Sunday night. As last Sunday, I’m sitting in my room, the room that is now where I seem to spend most of my time, doing what I seem to do now more than anything else, tapping away at a keyboard. It’s either that or scribbling away in a notebook. It’s beginning to trouble me that I have too close a relationship with my laptop, and my notebook, some kind of bizarre love triangle. And I spend too much time on the internet.
At least today I left the house for a few hours in a row, and went for one of the most beautiful walks I’ve ever been on through glossy green fields and bluebell woods, down to the Helford River. It began at an ancient farm house in Constantine, through farmland with the most rich, red soil I’ve seen outside of Shropshire. Something appeals deeply to me about old farm yards and barns with streamers of dusty cobwebs from rafters, and chipped whitewashed walls. The view though from this farm yard was awesomely beautiful - I know exactly now what rolling fields and downs are, slopes of grass and wooded paths.
The bluebells too were something else, swaying carpets of blue, changing in the sunlight. I think it was one of the strangest experiences of my life this walk, with a group of older people (I was probably the youngest by easily twenty years) wandering along non-existent paths in the woods, trying not to trample on the bluebells and wood anemones. It reminded me too, or would have done had I had a young man for company, of Thomas Hardy’s ‘The Woodlanders’ as they walk amongst the roots and branches of the forest.
The walk ended much more prosaically, and happily though with a cream tea in the garden of the farm house. Real clotted cream on thick scones and a slab of chocolate cake. Washed down with tea in blue and white striped cups, Wonderful. Except I had to do another walk in the evening to walk off the sinful amount of cake and cream I had consumed. Lentils and bread tomorrow, and another walk through the bluebells around Pendennis.
Sunday, 27 April 2008
Friday, 18 April 2008
Milk
It certainly doesn’t seem like April. I have been disillusioned by the Cornish weather, and my dreams of sunning myself on the beach whilst a balmy breeze washed over has seriously not happened. I get text asking how life in Sunny Falmouth is, and I have to tell them that it doesn’t exist as yet. No, that’s not strictly true, there have been a few good days when the sun has shone and as long as you’re behind glass in its rays, the chill lifts from your bones. Otherwise, it’s bloody freezing. I cannot get warm at all, and have spent most evening pressed against my radiator shivering, and being thankful for a portable laptop.
I braved the weather to leave the house three times today, three times more into the blistering cold. The sky was a very strange silver grey, and then sickly yellow. The sea I was watching smashing into the headlands, and rocking the little ships. I was glad to be indoors, when I was, and wishing I was after heading out to buy milk. I got in after my first sojourn having willed myself along with the promise of a cup of tea, only to arrive sodden in the kitchen to discover I had no milk. I hate that. So out again, thankfully Tescos is not far. Tea never tasted better.
One more trip out to catch up with Rob and Carlo, then I chained myself to my chair and the computer. I have to stop distracting myself with boiling the kettle, even getting lunch takes up time, but I’m not prepared to give up food just yet, even for writing.
I also took a couple of hours after doing some work and treated myself to another chapter of my epic story, which I was totally awed to discover has received over 10,000 hits on the website! I’m stunned. I also had a short story written for me following a request, and to my huge enjoyment yesterday, I discovered that two people would like me to play parts in the scripts they are writing. So nice, I’m really flattered. I will have to return the favour.
Fortunately my script scenes that I tortured myself writing last week seem to be okay after my tutorial this morning - my first and most valid reason for leaving the house. Which was a relief, I’d written them, emailed them, and let them go. Now I have some things to work on and focus on. Maybe I’ll get there. I hope so.
I braved the weather to leave the house three times today, three times more into the blistering cold. The sky was a very strange silver grey, and then sickly yellow. The sea I was watching smashing into the headlands, and rocking the little ships. I was glad to be indoors, when I was, and wishing I was after heading out to buy milk. I got in after my first sojourn having willed myself along with the promise of a cup of tea, only to arrive sodden in the kitchen to discover I had no milk. I hate that. So out again, thankfully Tescos is not far. Tea never tasted better.
One more trip out to catch up with Rob and Carlo, then I chained myself to my chair and the computer. I have to stop distracting myself with boiling the kettle, even getting lunch takes up time, but I’m not prepared to give up food just yet, even for writing.
I also took a couple of hours after doing some work and treated myself to another chapter of my epic story, which I was totally awed to discover has received over 10,000 hits on the website! I’m stunned. I also had a short story written for me following a request, and to my huge enjoyment yesterday, I discovered that two people would like me to play parts in the scripts they are writing. So nice, I’m really flattered. I will have to return the favour.
Fortunately my script scenes that I tortured myself writing last week seem to be okay after my tutorial this morning - my first and most valid reason for leaving the house. Which was a relief, I’d written them, emailed them, and let them go. Now I have some things to work on and focus on. Maybe I’ll get there. I hope so.
Struggling
April has gone by too fast, how did we get here? Am I going to say this every month? Well, I haven’t been neglecting writing, far from it. I sit at my laptop every day and type, and at night I sit up in bed for hours with a notebook and pen, more words. They keep coming, but I can’t always make them work for me. Maybe that’s good though, that I’m struggling and having to think more about the words I use, and how I use them.
I keep thinking at the moment about all the language I lack, languages of subjects that I have no knowledge of. I read a story where a city was described as an ‘endothermic organism’ and it was just the most perfect description, but one I could not have come up with because I am not a scientist.
I am also not an architect, or an engineer, and yet they use words that I love and striked chords within me such as architraves, buttresses, beam engines. I know very little of the language of music, but if I did it would inform my writing. I need to know more. Maybe that realisation is the start of it.
So I just keep writing and reading, trying new words, new forms and seeing what happens. I’m struggling to write what we have to though. I have to complete and Industry Analysis on my work experience placement, and I cannot do it. And it has to be in on Monday. Website too, that is completely stuck. The worst is a horrible creeping feeling that at the moment I just do not care. I don’t want to do it. I have stories in my head and until they are out, I can’t do anything else.
Sometimes it feels like I just want to crawl away and scream go away. Oh dear, this is getting dark. It’s really not that bad. I think I have been troubled by writers’ envy, after reading such a good story it made me cry, and it’s not finished, and I am in such fear for the characters. I wish I could have written it. I guess what I need to do is to try and write as good as. Keep writing.
I keep thinking at the moment about all the language I lack, languages of subjects that I have no knowledge of. I read a story where a city was described as an ‘endothermic organism’ and it was just the most perfect description, but one I could not have come up with because I am not a scientist.
I am also not an architect, or an engineer, and yet they use words that I love and striked chords within me such as architraves, buttresses, beam engines. I know very little of the language of music, but if I did it would inform my writing. I need to know more. Maybe that realisation is the start of it.
So I just keep writing and reading, trying new words, new forms and seeing what happens. I’m struggling to write what we have to though. I have to complete and Industry Analysis on my work experience placement, and I cannot do it. And it has to be in on Monday. Website too, that is completely stuck. The worst is a horrible creeping feeling that at the moment I just do not care. I don’t want to do it. I have stories in my head and until they are out, I can’t do anything else.
