Serendipitous Coincidences FTW...

My favourite DESTINY (mis)quote

You know me by now, right? Good. So you'll know I don't believe in fate, or predestination, or things that 'happen for a reason', yeah? Excellent. We're all up to speed. But still, despite that, I do love a serendipitous coincidence. Like last week. Ready? Cool. Let me tell you.

If you cast your mind back to last week's blog, I told you how I'd recently found the music of Noah Reid. I'd been looking for Canadian music to soundtrack my holiday photo montage (yeah, I know, I'm a wanker) and I'd found him. I spent the weekend listening to his stuff as I made my video, and then I mentioned him as I wrote my blog. It was at that point, I did a quick Google. I needed to provide a decent link to add to the words Noah + Reid in the blog. That's when I spotted it. Noah Reid had just embarked upon a tour. I scanned the dates, assuming they'd be anywhere but here, but then I saw. In four days time, the lovely Noah would be playing at the Academy 2 in Manchester. What were the odds?

Noah Reid, last Tuesday

Hang fire, Statisticians, I don't really care. But still, it's a mad coincidence right? And as much as I'd NOT planned to be out in Manchester on the following Tuesday night, I felt as if I had no choice. 

Of course on the night in question, I continued to dither. Did I really want a late night during a personally busy week, slap bang in the middle of Fresher's Week? You betcha I did! Live music is always brilliant. No opportunity should be passed up. Or something. So off I toddled, through all the Uni buildings, until I got to the Manchester Academy. As I walked down Oxford Road I was perturbed to find repeated adverts for a garden plant sale in the Students' Union. In my day it was Athena posters. (Just ask the more than life size Keanu Reeves who watched over me, day and night throughout my first year.) Anyway, I hit the Academy, spotted the average age of Noah's audience was closer to my vintage than not, had a hot flush (natch) and cracked on. Whether it was a serendipitous coincidence, fate, things happening for a reason, or none of the above, I had a marvellous night. 

 

Writing News

Feedback is coming in thick and fast. What is heartening, now I'm going through the process for a 4th time, is that it gets easier. It's easier to hear feedback, it's easier to second guess the sorts of issues people will point out, and it appears I have less typos and errors in the manuscript I sent out. Interesting times.

Chilling, innit?

Culture

As a long time Kenneth Branagh and Agatha Christie fan (individually or together, either works for me) I was always going to rush to watch A Haunting in Venice. The thing is, I enjoyed it, but... it's really scary! At least it was to me. Creepy and brooding and sinister. It felt quite un-Christie like, although the whole 'roomful of suspects and final denouement' was still front and centre of proceedings. In other news, I started Kiley Dunbar's latest book, The Gingerbread Christmas Village. It's EXACTLY what I need to unwind, and I love it. (I'm eking it out, a bit each night.)

Pimped up porridge, over
frozen cherries. 
Winter is here!

Food and Drink

As I declared on Threads last week, Porridge Season has started! I was a late convert to porridge, what with me assuming it was a sluggish, cream mush. Once I realised you could pimp it up and add all sorts of marvellousness to your cereal bowl, I got on board. About two years ago, I made a big jar of my - not yet patented nor copyrighted - porridge mix. It's still going strong in its kilner jar and warms me from the inside once the weather turns. And the secret recipe? I can't really remember, tbh. I think it's equal parts cinnamon, nutmeg, cocoa powder, sugar/sweetener, with half parts mixed spice and salt. Something like that. Anyway, I made a massive batch, and now every time I make porridge I add a teaspoon of it to the oats. Either way, it's a long way from sluggish, cream mush.

Out and About

You mean apart from my musical evening in Manchester? Hmm, OK let's think. I spent a morning in Kwik Fit, then there was my writing group in town. And of course, I did my usual Costa writing sesh, had Wednesday brunch, and caught up with a writing mate at his house. Actually, when I think about it, I've barely been in. Good times.

For me, this is the sweet spot of the year. All my favourite weather and seasonal activities are still to come, anticipation is high, but the Christmas stress has yet to kick in. I'm going to enjoy this time. With a couple of chapters of my Christmas novel each night, and the promise of Netflix festive films to come, things are looking up. Hurrah.

Have a lovely week, folks. 

Revamped Oysters and Ridiculousness...

Oh. One out of
two aint bad.

Last week I did a ridiculous thing. The good news is, it led to discovering a not-ridiculous thing. That's why I'm sharing. 

