New Beginnings?

A text message from a friend in France has just alerted me to the fact that it's Beltane.
Hopefully this will signal a re-birth in enthusiasm re MA coursework – stagnating somewhat at the mo. Fed up and bored.

Funny how time seems to evaporate in front of a computer screen: many hours 'studying' with very little to show for it. Spring has sprung, and I'd rather be out there... not here. Oh well. Countdown in earnest has begun - a mere 11 days to go.

Can't wait til it's all over and normal life's resumed.

Falling by the wayside

dear blog,

please forgive me for this terrible neglect. been too busy of late.
still too busy, but will try and make amends – will try and post more regularly, if poss.
what follows is a catch-up i guess,
apologetically yours,

fi

Wow, it's Wednesday now – 8 days since I last stuck my stuff up.
So what's been happening? And can I remember??

Most of last week was taken up with college – what a surprise. I was feverishly huddled over the keyboard ,way into the wee small hours, far too long for my liking. Clocked up 3 hours sleep in 2 nights towards the end, which is NOT good. Going to bed at 6am (if you can call falling under the duvet in all your clothes actually going to bed)? and waking to the brain-crushing sounds of your mobile phone alarm set to LOUD an hour later, (not exactly waking up either) isn't something I'd ordinarily recommend. But needs must. Standing under the shower for half an hour made little difference – I still looked and felt like an extra in The Night of the Living Dead or similar.

But I did it. Some how, I managed to pull all the mound of research and info I'd gathered into a report of sorts. Handed it in with 10 minutes to spare before the deadline – yeeha!

Afterwards, desperately wanted to join the others sat outside on the lawn, hard earnt bevvies in their hands, but my lift back to Penzance wanted to go, and I wasn't up for hitching. Damn.
Back in town, I couldn't face going home – too glorious a day – and in no fit state to find someone to hang out with, so ended up meandering/staggering over to Morrab gardens to crash in the sun for a bit.

Woke up half an hour later, with 2 frail-voiced oldies discussing the koi carp in the nearby fishpond behind me. Had surfaced in that surreal 'where-the-hell-am-I?' trippy kind of mindset, which wasn't helped by the fact that I had spittle dribbling down my chin, an over-sized swollen tongue, and a banging dehydration headache kicking in.

Collected me bits, and meandered/staggered towards home. On the way, passed the lovely smiley old man , who always waves as you go past from his front window. He's been waving at me for years. This time he beckoned me over.

'Can you come in for half an hour?' he says.

'Why?' I replies.

'Is your name Fay?' he says.

(I think he's maybe trying to say 'Fi', so I say 'Yes').

' I want to have sex with you' he says.

(stunned silence)

'I'll pay you. How much do you charge?' he enquires.

'I can't' I say 'My kids'll be home from school now', I say.

Then I walk away, much puzzled, slightly revolted (up close he doesn't look at all lovely, and at least 70 if he's a day), and later, in fits of giggles. Truly bizarre.

Had planned on joining the gang back in Falmouth for a celebratory get-together, later. But when the time came to thinking about jumping in my car and driving over, I realised, I couldn't. I was in such a sleep-deprived, nasty headspace, that I was physically incapable of driving, and totally unsafe.

Gutting. Had been really looking forward to kicking back with me study-buddies, but no chance. Seriously wasn't worth the risk. Spent a rare moment of Friday night quality time with me kiddies instead – as well as sorting out their things for the next day (Lucy off to Bath for a gymnastics competition over the weekend, and Billy, going to a surf instruction day – both being picked up first thing Sat morning).

But then, typically, by the time they were tucked up safely in bed, I perked up again. 10.30pm, so hardly worth going to Falmouth at that time, but really not keen on staying in either (especially as I'd have to drive back again at stupid o'clock in the morning). Not 100% recovered, but just about awake enough to wander down the road to a 50^th birthday party. Got roped into doing some singing on stage with some people when I got there, bought a pint by a rather cute fella which went straight to my addled head in next to no time. Chatted and went through the motions, but really, shouldn't have bothered. Should've stayed at home and had an early night for a change – caught up on some much-needed sleep... but I didn't. More fool me.

(Saw Graham there briefly too, but successfully blanked him. He needs a haircut. Badly. Looks as if he's planning to audition as a BeeGee in a remake of the 'Night Fever' music video? Brings tears to me eyes... of laughter. What a prat).

