Setting the Scene...

Here's some serendipity for you. A few months ago, my brother messaged, 'You'd really like Bruges, Nicky.' (He was in Bruges at the time.) Out of mild curiosity, I idled over to the Eurostar website, just to see the logistics of getting there at some point. Can you believe? It was only the last day of a Eurostar sale, with slashed prices and top notch deals. I booked a return train there and then. Bruges, here I come!

Actually, that should read, Bruges, here I came! Because, just to make clear, I'm currently in Bruges. Yes, like the film!

Obviously I watched In Bruges during the week. This time, the hitman plot, and cat and mouse storyline didn't resonate as much as the 'ooh that's the square near our hotel' type comments. Regardless it was marvellous and reminded me how much I love a movie location. Because I really do, you see. Often, the reason I'm drawn to a story is its setting. Think Ferness in Local Hero, Vienna in Before Sunrise, or Boston in Spotlight. The place is part of the story. Whether it's fictional or geographically authentic, the setting of a movie can be just as thrilling as the plot.

The Man With The Golden Gun 
in Thailand

It was different in the past. If you watched a film, and wanted to know what the location was like, you had to visit that location. As most people couldn't do that, film locations seemed glamorous and aspirational. Viewers travelled vicariously through the cinema screen and saw far away places around the world. Think James Bond. Tropical paradise or snowy mountainous terrain - all elitist and fancy pants. 

I understand the thrill of seeing somewhere exciting and unreachable. I'm just more about the everyday. The fact a movie has been filmed in a particular location, automatically elevates that place as exciting. Every time I watch a film or TV drama, I'm straight onto IMDB afterwards, looking up the town it was filmed. Then I'm dragging the yellow Google figure about the map, trying to find the same roads and buildings that I've seen on screen. 

Slough House
from my very own Google Maps

It's easy with Bruges. There are obvious landmarks that make it easy to recognise . In fact, I walked past the Belfort (the tower that features in the climax of In Bruges) about an hour ago. What's less obvious is when a place contains no landmarks; when the streets and houses are commonplace and standard. They're harder to find on the map but just as interesting. That they've been used to tell a story I've enjoyed, makes them worth looking up. I'm thinking the residential Chicago street in Home Alone, or even scruffy Slough House in Slow Horses. 

That's all well and good for films already in existence. What about stories that remain on the page? With the Leeza McAuliffe Stories, I've created my own location. The setting is the fictional Cumbrian village of Applemere Bridge. I've visited several Cumbrian villages in my life, but they're mostly the touristy ones in the Lake District. Applemere Bridge isn't like that. It's decidedly non-touristy with no landmarks to make it recognisable on a map. And yet! It's home to the twists and turns of three books* of Leeza's life. The mini supermarket, the pub, the country lane that becomes the high street, the bus stop, the new estate... these are the backdrops of Leeza's story. They're the backdrops to the action. I can picture the place so clearly in my head, it's frustrating not be able to look it up online.

Shap - small, just off
the motorway and one
main through road.

This train of thought always leads to the same place. Where would the dramatisation of Leeza McAuliffe be filmed? OBVIOUSLY I've thought about it. In the end, I think it'd end up being a Local Hero sitch. Did you know, the town of Furness depicted in the film is a composite of two separate places? You get the beach in one location and the town in the other. Maybe that's what would happen for Applemere. There's a small town called Shap, that I've loosely had in my head - you may have seen it mentioned in the UK news last week when there was a train detrainment? That was the starting point for my fictional village. But my head has embellished it repeatedly, so now it bears no resemblance. 

I suppose the good news is, this isn't a problem I need to ponder. Mainly because there's no film on the cards. Also, if one were planned, a location scout would be deployed. I can rest easy and stop thinking about towns and settings and locations.  Yet that's the hook for me. The hook for a good story. Can I picture the place it's set? Do I want to visit? Do I feel I HAVE visited through the ups and downs of the narrative? Maybe it's just me, and everyone else watches a film and forgets about it. All valid thoughts to ponder. Meanwhile, I'm off out to explore a bit more Bruges. Hopefully avoiding the hitmen and gangsters that brought this place to life for me, years ago.

