The Curse is Lifted...

I'm currently waiting to enter a Ticketmaster queue. Send snacks.

Seriously, I HATE the ticket-buying process. I've been forever scarred by Eurovision 2023. The combination of adrenaline, pressure, and crashing disappointment provided the fraughtest morning of my life. It was my own fault for wanting to attend something popular. 

My normal gig choices are less high-profile. I stumble across an event, check out what's left, then buy tickets months after release. I like it that way. Easy peasy, lemon squeezy. 

Me in 1992: 
The Take That gigging days

Less so, this morning. On behalf of my sister and her mate, I find myself waiting for Take That tickets. Take That? Is it the NINETIES? As with Oasis last year, I find myself saying, 'I was there the first time round' whenever Take That get mentioned. I really was. The year was 1992. The venue was the St. Helens Show. My school friend and I had heard of the band because they'd had one hit in the charts. We stood in a sweatbox of a shed/makeshift stage and listened to numerous support acts that padded out the time. When Take That finally appeared, they sang approximately six songs and played their big hit twice. My first gig. 

I've never felt the need to repeat the Take That experience but I'm sure it's different these days. They probably won't be reprising  It Only Takes a Minute Girl at the Etihad. Who knows? Hopefully my sister and her friend will be there to find out. If I ever get to the front of this queue, that is.

Writing News

I'm still whittling the wood, chiselling the marble, and trimming the split ends. What other metaphors can I throw at you, or perhaps you'd like a simile? It's like painting the Forth Bridge. As soon as you get to the end of the manuscript, you have to go to the start and repeat. All this is to say, I'm keeping on, keeping on.

Making notes about
 a film Phil will hate.

In other writing news, I spent last night watching a film for my podcast. In Lights, Camera... Aggro? me and Phil, who have very different tastes in film, watch the same movie and discuss. Last night, I watched what we'll be discussing on October 15th. That meant, I had to write notes, form opinions, and analyse the thing. It can sometimes feel like homework - especially when it's one of Phil's choices, lolz - but when it's one of my faves, it's a joy. Exactly like being in a book club or an English Lit seminar - just with films. Wait, is that what Film Studies would be like? Is it too late to change my major? I think twenty-six years after graduation, it probably is. Anyway, last week's episode about Superman is here for your listening ears.

Culture

The Women's Super League season has started. I'm sure I've made this point before, but despite being decidedly non-sporty, I love the way a live match will perk me up. Like my endorphins are released by simply watching others perform in fresh air. 

Matt Beard

Last Wednesday, I was at the Liverpool v Sunderland match. This one was special. A few days earlier, Matt Beard - Liverpool's manager until this season - had died. He was my age. The atmosphere felt particularly charged. A moving tribute and minute's silence, two minutes of chanting Matt Beard's mighty reds at volume, and so much support for the players that were grieving. Liverpool scored five goals that night, which felt exactly right. For Matt.

Food and Drink

Oh pizza, you're the best. So many iterations, so much room for manoeuvre, so impossible to balls up. Last week, I had a Saturday night fuelled by dirty martinis and the most glorious pizza I ever did see. You want to know the topping? Course you do. Brush the base with olive oil, sprinkle a layer of rocket, add sliced figs, sliced brie, a sprinkle of grated cheddar, crushed walnuts, and a drizzle of honey. Ta-dah! You've got yourself a Saturday night.

Out and About

It's been a two-match week. Liverpool played Manchester United yesterday - more endorphins by proxy. Other than that, it's been quiet. Hibernation vibes are in the air. For the match, I seriously layered up for the first time this year. Give me a t-shirt, v-neck jumper, and coat combo any time.

I guess you'll be wanting some closure, won't you? Well, I can confirm, that since I typed this post's opening paragraph, the ticket queue has moved. It moved so much that by the time I was talking about changing my major from Psychology to Film Studies, I'd become the happy recipient of two tickets for Take That. Finally! The ticket selling Gods are no longer against me. I've lifted the curse! Maybe I should try for Glastonbury tickets if it's this easy! There's a whole new world out there, filled with high-demand performances and thousands of screaming fans. Bring it on!

Have a lovely week, folks.

Getting My Protest On...

There's nothing like a good protest to clear your head. 