Modelled Sat morning feeling like death, then got dragged off to Pedne Vounder nudey beach for the afternoon. Only the second time I've ever been there, which is daft, as it's stunningly beautiful – you'd be forgiven for thinking you'd just been washed ashore on some idyllic island in the Med, maybe Greek, the colour of the sea is so intense. Aqua.

Last time, I'd negotiated the goat-path down to the beach in a leopard skin mini skirt, and matching clunky platform shoes. It was the morning after a wedding, and we'd all camped up at Treen for the weekend. Tricky footwork in those shoes and with a stonking champagne hangover, but I managed to make it without breakages, clinging onto the hands of my youngest two, for necessary support.

Of course the minute we arrived, they chorused into 'I'm hungry' and 'I'm thirsty' demands.
I'd stripped off, and preceded to ignore them for as long as possible – which of course, was in no way, long enough.

This time, I managed to walk the evil path in pink, flowery flip-flops – equally impractical for both the terrain and task. But I was rushed, wasn't I. Didn't have time to do much more than grab a blanket to lie on. And what a pleasant experience it was; exchanging gossip with me lovely mate Wendy (she always has me in stitches, even when I'm without!). I had to fill her in on some of my antics of late, which involved the following:

Sat. night, a week ago, I'd gone for an after work drink at a local late night bar, as someone I vaguely knew was playing guitar and singing there for the evening. Got chatting (as you do) and ended up spending the night with him (as you do). However, at some point during the evening, I have a hazy recollection of talking to another guy, and must've given him my mobile phone no.

The following morning I had to sneak off early to be home before the kids woke up, and not wanting to disturb my 'host', left without being able to locate my bra, and one sock.

The next day, I get this text msge asking whether I'd had a good time the previous night, and did I want to meet up for a drink? I said I had, and sorry for having done a runner, but motherly duties called... And thanks, but no thanks to the offer of a drink, as too much study on at the moment. But, now that I had his number, I'd be in touch.

Whilst I'd been at his place, he'd mentioned that it was his birthday the following Sat (w/end just gone) so I did the polite thing by sending him a "Happy B'day" text on the day, adding:

By the way, can I swing by and collect my wayward bra and odd sock sometime, if that's ok?

Reply back again, was:

I think you've got the wrong person honey.

Well, then I'm feeling all embarrassed, wondering whether he's just pretending we hadn't shagged, or, if he'd been so drunk at the time, he couldn't remember it?! So I sent back a:

It was definitely you, I've got the carpet burns to prove it.

Reply: Wow! I wish it was hun.. I'm the geezer u met in the studio bar last Sat night. I'd recommend Savlon.

Penny drops.

Anyway, upshot of all that was a flurry of apologetic texts from me, and an arrangement to meet up for this date on Thursday (blind for me, as I haven't got a clue what he looks like – but I did say that I'd be the one with the pink hair, he'll be able to find me)! Should be a hoot.

So, after a day of being naked, I spent the evening at a wig party – a friend's 40^th, who lives out St Just way. Apparently in my bedraggled lilac bob, I looked somewhat like Dame Edna Everage(?) Flattering – not. Enjoyed an evening getting ridiculously drunk, playing someone else's violin round the fire, and being put up for the night on a gorgeously comfortable sofa bed. I had intended on sleeping in my car, but my gracious host insisted.

I love staying at other people's houses – love the change of environment, and the feeling of being a guest – of being spoilt. Which I was. Breakfast and cups of tea made for me, and a jolly good moan about crap men to boot. I knew she'd been out with Graham years ago, but only for a whirlwind 6 weeks. He'd treated her like shit too, but she'd had the sense to get out before any lasting damage was done.

Sadly, her heart's been freshly broken again by another chap, so we were able to have a mutually supportive I've-been-dumped-again kind of a rant. Damn shame. She's a damn fine woman.

Walked the coast path for 2hours from Cot Valley – bright pink pony tales glinting in the sun. Felt good to be alive. The skip's returning to my step at last; was humming tunes to myself – singing aloud in places even. I'm going to be alllllright. Yeah. ♫ ♪

Tweaked my website a final time Sunday afternoon, with the patient assistance of Tim again (mmm...wonder if he'd be willing to give me a hand with my book dust cover jacket in InDesign)?

Looking good: PDF downloads of the magazine articles I've had published now available. And a recording of the Eden Heights script up there to listen to as well. Pity the writing samples are all a bit naff. Oh well.