Sometimes it feels like I just want to crawl away and scream go away. Oh dear, this is getting dark. It’s really not that bad. I think I have been troubled by writers’ envy, after reading such a good story it made me cry, and it’s not finished, and I am in such fear for the characters. I wish I could have written it. I guess what I need to do is to try and write as good as. Keep writing.
Tuesday, 8 April 2008
Aunties and fairies
Sunday 23rd: Easter day it was. But it wasn’t too. Family situations being slightly odd at the moment, only mum and I were at home, and we had received our Easter eggs the day before. So it was a quiet day. We went to visit my relatives in Chester and I spent the day running round Auntie’s house chasing after, and being chased by my little cousin and having great fun. We let the adults have grown-up conversation, we talked about fairy wings and fairy cakes and swiped biscuits from the table to eat in secret corners. I love being an honorary Auntie.
Mountains
Sunday 6th: something is going wrong with my writing, I can’t just write anymore. It’s a struggle, and I realise I am sitting for hours tapping a few words, and then deleting nearly all of them. Writing more, hating them closing the computer down and going out for a walk, or washing dishes, or making a cup of tea. The other day the kettle boiled, and I didn’t even remember switching it on. But Pavlov would have wept to see me; it whistled and I got out my teabags.
Maybe I’m not meant to be a writer. The mountain of things I have to write are just appalling me, and as I know, I just can’t do them. I switch the computer on and stare at it. I just need to somehow break the barrier.
I had a small success in that I got the editing work I’d been putting off for ages done, that helped, and it felt very satisfying to send the files off. Just the small matter of now of worrying that my email will have let me down again and not sent the damn things. That’s another problem though, so many of them. Even this is hard to write. I can’t even remember properly what I did today. Other than forgetting that I was supposed to meet someone until it was too late and they sent me a very nice text which made me feel even worse. Things must get better.
Maybe I’m not meant to be a writer. The mountain of things I have to write are just appalling me, and as I know, I just can’t do them. I switch the computer on and stare at it. I just need to somehow break the barrier.
I had a small success in that I got the editing work I’d been putting off for ages done, that helped, and it felt very satisfying to send the files off. Just the small matter of now of worrying that my email will have let me down again and not sent the damn things. That’s another problem though, so many of them. Even this is hard to write. I can’t even remember properly what I did today. Other than forgetting that I was supposed to meet someone until it was too late and they sent me a very nice text which made me feel even worse. Things must get better.
Saturday, 5 April 2008
Food of the gods
Saturday 22nd: Finally, a good night’s sleep, and I didn’t wake up at 6am, no it was 7am instead, but an hour makes a big difference. And I didn’t have to get up for work! I’m slipping back into working habits already, after all this time.
It was nice to be at home, but I caught myself missing both Falmouth, and Oxford. Even in the week I’ve been there, I’ve found a routine and a place. I know there is still a place at home, and I always slip back into it, but it’s different.
It was a family day at home, my father was going off to play trains at the Severn Valley railway again, in the evening, so we had Easter a day early. Apparently, the ‘Easter Collie Dog’ had called instead, taking on the job from the bunny so dad says, and we had chocolate deliveries. Oh my. So much chocolate. My youngest sister calls it the food of the gods, and she's not far wrong. I could feel the pounds clambering back on to my hips just stroking the ever so shiny wrappers. I may be grown up, but I still have a delight in Easter eggs, especially when you find overspill - lovely thick sections of egg where the chocolate has run over, and it snaps with that rich chocolatey sound when you break into it….
They won’t last long.
Today was a total sugar rush, I’m amazed I didn’t explode in a spray of sweetness. Mum went mad in the kitchen and made truffles, crispy cakes, sponge cakes, trifle and more. That was just for breakfast. They had bought biscuits, cakes and mini eggs as well, just in case there weren’t enough calories around.
It was a fun day, despite eating far, far too much. And making poor mum turn over from the film she was watching so I could watch CSI. It wasn’t a great film, (the one where New York freezes, see, even the title isn't memorable) and I happily told her the ending anyway, plus I am the eldest child, back from her travels. She agreed in the end to my reasoning.
It was nice to be at home, but I caught myself missing both Falmouth, and Oxford. Even in the week I’ve been there, I’ve found a routine and a place. I know there is still a place at home, and I always slip back into it, but it’s different.
It was a family day at home, my father was going off to play trains at the Severn Valley railway again, in the evening, so we had Easter a day early. Apparently, the ‘Easter Collie Dog’ had called instead, taking on the job from the bunny so dad says, and we had chocolate deliveries. Oh my. So much chocolate. My youngest sister calls it the food of the gods, and she's not far wrong. I could feel the pounds clambering back on to my hips just stroking the ever so shiny wrappers. I may be grown up, but I still have a delight in Easter eggs, especially when you find overspill - lovely thick sections of egg where the chocolate has run over, and it snaps with that rich chocolatey sound when you break into it….
They won’t last long.
Today was a total sugar rush, I’m amazed I didn’t explode in a spray of sweetness. Mum went mad in the kitchen and made truffles, crispy cakes, sponge cakes, trifle and more. That was just for breakfast. They had bought biscuits, cakes and mini eggs as well, just in case there weren’t enough calories around.
It was a fun day, despite eating far, far too much. And making poor mum turn over from the film she was watching so I could watch CSI. It wasn’t a great film, (the one where New York freezes, see, even the title isn't memorable) and I happily told her the ending anyway, plus I am the eldest child, back from her travels. She agreed in the end to my reasoning.
Who?
Saturday 5th: the 5th of April already? Where has the year gone? This means there’s only a matter of weeks until hand-ins, oh lord. Someone said to me the other day when I asked how their work was going, that they had ‘mountains to climb’ I see exactly what they mean. I’m still somewhere in the valleys, of denial. I think I’m getting there, rock by rock, not to overstretch the metaphor.
I am so cold though, my hands are too stiff to write. That’s my excuse anyway… they really have turned blue and lilac though this time Still corpse-like. And my head hurts. But I can’t draw myself away from the laptop screen, or stay away from its light. Typing, typing, typing. In a draught from the catflap.
Unfortunately, or maybe fortunately as it stops the distraction, I can’t check my email today, something has gone wrong, and I am frustrated. Which must be a sign I’m addicted to it, it just won’t let me log on, and I’m almost crying at it. That’s not good.
Only managed one walk so far. I realised as soon as I stepped out of the front door that I’d made a bad choice of clothing: a flared skirt is not a sensible item for a windy day. So it was proved when the whole walk along into town I was clutching the folds of the material to save my embarrassment. Not an easy feat when you have a heavy bag on the way back. At least the top road was quiet. I tend to walk that way rather than along Arwenack Street.
The road above King Charles’ church has a fabulous view over the harbour, and across to St Anthony’s lighthouse, Flushing and St Mawes in the distance. There are many little paths down to the main streets to, winding steps and tracks. It’s quite fun at times to disappear off down them, and imagine you’ve surprised people by vanishing in front of their eyes. It inspired a story, that imagining in fact. But my character vanished for a more sinister reason off a crowded street. If it happened to me, maybe I wouldn’t have to worry about my work anymore. No, it’s not that bad, really.
