Bit of a blur...

I write this through stinging, slightly blurred eyes. One of the curses of being a redhead is that when the weather is blue-skied and hot, as it is in Brighton at the moment (god I love living here- I get so much more sunlight than I ever did growing up in rainy Lincolnshire and then smoggy, shaded-by-the-council-blocks London), I have to smother myself in suncream on a daily basis. The stuff is greasy enough to annoy me being on my skin at all, but I am one of those fidgets who often rubs their eyes at work (as I am often tired from an early morning wake up call from Sadie) and now I have the stuff in my eyes. How bad is that? My poor pupils will be poisoned for ever. I keep meaning to buy myself some "alternative", more natural suncream (of which there must be an abundance in a place like Brighton which houses, allegedly, the healthiest and most alternative people in the UK- remember pomegranate molasses? Case proven)but each year I forget and quickly nip into Boots in a panic on my way home as the hot ball of fire in the sky takes me by surprise and I suddenly feel as thought the freckles on my arms are singeing into small, black smoke holes. I am terrified of getting skin cancer but blindness isn't much cop either. I must invest in something less harsh and chemical based. Any suggestions for creams/oils that work but are not nasty on your bod and peepers?

Boredom is inevitable, suffering optional

I was a little disappointed this weekend as Haruki Murakami was in the Guardian's Weekend magazine with extracts of his book on running- I was very excited about this (and being able to read the Saturday papers at all- this is becoming a new luxury for me on my weekends off from Sadie) as as he is my favourite writer and I love, well rather quite like, running, so I skipped to and from the newsagents on Saturday, poured myself a cup of herbal and tucked into his words, expecting to be blown away. Thing is- I got bored halfway through and had to stop reading it. I kept going back over it in case I had missed the point but no- I was glazing over. There is only so much someone can say about running and I think he said too much. I shall not be buying this book, but I still love him as a novelist despite his ramblings about marathons and pain. He is clearly obsessed (he is currently in training for his 24th marathon) and a lot of what he said about how it feels to run makes sense to me and I can relate to it, but enough already! Running is hard work but it makes you feel good. That is all you need to know.
I went for my first run in a while last night on the seafront in the early evening sun. Again- this is all you need to know. The shoreline was packed with people, even right up into Hove which is usually the quiet end for revellers. I think I was the only person who was actually stupid enough to be moving this fast in the heat- I didn't spot another jogger at all, and there are ordinarily quite a few of us virtuously panting our way along the prom. I still can't quite believe that I managed to pull a bloke on one of these jogging outings. I looked like a cherry tomato on a stick when I got home last night. Maybe running is the new cruising. Maybe not. And if it was you would think in all his endless musings, Murakami might have mentioned this.
He sums up his relationship to running in the last paragraph of the Weekend article;
'I may not hear the Rocky theme song, or see the sunset anywhere, but for me, this may be a sort of conclusion. An understated, rainy-day-sneakers sort of conclusion. An anticlimax, if you will. Turn it into a screenplay, and the Hollywood producer would just glance at the last page and toss it back. But the long and the short of it is that this kind of conclusion fits who I am. What I mean is, I didn't start running because somebody asked me to become a runner. Just like I didn't become a novelist because someone asked me to. One day, out of the blue, I wanted to write a novel. And one day, out of the blue, I started to run. Simply because I wanted to.'

Well- go and run then and write another novel please!

Soundtrack: Nancy Sinatra- Sugartown

Eeek!

A very close friend of mine is getting married at the end of August and has just asked me to be Best Woman and do a speech. I am chuffed to smithereens about this and actually loudly wept when she asked me. Only thing is, she seems to think that because I write and I make her laugh, that I will somehow rise to the occasion and do a wonderful, hilarious stand up routine about her, our 20 years of friendship and her lovely new beau. I am absolutely SHITE at standing up infront of people and speaking. I go red, I mumble and speak so quickly to get it all out of the way that my meagre witticisms are lost on everyone due to their bad timing. This being how it all went for me back in the days at Uni when I did a presentation. And I haven't had much practise since. I also absolutely SHIT MYSELF beforehand, to the point where I spend about a fortnight beforehand having sleepless nights and if I do get to sleep have anxiety dreams where I do the talk but with food on my face and without remembering to put any clothes on. I have done the Best Woman thing once before, at a friends' Civil Partnership ceremony, but he put together a reading (a la Bridges of Madison County- the cheesemeister that he is) for me which was nervewracking, but at least I wasn't showcasing my lack-lustre, shakey handed technique for wowing a crowd. It actually went ok, but now to have to write something tasteful and funny at the same time is a challenge and usually isn't my bag. As you may have noticed readers I do have a liking for the cruder side of humour. This poor girl doesn't know what she has let herself in for, and as for me- bring on the valium!

