Dough-Based News and the Privilege of Knackered...

You want a waffly preamble to lead us into the weekly update? Naahhh. There's loads to chat about, so let's hit the ground running. Ready?.. Steady?.. Splat!

Writing News

The third draft continues. This past week, I've been focusing on the opening chapter. It's a tricky thing. The book is supposed to be a seamless continuation from the first Leeza McAuliffe story. Some people won't have read that. I can't assume prior knowledge but nor can I overly explain who's who. Occasionally it's simple. When Leeza refers to something Dad says, readers will understand it's her own dad speaking. The family relationship is right there in his name. When Leeza describes something Harvest does, it's harder to know who that is, by her name alone. I could write, 'Harvest, my little sister, sat up and clapped,' but no. That's spoon-feeding. It's telling, not showing. (It's also an unrealistic thing to be written in a personal diary. Who tells their diary who their sister is?) Instead, I should write something like, 'Harvest sat in her baby chair while Dad fed her mush.' That way I've shown there's a baby at the dinner table. The reader is likely to assume it's a younger sibling. And if not, there's plenty of time for corroborating evidence later. As the book opens, readers should be given enough clues to keep them engaged, but not fed too much info to bore their pants off. It's been an interesting focus to my writing week.

Culture

I've had a bit more Liverpool tourism with my Aussie cousin. We hit the Cavern Club on Friday and had the best time. It's been approximately twenty-eight years since I spent an extended amount of time in the place, and it was great. We saw two sets (Gary Murphy and Barney Taylor) before wandering out into the evening for food. Good times. Also, I've become borderline obsessed with Amanda and Alan's Italian Job on BBC iPlayer. It's given me a vicarious trip to Sicily from my sofa.

You've got to feel sorry for non-
North  West residents. Imagine
 not having this little beauty  
on their doorsteps.
#Waterfields

Food and Drink

A Bond family gathering for my sister's birthday resulted in purchasing all the pizza in Widnes. Two accidental vegan Margheritas were also ordered, so they got blinged up with some mozzarella and cheddar, later in the week. Genuine apologies to actual vegans but it was better than binning them. In other dough-based news, I had a rare Waterfields lunch, including their exemplary caramel doughnut. Hashtag Living The Dream.

Out and About

It was my fortnightly writing group meet-up, so that saw an evening jaunt into town. I did my weekly brunch with pals, as well as my weekly writing sesh at Costa. There was a night at my brother's, and a family meal at the Italian near me. It's been an honest-to-God social whirl.

This is me being happy-tired!

My birthday month is but a hop, skip, and a jump away. Hello March; in you pop. As I look down the beautiful barrel of forty-five, I'm reminded that as knackering and hectic as the past weeks have been, it's so bloody marvellous to experience them at all. Some people say getting older is a privilege. It is. And so is feeling worn out from doing loads of cool stuff. 

Have a lovely week, folks.

Reconnections and Spar the Pharmacy...

If I were a cat, I'd look like this.

Phew. Typing these words is providing a mini-respite in the midst of an action-packed week. Most of my weeks are not action-packed. Most of my weeks are in front on my laptop, like this. But the past week has been busy, busy, busy! I've had a house guest, you see. All the way from Australia. My cousin's here, and as a result, I've had a bit of a life. We've been out for meals, drives into town, and tourist sight-seeing. It's quite the thrill. At the moment, I'm having a cup of tea and a gentle write, whilst he's at my sister's house. It's nice to have a change; to shake things up and rejig the week. Even when there're no visitors from far flung places, I need to remember to stop letting things getting samey. However, as is tradition, here's the usual weekly update with no changes whatsoever. Soz about that.

Writing News

I've done very little. Soz once again. I'm having a break from the current draft while I play the role of Merseyside Tour Guide, and will be back in a week or so. This works out well. I've got to the end of draft two, and having some distance before the next round will give me a clearer head. There's still loads to change.

