Blue Collar Monday

Help! I've just been out and bought some office clothes and it's freaking me out. I guess I'm joining the rat race once more, albeit part time and in a role that I can throw myself into semi-consciously. Well- that's what I'm hoping anyway. If I used my whole brain I might start wondering what the hell I am doing as a writer working as a secretary again, and start foaming at the mouth or something. Oh well. Roll on the regular pay cheques, paid holidays and office politics. Ah- how I have missed it. Next Monday is my start date, which annoyingly meant I had to cut back my Iceland trip by 2 days. I will almost liturally be leaping out of the plane from Reykjavik into my Brighton Royal Sussex County Hospital Kidney Unit chair. Should be an interesting shock to the system.

Soundtrack: Black Box Recorder-Straight Life

Home

Having said that I love Devon for all it's tranquility, I actually started to go a bit loony on our last day there on Friday. Sadie had a high temperature so we stayed in the house all day and the cabin-fever proved to much for me; me who is used to a fairly hectic life, usually consisting of some time outdoors ('Her Indoors' I really am not). Sadie's constant whinging didn't help my waning sanity either. Luckily Saturday a.m we headed off, having blatantly spent too much time just with each other and in the middle of nowhere. We headed straight to London town for a complete antidote to all things rural. Don't get me wrong- I love the countryside, but it was a pleasant surprise to realise that I am an urban girl at heart, who likes to visit green open spaces once in a while, and not the frustrated country-bumpkin wannabe that I thought I was. It's great to realise that where you are is where you really are best.
London was a mad social whirl; we visited my in laws in Hampstead first for lunch. They've got this beautiful big house right by the Heath and it's always a pleasure to drop by. The Who all stayed there when they were filming 'The Kids Are Alright'. How cool is that? And Ridley Scott lives next door! Andy's mum, ever the opposite of all things glamourous, pulled out all the stops for us, and dug out another of her mystery casseroles. This time it had been in the freezer for less than 5 years, unlike the usuals, and we all sat around and did our usual 'guess what animal we're eating' competition, as she never knows one meaty stew from another. I guessed correctly that it was the succulent flesh and small bones of rabbit. She then remembered that the rabbit in question was one she had run over a few years ago and bunged in the boot of her car. She's a salt-of-the-earth Aussie you see. This type of culinery economy is the norm. Incidentally, the bunny stew was delicious.
That evening I ventured across to another of my old haunts, the Betsey Trotwood on Farrigdon Road. I used to enjoy many a lunchtime pint in there when I worked at the Guardian over the road. It's been done up now and taken over by the charming Scotty, Punk Rock Dolly's mate, who is lovely and looks like a young George Best. He's also from Sleaford which is the shithole I come from. He escaped aged 17 just like I did. Punk Rock Dolly and I were at the Betsey to see Pocketbooks, who were fab, despite the very cramped conditions in the basement venue. I took a while to spot my good friend Em, who is the band's singer, as all her fans have exactly the same haircut. When I found her it was great to catch up. I was designated photographer for the night (see blurry pic) and kept getting funny looks from people because I didn't have a black bobbed haircut and I was sort of leaping about to get some shots. Pocketbooks were great and I was sorry that I couldn't join the band later for Singstar back at Em's, but my motherly duties mean I have a midnight curfew most nights. Happy birthday today Em by the way!
We've then spent today gallavanting between Highbury and Hackney, catching up with relatives and friends over wine and food. Andy's brother Prof Tim Spector shared with me his "expert" knowledge of a woman's G-spot (ew- brother in law! but then he's just been quoted in the New Scientist so fair play), while Tom Andrews, ever the sophisticated host, shared with us his ever-revolting tales of too many drugs and porno clips. His poor wife. Unfortunately he is very entertaining company, plus he's Andy's best mate, so I have to grin and bear it. I sometimes miss London and the people we know there, but maybe like Devon, it's always more appealing in small doses.
Back in Brighton now and it's fab to be home. Always is.

Soundtrack: Ash-Burn Baby Burn

Only You

Having an only child is a rather intense experience- all the love and focus goes completely into Sadie, and sometimes it's hard to make sure she doesn't turn out a bit of a prima donna. Hopefully the occassional beatings I give her will put paid to that. No really I'm kidding, but it's rather heartbreaking when your one and only is growing up so rapidly. My broodiness I'm sure stems solely from wanting the last five years (or at least the rose tinted version) to happen all over again. Now that Little Spec has started school her development has been really speedy and it's freaking me out a bit. Not only is she about 3 inches taller, she is now reading, writing and talking a bit like a teenager (she actually now impersonates Homer Simpson when she makes a mistake...doh!). So I am savouring every last sign of her chubby, clumsy babyness, which still pokes it's cute little head out from time to time to remind me that she is still so young and vulnerable. I don't, for example, correct her when she says certain words wrong. I've kept the last remaining few for my own enjoyment. Of course, by secondary school I hope to have elimated them to avoid her head being flushed down various toilet bowls, but for now I'm keeping them.
Here they are:

Oxford Dictionary: Guitar
Sadie's version: Catarrh
OD: Spaghetti, SV: Sabessi
OD: Surprise, SV: Purise
OD: Magazine, SV: Magza-ine

I can only hope the next five years don't go by so quick.

