God Rest Ye Merry, Blog Readers...

Then step right in, young man.

A few years ago I was chatting to a friend who's Muslim. She was telling me how she didn't celebrate Christmas but still loved this time of year.' Why?' I asked. 'Because...' she said, '...it's when the shops have all the good cheese. So here we are. Christmas day has arrived. And if you celebrate, glad tidings of comfort and joy to you! If you don't, then please, whatever you do, make sure you enjoy all the good cheese. 

This is the first time that the Monday blog coincides with Christmas Day. (Since 2017, when I didn't bother.) It doesn't matter. Tomorrow's the big one in my family. That's when my house will be chocka. Full of siblings, siblings-in-law, their kids, my parents, my brother's friend, and a dog. It'll be unhinged chaos that will sap every bit of energy I've managed to conserve in the days prior. It'll also be shit loads of fun. Today is merely the pre-amble. Hence why I'm quite happy to be posting this now. 

But first, as is tradition, a look back to Christmas of yesteryear. Please do scan the photo. Take in every detail and soak up those seventies vibes. I say seventies - it's the brown-hue of the decor - but I think this was actually 1980. My family were never on trend. Check out my bowl cut for evidence. Likewise, my red dungarees. (I had a matching pair in blue) They were all I seemed to wear when I was two. You want more historical clues? Christmas cards hooked over a sagging piece of string; a pink tinsel star that's already seen better days even though it's in the infancy of its use; my dad's period piece shirt collar. It's all there. A primary source to excite historians. 

Meanwhile, I'm enjoying my second festive season. Do I know it's Christmas? Do I have a clue how giddy a neighbour's fairy lights will make me in forty-odd years? Do I have an inkling how much Future Me will buzz off circling the Christmas Radio Times despite the variety of streaming services she can watch anytime? I'd say, no. I look a bit dense. Mindlessly pointing to a tree, presumably being urged on by my mum behind the camera. 

I don't remember this picture being taken, nor this specific Christmas. What I do know is, it must have been fun. It didn't put me off enjoying future Christmas'. I mean, I over enjoy them to the hilt! Whatever went down in 1980 (and the subsequent years) kept my festive spirits buoyant. And to think, I didn't even know the concept of good cheese, back then. Whatever your plans..

...have a lovely day, week, and rest of the year, folks.

A Five Year Roller-Coaster...

It's the last Long Ramble of 2023! Well done for making it this far. Whether you've been charting the year in Long Rambles or alternative units of measurement, it all adds to the reflective nature of this time of year, doesn't it? It could be the last Long Ramble, the last month, the last week before Christmas, or the last of all sorts of things. Either way, the final days of the year tend to prompt retrospection and contemplation.

For me, that sense of reflection is amplified times five. Why? Well, we're coming to the end of my five year diary. Had you been keeping count? A mate bought it for my 40th, so since January 2019 before turning out the light, I've opened the diary, looked at the question at the top of the page, and given it a good think before answering. It's been excellent fun. Some questions posed are simple and factually based. 'What are you reading right now?' is one example. (In 2019, I was reading Michelle Obama's, Becoming. In 2020, Ex Pats by Chris Pavone. In 2021, Caste by Isabel Wilkerson. In 2022, And Away by Bob Mortimer. And in 2023, Sali Huhges', Everything is Washable.')  Questions like that are the easiest to answer. It takes a second to record and you can be snoring, moments later.

Other questions take more effort. 'Write down something that inspired you today.' That's the question from 10th January and it takes a bit more thought. Somedays, nothing will have inspired me. Other times, I'll have got inspiration from every little thing. My diary tells me that in 2019 the thing that inspired me was, 'A woman in the BBC Question Time audience had a really eloquent view on why she doesn't feel sorry for T. May.' Fair play. Subsequent years chart my ego kicking in. In 2022 I said, 'I began to reread Leeza McAuliffe and it's great!' If you can't let your buoyant self-esteem fly free in your diary, where the hell can you? 

Of course, the period of time from January 2019 until today, has seen some shit. It neatly straddles the world's awareness of Covid 19. On the 22nd March, the question was, 'Jot down a news story from today'. My answers - that would have been given only the briefest consideration at the time - are an honest-to God historical source. In 2019 I answered with, 'Ha! Fucking Brexit! And Robert Mueller has submitted his report to Trump.' In 2020, it was, 'McDonalds has closed due to Covid 19. People told not to go out unless it's urgent (and as long as not vulnerable) and stay 2m away.' In 2021, I recorded that, 'B. Johnson talking shite about COVID again. N. Sturgeon not guilty of misleading parliament. In 2022, I wrote, 'Kyiv still being bombed and Mariupol decimated. Nazanin Zagari Radliffe is home.' Finally this year I noted, 'Boris Johnson grilled by Partygate committee for 4 hours.' What a triggering snapshot of five years of rolling news. It almost makes me want to retreat under the covers. 

Hands down, my favourite page.
That's because amidst some 
sensible, considered thoughts 
about my favourite literary 
character, in 2021 was clearly 
bladdered AF. 