After weeks of both avoiding the news and doomscrolling 'til late, enough was enough. It was time to put down the screen and get some fresh air. Last Wednesday, that's exactly what I did. I got the train to London and joined thousands of others incensed at the fascist rhetoric being spewed on the daily, at the Stop Tr*mp march.

Here are my thoughts from being on the ground. 

1. People are lovely.

2. The mood was positive, upbeat, and passionate.

3. There were loads of different groups and campaigns represented. 

4. Police officers were dotted along the route but were relaxed. I saw no trouble.

5. Being part of a group of like-minded people, was MUCH needed. 

It really was an eclectic bunch. Everyone from pro-Palestinian groups, to Jewish socialists, to Pro-EU marchers, to LGBTQIA+ people and allies, to Amnesty UK, to climate change activists, to people campaigning about violence against girls and women...  the list went on. There were also people like me. No flags or banners; simply wanting to add our voice to the mix. 

The upshot was, that when I came home, I felt more positive than before. The thing is, I understand the need for careful diplomacy. I understand, what with the state of the world, the importance of exhausting all peaceful attempts at situation-calming. I understand the need to offer - like a shiny trinket to a whinging baby - a state visit invitation. Once that visit was underway, however, I also understood the need to protest. We all have our part to play, and I'd be horrendous at diplomacy.

 

Writing News

The manuscript is down to 63,000 words! I REALLY want to get that last pesky 3000 deleted. That's my mission. It will be a similar length to the first two Leeza McAulifffe books, use a similar number of pages, and therefore cost a similar price. Then, stand by beta readers - aka assorted siblings, siblings in law, and parents - you'll be getting emailed.

Culture

OMG, The Girlfriend on Amazon Prime is FAB. Like a cross between a soap opera and a classy psychological thriller, it's twisty-turny and you constantly reassess what you think. Warning: It might be triggering for anyone with an overbearing mother-in-law. Just saying.

 

In other news, I'm rereading a book from 2000 called Boiling a Frog. This was the first Christopher Brookmyre book I ever read, starting me on the path of ALL his stuff. What's interesting is how well it holds up today. It's a political crime thriller set in Scotland. Think back - it's the new millennium, with New Labour, and a newly devolved Scotland. Everyone's happy. Or are they? The tone is something like 'after years of the Tories, this is better, but is it really?' type thing. The thriller part is good too, but the political snapshot of the times is fascinating.  

Food and Drink

It was bound to happen, wasn't it. Mere weeks after I discovered Joe and the Juice and my new favourite weekend lunch (a Tunacado with a Go Away Doc please) I've only gone and bought a juicer.

Juicy carnage

I know, I know. It's another gadget that'll get used once, gather dust, then be consigned to the back of a cupboard, but hear me out. After being particularly hungover last week, I woke up craving a Go Away Doc juice. This is carrot, apple, and ginger in liquid form. It's refreshing, restorative, and more importantly, tasty. In order to get one, I had to make the thirty minute trip into town. Except there was a football match on that day, so thirty minutes took an hour. Then, I had to make the same extended journey back home. The upshot is, I've realised I can't be making a two-hour round trip every Saturday, just for a drink. That was my logic when I succumbed. So far, my juicer is my new favourite thing. I'm well aware the feeling won't last.

Out and About

Last week I promised you an unexpected shenanigan. Well, London in a day is definitely worth a mention. I left the house at 9.30am and got back in at 10pm. Knackering! The over-long day isn't because it takes hours and hours to get to the capital and back. Nope, it's simply that the cheaper train fares are early and late. Luckily I had a book to read as well as the march, so that filled out the time nicely.

So what's the plan this week? Are we well? Are we embracing autumn knits? Are we thriving? Whether we are or we not, doesn't matter. We're here, we're cracking on, and we're making the best of it. Til the next time.

Have a lovely week, folks.

Soup of the Day and VPNs...

Are you counting down the days? Course you are! In just two more tiny sleeps, your new movie podcast, Lights, Camera... Aggro? will be arriving on YouTube. 

Yes, on Wednesday 17th September, you can hear my valiant attempts to introduce Phil to the absolute classic, Clueless. Can you imagine reaching your sixth decade in life before discovering the joy of Cher, Dionne, and Tai. Me either. Luckily for Phil, our podcast format came along before it was too late. He was made to watch Clueless and discuss it with me at length. What a treat for him! Subscribe here so you don't miss out on my utter exasperation.

