Love, Love, Peace, Peace...

Welcome to your latest Bank Holiday. Excited, yeah? No? What's that? You're bored? Well look no further. Use the time off to prepare for the days ahead. Because - and I'm sure you're already on this - IT'S EUROVISION WEEK.

Kalush Orchestra, last year's
winners, doing their set at the
Pier Head. Liverpool is alive
with the sound of (free) music.

We've got thirty-seven runners and riders. On Tuesday night, five of those will be ditched, and a further six will be bumped on Thursday. Then it's full steam ahead to Saturday's Final. If you're even a jot Liverpool-adjacent, it's well worth having a wander round town. The vibe is immense. If you're not, then sit back and give the official playlist a listen. There's something for everyone. 

Meanwhile, as is tradition, here are the toonz that stand out to me. I'm notoriously bad at predicting the winner (Portugal 2017 and Italy 2021 are the happy exceptions) but these are the ones I think will have an impact. By all means, disagree to your hearts content. There are no wrong answers, just love, love, peace, peace.

Lords of the Lost

Germany 

Blood And Glitter by Lord of the Lost.

This is the entry that's given me the most persistent earworm. Blood and Glitter has really got into my head. Because I'm a child of the eighties, I want the camp-rockness of this to be turned to eleven with a key change, or elevated oomph towards the end. That's where it lacks for me. It comes in hard but just stays there. No matter. Regardless of what you hear after this, the words blood and glitter will swirl around your brain long after Lord of the Lost's three minutes are over. Sometimes that's all it takes. (Germany along with the UK, Spain, Italy, and France are straight through to the final.)

Teya and Salena

Austria

Who The Hell Is Edgar? by Teya and Salena

Who The Hell Is Edgar? is of course, referring to Edgar Allan Poe, so that's that sorted. This is fun, and manages to be novel without going down last year's Subwoolfer route. I love the video so I worry that the narrative won't transfer easily onto the stage but we'll see. Either way, this is strong from Austria. I hope it does well and breezes through the Semis.

Loreen

Sweden

Tattoo by Loreen

Of course this is going to be popular. It's Loreen, innit. The queen of Eurovision and an absolute icon. She won in 2012 with Euphoria - one of those songs that even if you'd put barbed wire around your house, switched off the WIFI, binned your devices, and locked yourself in your room, you'd still have heard it. Tattoo is no Euphoria, but it's still good. Will it win? Maybe. Is it the best song? Not sure. Is Loreen going to come on stage to a roaring heroine's welcome? Absolutely. The idea of this not qualifying is ludicrous.

Käärijä

Finland

Cha Cha Cha by Käärijä

I think this might be my secret favourite. It's taken some time. In fact, it took the first half of the song to pass before I realised I was loving it. Something about the way the chanty-shouty start gives way to the more melodic part, makes me feel happy. It's also catchy, dance-y, and will definitely go down well in the arena. It still has to qualify so hopefully the world feels the same.

Mae Muller

UK

I Wrote A Song by Mae Muller

Since the team behind the UK's entries changed in time for Sam Ryder's almost rise to glory, the UK has made tonnes more effort where it matters. The same goes for this year. This is a solid, catchy, engaging song. Like Finland's Cha Cha Cha, it'll go down well with a crowd that know the words and want to dance. I'm not sure it'll hit the top spots but I hope we settle comfortably on the left hand side of the scoreboard. Fingers crossed.

Wild Youth

Ireland

We Are One by Wild Youth

Ireland's past glories don't guarantee them a place in the final which feels all wrong. And this deserves to be played on Saturday night. Giving me huge nineties flashbacks, it's a lovely sweeping anthem of a song. It feels like it's from my sixth form era, so I'm aware my love for this may be pure projection. Either way, it makes me want to belt it out and cheer from the rooftops. 

Alessandra

Norway

Queen Of Kings by Alessandra

It's a fast lyric. Will Alessandra manage to get out all the words when I haven't even managed it with subtitles? Yeah, course she will, she's got this. I think it'll do well because it's just a little outside standard pop to stick in the mind. It's also catchy. At the end of the Final, when most people have only tuned in that evening, it's the catchy ones with a hook that are memorable by voting time. I reckon Queen Of The Kings will sweep up.