Called in at Pat's place to retrieve wayward underwear on the way home, and fortunately, he had guests, so didn't have to go through any awkwardness. Stayed for a cuppa, and met this guy called Mark, who's an actor and scriptwriter – currently writing a treatment for a feature film based on the great Newlyn coke episode of the early 90's. Wicked. Sounds like a right laugh. Naturally, I nominated myself to be an extra when the time comes... Shame he's got a partner, and kids, and is in thew process of moving over to Spain right now.

(Wow, I really must be getting through this Graham thing – taking note of eye-candy, and chasing up potential leads etc.. basically finding my feet and my confidence again. Yay. Roll on life. Nice to be feeling so upbeat at last. And what of Beth? Who knows. Not seen nor heard anything of her. Given that Graham's looking so glum theses days, can only conclude/hope she's given him the flick, and maybe even scarpered back to Wales. Good riddance).

Popped into the Studio Bar in the evening to see a Breton band, but only caught the last two songs as I was so late, as usual. (Had been at home watching some car-crash TV with me bairns – first time I've actually sat down to watch something on tele for bloody ages! It was a documentary called Super Skinny-sized Me where two journalists were racing to diet their way down to a size 0 in five weeks. Scary viewing – really quite disturbing. Brought up loads of stuff from my briefly anorexic teenage past. Luckily, I don't think I've got the will power or stamina to ever be like that again. And I don't hate myself enough). God forbid my daughters ever put themselves through that hell.

Anyway, back at the bar, who should turn up but Graham, still looking as twatty as ever. He barely even stayed for one drink, as he didn't really know anyone, whereas I stayed and chatted to loads and loads of people. Loser!!!

Will skip Monday and Tuesday, although interesting enough in their own right, as I now realise I've managed to fritter away most of today doing virtually fuck-all! Answered a few emails, checked the MA notice board, looked at our Pondlife myspace... generally succeeding at avoiding proper work. Did pitch a proper email to the Bad Mother's Club to see if they'd be interested in my Mind the Gap feature... we shall see.

Was funny last night though. Rosie (and Eddie)'d gone off to the college party at club 2K – pirate theme. Rosie'd spent hours and hours trying out various outfits, determined to win the prize for best costume. She opted for a groovy cabin-boy look in the end, complete with mop (which of course she managed to break/lose before getting anywhere near the club door).

Owing to the convenient location of our house to college, she brought home a few extras to stay the night afterwards (by prior arrangement – I had been forewarned, and had gone to bed after bookclub
in her bed, to free up the downstairs for her and her dodgy mates). A right motley crew they were in the morning! Somewhat bedraggled having walked the plank (off the harbour wall) at kick-out time. Sounds like they had fun, and Rosie won £30 (1^st prize)for her efforts.

But I digress. That's that for blogging for a bit – must get on with the serious business of finishing off college work for assessment. Less than three teaching weeks to go. Incredible but true. And I so do not want to be repeating last week's madness of staying up all night, night after night to get it all done. No way. Need to be more disciplined, and stop time-wasting like I've been doing all day today. Haven't even ventured out the front door yet – and on such a glorious day too.

Think I might jump on my bike, and cycle to Lidls to grab the fruit and veg – more for the fresh air and exercise than anything else. Band practise later. Hopefully, a good one. May not be able to make it next week, so best make the most of it.

2462 words of bollocks. Amazing. If only writing a book was so simple!

Deadlines looming

Getting super scary now. Keep doing research rather than knuckling down and bloody well writing.
Mad. Back at college today and am super pooped. Not used to the intensity.

Had appt. with student adviser to see if there was any possibility of loaning a laptop. Answer in a nutshell: no. Managed to miss the bus from Woodlane to Tremough campus cos I was standing on the wrong side of the road. Doh.

Did manage to ring and get through to 'Tom Reynolds' (Blood, Sweat, and Tea fame) to conduct an impromptu interview re blogs to books, so that was quite a coup. Really sound bloke too.

Not looking forward to next couple of days – they are going to be seriously sleepless. Bollocks.

Pissing Razor Blades

Yes it's that Cystitis time again. Kidney's on fire, blood in my pee, feeling like shit... marvellous. And of course, in a week when I've got all these deadlines to meet.

Great.

So shan't witter on. Had a deadly dull day anyway.

