And That's A Wrap...

Can it be? Can three hundred and sixty five days have passed since the start of the 2024? Well not quite but almost! It's nearly done; about to be consigned to the history books in the same way that past favourites like 1985, or 1994, have been. The day after tomorrow, 2024 will be in... the PAST.

But stop right there! Before we say a final goodbye, let's linger a moment on the highlights of the year. And what better way to commemorate an entire year than a look back at this blog's Long Rambles. A treat for us all! 

Before we begin, I must make a small admission. This has happened before so you'll be fine, I'm sure. For some reason, despite my best intentions, my Long Ramble in November, did not happen. I've no idea what happened. Bad planning on my part, obviously. We'll gloss over it now and say no more. Are you ready to reflect? Are you ready to reminisce? Are you ready to Ramble? Hurrah!

January

We start with a writery one. Some thoughts on suspending disbelief, and how much fiction I can push a reader into believing, before it gets silly. How Far Can I Take You? answers all that and more.

February

What do you do if you suddenly remember how much you enjoyed roller booting as a child? You Buy the Boots, of course! Insights into my new hobby, plus strong thoughts on people who say things like, 'You're too old for that.'

March

This is where the fanfare for my fourth book kicked off. Breaking News was both a cover reveal as well as the publication details for Leeza McAuliffe Has Loads More To Say. Reading it back makes me tingle. I birthed a book this year! Can you believe it?!

April

More writery nonsense, but hang on one second. This is probably the best thing I've written this year. Like an existential howl from my soul, this still reads like I've peeled away my skin and invited you to judge my core. Not all writer's have this process, but it's completely and utterly how I find it. The Highs and Lows of Cycling is everything I know about the book-writing process, condensed into one handy post. 

May

More high culture - it's time for Eurovision! In Getting to Grips with Eurovision I give you my 2024 highlights. It's interesting to see how I rated eventual winner, Switzerland, or that my faves, Poland and Czechia, didn't make it past the semis. 

If you want to relive the hits, the links are contained in this post.

June

This month's Long Ramble sees the first of two posts with fangirling in the title. I never said I was a wordsmith. (Except it's sort of implied with everything I do.) This month I was all about the actor, Andrew Scott. He's my fave. His films are my faves. I was prompted to write Fancy Some Fangirling because I'd stumbled across the entire version of his Hamlet on YouTube and it was excellent. If you're into brooding, dark, angsty roles, he's your guy.

July

I spent five days in Oslo, heard a couple of facts, and decided I knew everything there was to know about social, economic, political, and cultural Norway. With that implied caveat made clear, I stand by every word of Norwegian Vibes.

August

Now for the second fangirling of the year. August saw the Democratic National Convention take place in the US. With the support of a packed arena, four nights of inspiring speeches, and a shit-tonne of positivity. Months later, none of that has changed. It was inspirational. It was full of positivity. There was widespread support for Kamala Harris and her presidential bid. Sadly, we now know, not enough. But reading back over DNC Fangirling reminds me that having hope for change is never a bad idea. Sometimes that change takes a bit longer, that's all.

September

Some more writer's introspection. Despite How Far Can You Go? sounding similar to January's Long Ramble, this one's about censorship. It's the age-old question. Should you include 'bad language' in a tween/YA book if that's realistically how people that age, talk. Thoughts were explored in this month's post.

October

If it's October, that means only one thing. No! Not Menopause Awareness Month, but thank you for your support. Nope, October is Halloween. Here's a post - one I've used before - that outlines some of my favourite spooky TV and films, despite not enjoying horror or unsettling scenes one tiny bit. A Spooky Rehash is here for your records.

November 

I DO NOT KNOW WHAT HAPPENED. SOZ.