Tonight is going to involve a tough decision: do I go out for a drink (I have no money) or do I go round to the warmth and comfort of my friend’s house to watch the new episode of Doctor Who? How do I explain my decision though to the first lot of friends? I’m sure they’ll understand, it’s a big event, it’s even on the cover of the Radio Times, in 4 different editions, wow!
I am so cold though, my hands are too stiff to write. That’s my excuse anyway… they really have turned blue and lilac though this time Still corpse-like. And my head hurts. But I can’t draw myself away from the laptop screen, or stay away from its light. Typing, typing, typing. In a draught from the catflap.
Unfortunately, or maybe fortunately as it stops the distraction, I can’t check my email today, something has gone wrong, and I am frustrated. Which must be a sign I’m addicted to it, it just won’t let me log on, and I’m almost crying at it. That’s not good.
Only managed one walk so far. I realised as soon as I stepped out of the front door that I’d made a bad choice of clothing: a flared skirt is not a sensible item for a windy day. So it was proved when the whole walk along into town I was clutching the folds of the material to save my embarrassment. Not an easy feat when you have a heavy bag on the way back. At least the top road was quiet. I tend to walk that way rather than along Arwenack Street.
The road above King Charles’ church has a fabulous view over the harbour, and across to St Anthony’s lighthouse, Flushing and St Mawes in the distance. There are many little paths down to the main streets to, winding steps and tracks. It’s quite fun at times to disappear off down them, and imagine you’ve surprised people by vanishing in front of their eyes. It inspired a story, that imagining in fact. But my character vanished for a more sinister reason off a crowded street. If it happened to me, maybe I wouldn’t have to worry about my work anymore. No, it’s not that bad, really.
Tonight is going to involve a tough decision: do I go out for a drink (I have no money) or do I go round to the warmth and comfort of my friend’s house to watch the new episode of Doctor Who? How do I explain my decision though to the first lot of friends? I’m sure they’ll understand, it’s a big event, it’s even on the cover of the Radio Times, in 4 different editions, wow!
Roads and egos
Friday 21st: I decided to go home. The home in Wirral. I have so many different addresses now. My car almost feels like one as well. I can fit all I need to live in it, the back seats would serve quite nicely as a bed. It hasn’t come to that though, yet.
I didn’t even have to be in work, but my infallible internal alarm system had me up and wide eyed at 6am. Great. I have never managed to do so much in a morning however, always the optimist. I had a full cup of coffee to start with, no halves. And no water.
Knowing I would not have the internet for, gasp, 3 whole days, I checked all my emails (more reviews, yes!) and bid it goodbye. Am I becoming too dependent? Maybe.
It was easy to pack the car up, I’m really getting good at this now. My favourite item to be packed was the little stash of sweets and chocolate I’d been saving for the whole of Lent. I was so impressed with myself for not eating a bag of jelly belly beans for over a month. Not one. They would soon find their resting place though. I had chocolate and other sweets too; Mars planets and a single Lindt truffle, heaven; and a pack of love hearts, some of my favourite sweets ever. Chalky, sweet goodness, mmmm. It constantly surprises me that I still have all my teeth and no fillings.
It was a lovely bright day, the nicest it had been so far in Oxford. Never mind culture shock, I’d had temperature shock. So I set out in high spirits across and up country. Almost immediately on leaving Oxford though, I was downcast. Traffic. The main A road out of the city was jammed. We crawled along for 20 minutes, only to see NO REASON at all for the delay, one minute we were waiting, the next moving. I hate that.
Then the motorway was blocked, for no discernable reason, huge, depressing queues, then clear roads. Whenever that happens I wonder if it really is that someone has braked. Quite possibly. If so, that someone was braking on every single road I drove on. The M40, the M42, the M5, the M6, Stafford service station… yes, even the service station had a traffic jam. I chuckled to myself eventually at the drivers who hadn’t realised that you could get all you needed from the petrol station, which was not jammed. Which I did, and felt not at all smug.
Then the A550 which I escaped onto from the M6 clogged up, and the M53, even the B road into Wirral
I didn’t even have to be in work, but my infallible internal alarm system had me up and wide eyed at 6am. Great. I have never managed to do so much in a morning however, always the optimist. I had a full cup of coffee to start with, no halves. And no water.
Knowing I would not have the internet for, gasp, 3 whole days, I checked all my emails (more reviews, yes!) and bid it goodbye. Am I becoming too dependent? Maybe.
It was easy to pack the car up, I’m really getting good at this now. My favourite item to be packed was the little stash of sweets and chocolate I’d been saving for the whole of Lent. I was so impressed with myself for not eating a bag of jelly belly beans for over a month. Not one. They would soon find their resting place though. I had chocolate and other sweets too; Mars planets and a single Lindt truffle, heaven; and a pack of love hearts, some of my favourite sweets ever. Chalky, sweet goodness, mmmm. It constantly surprises me that I still have all my teeth and no fillings.
It was a lovely bright day, the nicest it had been so far in Oxford. Never mind culture shock, I’d had temperature shock. So I set out in high spirits across and up country. Almost immediately on leaving Oxford though, I was downcast. Traffic. The main A road out of the city was jammed. We crawled along for 20 minutes, only to see NO REASON at all for the delay, one minute we were waiting, the next moving. I hate that.
Then the motorway was blocked, for no discernable reason, huge, depressing queues, then clear roads. Whenever that happens I wonder if it really is that someone has braked. Quite possibly. If so, that someone was braking on every single road I drove on. The M40, the M42, the M5, the M6, Stafford service station… yes, even the service station had a traffic jam. I chuckled to myself eventually at the drivers who hadn’t realised that you could get all you needed from the petrol station, which was not jammed. Which I did, and felt not at all smug.
Then the A550 which I escaped onto from the M6 clogged up, and the M53, even the B road into Wirral
Friday, 4 April 2008
Sweets
Friday 4th: Loads of writing today, sometimes it’s like that. I slept so badly (this is becoming a refrain) and then woke up at an ungodly hour, unable to go back to sleep. Falmouth was drowning in mist first thing, very strange to look out and not see the harbour at all, or even the railway line.
So I got up and made the best of being awake, by eating. I think I wake up because I’m hungry, and my stomach is craving toast, sugary cereal and coffee. I had to disappoint it with plain weetabix though. It’s cheap.
It ended up that I stayed in the kitchen the whole morning, still in my pyjamas, disgraceful. Then I went and set up in bed trying to keep warm and wrote some more vagaries in my notebook. I got on a streak though, and filled a few pages, very satisfying.
It’s much colder today, how can that be? Yesterday summer was not far, today winter has only just gone. I haven’t been able to get warm all day. I guess sitting in front of a laptop or a notebook doesn’t do your circulation much good. Maybe that’s why my fingers go dead-looking so easily.
After a while I headed to Tescos to stop my eyes from seizing up. Unfortunately, I was struck by a need for sugar, and was pulled towards the deli nearby where they sell the best liquorice allsorts ever, RJ’s allsorts, luscious. All different colours, and the colours even taste differently, so pink does taste of strawberry. The whole bag, I’m ashamed to say, is now gone. So I took another long walk, a very long walk winding round the castle and headland, then along the front.