The podcast has been occupying all my spare moments but my non-spare time has been devoted to the OG creative project, Leeza McAuliffe Book 3. Full details in Writing News below, but the key point is, time is tight. That used to annoy me when I had a 'proper' job but now it feels marvellous. 

Writing News

Arghhhh the headache of picking a title! That's my current stress. I'd love to get the front cover process started but that can't happen without a title. So what's the problem? Well, the previous two books - Leeza McAuliffe Has Something To Say and Leeza McAuliffe Has Loads More To Say - have set the tone. The name Leeza McAuliffe needs to be in the title and it ideally needs a similar scansion. That's where it starts to unravel. Any ideas that fit the flow and pattern of the previous titles, sound bland and forced. The urge to replicate a syllabic pattern shoves any interesting phrase out of the window. In the past week, I've shared this headache with three sets of friends - my writing pals, my Wednesday brunch mates, and my sixth form gang. It got everyone thinking and a whole bunch of suggestions were made. How lovely is that? I'm now mulling over an idea or two. It's getting closer. I can feel it. 

Brendan, Rebecca, and Hannah of Shrine.
Utter LEGENDS.

Culture 

Folks, I've got my first VPN! It was time. And what's the international broadcast that I've been forced to get techy for? Why, it's the Traitors Ireland, of course. We're currently into the third week of absolute shenanigans and I'm loving every single second. More importantly, Shrine Pod is doing the Lord's work and putting out companion episodes for every broadcast. If you listen to S1EP6 at 1.03hr then you'll hear my considered comment read out. (NSFW FYI). It's been an absolute blast, as have been all the Traitors series, and I'm gutted it ends next week.*

In more Culture news, I went to the cinema and watched The Roses. It's a remake of War of the Roses which I'd never seen. Perhaps if I had, the ending wouldn't have come as such a surprise. Still, it's lots of fun and Olivia Colman is excellent as usual. Other than that, I'm rewatching the sitcom Plebs on Netflix, I've seen off Death Valley on iPlayer, and finally got round to Jesse Armstrong's Moutainhead on Sky. It's a particularly chilling fiction about a world controlled by emotionally illiterate tech bros. No similarities to real life at all. At least that's what I'm telling myself so I can sleep at night.

Food and Drink

Soup season is here. I've declared it. That's why  I've been obsessively batch-making tomato soup for my lunch each day - and when I say obsessively, I mean twice. It's easy peasy lemon squeezy. Shove a load of mid-sized tomatoes into a roasting dish and bung in the oven on a low heat. After forty-five minutes, add garlic and whatever veg you've got. (I used celery, onion, and carrot.) Twenty mins later, pour it into a bowl. Season, whizz up, and add a bit of stock to loosen. BOOM. It's tasty, warming, and fit with grated cheese. Get your soup on!

Out and About

The week's been so busy with the usual stuff  I've had no time for anything unusual. There's been writing in Costa, my Wednesday brunch, a station pick up for my brother, and my writing pals meet up for drinks and book chat. The rest of the time I've been slumped in front of my laptop. Next week, I will do my best to have at least one unexpected shenanigan. Promise.

Have a lovely week, folks.

*The Traitors Ireland is on the RTE player and I've been enjoying seeing the end of the news, the weather, and the Irish ads too. Lots of references in the show go over my head. I'm not Irish you see. That's makes sense. There was one mission where the contestants had to translate Irish words and I loved it. I didn't understand what was being said, but it was fascinating. Shamefully, my personal experience of Ireland is Guinness in Temple Bar. This show, as well as the news, ads, and  weather beforehand, is giving me just a little bit more insight. Isn't life more interesting when we open ourselves up to new experiences.

Intentionally Balancing...

If a friend jovially called me a daft c**t, I'd take it in good humour. Strap in, gang, we're hitting the ground running today.

Conversely if a stranger looked me dead in the eye, and with all the vitriol they could muster, called me a silly billy, I'd feel quite threatened. It's about intention, you see. Intending to threaten, hurt, or belittle can be done with the most benign of phrases. SILLY BILLY, BUM FACE or any other childish taunt you remember - when uttered with hatred - can be as chilling as the strongest swear.