December

The most recent Long Ramble is - as is my brand - all about me. When I trained to be a teacher, the PSHE tutor made the point that all teachers are egotists. To paraphrase, she said that if you're willing to stand in front of a class of kids and attempt to control and educate them, then you really do have an inflated sense of your own importance. And yep, she was probably right. Here, in A Very Selfish Christmas Tree I explore my own narcissism, whilst sharing pretty photos of my baubles.

So there we are. We've made to the end - of the year and this post. Thank you for reading, today and always. This year saw a big rise in readers. Either I've been targeted by bots for nefarious reasons, or I'm finally nailing online promotion. Whichever way it is, I'm grateful to every non-bot reader out there. 

More in 2025? Yes? Oh, excellent.

Have a lovely week, folks.

Here's to Wednesday...

Sooo this is Christmas. And what have I done? Failed in my mission, that's what. 

You remember how we left things last week? I was going to head into my photo chest and dig out a childhood/teen photo of myself, to put on this week's Christmas post? Previous years have included toddler and small child versions of me, looking excitedly up at the tree, or posing with my presents on Christmas morning - all digital copies I had on my desktop. Testament to the persistence - some might say, unnecessary tenacity - of this blog, I've used them all up now. So, into the photo chest I ventured. 

Ngl, it's absolute carnage in there. There's loads of photos of my wedding. We did that disposable cameras on tables thing, so I've got hundreds of shite photos taken by drunk friends. I've got school trips and college nights out. I've got the Uni years, holidays, and plenty of other people's weddings. What I don't have, is anything Christmassy. Boooo.

This can be viewed in two ways. On the one hand, perhaps I've never had an enjoyable Christmas. Perhaps there's never been a youthful festive experience I've wanted to commit to film. Perhaps I spent the teenage/twenties seasonal periods in a state of ennui. I'm sure there were one or two years around the fourteen/fifteen mark that might be true. But generally I know this not to be the case. 

The second way of looking at things, is probably more accurate. I was having such a good time, seeing friends, going out and about, having festive fun, that I never stopped to bring out my camera or take photos. (Photos that needed developing later. Can you fathom it?!) When I think back to my youth, that's a much more likely explanation.

Me, Dom, and a snowman. 

So what can I impart this Christmas, the year of our Lord, two thousand and twenty four? Here, have this festive-adjacent photo. (The only thing in the photo chest that's even vaguely suitable because it was taken in the winter time, more or less.) It's of me and my brother, about twenty-six years ago. For a while back then, we kinda looked similar. But then I grew my hair out and he got ripped. (Well, as ripped as someone with our genetic legacy can ever be.) We're not twinnies anymore. But back then, the snow had fallen, we were slap bang in the middle of uni and school holidays, and there was only one thing to do. Build a snowman and take a photo. 

The lesson in all of this? Well I'm torn. Initially, I want to say, take more photos. You'll always want to have something to look back on. But you know what? A Christmas well lived, or more broadly, a life well lived, has no time for photographing every single second. If you were busy faffing with zooming and clicking, you'd miss so much stuff! Maybe that's the message. Live in the moment, seize the day, sack off the camera? Who knows? 

What I do know is that twenty-six years have flown by. I feel exactly the same as the person in that photo, short hair and all. And here's the thing... I think the next twenty-six years will be similarly speedy. They'll be gone in a flash, just like that. Except by then, I'll be seventy-two. Seventy-two! That feels quite the mental leap right now. Take photos or don't take photos, that's your choice. But surely the lesson here, is the importance of experiencing every single second. In no time at all, it's game over/end of play/the final whistle. (Insert your own sporting metaphor here.) Living fully before that comes, is the very least we can do. It's our goddamn duty!

Whatever you're doing this week, I hope it's a blast. And if things are tricky and non-blast like, for whatever reason, I hope those feelings ease soon. For now, have a very happy Christmas, a very enjoyable week, and if Christmas is not your bag, I hope Wednesday is the best of days.

Have a lovely week, folks.

The Dying Art of the Photo Chest...