I'd been back home from my holiday for a couple of days and I was having Canadian FOMO. It was Friday night, I was on my own, and I'd opened a bottle of wine. As I sat there, scrolling through photos, I knew exactly what I had to do. Yes, you've guessed it! I had to create a twenty-minute YouTube video of my pics and vids from the trip, along with captions, locations, and background music. It's OBVIOUS when you think about it. 

Yes, you! Noah Reid
as the lovely Patrick.

Look, I know I've painted a fairly desperate picture of myself there. But it was actually lovely. Because while I sipped my wine, and searched for place names for the train photos I'd taken, I was also searching for the right music to soundtrack the thing. It didn't take long. Remember Patrick from Schitt's Creek? Remember when he sang Simply the Best to David and it was everything? Well the actor, Noah Reid, is also a singer/songwriter. His music is beautiful. Mellow and melodic. His lyrics also reference Canada, Montreal, and Toronto, so he was the obvious choice. Even though the video was boxed off that weekend*, I've kept listening to Noah Reid. In the car, in the bath, and as I go about my day. So there. That's my ridiculous thing (a twenty minute holiday compilation video) that led to my not-ridiculous thing. Noah Reid. Look him up. His music is lovely.

Writing News

The manuscript has been sent out to family! This means I'll get a tonne of grammar and spelling edits from my mum, and a load of thematic and plot-related queries from my dad. This is all good. Every little helps, a tapestry has many threads etc, etc.

From the film version of
Everybody's Talking About Jamie. 

Culture

So much culture! Last weekend I saw one of my not-favourite-but-still-very-good musicals, Everybody's Talking About Jamie. (I love some of the music but not all of it, so I always feel I should explain that.) Anyway, it was great. The Jamie I saw this time - Ivano Turco - was fantastic, and the song He's My Boy is always worth hearing live. Then, if that wasn't enough, I saw Deacon Blue on Friday. Yep, I've realised I love a greatest hits tour. (It went OFF for Real Gone Kid and Dignity.) Keep your new music to yourself, and play the hits from my youth! Happily, they did.

 

Smoked salmon with
all the accoutrements

Food and Drink

I don't like oysters, but I like the theatre of them. You know, you get an oyster, but then you get a load of options to drizzle on top? It happened in Canada where, along with soy sauce, horseradish, lemon butter, and tabasco, my dining partner was provided with two little pipette-lidded bottles. One held tequila, the other whisky. The smoky kind like laphroaig. Of course, all this pizzazz had to be replicated as soon as I got home, but with what? I'll say it again, I don't like oysters. But then it came to me. Smoked salmon'll do! As long as you include the pipettes of booze, it'll be exactly the same. So that's what I did. You take a round of crusty bread, dip it in coriander mayo or sour cream, add a piece of salmon, add capers and pickled red onion, then pipette the booze of your choice on top. (I had no tequila so I used vodka along with the whisky.) Then, shove the whole thing in your mouth and enjoy smoky seaside perfection. You're welcome.

Out and About

Because my daily step count was upped considerably while I was away, I'm trying to keep it buoyant now I'm home. That's meant a walk in the park, a walk around the docks, and parking as far away from the supermarket door as I can, in order to get the steps in. Once again, every little helps.

So there we have it. I'm still not quite at the jumper stage yet, but long-sleeved t shirts are a daily occurrence. I couldn't have dreamt of that, this time last week. Baby steps, gang. We're getting there.

Have a lovely week, folks.

*Don't bother searching. I've very much kept my self-indulgent video private.

A Seasonal Reset and Fish...

Waiting for my reset

Well here we are. A new school year, a new start for my head. My brain needs a good reset now and then, doesn't yours? Without it, my energy tends to peter out. No matter what I'm doing, I can only maintain enthusiasm for so long. But, a change of season sorts me out (as well as the holiday from which I've just returned.) Of course, arriving back to 30℃ temperatures wasn't ideal. My head said September, my body said sweaty cow riddled with brain fog. Still, the ninth month has arrived, the weather will cool at some point, and a new start is upon us all.  

Old Leeza is here, if
you want to catch-up
or refresh.

Writing News

I've had a decent break from even thinking about the next Leeza McAuliffe book, so I'm raring to get back to it. I'm still working through the edits and I've still got people in the field (not a literal field) giving me insights. It's all chugging along nicely.

This was excellent.

