Monday 4 December 2023

Too Much To Say, As Per...

A woman is typing maniacally at a computer. Her head is thrown back, she's got her eyes closed, and she is appealing to say 'blah blah blah blah blah' at speed.
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...

It's a story time. A man is sitting on a throne-like reading chair. He is holding an open book and reading it to people around him. They're either sitting or kneeling on the floor in front of him.
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.)

Front cover of The Murder Game. It's by Tom Hindle. There's a graphic of a country house. It's alone, in the midst of fields. There's the sillouete of a trete in the foreground.
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.

A baking tray with a cooked stollen loaf. It's brown in colour, covered in flaked almonds with a dusting of icing sugar, and with a fish slice and knife next to it. There's also a candle lit in the background of the worktop.
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.

The interior of a restaurant. There are beams across the ceiling, with white glowing fairy lights strung along them. There are leafy garlands strung along the walls. There are red bows dotted along the garlands.
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.
Posted by at

No comments:

Post a Comment

Subscribe to: Post Comments (Atom)