If you caught my TikTok/Insta Reel/YouTube outpouring last week (I KNOW you won't have missed it) you'll remember I've broken up for Christmas. Hurrah! This means, I've put the first draft of book 5/Leeza MacAuliffe book 3 to one side and am forgetting it for a bit. Whoppeee! Apart from being free to fully embrace the season, it means I'll be all the more creative and energised when I pick it back up in January. But I've not downed tools completely. Nope, I've got this blog, silly. Aren't you, and indeed the world at large, the absolute luckiest?!

Home to weights and toiletries, 
it's the PHOTO CHEST.

Usually around now, I start to look for a childhood photo of me - from a Christmas of yesteryear. I use it as the focal point of a post about this time of year, and I publish it the Monday before Christmas. It's a nice one to write; seasonal, meaningful, yet relatively quick. I can get it done in half an hour, then get back to whatever's next on my To Do list. That's my job for today. The thing is, when I look through the folder on my desktop labelled Old Photos, it seems I've previously used every single childhood festive snap. I've only got about six to begin with, and as I've been writing this blog since 2017, I'm not sure how I've managed to eke them out this long. So what happens now? Well, I'm going to have to eschew my digital records and - brace yourselves - venture into my photo chest! This is a wooden box at the end of my bed, that holds every physical photo I've ever taken. As my camera-owning days ran from the age of sixteen to thirty five, there's a finite number of photos from that distinct window. Imagine if I were of a generation that didn't have a smart phone in my pocket. The photo chests would take over the house! No matter. That's my job for this afternoon. Open the box, find a suitable photo, and write a festive blog for your reading pleasure. Wish me luck.

Writing News

I heard the best thing this week. A child I know of, is getting a diary for Christmas... so she can 'be like Leeza'. My fictional protagonist, Leeza McAuliffe, whose diary spans two whole books (available now for stocking filler fun!) is influencing young minds up and down the country. And you know what? I couldn't be more chuffed. I got proper chills and thrills when I heard. Look, diary writing as a youth is SO useful. It's a gift to your older self. You're finding your voice, learning your ethics, solving your problems and having the space and privacy to make mistakes and work out life. A diary is the route to finding yourself. It's the way of moving from being told what to think by the adults in your life, to discovering it for yourself.* So if Leeza and her antics have encouraged just one person (who may or may not know they're getting a diary at this point) to develop their inner world in order to live their outer life, then I am SO chuffed about it. It's not so much writing news but it made me happy and it's book related. It'll do.

How is this 40 years ago?

Culture

Because of where I spent the past week (see Out and About for details) I rewatched Netflix's A Castle For Christmas. It's not the greatest movie but it was filmed near my recent break so I cracked on, awash with vibes. In more music-focused Culture news, I watched the BBC doc, Band Aid: Do They Know It's Christmas. The song is forty years old this year. And whilst it gets understandable criticism these days, this documentary - showing the stars of the day, awkwardly chatting, nervously singing in front of each other, and wondering if it would all come together in the end - is charming. Plus, the 80s pop nostalgia for those that love it, is unbeatable. 

My version of local delicacy,
Cottoms hotpot. FIT AS.

Food and Drink

One more week of healthyish eating and drinking. I say heathyish, but what I mean is, 'not crazy.' I'm keeping the cheese, the party food, and the puddings at bay, and trying to eat balanced meals for as long as possible. This weekend I made fish pie, cullen skink, and hotpot.** Warming, hearty, but each one with a decent amount of veg to keep me feeling virtuous.

North Berwick, forever in my heart.

Out and About

Ah, guys. I was in Scotland! Obvs you know that if you follow me on Insta - my timeline was riddled with it! But the mid-December week in North Berwick has become an essential part of my year. It keeps me sane when everything around me is not. This year, there was an added bonus. I tend to have a pint in the local pub - shoutout to The Ship - each night I'm there. When you're that close to a cosy boozer, why would you not? Last Monday, there was live music. Not only that, it was the North Berwick Songwriter's group, showcasing their Christmas songs. What started as a quick pint after tea, turned into a gorgeously festive, community-filled evening, jam-packed with musical loveliness. I bought the CD and ev. The night has become one of my top holiday memories and yet I just stumbled across it. Mad, innit?