Culture

I read an excellent book on the flight. Rodham by Cutis Sittenfeld. It's a sliding doors tale of what it might've looked like had Hillary Rodham Clinton not married Bill. It had enough politics for my nerdy tastes as well as the human interest story of a brilliant woman living her life. It's been a week, and I'm still thinking about it. I also reread the YA novel, Camp, by LC Rosen. I love this book and it was  joy to revisit the characters. Loads of heart, realistic depictions of teen lust, and decent messaging about being yourself, to boot. I loved it. Finally I continued to work my way through Val McDermid's Karen Pirie series with The Skeleton Road. A hands down grippy thriller. All great reads, that passed the time on trains, flights, and departure lounges.

Halifax Waterfront.
I will imagine this
every time I eat
fish fingers.

Food and Drink

After having spent a sizeable chunk of the past week in Halifax, Nova Scotia, I can confirm that eating fresh seafood at outdoor waterfront restaurants is the only way I wish to consume meals from now on. However, as I live in a landlocked village, in a country that appears to have greatly inconvenienced the fishing industry with the changes from Brexit, I fear I'll have to dream on. Anyhoo. At my last food shop, I raided the fish aisle. I've now got lots of salmon, prawns, and mackerel in the fridge, waiting to be devoured. If I close my eyes and pretend I'm on a sea front, it might be the same? No?

Out and About

Nothing to report since my holiday. But that's fine. I've mainly been battling jet lag since my return. It's been a systematic process. On day one, I'd had ten hours sleep but still had to force myself to get up a noon. The following day I managed to prise myself from my bed at 11am. The next day, it was 10.30am. Some day soon, I'll be perkily switching my alarm off at the usual 8am. 

So here's to new starts. I'm hoping there's some cooler weather on the way, and my reinvigorated energy levels last for a decent chunk of time. I cannot tell you how excited I am for jumper season. You heard it here first.

Have a lovely week, folks

The Noble Art of Ear-Wigging...

One of the downsides of lockdown was being starved of writing inspiration. Obvs, there were loads of downsides. We all remember. The lack of connection with every other person, the uncertainty, the daily threat of death... it was a lot.

But there was also a writing-specific downside. If I couldn't sit in Costa, get on the train, or stand behind a pair of friends in a queue, then I couldn't get mini-insights into the daily experiences of others. There's so much to be gleaned from overhearing the way people talk together. I don't think I'm a naturally nosy person in real life, but in writing life, I pick up everything. People's phrasing, their shared jokes, the ease at the way they communicate. I reckon it's the best way to hone realistic dialogue. Listening to real life chat, makes your made-up dialogue work. It's makes the characters you've created, fly off the page. It roots even the most fantastical premise; making it accessible because the readers recognise the authenticity of the characters. Not because you're directly quoting something you overheard, but because your ears are attuned to the natural flow of chat. So yeah, lockdown was tricky. I didn't write much. Without external stimulation, my brain dried up.

The good news is, I've spent the past week watering that very same brain. For the first time since May 2019, I've left the UK. Yep, I've got on a plane, flown to another county, done a couple of cities, and been on a couple of trains for a combined length of thirty-two hours. Now, as I type these very words, I'm sitting in my hotel room in Halifax, Canada. You could say I'm over watering. 

By the time you read this, I'll be back. But no matter. It's been a much needed top-up to my creative juices. In lieu of a clear and coherent Update this week, I'm giving you a writing treat. Below are some examples of times in Canada, I've had a creative juices boost. The kind of experiences, whether they be momentary or long and involved, that give insight into another perspective. Everyday and banal, witty and eloquent, dramatic and fantastical - it's all fuel for the tank. They're all around us, but your ears and eyes need to be attuned. Next week, it'll be business as usual. For now, here's my travelogue of writing inspiration.

Manchester airport and a delay. People grumbling. Staff faffing. Little did I know this was the day when the UK air space went mad. A woman opposite me, frustratedly rang the people who were meeting her at the other end. A couple with kids did  their best to jolly them along. All of life in one departure gate. Lots to overhear.

Arty, right? Me, looking out of the window, descending into Toronto. Behind me, a young woman had what sounded like a panic attack. I was oblivious at first - too busy taking selfies - but then the woman next to her, talked her through it and held her hand. All was well once we landed. 

I spent a round four-hour trip on this bus, on a guided tour to Niagara Falls. Behind me, an American man talked to a German woman about himself. The whole entire time. She was incredibly patient. I was less so. But at least I now know about the American education system, US train travel, and being an accountant.

I went to a maple syrup tasting! Did you know that only 2% of maple syrup comes from Ontario? And did you know that pure maple syrup is full of sap not sugar? And that it interacts with the saliva in your mouth, rehydrating the syrup, so that it glides down your throat without making it sticky or making you thirsty? No, neither did I. But it's all research for when I create a character who does know all that.