A few other things to look out for. Azerbaijan has a sweet effort that channels pure Beatles vibes. (It might just be me.) The smoke-effects of Switzerland's anti-war song dodgily create an on-stage warzone. Croatia's costuming styles seventies drag with military chic. France is classy, sexy, and makes me wish I spoke French so I could karaoke it with conviction, and Netherlands evokes the Common Linnets with their duo singing directly into each other's eyes. I could go on, but it's time to draw this to a close.

If you've already downloaded your Semi Final score cards and want more oomph to your viewing, you can use this bingo card from Scandikitchen. Whichever way you want to enjoy the experience, make sure you do. I don't think the UK will be winning this year, so it's now or - not never but - some years in the future until we host again.  But what do I know? Whatever happens, have the night of your lives. You deserve it.

Have a lovely week, folks.

Clumsy Prose, Back to Basics, and Overwhelmed by FOMO...

The only photo I have of
Copenhagen 2014 due to
a non-backed up phone
swap. Boooo.

The year was 2014. I'd managed to get Eurovision tickets and flew to Copenhagen for five days. Other than the night of the final, I had no plans. I explored the city. I ate and drank well. On the night of the second semi, I stumbled across a market square to find it being broadcast on a big screen. It was great. The final was on the Saturday. I had a marvellous time.

Ahh the good old days. Life was well simpler. There was less social media filling my day, less online Eurovision on my phone, and my Copenhagen adventure unfurled organically. But now? Due to a mix of being very online, along with my Liverpool hometown located down the road, I'm overwhelmed. Liverpool has gone Eurovision mad! Tbf, this is a desirable outcome. I'd have been gutted if the stand-in host city had been a bit meh about the honour. But every time I open Insta or check Twitter, I see more and more fanfare of what's going on. I've cleared a few days in a couple of weeks to explore, but it doesn't feel enough. Liverpool is buzzing. I know when my freetime arrives, I'll be ready to fully embrace the experience. For now, it's like the party's already started and I've got FOMO. The upside of this, of course, is if you're planning on visiting Liverpool over the next few weeks, you're going to have the time of your life.

My prose is less windowpane,
more ugly drapes obscuring
windowpane before being made
into play clothes. And yes, this is
the only window related gif
I could find.

Writing News 

I know my problem. Cumbersome sentences. I've been told that my whole life. Well, maybe not my whole life. Just once, in sixth form, by the guy who led General Studies prep sessions. He said my sentences were long and clumsy. Harsh. As I felt this was an entirely subjective view, I chose to ignore his feedback and crack on with my life. (A sign of my excellent self-esteem, perhaps?) But during the editing process of my novels, I often wonder if he had a point. Here's an example of a sentence that my protagonist, Leeza, records in her diary...

I think Mum thinks she needs to keep asking me if I'm OK. 

Leeza is reflecting, attempting to second guess her Mum. Fair enough. But it's seven words too long. Instead it should be...

Mum keeps asking if I'm OK. 

Straight to the point. No waffle. It must be clear. In John Niven's novel, The F*ck It List, his journalist protagonist recalls the Orwell quote, 'Good prose is like a windowpane.' Orwell was talking about the see-through clarity of a political message, and Niven's character was talking about reporting the news. For me, it's more about face value. Not deterring readers by my less-than-succinct prose. I need to lose the cloudy whitewash of the abandoned building's windows to let the narrative be viewed without obstruction. Too laboured a metaphor? Yeaaahh. Soz. I simply need to tell the story in a way that's... non-waffly. Imagine baggy sentences like the example above, littered willy nilly throughout a 60000 word novel. My delete key continues to be used, and the superfluous words continue to be binned. (Obvs I have no such standards for this blog. Baggy sentences are EVERYWHERE.)

Culture

Seeing as it's already come up, here's a shout for John Niven's The F*ck It List. The first time I read it was in 2020. Tr*mp was in the Whitehouse and it was looking scarily like he'd stay there. This book imagines what could have happened by 2026, if politics had continued to be batshit. Along with a terminally-ill main character with nothing to lose, the action takes place in a realistic but frightening near-future. Reading it now, post Biden's win and with legal processes catching up with the previous Prez, is loads less stressful. Funny, dark, and sweary - if that's your thing, you should give it a look. (Here's the first chapter!)

Food and Drink 

I spent the weekend in a caravan. Loads of fun, but not necessarily involving the best food in the world. So let's have a cheer for the basics. Vegemite/Marmite on toast. Strong Yorkshire tea in a massive mug. Crisps. There were actual meals too, but when the basics are covered, life is good.

