An Eleven Month Ramble Round-Up...

It might be only twenty-four hours since the fridge became a leftovers storage facility, but blog-wise, we're moving on. Because this is the last post of the year. Twenty-twenty-two, where has it gone? Well, wonder no more. Here's a round up of the past twelve months, via the monthly long-winded Ramble I pop out between the weekly updates. I aim to publish it on the first Monday of every month. So don't look too closely or you'll notice I seem to have missed March. No matter. Just enjoy my Eleven-Month Ramble Round-Up of 2022. Happy New Year, everyone!

Brett Goldstein's podcast
all about death and movies
features this month.

In January I talked about death, my funeral plans, and Barry Cryer. It was way more cheery than I've just made it sound. Click here for more.

Come February, and the world was a scary place. In the face of the horrendous situation in Ukraine, I retreated into You Tube escapisms. Click here for more. 

The Lady Gaga/Liza Minnelli 
double act was one of many
memorable moments.

In April, the Oscars took place. There was one big news story the morning after, and it wasn't any of the ones it should have been. I tried to right that wrong, here. Click here for more.

In May, I wrote about a new podcast I'd found, that was taking me right back to my Uni days and the love I used to have for a literary debate. Why can't there be seminars in adult life too? Click here for more.

I wrote a whole blog
on euphoria without 
mentioning the definitive
meaning of the word.

June came around, and a random question by my brother saw me engage in my first psychological study since my degree. When did you last feel euphoria? When, goddammit? Click here for more.

July saw one of my more self-absorbed posts. No, really, it's worse than all the other self-absorbed ones, honest. I talked about the inspiration for each of my books so far, covering the specific TV programmes, authors, and stories that represented the vibes I was trying to create. Click here for more. 

By the time it was August, I was doing anything I could to distract from the heat. Remember that? When it was hotter than the surface of the sun? A random eBay session resulted in me receiving some old copies of Smash Hits through the post. I loved it so much I broke down the contents. Click here for more.

As the September term started, I was on a writing roll. The new school year always makes me feel refreshed and ready to work. As I was nearing the end of the first draft of my new novel, I wrote about the experience. Click here for more. 

By the time we hit October, I'd been dealing with peri-menopausal insomnia for eighteen months. The extra waking time forced me into rewatching the series Eldorado via You Tube. I loved it a lot, despite its obvious flaws regarding political correctness. Click here for more. 

November came with a revelation. I was well-used to Imposter Syndrome, but for a very small window, events had conspired to let me feel like I knew what I was doing. I wrote about it, as well as the importance of taking the time to spot those moments when they occur. Click here for more.

And then it was December. This, from three weeks ago, was about whether we can ever fully know anyone, including ourselves. That makes it sound way more deep than it was. Click here for more.

If you've gone back and reread all of that, then fair play to you. You deserve a prize. There isn't one, but you'd deserve it if there was. That only leaves for me to say, have a peaceful and/or raucous as frig New Year's Eve, have an excellent 2023, and, as always...

...have a lovely week, folks.

Tidings of Comfort and Joy and Stuff...

Christmas has arrived! Almost. This time next week, it'll be Boxing Day and all that entails. Lies-in and leftovers for many, an actual family Christmas dinner for me. It takes all sorts. Regardless of what next Monday brings, this Monday is the official Writer's Ramblings Christmas post. 

I do this every time. In a bid to avoid not blogging for one week of the year, I dig out an old photo of child-me at Christmas, I write some meaningful, festive sentiments, and I wish everyone a marvellous time. Well let's not fix what ain't broke. Strap in, hold tight, and let's go.

It's circa 1981. I'm wearing a dress and I have a bowl cut. Two things that Adult Me has successfully avoided, most days of her life. (Actually, my hair style from fourteen to the mid-twenties wasn't massively dissimilar. My face is weirdly over-exposed, there's a random balloon behind me, and I'm standing in front of the drinks cabinet part of the sideboard. Oh how I enjoyed being repulsed by the taste of bitter lemon that was kept with the gin at the time.

