay acidic in my stomach - my ten-year-old daughter wasn’t home.

I called the school first.

‘Hello. Yes, this is Trish Taylor. My daughter, Caroline, is in 5C, Miss Davis’ class, and she hasn’t come home. No. Can you tell me if there was a Nativity rehearsal tonight? There wasn’t? Can someone there let me know if she went home with someone else? Thank you. Yes, I’ll hold. Hello? Yes? No. Thank you. Thank you for your time.’

Then I rang Denise; Caroline wasn’t there; Kate didn’t know where she was either but she knew she’d got on the bus; they’d read Smash Hits together, divided up the free stickers.

The moment I hung up, my heart thumped from my chest to my throat making it almost impossible to breathe. I dialled 999, was silent for a moment before I could say the words no parent ever wants to: my child is missing. The person at the other end spoke as if from a script.
‘I’m sorry Mrs Taylor, we can’t file a missing person’s report until the person has been missing for at least 24…’

I hung up. I couldn’t listen anymore; I couldn’t listen to a cold person for whom Caroline was yet another missing child, another number, another column in a newspaper.

Those 24 hours were the longest in my life. Every car that went by, every knock at the door, every phone call, every child laughing outside prompted the same question; was it her?

That night I lay in her bed staring at the clock illuminating the pink bedroom, willing it onwards; time fuelled my imagination making the sheets damp with cold sweat. If I began to doze I woke immediately, swearing that I’d slept for an hour at least. But only five minutes had crept by; minutes that turned into hours so gradually, so painfully that my whole body ached in longing.

When I rang the police the next day I answered all the questions the woman asked. 14th of March 1997, 10 years old, shoulder length brown hair, brown eyes, glasses, probably her school uniform – blue dress, blue cardigan, black Clarks shoes, black tights, a pink Bratz bag, a birthmark on the back of her left leg. She normally walks home from the school bus, usually home by 4pm and I last saw her about 8.30am yesterday.

When I hung up, I went to the bathroom and vomited until the only thing left in my stomach was guilt. This was real; this was happening to me. I lay on the bathroom floor and must have fallen asleep.

When I woke it took a couple of moments to realise where I was, and why. How had I fallen asleep? What if someone had called? I raced to the kitchen, picked up the phone; checked it for messages - none.

For the rest of the day I sat by the phone, picking it up every few minutes to check it was working; to check that someone, anyone could get through and let me know my daughter was safe; that she was coming home.

The day staggered by; no one called. I wondered if I should look for her myself. But then who would be home when the phone rang? I called work; told them I wouldn’t be in; that I wouldn’t be in for the next few days. They were very sorry, they said; if there was anything they could do, they said; they understood, they said. But how could they? No one could understand the pain I was going through; the scenarios that my imagination was creating; the tearing stab in my gut each time I saw something of Caroline’s in the flat.

I started getting calls from friends. I don’t know how they found out; but each time I rushed them off the phone, annoyed they’d occupied the line.

By the fourth day I still hadn’t heard anything.

The fifth day went by, still nothing.

Six days and I barely recognised myself in the mirror; my reflection looked ten years my senior.

After a week I couldn’t bear doing nothing, waiting in the house for calls that didn’t come. So I took the Christmas decorations out of the loft to keep myself busy. I thought if I made the flat look nice, Caroline would know somehow; she would know and she would come home; she would come home and things would go back to normal. I would have my family back.

I placed a stuffed reindeer on top of the television; hung tinsel from the doorframes and a laughing Santa from the clock; put up the artificial tree in the corner of the room and pinned her stocking to the wall. I emptied the five boxes of decorations we had in less than an hour, then walked into her bedroom and sat on the bed. I noticed a piece of blue paper sticking out from under the bed and reached for it with a shaky hand, smoothing it in my lap - a Christmas list. I swallowed hard and remembered last Christmas; it had been our first without Caroline’s father and she’d handled it well, better than I had probably.

‘Next year Mummy,’ she’d said to me, sat by the tree, ‘maybe you’ll have a new husband for Christmas.’

I’d laughed, said that would be lovely - a wonderful Christmas present. But all I wanted now was my daughter in my arms, the smell of her hair under my nose, the contour of her body in the bed I sat on.

Tucking the list into my pocket, I walked out of the house.

The shops were busier than I could bear; every little girl was Caroline and I envied every mother with her child safely by her side. I bought everything on the list and more, the weight making the plastic bags cut into my fingers as I walked to the car. I drove home with a mantra in my head - ‘she’s going to come home, she’s going to be safe, she’s going to come home, she's going to be safe.'

By the time I pulled into the drive it was dark, so I didn’t see them straight away. I got out of the car, opened the boot and took out the bags. I closed the boot with my elbow and that’s when I saw them; two of them, a man and a woman, stood at the door with their hats to their chests. My mouth ripped downwards, my face screwed up; tears burst from my throat and the bags fell to the floor. I ran to them; the woman held me as I shattered into a million pieces, the word ‘no’ falling from my mouth like vomit.

‘I’m so sorry Mrs Taylor,’ she said, ‘I’m so, so sorry.’

End.

You're ugly mate.

2006-12-13T17:01:00.000Z

Since my last post I've been to the gym and spent time thinking about what I wrote earlier. It made me remember a horrible thing that happened to me a few years ago. I was going out with a guy called Clovis; we met one night in Waterloo and went for a drink at which point he told me that he didn't think we should see each other anymore. It was a real shock and I was understandably upset. Anyway, I was walking to the train when a tramp asked me for any spare change. I can't ignore tramps and I always say sorry and carry on walking. So, that's what I did on this evening but this time the tramp shouted, 'You're ugly mate,' at me. Isn't that the worst thing you ever heard? Being called ugly by a tramp just summed up the evening. And, having looked at him, he wasn't exactly easy on the eye himself. I told a friend about what had happened later on and she said to me, 'People with no houses shouldn't throw stones.' Do you see what she did there?

Anyway, other than that fond reminisence today has been pretty productive; I have done some work on my website and helped Frea with hers, been to the gym and done some work on the 'family ' theme for Bloc. The only thing that is stressing me out now is Christmas shopping since I only have a couple of weekends to do it in. I am planning to go to Truro and Falmouth this weekend and then to Bristol the weekend after. I like Christmas shopping when I feel inspired but when I don't, I would rather hang myself.

Right, on that note I'm going to head home and have dinner.

xx

FORE!

2006-12-13T13:30:00.000Z

A builder just heckled me. How amazing is that? One of the men on the construction site on campus shouted, 'FORE!' at me as I was walking up to the library. It's because I'm wearing these hideous black and white chequed trousers since they're the only clean ones I have until I do a wash later on.

There's a moral to this story - don't wear nasty clothes; wear dirty ones.