Closure, Culture, and Comté...

Hello Pier Head, looking good!

I must provide closure. Last time I did a weekly update - a fortnight ago - I was all poised to bag some lovely Eurovision tickets when they were released the following day. Did I manage it? Did I buggery. Like the legion of Eurofans I follow on Twitter, I was unsuccessful. But what a morning it was. The online community of fellow ESC obsessives was out in force. Sharing stories of the queue, posting pictures of Ticketmaster's notification pages as they happened, commiserating when screens froze or people were unlucky after all the waiting. It was exactly as joyous as it could have been in the circumstances. I've no idea who got tickets for the final, but the queue for the Friday Preview Show was gone in forty five minutes. That's when I got to the front. Despite many, many people messaging me that day and commiserating, I am upbeat. The Saturday final is a TV show, so I'm happy to watch from my sofa. But for the week leading up to that, the Pier Head sounds like the place to be. I'm giddy just thinking about it. 

Here's Leeza Book One
for anyone that wants 
to catch up.

Writing News
I've been doing simple but necessary edits this week. The new Leeza McAuliffe story is told in diary form. So information such as family birthdays and her school holiday dates need to be consistent. (She'd have written them in at the beginning of the year, right?) Also, she records the start of her period every month so that needs to be consistent too. I've also gone through and checked spellings on names. Her brother Blane got called Blaine for a few chapters (I forgot!) so that's been ironed out, and I introduced a friend called Kayla that I changed to Cayla mid-draft. That needed to be checked. It's time consuming and laborious but essential nonetheless. 

I LOVE Michael Urie.

Culture 
I hesitate to recommend anything on Apple TV because so few people have it, but now Ted Lasso is back, perhaps viewers will use their free trials and whatnot. If so, look up Shrinking. It's written by the same people behind Ted Lasso and is another funny and poignant look at modern men navigating modern life. Jason Segal plays the lead, with excellent support from Harrison Ford, Jessica Williams, and my absolute fave, Michael Urie. I also watched Aftersun, just in time to see it win nothing at the Oscars. Booo. It was so good. A sweetly sad story of childhood memories tangled up with adulthood realities. Because of the Oscars, I also watched Everything Everywhere All at Once, which I enjoyed. (Was it worth Best Picture? Not sure.) And then to top off my cultural week, I literally ran (not really) to the Odeon for the opening night of Scream VI. I LOVE the Scream movies. They never let me down. This one was no exception. I walked out happy and satisfied.

Food photography is
not my calling.

Food and Drink
You know when you've eaten something and you can't stop thinking about it for days afterwards? Just me? Fair enough. But for my starter last Saturday, I had Twice Baked Cheddar and Comté Souflé. It was spot on. If you look at the photo, you'll see I'd had a good go of it before remembering to record it for posterity. No matter. The cheesiness was light and fluffy, and the accompanying apple, rocket, and walnut salad (with a mustardy dressing I think) set the rich flavour off perfectly. I have - natch - attempted my own version at home. It was nothing, and I mean NOTHING like the original. I basically made quiche. No matter. I have my memories.

Out and About
The fit soufflé was in Maidenhead, where I spent an evening for my brothers birthday. Their Premier Inn is another one to add to my Premier Inns I have Stayed list. I also had a night at The Wine Club in Rainhill which is always brilliant. Other than that, it's been a mad week of shopping. I've got a household full of birthdays this week, so there's been a few Prosecco runs. I also helped one of my brothers host Mother's Day by providing some fish. It's been all go.

In a few days, I'll be celebrating my birthday. Exciting! Let's hope all our weeks involve as much anticipation, attention and giddiness as I'm assuming mine will. (Lolz. I can but dream!) Until next time!

Have a lovely week, folks.

Time Marches On, Equality Should Too...

A reconstruction of
my general thoughts
in 1993.

I remember sitting in Biology in 1993. I was bemoaning the fact that my latest sibling was on the way and I said to my teacher (shout out to Mr. O'Callaghan!) 'When the kid's my age, I'll be thirty!' I was in shock, and filled with - let's face it - the understandable disgust an almost fifteen-year-has about their parents procreating. He answered back, 'There's nothing wrong with being thirty,' and that was that. End of conversation. I think he expected me to do some Biology, or something.