I only vaguely remember Christmas in this house. I had three of them before we moved and this'd be the last one. The thing is, I know I enjoyed them, but I can't remember the specifics. That's got to be a good thing, right? For anyone who's madly dashing about this week, trying to make everything perfect, it's worth remembering that it's vibes that last, not tiny details that you're currently stressing over. That's got to take the pressure off, surely? Christmasses tend to blur into each other. Especially if you're a kid. Smiles, laughter and jolly songs do a lot of heavy lifting. That's my theory, at least.

Meanwhile, for something lovely, give this a watch. From the Ghosts Christmas special a couple of years ago. Alison wants to sing carols but none of the family are into it. She sits at the piano alone, but then the ghosts join in! The ghosts that only she can see. It's lovely.  

Alternatively, and more secularly, here's Tim Minchin singing White Wine in the Sun. One of my long-time faves, this was recorded last year, and it's a right old emotional rollercoaster. Check it out and wallow in non-religious Christmas loveliness.

OK then. Let's cut to the chase. Next Sunday might not be a great day for you. If so, I hope it's bearable, over quickly, and normal service resumes ASAP. Also, you mightn't celebrate Christmas and are sick of hearing me bang on about it. If so, I hope you get some decent time off work, or at least enjoy good food and ramped up telly. Regardless of your stance, I'll be back next Monday, saying goodbye to 2022. Have a marvellous Sunday, but before that...

...have a lovely week, folks.

Ticking Time, Golden Oldies, and Breadstick Banter...

It's the 12th December! Yes, we're on the home strait. We've reached the 50th Monday of the year, the 346th day of 2022, and the 82nd day of Fall. (At least that's what this US website is telling me.)

Christmas Eve viewing!

With so little festive season, and indeed year left, I can only assume we're full whack into the Christmas Movie schedules. No more saccharine Netflix or Channel 5 cannon fodder, the big guns are coming out! Look, I can't lie. A weapon-based metaphor to describe something fun-filled and twinkly does seem a bit much. Please adjust the imagery in your head. But I have a valid point. It's time to go big. There's no point saving the likes of Elf, Home Alone, Miracle on 34th Street, or It's a Wonderful Life for much longer. Actually, strike that. Reverse it. It's a Wonderful Life is reserved for Christmas Eve alone. But it's time to embrace every other classic film. What are you waiting for? Stop putting off the inevitable and make yourself merry!

 

Writing News

I've definitely wound down for Christmas. I've gone into my Book 4 draft a few times over the past weeks, and I know what I need to do. I just haven't done it yet. My To Do List come January says things like, 'Beef up the Poppy thread', or 'Check Jake's story isn't too tropey.' Lots to do when the time comes. For now, my weekly writing consists of this blog and the witty insights I'm contributing to social media. Back soon, with a vengence. Defo.

I mean, she's a fully grown
woman being called a kid, but
I'll let that pass.

Culture

I've got a new Christmas film to add to the canon. Yep, Spirited is in cinemas and available through Apple TV. A song and dance spectacular, it's based on A Christmas Carol with Will Ferrell and Ryan Reynolds hamming it up brilliantly. Worth adding to your future festive viewing lists. Also, Helen Skelton doing Sally Bowles on Strictly will live forever in my heart. A perfect, F-You performance. I've mentally channelled it most days since. Finally, for its 80th anniversary showing, I watched Casablanca at the cinema.  I'd seen it before but only once, and it was stunning. A big screen ramps every film up to a million.  

Food and Drink

Not sure why in this weather, but I've been all over Spanish omelettes. With dashing about and squeezing in lots of quick teas, they've hit the spot and filled me up. I also made hot chocolate (Dairy Milk chunks melted into hot milk) served with a shot of brandy. Yeah, I know. Take it in. Delish! It was a Christmas miracle. 

It's Breadstick Man
Stick Man!