For those that can't decipher 
Pissed Nicky's writing, it says, 
'Tonight England lost to
on Italy penalties. My Eng Lit
character would be
Bassanio from the Merchant
of Venice.'

Pandemics and politics aside, the diary has also charted events more specific to me. The rise in my bad mood and body temperature, for example, as the peri menopause kicked in. It's seen the birth of two of the four of my gang of nieces and nephs. There have been four weddings - my brother and sister-in-law, plus three old friends. It's also given me ample opportunity to answer a question as innocuous as, 'What made you smile today?' with, 'Not Boris Johnson.' The politics has seeped through, regardless of question. The last five years have been quite the ride. 

But I think the best thing about a five year diary, (as opposed to a yearly one) is that you see progress so easily. In 2019, the question, 'If you could have a superpower just for today, what would it be?' was answered with, 'To not have a sore knee.' Every subsequent year on that day, I've looked back and thought, 'Ahhhh, remember when I had a sore knee. How fab that I don't have a sore knee anymore.' (Vitamin D, folks. It's a cure-all!) Likewise, the change from pre-HRT and post-HRT in 2021-22 has lifted the mood on every entry since. When I've had a bad day, or a felt a bit meh, looking back at how shit I felt in previous years, is a real boost.

So, the diary's coming to an end and I feel a bit sad. There's just a couple of weeks left to record. With all the ups and downs that the past five years have seen, it's been my one constant. (A bit melodramatic, but you get my drift.) What am I going to do when it's over? How will I know how far I've come if I'm not inadvertently writing it down each night? How will I chart political turmoil without my trusty bedtime companion? Well stop your worrying. A couple of birthdays ago, another friend bought me another five year diary. It's as if my mates know me really well. It's been kept on ice, ready and waiting, for January 1st 2024. The time is nigh.

Honestly, even if I didn't have it waiting for me, I'd be buying myself another one. Self-reflection is so useful. It helps form your inner voice, it brings clarity to the swirling fog of ideas, fears, dreams, and opinions. It sorts out your head, even when it feels like it's doing anything but. My experience of writing one or two lines a night, has been as useful as writing daily essays. I might not write pages anymore (I was far more waffly during the teenage diary years) but one line's reflection on a nightly basis has become an essential part of my routine. So now we're approaching the official handover protocol. If you listen carefully, at the stroke of midnight on New Year's Eve you might hear me cry, 'The Diary is dead! Long live the Diary!'

Have a lovely week, folks.

Empty Heads and Spicy WhatsApps...

Anyone seen some WhatsApps?

It could happen to any of us. Just when we want to revisit an old WhatsApp convo – perhaps to check plans we’ve made, or remind ourself of the date something happened - we realise 5000 of our messages are missing. What could have happened? Who knows? Perhaps it’s ‘something to do with the app going down and then coming back up again, but somehow automatically erasing all the things between that date when it went down and the moment when it was last backed up.’ Lolz.
 
Yep, it’s the COVID inquiry. Again. This week’s testimony forced me to look at my own WhatsApp groups. The messaging service barely existed when I had a proper job. Social media was in its infancy. The upshot being, I just can't imagine typing disparaging messages about colleagues to other colleagues. That stuff was saved for chats in the pub. I was also told - back when I had a proper job - never to write down notes in meetings that I wouldn't want read out in court. I’m probably less cautious now, what with me never having meetings these days, but still. Food for thought. Anyway, back to WhatsApp. When I scroll through my regular chats, the only one that feels slightly secret is the parent-free sibling convo we've got set up. It was mostly used when my parents were stranded in Heathrow after snow had grounded their plane. For two days, me and my sibs chatted at length about what we could do to help (not much in actuality). It seems, if my WhatsApps are ever required in a public inquiry, 'Mum’ll be fewmin,' is as spicy as it gets. So that's a relief. 
 

Writing News
I'm still chilling, still hanging around, still waiting on other people to work their magic before my next big pre-publication push. But you know what? It’s so good. Regardless of what I’ve been doing for the past two years, whether I’ve been away on holiday, doing mundane chores, or dropping off to sleep, I’ve never not been thinking about my novel. Now that it’s in the hands of someone else, I’m enjoying a truly empty head. It’s glorious. 

 

I can't lie. I was rooting for 
Alan. What a legend he was.

Culture
Last week I told you about The Murder Game I was reading. Well, I got that recommendation from this article about cosy Christmas mysteries. I’m now onto Ada Moncrief’s, Murder Most Festive which is more seasonal murder fun. I’ve also branched out in my Christmas film viewing. As outlined in this blog from 2018, festive films can be titles that simply get broadcast at Christmas. Think back to Radio Times’ from yesteryear. What sort of blockbusters were fanfared as appointment TV? This week I’ve seen off Die Hard (not a trad Christmas film but perfect viewing at Christmas - end of), Clockwise, Lethal Weapon, and Clear and Present Danger. It seems I’m hoovering up the action thriller/John Cleese genres right now.
 
