No Money For Lobster...

I'm at it again. I can only apologise. You thought my home-improvement woes were done and dusted with January's cess pit upgrade? Wrong! Turns out, living in the same place for sixteen years without really maintaining it, can be a recipe for... well not disaster. That's far too strong a term. More like, a recipe for lots of jobs needing attention at the same time. And once you begin on one thing, loads more issues crop up. 

As I speak there's a pile of bricks outside my garage. They're from a wall that's been knocked down. Skips are pricy so they're going to the tip, one car boot at a time. Then the patio's getting redone. At the moment it's a trip hazard and only a matter of time before a family member sues. After that, there's the gravel to replace, and the new fancy-pants cess pit needs greenery to disguise it. The list goes on and proves the old adage: once you pop you just can't stop. I've resigned myself to the fact that 2025 is the year of home improvement shit. And that's OK. I'm lucky I have a home to fix. Remind me of that when I moan.  

Writing News

The last thousand words still need to be written, but the first draft is practically done. So far, the word count is 66,845. It's slightly shorter than an adult novel would be, but for a YA novel, this is fine. 

But here's the rub. What feels an appropriate length for the genre, isn't the only consideration. As I head towards the editing period, my creative storytelling needs are not the only thing on my mind. I've also to consider how much paper will be used to print the books. Prices are rising all over the place. I could raise the price of the book (and it may well come to that) or I can use less paper. With the last book, I worked out I needed the story  to stop at 60,000 words in order to sell the book at £8.99 and make a pound profit. This time, it may be pricier? I'm not sure yet. I'll work it out when I have a clearer idea of the final length. The upshot is, that as I come to the end of the first draft, I'm aware that the next stage isn't all creative decisions and writerly instincts. And more's the pity.

HOME. Image from here.

Culture

Someone's killed the President! Uh-oh! Who could have done it? That's how Disney+'s Paradise opens. It's moves on - quite quickly - from that set up, but it's fun and tense nonetheless. In other TV news, Reacher is back on Amazon Prime. This series is based on the Lee Child book, Persuader, which I'll probably end up rereading. As for the show, I'm waiting until all the episodes have dropped before I go in. Elsewhere in Culture news, as I mentioned a couple of weeks ago, I had a ticket for Before Sunrise on the big screen. Last week it happened. It was SOOO good to see it enlarged. But just as marvellous was my glass of wine in the bar at HOME beforehand. It was Valentine's Day and I'd brought my book to read. Before I walked in, I had the slight panic that I might stand out like a sore thumb, as couples around me romanced each other to bits. Not so! The bar at HOME is a welcoming space for people wanting a quiet drink with a book. I was not the only solo reader there. That fact alone would have made my night, but I also had the thrill of the film. Lucky, lucky me.

A beige bowl of brilliance. 
AKA crab and prawn 
ravioli, cod goujons, 
and tartare sauce.

Food and Drink

I've been craving lobster ravioli for weeks. I know, I know, it's such a bougie thing to say. Soz. But I'd had it in a restaurant a few weeks ago, and it's been on my mind ever since. Now, I'm not someone who's going to make my own pasta. Not these days. And the Asda didn't have anything even approaching what I wanted, so I had to go to Markises. There goes the food budget! The nearest I could get was crab and prawn, but it was enough to satiate me. Come Saturday night, I went off piste by baking the individual parcels until they were crispy and serving them with a garlicky tartare. They were lovely!

 

Bonding

Out and About

It was half term. Did you know? I did. Because all my siblings with kids were on holiday, and my usually quiet Costa was riddled with multi-generational patrons. Fair play. I can handle it for a week. But the best part was I got to catch up with two of my nephs. The littlest neph - still under a year old - has yet to learn of my brilliance. I did my best, over the course of Friday afternoon, to impart what he needs to know about me. Time will tell if I managed it.

Enjoy the rest of the month! Can you Adam and Eve it? March is almost upon us! The month of my birth, as well as the births of almost everyone I know. There'll be no money for lobster ravioli in March. It'll be spent on birthday presents, maintenance jobs, and nothing else. Until then...

...have a lovely week, folks.

Small Stuff, Wanky Words, and Hyperbole...

Time's flying!

It doesn't seem five minutes since Christmas. Or is that just me? The aftermath's over so quickly, while the build up lasts for months. It's almost two months after the event and the shebang's become a distant memory.