These boots are made for walking...and dancing and a bit of naturism too.....

The weekend was a frivolity of dancing, nude swimming (again- I must get out of this strange and quite frankly freezing habit), snogs, and dining out with friends. I really am starting to enjoy being single at last. And I know I am a mother but every now and then I feel it's important for me to be a little childish too. On Friday a gang of us went to the Honeyclub on Brighton's seafront for Adrian's birthday. I hadn't fancied it until a friend of mine lent me her 4 inch heel kinky black boots and that was it-I was in vamp land and no one was going to stop me showing off my now very long legs! (I have stumps ordinarily) I danced my arse off to hard house, which I usually detest, but being continuously dry humped in a Patrick Swayzee kind of manner by a gorgeous young man sure helped proceedings. He had only just learnt to walk again after a motorcycle crash had left him in a wheelchair for 4 years, and I have to say he was doing swell. After the club, he and I ran into the sea starkers and screaming in homage to Merman. Trouble was his best friend had followed us in, and suddenly there we were the three of us, all far more sober, completely in the buff and standing in the sea as the sun just started to come up (see pic for bit of the sea we plunged into before the light appeared- thanks Tatiana for the beautiful pic before it all turned rather naughty). I hope I am not on You Tube somewhere and god- I am behaving like a bit of a trollop at present but who cares? I sure don't.
Saturday night after a sumptuous Thai meal with the soon-to-be-wed cuties that are Joy and Geoff (19 days to go guys!!!) and their photographer Harry (who to practise for their big day followed us around all day like the paparazzi- it was quite surreal but exciting in a look-at-us-having-our pictures-taken kind of way), we braved the tacky Horatio's Bar with a few friends to see a covers band called The Ginger Flowers. They were actually really good and threw in a few indie numbers for the kids, and we danced barefoot on the sticky carpet with one of the eccentric senior nurses from work who we happened to bump into. She was off her trolley and Harry took some great piccies of her that I will put on here soon.
Sunday I was invited to a taster session at the opening of a friends restaurant. The friends in question are Finnish and they have started a Scandinavian themed eatery in town called Northern Lights. The deal was that I, along with a load of their friends, go along and try their menu for a fiver and make comments. It was fantastic-lots of fish-based foods of course so I was happy, and very rich flavours. I would thoroughly recommend it for an alternative night out in Brighton to all you locals, and there are some great veggie dishes too. Plus Manu and Paula are great, gregarious hosts who love to meet new people and drink and be merry so go along for a great night out! Northern Lights is on Little East Street near the Lanes and is next door to Mama Cherries of Kitchen Nightmares fame. (I did promise them a plug but I genuinely loved it).
Back to work now and reality. But I tell you what- if all my weekends off from my mothering duties are half as much fun as this one was, I think I am going to be just dandy.

Ginger connections and the continuation of the species

As I left work yesterday teetering from the hospital carpark on my bicycle I heard a male voice shout "Alright Ginge!". I turned round, ready to scowl at the Chav idiot who had obviously thought it appropriate to yell such an ignorant pointless thing, as I always do when this happens (and it happens rather more than I care to remember) and was surprised to see an orange-topped bloke grinning at me. So I smiled in a warm sisterly way and went on my merry way. It somehow felt like a ginger connection rather than the usual feeling of mild racism.
Sarah my doppelganger at work and I have been talking about the fact that I now need to make it my mission to carry on the ginger gene and find myself a redheaded man next, or at least a mousy blond with ginger trimmings, so I can have ginger children in the future. Sadie is wonderful and everything but she is more Med than red if you see what I mean. Dark genes win the war every time unfortunately and I need to do my bit for my super race.