Have a lovely week, folks.

*For clarity, two books are published, one's coming soon.

Hello Darkness, My Old Friend...

Now we're cooking on gas. Welcome back, Greenwich Mean Time! Hello dark nights! Come in, winter chill!

Yeah, yeah, we ALL know this is my time. Summer lovers everywhere are shivering into their cardigans and dusting off their SAD lamps. I'm genuinely sorry you're feeling that way, and you KNOW this time will pass. I try to limit my joy when I'm with people who I know are struggling. No one wants to hear me banging on about the joys of something that causes them pain. But here, on my own blog, just between you and me, the wind, rain, and frost is giving me LIFE. 

Writing News

An ode to my intermittent creative energy, referred to here as Writing Flow...

Lovely Writing Flow, 

so elusive and coquettish. 

When I've all the time in the world, 

you literally appear to vanish.

But, lo, when I get busy,

with pressing matters elsewhere, 

you rock up bold as brass,

you act without a care.

My best laid plans get ditched, 

I'm at the mercy of your whim. 

I must write when you appear,

or the outcome is quite grim.

Writing Flow, what's going on?

Work with me, why don't you?

Can't you trickle steadily,

Instead of one big breakthrough?

Last week you were amazing!

Ever-present and rock-steady.

But knowing your flighty nature, 

you'll soon be gone already.

So thank you Flow, for dropping in,

I'll be finished sooner than later,

Because after your week of visiting,

it's time for the illustrator! 

In related news, I've been FLYING with edits this week. After a few decent days of lengthy laptop shifts, my schedule is back on track. I've contacted Gary who does the covers, and it's all coming together. I've even had time to write poetry. WTAF?

Culture

Keri Russell is Kate
Wyler, the Diplomat.

After writing my socks off for hours each day, I unwound with Netflix's The Diplomat. It's three series of political shenanigans; camper than The West Wing, but still pretty solid. I binged it each night until I was done. Then, in 'the best movie script ever written' news, I saw Back to the Future on the big screen, for its 40th anniversary. That film will never stop being brilliant. In book news, I'm working my way through Christopher Brookmyre's back catalogue. I'm currently in the middle of his first novel, Quite Ugly One Morning, and loving every deliciously described, grossly brutal, but ultimately humorous scene. For a first novel, it slaps. Finally, I gave into the buzz and listened to Lily Allen's new album, West End Girl. It's fab. Apart from the confessional, vulnerable nature of the thing, it's packed full of ear-wormy bops. I love it for her.

Dried fruit, waiting 
for the rest of the 
ingredients.

Food and Drink

I'm not trying to be the most annoying person in the world (honest) but it's the time of year when make a Christmas cake. No, I've not started watching my Christmas films yet and no, my fairy lights aren't routinely on each evening, but the last days of October are Christmas Cake time.

It's one of my favourite Christmas jobs. Because it's done long before the seasonal stress kicks in, I can wallow in the best smells as I potter about the kitchen. Orange zest, port, mixed spice, cocoa, cherries, and honey. The whole thing simmers on the stove, before being poured into a tin. And the best part? There's not a raisin, currant, or sultana in sight. I hate the things, so use cranberries, dates, and cherries instead. The original recipe is here, if you want it, but as you'll see, I've switched out the dried fruit for my preferred options.

Out and About

In hindsight, having a few quiet pints in Liverpool, on a Friday night that happened to be Halloween, might have been a mistake. It was chocka! What's more, there were people dressed up... who were adults! As my usual aesthetic is dark nails with a smoky eye, I blended in fine. Thank goodness I'm not about the pastels. It ended up being an excellent night. What was the best costume I saw? Why, thanks for asking! It was Zach Galifianakis from The Hangover, complete with a (photocopied) baby inserted into the carrying sling. 

Onwards. This week, Bommie Night will provide me with another of my favourite smells. Is it sulphur? Is that what's in the air when people have let off fireworks? Either way, that's the smell I love. A crisp, cold night, with that fireworky smell, and the whiff of fire lingering around. God, I LOVE it. Slow-cooked stew and treacle toffee, STAT.