I had a thought this week. It was when I opened the fridge and was reminded of one of my many December food stresses. In order to ensure the Christmas Night Cheese had plenty of date left by the time it got eaten, I had to buy it fairly close to Christmas. It was the same with the Boxing Day lettuce too. I spent the 22nd December (the last free day I had) visiting three different supermarkets, looking for a lettuce that had a date beyond the 26th. In my head, it became 'an issue.' Fast forward to now, and the last of the Christmas Night Cheese is still in the fridge. I've been eating it throughout January, and will finish the rest this week. I've no idea what its date is, but a quick glance tells me it's OK. Maybe, just maybe, this is a lesson for life. Don't get obsessed with lettuce when you're busy. Don't panic about serving mouldy cheese to guests when the chances are, it'll be good for weeks. TLDR? Don't sweat the small stuff, I suppose. It's a cheesy lesson, of sorts.

Me and my teen-mates

Writing News

This is the wankiest thing to say, but I'm going to do it anyway. Ready? I LOVE hanging out with my characters! Look, I warned you. The thing is, it's SO cathartic. Writing teen Leeza and teen Jake means I get to relive my youth, chill with cooler people than I was, and experience all the firsts all over again. Last week I wrote a scene where one of the characters has their first 'proper' kiss. (i.e not the spin the bottle sort.) It perked me right up! I never got this sort of high when I was teaching. (I mean, it was cool when a kid finally got a tricky concept and you suddenly saw the lightbulb go on, but still.) Living through every detail that happens to my fictional mates, is life-affirming. The problem is, it only happens now in the first draft. In a year's time, when this story will be out in the world, I'll have become so dulled to the magic, I won't get the same high. There'll be other highs by then, but buzzing off every sweet plot development, is a first draft experience. For me anyway. Over the next week or so, I'll be finishing the first draft. It's a huge milestone in any novel, and I'll definitely celebrate reaching it. Ngl, it'll be bitter sweet as well. Sigh. Farewell my lovely made-up mates. Soon  I will leave you.

Culture

I'm aware that I have a tendency towards hyperbole. I'm OK with that. There's enough negativity in the world without me using my weekly Culture paragraph to slag off other people's creative endeavours. If I've enjoyed something, I'll write about it here. I consume lots of telly, many films, and occasional books and theatre in the week. I can't reference them all. That means I pick the stuff I've found to be the most brilliant, and big it up for anyone that's stumbled across this blog. 

Betty White being marvellous
will have to do in lieu of
ACTUAL Big Boys gifs.

This week, I fear my hyperbole meter may explode. Honestly, I CANNOT praise this show any higher. Big Boys (Ch4) just dropped its third and final series. I'd seen the previous two and really enjoyed them. They told the story of Jack and Danny, two students who meet at the start of Uni. Jack's gay and just lost his dad, Danny's straight with an extrovert personality that masks his own struggles. The series follows their best bud friendship, through foam parties and bad dates, assignments and family trauma. Despite the pathos, it's also piss-funny. The 2010's setting is mined for comedy with the love for Alison Hammond being a regular reference point. So far, so good, right? But series three dropped last week. To say it takes it up a notch is an understatement. All the beats are there - the humour, the poignancy. But we're nearing the end of third year. The friends are looking to the future. And, just as happened at the end of series two, the narrative structure is there to play with. Jack Rooke's script is a MASTERCLASS in how to tell a story. He's been narrating it from episode one, but only now do we fully realise why and to who. I CANNOT recommend it highly enough. Honestly, it's properly great, for realsies. OK, hyperbole over. I need a lie down.

Food and Drink

Welcome to more tales of Bond's experimental kitchen exploits. I've kind of invented a sauce. Actually on second thoughts, of course I haven't invented it. Someone somewhere in the world will have done this already. It's probably someone's national dish. There are literally no new ideas anymore, so to assume this is my recipe is hugely cocky. But to me, this is both new, and a revelation. Here's what happened. It was the day before the big shop and I was trying to cobble together my tea from the random stuff in the cupboards. I had pasta so all I needed was a sauce. Look, I'll cut the chase and tell you what I did. No one needs an exciting build up.

Ingredients 

• 

  Roasties with my
  paprika-y sauce.

  1 tin of anchovies in olive oil
• 1 tbs smoked paprika 
• 1tbs parmesan
• 1 crushed garlic clove
• 1 tbs tomato puree
• A splash of water

Method

Whizz together until its an oozy paste, warm through on the hob, and stir through pasta. 