Out and About 
I've been to Wales. Hello Aberystwyth! Hello Borth! Hello Cambrian Coast! You were stunning and warm and lovely and windswept and beautiful and chilly and boozy and marvellous. Twelve family members, three caravans, and one sexy coastline.

Hopefully, you're enjoying the Bank Holiday. And there's more where that came from. Next Monday we've got another one. If you're giddy about all things Royal, then I guess this is your time. If you're not, then regardless, make good use of the day off. And if you're none of the above, then crack on and ignore my blathering. But whatever you do, please...

...have a lovely week, folks. 

Stop and Smell the Sweet Spot...

The sweet spot, baby!

We're in the sweet spot right now. Or at least I am. Tbf, it's a highly personalised sweet spot that can't possibly apply to everyone. Basically, we're post-Winter, with whole days that are rain-free, but the annual joy of the hay fever season (insert sarcastic side-eye here) hasn't yet kicked in. The beauty of that means I get to enjoy a beer garden or two. My most recent one was a German Kraft place that had excellent beers, big outdoor tables, and on a day with perfectly temperate, non-sweaty sunshine. It won't be long before such outdoor pursuits will be accompanied by my sneezy, snotty, irritated head. But for now? It's lovely!

Writing 

My first book, Carry the Beautiful, owes a healthy debt of gratitude to Willy Russell's Shirley Valentine. I realised that, once I'd got to the end of the first draft. A bored woman living a humdrum life gets the courage to make an escape. Tilda Willoughby might not make it to Greece, and her emotional journey goes via a different route, but there are parallels. Until last week I'd only ever seen the 1989 film. The one where Pauline Collins talks to the wall, has a shocker of a fella in Bernard Hill, and runs off to Greece with Alison Streadman. But then I saw Sheridan Smith's Shirley Valentine at the Duke of York theatre in the West End. The one woman show where Smith, alone on stage for two hours, recounts her exploits and voices every character. It was sublime. As well as nailing the nuances of a South Liverpool accent, she had the audience in the palm of her hand. It was an excellent reminder that words on a page can be elevated - times a million - when performed brilliantly. Anyway, back to Writing News. I'm still editing. It was just lovely to be reminded of the subconscious inspo for my first novel.

Culture

I've blown my main cultural news in the previous paragraph. Soz about that, like. But as well as some actual theatre, yesterday I saw the NT Live performance of Good at the Odeon. Last year, David Tennant blew me away when I saw him play John Halder, the 'good' German professor as he descends into fascism. It was excellent to rewatch, albeit from a Warrington cinema seat. Finally, in less high-brow but perfectly compelling loveliness, I binged Colin From Accounts. Twice. The title makes it sound like a workplace sitcom but it's not. It's a sweet, funny romance (with none of the saccharine-schmaltz that that sentence implies). It's on BBC iPlayer now. 

Droooooll

Food and Drink

Stop Press! I've finally done it. I've found the best Spanish tortilla in Christendom. As usual my inferior photography skills don't do it justice, but here it is in all its glory. Thank you, Brindisa, for your efforts. I could eat that everyday for the rest of my life.

Hey babes.

Out and About

In my brief sojourn to the big smoke, I had a special pilgrimage to make. Since my last visit, London has only gone and opened its first Sephora. I know! Hurrah! Woohoo!... pardon? What's Sephora? Wow. OK. Well, let me see. Sephora is a makeup and cosmetic shop that stocks all the cool brands and makes me embody the phrase 'like a kid in a toy shop' the second I walk through the door. (That rush doesn't happen in any other beauty shop. Sorry Boots.) Stick your tourist sight seeing - when I'm abroad the first thing I do is Google the nearest Sephora. Anyway, back to the point. I made the trek to Westfield Shepherd's Bush and gorged myself silly on shiny, powdery, glittery stuff. It's the little things. (Not so little at the cash till. Sigh.)

Back to reality now. No more frivolous shopping, beer gardens, or lovely theatre for me. There's editing to be done, and the bedroom refurb's still in progress. (Tomorrow, the skip arrives!) But still. While the sweet spot is here, it's good to recognise it. To recognise it, appreciate it, and enjoy it. What's that phrase? Don't forget to stop and smell the flowers? I won't be literally doing that what with the pollen and shit, but it's a decent metaphor I guess.

Have a lovely week, folks.

Actual Maths, Tofu Virginity, and Dust...

Live scenes from my bedroom.