(But at least I managed to get dinner on the table before 10.30pm – which was what happened last night). Supermum strikes(out) again!

www.fi-read.co.uk

Yes, it's official. I am now live. After 6hrs solid of amending pages, adding links etc.. it has all been uploaded to the site and is ready to be viewed. By who? God knows. Thank you Tim for your assistance today – invaluable. Thought it a quite funny when you suggested putting in some meta-tags, and after starting off with the serious words like 'writer' 'poet' 'editor' it degenerated into 'sex' and 'free' as a way of trying to maximise potential search engine hits.

Just so relieved it's more or less done now (could do with some photos/images but don't have the time or inclination to do anything fancy – bare bones will do)! No-one's going to actually be looking at the damn thing anyway, so there really isn't any point. What a palaver though – has taken up days of my life, and I hate websites and computers even more than ever now.

Hate this blog too. Feeling really resentful about having to write it – would much rather be reading, or writing something useful, or sleeping (1.30am already). Amazed at miss-cellany's blog though – she's doing fantastically well with her growing audience/blogger comrades, and elicited a brilliant response re blogging for her Industry Analysis. Well done!

Suffering from a grazed elbow after tripping up a curb whilst walking/texting at the same time yesterday, and from carpet burn on my back and knees after finding some company to spend the night with. I must try and learn to take better care of myself – still have slight scarring on my feet from last year's flip-flop bicycle incident!

Narrowly missed death the other day when my rear mudguard detached itself from it's bracket, and wedged itself round and under the wheel. Came to a very sudden and dramatic stop which scared the bejeezus out of me, and had to improvise tying it back on with my hair band.

Speaking of death, had a phone call today asking me when Terry's funeral was going to be held...! Rumours must be flying thick and fast. The little kids went to visit him this morning; apparently he's feeling a lot better, which is encouraging to hear. And if he was in hospital for 10 days he must've had to dry out (if only temporarily). Wonder if he'll think seriously about tackling the drinking now or not? Let's hope so.

Pity about all that bold above - can't seem to be able to un-do it. Oh well.

A near death experience

I had the most bizarre phone call today - from a friend in Penzance who said she was thinking off popping round to see how me and the kids were doing, and to pass on how sorry she was to hear about Terry.

'What about Terry? I haven't heard anything.'
'Oh, have you not? Well I heard that he died in hospital...'

Now how do you respond/react to that?! News that your ex - the father of your four kids - is dead? Probably one of the most surreal moments ever.

The thing is, although obviously shaken, I didn't take it too badly. Just calmly asked who her source was, and whether she was sure we were talking about the same Terry, as obviously no word had trickled back to me. I didn't cry, didn't freak out, but did say that I needed to hang up so that I could call his parents and find out what's what.

So I dialled their number, wondering what the hell I would say to them, and lo and behold - Terry answered the phone.

'Phew, that's a relief.'
'What is?'
'Well, I thought... heard rumours... that you were dead.'
'?'

Turns out, he was in hospital - had been for ten days, having surgery on his broken arm. Apparently he should never've been let out of Treliske the first time around. He was under the knife for more than 6hrs, heavily sedated for 3days, and will be out of action arm-wise for at least a month. Hopefully, he'll be ok to play the guitar again (eventually) but that's going to take an awful lot of physio.

Understandably, he was pretty miffed that I hadn't brought the kids up to visit him, but I had no idea that he was even in! All I heard (after the fact) that he was dead?! He claims to have rung and spoken to Eddie last Monday to say that he was going in for the operation but I can't say that the message ever got passed onto me.

Still, the weirdest conversation I've ever had on the phone. Funny thing was, at the time I was being told that he was allegedly dead, I hadn't felt it - didn't have that sense of dread that you'd expect if indeed it was the case. It didn't sit right at all, so maybe we do intuitively know these things. Although it wouldn't surprise me for one second if he had truly died (what with his liver, and lymphoma, and overall poor health) I knew it wasn't now.

A huge relief. I'm really not ready to have that conversation with the kids, just yet.

Godshill rocks!

Seriously out of blogging practise. Not sure where to begin? A good day was had?? No, that sounds a bit lame. But a good day it was I suppose in a very ordinary way.

On our previous visits, I’ve always been incredibly manic and driven – insisted that we get out and ‘do’ holiday stuff every day. But this time I’ve slacked off. Partly because I’m too knackered, partly because I’m mellowing out, but mostly because we’ve been and seen and done just about everything there is to see and do! (we have been tourists here 7 times after all).