Couldn’t stay away from the laptop for long though, it’s becoming an addiction in itself. I did manage though to set up a few things online I’ve mean to for ages, and yes, I posted another chapter of my story. That was some of the draw for the laptop, I needed my fix of reviews. And I’m still sitting here now, writing, checking, reading. I really, really need to go to bed before I start falling over. Just a few sentences more…
So I got up and made the best of being awake, by eating. I think I wake up because I’m hungry, and my stomach is craving toast, sugary cereal and coffee. I had to disappoint it with plain weetabix though. It’s cheap.
It ended up that I stayed in the kitchen the whole morning, still in my pyjamas, disgraceful. Then I went and set up in bed trying to keep warm and wrote some more vagaries in my notebook. I got on a streak though, and filled a few pages, very satisfying.
It’s much colder today, how can that be? Yesterday summer was not far, today winter has only just gone. I haven’t been able to get warm all day. I guess sitting in front of a laptop or a notebook doesn’t do your circulation much good. Maybe that’s why my fingers go dead-looking so easily.
After a while I headed to Tescos to stop my eyes from seizing up. Unfortunately, I was struck by a need for sugar, and was pulled towards the deli nearby where they sell the best liquorice allsorts ever, RJ’s allsorts, luscious. All different colours, and the colours even taste differently, so pink does taste of strawberry. The whole bag, I’m ashamed to say, is now gone. So I took another long walk, a very long walk winding round the castle and headland, then along the front.
Couldn’t stay away from the laptop for long though, it’s becoming an addiction in itself. I did manage though to set up a few things online I’ve mean to for ages, and yes, I posted another chapter of my story. That was some of the draw for the laptop, I needed my fix of reviews. And I’m still sitting here now, writing, checking, reading. I really, really need to go to bed before I start falling over. Just a few sentences more…
Spring sadness
Thursday 3rd: Another couple of small achievements. At the very least I sent some text messages and emails I’d been meaning to for ages. I mean to do many things, it just takes time. Most satisfyingly, I overcame my block with bloc online and did my editing for that, and got the articles up live. We all met up in the base room at Tremough, the bloc team and I think because we were all there, got a lot done.
Most of us did anyway. Someone I am having great difficulty tolerating found it difficult to do what we were there to do. I’m ashamed of myself, having recently had people be very kind towards me having a difficult time, but they bring out (and I know that’s blaming them again) a very bitchy streak in me, and everything they said and did yesterday afternoon grated on me, or made me pull faces unseen. One of the problems I think of a fairly intimate course, you have to get on with people as much as you can, or at least pretend to. Sometimes that’s nearly impossible. In the end I said something to them, and ignored the cues that were for me to ask what was wrong. I couldn’t face it. I’m not a nice person at times.
So I felt uncomfortable for the rest of the day really, and even walking down the old lane past rich scatterings of primroses didn’t help. It was such a beautiful day; warm, bright, a soft breeze and flowers everywhere. And the grass has been cut all around as well. As soon as I smell cut grass, Spring awakens inside me. It’s one of the nicest smells in the world. That and chocolate. I felt in need again of sugar, and ate a fudge bar and a bag of jelly sweets. I can’t seem to stop myself buying them, then I feel so guilty afterwards. The weight will pile back, and I’ll have to give up my new clothes, awful.
Another walk then, round the castle once more, but down right along the coast this time. Stopping off on the way at Castle Beach to take a few photos. I’d decided it was time to create my profile on my fan fiction site, so I took a photo of my notebook by the sea, in an attempt to seem interesting and different, without showing my face. I did try to take a photo of my shadow, but it just looked creepy and weird. Fun though.
In the evening I dragged myself away from my laptop again, not difficult, and went out to Chris’s house in Penryn for a select pizza party. Somehow though I wasn’t feeling sociable, so left early, and then ended up staying awake freezing until 2am writing, and listening to my most mournful CDs. Mybe I’ll sleep late though.
Most of us did anyway. Someone I am having great difficulty tolerating found it difficult to do what we were there to do. I’m ashamed of myself, having recently had people be very kind towards me having a difficult time, but they bring out (and I know that’s blaming them again) a very bitchy streak in me, and everything they said and did yesterday afternoon grated on me, or made me pull faces unseen. One of the problems I think of a fairly intimate course, you have to get on with people as much as you can, or at least pretend to. Sometimes that’s nearly impossible. In the end I said something to them, and ignored the cues that were for me to ask what was wrong. I couldn’t face it. I’m not a nice person at times.
So I felt uncomfortable for the rest of the day really, and even walking down the old lane past rich scatterings of primroses didn’t help. It was such a beautiful day; warm, bright, a soft breeze and flowers everywhere. And the grass has been cut all around as well. As soon as I smell cut grass, Spring awakens inside me. It’s one of the nicest smells in the world. That and chocolate. I felt in need again of sugar, and ate a fudge bar and a bag of jelly sweets. I can’t seem to stop myself buying them, then I feel so guilty afterwards. The weight will pile back, and I’ll have to give up my new clothes, awful.
Another walk then, round the castle once more, but down right along the coast this time. Stopping off on the way at Castle Beach to take a few photos. I’d decided it was time to create my profile on my fan fiction site, so I took a photo of my notebook by the sea, in an attempt to seem interesting and different, without showing my face. I did try to take a photo of my shadow, but it just looked creepy and weird. Fun though.
In the evening I dragged myself away from my laptop again, not difficult, and went out to Chris’s house in Penryn for a select pizza party. Somehow though I wasn’t feeling sociable, so left early, and then ended up staying awake freezing until 2am writing, and listening to my most mournful CDs. Mybe I’ll sleep late though.
Possession
Thursday 20th: A day of cold, grey rain, but the last day of my first week, Good Friday tomorrow of course. I discussed plans with my temporary colleagues, only they don’t make me feel like that. The only discordant note has been with one person whose chair I inadvertently sat on my first day when she wasn’t in. I noted this morning that she has stuck a post-it note with her name on the back of it, and doesn’t speak to me unless I speak to her. Oh well, it doesn’t bother me now like it might have done in past years.
I had a very nice day; checking and exercising my inner pedant in the morning, spending plenty of time online researching places to visit from the lists in the back of Shire books, to make sure they still existed. My eyes were beginning to feel a little bit fuzzy after a while though. In the afternoon, I enjoyed myself helping to choose pictures for a book on the traditional shop in Britain. So many gorgeous images that the author himself had taken. This was something I hadn’t entirely realised before, that authors are usually expected to provide their own pictures of their subject, other than in exceptional circumstances. That’s something I would find challenging.
There were well over 100 images, and we looked through each one, surveying, judging, deciding, and putting little pencil marks against their thumbnails on paper. Finally we had our choices and I was really pleased to feel that I’d made a small contribution to getting a book into print.
I also had a go at editing some back cover blurbs, something I prided myself on being quite good at, getting a piece of work to a strict number of words without losing the meaning. This was to fit them onto the newly designed book covers. It was very satisfying to see them up on the InDesign spreads.
Most of the staff were travelling to places after work, I was still unsure where I was going to spend Easter weekend, so put off my trip to wherever until tomorrow. So Thursday evening, I found myself meeting with friends of my host family, a lovely husband and wife, who lead a bible study group in the upstairs office of the house.