Ta-daa! It was a taste sensation. I made it again on Saturday night as a patatas bravas style topping to my roasties. A happy accident and a new sauce to my repertoire. (I think it's the only sauce in my repertoire, if we're not counting packets of Colmans.)

Sunday vibes

Out and About

The trouble with finding a great new place for brunch is that you want to have brunch every day. Just me? I've come to realise I much prefer a brunch to an evening restaurant meal. I haven't decided if that's down to a preferred time of day, or the food choices on offer. Regardless, Botanico in Woolton is my new place. Sunday morning's have never been so much fun.

Have fun, whatever you're doing. Enjoy the things in your life that cause their own hyperbolic reactions, and whatever you do, stop stressing over the lettuce.

Have a lovely week, folks.

Feeling the Love?..

It's Valentine's day on Friday. Are you feeling the love? I'm lucky to have reached both an age, and a reasonable level of self-esteem, where I don't need to be showered with shiny red tat in order to feel valued. Hurrah for me! Obviously, if Valentine's presents are your thing, crack on! You do you. But it does mean that while the rest of the world is engaging in en masse romantic gestures, I get to scan the horizon and find something marvellous to do for myself. 

In other news (that'll become relevant in a sec) it's thirty years since my second favourite film was released. That's mad! Before Sunrise came out in 1995 and it hasn't aged a day. The plot - where two strangers hit it off on a train and spend the rest of the day talking in Vienna - needs no modern remake. It's timeless. We still have trains! We still meet people! We still have convos, right? Before Sunrise has lived deep in my heart for many years. But here's the thing. It's often classed as a romance. A soppy boy meets girl film. If you watch this trailer, the burst of 90s guitar at the start, coupled with those specifically selected snippets, wrap it up with a big red bow. I'm not a fan. Of the trailer that is. It misses the vibe of the film, completely. 

Julie Delpy, playing
 Celine, representing ME.

This is a film about THE MEANING OF LIFE. I first watched it when I was nineteen, with the whole of adulthood stretching before me. I identified with everything Celine said. She was me! I was onscreen! I may have been represented as a French blonde woman, but the similarities were UNCANNY. The film is about the ease of connection, that you're particularly susceptible to, when you're young - before cynicism and life experience have bashed out your gut instincts of hope and optimism. It's about seeing your life as something you can control and shape. It's about the urge to make sense of the world in order to learn how to live in it. This movie is not a fluffy romance. But hey, if you want a neat and tidy genre for something that defies such definition, I guess romance is as good as any. Romance, schomance, it's still one of the best films ever.

So lets cut to the chase. Because of the thirtieth anniversary, and because it's Romance's special day this week, some cinemas are showing Before Sunrise on the big screen. It took me approximately three and a half seconds to book my ticket. I don't need to be told twice. I did do a quick check with the person I share a life with, to make sure he was otherwise engaged, and that was it. My Friday night was sorted. Forget your romantic meals, your chocolates, flowers, or underwear. I'll be spending Valentine's night having a solo cinema sesh with one of the great film-loves of my life. Here's hoping you also have the night of your dreams.

This is the likely fate of my Mac.

Writing News

Like I said last time, the end is nigh. The end of the first draft of my next Leeza McAuliffe book, that is. The next stage will see me editing the shiz out of it. But first! I'm going to have a break. A break from the book, at least. The writer, John Niven, once advised (via Twitter) that after your first draft is done, put it in a drawer and leave it for six months. That's the kind of distance you need in order to edit effectively. I've not got six months, I've got one. In March, I'll be either fixing or upgrading my laptop, and then ironing out some background character issues that have arisen. 

If you watched Junior
Taskmaster you may
remember Persia. 
 She's the only person I've
ever seen - in real life
or the telly - that looks 
how I imagine Leeza.
There are no gifs of her,
online, so here's a generic
TM one, instead.

You see, I know my main characters well. Leeza and Jake's voices are clear in my mind. I know what they think, feel, want, and dislike on any topic. The same goes for Mum, Dad, Grandma, Spike, Cait, and Tom. But that's not the whole cast list. There's Leeza's school mates to think about. I know their names. Bella, Cayla, James, Owen and Lexi. These are some of the people that get mentioned when school scenes take place. The problem? They're just names. Cayla and Bella have become interchangable in my head, and James and Owen are blank outlines. I need to tighten up these minor characters. I need to know what they think and feel, even if it never comes up in the story. If I'm not distinguishing them in my mind, how on earth can a reader? When March rocks up in a few weeks, my draft might be in a metaphorical drawer, but now you know what I'll be working on instead.