It's the same with the English flag. When waved in celebration of a national achievement - the Lionesses winning the Euros, for example - it's a positive symbol of sporting excellence. Benign and upbeat. Lovely. When waved outside a hotel, crammed with human beings at a desperate time, it's an oppressive disgrace. At the time of writing, in the village I live near, there are St George crosses all over the place. Never having been previously displayed for a sporting event, it's fair to conclude they've been hoisted in solidarity with far-right politics. 

The immediate consequence of this is, I won't be going near them. I'll be avoiding local business and staying out of the way. To me now, the sight of a red cross on a white background, looks threatening. It's become the symbol of cruel and dangerous politics. I want no part of that, so the flag of the country in which I was born and live, excludes me.* It's been co-opted by racists and bullies and that's all I can think when I drive through the village. My stomach sinks when I see them.

But maybe I'm being too harsh. Perhaps I should view the flags from a different perspective; attempt to understand why some people felt moved to hoist them. When far right politicians are given disproportionate news coverage, perhaps it's easy to get swept up. Nigel F*rage leads a party with four MPs. Ed Davey's party has seventy-two. Imagine if every time you read a front page, watched the news, or saw a political Facebook post, Ed Davey's words, and Liberal Democrat policies, were broadcast with the same lack of criticism Reform have enjoyed. It might not make you a Lib Dem voter, but I bet there'd be no anti-refugee protests come summer. 

Perhaps it's clearer when you live outside the country. Last week, Jamie Raskin, a congressman in the US, spoke at the House Judiciary Committee regarding free speech, with reference to the Online Safety Bill in the UK. That's a bit wordy, isn't it. What transpired was simpler. Raskin took issue with F*rage being called to the hearing to speak. He was there to talk about threats to freedom of speech abroad. That's mad. F*rage isn't silenced in the UK. He enjoys establishment support through regular media coverage and the freedom to broadcast via GB News. He is an elected member of parliament. Yet there he was, speaking about his fight for free speech in the UK. As Raskin points out in the video, he's supposed to be representing his constituents in Parliament - a parliament that is sitting right now. Instead he's overseas, building his profile in the US. Let's hope no one in Clacton needed their MP last week. FYI, the clip I shared a couple of sentences ago, does not show him in the shot. I'm not sure I'd share it, if it did.

Like I said, it's all about intention. So what's my intention with this post? Well, I'm not trying to whip up trouble. I'm just counterbalancing some of the stuff that's started popping up on my Facebook. There's been a lot of blocking recently. I guess I'm surprised how many people have been sucked in by Reform's misleading rhetoric. Put simply, I look forward to the day when it's widely accepted that racism is bad again, when people stop searching for a vulnerable minority upon which to heap all their frustrations, and when far-right politics shifts a few steps back to the left. Call me a daft c*nt, all you like. As long as you're friendly and jovial, that is.

Have a lovely week, folks.

*I'm acutely aware that as a white person, I'm much safer in this current climate than others. The first letter featured here shows the real-life effects for people of colour.

Dear Diary, Leave Me Alone...

Happy 1st September! If I were minded to rewrite a classic lyric, I'd sing, 'It's a new month, it's a new term, it's a new vibe... and I'm feeling autumnaaaaaaaal.' 🎶 Even if the sun remains as hot as all get out, the mental shift has happened. I'm back in the zone.

But hark, what's this? As I check in with today's calendar, I'm greeted with a slew of instruction. 

• Book MOT this month
• Tax car this month
• Patch!

I'll square with you, the patch part is easy. It's a Monday so it's time to replace my HRT. This bi-weekly event takes no more thought than it took to type this sentence. When added to a bunch of other demands, however, it contributes to a massive admin pile on. Ahh, admin, how I hate you. Admin is the worst part of adulting, hands down. This is not a universal view. Some people actively love it. They're the ones who buzz off a price comparison website. They get a thrill from saving 49p a year after spending the best part of an evening on the phone, balancing a iPad screen on their knees. The thought of it makes my head hurt. I'd pay 49p a year to never deal with admin again.

 

Me, looking at today's
to-do list

Yet the admin still remains. My brain might have shifted towards my happy seasons, but the demands of September admin are pulling me back to overwhelmed frustration. I know what you're thinking. The time I've spent ranting about the issue, could have been spent booking my MOT. You're right, you're right, I know you're right. Yet here I am... still typing, still procrastinating, and still not having booked my MOT. It's a September conundrum. Argghhh.