I'll leave you now, to your days. I've got to venture into the photo chest, remember? I may be some time. There's always the chance, of course, that there'll be NO festive photos in there. And then what'll I do? I guess you'll find out this time next week. I'll be back, with, or without a photo. Until then!

Have a lovely week, folks.

*Caitlin Moran has more on the power of youthful diary writing, here (2.16 - 4.12)

**Cottoms hotpot is a regional delicacy - all over the place where I live, not so much elsewhere. No matter, my version pictured above tasted EXACTLY like the real thing and I couldn't have been happier.

Real Deal Nostalgia Over Forced Feelings Any day...

You can't manufacture nostalgia.* It pops up naturally or it's not there at all. Not in any real way. Attempts to force fond feelings of yesteryear can only ever ring hollow no matter how much we want them to emotionally nourish us. 

How do I know this? Because the other day I found myself buying Twiglets. The reason? Because IT'S CHRISTMAS. The problem? Twiglets were never a Bond family staple, in December or any time of year. I've tasted them about ten times in my life whilst visiting other people's houses. I like them. Hurrah! But I'm pretty sure I've never bought them before. So why now? Don't be silly. You know why. Because IT'S CHRISTMAS! For some reason we spend ages attempting to create nostalgia about a time we may never have experienced for real. It's why I like snowy winter scenes despite experiencing a white Christmas maybe once or twice in forty-six years. It's why I'll watch the entire series of Fanny Craddock Cooks For Christmas even though it was broadcast three whole years before I was born. It's all about the image, the manufactured vibes, the LOOK of the thing. Whether it's filled with the joys of nostalgic warmth is highly debatable.

Except... except.. except sometimes it's real. A few years ago, at this time of year, I was walking through Borough Market. It was late-aftenoon, getting dark, and the crowds were dwindling. To one side of the market was a kids' choir. A local school were fundraising; carolling away for the benefit of us all. As I walked past, they began a new carol. Not one of the cosy classics you'd get on a compilation CD or hear on TV. None of your Ding Dong Merrily on Highs, or Away in a Mangers. This one was proper old school; I'd never before heard it in the wild. The Angel Gabriel From Heaven Came. You know it? It's churchy, riddled with organs and incense, and sent me straight back to primary school. The thing is, pre-national curriculum, a lot of my school day seemed to be spent practising carols. The rest of the year that was repackaged as hymn practice.** Either way, that afternoon in Borough Market, I was right back in 3rd year juniors, circa 1987. The smell of the hall polish, the sounds of the dinner ladies behind the shutters, and the sight of the music teacher - often inexplicably in a neck brace - exhorting us to shape our mouths to her specific instruction. That's your nostalgia, right there. It stopped me in my tracks. Literally. I stood and listened and felt huge swathes of empathy for the school kids. I had been them. I was them. It was 1987 all over again. So yeah, Twiglets? A perfectly acceptable shopping item. But let's not pretend they're anything other than a tasty, salty, snack.

My Insta story
from the week. All
the links you need are
in the paragraph.

Writing News

Struggling for stocking fillers, presents, or excellent reads for cosy winter nights? Excellent! Look no further. Leeza McAuliffe Has Something To Say and Leeza McAuliffe Has Loads More To Say are available now. For the old child, young teen, or adult who enjoys reliving their youth. Or, if you know a grown-up who enjoys a contemporary look at adults attempting to adult, here's Carry the Beautiful and Assembling the Wingpeople. You could do far worse, let me assure you.

Ralph Feinnes
is excellent in Conclave.