Culture

You never forget your first Shakespeare. For me, The Merchant of Venice was my gateway drug. My dealers were Mrs. McCormack and Mr. O'Brien. I inhaled, snorted, and injected that stuff right into my veins. I LOVED it. It was the most interesting text I'd ever studied. There was something intoxicating about cracking the code of the language. I was fascinated to read about human emotions and behaviours that continued to exist centuries later. A few weeks into my GSCE English Lit. course and I was hooked. Shakespeare was my bag. 

Over the years I've seen many productions. It's always a play I want to revisit, despite its dark themes, and that's just what I did on Thursday night. The Merchant of Venice 1936 came to Liverpool. This is another reason why I love a Shakespeare. There are seemingly infinite ways to present the same text. This version had its setting in London's East End, just as Mosley and fascism were on the rise. Antonio, Bassanio, and Gratiano were thugs in black shirts. Their racism, thinly veiled at the start, was overt and violent by the end. The play, despite being written centuries ago, felt hugely relevant in the current climate. And having a female Shylock highlighted the other characters' prejudice much more clearly. It was excellent theatre.

This tasted FIT.

Food and Drink

Since my lemon curd exploits last week, I've been borderline obsessed with the stuff. I must reiterate how I've never felt the need to buy a jar. But the home made stuff? You can feed it into my veins with my Shakespeare. On Saturday, with an empty day ahead, I found myself Googling recipes that include lemon curd. There are a surprisingly large number of them. Overwhelmed with choice, I did what I should have done at the start. I retreated into the welcoming safety and comfort of Nigella. This is her lemon meringue cake. It wasn't especially quick to make, but it was easy. I spent a happy Saturday whisking my troubles away.

Out and About

Now that the January hibernation period is over, people are ready to come out and play. I had a meal with an old mate last week - thank you Billinge for hosting - and then beers with another mate on Friday. Because of an excessive number of school children getting on my bus, I was late to the station so missed my train into town. The upshot? I stayed on the delayed bus as it was also travelling into Liverpool. The problem? It took the best part of two hours to get there. I KNOW. I could have driven to Carlisle or Warwick in that time! Despite my elongated journey, a happy evening was had by all, me and my mate put the world to rights, and I got over my bus trauma quick enough.

Enjoy your romantic assignations, if that's your thing. Enjoy leaning into the second third of the month, if that's what floats your boat. But most of all, just enjoy whatever the week throws up. Yeah? Can we at least have a go at that? Excellent.

Have a lovely week, folks.

Too Many Snoozes...

It's taken a month but 2025 is finally on track. The diggers have left, the pit in my garden's been filled, and my own personal sewage is whizzing through a shiny new tank as we speak. 

Deadlines schmeadlines

It's all systems go for the rest of the year. I've got deadlines schmeadlines littered throughout, and a book to birth by the start of 2026. It's doable, for sure. The trouble is, if I float around in a creative bubble without actually doing the graft, the year will go nowhere. Nothing will get finished, and I'll still be wanging on, twelve months from now. 

Take this morning, for example. I woke up knowing I had a whole day in an empty house, to bash out this blog and write the last sixth of my current chapter. Piece of piss! Well, let's take a look at what happened. My alarm went off at 7am. Standard. I switched it off and waited for the following alarms of 7.30am and 8am to gently signpost that I was ready to start the day. Except! Knowing I had a whole day, an empty house, and a manageable amount of writing, my semi-conscious mind thought... 'Nah.' I rolled over, did NOT set another alarm, and gave myself an extra ten minutes. 

My thoughts this
morning!

Fast forward to 10am. I woke up, thought, 'Oh shit!' got over it, and rolled back over. Several games of Candy Crush later, I started listening to a podcast. At 11am, when I finally decided it was time to emerge, I used my posh shower gel, took longer to dry my hair, and decided now was a good time to trim my fringe. Then it was lunch... can you see where I'm going with this? Now, after lots of stops and starts, I'm sitting at my desk and typing these sentences. It's 1pm. The day has gone nowhere! I've got to finish this and get my  chapter done - all before meeting friends at 6.30pm? I AM NOW STRESSED.

This is my worry for the year. I've GOT to stick to my deadlines and ignore all distractions. If the next book's publication date is early 2026, I'll have managed it. Any later than that, and you'll know what happened. 