It's still clear as day in my head. Except now, the unborn baby being discussed in Room 36 of the science block, is himself, about to turn thirty. This post is not about him. Although Happy Birthday to my brother etc etc. Many happy returns of the day, yadda yadda. It's about me. Of course I'm making this about myself. 

The basic and obvious point that springs to mind is, doesn't time fly? It's been three decades since that exchange happened. Three decades of having that particular brother in the family, and three decades since I was in Year Ten, getting distracted in Biology by my own dramas. It feels like yesterday.

It doesn't look like yesterday, however. It'd be weird if it did. I'm definitely older, wider, (also wiser, but predictive was right first time) wrinklier, greyer, and hormonally all over the place. It's visibly clear that time has passed. Thirty years of time. And even though the hormonal part has caused carnage in recent years, I'd still refuse the chance to turn back the clock. I like being older. I like the fact that my face doesn't look like it did in my Uni photos. I dye my hair for now, but I'm intrigued about not bothering at some point. It's all a bit of fun. Noticing the changes and working with them.

It's what made me most annoyed about the recent Top Gun: Maverick movie. You know, the long-awaited sequel to Top Gun? Everyone I spoke to seemed to think it was an exceptional film. The Academy Awards deemed it worthy of six nominations. But all I could think was, why hasn't Maverick changed in thirty six years? His reckless personality, his dislike of authority, his leather jacket - they all survived the fictional leap through the decades. He rides the same motorbike, he has the same hair cut and colour (OK it's a smidge longer but still) and when the beach volleyball scene happens with the younger pilots, he's jumping and leaping all over the place. Like he did in the first film. On the one hand... good for him? I suppose. On the other, let it go, Tom! Maverick would have been a much more interesting character if you'd thought about the nuanced ways he'd changed over time. 

All this is in my head for a reason. I'm currently editing the second Leeza McAuliffe book. Her story started when Leeza McAuliffe Has Something To Say was published in 2019. She was ten. Now, it's 2023 and I'm writing her experiences as an eleven to twelve year. There are some aspects of Leeza's character that are easy to write. Puberty, high school, friendships, and family are fairly universal. I've written from experience as well as checking with youngsters to pinpoint modern day accuracies. So far so good. But Leeza does not live in isolation. She's a modern day character living in the modern world. When I started creating her from scratch (around 2017) that world was a very different place. Now, six years later, it's all change. Far right governments are on the rise, the rolling back of rights seems to be a daily news item, and the UK government's latest bill is - IMHO - an amoral disgrace. 

Of course, specific news items are not going to make it into Leeza's daily diary entries. That would date the book immediately. But the vibe of those changes has altered things. Screeching headlines about 'wokeness' weren't around when I was writing the first book. (Back then, the press were pushing other aspects of the culture war.) As a bright girl with no inherent dislike of people with different experiences, she's not transphobic or homophobic. She's not racist, (although as I'm a white writer and I've not specified her ethnicity, she's default white with the unconscious bias that brings.) And she has no truck with misogyny, living as she does, with a mother who happily flaunts her inclusive feminism all over the place. My job, as the writer of this fictional character, is to reflect who she is without seeming preachy. The story has to flow naturally without sounding like Leeza has an agenda (which would ultimately be my agenda). The characters have to behave the way they authentically would, based on what we know about them. Even so, the values that Leeza has, make her appear far more progressive now, than she was in the first book. The book that narratively took place one year earlier, but was actually written five or six years before. 

Maybe it's because of this that Tom Cruise and his creative team decided Maverick should stay as he was. It's much easier to pretend nothing's changed. If I make Leeza unaware of the injustices around her, or simply self-centred, I can ignore these concerns. It'd be far less headachy to write. But Leeza, like all of us, is shaped by the society in which she lives. She can either accept injustice and cruelty and let it pass her by, or she can be confused and frustrated by the inequalities she sees in the world. It's no spoiler to say, I've chosen to make her go with the latter. Either way, it gives me lots to think about as I tidy up the draft each day.