I WILL find it. I will find that story!

Writing News

The editing process is getting FORENSIC. I'm now reading every single sentence and making a value judgement. Does it move along the plot? Is it a call back for later? Does it enlarge upon a character or theme? If the answer to those questions is no, then it goes. Highlight and delete. It's a surprisingly effective method at lowering word count. An hour with Chapter Six yesterday, managed to reduce the total by five hundred words. That's 10% of the chapter; a sensible amount to delete. We're still not totally there in terms of a tight story that flows, but we're closer than we were.

Whether you want him
to be or not, 
Hutch is back!

Culture

Thursday was a film heavy day. First of all, I made a cinema trip to see Nobody 2. I'd enjoyed the original, but not left the cinema feeling the need for a sequel. To be fair, I rarely leave the cinema feeling the need for a sequel. I prefer it when a script brings the story to completion. Still, Nobody 2 came out and it provided a  reasonably enjoyable couple of hours. Was it necessary? No! Would I watch it again? No! Was it enjoyable nonetheless? Yeah! 

When I got home, I had another two hours to kill before I had to collect my brother from the station. What to do with those two hours? Well, it'd been bought to my attention - repeatedly via social media - that Thursday was the day that Netflix's The Thursday Murder Club dropped. I whacked it on, had just enough time for a wee during the closing credits, before I was out the door, en route to Warrington Bank Quay. So, what did I think? Well, it's fine. No, it's better than fine, it's good. It looks right. It feels right. The book's plot has been simplified for the screen, which is probably right too. There was just something not quite right that I couldn't put my finger on. It took me the drive to Warrington and back to finally work it out. Here's the thing. It wasn't funny. Sure, there was the odd funny line, but my main memory of the book was the Victoria Wood-like wit that leapt off the page. This was mostly through Joyce's diary. Her entries are how we get to know Joyce and her thoughts. In the film, for entirely understandable reasons, the diary writing has gone. We see Joyce's personality solely through her interactions with the other characters. I think that made it less funny. Hey ho, it enjoyably filled my spare two hours and gave me something to ponder on my late night drive.

Food and Drink

I'm not from New Orleans. Sorry if that's a shock but it's true. That being said, I love a muffuletta. I saw it made on a nineties cookery show - can't remember which one - and it's been part of my repertoire ever since. A quick note before we begin. As clearly stated above, I'm not from New Orleans. This food is not my heritage. I'm comfortable with tweaking, adapting, and ostensibly anglicising a recipe, as long as it's made clear that's what's been done. You want a legit muffuletta recipe? You'll need to look that up. You want a tasty, muffuletta-inspired concoction made from ingredients sourced from a UK supermarket? Then read on, baby.

Let's face it, recipe is too strong a term for what's ostensibly a sandwich. Get yourself some crusty bread. I used a ciabatta this time. Slice in half, then layer up with tasty things. Sliced cheese, meats, and pickled veggies in jars, for example. Things like roasted peppers, sun-dried tomatoes, olives, tapenade, gherkins, or artichokes. I added rocket, mainly to nudge up the five-a-day tally, as well as a couple of sauces. Mayo was slathered on one half of the bread, and fresh pesto on the other. The olive oil from the jarred veggies is a welcome addition to the whole shebang. Let it drip all over the place. Don't eat this whilst wearing something you want kept nice. This is a messy, all-encompassing feast of a butty. The making of it is fun too.

A smattering of siblings

Out and About

This weekend saw a family get together round my sister's gaff. She lives a couple of hours north, and the drive is a delight or a headache depending on the whims of the M62 and M1. Happily, this time, the trip was a delight. Enough journey to listen to a curated playlist, but not so long that it got to the end and began to repeat. The day with the family was good fun. I've said it before and I'm sure I'll say it again, having multiple siblings spread around the country, is cracking. I get to visit places I'd never go, if they'd all stayed in one place. Fab stuff.

It's good the siblings have spread. I, however, live in the same town in which I spent most of my youth. That won't be the case forever, but for now, it's how it is. The good news is that my regular stints on Rightmove have found a variety of of houses and apartments I'd buy in a heartbeat. If I could stomach all the admin, that is.

Have a lovely week, folks.