This was Clifton Hill;  the tourist-heavy street in Niagara Falls Park where I ate lunch. My waiter - who did everything he was supposed to do and bought me lovely food and drink - gave off pure 'small town, teen slacker, with parochial parents who he hates, and who he can't wait to get away from the minute he's old enough to leave' vibes. A pure John Hughes character. I could be wrong, but that was my sense. If not, I enjoyed making all that up about him.

I spent twenty-six hours on this train. The steward of my carriage, was the chattiest guy I've ever met. When we were delayed, an off the cuff remark about him being on overtime, led to a detailed and lengthy explanation of how the company overtime structure works. He radiated energy and I imagine, he could have talked for hours. A walking-talking Duracell bunny.

A terrible photo of a train window's reflection but I buzzed off overhearing those men. Four independent travellers, were seated together for the evening meal. Almost immediately they chatted like they were besties. No politics or controversial topics, just genial, friendly chat. They were all around the 70 mark, shared photos of their kids and grandkids, and each ordered soup. 

I passed through so many tiny villages and communities like this. Somewhere, in the middle of rural Canada, along the train line, these houses exist. Who lives there? What are the issues that concern the residents? Where do they get their groceries from? 

I got off in Campbellton for some fresh air and to stretch my legs. Where is Campbellton? No idea. But looking it up on Google Maps at some point, will make me wonder who lives there, what their issues of concern are, and where they get their groceries. These are clearly the main questions I have about anywhere.

Finally, in Halifax, I read this sign about Merlin. He's the parrot that lives in the Maritime Museum. Animals had a bad pandemic too! Thoughts and prayers to Merlin, and a reminder to me that characters can experience stress in many ways, and some of them could be even be pets.

So there we go. Just a few instances where my head was filled with ideas for future writing. Will I write a novel set in Canada? Probably not. Will I create a railway cabin steward character who talks for hours and in great detail? Probably not. But will I let all these experiences and snippets of life, bleed into my writing in a generalised way, so as to create more depth and nuance to my own ideas? Absolutely. Oh Canada. You've been a writing inspiration. Many many thanks.

Have a lovely week, folks.

Jet-Lagged Maths and Beachy FOMO...

Real life scenes
from my house

Hi there. You've caught me in a tizz. Because of rampant excitement, I've packed my suitcase, a full seven days before I go on holiday. This means I'm left wearing  - let's just call them - my more dishevelled clothes. I'm still trying to edit up a storm before I go, and I'm still tired from staying up till the early hours of Friday for T***p's mugshot. It's been all go.

No one will care a jot about this, but it's important to me. Ready? Cool. Because the truth is, I've posted this blog every Monday morning since the end of 2016. Religiously. I refuse to miss a week now. If I've managed it on Christmas morning and my birthday, I'm not going to be derailed by a little summer break. But it does mean that going away is tricky. I have to write something in advance and I need the ability to post, wherever I am. Normally, my few days in Wales or Scotland aren't spoilt by this. I can post the blog, link to it on my socials, and the rest of the Monday is my own. Easy. This time, however, it's trickier. There are flights and time differences to deal with. I need to make sure the blog is published after midnight on Monday UK time. Then I have to post it on my socials at 11am. (Disclaimer: It probably won't be 11am.) Those are the rules. That means getting up at an unnatural time, and counting on my fingers whilst battling jet lag. Tired maths is never good. 

So enjoy this blog. If you're reading it, it means I counted right, my tiredness didn't win, and I found a working WiFi connection. Hurrah for perseverance and endeavour! Hurrah for us all!

Writing News

I've got more young people reading my manuscript this week. How marvellous. This time, they're taking more of a 'sensitivity reader' approach; ensuring I'm not making any major gaffes in the way I'm depicting some of the characters' experiences. (This article explains more about that, if you're interested.) Being a middle-aged, white, cisgendered, straight(ish) woman, even with a gapingly open mind like my own (lolz) only goes so far. It's handy to get some other perspectives. 

The face I make when any
of the characters in And Just
Like That do anything.

Culture

Because I listen to the podcast, They Like To Watch, I heard a recommendation for Deadloch. It's an Australian murder mystery, but with a heavy dose of dark humour thrown in. It's great. Funny and gripping. Find it on Amazon Prime. Then, I've finished hate-watching And Just Like That. How did the Sex and the City characters go from being aspirational older-sister figures, in my twenties, to snobby, entitled, fuddy duddies, in my forties. I've despaired of every choice the writers have made. And yet, just like that, I've watched every single week. Sigh.