Culture

There's been a burst of spy shows recently. Are we calling it the Slow Horses effect? No? OK then. The Day of the Jackal's last episode will drop on Thursday. It's been a blast. Then there's a new show on Netflix, whose trailer has similar vibes. Black Doves is top of my watch list, not least because it stars Sarah Lancashire. That's a quality assurance stamp, right there. Amidst all the spy stuff, I've also found myself diving into another genre. The genre of papal intrigue at the vatican! The Robert Harris book, Conclave has been adapted into a film called - well it's obvious really - Conclave. It seems to have got a limited release round my way. No matter, it was proper gripping and I've seen it twice. Clearly not pope-satiated, I remembered the excellent Netflix film, The Two Popes, starring Jonathan Pryce and Anthony Hopkins. It depicts the imagined relationship between Popes Benedict and Francis over the years between their elections. Well worth your time.

Not the prettiest
 but it tasted beautiful.

Food and Drink

You mean apart from Twiglets? There have been other festive-inspired purchases as well. Asda do chocolate orange dusted almonds which, to my mind, is the only way to eat a nut. I've also got myself into Chai. Usually I've made my own with a pan of milky tea and a bunch of spices. This year I thought, naaah and bought the instant version. Happily, it's good! Finally, in Food and Drink news, I made a leek tart (I had a bunch of leeks to use up) and it was fit.

Out and About

There was a family meal for my mum's birthday. Fourteen of us in my local pub, then back to mine for drinks and cake. Then there was a friend's dinner party, (I can't say dinner party without feeling incredibly grown up and of a higher class than my gut-identity) and finally, I got into my car yesterday, drove for a few hours, and began a pre-Christmas jaunt. More of that next week. Until then...

...have a lovely week, folks.

*When the fun stops and fake nostalgia goes too far.

** I had a colleague whose kids were at a Catholic primary school. She once said in the staffroom, 'They can't read or write but they know how to sing.' It tracked.

A Very Selfish Christmas Tree...

It was while I was putting up my Christmas decs that I had the thought. Or, to be specific, it was while I was lovingly adorning my Christmas tree that it hit.

Everyone must have their own system. Their own system for collecting Christmas baubles and trinkets. That's not the thought I had, by the way. We'll get to that in a bit. But it's useful to provide context. So, Christmas bauble collection methods? My sister, for example, has a tradition with her family. They have a yearly garden centre visit, where each person chooses a  new decoration. It's meaningful, eclectic, and at times when her kids were younger, totally batshit. But her tree is a true family project, collated over time. In similar-but- not-really vibes, my brother and his partner buy a tree decoration every time they go on holiday. As frequent travellers, that means they've also ended up with a meaningful, eclectic tree. Good, right?

 

My own system is equally eclectic but less to do with a planned vision. My bauble box was retrieved from the loft last weekend, the contents of which are now scattered on my tree's branches. Apart from what remains of the initial twelve red and silver spherical baubles I bought in 1997 for my first adult home, every other decoration has been bought for me. 

OK, that's not true. They've been bought, or they've been given to me as gift tags, blingy bows on presents, or in one instance, as the tartan-bowed instructions of a porridge recipe that was wrapped around a spurtle I once purchased in Scotland. The point is, I've not given tree decs a second's thought since 1997. They've just turned up over the years. I love that. It makes revisiting them each winter particularly lovely. Every year I'm reminded of old friends, ex-colleagues, and a child or two that I taught once. The result is, I have my own eclectic and meaningful tree. Cool, right?

But back to that thought that I had last weekend. It's to do with a theme that's emerged from my gifted baubles. Let's look at the evidence. There's the sparkly oversized N that I hung near the top. And the small purple bauble with NICKY written across it in gold. Or there's the chalkboard disc with N.B slap bang in the centre. And then there's the silver cutout of an italicised NICKY in the middle of a bauble-shape. Finally, my fave is the illustration on perspex of NICKY - wearing her jeans, jumper, and glasses, sitting amidst a pile of books. That was a gift last year and I love it. But when it's added to the rest on my tree - a tree I share with another person who's not called Nicky - it does seem a tad self-centred. So back to that thought that keeps popping into my mind. Taking in all the evidence that my tree presents, does this make me...  a narcissist? Or at the very least, am I perceived to be a narcissist by anyone that's met me?