Soundtrack: Stevie Wonder- Isn't She Lovely (cue mild nausea, but I couldn't resist)

P.S Hello to my new readers Andy and Sara who we weirdly bumped into in Slapton yesterday. Andy is Andy Spec's oldest friend from London so it was a bit of a coincidence. We had a great rest of the day with them as they invited us to their Dartmouth harbour-side holiday appartment for a take away. Lovely to see you all and enjoy the view with you, and do keep in touch x

Thursdays are bunged up

After last night's chilli con carne and beer we had a bad night's sleep. We were frequently awoken by one of us parping very loudly. We would then argue groggily about who was the culprit. It was more often than not Andy who had let off but we won't say any more about it. All very amusing and our bedroom smelt like a greek sauna by the morning.
Did anyone see the Brit Awards last night? I remember when it seemed to mean something and I am saddened by it's demise. We ended up turning over to a documentary about hypochondria for some proper entertainment. The Brits wasn't a programme about music talent but just a giant drinking competition. Most of the champagne-soaked guests made Amy Winehouse look remarkably sober. I found myself relieved to see Take That up on the stage. "Oh at last- some really nice chaps on the Brits for once instead of some arrogant pissheads..." I thought in my increasingly middle-aged way, and then Jason Orange slavvered into the mic like some sort of lairy bloke at a stag do and made absolutely no sense at all (not that I was that interested in what the chiselled jawed bore had to say anyway). God only knows what strength bubbly they were plying the celebs with but it seemed the whole place was pickled.
Finding it hard to write anything this week. Every time I sit down to try I get thoughts about the school's Book Week into my head, which I'm writing and reading out some children's poems for. I've already prepared three but it's like my brain has entered ga-ga land and I can't write anything decent anymore unless it involves fluffy small animals. I obviously can't multi-task with my creativity. My blog, for one, has lost it's irreverent edge I feel. I'm supposed to be creating a ten minute play for a competition in a fortnight (sounds easier than it is) and I need to get some more articles sold but it's gone to pot until book week is done and dusted. One thing at a time so apologies for lack of entertaining posts until then.
Oh oh- the Slapton ghost is back- he just put the radio on...oh no- he's put on a CD which is even more bizarre. And god he seems to like KT Tunstall.

Soundtrack: Suede-Everything will flow

Feels like.... Devon

As I sit here Andy is expertly making an indoor log fire. I've just put the dinner on and we're all relaxing to the smells of burning wood after a day at Salcombe (incidentally in my top five places in this country). I love being in Devon. We're staying in Slapton Sands for the week in Andy's brother's holiday home which is something we come and do a few times a year if we get the chance. We wake up every day to the glorious views of the rolling green west country hills, I usually go for a jog down to the beach and back (snigger- I've done it three times EVER), and then we potter or go out for long strolls, usually in the direction of cosy pubs. The days last forever here. If we were in Brighton it would already be next Monday and Sadie would be back at school. As it is it's only Wednesday because we are in peaceful Devonshire, living a simple life. I should probably be doing it properly this calm down time, and stop using the internet. When we first arrived it was out of action so we managed a night email/facebook free. It was annoying but really liberating. We played Scrabble and read books. When we got back online I got straight back onto the facebook like a starved bear and the inevitable had happened and I'd been contacted by an old BF. This must happen on Facebook all the time. This is one of the reasons I resisted signing up to the evil lure of it in the first place, but curiousity has obviously got the better of me. Anyway- Mr Stand and Deliver had given me a poke, as they call it, so I poked him back (well it would be rude not to) and now we are messaging; catching up on what we've been up to these last 10 years. All very strange but it's nice to catch up with old faces. That's the whole point isn't it?

Here's how I did my meal last night which Andy really enjoyed (so much so he said "welcome aboard" in a Lesley Philips voice) so I'll share it with you readers .....
Cathy's Red Onion Dauphinois Potatoes
3 red onions, chopped
3 cloves garlic, crushed
750g potatoes, sliced really thin, skin left on
small tubs of single and double cream
grated cheddar cheese
Butter (about 50g)
salt and pepper

Preheat oven to 200. Melt butter and cook onions and garlic until soft. Mix together the two tubs of cream and then stir in seasoning. Layer a casserole dish first with the sliced potatoes, then some onion mix and then pour on 1/4 of cream. Repeat this 2or 3 times and then sprinkle on grated cheese. Cook for 1-1.5hours.

