The Ups and Downs of a Big-Zero Birthday

This is going to be a very quick blog as today is my Big-Zero Birthday... hurray!

But we had to set the alarm early for Mr A’s hospital appointment... boo!

Family and friends are coming for the weekend... hurray!

But I have a shopping list that’s almost as long as the Isner/Mahut tennis match... boo!

The weather is going to be scorching... hurray!

But that will make guest babies, oldies and dogs fractious... boo!

We have people staying in relays, some on Saturday night, others on Sunday night. I’m so organised... hurray!

But I may well run out of clean sheets... boo!

Hang on! None of this matters because today is my Big-Zero Birthday and I’m going to enjoy my weekend. Next week I may even blog about it.

There once was a dormouse...

It’s that time of year again. The delphiniums are big, blue and beautiful and the geraniums, which should really be called pelargoniums, are starting to fill the window boxes with colour.

And every year I think of the poem about delphiniums blue

and geraniums red and it makes me smile.

I’ve always loved that A. A. Milne poem. It’s called ‘The Dormouse and The Doctor’ and it began,

‘There once was a dormouse who lived in a bed of delphiniums blue and geraniums red.’

I didn’t know what delphiniums or geraniums were when I was a child but it didn’t matter. The rhythm was enthralling. Mum used to read it to me at night before I went to sleep when I was very young... which is almost the name of the poetry book. The actual title of the book is ‘When We Were Very Young’. There’s a second book called ‘Now We are Six’. I had them both. I remember some of those poems so well that I can still recite them today.

‘The King’s Breakfast’... I just love the way he slid down the banister,
‘Us Two’... where, of course, there was always Pooh and me,
‘Vespers’... I too had a blue dressing gown but it didn’t have a hood.

Anyone who has never heard of A. A. Milne or Winnie the Pooh must think I’ve gone crazy. The point I’m trying to make is how important the bedtime reading routine was for me. It was the best time of the day, the most magical, special, well remembered part of my childhood. We didn’t only read poems. Mum read stories too. My all time favourite was ‘The Caravan Family’ by Enid Blyton. In fact I loved anything by Enid Blyton and once I could read I worked my way through every single ‘Famous Five’ and ‘Secret Seven’ book many times over.

I thank Mum for creating those special times and introducing me to the wonder of poetry and prose. How sad to think that not everyone has the chance for quality time and those precious moments with a parent at bedtime. Reading to kids ought to be compulsory.

Well done me!

This is not something that I’m used to saying. It almost feels obscene to praise myself... but then again why not. I have driven over 500 miles in the last week. We’ve been out and about visiting family and, as Mr A is continuing to have trouble with his eyes, he’s having to put up with my driving. I hate driving distances so I think I deserve a bit of praise.

I have two major problems with long distance motorway driving; boredom and lane discipline. As a passenger I’d often overcome the boredom by writing. Obviously this is not an option for a driver but I can’t even think about a current story plot while I’m behind the wheel. My mind is totally engaged and yet it is so boring.

The other problem is anticipating which lane to get into. Why do motorways have to have left hand lanes that suddenly become a different road? One minute you’re driving along the M6, the next you’re being swept into the M56 and heading for Wales. How confusing is that? I do have a Sat Nav with a nice Irish man called Sean who talks to me in a gentle, reassuring way but even with his help I have been dangerously close to being swept onto the wrong road several times during this last week.

The reason we’re doing a bit of travelling is that Mr A has just completed a six-month course of chemotherapy but unfortunately the levels in his blood are continuing to rise and the doctors are concerned that the Amyloidosis will spread if no further action is taken. They want to refer him for a stem cell transplant but we’re trying to delay them... just a little. He needs a break. It’s summer. We’re going to get away, visit family, go to the seaside, enjoy some typical British ‘warm’ weather. The family visits over this last week are just the start of our summer of busy... although I have to say there’s busy and there’s busy.

Last Sunday was spent daughter-visiting. It was a lovely day so we decided to take Josh-the-dog exploring. Nothing too energetic. It was more of a stroll than a walk. We wandered, we watched the ducks, Josh socialised a little. We were overtaken by joggers, cyclists, even canoeists.

What is it with all this need for physical activity? Can it really be healthy, especially on such a warm day? The picture on the left doesn't quite show it but the joggers were passing us constantly. At one point I feared that it might become busier on that path than on the motorway... still at least there was no danger of being swept onto the M56 to Wales and I could do some of my Nosy Adam people watching and story-idea gathering without having to concentrate too hard on where I was going.