Phew, look where we ended up! When I started this Ramble, I'd planned to open with the Biology class anecdote, reference the fact that thirty years has flown by, and then see where it went. Of course, it got political! It always does with me. But like Gary Lineker, if I've got a platform (lol, mine's tiny!) I'm going to use it. So let's be clear. Trying to reduce or eradicate the rights of other people, is bang out of order. The most vulnerable groups in society are getting used as political footballs so horrendous people with all the power, can score points. It's grim. It needs to be fought. I can write that on this blog, and I can subtly and naturalistically include it in the outlook and experiences of my fictional characters. Either way, I can't not. 

Reading this back, perhaps I wouldn't refuse the chance to turn back the clock a few years. But not to get rid of my wrinkles. For political purposes only. As time continues to fly, the world around us should progress onwards too. In recent years, it's done the opposite.

Have a lovely week, folks.

Tickets, Tomatoes, and Terrific TV...

You'll have heard already, of course, but the date's finally been announced when Eurovision tickets go on sale. Tuesday 7th March, at 12pm, via Ticketmaster. Since Liverpool was announced as the host city, I've had regular messages from all sorts of people, asking when tickets will be available. I'm clearly seen as some sort of Eurovision oracle. Well, so be it. Heavy is the head that wears the crown - but what a fabulous crown! Anyway, tomorrow's going to be interesting. I imagine Ticketmaster will crash within thirty seconds and I imagine it'll be a stressful lunchtime for many people all over the world. Whatever happens, via my laptop at 12pm, the wider plans for the first fortnight in May look immense. There'll be something for everyone. In the more-than-likely event of my not managing to secure tickets, it'll be absolutely fine. There's still all sorts of Liverpool shenanigans to get involved with. The city's going to be buzzing.

Plus, this
happened on Insta.

Writing 

I spent Tuesday highlighting all the things one of my main characters says out loud. Jake is Leeza's best friend. He has a story arc of his own but we only see it through her eyes. By highlighting everything she reports him saying, I can check consistency, his own story development, and the quality of his character voice. It's not as tricky as it sounds. Basically, does Jake sound like Jake and behave realistically based on what we know he is experiencing as the novel progresses? It's much easier to tell, when I can quickly jump to the highlighted parts. I've also highlighted everything said by Cait, Jake's mum, and Poppy, Leeza's new nemesis. Their voices will get tightened up this week. Fun and games!

We are all Sunny.
(Sanjeev Bhaskar
playing Sunny Kahn.)

Culture
Unforgotten is back. The whole of series five is on ITVX, but it's being shown weekly on ITV. Nicola Walker was killed off at the end of the last series, much to the heartbreak of her fictional colleagues and real life viewers alike. That means there's a new Guv on the murder team. But the writers have done a very clever thing. It's hard to replace a character when the old one was so beloved. As viewers, we're predisposed to dislike DCI Jess James from the start. Cassie (Walker's character) is gone and her team are grieving. This new woman (excellently played by Sinéad Keenan) can't possibly match up. So she's introduced as prickly. She has different crime solving priorities (she's all about the budget!) and we feel as uncomfortable as Sunny and the gang when she's on the job. But to keep us viewers onboard and tuning in every week, the creative team have played a blinder. They've given her a shitty husband. No matter how aggrieved we feel that she's taking Cassie's place, we're still rooting for her. We don't want her to be forced to quit because she's facing the prospect of being a single mum, and needing better working hours. We're uneasy but we want things to work. At some point, I'm sure they will be, and Jess and Sunny will be the dynamic duo they're destined to be. But as openings of a new series go, Unforgotten continues to be exceptional TV. 

My haphazard version of spicy,
tomatoey, peppery soup.
With added feta.

Food and Drink
All this talk of missing tomatoes made me crave - wait for it - home made tomato soup. With very depleted shelves, I managed to get a pack of vine-on cherry toms, and the last pack of padron peppers in Christendom (aka the Sainsburys on East Prescot Road). Here's what I did...

• Throw the tomatoes and peppers into a roasting tray.
• Add a red onion, bulb of garlic and as much chilli as you can stand. Drizzle with olive oil.
•  Roast til soft. Forty minutes or so, perhaps?
• Blitz in the mixer, then add salt, pepper, fresh coriander, boiling water, and Greek yogurt, until you get the desired taste and consistency.