Today though, we all needed to get out. Having called in at the stables for Ali and Annie to sort out the horses – one with a nasty leg injury oozing pus – we headed over to Godshill for a short walk. Incredibly, it was about the only twee thatched-roof village we’d not visited before now.
The walk was suitably picturesque and uneventful; we clambered up to the top of the monument hill for the view, then ambled back down for icecreams – as you do. Afterwards, strolled through the aforementioned twee thatched-roof village, popping into the shop part of the toy museum (the kids declining my generous offer to pay to actually go in). Instead we gawked at the tatty matchbox cars with price tags of £55 on them, and bizarre Betty Boop dolls etc.. Then they wanted to read out their keyring ‘names’ and what they meant – according to Rosie, Fiona means:

Really annoying, with stupid hair. Moans a lot. Has a tendency to stress out at nothing in particular.

The woman behind the shop-counter burst out laughing. Ha-ha Rosie, really good joke. Thanks.
A little further along we came across a hideously over the top ‘garden’ tea room, chock full of fountains, ornate waterfall features and fanciful topiary trees. Coincidentally, Rosie’s current photography project is on gardens, so she went to town running around taking loads of arty shots of all this weird stuff, and as I had my camera with me too, I had to join in on the photo frenzy.

In the chintzy swing, when we reached the Godshill Model Village (probably the only Tourist attraction on the Island we’d not yet experienced) I couldn’t resist. Had hoped we could at least just peer over the wall, but they were Colditz impenetrably high. Sod it, come all this way… forked out the £9 (although had managed to blag an extra 2 kids in on our family ticket) to enter and be amazed.

And actually, it was surprisingly brilliant. It really was a replica scale model of the village – and included a model of people looking at the model in 1/10 and 1/100 scales respectively. The detail was fab – every imaginably aspect of village life captured in tiny to model people, including a scout pack camp; a cricket match; pupils at a school for girls; people fishing, a wedding… Rosie went mad with my digital camera as hers had run out of film – trippy shots of us wandering around looking like giants by comparison. She should get an A* for this portfolio!

Back at the pad, it was back to the computer – tediously copying and pasting various bits of info supposedly to help with the presentation we have to do for features next Tues on Women’s Monthly magazines. Endless copying and pasting with not a great deal of real contact details as far as pitching articles to the various publications is concerned. Probably because I’m too tired to think straight – was up ‘til 4am writing Profile feature on Ali and her route to religion. Even more tired now.

Faith

Mine has been restored somewhat by the overwhelmingly generous offer, by a mere acquaintance, to loan her car for the week. Having geared up to go to the Isle of Wight tomorrow (booked the cheapo Night Flyer tickets and everything) the car (lo and behold) has started playing up already – is seriously overheating on even the shortest of journeys. I'd noticed previously that there was a suspiciously strange rumbling noise, emanating from under the bonnet once the engine had been switched off. On closer investigation it turned out to be the water in the expansion tank more or less at boiling point – seriously hot after only a 9 mile run to Gwenver.

Great. Yet another headache to be dealing with.

Having paid Matt to tune it only the previous day, and mentioning at the time my concerns about the post-drive gurgling, as soon as it happened again I rang again from the cliff car park for advice. He agreed to have another look, but couldn't find anything obviously wrong with it, other than the fact that the radiator's definitely shagged and on it's way out. Typically, such a prognosis has to occur at 7pm on the Saturday before easter Sunday and bank holiday Monday – really useful in terms of sourcing parts etc... Not.

So I was left with the agonising decision as to whether to risk the long journey with a strong possibility that the car wouldn't make it; or try and book train tickets instead, even though there'd be no chance of discounted seats, and knowing that it would involve two changes, plus two bus interludes where line works are taking place; or to cancel the whole trip altogether. I also toyed with the idea of asking someone if I could borrow their car but couldn't think who off the top of my head, and thought it highly unlikely as the school holidays is exactly when people do actually want to have use of a car.

And then last night, whilst having a natter to Jo from the choir, who was in the Acorn with her partner Lisa to see The Hummingbirds, I mentioned my tale of woe and dilemma vis-a-vis IOW travelling arrangements. At the end of the show, Lisa came down to say that she wouldn't be needing hers for the week, and I'd be welcome to it if I wanted to borrow it. Now how amazing is that? I was at a loss for words (not really like me) and felt so humbled by their kindness. Blew me away, so big thanks girls – appreciated!