A note for other Nosy Adams/Parkers/Smiths/etc like myself: A project called Bugged has just been launched. There’s more information on their website but basically they’re asking writers to ‘go forth and eavesdrop’ on July 1st. We have to write something based on what we hear and send it to them by August 15th. There’ll be an anthology of the best coming out in October 2010.

Permission to be nosy… now that’s what I call fun!

Blog or newspaper article... What’s the difference?

The Leicester Mercury is one of the largest local newspapers in the UK with an estimated daily readership of almost 200,000. It features a mix of local and national news plus items of local interest which, last Friday, included an article by me. It was my blog posting called Strictly Limited Experience but seeing it published on the pages of the Leicester Mercury made me feel uncomfortable and I’m not sure why. It’s not as if this was my first published article. That happened way back in the 1990s when The Lady published an article about my involvement in a local bird count. I admit I was ecstatic at the time but I’ve had many articles published since then so why did this feel different?

It could be because the piece was never intended to be a newspaper article. I know that this blog can be read by anyone in the word but it’s my blog and I can choose to talk about whatever I wish. When I received a copy of the paper I scrutinised the article for any social gaffe or misdemeanour that I may have committed. I’ve yet to find out if the mother of the boy who wanted to see a close up of the goal during his first trip to live football has recognised herself. It may be that she doesn’t mind being written about. Mum expressed surprise at being discussed in her local paper even though she had no objections to being mentioned in my blog. Maybe we’ve lulled ourselves into a false sense of security. I mean, I’m only talking to myself here and you lot don’t really exist... do you?

Hang on! You must exist because I can hear you all asking, ‘If it was never intended to be a newspaper article how come it was in last Friday’s edition?’ Good question and the answer is Twitter. I was tweeting away late Sunday night with several of my local Twittermates. They were agreeing with me about the issues of accessibility at that particular venue when the editor of the Leicester Mercury tweeted me an offer to publish it as a First Person article. Of course, I agreed but this was gone 11 pm and it was all rather surreal. I felt more reassured when he emailed me during working hours to confirm but, and here’s a note to all those friends who think I waste my time on Twitter, I certainly have Twitter to thank for it being published.

So, has the article reached a wider audience? The Editor promised that it would and I’m not disputing it but I have no proof. The good thing about a blog is that people who read and appreciate my words will spend a few moments adding a comment at the bottom. Non-bloggers can’t ever understand how much that means to a blogger. I wondered if the article would increase my local blog following but so far it hasn’t. Mind you, at Mum’s day centre a well-thumbed copy was being passed from table to table and it was suggested that, as it really did read quite well, I might think of becoming a writer. I smiled politely. They probably think that all writers walk around with a quill in their hand and a whimsical look in their eye... but that’s another blog story.

Strictly Limited Experience

Forgive me if I have a moan but...

...I took Mum to see Strictly the Professionals at Leicester’s De Montfort Hall the other afternoon. We both love Strictly Come Dancing and were looking forward to more of the same. We were hoping to see a selection of ballroom as well as Latin but it was mainly modern freestyle. The dancing was good but even the Waltz was jazzed up and the Quickstep never got a look in. The show was all about skimpy clothes and loud music – not exactly appropriate for an afternoon matinee where a large proportion of the audience were elderly. I’m willing to bet that they were all there for the ballroom too. What a shame.

I couldn’t even get to see Vincent Simone’s raised eyebrow properly, but then I suppose that’s the theatre experience. I blame television for raising my expectations. I’m so used to seeing close up shots of everything that I find it frustrating to have to squint from many rows back. A friend commented recently after taking her son to see his first live football match that he was disappointed when he didn’t get a close up of the free kick. I wonder if he was expecting an action replay too. I suppose what you lose in close ups you gain in atmosphere. There’s nothing like the buzz of being in a football crowd when a goal’s scored and there was certainly a friendly and warm atmosphere in the theatre that afternoon.

But I’m afraid there are more moans. I had booked our tickets well in advance and explained about Mum’s limited mobility and yet to reach our seats we had to go up two steep steps and shuffle along a row. In the end the entire line of seated people very kindly filed out to let Mum in. We were grateful but embarrassed and if any of them are reading this now then I would like to thank them very much. Once seated, we watched as other people struggled to reach their seats. It was reassuring to know that it wasn’t just Mum but worrying to think that one slip could mean a major incident.

When the show was over it took some time to get back down again as there was only one very small lift available. Mum has trouble standing for any length of time and so we had yet more problems when we finally reached ground floor level. There was nowhere for Mum to sit and wait with a view of the front door while I fetched the car for her and so she had to stand outside. I don’t think we’ll be going to the theatre again, well not that theatre anyway.