Tash Dowie is back!

Culture

I've been an intermittent attendee at Liverpool Women's home matches this season. I started out committed and keen, but then family get-togethers and Christmas stuff got in the way. Until this week. An initially dull match against Leicester City livened right up after sixty minutes. Tash Dowie - recent signee, and previous red - was brought on for her first game back. She was ace. The energy levels of everyone perked right up, and the ball was down the Liverpool goal for the rest of the match. Frustratingly, the points didn't come, but the shoots of progress were there. I'm a gazillion time more hopeful for the next game.

Thai Salmon Salad.
The dressing kicked! 
From Baravin

Food and Drink

A couple of weeks ago, the inevitable winter cold kicked in and I had the sniffles for a few days. As a result, I absolutely hammered anything spicy and sinus-clearing. The upsides to this were salads with zingy dressings, curries, chilli, and sriracha. The downside was a mad dash to the 24-hour Spar for a spicy Pepperami. I comforted myself with the information that it was a 'protein kick'. (It says so on the packet.) That helped me deal with the fact I was breaking my no-meat rule with something that is a not-great-meat-in-all-honesty.

Aberystwyth pier.
It's hard to see, but there
were shed loads of
starlings in the sky.

Out and About

I had a long weekend in Aberystwyth which always sorts out my head, and then I've been all over Liverpool. The new Everton stadium site, Liverpool One, assorted houses in the Allerton, Childwall, and West Derby area that housed my relatives back in the day - I've seen it all. The fab thing about having overseas relatives come and visit, is how it reconnects me to my own past. I only ever stop outside my Gran's old gaff when they're over. Strange innit.

So what are the lessons from my week? 

• A change is as good as a rest, and mixing up the routine is a good thing to do. 
• Hosting relatives connects me to my own childhood and forces me to remember people that are becoming more and more distant in my memory.
• A spicy Pepperami is perfectly acceptable when my blocked sinuses demand it. Likewise, the 24-hour Spar should be given Pharmacy status with how it served my medical needs so well. Life lessons them all.

Have a lovely week, folks

Healthy, Nutritious... Fiction?

If we count New Year's Day as the close of play, it's been six weeks since the festive season ended. For most people, January arrives and the thrill of party food wanes. The ease of throwing six brie and cranberry parcels into the oven for a speedy tea, is overtaken by the craving for nourishment and balance. Vegetables re-enter the equation as meal times aim to fuel effectively, instead of providing half-assed energy levels muddied by intermittent indigestion and the shits. 

It's much the same with stories. From October onwards, I'm a sucker for a lightweight Christmas movie. Saccharine, schmaltzy, and oozing with festive feels. I love them, despite their terrible nutritional value. Then January comes along. Like my stomach for vegetables, my appetite for stories demands greater nourishment. I want nuance and depth; I want quality. It's the same process every time. Once the new year starts, I turn my back on Netflix and go to my bookshelf (and Kindle.) 

Let's be clear, not all books are filled with deep, nuanced quality - not that they can't be rip-roaringly enjoyable in spite of this. But by committing to reading words on a page/screen, I'm being an active participant in my entertainment. I'm not whacking on a Christmas film in the background, for my peripheral vision to take in the snow and jingles, whilst my mind focuses on Christmas shopping or compiling another list. Reading takes more effort than that. I think even the fluffiest of written stories provides more brain-oomph than their cinematic counterparts. In January, I read loads. More than the whole of the previous year.  As soon as I finished one book, I started the next. I was done with padding and filler. I needed my brain to be actively engaged again. My January reading list was an eclectic mix. Here, for anyone that cares even the slightest amount, are some of the excellently nourishing stories I read. 