After staying up pretty late posting up another chapter of my epic fan fiction story, I was in bed late, regretfully, knowing there was probably no escaping my 6am start.
I had a very nice day; checking and exercising my inner pedant in the morning, spending plenty of time online researching places to visit from the lists in the back of Shire books, to make sure they still existed. My eyes were beginning to feel a little bit fuzzy after a while though. In the afternoon, I enjoyed myself helping to choose pictures for a book on the traditional shop in Britain. So many gorgeous images that the author himself had taken. This was something I hadn’t entirely realised before, that authors are usually expected to provide their own pictures of their subject, other than in exceptional circumstances. That’s something I would find challenging.
There were well over 100 images, and we looked through each one, surveying, judging, deciding, and putting little pencil marks against their thumbnails on paper. Finally we had our choices and I was really pleased to feel that I’d made a small contribution to getting a book into print.
I also had a go at editing some back cover blurbs, something I prided myself on being quite good at, getting a piece of work to a strict number of words without losing the meaning. This was to fit them onto the newly designed book covers. It was very satisfying to see them up on the InDesign spreads.
Most of the staff were travelling to places after work, I was still unsure where I was going to spend Easter weekend, so put off my trip to wherever until tomorrow. So Thursday evening, I found myself meeting with friends of my host family, a lovely husband and wife, who lead a bible study group in the upstairs office of the house.
After staying up pretty late posting up another chapter of my epic fan fiction story, I was in bed late, regretfully, knowing there was probably no escaping my 6am start.
Thursday, 3 April 2008
Lists and sugar
Wednesday 2nd: What have I achieved today? I wrote myself a list last night, a short one, having learned that long and well-intentioned ‘to do’ lists never work, and just get put away with horror. So, three things on the list. One I did manage to do, I wrote my piece, finally for bloc. Satisfying, and bloody hard work. I discovered I’d not made as many notes as I needed, so was cursing myself and extrapolating, and making much use of the internet. NOT wikipedia though. Nothing wrong with the site, it’s a good start point for information, but maybe not infallibly reliable.
Anyway. I wrote the piece, and rewarded myself with another walk along the front and round Pendennis. It was much colder, and my fingers chilled to blue and purple again, which has developed into an unpleasant recurrence. But Spring flowers were everywhere, violets, periwinkles and others I wish I knew the names of. Another thing to do. The little wooded paths were almost fairyland with blackthorn blossoms overhead and grassy banks shimmering green. The sea was the colour of blue steel and I sat on a turf bank to watch it for a little while.
I’ve almost completed the second thing to do, which is writing this, but one thing remains. Which shouldn’t be difficult, but is. A letter to the family of my pupil to explain why I haven’t been in touch for the last couple of weeks. All my fault, and one of those stupid things I do: instead of just calling round or ringing before I went to Oxford to re-arrange the lessons, I didn’t, I put it off, and on the day I was due to go for the lesson, from Oxford I left a message. Then didn’t call back again. Now I’m too embarrassed to, so a letter seems the only option. Except it’s very difficult to write. I need to write a lot of letters, the worst one that I keep avoiding is to my friend who I’ve lost touch with, in embarrassment for forgetting her little girls’ birthdays. I have a lot of embarrassment I think.
So that’s not done. I took back some clothes to the shops, and felt a bit better for returning a little credit to my over-used credit card. A dangerous thing to own. I really shouldn’t keep it in my purse. Town was nice, though today as sometimes, I avoided the main streets, and explored the lanes that twist and turn above and beyond the shops. There’s something intriguing and fascinating about walking up a lane or side street and vanishing. Taking an unexpected turning.
Then I had lunch with my friends, Cornish pasties and a gingerbread bunny, I threw calorie caution to the winds, as apparently, according to Jo Wylie on Radio 1 (an infallible source of course) today is Fat Wednesday, when you are expected to eat a lot of calories and put weight on. So for good measure I ate a pink sugar mouse as well. I kept its string tail in my pocket, perhaps I’ll collect them. The recklessness didn’t last though, and I stuck to a bowl of soup for tea, and took another walk. Then ate 3 spoonfuls of sugar. Oh dear.
Anyway. I wrote the piece, and rewarded myself with another walk along the front and round Pendennis. It was much colder, and my fingers chilled to blue and purple again, which has developed into an unpleasant recurrence. But Spring flowers were everywhere, violets, periwinkles and others I wish I knew the names of. Another thing to do. The little wooded paths were almost fairyland with blackthorn blossoms overhead and grassy banks shimmering green. The sea was the colour of blue steel and I sat on a turf bank to watch it for a little while.
I’ve almost completed the second thing to do, which is writing this, but one thing remains. Which shouldn’t be difficult, but is. A letter to the family of my pupil to explain why I haven’t been in touch for the last couple of weeks. All my fault, and one of those stupid things I do: instead of just calling round or ringing before I went to Oxford to re-arrange the lessons, I didn’t, I put it off, and on the day I was due to go for the lesson, from Oxford I left a message. Then didn’t call back again. Now I’m too embarrassed to, so a letter seems the only option. Except it’s very difficult to write. I need to write a lot of letters, the worst one that I keep avoiding is to my friend who I’ve lost touch with, in embarrassment for forgetting her little girls’ birthdays. I have a lot of embarrassment I think.
So that’s not done. I took back some clothes to the shops, and felt a bit better for returning a little credit to my over-used credit card. A dangerous thing to own. I really shouldn’t keep it in my purse. Town was nice, though today as sometimes, I avoided the main streets, and explored the lanes that twist and turn above and beyond the shops. There’s something intriguing and fascinating about walking up a lane or side street and vanishing. Taking an unexpected turning.
Then I had lunch with my friends, Cornish pasties and a gingerbread bunny, I threw calorie caution to the winds, as apparently, according to Jo Wylie on Radio 1 (an infallible source of course) today is Fat Wednesday, when you are expected to eat a lot of calories and put weight on. So for good measure I ate a pink sugar mouse as well. I kept its string tail in my pocket, perhaps I’ll collect them. The recklessness didn’t last though, and I stuck to a bowl of soup for tea, and took another walk. Then ate 3 spoonfuls of sugar. Oh dear.
Everything new is old
Wednesday 19th: 6am waking. Yes, this is becoming a habit. Damn. And it was a very cold morning. Bet Falmouth is warm and sunny… I explored the flat a little more last night. I’ve never lived in a basement before, and it was different to how I had imagined. For a start, it wasn’t as dark as I’d worried about. I was a little below ground level, but the light came through, there was just a measure of twilight. It was a little weird looking up to see the driveway and street.
One thing the family who own it asked me was if it was too big! Definitely not. After just having a room in Falmouth, it was a luxury to be able to walk from room to room, and wander about through doors. I think they understood when I told them this. Very true though. Stairs too. There was an office level above me, and at night, feeling slightly naughty, I slipped upstairs to peep.
