Staying In's the New Going Out...

I've reached that point in the year. You know the one. Twentyish days in, and the post-Christmas health kick is fading. My excitement at some quality hibernation has been satiated. I'm ready for a night out! 

The pandemic and its restrictions may not be on my side, but I can't kid myself. This wasn't an easy feat in previous years either. In Normal January, everyone, including myself, is skint. Some are on far more elaborate health kicks than my own 'eat less crap' diet. And then there are those that embrace Dry January's abstinence. Even when I'd hit this point in previous years, the lack of other people up for some fun meant I didn't necessarily get to scratch that itch. My desire for a big night out would remain a tickle-y problem until closer to my March birthday, when I had a bit more control over others.

I heart all Kristen and
Aubrey's wardrobe in this film.

Obviously, OBVIOUSLY, it's worse this year. There'll be no birthday night out in 2021 either. My lovely new Christmas-present going-out boots will stay in their box for months. My plan to eat in a nice restaurant and channel Kristen Stewart from Happiest Season remains a dream I have yet to realise. Staying in and staying well are the priorities. But all is not lost. Social events can still take place. They just mean socialising with members of your household, or with your friends from the TV. It just takes a re-think. 

Me and Wolf have spent some quality
time together over the past months.

When I opened my new diary three weeks ago, there was just one social event to write this month. January 20th 2021 - the Biden-Harris Inauguration. I planned to keep the whole day free. I would watch the handover of power from the start of the coverage, through the ceremony itself, and end with the celebrations that evening. I'd catch up with my new CNN pals from Election Night. (Hi Wolf! Hi Abby! Hi John! Hi Jake! Hi Dana! Hi Kaitlan!) It was going to be a brilliant day of celebration.

 
That all changed on January 6th, of course. Watching the historic vote count in Georgia morph into horror at the rampage at the Capitol, was terrifying. The fear of what would happen over the coming days, and indeed on Inauguration Day itself, was real. It no longer felt like a fun day to enjoy. It was going to be a stressful, stomach-churning, worrying day of keeping my fingers crossed. A day spent fervently hoping that the security measures taken were robust enough to prevent catastrophe.

Happily, come last Wednesday, President Biden and Vice President Harris were inaugurated without a hitch. I watched, along with hundreds of other people on my socials, and felt part of something huge. Isn't it mad when you feel so affected about people you've never met? I've not bothered with a royal wedding since Andrew and Fergie (and don't I feel sick about him now!) but seeing elected officials make history, and witnessing democracy triumph in the exact spot an insurrection took place two weeks earlier? Well. Let's just say it was special. Afterwards, I felt catharsis. The same as I do after a fab night out, shooting the breeze with friends, (Hi Wolf!) and blowing off steam. 

Now, the US doesn't get a new President every week. We need to keep searching for those opportunities to make an event out of what's going on. My next social extravaganza took place on Saturday night when I culturally appropriated Burns Night. (It's tonight really, but Saturday is my Eating and Drinking Lovely Things' Night). Yes, I can only apologise to everyone who is actually Scottish for realsies, but I cooked a sort of haggis, made shortbread, tried whisky (again) before reconfirming it's not for me, and found a few Robert Burns poems performed on YouTube. It took a bit of planning, meant I got to try some new recipes, and livened up what would have been another night in front of the TV. 

I'll start my Welsh research now.

I'm now looking ahead for any event coming up, onto which I can shamelessly piggy-back. I never usually care about Pancake Day, so I guess I could go to town on that. St. David's Day is a little over a month away. Perhaps I should embrace the new home of my immigrant parents and fill an evening with all things Welsh. Then there's Easter - something else I haven't paid much attention to for a while. I'll get thinking. The good news is that as I look at my calendar and see all the indoor plans I can make over the coming weeks, I'm far too tired to worry about leaving the house. I'm happy to give a big night out a swerve for now.

Have a lovely week, folks.

The Fascination of Typos...

Everyone:

Me: Thank you for asking! Book Three is getting interesting. Let me tell you all about it!

Before Christmas I offered my family a dazzling opportunity. In exchange for some honest feedback, they could have a sneak preview of the current/58,783th draft of Assembling the Wingpeople. Eight fabulous people snapped my hand off, so I emailed them a copy. Because I accept that other people have lives - even in a pandemic, I appreciate my novel mightn't take precedence over children, jigsaws, and staring into the abyss - I gave them two months to get it done. There are still weeks and weeks to go, but feedback has started to roll in. And it is fascinating. No really, it is. Let me explain.