First off, some young adult romance. The first three books of the Heartstopper series by Alice Oseman were a Christmas present, and I bought the fourth myself. Teen boy meets teen boy, and the sweetest romance ensues. Except these were graphic novels. Not a genre I tend to choose. Watching the story unfold visually was a treat. The art was spot on. Each picture was composed perfectly, allowing me to glide over at speed, taking in the salient points of the story, but with loads of tiny details standing out under closer inspection. I hoovered up all four books in no time.

Next was something related but hugely different. My only previous experience of graphic novels was Maus and Maus II. Written by Art Spiegelman I read both at University and remember them being excellent. So once I was done with Heartstopper, I dug them out and gave them a reread. By using a comic strip style, the Holocaust is presented by something we usually see as benign. In such an accessible format, there's no hiding the horror. The timeline of Maus jumps between Art's aging father recounting his experiences in the present day, and the events he witnessed as a young man in the death camps. It's visually clear and utterly arresting. I'm glad I took the time to remind myself of them. 

Next I wanted something lighter. Christmas films might be off the menu for another nine months, but I've no problem with a seasonally ill-timed novel. Enter Murder on the Christmas Express by Alexandra Benedict. Set on the Caledonian Sleeper on Christmas Eve, this was in the vein of a cosy mystery. Except it got pretty dark by the end. I don't want to come over all Michael Portillo (none of us want that) but I do like train journeys. And mysteries set on train journeys are all the more satisfying. A mish-mash of people from all over the place, in confined quarters, hurtling through the night at speed. It's the perfect backdrop for shenanigans. 

With my train whistle whetted, I was hungry for more. Years ago, I'd read Dick Francis' The Edge, a thriller set onboard a train travelling through Canada. Written in 1988, I was curious how well it stood up against modern-day scrutiny. I don't remember Dick Francis being especially small-minded but you never know until you check. Happily, it seemed to be OK. A few rich entitled characters, but no awful attitudes presented as acceptable. I travelled across the wilds of Canada and relished the thrills and spills of the story.

Back to another cosy mystery. Spurned on by the Christmassy-murder vibes I was sending it, my Kindle urged me to read Murder at the Theatre Royale by Ada Moncrieff. In 1930s London, a young reporter witnesses the death of a thespian during a stage rehearsal of A Christmas Carol. Suddenly her puff piece about the up and coming theatrical performance has turned into full-on investigative journalism. The snowy backdrop, stageful of actors, and eerie Mouse Trap vibes were more than enough to keep me swiping.

It was time to park the cosiness for some out and out grit. In came Chris Brookmyre. His latest novel The Cliff House was exactly what I needed. A second-marriage hen-do party arrives at a swanky holiday rental on a remote Scottish island. There are simmering tensions and a shed load of alcohol. And that's before the WifFi's cut and one of the women disappears. It was grippy and creepy, thrilling and boss. I've been reading Chris Brookmyre since he went by the alias of - wait for it - Christopher Brookmyre. I love his stuff. 

Realising how long I've been a Chris Brookmyre fan prompted me to go back to his earlier books. I chose Be My Enemy. On paper it sounds similar to The Cliff House. A bunch of characters with alcohol, stranded in a big house, while seething resentments intensify. Except back in 2005, Brookmyre's writing was more comedically grizzly; more outrageously graphic. I had only vague memories of the plot of Be My Enemy, but I could remember some of the more gross-out scenes that have never left my head. Abseiling down someone's large intestine? Accidental cannibalism? It was laugh out loud funny, and great to relive.

Finally, on the last day of the month, I saw off this bad boy. The Borrow a Bookshop Holiday. It's a cosy romance, with all the beats that entails. Kiley Dunbar is great at these. She knows exactly what she's doing with her take on the genre, and every note hits its mark. Jude and Elliot are unhappy and single. After some miscommunications, they find themselves thrust into a shared holiday let in a small Devonshire village bookshop. I fear I'll be giving away major plot points if I go any further, suffice to say IT IS LOVELY.