It was spot on. Yet, one small pack of mini tomatoes and a punnet of mini peppers are not conducive to batch cooking. This made enough for three portions. (Perhaps more, if I'd have watered it down further.) But I definitely needed to satisfy the craving or it'd have been all I could think about. It's fair to say, my tomato rations have been used up for the foreseeable future.

Out and About
It's been a much calmer week after all my recent gallivanting. However, I did spend an afternoon with an author friend, putting the world to rights and enjoying the joyous self-indulgence of talking for hours about writing. For an activity that's mostly solitary, it's great to come up for air and chew the fat, now and then. 

All that's left to say is a mighty Bon Chance for tomorrow. Whether that's for your attempts to procure nigh-impossible tickets for the biggest show on earth, or because you've got a normal Tuesday of work, chores, and family shit, good luck in all your endeavours, whatever they may be.

Have a lovely week, folks.

Dough-Based News and the Privilege of Knackered...

You want a waffly preamble to lead us into the weekly update? Naahhh. There's loads to chat about, so let's hit the ground running. Ready?.. Steady?.. Splat!

Writing News

The third draft continues. This past week, I've been focusing on the opening chapter. It's a tricky thing. The book is supposed to be a seamless continuation from the first Leeza McAuliffe story. Some people won't have read that. I can't assume prior knowledge but nor can I overly explain who's who. Occasionally it's simple. When Leeza refers to something Dad says, readers will understand it's her own dad speaking. The family relationship is right there in his name. When Leeza describes something Harvest does, it's harder to know who that is, by her name alone. I could write, 'Harvest, my little sister, sat up and clapped,' but no. That's spoon-feeding. It's telling, not showing. (It's also an unrealistic thing to be written in a personal diary. Who tells their diary who their sister is?) Instead, I should write something like, 'Harvest sat in her baby chair while Dad fed her mush.' That way I've shown there's a baby at the dinner table. The reader is likely to assume it's a younger sibling. And if not, there's plenty of time for corroborating evidence later. As the book opens, readers should be given enough clues to keep them engaged, but not fed too much info to bore their pants off. It's been an interesting focus to my writing week.

Culture

I've had a bit more Liverpool tourism with my Aussie cousin. We hit the Cavern Club on Friday and had the best time. It's been approximately twenty-eight years since I spent an extended amount of time in the place, and it was great. We saw two sets (Gary Murphy and Barney Taylor) before wandering out into the evening for food. Good times. Also, I've become borderline obsessed with Amanda and Alan's Italian Job on BBC iPlayer. It's given me a vicarious trip to Sicily from my sofa.

You've got to feel sorry for non-
North  West residents. Imagine
 not having this little beauty  
on their doorsteps.
#Waterfields

Food and Drink

A Bond family gathering for my sister's birthday resulted in purchasing all the pizza in Widnes. Two accidental vegan Margheritas were also ordered, so they got blinged up with some mozzarella and cheddar, later in the week. Genuine apologies to actual vegans but it was better than binning them. In other dough-based news, I had a rare Waterfields lunch, including their exemplary caramel doughnut. Hashtag Living The Dream.

Out and About

It was my fortnightly writing group meet-up, so that saw an evening jaunt into town. I did my weekly brunch with pals, as well as my weekly writing sesh at Costa. There was a night at my brother's, and a family meal at the Italian near me. It's been an honest-to-God social whirl.

This is me being happy-tired!

My birthday month is but a hop, skip, and a jump away. Hello March; in you pop. As I look down the beautiful barrel of forty-five, I'm reminded that as knackering and hectic as the past weeks have been, it's so bloody marvellous to experience them at all. Some people say getting older is a privilege. It is. And so is feeling worn out from doing loads of cool stuff. 

Have a lovely week, folks.

Reconnections and Spar the Pharmacy...

If I were a cat, I'd look like this.