I am shaped by my English Literature background. I struggle to care about grammar and spellings initially, but feel a deep need to know whether themes, plot, and character development are robust. I imagine if I'd focused my further education on English Language, I'd be riddled with the need to check that my adjectives and adverbs were tip top. (Disclaimer, my understanding of English Language is based on Y4 curriculum from a decade ago. I imagine there's more to it than that.)

My next tattoo? 

Unlike me, my feedbackers - or beta readers - are not necessarily from an English Literature background and that's a good thing. They are a mix. Some are readers for pleasure, some are family members doing me a favour, and then there are the grammar pendants. These are the readers that highlight the split infinitives, even though I don't really know what they are. (I do when I stop and think about it, but it's like the off-side rule. I need a freeze frame and a bit of concentrated thought.) Split infinitives are a tricky issue though. The correct English can sound wrong when applied to dialogue and inner thoughts. It can come across as formal when a character may be anything but. Each one ends up being a judgement call. Some of my infinitives remain split. Soz pedants. 

But I digress. All feedback is essential, however it arrives and whatever form it takes. It offers a range of views and is (hopefully) an honest account of first impressions. Ultimately, the only question I need to ask is, 'Did you like it?' That's it, in a nutshell. Everything else is extra stuff. Extra stuff that's necessary to sort out, but doesn't provide the same thrill when fed back. When a feedbacker sends an email that opens with, 'I loved it', that's all I really need to stop hyperventilating in a corner. Once I know it was a good enough read to keep them going 'til the end, I can take all critique on the chin - often agreeing with it - and can systematically work through the edits.

I should have done this at the start.

What I find fascinating, however, is how necessary a variety of critical eyes are. So far, four readers have fed back to me. All four have, amongst other things, provided me with a decent list of typos and spellings mistakes. That's great. Here's the thing though. Each person has found completely different mistakes. Basically, four people have read it, and I have four lists of different errors. I find this fascinating. (Googles synonyms for fascinating. This is getting ridiculous.)

I know from my own experience that after reading the same pages for the past year, nothing jumps out at me anymore. My brain knows what I have written, or what I meant to write, and skims over the errors, without so much as a flicker. One of the tips for proofreading, is to change the font of your manuscript. When I'm at the final read-through stage, I'll do that. It tricks the mind into thinking it's new. But I don't understand why people reading it for the first time miss some errors, and spot others. I feel like it warrants a Psychology dissertation all on it's own. A study into typo bias when proofreading fiction. I'll get applying for grants ASAP.

What would YOU call this?

The other compelling, intriguing, and riveting (thank you, Ms Thesaurus) aspect to all this is the random trains of thought that one piece of feedback can provide. I find myself going down rabbit holes and up back streets in a bid to address an issue. Hot topics I am currently debating? Would Stewart use the word dump to describe toilet time? I say yes, but my beta readers say no. At least 50% of them, anyway. It's led this house to have in-depth discussions about alternative faecal phrasings that could be inserted. So far, none seem right. What does a grown man, who's slightly stuffy, slightly broken by life, refer to as his morning defecation? He's not speaking to anyone else as it's all part of his inner monologue. I feel dump works. Alternative suggestions have been going to the toilet. BORING. Having a shit. SAME AS DUMP. Or having a log. GROSS. Suddenly I want to rip out that chapter, delete the character, and write pastoral poetry instead. It's a visceral activity, this editing lark. Make no mistake.

Something to ponder for you, there. Don't say I give nothing back. But as you do that, I'm back at the grindstone. I have to address my commas (I, use, them, willy, nilly) and need to beef up the dramatic reveal. I'm not even sure I intended a dramatic reveal, so that's going to be tricky. But I shall do my best. It's all very irresistible, bewitching, engrossing, and gripping.

Have a lovely week, folks. 

Take Me Away From All This...

 On 6th January 2020, I wrote...

Well now. What did we have by the 6th, this time around? 

• A third lockdown
• Highest COVID rate since last March 
• A violent mob storm the US Capitol as the President-Elect and Vice President-Elect are being certified 

Same old, same old, it seems. I wonder what Week One of January 2022 will offer. An enormous meteorite flattens Wales? Giant rabbits take control of the UN? Stefan Dennis elected as Pope? Why not? They're as batshit as any of the other examples that came true. Except the other examples that came true were not batshit. They were events that were wholly predicted by anyone that had followed the stories over time. From the rise in the COVID rate and the need for a stricter lockdown, to the domestic terrorism that was incited by the soon-to-be-former US President. All obvious from the start. No one should be surprised.

