I'll pass on the fizz thank you

Hectic day of making too many meals and not enough sustinence. Spent morning cycling along seafront buying locally caught fish to make a pie with, and then popped to a supermarket to get the extra posh nosh to go with like dill leaves and dijon mustard. Had an argument with the man in the fishmongers about how to make fish pie. Message to fish man: I make it very nicely thank you (as Anna will vouch today as she joined me for lunch) despite your views on how to poach cod. Fner.
Having got little Sadie to bed this evening with her best mate Minoo who is having a sleepover, I've been browsing the Pocketbooks website. My lovely friend Em is their singer and they are great- very Belle and Sebastian-esque. See http://www.pocketbooks.org.uk/ to have a listen. I'm very proud of my Em. Many years ago we shared a flat in Shoreditch and would chat for many hours over a pint and a fag in the Rosemary Branch (http://www.rosemarybranch.co.uk/) about our dreams and aspirations. Hers was to be a singer and she's doing it. Mine was to be a writer and I'm doing it. Hurrah.
Andy's completeed on the house which is great news- only problem is I'm too jaded this evening to join him in a glass or two of fizz. We will have to celebrate another night...
The weekend is here. I just want to sleep.....
Oh but before I do- I can't believe I dind't mention in my rambling yesterday about how much I love Brighton so many other things, but mainly the goddamn sea being at the end of my road. Autumn brings with it a wonderful mixture of wind and sunshine which makes the sea it's most beautiful.
Soundtrack: Pocketbooks - Cross the Line

Brighton and Hove we love you

Went past a supermarket on the Lewes Road in Brighton today. I have a very clear reminder when I go past here of what it is I love about no longer living in London. In my first week in Brighton (nearly 4 years ago) I went to this bland, giant shop to purchase bland products, and at the checkout was taken aback by a young man asking my how my day had been. I could not believe it. I realised I had previously spent 9 years of my life surrounded by mute checkout people, bus drivers, shop assistants..you get it. Moving to Brighton reintroduced me to communication with strangers (something I was very familiar with growing up in the Midlands).
However, with all this Madeleine McCann business I have become ultra paranoid mum, and felt it appropriate, a few months back, when all mums everywhere were feeling sick at the thought of being inside Kate McCann's head and heart, to do the "don't talk to strangers" chat with my four year old daughter. Since then she no longer says thank you to bus drivers and sometimes ignores her uncles if she hasn't seen them for a long time. Very sad.
God being a parent is hard. And as Philip Larkin rightly said 'they f**k you up your mum and dad'.
Spent today near the Lewes Road, as mentioned, as we are doing up a house in the student area to rent out. I got very dusty and patronised by all the porky electricians and carpet men, as I swept and scrubbed the last remaining grub away. As much as I hate their stereotypical comments about women being the best cleaners and giving the place "that feminine touch", I have to say I agree. It was only when I laid a finger on the place did it begin to resemble a home. Andy is very good at making it look all flashy and stylish but I feel I give it some warmth.
Anyway. hark at me- I think I've had a few too many glasses of merlot this evening.
Best go and write some of The Book before That Mitchell and Webb Look. I hope they do the 'Dun dundlyun dun dudlyun de de de de deedla dedla de de duuuuuur' sketch with the pissheads. It always reminds me of my lovely french friend Celine who's just moved to Bath. She is not a habitual drinker unlike me, it has just become our clumsy stumbling soundtrack. We stumble a lot you see..

On the up

Is it the changing seasons? Or is it the fact that my little poppet Sadie Spector has just started school in the mornings? Yes- my one and only has just done 2 weeks in reception and although it's allowing me time to prattle about doing pointless things like starting a blog, I rather miss her and am sad that she's growing up so fast.
And this is my first blog, which considering I'm a writer may seem rather odd. I used to be far less worried about exposing myself to others, so to speak. I've always thought things like this just cater for nosey parkers, but what the hell. Here I am. Her Indoors.
My background in ranting about myself goes back a long way. 15 years ago Beaumont Fee started as a shameless, irreverent self-expression of my teenage life. It was a photocopied, flimsy thing called a fanzine- a tale of teenage debauchery in an egotistical world of hormones, LSD, loud guitars and an obsession with Brett Anderson. If I ever get the hang of this blog malarkey, I'll put some of the archive issues up on here.
Now I'm allegedly a proper grown up. I've turned 30 and I have a daughter. Hello? When did all this happen? Gone are the days of thumping loudly on my blue typewriter, locked in my bedroom in Sleaford, downing dad's whisky and dreaming of a better life. Now I'm supposedly living that better life, in Brighton, tapping on my computer keyboard and looking forward to a glass of merlot this evening. Not much has changed.
My musical background to the original BF was a mixture of Suede, Blur, Bowie and Abba. Now all I hear is silence and my conscience telling me I should be doing something more productive like write That Book that's on the back burner. Next BF blog I'll have a soundtrack.
Been trying to write the first chapter of The Book this morning. Did 600 words last night (pathetic) and then went off to watch that social experiment on babies programme last night 'Bringing Up Baby'. That awful witchy woman who wouldn't let the parents cuddle their baby made me sick. In fact the whole format made me cringe. I had to switch off the tv. I should have stuck to rambling in my book.
Speaking of wasting quality creative time I'll be off....