Phew. Typing these words is providing a mini-respite in the midst of an action-packed week. Most of my weeks are not action-packed. Most of my weeks are in front on my laptop, like this. But the past week has been busy, busy, busy! I've had a house guest, you see. All the way from Australia. My cousin's here, and as a result, I've had a bit of a life. We've been out for meals, drives into town, and tourist sight-seeing. It's quite the thrill. At the moment, I'm having a cup of tea and a gentle write, whilst he's at my sister's house. It's nice to have a change; to shake things up and rejig the week. Even when there're no visitors from far flung places, I need to remember to stop letting things getting samey. However, as is tradition, here's the usual weekly update with no changes whatsoever. Soz about that.

Writing News

I've done very little. Soz once again. I'm having a break from the current draft while I play the role of Merseyside Tour Guide, and will be back in a week or so. This works out well. I've got to the end of draft two, and having some distance before the next round will give me a clearer head. There's still loads to change.

Tash Dowie is back!

Culture

I've been an intermittent attendee at Liverpool Women's home matches this season. I started out committed and keen, but then family get-togethers and Christmas stuff got in the way. Until this week. An initially dull match against Leicester City livened right up after sixty minutes. Tash Dowie - recent signee, and previous red - was brought on for her first game back. She was ace. The energy levels of everyone perked right up, and the ball was down the Liverpool goal for the rest of the match. Frustratingly, the points didn't come, but the shoots of progress were there. I'm a gazillion time more hopeful for the next game.

Thai Salmon Salad.
The dressing kicked! 
From Baravin

Food and Drink

A couple of weeks ago, the inevitable winter cold kicked in and I had the sniffles for a few days. As a result, I absolutely hammered anything spicy and sinus-clearing. The upsides to this were salads with zingy dressings, curries, chilli, and sriracha. The downside was a mad dash to the 24-hour Spar for a spicy Pepperami. I comforted myself with the information that it was a 'protein kick'. (It says so on the packet.) That helped me deal with the fact I was breaking my no-meat rule with something that is a not-great-meat-in-all-honesty.

Aberystwyth pier.
It's hard to see, but there
were shed loads of
starlings in the sky.

Out and About

I had a long weekend in Aberystwyth which always sorts out my head, and then I've been all over Liverpool. The new Everton stadium site, Liverpool One, assorted houses in the Allerton, Childwall, and West Derby area that housed my relatives back in the day - I've seen it all. The fab thing about having overseas relatives come and visit, is how it reconnects me to my own past. I only ever stop outside my Gran's old gaff when they're over. Strange innit.

So what are the lessons from my week? 

• A change is as good as a rest, and mixing up the routine is a good thing to do. 
• Hosting relatives connects me to my own childhood and forces me to remember people that are becoming more and more distant in my memory.
• A spicy Pepperami is perfectly acceptable when my blocked sinuses demand it. Likewise, the 24-hour Spar should be given Pharmacy status with how it served my medical needs so well. Life lessons them all.

Have a lovely week, folks

Healthy, Nutritious... Fiction?

If we count New Year's Day as the close of play, it's been six weeks since the festive season ended. For most people, January arrives and the thrill of party food wanes. The ease of throwing six brie and cranberry parcels into the oven for a speedy tea, is overtaken by the craving for nourishment and balance. Vegetables re-enter the equation as meal times aim to fuel effectively, instead of providing half-assed energy levels muddied by intermittent indigestion and the shits. 

It's much the same with stories. From October onwards, I'm a sucker for a lightweight Christmas movie. Saccharine, schmaltzy, and oozing with festive feels. I love them, despite their terrible nutritional value. Then January comes along. Like my stomach for vegetables, my appetite for stories demands greater nourishment. I want nuance and depth; I want quality. It's the same process every time. Once the new year starts, I turn my back on Netflix and go to my bookshelf (and Kindle.) 

Let's be clear, not all books are filled with deep, nuanced quality - not that they can't be rip-roaringly enjoyable in spite of this. But by committing to reading words on a page/screen, I'm being an active participant in my entertainment. I'm not whacking on a Christmas film in the background, for my peripheral vision to take in the snow and jingles, whilst my mind focuses on Christmas shopping or compiling another list. Reading takes more effort than that. I think even the fluffiest of written stories provides more brain-oomph than their cinematic counterparts. In January, I read loads. More than the whole of the previous year.  As soon as I finished one book, I started the next. I was done with padding and filler. I needed my brain to be actively engaged again. My January reading list was an eclectic mix. Here, for anyone that cares even the slightest amount, are some of the excellently nourishing stories I read. 