So I'll be popping round the corner to pick it up early tomorrow morning, followed by a whirlwind pack, and then we'll be on our way. Yippee! Its not that I'm incredibly excited about the prospect of island life per se, but it'll be good to get away – leave behind some of the crap, and come back refreshed and revitalised (I'd better be – I've still got an awful lot of work to wade through yet).

And its always lovely to see our friends again – our annual catch-up/get-together. We may not keep in touch during the interim, other than a Xmas card, but when we do see each other, it's as if we only parted company the previous week. It's a very easy, natural friendship, which I really value, and the fact that we seem to have nothing in common, other than a shared history of being friends in Leeds sixteen years ago, isn't a problem.

So this first week of kids off school has flown by. Have been enjoying the weather, and the spate of birthdays, parties and various other social occasions immensely (too immensely almost). The 'Stitch and Bitch' night at Helen's on Thursday was a hoot – actually managed to get quite a lot of my backlog of mending cleared, in spite of (or perhaps because of?) the copious amounts of Martinis consumed at the time. Trouble was, when I'd staggered back to mine shortly after midnight, I remembered that I was planning on re-redding my hair again – wanted to be all fired up for Friday's gig. Decided to go ahead with it, even though I was desperate to lie down, but then by the time I'd washed my hair and lagged the Pillar Box Red goo all over it, I couldn't face staying awake any longer for the dye to take. Cunningly wrapped extra cling film and plastic bags round my head, as well as the oldest, tattiest towel I could find, and duly went to bed. In the morning, my ears were bright red, and even scrubbing with a scourer didn't manage to shift all of the scarlet stain!

What was worse, the kids blagged a day at the beach again that day – all of them keen to get in and catch a wave. But because I was really worried that the new colour would dramatically bleed if I went for a surf – might freak the other surfers there had my face been covered in what would've looked like blood (didn't want to have the search and rescue helicopter hauling me out of the water with 'suspected head injuries') I chose – yes, chose – to wear a black latex swimming cap in the sea to keep my hair water free.

Bad enough to be wearing a swim cap in the first place (not exactly the epitome of cool) but my ponytails also created a pair of lumpy, alien bumps on either side of my head that just looked ridiculous. The kids were mortified – and so was I, having to do the long walk of shame (low tide) from our little spot to get to the sea. An unbelievably embarrassing moment, but had to be done as far as I'm concerned. Vanity and confidence booster comes first before pride. But fair point – I really did look like a complete twat.

Honestly, the things I put myself through?

Tech-tech-technology

Was determined to be pro-active about getting my website live today , as per course instructions. So having poured over Internet guff for hours – trying to work out which web host to go with, what package to opt for and the domain name I should choose, I stumbled across this thing that said you needed FTP to upload it all?! Well that totally flummoxed me.

In the end, after spending even more fruitless time trying to decide whether I had to download a trial FTP thingummy or not in order to be able to do it, I rang the son of a vague acquaintance who's into computers for his advice. I was kind of hoping to arrange some face-to-face time but he insisted he could talk me through it over the phone.

Well, £27 on my debit card, and an hour later, we were still getting nowhere with it – wasn't working at all. The upshot of this being that I have to meet up with him Saturday lunchtime now (face-to-face) to see if he can sort the problem out then. I really, really want to get it out of the way, if I can, before we go off on our jolly to the Isle of Wight, easter Monday. Half the content still needs updating, but I guess that'll have to come later – as long as it's vaguely 'functional' I suppose.

I was so wound up by the end of that little episode that I thought I was physically going to erupt – have a mini-volcano spouting forth molten brains and brimstone – felt shaken to the core.
Could barely get Rosie's provisional license application form in the envelope to take it to be posted I was so jittery. And found myself yelling at the kids about ridiculous things for no tangible reason.

Clearing loads of nettles and brambles from the meadow was exactly what I needed – really putting my back into it, and pulling those feckers out relieved so much tension and pent up frustration. Brilliant. And such a fab day. Even the kids were getting into doing a spot of gardening.

Cycled over to Tredarvo woods after which was also lovely. Lay star-fished in a grassy meadow, gazing up at leafless trees, against blue, blue sky while they were off swinging on rope swings (the only ones around that haven't been disabled/removed courtesy of health & safety)! And generally larking. Started writing a letter to me mum, but didn't get very far. Too many nature distractions – too relaxing.