I'm going to see off all
challenges with my wrist.

So here, in my non-surprised state, I've got another lockdown to navigate. I'd really hoped not to keep banging on about it this time. I did A LOT of that in 2020. But best laid plans, and all that. We've at least seven weeks of this thing, so just as before, it's an idea to plan. Plan the arsenal of defence you need, to not only get through it, but to find pleasure in the randomness along the way. 

Planning can be tricky though. We're in an interesting alignment of situations. At the same time as the post-Christmas comedown, we've got the severity of the lockdown and the freezing weather. On top of that, it's about now that many of us start to think about holidays. The fact we can't book anything, may add to the general misery. So many issues at once. Bam. A cocktail of emotion. You'll be pleased to know I've given this some thought and come up with the best way to deal with the unique situation in which we find ourselves. No really, it's my pleasure. The answer is simple. Movies, of course. 

First is my post-Christmas film schedule. These include...

• Eddie the Eagle
• Downhill
• Little Women
• Spotlight
• When Harry Met Sally
• Can You Ever Forgive Me
• Groundhog Day

My garden last night. As 
a sideways Mr Burns looks
 on, I am happily wallowing
in snowy films.

These films are not Christmassy, but they do include snow, New Year, or cold weather. (Also TW for Spotlight - child abuse. Perhaps not the cosy watch the rest of them bring, but the gloomy weather, haunting score, and dogged reporters chasing down their story, fits perfectly with a January vibe.) They are all are films I love  - some only released in the last twelve months - but they're an excellent way to wallow in the cold from the safety and privilege of a blanket and central heating. 

Call Me By Your Name
ID.YLL.IC

But what's this? Wallowing in the cold is too gloomy? You want to be out and about feeling the sun on your skin? You want travel, you want adventure, you want a holiday? Well, OK then, you crazy fools. You'll be wanting my second list. The list of films that transport you elsewhere. When you can't book that much-needed trip, these films might help.

• Shirley Valentine (Greece)
• Call Me By Your Name (Italy)
• Vicky Christina Barcelona (Spain)
• A Room With a View (Italy)
• Begin Again (New York)
• Much Ado About Nothing (Italy)
• Eat, Pray, Love (Italy, India, Indonesia)
• The Adventures of Priscilla, Queen of the Desert (Australia)
• The Best Exotic Marigold Hotel (India)

That list is sun-kissed and warming. It'll take you away from 'all this', even when you're sitting in your armchair and there's snow on the ground. It'll change your environment, warm you up and chill you out. Maybe. Who knows. But definitely worth a try.

A terrible photo of my telly, but
it marks a moment I felt 
all chuffed and lovely about life.

As for me, I practice what I preach. The other day I had a spare afternoon so I turned on Shirley Valentine that I'd recorded over Christmas. Initially, this was not the soothing balm I had anticipated. The censored words that Ch5 deemed unsuitable for this middle-aged woman, were not delicately dubbed, nor subtly substituted. Oh no. Entire lines - and in one instance, a complete scene - were cut willy nilly. Whole punchlines were gone, making several jokes' pointless build-up, result in a character seeming deranged. I was NOT impressed. Even less impressed was I, when I checked on IMDB to see which part of Liverpool, Shirley's house was filmed. I had guessed Childwall or Woolton. It turns out it was the famous Scouse borough of Twickenham. Hmmm. Not cool. I almost turned it off at one point, deeming the censored version unwatchable. But then something marvellous happened. Shirley stormed off to Greece and real scenes from Mykonos were on my screen. (I checked. Definitely not Twickenham.) The cut lines and the nonsensical script changes didn't matter. There were blue seas, there were whitewashed buildings, and there were sunlit conversations on seafront tavernas. It was glorious. I tuned out the words - knowing them off by heart, I could insert the correct lines as and when they were needed - and focused on being somewhere else. It was idyllic.*

Jessica is currently on the
 61 going through Runcorn.

It might not be your cup of tea. Shirley Valentine, I mean. But there'll be other films that take you somewhere you would love to be, all from the comfort of your locked-down home. In related news, I saw a chat on Twitter from someone who had taken a tour of Venice with her son's Virtual Reality headset. It sparked a convo about using city Instagram accounts and worldwide webcams to visit far flung destinations. It's human nature to want a break, to need a break. We just have to be creative with how we do that right now. Creativity is usually the first thing to depart when anxiety kicks in. Let's not allow that happen this time. Let's build our arsenal of defence. We can make it work, one film at a time. Defo.