Spring continues to blast all cobwebs from their crevices. In the latest energetic news, a new decorating project has begun. Shit's got real. I'm doing up my bedroom. In order to realise my artistic vision, I've started clearing out fourteen years of shite. But folks, the dust. Oh, the dust. And did I mention the shite? I did? Oh good. Unfiled bank statements, twelve bin bags for the charity shop, and a condom that expired in 2013. Alert the British Museum. I know at some point it'll be worth it. To have a wardrobe whose doors close properly, a mattress that doesn't give me back ache, and an actual full length mirror. I will never leave the house in a dishevelled state again. (Lolz. Of course I will.)

Writing News
In his book, On Writing (2000) Stephen King recalls a piece of editing advice he once received.

'Formula: 2nd draft = 1st draft - 10%'

For anyone like me, who sees that sentence and simply skims over the digits until the words come back, I'll write it in English. When you've finished your first draft, you should delete ten percent of its word count for the next draft. My first draft was 65009 words. My current draft weighs in at 61346. It's not quite minus ten percent, (that'd be 6501 - Maths!) but it's getting there. 

In a recent webinar, Jericho Writers', Harry Bingham said words to the effect that whilst deleting ten percent might be fine for Stephen King, anyone who is not Stephen King should be aiming at twenty percent. Our writing will be baggier and wafflier than a mere ten percent clean up will do. Either way, it results in the same thing: I'm still editing.

Live scenes from my head.

Culture

Insta followers will already know this, but my latest TV binge is the best decision I've made in ages. Dawson's Creek. That's it. That's the tweet. Dawson's Creek in all it's entirety is on ITVX and it's giving me life. Just the theme music does it, but reliving the antics of Dawson, Joey, Jen, and (my long time love) Pacey from the late nineties, has sent me crashing back to that time. Every moment of it. Watching in the lounge of my student house, my mates, my crushes, the shenanigans, the downright ANGST of it all - I've been lost in a wave of nostalgia all week. I've just finished series two, and I've got four more to go. Sigh. It's an absolute joy. Finally, and in bang up to date news, last week's Succession was the best hour of television I've ever seen. No hyperbole, it was simply exceptional. If you watched it, you'll know. If you didn't, you missed out. Soz la.

It's a whole new world.

Food and Drink
It's all Suella Braverman's fault. When she decried 'the tofu-eating workerati', I'd never tried the stuff. But the opportunity to join the official opposition to this cruel and unusual government proved too much to bear. I lost my tofu virginity in the week, and now I'm even more committed to being a trans ally and refusing to vilify immigrants. 

For those who want to join the revolution, I coated chunks of firm tofu in a spice blend of cumin, thyme, paprika, za'atar, garlic, and salt. Then I pan fried them. If you bung 'em in a wrap with some lettuce and yoghurt, it's a shawarma of sorts. Either way, it was fit. That's not all. The other day I stumbled across a vegetarian pepperami. What a world! Vegerami is my new go-to sausage snack of choice. Not a euphemism. 

Out and About
Nothing too exiting to report. I did an airport drop off for my brother and his mate, had a mooch around the Trafford Centre with a pocket full of Next Vouchers, and visited B&Q more than usual. Some weeks, it's the way it goes. That's fine.

And now? Now it's the calm before the Eurovision storm. We're a mere month away. Can you feel the buzz? Can you? If not, jump start the electricity by giving this lot a listen. All the songs are available for your perusal. Have you spotted the winner? Nah, course you've not. It's all to play for, right up to the main event. Get involved!

Have a lovely week, folks.

Are You There Judy? It's Me, Nicky?..

I'm terrible at pitching. Not tents, not baseballs (hey US readers!) but ideas. Pitching ideas is how stories get told. Someone has an idea, they pitch it to someone else, and together they create a beautiful project. My inability to convince people of my fabulous vision is the main reason I chose the indie-publishing route. 

Tonight the roles of Nicky Bond and
 Steven Spielberg will be played by
 Jennifer Aniston and Ralph Lauren.

A few years ago I was on a course. Part of it was how to pitch and we were given a scenario. 'Imagine you get into a lift and standing there is Steven Spielberg. This is your one chance to tell him your story and interest him enough so he wants to make the movie. What do you say?'