My blog is carbon neutral

We put all our kitchen waste onto the compost heap and something akin to magic happens. It turns into fine, brown soil. Mr A. spreads it throughout the garden, especially on the vegetable plot and when his beans are read we eat beans at every meal, every single meal, and that’s good because I like beans. Really I do. But then I go to the supermarket and their shelves are full of vegetables that have been flown in from all over the world. Is that really necessary?

[This is one of our three compost heaps. It’s overflowing at the moment but Mr A. will soon be layering it and then the magic will begin.]

We’re always careful with our use of electricity. We turn lights off when we leave a room and we use low carbon bulbs where possible even though they’re not always the prettiest of choices. But then we go into the centre of Leicester of an evening and we are surrounded by brilliance. Do we need to have so many of the City’s historic buildings soaking up all those kilowatts?

I try to buy food from the corner shop so that I can support local business and leave my car at home… I try. When I was small there was a row of shops within easy reach for most people in Leicester. The shops sold fresh stuff because everyone used them regularly. These days it’s too easy to fill up our supermarket trolleys and we end up with out-of-date food that goes onto our compost heap... which shows that I’m even recycling my words because this is where my blog began.

I thought that keeping a blog couldn’t possibly harm the environment but Lorel Clayton at I’m Blogging Drowning Here has shown me otherwise. My blog has a carbon footprint. According to Alexander Wissner-Gross, PhD, physicist at Harvard University, the carbon dioxide emission of a typical blog is 8lbs a year. The carbon dioxide absorption of a tree is 11lbs a year, so that’s the answer. I need to plant a tree. I love trees but, as you can see in the photo above, we have no room for any more trees in our suburban back garden.


This is where Mach's grün! comes in. They are trying to raise people’s awareness of this issue and will plant a tree for every blog that explains their work... so there you have it. I’ve owned up to the fact that my blog has been adding to the world’s carbon dioxide overload. Many apologies for that, but many thanks to the people at Mach's grün! and thanks to Lorel for passing the information on to me. Click on the leaf below if you’d like to find out more about it and maybe you could get your blog carbon neutralised too.

We look but do we see?

We hear The Voice in our heads but do we obey?

...and what has this got to do with a visit from Salley Vickers?

How many times do we look at things without seeing them? I was in the garden the other day as it was getting dark. The lights were on in the house but the curtains were not yet drawn. I looked and thought, ‘What a lovely house.’

Yes, I know that Mr A. is always reminding me of this when I moan about things like windows that won’t open. It was because I was looking at the inside of our house from an unusual angle that I really saw it.

I was reminded of this last night when Salley Vickers visited the Leicester Writers’ Club. She told us how she often wanders through art galleries when she’s working on a novel. One day she found herself looking at Caravaggio’s Supper at Emmaus. It was a painting she had looked at many times but this time she really saw it. The story it portrayed gave her the inspiration for The Other Side of Me.

Salley, who used to teach ancient literature, says that she finds reassurance in the grace and value of ancient stories. Miss Garnet’s Angel emerged from the story of Tobit. As a teenager she had accidentally discovered the Venetian Church with Tobit’s story told in a series of painted panels. Years later she taught the story to her students, revisited the Church and Miss Garnet appeared.

Salley is an author who never plans, has never been to a creative writing class and is quite sure that if she were to attend one, just talking about her novel before it was completed would make it disappear. Her talk last night was not so much an account of her writing life, but more a challenge to get us thinking.

Do we hear the author’s voice when we read or do we see the words and absorb the story that way?

When Salley reads a novel she has the author talking to her from the page. She enjoys the rhythm of the writing and delights at being surprised by the actions of the characters. Salley likes to write about those characters that we think we know... but we don’t really know if we know them until we get to know them better... and then we realise that we didn’t know them at all... or maybe we did know them all along. We just thought that we didn’t know them. [Sorry. I know what she means. I just couldn’t quite put it into words.]

Do we hear The Voice in our head?

In Salley’s current book, Dancing Backwards, one of the main characters is The Voice. She says that we all have The Voice in our heads. The Voice is that part of ourselves who knows what’s what and what we should do. The problem is we sometimes don’t listen. It can get us into all sorts of trouble. During the question and answer session at the end I wish now that I’d asked Salley if she can remember ignoring The Voice with interesting consequences. If you’re reading this, Salley, do please comment below and let us know. The same goes for the rest of you. Have you ever refused to listen to The Voice? And what happened as a consequence?

[If anyone has read Dancing Backwards please don’t let me know how it ends. I bought a copy last night and so have not yet read it!]