First off, some young adult romance. The first three books of the Heartstopper series by Alice Oseman were a Christmas present, and I bought the fourth myself. Teen boy meets teen boy, and the sweetest romance ensues. Except these were graphic novels. Not a genre I tend to choose. Watching the story unfold visually was a treat. The art was spot on. Each picture was composed perfectly, allowing me to glide over at speed, taking in the salient points of the story, but with loads of tiny details standing out under closer inspection. I hoovered up all four books in no time.

Next was something related but hugely different. My only previous experience of graphic novels was Maus and Maus II. Written by Art Spiegelman I read both at University and remember them being excellent. So once I was done with Heartstopper, I dug them out and gave them a reread. By using a comic strip style, the Holocaust is presented by something we usually see as benign. In such an accessible format, there's no hiding the horror. The timeline of Maus jumps between Art's aging father recounting his experiences in the present day, and the events he witnessed as a young man in the death camps. It's visually clear and utterly arresting. I'm glad I took the time to remind myself of them. 

Next I wanted something lighter. Christmas films might be off the menu for another nine months, but I've no problem with a seasonally ill-timed novel. Enter Murder on the Christmas Express by Alexandra Benedict. Set on the Caledonian Sleeper on Christmas Eve, this was in the vein of a cosy mystery. Except it got pretty dark by the end. I don't want to come over all Michael Portillo (none of us want that) but I do like train journeys. And mysteries set on train journeys are all the more satisfying. A mish-mash of people from all over the place, in confined quarters, hurtling through the night at speed. It's the perfect backdrop for shenanigans. 

With my train whistle whetted, I was hungry for more. Years ago, I'd read Dick Francis' The Edge, a thriller set onboard a train travelling through Canada. Written in 1988, I was curious how well it stood up against modern-day scrutiny. I don't remember Dick Francis being especially small-minded but you never know until you check. Happily, it seemed to be OK. A few rich entitled characters, but no awful attitudes presented as acceptable. I travelled across the wilds of Canada and relished the thrills and spills of the story.

Back to another cosy mystery. Spurned on by the Christmassy-murder vibes I was sending it, my Kindle urged me to read Murder at the Theatre Royale by Ada Moncrieff. In 1930s London, a young reporter witnesses the death of a thespian during a stage rehearsal of A Christmas Carol. Suddenly her puff piece about the up and coming theatrical performance has turned into full-on investigative journalism. The snowy backdrop, stageful of actors, and eerie Mouse Trap vibes were more than enough to keep me swiping.

It was time to park the cosiness for some out and out grit. In came Chris Brookmyre. His latest novel The Cliff House was exactly what I needed. A second-marriage hen-do party arrives at a swanky holiday rental on a remote Scottish island. There are simmering tensions and a shed load of alcohol. And that's before the WifFi's cut and one of the women disappears. It was grippy and creepy, thrilling and boss. I've been reading Chris Brookmyre since he went by the alias of - wait for it - Christopher Brookmyre. I love his stuff. 

Realising how long I've been a Chris Brookmyre fan prompted me to go back to his earlier books. I chose Be My Enemy. On paper it sounds similar to The Cliff House. A bunch of characters with alcohol, stranded in a big house, while seething resentments intensify. Except back in 2005, Brookmyre's writing was more comedically grizzly; more outrageously graphic. I had only vague memories of the plot of Be My Enemy, but I could remember some of the more gross-out scenes that have never left my head. Abseiling down someone's large intestine? Accidental cannibalism? It was laugh out loud funny, and great to relive.

Finally, on the last day of the month, I saw off this bad boy. The Borrow a Bookshop Holiday. It's a cosy romance, with all the beats that entails. Kiley Dunbar is great at these. She knows exactly what she's doing with her take on the genre, and every note hits its mark. Jude and Elliot are unhappy and single. After some miscommunications, they find themselves thrust into a shared holiday let in a small Devonshire village bookshop. I fear I'll be giving away major plot points if I go any further, suffice to say IT IS LOVELY.