Broccoli, green beans,
 and coriander. 

Food and Drink

After reading an Ella Rusbridger recipe a few weeks ago, I've become obsessed with charring veggies. (I know. But there are way worse ways to spend your time.) Now, when I cook stirfry veg, I char it in soy and sesame oil for about 15 minutes. Just in the frying pan, but making sure I don't move the veg around. I put a lid on so the steam stops them properly burning, but they're just on the edge of being utterly fragged. That way, when they're eventually coated in the sauce (usually something comprising gochujang, honey, soy, and white wine vinegar) their burnished taste makes the whole thing soooooo much better. Trust me.

A communal cousin paddle

Out and About

I had an impromptu trip to the seaside last week. My siblings with kids were congregating at my parent's bit of coastline, so the little ones could have a communal cousin paddle. I saw a few photos on WhatsApp, got raging FOMO, so bombed down the A55 for a couple of hours. I missed the beach - the rain had kicked in by then - but the pot of tea in the cafe, and the ice cream on the drizzly front, was marvellous. 

Whatever you're doing, wherever you are, I hope you're having a good one. It's nearly September, gang. Time to get a new pencil case and check your uniform still fits.

Have a lovely week, folks 

I'd Wear a Mary Earps Shirt...

Golden Glove winner, Mary Earps.
Surely her shirt will be
 available now?

In theory, I'm not sporty nor a sport's fan. I've spent forty-five years avoiding participation of any activity requiring me to wear a 'kit' and tend to ignore the stuff on the telly as much as possible. But in reality, that's all bollocks. Because yesterday the Lionesses were runners-up in the World Cup, concluding an absolutely brilliant tournament. The early morning match times couldn't stop me. I was obsessed. And sure, yesterday was a highly stressful way to start a Sunday, but the edge-of-the-seat ninety minutes was thrilling. Now look, catch up with your sporty analyses elsewhere. I'm not the person to come to for that. But what I can do is remind you about representation. (Again? YEAH. AGAIN.) 

Sadly, we didn't make it to that
scoreline yesterday.

For little kids - girls or others - the Women's World Cup shows that people other than men can be exceptional and heroic. For older folks like myself, it shouts down the noisy misogynistic society into which we were born. Sexism is stupid. It makes the person being sexist, sound stupid. It proves that anyone telling a sexist joke, making a belittling comment, or teasing someone for 'crying/running/acting like a girl,' is a pointless waste of space. Their opinions count for nothing. Their input into the conversation is as useful as dead air. I mean, we all know that, right? It's just, I do still hear shite like that quite a bit. And not just from the guy that forwards the crappy sexist meme, or bores everyone in the pub. It can be women too.

Women my age have grown up in a society that has routinely given the achievements of men, a higher value than those of women. It's no wonder lots of us have unconscious bias around the issue, and continue to treat men and men's things as the default setting. The good news is, we don't need to pass it on. We can break the cycle. We can treat ourselves better than the way we've been taught is acceptable. Look at yesterday. An exceptional team of women, led by an unbelievably good manager, has set a brand new standard. For a fraction of the money and far less status than their male counterparts would receive, they dug deep, rose to the myriad challenges that the tournament threw up, and reached the final. The Lionesses know to ignore the sexists, just as we must. Tune it out, do what you love, and try your best. You may win or lose, but you'll always be proud of your efforts. What a brilliant lesson for all kids (and adults) to learn, regardless of sex and gender. 

A possible title. And a kitchen 
island full of notes.

Writing News

I am currently buzzing? Can you hear? Leeza McAuliffe 2 (working title - still mulling over options) has been edited by an actual editor. I'm full of the joys of the story once more. It's invigorating to have someone objectively read your writing. (Also terrifying, natch.) With just one or two comments, new ideas have burst into my head. Nothing life-shattering that'll change the basic plot, but enough for me to tweak and polish with a renewed burst of energy. It's been an exciting writing week.

A still from TikTok.
So profesh.

Culture

She's been on the TikToks again! Yes, in order to market the new book when it's time, I've been reminding the world about the first Leeza book. I still don't get TikTok but I think I like it. With barely any followers I've managed to get some likes and views. Now that I've more or less binned off Twitter (that's X to you) I need to up my game elsewhere. And in more traditional Culture News, the new series of Annika has started on Alibi and I love it. 