Have a lovely week, folks.

Like Pulling Teeth...

To my absolute surprise, it appears I'm a morning person.

Me as a youth

This was not the case when I was a youth. Whether it was childhood, Uni, or my early working years, when that alarm sounded, I'd be pissed off. I'd lie there for as long as humanely possibly before eventually dragging myself/getting dragged out of bed and embracing the day.

I'm not sure when, but at some point, that changed. Look, I love a lie in. Come the weekend, that's exactly what I'll be doing. But when it comes to the week, I've discovered something interesting. I have zero appetite for working after lunch. I'm over being productive once the afternoon hits. If I'm at my desk for nine, I can be driven and organised. But once the initial spurt of mental energy is spent, and lunch is a-calling, I'm done. 

Yep, this is where I'm at right now

So why am I telling you this now? Well, today's usual 9-11am sesh set aside for blog-writing purposes, got missed. A bunch of urgent admin needed doing first thing, and then I had a mani booked around lunch. By the time I sat down to write these words, it was 3pm! That's home time in schools! I am SO over being bothered for the day. I can't be faffed one bit. With that in mind, I can only apologise if these sentences seem a little off . I'm literally dragging them out of my head and forcing them onto the screen. The afternoon struggle is real, folks. Send all good wishes for my plight.

I get it, Sly!

Writing News

After two lovely empty-headed weeks, I'm editing once again. This time, with guidance. Hurrah! The woman who edits my books has got back to me. It's SO good to have someone else read the whole thing. Until this point, it can feel unreal. My head might be filled with characters and plots, but if no one else knows about them, they're just weird figments of my imagination. Now, however, they belong to someone else. It's a strange situation to share your imaginary friends with people, but I love it.*

Culture

A couple of cinema releases for you this week. I Swear is utterly brilliant. Telling the true story of John Davidson, it shows the challenges and realities of living with Tourette's Syndrome. Whilst I wouldn't describe it as an out and out comedy - although some scenes are undoubtedly played for laughs - it's a thoroughly engaging, sometimes heartbreaking, but ultimately hopeful tale of another person's life. Watching how several adults in young John's life couldn't see beyond the tics and bad words, did more to educate me about the need for empathy than any SEND training course could have done. It's an essential watch. The fact it's entertaining is just a bonus.

Jeremy Allen White
as Bruce Springsteen

In more true story action, I watched Springsteen: Deliver Me From Nowhere on Friday night. The film focuses on a short period of time in the eighties, and delves into Springsteen's state of mind as he was on the cusp of mega-stardom. It was engrossing, thoughtful, and happily not full of big hit performance set pieces that could distract from the narrative. Also, Jeremy Allen White NAILS it. Properly good.

Gravy season is
well underway

Food and Drink

There's a line in Midnight Chicken by Ella Rusbridger, that I think is the truest thing ever written. She writes, 'Someone I knew once told me that you always cook for the number of people in the family you grew up in.' 

I don't know about you, but I've found this to be true, time and time again. My final years living at home were in a family of nine. That's why I over-cater (but never under-deliver!) with almost every meal I make. Indeed, it can be the ONLY explanation for the Sunday roast I knocked up last week. Cooking for two is such a challenge. The photo shows my plate - half of the quantity I cooked - which is ridiculous. Also, the green beans had gone off so there was supposed to be more. It won't surprise you to know I didn't finish, saved the leftovers, and spent the afternoon dozing in a food-coma. It was fit though.

Zoom in to see
my triumph

Out and About

More insights I've learnt this week. Turns out, I'm NOT shit at darts. Who knew? For a family 50th birthday, I spent a couple of hours throwing some arrows (ALL the lingo!) and hitting the board more times than not. I've no clue about strategy, and the numbers around the board mean nothing to me, but by the end I was at the top of the leader board. Can you believe!?! Whilst it's definitely a fluke, I'm just glad to have reached a new sporting high. It's been a long time since the 1989 Rainhill Inter-Schools Netball Comeptiton winners' medal. 

How marvellous! I've finally got the end of the post. It's taken longer than usual, I've lost concentration every few minutes, and I need to lie down after a gargantuan effort. But it's done! Woohoooo! 