The house is an old house, close to Keble college in a road filled with old houses, which delighted my heart. Something I fell in love with in Oxford - the extravagance of old architecture, which is still standing. Not like Birkenhead where streets of dignified Victorian houses have been felled. This house had been converted in the 1930s into two flats, a lady who was a Don at one of the colleges had lived there, to a great age. And somehow, she had never quite left. The rooms had old furniture in them, and had a breath of times past, faded gold brocade on armchairs, sage green standard lamps, dark wood side tables. But not unpleasant. There was something strange about the upper bathroom though, which had the luxury of a bath and the invitation to use it. Something about the noises of the house breathing maybe, and the tick of the water meter. It made me think of ghost stories and memories. But I wasn’t scared any of the time I was there, it was a good house.
I felt very welcomed, and by this day, my third day, I felt a part of it. The cupboards had my food in, I knew where to buy milk, and I had chosen a chair to sit in whilst working or watching TV. In the office, I had a peg to hang my jacket on, and a parking space I had used for the third time. People’s names had sunk in and I could begin to feel more confident that I knew what I was doing.
I had a slightly strange encounter in the office with the lady who worked on reception and admin. She gave me a guided tour, which I’d already had, and gave me lots of sheets of paper, and left me for a long time sitting rather unsure of myself while she went to fix a telephone. I found it quite disconcerting talking to her as there were very long pauses between sentences, and just as I was feeling maybe it was a cue for me to say something, she would continue. Subsequently, I made ridiculous detours through rooms to avoid seeing her, as when I did speak to her, it felt like I was about to become trapped in a strange void. Possibly I imagine too much about people.
One thing the family who own it asked me was if it was too big! Definitely not. After just having a room in Falmouth, it was a luxury to be able to walk from room to room, and wander about through doors. I think they understood when I told them this. Very true though. Stairs too. There was an office level above me, and at night, feeling slightly naughty, I slipped upstairs to peep.
The house is an old house, close to Keble college in a road filled with old houses, which delighted my heart. Something I fell in love with in Oxford - the extravagance of old architecture, which is still standing. Not like Birkenhead where streets of dignified Victorian houses have been felled. This house had been converted in the 1930s into two flats, a lady who was a Don at one of the colleges had lived there, to a great age. And somehow, she had never quite left. The rooms had old furniture in them, and had a breath of times past, faded gold brocade on armchairs, sage green standard lamps, dark wood side tables. But not unpleasant. There was something strange about the upper bathroom though, which had the luxury of a bath and the invitation to use it. Something about the noises of the house breathing maybe, and the tick of the water meter. It made me think of ghost stories and memories. But I wasn’t scared any of the time I was there, it was a good house.
I felt very welcomed, and by this day, my third day, I felt a part of it. The cupboards had my food in, I knew where to buy milk, and I had chosen a chair to sit in whilst working or watching TV. In the office, I had a peg to hang my jacket on, and a parking space I had used for the third time. People’s names had sunk in and I could begin to feel more confident that I knew what I was doing.
I had a slightly strange encounter in the office with the lady who worked on reception and admin. She gave me a guided tour, which I’d already had, and gave me lots of sheets of paper, and left me for a long time sitting rather unsure of myself while she went to fix a telephone. I found it quite disconcerting talking to her as there were very long pauses between sentences, and just as I was feeling maybe it was a cue for me to say something, she would continue. Subsequently, I made ridiculous detours through rooms to avoid seeing her, as when I did speak to her, it felt like I was about to become trapped in a strange void. Possibly I imagine too much about people.
Tuesday, 1 April 2008
Not the new girl
Tuesday 18th: second day. 6am awake. Again. Oh well, looks like it’s going to be that way. I was much more confident. I drove the route with very little hesitation, remembering which lanes I needed to be in, feeling exasperated at the long traffic light changes like I’d been doing it for years. It’s strange how quickly I’d adapted and become the person who drives to work through the centre of Oxford. And arriving in the office was different, I knew people now to say ‘hello’ to them, and to ask if they’d had a good evening, I received the same also. I knew how to power up the Mac I’d been using, and I even had a little pile of work to start off with straight away.
The day went well. The day before, very kindly, I’d been treated to lunch, today I’d brought sandwiches, and sat with my new colleagues to eat them. I knew I was only there temporarily, but it felt comfortable and we got on well. Finding share interests in pets and sports, important things for getting to know people. I think I’m good at listening to people and that works well in a situation such as I was in.
My only struggle in the day was having to have lunch at a set time; I’ve got far too used to eating when I choose, so my stomach was literally growling. I drank gallons of water.
I tried out some more editing and proof-reading, and felt a great burden of responsibility in doing so: what I was checking would end up in an actual, printed book, and that kind of scared me. I had felt fairly confident at first, but then after finding mistakes on second and third readings through a proof I realised how painstaking it really is.
I got a chance to, briefly, to look through the archives, which was brilliant. So many different subjects. I love knowledge, and a shelf of books filled with intriguing information was hard to resist. I really would have been more than happy to have spent the whole two weeks reading the back catalogue. That was not to be though. I finished the day feeling I’d done a good day’s work and that was very satisfying.
Evening was exploring. Weather was cold, far colder than in Falmouth, and once again, I was laughably underdressed. No longer owning a coat, I only had a thin black cardigan over my dress, but set out anyway to find the parks. My direction triumphed, and I found the park at the back of Keble college. It was beautiful, full of flowers: daffodils; bluebells; snowdrops and a strange blood-red bush of flowers that I’ve never seen before. I walked on and enjoyed the peace.
There had been rain, a lot of rain the last week before I arrived and the evidence was in the drowned field by the river. There was something quite unsettling about it; trees surrounded by swirling water, rippling waves lapping at the grass. Something dream-like and unreal about it. I hung over a bridge for a while, mesmerised by the water. And then walked on again. Very cold, my fingers turned blue and white, and then gradually completely numb. Which was entirely my fault; I had brought gloves, but vanity overcame practicality - the colour of them didn’t match my dress. So I hurried back to the flat. Enchanted and frozen.
The day went well. The day before, very kindly, I’d been treated to lunch, today I’d brought sandwiches, and sat with my new colleagues to eat them. I knew I was only there temporarily, but it felt comfortable and we got on well. Finding share interests in pets and sports, important things for getting to know people. I think I’m good at listening to people and that works well in a situation such as I was in.
My only struggle in the day was having to have lunch at a set time; I’ve got far too used to eating when I choose, so my stomach was literally growling. I drank gallons of water.
I tried out some more editing and proof-reading, and felt a great burden of responsibility in doing so: what I was checking would end up in an actual, printed book, and that kind of scared me. I had felt fairly confident at first, but then after finding mistakes on second and third readings through a proof I realised how painstaking it really is.
I got a chance to, briefly, to look through the archives, which was brilliant. So many different subjects. I love knowledge, and a shelf of books filled with intriguing information was hard to resist. I really would have been more than happy to have spent the whole two weeks reading the back catalogue. That was not to be though. I finished the day feeling I’d done a good day’s work and that was very satisfying.
Evening was exploring. Weather was cold, far colder than in Falmouth, and once again, I was laughably underdressed. No longer owning a coat, I only had a thin black cardigan over my dress, but set out anyway to find the parks. My direction triumphed, and I found the park at the back of Keble college. It was beautiful, full of flowers: daffodils; bluebells; snowdrops and a strange blood-red bush of flowers that I’ve never seen before. I walked on and enjoyed the peace.