Narcissist. It's a word that gets bandied about all over the place these days. That's not helped by the fact we have some horrific public figures in the world that seem to fit our collective understanding of the term. But as someone that has an actual qualification in Psychology and baulks at diagnosing people from afar, it's probably best to be accurate. So let's head to Wikipedia!  - a resource sadly not available during my own psychological studies.

'Narcissism is a self-centred personality style characterised as having an excessive preoccupation with ones self and ones needs, often at the expense of others.'

Well then. That's settled, isn't it. Or is it? Can we really take the opening sentence of Wikipedia, along with a potentially one-note set of decorations as the basis for self-diagnosis of a personality disorder? I'm thinking... no. But as I said, the word is attributed to all sort of public figures (well, one main one) which may or may not be accurate. As such it's become a term used much more in every day discourse.

 

The journalists, Dorian Lynskey and Ian Dunt have a podcast called Origin Story. In it, they take a word or phrase that's become widely misused, dig deep into the research and reading, and find evidence to explain the real meaning. It's a brilliant listen. They've deep-dived into terms such as, Gaslighting, Fascism, and Woke, breaking down the misconceptions built up over time and revealing the truth. I'd LOVE them to do an episode on narcissism. When did it make the leap from psychiatrists' diagnostic manuals into public discourse? What specifically has drawn it into popular culture in recent years? And am I really a narcissist? You know, the sort of questions we all have.

This piece from earlier this year, attempts to answer some of those questions. There doesn't seem to be any mention of me, though. Strange.

But look, let's get back to Wikipedia before we get too bogged down in self-involvement. This is a quote from the second paragraph of the intro (of the really long, multi-section entry on Narcissism, that I didn't bother to read all the way to the bottom.) 

'Narcissism exists on a continuum that ranges from normal to abnormal personality expression. While many psychologists believe that a moderate degree of narcissism is normal and healthy in humans, there are also more extreme forms...'

I stopped quoting when it began to get less pithy and reassuring. Classic narcissist behaviour right there, yeah? Erm, not sure tbh. Either way, I'm going to make a self-diagnosis, right here and now. Ready? Here we go. I probably DO have narcissistic tendencies but I'm calling them a healthy amount. I definitely put myself first when I have the option to do so. And I play the long game. I knew I was far too selfish/selfing* to procreate, so I didn't. I don't like being told what to do, I work much better when I'm left alone to get on with it, and working in a team with its expectations of collaboration and ideas-sharing drives me mad. The final evidence? For years now, I've been spewing out a weekly blog, filled with nothing but my own thoughts.**  Self-centred much? Very possibly. 

But... but... BUT... there are some counter-arguments. I didn't buy any of the baubles with my name on, I give people lifts when they ask me, I baby-sit my nieces and nephews if I'm free, and I throw spare money towards charity when I can. Perhaps it's not as cut and dried as I thought. Maybe hearing a buzzword getting thrown about the media isn't the best way to diagnose a personality disorder. Maybe my friends and family enjoy celebrating my name in bauble form and it's no reflection on me. Or maybe I've overthought this whole thing and sharing it with you now will help you realise you're not alone when you have your own random, spiralling thoughts. 

Whatever judgement call you've made on this; whatever diagnosis you've mentally given me, let's not dwell. We can only do our best with the personality traits we were given and that society has further developed since birth. It's time to move on. I'll be back on Monday with the next Weekly Update, and we'll talk no more of this. Unless you want to. I'm trying not to make it all about me, you see.

Have a lovely week, folks.

*A friend introduced me to this term years ago. Means the same as selfish but without the negative connotations. I like it.

** YOU'RE WELCOME