Have a lovely week, folks.

*Full disclosure: My writing friends that I meet with, also know my characters. But they hear 1500 words every two weeks in a drip drip drip effect. That means I'm willing the weeks away so I can get to the end of the book with them. At this rate, it'll be well after publication.

Attempting Serene Ambiance...

It's that time of year when we attempt to create  a cosy autumnal ambience using plastic tat and a selection of mini supermarket pumpkins. Just me?

I say 'attempt' but there's not much to it. After stringing up the fake-leafed garland, I've placed the pumpkins at either side of the fire place. It's fine. Does it scream AMBIANCE to you? You don't need to answer. In fact, what with the quickly-rotting peel on the little pale pumpkin to the right of the picture, the ambience is nearer rotting veg than New England fall. It is what it is.

Forcing the serenity.

Writing News

I finally did it. I edited myself into a big enough frenzy that I had to mentally shout, ENOUGH! TIME FOR REINFORCEMENTS! In less hyperbolic speak, that means I approached the lovely editor I use at this stage, and asked if she was game for another adventure. Happily she was, so she's currently working her magic on the manuscript. This is excellent news for me. For a short time, my brain can forget the goings on in Applemere Bridge. It can stop whirring all night as it attempts to concoct the perfect Christmas ending without it being similar to the previous two Christmas endings. It can stop reading anything - social media, other novels, news reports - with a critical eye, spotting which commas are extraneous and choosing better words than the ones selected by the author. My brain can finally CHILL. For as long as the editor has hold of the thing, I'm living a life of serenity.

Film Club

Culture

Film Club on BBCiPlayer is wonderful. Sweet, poignant, vulnerable, and funny. Two friends, obsessed with film, with one currently recovering from a breakdown and debilitating agoraphobia. I hoovered it up and felt all the better for doing so. Congrats to Aimee Lou Wood and Ralph Davis for creating something so lovely.

Riot Women

The iPlayer also contains the second series I saw off this week - Sally Wainwright's Riot Women. It's fantastic. Obviously it is. Everything Wainwright writes is... right. Managing to combine humour, drama, authentic characters, and stunning northern locations, this is spot on. The short synopsis is that a group of middle-aged women start a punk band. The longer synopsis is more complex, involving divorce, grief, caring for elderly relatives, caring for grown up children, sexual assault, mental heath, and work place misogyny. To be able to write a witty, cathartic screenplay embracing all that, is impressive. Maybe it particularly hits the spot for middle aged women? Good. Write more for us please. It's brilliant, I loved it, and I felt seen.

My crap photo does
NOT do this justice

Food and Drink

My Wednesday brunch place has had a menu rejig. The upshot is, they've added shakshuka. This has filled my heart with joy. I bloody love shakshuka! Their version is thick, warming, and utterly tasty. Not as spicy as I make my own, but all the better for it. Of COURSE I'm happy to see my friends, but the fact that in these chillier months, I get to shovel a bowl of shakshuka into my mouth while I do so, is marvellous. 

Boozy Sunday, innit.

Out and About

I had a boozy Sunday in town. WHY, I hear you ask. WHY NOT, I reply. It was all based around Sunday dinner, but the pre-meal beers, during-meal wine, and post-meal more beers added to the fun. A few days later I was back in town, on the mission for some new clothes. Despite visiting several shops, it was a failed trip. I struggle when the only clothing options are chunky knits or blingtastic party wear. Where are the regular tops, people? Tops that I can wear with jeans in the pub and not look deranged? Answers on a postcard please. Meanwhile, I'll stick to Vinted. 

Whatever you're doing, hope it's bringing you joy. And if it's not, probably best stop doing it then, right? Or you do you. Whatever you want. It's literally none of my business. 

Have a lovely week, folks.

A Tale of Two Authors...

Like many other writers, I didn't win the Nobel Prize for Literature last week. Congratulations to Làszló Krasznahorkai on his much-deserved accolade. 