If this happened to me, I'd smile politely, press the button I needed, and travel in silence until one of us got out. You see? I'm so terrible at pitching I don't remember to try! But back to the course. In pairs, we had to talk about our current projects (mine was Leeza McAuliffe Has Something To Say) and imagine we had one shot to intrigue our partner. It'd be accurate to describe everyone's attempt as garbled. Mine, however, was garbled, panicked, and incoherent. I waffled on about my diary of a ten year old girl. She's got younger brothers, she's fed up, she writes a year of her life, it's funny, she worries, she's got homework, her Mum and Dad are annoying... blah, blah, blah. You get it now? I can no more interest a stranger about my writing project than I can write it down here. Steven Spielberg can continue to move between floors, unbothered by my output.

We had another go. In our pairs, we were told to stop trying to share the entire plot, characters, and themes. They could come later. First you should explain how you came by your idea. Why are you writing it? What was the trigger that prompted you to put pen to paper? Here's what I said.

When I taught eight and nine year olds in the late noughties, my class would read something of their choosing, first thing every morning. Every day, the same thought occurred to me. I'd have never chosen the books that those children did. When I was eight or nine, I'd have walked straight past their choices in the library. They were all Harry Potter-lite. Wizards and fantasy, superpowers and spells. I'm made up for the kids that love that genre, and perhaps every child in my class did. But I felt there was a gap in the market. Where were the books about growing up? About divorcing parents, and dying grandparents? About sibling rivalry, and babies being born? Where were the books about puberty, angst, and friendship? I knew what the real question was. Where was the modern day Judy Blume? 

My partner seemed engaged. At one point her eyes widened and she nodded enthusiastically. It seems she had been a Judy Blume fan too. Back in the day, when I had no money of my own, no space at home, and no sense of control over most aspects of my life, Judy Blume had littered the shelves of Rainhill library. First I loaned Superfudge. Then Tales of a Fourth Grade Nothing. It was only a matter of time before I found Otherwise Known as Sheila the Great, Blubber, and Are You There God? It's Me, Margaret? Written about fifteen years before I was reading them, there was a seventies haze over the stories. And with their US setting, they took me to another world. Not a world on a different planet, or a world with magic and potions. They took me to a world where everyday humans lived. (New Jersey!) Humans with whom I had lots in common, but with a whole range of different experiences too.

I finished my spiel by saying it was then I realised I wanted to be a modern-day Judy Blume. I'd done better that time. My partner immediately responded about her memories of those books, and how she loved the stories too. My pitch had worked! (Kinda. We were not in a lift and she was not Steven Spielberg. But still. Yay me.)

So why am I telling you this now?

Fifty years after the book was published, Are You There God, It's Me Margaret has been made into a film. (Watch the trailer here. Go on, click. See what you think.) To say I'm trepidatious is an understatement. I don't remember much of the plot, I never even had my own copy. But I remember how it made me feel. Seen. I was nine. It taught me loads - literally loads - about puberty. I borrowed it more than once. I even used for a high school presentation about my favourite book. What if the film's shit? What if I've misremembered how valuable it was? Or what if it's excellent and it makes me give up the Leeza McAuliffe franchise because there's no point?

From the upcoming film, Are
You There God? It's Me, Margaret.

I'm being silly. I know that. I'm sure I'll be logging into my Odeon app as soon as it's released here. But it's interesting how publishing trends ebb and flow. Perhaps the fantasy stories are taking a back seat these days. I'm also fascinated to see how AYTGIMM's audience looks. Will it be women my age, who are watching for the nostalgia? Or will a new generation of middle-grade children, stumble across it and learn about the world like I did?  Whatever happens, I'm so pleased that the stories of every day humans continue to be told. It's how we learn empathy. It's how we learn about the experiences of others. We need them now more than ever. Just don't rely on me for the pitch.

Have a lovely week, folks.

Extra Light, Teen Pursuits, and Is Right Laaaaad...

Snow White cleaning the stench
of corruption. Perhaps.

Hey there, April! We're here! Were you ready for guests? OK if we make ourselves at home? Excellent. It's all change in the UK. We've just received an extra hour of daily sunlight, and there are a couple of  Bank Holidays in the offing. Exciting times. In wider seasonal news - and in the vaguest of terms - it's as if there's been a spring clean in some of the murkier crevices of the powers that be. You always hope that corrupt politicians are held to account at some point, but at times it's hard to believe. There's still a long way to go, but oh how satisfying to watch people being forced to confront the consequences of their actions.

Leeza McAuliffe Book One
is here! Catch up on her
antics before Book 2's out.