We're half way through February and my reading speed has definitely calmed. I'm still in the middle of the book I started ten days ago. What's made me slow down now? I'm not sure. There's just something about January. It's as if my brain insists I kick back into full throttle, after weeks of skiving. But it can't last forever. With a stomach full of veg and a head full of words, it's probably time I relaxed a little. Brie and cranberry parcel anyone?

Have a lovely week, folks.

On Being a Spoilt, Grateful, Cavewoman...

An artist's impression 

of me waiting for the 

kettle. If I looked 

like Justin Timberlake.

Here are three Monday morning facts for you...

1. My boiling tap broke recently. 

2. I had to use a kettle. 

3. It was hell. 

Yes, I have a boiling tap because I'm a wanker, and yes, it was out of action whilst a part was procured and a plumbing expert sought. But blimey, the wait was frustrating. Not waiting for the tap to be mended. No, I'm talking about the wait for the kettle to boil every time I wanted a cup of tea. I joked about living like a cavewoman, but I meant it. Ten years of having instant boiling water, and I'd forgotten the realities of tea-making with a kettle. Bad times.

The whole incident was a good reminder that A) I'm a spoilt cow, whose problems are meaningless in the great scheme of things, and B) how quickly we forget the way things were. By the time you read this, I'll be in the midst of a mini break by the sea. Remember when we couldn't leave our homes? Our local areas? Remember the tier system? How marvellous to be somewhere else for a few days. How marvellous to be free to travel, to experience, and to feel. Life was on pause for so long that even now, we must remember, and live every second to the fullest. 

Or TL;DR: my boiling tap is fixed and I'll never take it for granted again.

The desk of (messy) dreams

Writing News

I've now got a second draft of Leeza McAuliffe Book 2. (Not it's real title!) It has less obvious waffle, tighter sentences, and a clearer outlook in terms of description. There's still much to do. For the next few drafts, I'm going to focus on each character's narrative journey. No one can be stagnant, even if they're a tiny character. They've got to develop somehow. That's my next challenge to keep me busy.

Helena Bonham Carter and 
Augustus Prew play Noele Gordon
and Tony Richards who play
Meg Mortimer and Adam Chance.
Got it? Photo from here.

Culture

Forget waiting for a kettle, you want to see how frustratingly slow the ITVX stream is on my TV. My internet speed is weak at best, and so I watched Nolly (ITVX) with intermittent pauses and several resets. However, Russell T Davies is a writer I'll persevere for. Like my eventual ITVX connection, I held on and kept going, and it was worth it. Nolly was fab. Anyone that remembers Crossroads will love it, and even if it's before your time, it's still a fascinating look at the inner workings of eighties TV. 

Food and Drink

I've bought myself a veg chopper. Yes, I know. I'm all boiling taps and veg choppers, when kettles and knives were good enough for my forebears. If you want your pieces of veg to be the same cubic area as each other, it's a worthy purchase. So far, it has cubed cucumber, peppers, and red onions perfectly.

Out and About

It's official. The Eurovision key has been handed from Torino to Liverpool, and we're less than 100 days away from the 2023 contest. I had a jaunt into town last Tuesday. I wanted to get the vibes around St. George's Hall* where the semi-final draw was taking place. I can't lie, there was a definite buzz. The banners, the logo, the motto - it all made me tingle. I realise not everyone loves Eurovision, but my home town has definitely embraced the honour. More than I thought it would, to be honest. Fair play, Liverpool. It's going to be a fab few months.

I hope your boiling taps work, your kettles don't keep you waiting too long, and your veg is chopped to your liking. Or that whatever you're doing, wherever you are, things are mostly good enough.

Have a lovely week, folks.

*St. George's Hall was where my Sixth Form leavers do took place. It was where I attended my first political protest (against Tr**p's Muslim travel ban) and it's where myself and hundreds of others gathered after the Hillsborough inquests returned ninety-six verdicts of unlawful killing. The fact that Rylan and AJ were there last week, blows my mind. In a really good way.