I say 'much deserved' but the truth is, I haven't read any Làszló Krasznahorkai books to my knowledge. I'm sure they're marvellous. In fact, when I scroll his Wikipedia, it's clear he knows what he's doing. He's won a bunch of stuff, including the 2025 Man Booker International Prize and the 2013 Best Translated Book Award. He's obviously brilliant and I applaud his success.

Announcements like this remind me of my lack of interest in 'Good Books'. 'Good Books' are different from good books. Good books are books you enjoy. They're stories you race to read, reread, and lose yourself in. They're like old friends that take you away from all this, providing succour and amusement amidst the busyness of life. 

'Good Books', are an entirely different matter. They weighty and worthy. They can be bleak and unforgiving. Whilst the skills of their author are undoubtedly top notch, they're never books I want to reread. When I get to the end of one, I feel smug pride that I did it. Like climbing Everest or cleaning the house. 'Good Books' can be found on my bookshelves but they've been read once, if at all. Meanwhile, there're next to other books that are falling apart from having been read so often. They're the books that win the awards of my heart.

Me at uni.
 Barely taking it in.

I've said it before but it bears repeating. I felt very differently back in the day. When I was studying English Lit as part of my combined degree. I was so busy cramming my head with Shakespeare, Marlowe, and Webster, that over three years, I failed to read for fun. Can you imagine? Having been an avid reader my entire life, I spent the uni years reading prescribed content that mostly bored me. I could bang out a thousand words on a collection of poems or a particular play, but the reading material held no enjoyment. I finished uni with a brand new mindset - how wonderful that I don't have to read ANYTHING ever again.

That viewpoint lasted all of five minutes. After everyone packed up and left my house share, I had a spare weekend until I was leaving myself. A flatmate left me a Jane Green book and I idly had a look. That book filled my final weekend, and I was back - ready to love books once again. This time, however, I'D be in charge of my reading material.

Me, after uni,
reading for pleasure.

So why bring this up now? Well the world lost a literary giant last week. Not someone that troubled the Nobel Literature panel, but a beloved author nonetheless. Jilly Cooper, creator of the Rutshire Chronicles, died at the age of eighty eight. Her stories are really something. Long before I'd read one, I'd dismissed her work as trashy. I still had that English Lit snobbishness about me. When a colleague foisted Rivals on me at work, I took it to be polite. I remember planning to read the first couple of chapters, then hand it back pretending I'd finished. I'm sure you can work out what happened next. I DEVOURED it. 

Rivals was thrilling. Rutshire - a county filled with local TV 'celebrities', an ex-Olympian turned politician, and social engagement after social engagement - was Little England deliciously satirised. Then there was the sex. So much sex! Funny, camp, and almost always consensual. (The one non-consensual scene in Rivals is depicted as clearly not OK.) The sex is often gloriously concerned with women's pleasure, which for a novel written in the1980s, feels revolutionary. Because of the frequency and sometimes casual nature of the story's hook-ups, it's easy to think that's all there is. Wrong! Jilly Cooper's genius is in her gossipy description of place. What, on first glance can SEEM like a rambling saga, is really a masterclass in world-building. I want to live in Rutshire. I want to be Rupert Cambell Black's neighbour, I want to be best friends with Taggie, and I want to EXIST in this world. How lucky was I that there was a whole bunch of Rutshire-based stories in which to immerse myself.

Taggie and Rupert: working beautifully
in fiction but whose very existence 
would be insufferable in real life.

That's the genius of Jilly Cooper. Because at no point in REAL LIFE, would I want to exist in that world. In reality, I'd find Taggie insipid, I'd hate the constant obligation of socialising with the neighbours, and I'd find Rupert Campbell Black an absolute PERV. But on the page? I want it all! That's the power of storytelling. That's the power of Jilly Cooper's literary legacy. 

I reread Rivals last Autumn, after the TV series aired on Disney. I love that Jilly Cooper got to see her characters find a whole new audience. I love that she was exec-producing the series right to the end. I love the unwavering affection people have for her stories. When the news of her death broke, the outpouring online was lovely to read. 

Good books stay with you. They make you see the world in a different way. They provide comfort and escapism, whilst exploring truisms and tenets. Warm congratulations to Làszló Krasznahorkai on his deserved accolade. I'm happy that his work has been given this recognition and honour. Likewise, congratulations to Jilly Cooper for creating a world so beloved by millions, for being an author that gets repeatedly reread, and for providing pleasure and joy to generations. It would be a boring world if all the books on the shelf were the same.