Food and Drink

I made a focaccia. Because, yum, but also because I have a glut of tomatoes from the garden. And as I only like tomatoes when they are cooked (or done like this) then I decided to stud the top of some olive-oily bread with as many as I could cram on. 

Out and About

When I wrote my first (unpublished) novel, I named the bar where my characters drank, Coriander. It's my favourite herb so I think I decided to honour it that way. I remembered this last week when I ate in Pesto. I'm a big fan of the restaurant, but I can't stand the sauce. Please keep your basil-based condiments to yourself.

Let's take it slowly, yeah. Coming down from the highs and the lows of the World Cup, that is. It's been a glorious few weeks of international football. We must remember the joy despite the disappointment. And now we get to look forward to the start of the new season. My Liverpool Women's season ticket is burning a hole in my pocket. (Well, the screen shot of my ticket is burning a hole in my Photos.) If you enjoyed the WC, look up your local team. That way, you don't have to wait four years for more class.

Have a lovely week, folks 

Dear Diary...

The summer holidays.
Nothing to do but pack a bag
and go hunting for a dead body.

Ahhh. The summer holidays. Can you smell the freedom? Are you overrun with free time? Are you living your best life? Nah, me neither. Obviously most people haven't had a mid-year, six-week break, since their school days. Indeed, I haven't experienced the thrill of breaking up since leaving my teaching job. But still. It's the summer holidays! The wide-open, sprawling days of possibility. Last term's a distant memory, and the first week of September is ages away. Anything's possible, the world's your oyster, you can lie in bed til noon. 

I was feeling vaguely nostalgic about this recently; about past summers and having all the free time. So much so that I did something I've never ever done before. Are you ready for this? Well let me tell you. I went into the loft and found my teenage diaries. I KNOW. 

You might be surprised to hear this is the first time I've done this. Since they were boxed up in 1999, when I moved into my first adult house, they've been stashed at the back of a variety of attics. The box has remained untouched. Every time I've moved, I've considered binning the thing, but something keeps me from making the leap. The box isn't just diaries - from 1989-1996. It's birthday cards, letters and notebooks too. Genuine historical sources. My memories, as they happened, recorded for posterity. They're my first regular writing efforts. It would be wrong to get rid of them, after all this time.

Sadly I can't find any evidence
of this. (The autobiography,
nor that it's 'ded good.''

Anyway, something made me take the plunge. I got into the attic, pulled out the Christmas decs, made my way through the burst airbeds and old suitcases, and found the box in question. I then spent a stomach churning hour reminding myself of my past.

Pity the teacher whose lunch
choice was recorded 
purely because I had a crush
on him for five minutes.

But who cares, when THE
ECONOMY IS IN TATTERS.

Well. It was certainly insightful. It became clear, almost immediately, that I was obsessed with boys. Happily my crushes lasted approximately four and a half days before being changed up for someone new. I included national news alongside mundane family stuff, and I was no fan of weekly church. But despite the cringe, it was actually fascinating. I had a clear voice. I was completely self-absorbed (an essential job requirement at thirteen) and I wrote about a wide variety of issues (Mostly. There was a lot of crush nonsense in there.)

The GCSE year. I actually got a
Dual Award Science C.
Definately

Three decades later, here I am writing Leeza McAuliffe stories - her thoughts and feelings in diary form. It's mad that until now, I've resisted the urge to mine my own diaries for ideas. But you know what? It was probably best. It meant I could find Leeza's voice without being hampered by my own. Whilst I've loosely based Leeza's diary on my own experiences (eldest in a big family, skint, book lover) I'm glad I didn't have my own entries in my head when I was working out what she wanted to say.

There was just one paragraph that I thought was quite Leeza-like. 

'A really funny nurse came in today in form period (no pun intended) and gave all the girls in our year a period talk. She must think we know nothing. Still, it was a good laugh and she gave us a free packet of Tampax so it wasn't a total waste of time.'

I liked how disparaging I was to the poor woman just doing her job. 'She must think we know nothing!' Honestly. I'm both cringing and proud of my thirteen-year-old confidence. 

I'm probably not going to make a habit of it. Reading my old diaries that is. It's always better to look forward than try to live in the past. Probably. Besides, when I was a teenager, I was so desperate not to be. I wanted control over my life. I wanted my own space, and to live by my own decisions and rules. Reading my teenage ramblings was a really lovely reminder that I've got exactly what I wanted. How brilliant is that?

Have a lovely week, folks.