The bedside manner of a turd

I think I might be losing my marbles. I was on the bus travelling home from work yesterday and was talking to a friend on my mobile. As I jibbered away I rummaged through my bag and panicked that I couldn't find my phone. I voiced this concern to said friend and she said "Cathy- you're talking on it...." before collapsing in a heap of giggles on the end of the line. I think I must speak to this friend so often and had got so used to listening to her, that I now thought she was just a voice in my head and not a person on the end of the phone. Oh dear.
I'm not sleeping well at present and this might explain my dippiness. For the last 2 months I have woken every night at 3am and laid awake until about 5am just thinking and worrying. It's a horrible time of the night to be awake as it's almost morning so you know you'll be getting up in a few hours, and it's also not a time of the day when you can get up and do anything productive with your thoughts. I sometimes jot things down or go and get myself a chamomile tea, but on the whole I just lie there feeling rotten. I have a completely useless GP unfortunately. I went to see her the other day as my glands are up and I feel very tired. I mentioned my sleep problem and she dismissed it, saying it was probably the humidity and not to concern myself and as for the gland thing, it was "just a virus". Great help thanks. I had cycled all the way across town and had had to spend an hour reading 6 month old copies of 'Good Housekeeping' magazine just to be told this crap. Is it any wonder I would normally prefer to visit a homeopath? Will I ever learn that when it comes to matters of the heart, unless it's a cardiovascular problem, doctors are pretty pants at sussing out what needs to be done.

Fishy outings and raining vegetarians

I have been sitting still for so long today at work that the automated lightswitch in the office thinks there's no one here and has just turned itself off. And oh piss it's raining again and I have cycled into work. I will get drenched as I only have my EMO hooded top for a coat as it was warm and dry this morning. I know- I will write about food to cheer myself up......
I have been dabbling with the idea of becoming vegetarian, despite my occasional carniverous penchant for eating guinea pigs (sorry Patrick) and puffins (sorry Sadie). I have a lot of vegetarian friends. In fact I think most of my friends are. I am somehow drawn to them, like I am drawn to musicians or writers- they sort of epitomise what I would like to be but fail at most of the time. Like I should be in a band, or have a book published by now, I should probably also be a veggie as it's healthier, it would encourage me to think about what I eat more and probably lead to me eating more varied nosh, and of course it's kinder to the ickle wickle animals. I can cook so many different things (hark at me), that my culinery repertoire wouldn't be too tarnished by the lack of meaty or fishy flesh thrown in. I have had a few vegetablarian (as I like to call them) mates come round recently for dinner and it's been an absolute pleasure to cook for them as it's meant I have been more experimental. I also have this amazing book that I bought a few years ago called 'Entertaining Vegetarians' by Celia Brooks-Brown and her recipes are always absolutely yummy. Here is one that is so easy yet really impresses......(I got a snog out of this one so beware!)
(Feeds 2)
2 medium aubergines, cut into slices
1 block of halloumi cheese, cut into slices
1 bag of baby spinach
fresh mint
olive oil, salt and pepper

Sauce:
1 tablespoon of pomegranate molasses (you probably have to live in Brighton for this one but Balsamic vinegar is a good substitute)mixed with a little water
4 tablespoons of ground almonds
1 tsp caster sugar
1 tsp cinnamon
1 tsp grated ginger
1 garlic clove, crushed

Pestle and mortar the sauce ingredients and leave aside. Grill the aubergines with a little olive oil and seasoning. Dry fry the halloumi and then stick the spinach, cheese and aubergine on a plate with some sauce and sprinkle fresh mint over everything. Tasty! And as Nat and I discovered the other day, the sauce makes a delicious accompaniment to roasted veggies and probably just about anything else as it is soooo yum!

Back to my ramblings about vegetarianism, I think however the habit I would miss the most about being an ex-carnivore would be my trips down the seafront on my bicycle to buy fish. Cycling to Taj Foods to buy curly kale and fresh herbs (usually with obligatory flies buzzing around them- it's the authenticity that keeps Mr Taj so wealthy) is all very well, but it isn't quite as romantic and earthy as purchasing some freshly caught and hand-smoked mackerel from the lovely red-faced elderly couple who run the little shop by the beach. Maybe I will have to become one of those semi-veggies who still eats fish...We shall see.
P.S. Did anyone hear that amazing thunder clap last night? It was very moving. When I was awoken in the early hours I felt I was in a Hammer Horror. Very exciting- I love a good storm.