Writing News

My bit of chapter I'm writing today, will be the end of Chapter Ten. I've got to do Eleven and Twelve, and then the first draft is done. Woohoo! A strange thing happens when you write a story. To me, at least. No matter how detailed my plan is, and no matter how much I've plotted the ending, it always comes out differently in the wash. The basic plot doesn't necessarily change, but new subtexts emerge. Nuances you hadn't realised, pop up by the end. Then, when you go back and edit, you find ways of signposting those themes earlier on. Joel Morris wrote about it recently in regard to The Traitors edit. Whether you like The Traitors or not, it's a fascinating read on the way novels, especially mystery novels are written. I'm looking forward to getting to the end of my new Leeza McAuliffe story.  I want to find out what the vibes of the novel actually are. They're always a surprise.

Culture

We're in the midst of awards season! I'm not obsessed with the ceremonies themselves, simply the abundance of film options at the cinema. This is the upside from the barren listings of the summer. What's that quote? Something about living through the darkest night so we can see the dawn? Summer kids' films are the blackest of nights, and January is the beautiful dawn! A couple of weeks ago I watched A Real Pain. On paper, it sounds simple. A road movie around Poland, with two odd-couple cousins, searching for the place their grandmother once lived. It's comedic and witty and that's about it. Except, it's so much more than that. Both cousins are dealing with their own shit. They're in Poland as part of a Holocaust tour, with others making sense of their own family history. Then, part way through, the film shows the coach tour's visit to the real life concentration camp, Majdanek. The silent scenes in the camp - ones that follow laugh-out-old moments and comedically verbose dialogue - are incredibly affecting. A remarkable film on many levels and one that stayed with me afterwards. Then, last weekend I was back at the cinema for A Complete Unknown. I went in, not knowing much about Bob Dylan. I came out... not knowing much about Bob Dylan. I think that's the point. Is he an enigmatic genius or an up-himself pseud? Maybe he's both? The film doesn't seek to find an answer. What I do know is that Timothée Chalamet gives an outstanding performance and I'd watch it again for that alone. Also, the scenes set in Greenwich Village made me long to live in a time where you could literally sense creativity and art on the streets. The hubbub of those scenes was intoxicating.

Not authentic but utterly gorge!

Food and Drink

I know, I know, I'm not Scottish. But how marvellous that instead of a patron saint or a random king, it's a poet that gets celebrated every year. Burns Night was last week and, as usual, I culturally appropriated it to hell. I had veggie haggis, neeps and tatties for my tea, along with smoked salmon blinis for lunch. I also rode roughshod over another Scottish culinary delight. Cranachan. I see it on menus every time I'm north of the border, and I'm sure it's delicious. Except I don't like cream and I'm not fussed about whiskey. However, that same day, in unrelated news, I'd read a recipe for lemon curd. Did you know how easy it is to make? My mind started to fizz and next thing you know, I'd worked out my own homage to cranachan. Not authentic in anyway, but with kinda similar vibes. And so it came to pass, that on Saturday night after the haggis, I served Bondie's Non-Authentic Cranachan With Lemon Curd. There was no real recipe. I mixed curd and Greek yogurt, added some raspberries, and plopped more curd on top. I served it with home-made shortbread and it was DELISH. Once again, apologies to Robbie Burns and the entirety of Scotland. I do it out of love.

Out and About

I love a pub quiz. There's something about being asked to recall the capital cities of Africa that makes me feel alive. That was one of the questions at the pub quiz I attended last week. Actually it was 'Put the countries that have these capital cities, into alphabetical order. Then, on the iPad, popped up Tunis, Algiers, Cairo, and Nairobi. Because, yes! Did I not mention it? This was a pub quiz on a SCREEN! Ngl, I missed my paper and pen. When it's an interactive screen based quiz, it's not really about knowledge of capitals or Shakespeare plays. It's about speed. Fastest finger gets most points. Still, I enjoyed it. I even remembered from the depths of my brain that Sixpence None the Richer sang Kiss Me. (My team had my Dawson's Creek CD to thank for that.) Anyway, thanks to The Cookhouse in Rainhill. Your quiz night was fun, even if it was a little frenzied.

I"m going to have to leave it here. That sixth of the chapter won't write itself. And it's already 3pm. I can safely say I've frittered away my empty house and writing hours. This can stand as a lesson to us all. Crack on and get the job done. Only then can you play Candy Crush and trim your fringe to your hearts content. Learn from my mistakes! Don't waste your time!

Have a lovely week, folks.