Have a lovely week, folks.

*I think it's fair to say that Tom Conti's attempts to 'look Greek' would be considered bad from today. I'm not saying the film is faultless. But it did take me to Greece for a bit. And there's the scene where Shirley defiantly challenges the casual xenophobia of her fellow holiday makers. Swings and roundabouts. 

Resolutely Clear About Resolutions...

At the time of writing, I'm in the final hours of 2020. There's nothing more to say about that, so I won't. But while I sit here, contemplating the life-improving resolutions I could make to herald the start of a new dawn, it's a fair bet that by the time this drops - in 4 days time - I'll have sacked them right off.

I've written about New Year's resolutions before. TLDR? Pointless. That's my stance and I'm sticking to it. I've made many plans, many promises, to myself over the years but very few have stuck. Never click on a Daily M**l link is one that's lasted. Never buy shoes I can't walk in, is another. But these are the exceptions. There have been hundreds of earnest decisions, made with the absolute bestest of intentions, that come to a stuttering halt around the twenty-somethingth of January. Don't blame me. It's what happens. It's science.

On a wholly related note, please click this link. It popped up on Twitter during 2020, and is a perfect - if not darkly hilarious - example as to why making idealistic plans in January, means bugger all when scuppered by world events. Did you click the link? If not, go back and do it now. It's one of few things that made me belly-laugh about the pandemic. It's good to laugh. Even about the bleakness. So... back to resolutions. As Robyn Schall (the woman in the vid) showed, there's literally no point making resolutions. No point at all. And yet... 

This seems reasonable to me.

This year, I have made a resolution. Yep, just now. The thing I've just spent three paragraphs slagging off and described as pointless, will now provide me with further paragraphs as I tout the alternative view. (This is how B***s Johnson started.) I'm not going to fall prey to my past mistakes though. There's no point grandly announcing I'm going to lose five stone or start running marathons, when both outcomes would depend on me making major lifestyle changes. Changes like no more horizontal weekends on the sofa, or suddenly having to start eating bananas. Those kinds of lifestyle changes. You can keep your bananas, your marathons, and your behaviour modification. None of that's welcome here. Instead, I'm keeping it real. I'm keeping it SMART. Need a refresher from that management course you did a million years ago? OK, here you go.

Something to leave until 2022.

SMART targets are Specific, Measurable, Achievable, Realistic, and Timebound. So blithely insisting I'm going to eat healthily doesn't cut it. It doesn't specify how, doesn't explain what quantity of my diet must be healthy, doesn't feel achievable or realistic from my walking cheeseboard vantage point, and gives no indication for how long I should do it. So not so SMART at all, really.

How's this for a plan instead. I'm going to walk at least 5000 steps a day. 

Now, I know what you're thinking. BUT NICKY. 10,000 STEPS IS THE DAILY ADVISED MINIMUM AMOUNT. YOU'RE PLANNING TO DO HALF AS MUCH AS THEY RECOMMEND. To that, I reply 'good one,' with all the sarcasm I can muster. Yes, I KNOW it's not the full 10,000 as dictated by everyone's Fitbit, Apple Watch, and Garmin. (I assume the tech companies have got that figure from someone with more insight than their marketing teams.) But that's not the point. The point is, that most of the time, I do far less than that. Sitting with a laptop across my thighs for hours a day, really impedes how many steps I manage. Some days, when I throw in a food shop, I might reach the dizzying heights of 7532. Other days, when I crawl from my bed to the shower, and then sit tippy tapping away at the keys, I might make 2573 by night time. I'd have to move about, jig around, and up my game to make it to 5000, but it would be achievable. It would also be specific, measurable, realistic, and time-bound. 10,000 steps - whilst being most of those things - is not so achievable. Not every day. Not when I'm being honest with myself. 

On the outside I'll be shuffling along in
leggings and a hoody. On the inside,
I'll be doing this.

So I'll say it again. I'm going to walk at least 5000 steps a day. And again?  I'm going to walk at least 5000 steps a day. If I keep telling myself, I might stick to it. And who knows, by making it realistic, and easyish to do, I may well find myself going over 5000, and then who knows where I'll be. Marathon training and shovelling in the bananas before you know it. 

For now, let's remember two things. New Year's resolutions are pointless, and I'm going to walk at least 5000 steps every day. Completely clear and not at all contradictory. (Again, this is how B***s Johnson started.) 

Have a lovely week, folks.