Writing News

This week, in the never-ending palaver of editing Leeza McAuliffe Book 2, I've been focusing on the dialogue of one particular character - Tom. Leeza's pal, Jake, has a grandad. He pops up now and then, is involved in some plots  and not others, and stays in the background most of the time. But we still hear what he says. I realised that the Tom I'd written towards the end of the book was totally different to the Tom at the start. As I read it back, some of the word choices I used sounded 'not something Tom would say.' I've also decided he needs to call Jake, lad, more often. (Not in the Scouse way - Is right laaaaaad - but in an older, Northern England man, way - Ey up lad. Kinda.) This week has been spent ironing all that out.

A Room With a View

Culture

Succession is back! Hurrah! Taskmaster is back! Huzzah! Both shows I hoovered up, binged, and repeated through the lockdown years. I've also been reliving my teens and working my way through some Merchant Ivory films. Specifically the adaptations of the E.M Forster novels, A Room With a View, Howard's End, and Maurice. What? Your teen years were different? It takes all sorts, I suppose. If I have one regret - which would be a waste of time to even contemplate - it's that in all my days of English Lit, I never studied E.M Forster. As I said, it takes all sorts. Either way, a few happy evenings have been spent wallowing in cinematic beauty.

Here's my pimped-up
hummus. The one I
make is from this recipe.
(FYI I use a fraction
of the olive oil.)

Food and Drink

What with the extra hour of daylight and a (sometimes) dry, bright, vibe outdoors, my food has gone all Mediterranean. Loads of cubed salad veggies, home made hummus, and pittas. There's even been talk of whacking on the BBQ. More 

news as we have it. 

Calderstones Park looking
stunning at 5.30pm.

Out and About

The extra hour may well signal the slow descent into sweltering hell but it's not all bad. I often feel like a walk after I've been sitting at my laptop for hours. In the winter, that's when it's dark. Without the security of straight male privilege in my back pocket, I have to gamble. Do I take a stroll or become a crime statistic? Over time, the odds aren't great so I tend to stay inside. But now? Now I get to walk in the park around the 5-6pm mark. It's glorious. My achy back is grateful.

So how are you using the extra hour of light? Frolicking in the meadows? Running amok? Cracking on as per? There are no wrong answers. You do you, and I'll see you back here next week.

Have a lovely week, folks.

Birthdays, Bangers, and Books...

Ah, cheers Phoebs!

Since my last post, I've turned forty-five. I don't usually enjoy being an odd number, but a multiple of five is better than a double-digit ending in one, three, or seven. (IMHO. I've found some people don't care either way. Weird.) Besides all that, the person I live with also had a birthday and turned fifty. My multiple of five was over shadowed and pushed out of the way by a multiple of ten. Shit happens. The upshot was, a bunch of my in-laws and family were partying hard in my house on Saturday night. I did what many recently turned forty-five year olds would do, and drank like a fish. I also wore a jumpsuit. It's a whole new world. 

A small insight 
into my creative output.

Writing
What with all the party prep in the week, I barely wrote a word. The most creative thing I did was make a banging playlist. You want early-nineties to mid-noughties, guitar-based man-boy songs? I got you. 

Culture 
In 2002, a colleague recommended Christopher Brookmyre and Val McDermid books to me. I tried a Brookmyre (Boiling a Frog) and got sidetracked by his whole back catalogue and future output for the following twenty years. Shamefully late to the party, I read my first Val McDermid book last week. Even more shamefully, I only did it because I'd watched the dramatisation of her first Karen Pirie novel on ITVX. However, the non-shameful thing about all this is I've found a new favourite author with a huge number of books to devour. I'm ecstatic. 

Food and Drink 

In a bid to be healthy yet excited by my birthday week food choices, I've been hammering whipped feta and moonblush tomatoes on sourdough. It's been my staple lunch this week, between party planning, furniture rearranging, and booze shopping. I can heartily recommend it. 

 Lovely,
lovely lunch.

Out and About
In spite of mad busy-ness and too many supermarket trips, I managed to claw back some attention and have an afternoon in the Cavern. Live music and a few birthday beers was dece. I also watched Scream VI again, because even though I don't like horror films, and even though I can't be arsed with franchises, I absolutely love the Scream horror franchise. I'm a mass of contradictions. 

It's a short and sweet post this week. I make no apologies. I'm still buzzing but knackered from the weekend. Sometime life gets in the way of reporting the life that got in the way. And isn't that the way it should be? 

Have a lovely week, folks.