There had been rain, a lot of rain the last week before I arrived and the evidence was in the drowned field by the river. There was something quite unsettling about it; trees surrounded by swirling water, rippling waves lapping at the grass. Something dream-like and unreal about it. I hung over a bridge for a while, mesmerised by the water. And then walked on again. Very cold, my fingers turned blue and white, and then gradually completely numb. Which was entirely my fault; I had brought gloves, but vanity overcame practicality - the colour of them didn’t match my dress. So I hurried back to the flat. Enchanted and frozen.
Monday, 31 March 2008
First day
Phew, two episodes in a row. Now my eyes are if not square, certainly slightly red around the edges. Which is also to do with yet again, lack of sleep. I went through a weird body clock shift when I was away, and woke up at 6am every morning, which is a time I usually have no knowledge of. Nor did I want to have knowledge of it. The only benefit was having plenty of time in the mornings to get ready and eat a leisurely breakfast before going into work. I did start pretty early, 8.30 most mornings, so finish time was 4.30. A long day, and again, I have gotten used to a different style of day, starting later and finishing later, with the chance to walk around, do chores. Here I was in an office, with very little time for wandering about.
I was very nervous the first morning: for one I didn’t know exactly where I was going, so I left really early, stopped my car in the vicinity of where I knew the place to be roughly, and phoned them. After a couple of calls, I found my way and was met at the door.
What I think I was most worried about was being a nuisance. I know that it’s difficult for the people you are going to, to find things for a work experience person to do. So I wanted to be as useful as possible. But everything went very well, the people were really nice and kind to me, made me drinks asked what course I was doing and helped me. Everywhere I go it seems, I rely on the kindness of strangers. And I have rarely been let down.
So I entered the world of publishing. Something I know not much about, but wanted to learn about. I was honest about that to begin with. I had done some research on the company first, but I wanted to ask things as well rather than go in pretending to know everything.
I was working with a company called Shire Publishing who have been in existence for over 40 years, they used to be an independent company, but have very recently been bought by a larger company called Osprey, who produce military history and war-gaming books - my friend Carlo would have loved it there, I’m still to tell him all about it. The range of books was astonishing: from incredibly esoteric titles on such mastermind subjects as the archaeology of rabbit warrens to broader non fiction on West Coast shipping and The Victorian Hospital. I wish I could have just sat and read the books, they were fascinating. I had no idea there was so much on such seemingly narrow subjects.
I found myself also editing, proofreading, and using InDesign, which was less daunting than I thought. So a good first day, and I was looking forward to the rest of the week.
I was very nervous the first morning: for one I didn’t know exactly where I was going, so I left really early, stopped my car in the vicinity of where I knew the place to be roughly, and phoned them. After a couple of calls, I found my way and was met at the door.
What I think I was most worried about was being a nuisance. I know that it’s difficult for the people you are going to, to find things for a work experience person to do. So I wanted to be as useful as possible. But everything went very well, the people were really nice and kind to me, made me drinks asked what course I was doing and helped me. Everywhere I go it seems, I rely on the kindness of strangers. And I have rarely been let down.
So I entered the world of publishing. Something I know not much about, but wanted to learn about. I was honest about that to begin with. I had done some research on the company first, but I wanted to ask things as well rather than go in pretending to know everything.
I was working with a company called Shire Publishing who have been in existence for over 40 years, they used to be an independent company, but have very recently been bought by a larger company called Osprey, who produce military history and war-gaming books - my friend Carlo would have loved it there, I’m still to tell him all about it. The range of books was astonishing: from incredibly esoteric titles on such mastermind subjects as the archaeology of rabbit warrens to broader non fiction on West Coast shipping and The Victorian Hospital. I wish I could have just sat and read the books, they were fascinating. I had no idea there was so much on such seemingly narrow subjects.
I found myself also editing, proofreading, and using InDesign, which was less daunting than I thought. So a good first day, and I was looking forward to the rest of the week.
Long journeys
Back to the Oxford story. I set out last Sunday, well, two weeks ago Sunday actually. It doesn’t seem that long ago. I knew where I was going to, and I knew vaguely how to get there - up the A30 as usual and then once more along the M5, after that I just had to follow the signs. Not that I want to boast, but I surprised myself by finding my way pretty well.
One wrong turn off the last road into Oxford (very badly signed, obviously) and then I made it to the city centre. I’d glanced at a city map before I left as a rough guide to where the road I needed was and somehow I’d memorised the shape of the route. Fortunately by the time I got there it was evening and the roads weren’t busy. I followed by instinct where I was going and after a few minutes thought about looking out for the road, and there it was! My sense of direction improves by the day. The family I was staying with were family of friends in Falmouth, who very kindly had let me stay in their basement flat for the two weeks I had in Oxford with a contribution to bills, which I was more than happy to give. I much prefer not to live free.
I liked them immediately, I’d spoken once on the phone to them, and they made me tea my first night, and had put a lovely vase of flowers in the flat. A little kindness which made me very happy.
And they made Cornish pasties for tea, brilliant. Even a special vegetarian one for me. On a side note, Cornish pasties seem to be ubiquitous everywhere I go - last time I was in Chester there was a stall, and in Oxford city centre there is one.
Coincidences. I keep noticing them, little synchronicities. I often do and forget to note them. Words sometimes that are echoed, things you see again. I had been reading a story called ‘Don’t go gently’, and I was sent a text message on my journey telling me to go gently; various things. Coincidences come in patterns too. None for the last few days, but they will appear again and I’ll try and note them.
Oh dear, another ramble away from the path I started. Must concentrate. When I have finished this, I’ve promised myself a CSI NY episode, having discovered that my laptop DOES play DVDs. I can see another distraction coming up. It’s either going to be CSI or Lord of the Rings, and the latter is rather long for a late evening viewing, so guess it has to be the former. Shame : )
I had thought that I might have to be away from the internet, and all it brings for the two weeks away from Falmouth. Not so though, for better or worse. I even had access to broadband. And a television! I indulged in The Simpsons, and Great British Menu - not the best fare, but I had been starved for along time.
Despite apprehension about the next day, my first full day working for a long time, and in a completely different place, I slept very well. Too much TV had exhausted me.
One wrong turn off the last road into Oxford (very badly signed, obviously) and then I made it to the city centre. I’d glanced at a city map before I left as a rough guide to where the road I needed was and somehow I’d memorised the shape of the route. Fortunately by the time I got there it was evening and the roads weren’t busy. I followed by instinct where I was going and after a few minutes thought about looking out for the road, and there it was! My sense of direction improves by the day. The family I was staying with were family of friends in Falmouth, who very kindly had let me stay in their basement flat for the two weeks I had in Oxford with a contribution to bills, which I was more than happy to give. I much prefer not to live free.
I liked them immediately, I’d spoken once on the phone to them, and they made me tea my first night, and had put a lovely vase of flowers in the flat. A little kindness which made me very happy.
And they made Cornish pasties for tea, brilliant. Even a special vegetarian one for me. On a side note, Cornish pasties seem to be ubiquitous everywhere I go - last time I was in Chester there was a stall, and in Oxford city centre there is one.
