Wednesday, 17 February 2010

Twittering Twit

I've finally joined Twitter, although I wonder if I will ever tweet anything of interest.

I am also an Avon Rep and I dutifully filled out the forms that accompany the catalogues, putting the date for delivery as the 22nd Feb. Returning from visiting my parents I collected the catalogues and spoke to one of my regular customers, assuring her that the delivery date, albeit extremely imminent, was correct.

I pulled out the calendar when I returned home and realised that I was wrong. The 22nd Feb was actually the date I needed to log orders, I would deliver the following week. Frustrated, I kicked myself and decided I would need to print notes detailing such for my customers. For speed I decided to text the customer who I have a mobile number for. I quickly glanced at the calendar, typed in the date of Monday 27th and sent it winging its way to her. With a gulp I realised I had made a mistake yet again. What a complete twit. I now had to confess that I lacked the ability to read a calendar and sent the correct date to her (the 27th is actually a Saturday, not the Monday I intended).

I do wonder if I am setting myself up for a major fall in joining Twitter. I am certain that I will make a complete Twit out of myself.

Monday, 8 February 2010

Saze Interest

I started writing the “Saze Monnivan” blog page as a fiction-blog diary and intended it to be a long story posted almost every day. I am now wondering whether I should attempt to write this is a full length piece of work. I have written one full length piece of work that is sitting in a folder. I have also written almost half of a second and a third of another.

I know the Saze tale still needs working on as the entries on the “Saze Monnivan” page are only first drafts, written and posted immediately.

Have you found this story interesting? Would you want to read more to find out what happens to Saze? Are you interested in whether she ever settles with Mr. Cool, Mr. Dry, Mr. Nice or another unknown? Would you like to know whether the cake idea takes off for her or whether Mr. Him receives his comeuppance?

I am deliberating this now (I am concerned about copying of this story as I’ve noticed a link to a site with an altered name added into my writings) and am wondering whether to pursue this story or whether to pull out my first novel length piece and re-edit. I’ll probably end up doing both anyway!

Favourite Read

I love to read but this past year I’ve never seemed to have the time to devote to it like I used to.

Years ago, before my husband, I used to devour book after book. I would often sit after work, or at the weekend, with my head buried in the pages of a novel not resurfacing until I had absorbed every word. When I was a teenager I was exactly the same, waking in the morning I would reach for the book that lay next to my bed from the night before. I would walk to the kitchen with book in hand. I would visit libraries to buy a bagful of discarded books for some ridiculous price, say £1.00. I enjoyed the feel of an old, hardback, library book, the musty smell that defined them from new paperback books.

My favourite reading companion has always been a cup of tea (now changed from white, two sugars to green tea straight up), a cosy cardigan (in winter only), a soft seat or, in the summer months, a lounger in the garden with lemonade and lime (plus vodka occasionally).

I can choose a favourite place to read, a favourite drink to accompany that read, a favourite place to sit to consume those words, but can I choose a favourite book? I really don’t think that I can. I love, have loved, so many that to pick just one seems unfair. So, I decided to list a few of my favourites, in no particular order.

Jane Eyre – Charlotte Brontë

Time Without End – Linda Lael Miller

Bless The Child – Cathy Cash Spellman

The Eternal – Mark Chadbourn

Melusine – Lynne Reid Banks (one from my teen years)

All of the novels by Jill Mansell

There was a book I borrowed from the library when I was a teenager, it was entitled “Beauty” but I cannot remember the author. It was a rewrite of “Beauty and the Beast” but more of a YA novel. I remember it as such a beautiful book.

I could list more from the hundreds that I own and the hundreds that I’ve read but it really would take me an eternity to remember them all.

What is your favourite read? Do you have one or many?

Sunday, 7 February 2010

Mud Cross

My son participated in his first cross country race yesterday. He is a fast sprinter and loves running. However, he did not prepare at all. Actually that was mostly my fault as I completely forgot about it.

We trudged to the school field where the race was being hosted and I prayed for the rain to hold off, it was already really muddy. There were loads of children and adults milling around on the soggy field and I was thankful that I had decided to wear flat boots instead of my heels (I do tend to favour fashion in lieu of common sense). I pinned his number onto his red t-shirt with two mismatched safety pins.
'Mum,’ my son complained. ‘I look like a wally with this number pinned on. We’re not supposed to pin it on, we’re supposed to use Cellotape.’
I frowned at him. ‘It would fall off.’
‘Yeah, but,’ he continued, ‘the teacher wants to use them again.’
‘What?’ I asked. ‘This paper number?’
My son nodded. ‘Yeah I look stupid like this.’
‘You do not look stupid.’ I handed him his track top. ‘Put this on.’
‘We’re not supposed to wear anything over our t-shirts!’ he wailed.
I rolled my eyes at him. ‘It’s to keep you warm while you wait.’
‘Yeah, but we’re not allowed.’
‘It’ll cover up the number and the pins,’ I pointed out smugly.
He struggled into it as we squelched our way over to the post with the school name on. There were no other children from his school in sight. Eventually, one of his teachers stumbled upon us and pointed us to where we were supposed to be. At the start line of course, although it was near impossible to establish from a distance where the beginning actually lay, what with all the ropes here, there and everywhere. My son handed me his track top and was swallowed up by the mass of excited children. I manoeuvred my way through to wish him luck but he was already lost to me by this time, engrossed with chattering to his mate from school. Parents and spectators were herded into a containment area to be able to view their child.
Then, after a brief stamping of their feet, the racers were off. Their small trainer clad feet hastily speeding across the soggy ground. The race was 1.5k so the children’s cheeks grew redder and their pace lessened. At times I thought my son was going to stop and I willed him on, he would regret it if he gave up. He passed us for the first time and my husband yelled encouragement to him and I grinned like an inane idiot. The second time he passed I could see him flagging so shouted to him.
‘Go on!’ I shouted. ‘You can do it!’
My son mustered a tiny smile and forced himself onward. Then there was the home straight which was, luckily, on a minor downhill and he propelled himself past several other racers with a burst of energy and filtered into the counting lane. He was given a small medal and a bottle of water.
‘Yuck,’ he said when I reached him. ‘I think I can taste blood in my mouth.’
‘Drink,’ I told him. ‘It’s not blood, it’s just because you’re worn out. Well done.’
‘We’ll have to wait to find out where you came,’ my husband said.
My son shook his head. ‘No, they told me already. I came twelfth.’
‘Out of how many?’ I asked.
My son shrugged. ‘Fifty.’
We left the field and stomped our muddy feet back to the car. My husband and I told my son how well he had done, especially considering that it was his first time but my son was not so convinced. His friend had been four places ahead of him. I told him that he’ll have to practise on the running machine at home. The next one is in June, plenty of time for practise.