Band practise dire – which doesn't bode well for Friday night! Was feeling decidedly edgy and uncomfortable prior to kicking off the music (not helped by melodica being completely fucked) but touched that a couple of the guys in the band said that I should maybe take some time out from rehearsals for a bit seeing as there weren't any gigs coming up now til June. They'd actually acknowledged that maybe things were a little bit tough for me right now(!)

This time though, it wasn't me stuffing up the night, everyone else was playing really, really badly! And then Graham chucked his harmonica aside in disgust, which landed on my violin, and snapped the top two strings! Marvellous. I then couldn't rehearse the bits I needed to, and stood around like a plonker half the night. Mind you, I'd had a few puffs by then, was well-mellowed out and chilled, so merely shrugged my shoulders, thinking... what the hell next??

Another thing to sort tomorrow then I guess.

Losing my momentum

Bothered? Am I bothered? So hard to keep going at this – especially seeing as my unique blog is so incredibly uninspiring. Kind of demoralising engaging with the wider blogosphere (think that's the correct technical term?) out there – stumbling across all the witty and erudite blogs; the all-singing all you-tubing blogs; the blogs that look as if people are writing/creating/assembling them more or less full-time. And up-keeping a blog does seem to be full-time. Certainly eats away at what little 'spare' time I have. That and getting sidetracked on other projects.

For some reason, I felt compelled to write a piece for a competition (Penguin Decibel Prize) about my experience of immigration, even though I probably wouldn't be classed as an immigrant in the terms that they're thinking of (I'm more of an ex-pat) and even though I knew I'd already missed the deadline! So what was all that about? Why squander those precious hours to produce something that's of no use, won't be accepted as an entry anyway, and leaves me even further behind in my coursework than ever? Stupid or what?

Every time I glance at the list (yes, I've had to collate a list of tasks to do, cos there's so many) I experience a minor paroxysm of panic. But that doesn't help any – nothing's actually been ticked off my list as yet.

I've tried to get some response to my requests for input from people connected to the blogs to books phenomena, to use as part of my Industry Analysis – emailed tonnes of people – but no luck as yet.
Haven't gone anywhere near chapter one of Under Duress for days, so no further development there either (not sure where the hell that's going now anyway).
Contacting Andrew George M.P. to ask him to comment about overcrowding in Penwith led to a massive great white paper document being posted through my door, which I'll now have to try and wade through if I'm to continue with this as my opinion feature article (great).
No response from Sue Perkins re the questions I emailed her for the profile piece on her I was hoping to do.
Still need to research Women's Monthly magazines, but haven't.
Still struggling with getting this friggin' website live and kicking...
Still struggling full-stop!
(At least I'm not full of quite so much doom and gloom anymore – am beginning to see the light).

Given that everyone else around me is having an equally shitty (if not shittier) time of it at the moment, I should cease wallowing forthwith, and start being more supportive.

Lyndsey having to deal with Dave's recent death from a brain tumour.
Terry coping with his lymphoma diagnosis, but also now, having badly broken his arm. (Pain and discomfort aside, he can't play the guitar, and so will be struggling even more now financially without the extra pennies that used to bring in).
My brother, having just spent two weeks in hospital with a nasty urinary tract infection.
Wendy getting a £2700 tax bill from tax credits.
Loads of my mates experiencing wobbly times with their partners...

The only good bit of bad news that I heard recently was that Beth couldn't make it into work the other night because she'd fallen off a trampoline – smashed her face up and needed stitches.
Oh, what a shame.
Mustn't gloat.

Roll on happier times for all though I say. And roll on the surf. Escaped to Gwenver late this afternoon to have a rubbish surf, but a brilliantly rejuvenating frolic in the sea. Need to do that more often. Probably the reason why I'm not myself at the moment – severe lack of exercise! Have been doing my best to counteract that of late (in between excessive socialising). Even cycled up hill and down dale for several miles to just the other side of Nancledra on Sunday, for a friend's 50^th, in a head wind – nearly killed me! The kids were none too impressed either (and all because I wanted to have a drink!) At least we managed to blag a lift home again as I doubt I could've made it. Gardening at Love Lane meadow tomorrow, so that'll get some colour in me cheeks.