Have a lovely week, folks.

Glass Ceilings and Wake-Up Juice...

When it comes to the Archbishop of Canterbury, I have zero skin in the game. I'm not religious, wasn't bought up in the Church of England, and I find it increasingly dodge that representatives of a faith have seats in the House of Lords. And yet... the new Archbishop of Canterbury was announced on Friday and she's a woman! Hurrah! Congratulations to Sarah Mullalley on her new gig.

Fake-smiling through nonsense

When events like this happen, I'm torn. It shouldn't be a big deal that a woman has earned a top job. It shouldn't be newsworthy that the sex and gender of the new appointee are different from previous incumbents. It shouldn't matter on any level, who the head honcho is, aside from their skill at spiritual guidance. Sadly, that's not the world we live in. The fact that this particular glass ceiling has been shattered is more than a big deal.

I'm old enough to remember the furore of women being ordained in the first place. A quick Google tells me it was 1994. That's about right because I was a teenager and I remember the news stories. The out and out misogyny was writ large. So lovely for sixteen year old me to be aware of that as I navigated my place in the world. I remember people leaving the church in a huff. Because how TERRIBLE to have to listen to a woman on a Sunday. How AWFUL for churchgoers having to put up with THAT. Despite four hundred vicars leaving the Church over the issue, sanity prevailed and life carried on. 

FAO the huffy vicars of 1994

Now, thirty one years later, the first woman has been appointed head of it all. I'm delighted for her. I've no idea what her vibes are - there's every chance we'll disagree on EVERYTHING - but congratulations to Sarah Mullalley, regardless. Like I said, I've zero skin in the game. It's just nice to see the slow march of equality rear its head every now and then.

Writing News

We're at the 'checking each chapter's word count in an attempt to bring them in line' stage. Got that? Not every chapter needs to be the same length but when each month of the year is represented by a chapter, it makes sense that they're similar sizes. The picture shows the word counts before the last couple of read throughs. December is a whopper. All the fun of Christmas, plus the conclusion of the story. But July? Well that's when Leeza experiences her first school holiday. Of COURSE there's loads to say about that. As for the rest of the chapters, they need to be less than five thousand words. October and November, I'm coming for you.

The brothers

Culture

I've been watching the teen drama, The Summer I Turned Pretty. It's the classic story. Girl meets boy, boy has a brother, girl fancies both siblings and can't choose between them... yadda yadda yadda. Tale as old as time. I'm really enjoying it but there's one problem. I've reached the age where the male protagonists are young enough to be my kids and therefore as sexy as toenails. When did that happen? I demand a recast. In hornier news, I finished ITV's The Hack. There's nothing hotter than good yet flawed people standing up to bullies in search of the truth. The dramatisation of the hacking scandal is less potent than the retelling of the post office scandal, but the immorality is just as stark. Worth a watch.

Food and Drink

More juicing news, if you can even stand it. Ginger shots! Have you heard of them? Of course you have! Like Del Amitri, I'm always the last to know. My latest batch-juice shenanigans are fab. Lots of ginger, a few apples, black pepper, and turmeric. Mix together and you've got yourself some pretty potent wake-up juice. Like the liquid equivalent of doing a bungee jump, slathered in Vics vapour rub, whilst stuffing Tangfastics into your mouth. If you want to uncontrollably shout WOWSERS at the start of your day, I can heartily recommend. 

Out and About

Ah Warwick, you beautiful beast. Thank you for a lovely Saturday night. Between my niece's birthday bash and the chaos of a Bond family get together, it was a fun weekend. The week ahead is less exciting but we can't be having plans every second now, can we?

Have a lovely week, folks.

The Curse is Lifted...

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

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

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

Me in 1992: 
The Take That gigging days

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

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

Writing News

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

Making notes about
 a film Phil will hate.

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

Culture

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

Matt Beard

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

Food and Drink

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

Out and About

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

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

Have a lovely week, folks.