Out and About

For reasons that will become clear, I watched a live performance of Julia Donaldson's Stickman in Warwick Arts Centre, yesterday. It was a birthday present for my three year old niece and I went with her, and her ma. I've had a running joke with my niece - wait for it, it's piss-funny - that the story we saw was called Breadstick Man. I know! I'm hilarious! Sadly, my niece has found this wordplay more irritating than amusing. She just doesn't get me. After repeating the 'banter' regularly since her October birthday, I've now retired the joke.  But luckily, through its inclusion on this post, it will live forever in the Blogiverse. (That's a thing, right?)

So as we get through the 346th day of 2022, let's look forward to the 347th, the 348th, and all the rest to come. They'll be here whether we like them or not. Let's get onboard!

 

Have a lovely week, folks

Who Are Ya?...

24601 is also correct.

Who am I? I'm John Valjean! Yes, musical theatre fans will have involuntarily sung that opening aloud. But forget Les Miz's hapless bread thief. Who am I? Who are you? Who are any of us? And can we ever truly know? It's been on my mind recently. Not in a bad way. Just in a 'thought-process I keep pondering' way.  Recent events have come together to make me question the big stuff. 

First of all, what kicked it off? Well, some family stuff, that's what. My mum is about to reach a new milestone, age-wise. She'd probably like me to imply it's somewhere around the 40/50 mark than the actual age she's hitting this week. No matter. When we got together on Saturday to celebrate her vague new decade, we surprised her with a video montage of the people and places in her life. This was put together by myself and my six siblings - all people who'd say they know their Mum well. But as I'm sure any parent will appreciate, your kids only know what you tell them. Likewise, for non-parent humans, people only know the parts of your life you've chosen to share. If relatives of mine put together a 'This Is Your Life' video for me, it'd be the sanitised, user-friendly version of events that I'd opted to share with them over the years. A thoughtful tribute? Absolutely. Entertaining? Sure. Accurate? Probably not. Can anyone ever know the real you?

But forget other people, what about you? Can you adequately explain who you are to yourself? When I joined Mastodon last month, it became apparent that an introductory post was standard etiquette. A post that would say hello, mention topics and conversations of interest, and use hashtags to find members of any shared communities. I soon realised I struggled to identify who I was via hashtags. When I thought of who I enjoyed following on other social media, there were clear groups. LGBTQIA+ people, trans-inclusive feminists, lots of Eurovision accounts, writers, political pundits, and - randomly - a few people involved in the world of competitive quizzing. (There seems to be  an overlap between clever, funny people who like Eurovision, and quizzers.) Anyway, I typed out a post and said hello. But it wasn't great. Saying what I'm interested in doesn't explain who I am. Perhaps this is the pathetic lament of the straight, white, middle-classes? There's no need for solidarity in the face of systemic threat and discrimination, so the privilege that's taken for granted comes with a dull lack of specificity. And being an ally doesn't mean automatic inclusion into an othered community. My identity can't be defined by group hashtags that I'm supportive of and adjacent to, but not part of. It's standing beside, not standing amidst. Otherwise I'd be making it all about me. Something to think about, even if it doesn't answer my questions. 

An early Mastodon post.

Finally, in less convoluted thinking, I've started redrafting the next Leeza McAuliffe novel. In the current version (all subject to change) Leeza's on a mission. She's struggling to identify what she's good at and where her talents lie. She wonders how her family see her, and whether she agrees with them. It's no spoiler to say, this is a year long quest, that doesn't throw up easy answers. Clearly this is a theme in my head right now.

 
Can we ever be fully known to others? Who knows? Did we get me Ma's video right? Possibly not. What can followers on Mastodon expect from me? Ooh, I can answer that one. Gushy enthusiasm about TV and films, and lots of Eurovision when the time comes. Follow me for fun times!

So who am I and does it matter? Well yeah, I think so. Is there any rush to find out? Nah. Like Leeza, I think it'll be a long-term quest with no obvious answers. But it's fair to say, we're all more complex than a pithy social media post can convey. And perhaps trying to define someone through a video montage might miss out some of the nuance and contradiction of a person. In the end, I guess I'll stop trying to summarise myself via hashtags and crack on with experiencing more of real life and learning along the way. It's a plan, I guess.

Have a lovely week, folks.