We're looking forward to two more slow days of countryside living. Do excuse the long blogs but that's what happens when time slows down....

Soundtrack: not sure but all I am listening to now is Strawberry Shortcake singing 'How do you make a friendship cake?'

Dancing with Salty tears in my eyes....

I have a head cold which may explain my lack of entries lately. I haven't also done myself many favours as I've been larging it like some sort of party beast. Well- if you can count two late nights of drinking as 'larging' it... but it is by my standards these days. We began our debauchery on Friday night, where we travelled up to my old haunt Hoxton for a couple of pints with my younger brother. I yet again apparantely bought him the worst present in the world (hello? a Mitchell and Webb DVD? How can that EVER be a bad gift?) and resigned myself to years of uninspired voucher purchases. He has to be the fussiest man on earth. Anyway, was lovely to see the big giant sibling, and also be in the Electricity Showrooms once more, where I used to go when I lived around the corner. It's changed in a really weird way though, as it's been 'olded' up and made to look like a traditional boozer, when the last time I went in it was a brightly lit, modern cocktail bar. God Hoxton is an interesting place but so bloody pretentious. We then headed for Soho where we had a gorgeous Indian meal with one of my oldest pals Glenn. It was great to see him as ever as well as Sam, Su etc, although the evening was somewhat tainted by the fact that the man sat opposite me was a very outspoken sexual health nurse who thought it hilarious to tell me all the sordid details of where his hands had been that day. Incidentally I didn't finish my spicy lamb kebab. Andy and I caught the last train back to Brighton and giggled and/or sleepily drooled our way back home. As fun as the night had been, I spent the next day feeling as though I'd been attacked by a hungry DADDY walrus.
We then attended a friend's party the following night and that's when I realised I can no longer survive two nights out on the razzle without it all going hideously pear shaped. Within about an hour of the party I was twatted and was dancing about to the Happy Mondays whilst bawling my eyes out, feeling quite frankly utterly suicidal, despite nothing actually being wrong in my life. The combination of little sleep and vodka (plus this goddam head cold thing) turned me into a crazy needy shoe-gazing bitch and I soon got a cab, where I snivelled my self-pitying way back home. Pathetic. And to think there were people at the party with much worse on their plates- one amazing woman I met called Betty was even breathing through a hole in her neck after she had been in an accident on holiday where the balcony she was sitting on just collapsed. Jesus. No- I had no grounds to be in such a state but booze can do it to you sometimes. Plus, motherhood and partying don't mix. This is a fact that no one warns you of: going out drinking as a parent is likely to involve an embarrassing episode.
Oh- but the good thing that happened at The Party Where I Made a Twat Out of Myself (Although No One Will Actually Remember) was that we saw the lovely Lenni again, who has given me some items to help me get pure again. She is now the Salt Lady, and runs her own Himilayan salt business. Check out www.thesaltseller.co.uk.
We are now in Devon for half term doing lots of fun things with Sadie like making flapjacks and watering the garden. Time has slowed down and it's great to be here. I've been doing lots of cooking, walking and writing and finally last Saturday's nightmare is all a distant fuzz.

Soundtrack: Sadie versus the Spice Girls- Say You'll Be There (this version is much more entertaining)

Click on 'Publish Post' versus photocopy, staple, put in envelope, lick stamp, write address, put in post box......

I am really liking this facebook thing. I've decided that as long as I look at it AFTER my daily writing ritual it's OK. I'm back in touch with so many lovely people- it reminds me of when I used to write a fanzine and we would all link up with each other- albeit via scribbled notes, doodles and presents sent through the post. The internet isn't so much fun, but it's quicker and less messy. I still have musty smelling boxes full of other people's fanzines and my Beaumont Fee 'fanmail' (my longest letters came from readers in Japan who thought that because I typed waffle about bands, photocopied it and then stapled it all together, I must actually be friends with Brett, Damon, Justine, Wener and all the other floppy haired people I then wrote about). I will never let these piles of yellowing rambles go as it was such an exciting time of my life. Ah memories... and god aren't I ancient reminiscing about the 'good old days of pen pals'. I can gladly say that I still write letters that need a stamp to get somewhere and I will always be a bit old school in the communications department, but I am liking the new cyber methods of interaction.

Soundtrack: Elastica- Nothing Stays the Same

P.S. Forgot to say oh my god Camden Town- I can't believe the fires (hello? delayed reaction). It was right behind our house there too, where Sadie was born. Anyway- roll on our old local the Hawley Arms, and all the people we know in that area- I hope things get back to normal swiftly.