We're half way through February and my reading speed has definitely calmed. I'm still in the middle of the book I started ten days ago. What's made me slow down now? I'm not sure. There's just something about January. It's as if my brain insists I kick back into full throttle, after weeks of skiving. But it can't last forever. With a stomach full of veg and a head full of words, it's probably time I relaxed a little. Brie and cranberry parcel anyone?

Have a lovely week, folks.

On Being a Spoilt, Grateful, Cavewoman...

An artist's impression 

of me waiting for the 

kettle. If I looked 

like Justin Timberlake.

Here are three Monday morning facts for you...

1. My boiling tap broke recently. 

2. I had to use a kettle. 

3. It was hell. 

Yes, I have a boiling tap because I'm a wanker, and yes, it was out of action whilst a part was procured and a plumbing expert sought. But blimey, the wait was frustrating. Not waiting for the tap to be mended. No, I'm talking about the wait for the kettle to boil every time I wanted a cup of tea. I joked about living like a cavewoman, but I meant it. Ten years of having instant boiling water, and I'd forgotten the realities of tea-making with a kettle. Bad times.

The whole incident was a good reminder that A) I'm a spoilt cow, whose problems are meaningless in the great scheme of things, and B) how quickly we forget the way things were. By the time you read this, I'll be in the midst of a mini break by the sea. Remember when we couldn't leave our homes? Our local areas? Remember the tier system? How marvellous to be somewhere else for a few days. How marvellous to be free to travel, to experience, and to feel. Life was on pause for so long that even now, we must remember, and live every second to the fullest. 

Or TL;DR: my boiling tap is fixed and I'll never take it for granted again.

The desk of (messy) dreams

Writing News

I've now got a second draft of Leeza McAuliffe Book 2. (Not it's real title!) It has less obvious waffle, tighter sentences, and a clearer outlook in terms of description. There's still much to do. For the next few drafts, I'm going to focus on each character's narrative journey. No one can be stagnant, even if they're a tiny character. They've got to develop somehow. That's my next challenge to keep me busy.

Helena Bonham Carter and 
Augustus Prew play Noele Gordon
and Tony Richards who play
Meg Mortimer and Adam Chance.
Got it? Photo from here.

Culture

Forget waiting for a kettle, you want to see how frustratingly slow the ITVX stream is on my TV. My internet speed is weak at best, and so I watched Nolly (ITVX) with intermittent pauses and several resets. However, Russell T Davies is a writer I'll persevere for. Like my eventual ITVX connection, I held on and kept going, and it was worth it. Nolly was fab. Anyone that remembers Crossroads will love it, and even if it's before your time, it's still a fascinating look at the inner workings of eighties TV. 

Food and Drink

I've bought myself a veg chopper. Yes, I know. I'm all boiling taps and veg choppers, when kettles and knives were good enough for my forebears. If you want your pieces of veg to be the same cubic area as each other, it's a worthy purchase. So far, it has cubed cucumber, peppers, and red onions perfectly.

Out and About

It's official. The Eurovision key has been handed from Torino to Liverpool, and we're less than 100 days away from the 2023 contest. I had a jaunt into town last Tuesday. I wanted to get the vibes around St. George's Hall* where the semi-final draw was taking place. I can't lie, there was a definite buzz. The banners, the logo, the motto - it all made me tingle. I realise not everyone loves Eurovision, but my home town has definitely embraced the honour. More than I thought it would, to be honest. Fair play, Liverpool. It's going to be a fab few months.

I hope your boiling taps work, your kettles don't keep you waiting too long, and your veg is chopped to your liking. Or that whatever you're doing, wherever you are, things are mostly good enough.

Have a lovely week, folks.

*St. George's Hall was where my Sixth Form leavers do took place. It was where I attended my first political protest (against Tr**p's Muslim travel ban) and it's where myself and hundreds of others gathered after the Hillsborough inquests returned ninety-six verdicts of unlawful killing. The fact that Rylan and AJ were there last week, blows my mind. In a really good way.