Food and Drink
When I was at sixth form college, for reasons that now escape me, myself and a couple of friends got into the habit of having a daily sausage barm from the canteen. Except instead of a bread roll we’d have a teacake. Plus lots of tomato ketchup.  Like I said, the reasons escape me, but it was my sixteen year old self’s staple meal during my A Levels. Last week I remembered, and revisited it for my Sunday breakfast. It might be veggie sausages now but the concept’s still sound. Get onto veggie sausage tea cakes! They’re the best.  
 
Out and About
My mate had a pre-Christmas dinner party which sounds well classy. It was, apart from my inclusion. I can't pull off stylish elegance for a second, but regardless, a good time was had by all. Then, the following day, we had a family meal for my ma's birthday. Pre-lash and post-lash was round my gaff, where I continued to be not-at-all-classy-whilst-still-having-the-best-of-times.
 

This week I'm away. A few days in lovely, wintery Scotland. Will it snow? Will I post all sorts on Insta? Will I overdose on cullen skink? Who can say. Either way, come back next week for the last Long Ramble of the year. You'd be gutted to miss it. 
 
Have a lovely week, folks.

Too Much To Say, As Per...

TOO much to say.

Welcome to the latest Weekly Update. That thing's happened again. The thing that occurs sometimes when I sit down to write this blog. Wanna peek behind the wizard's curtain for a minute? Excellent. 

I had a brilliant opening topic all lined up. You know the drill. I start the Weekly Update with something topical; a story from the news or maybe the seasonal times we're in. I give you one or two paragraphs, tempting you to read on, getting you comfy, offering a LOL or two. Then the Update kicks in. That's the routine, week in, week out. 

This time, that didn't happen. I had the topic lined up. I'd made some notes and knew how I was going to riff on them. Then things went awry. As I started to type, it became clear. I had TOO much to say. I typed and typed. Next thing you know, I've got a whole blog post about the random topic staring back from the screen. It's way too much for this opening - your time's precious. But look, it's OK. I'm going to polish it up and use it for the last Long Ramble of the year. In a couple of week's time, you'll see just what it was I was so verbose about. It'll be a good read, I promise.

In the meantime...

This is exactly like my writing group.
Except we're in a pub, and no one
is sitting on the floor.

Writing News

I've seen a colourised front cover and chosen some specifics about the design. It's looking FAB and I can't wait to share it with you. Soon, I hope. I also went to my fortnightly writing group on Wednesday. What I love is that the same group of people have heard me read consecutive extracts of Leeza's story for the past eighteen months. They know the characters almost as well as I do. This week, one of my writing friends made a comment about a phrase Leeza had used. She wasn't sure it was something Leeza would say in that situation. As soon as she pointed it out, I knew she was right. It's fab when people know my characters that well. (I'm now trying to rethink the vocab in question and decide how to convey the same sentiments differently.)

Culture

Culture isn't all art galleries and boxsets. (And if you read this regularly you'll know it's usually just boxsets here.) No, the past weeks have seen me watch large chunks of the Covid Inquiry. Now, I know what you're thinking. That's not art! And you'd be right. But we, as a country, went through a seismic cultural event. As much as a pandemic is rooted in science and medicine, its effects are also cultural. We endured it together for more than a year as it effected every aspect of our lives. As much as I struggled to watch Matt Hancock - he was being questioned on Thursday and Friday - I knew it was important to do so. Call it closure or therapy, but seeing the same politicians that stood at the podium spinning bullshit for a year, be forced to answer questions they're trying to evade, feels necessary. It feels worth my time. Boris Johnson gets a turn on Wednesday. Let's hope I've got the stomach for it. Moving on... if that doesn't float your boat, try this. I'm reading Tom Hindle's, The Murder Game. New Years Eve, a big house, and a dead body. Right up my street.

Stollen. A little overdone
but oh so tasty.

Food and Drink

I did the food shop for Christmas last week. At least, the stuff that can be frozen or shoved in a cupboard, that is. If I can avoid supermarkets in the latter stages of the Christmas build up, I'll be well happy. But there's a problem. It seems all my brain wants me to eat is stollen. As someone who's mantra (one of them) is, I CAN MAKE IT BETTER THAN THAT, when she sees supermarket cakes, I searched for a recipe. This is the one I used, and it made perfectly lovely, big-slab-with-a-cup-of-tea stollen that I'll revisit next year.

Zara's Hub in Childwall.

Out and About

My writing group takes place in a pub near Lime Street station. Last Wednesday, as I made my way there, I saw the Christmas market outside St. George's Hall. I had no time to wander round but enjoyed the vibes before heading for the warmth of the pub. It looks great, and even though it doesn't sound worthy of an Out and About mention, I'm going to make an effort to go back on another evening. Earlier that day, I'd had brunch in Childwall's Zara's Hub, where their decs all but forced me to take a photo. All in all, last Wednesday's Out and Aboutness was festive AF.

More next week, if you're game. See you here, yes? Excellent.

Have a lovely week, folks.