Coincidences. I keep noticing them, little synchronicities. I often do and forget to note them. Words sometimes that are echoed, things you see again. I had been reading a story called ‘Don’t go gently’, and I was sent a text message on my journey telling me to go gently; various things. Coincidences come in patterns too. None for the last few days, but they will appear again and I’ll try and note them.
Oh dear, another ramble away from the path I started. Must concentrate. When I have finished this, I’ve promised myself a CSI NY episode, having discovered that my laptop DOES play DVDs. I can see another distraction coming up. It’s either going to be CSI or Lord of the Rings, and the latter is rather long for a late evening viewing, so guess it has to be the former. Shame : )
I had thought that I might have to be away from the internet, and all it brings for the two weeks away from Falmouth. Not so though, for better or worse. I even had access to broadband. And a television! I indulged in The Simpsons, and Great British Menu - not the best fare, but I had been starved for along time.
Despite apprehension about the next day, my first full day working for a long time, and in a completely different place, I slept very well. Too much TV had exhausted me.
Beaches
Today. Okay, chronology is a little mixed up. I will return to where I began, but at least I can catch up. I feel out of writing this, even though I have been keeping a paper log, a ‘plog’ as one of my fellow students named it! It felt officially like my first day back here, even though I returned Saturday night. I got down to some work and organising, bank business for one, to check on my increasingly dwindling bank balance.
CD Loan has still not come through, nor has my new driving licence which I need to continue my application, so I beginning to worry about that. It’s something I could do without thinking about. There are so many other things I need to do, and because there are so many, or so it seems, I can’t concentrate on them. I need to sit down and do all the work I have to do for bloc, that I have neglected and feel very bad about as it does not affect just me. I need to some editing work for the college - that at least I have started. Then there is the coursework: script scenes (thankfully I now have Final Draft, brilliant, thanks Gareth); non fiction book chapters; industry analysis. For that I do have plenty of notes from Shire Publishing.
I’ve made a start on things today, a small start, and that helps. For the next two weeks I have the house almost to myself. The student part anyway. My two housemates are away for Easter, they have a holiday, we of course as we’ve been told in stringent terms do not.
I miss their company, but it is nice to have kitchen space. I can sit at the table with my laptop and be much warmer than in my room, and I can spread my small store of food (oh poor me) around in the fridge and the lump of ice that calls itself a freezer. And any mess is my own. Not that I have too many issues of course.
That’s the problem with kitchen-sharing. The sharing part. Having to share space and surfaces, and cleaning. Little things become big things if you’re not careful. Generally we get on, there’ve just been a few little snips, and mostly we haven’t said anything. I think we’ve been lucky that we all get on.
I was thinking about that as at this time of year, people start looking around for accommodation. I didn’t, thinking I knew better, I left finding somewhere to stay until the last minute and was very lucky. My sister was here until 2006, so I rang her landlady who fortunately still had a room spare, so that was sorted. Otherwise, at the time, I’m not sure I’d have known what to do. Made a trip down possibly, or rung lots of people after looking on the internet. There’s plenty up there, or at the Accommodation Office and in the union. It would probably have been wise to have started earlier.
Anyway. I’m incredibly good at wandering miles away from the point I began from. Monday. I confused myself for a few minutes whilst wandering down Church Street, convinced it was the 1st of April, and I’d left my banking too late. After a short panic, it sank in that it was still, just, March. Town was busy, busier than when I left, and everything seemed much more awake, more open, the season begins. The weather was beautiful, almost as nice as yesterday. Spring scents and sounds: grass cuttings; flowers; warm concrete. Lovely. I walked down to Castle beach after an intensive session in front of the laptop screen, and I was so happy to smell the sea again and walk on the sand. Perhaps I do belong here?
CD Loan has still not come through, nor has my new driving licence which I need to continue my application, so I beginning to worry about that. It’s something I could do without thinking about. There are so many other things I need to do, and because there are so many, or so it seems, I can’t concentrate on them. I need to sit down and do all the work I have to do for bloc, that I have neglected and feel very bad about as it does not affect just me. I need to some editing work for the college - that at least I have started. Then there is the coursework: script scenes (thankfully I now have Final Draft, brilliant, thanks Gareth); non fiction book chapters; industry analysis. For that I do have plenty of notes from Shire Publishing.
I’ve made a start on things today, a small start, and that helps. For the next two weeks I have the house almost to myself. The student part anyway. My two housemates are away for Easter, they have a holiday, we of course as we’ve been told in stringent terms do not.
I miss their company, but it is nice to have kitchen space. I can sit at the table with my laptop and be much warmer than in my room, and I can spread my small store of food (oh poor me) around in the fridge and the lump of ice that calls itself a freezer. And any mess is my own. Not that I have too many issues of course.
That’s the problem with kitchen-sharing. The sharing part. Having to share space and surfaces, and cleaning. Little things become big things if you’re not careful. Generally we get on, there’ve just been a few little snips, and mostly we haven’t said anything. I think we’ve been lucky that we all get on.
I was thinking about that as at this time of year, people start looking around for accommodation. I didn’t, thinking I knew better, I left finding somewhere to stay until the last minute and was very lucky. My sister was here until 2006, so I rang her landlady who fortunately still had a room spare, so that was sorted. Otherwise, at the time, I’m not sure I’d have known what to do. Made a trip down possibly, or rung lots of people after looking on the internet. There’s plenty up there, or at the Accommodation Office and in the union. It would probably have been wise to have started earlier.
Anyway. I’m incredibly good at wandering miles away from the point I began from. Monday. I confused myself for a few minutes whilst wandering down Church Street, convinced it was the 1st of April, and I’d left my banking too late. After a short panic, it sank in that it was still, just, March. Town was busy, busier than when I left, and everything seemed much more awake, more open, the season begins. The weather was beautiful, almost as nice as yesterday. Spring scents and sounds: grass cuttings; flowers; warm concrete. Lovely. I walked down to Castle beach after an intensive session in front of the laptop screen, and I was so happy to smell the sea again and walk on the sand. Perhaps I do belong here?
Going boldly
Well, I’ve been to the unknown and back again. Oxford was great, I’m really glad I went, and it was a completely different work experience than my previous stints. I think what I’ll do is go through each day at a time, there were so many new things to think about. So many different experiences. It’s strange to be back in Falmouth, feeling like I never left in some ways, but in others that I have changed again. I’m quite disorientated, mentally and physically.
What I realised whilst I was there was that I am now very unsure of my home, and where I belong. I thought I belonged in Wirral, but I’m not sure, nor am I sure that I belong in Falmouth. I found it very easy to settle into another new place, and get into a routine. I am used now to living out of bags and packing my car up and going. Maybe that’s a good thing, I’m not sure. I feel dislocated. I missed the coast, the sea. That was one certainty. I am drawn towards water, and that would be the difficulty if I moved somewhere like Oxford. That was one of the problems I had when I went to Wyoming, it was just too far from the sea, totally land-locked. Which seems strange, but it had an effect on me.
However. The trouble with not writing this for a couple of weeks is that I am now spilling words. It doesn’t help that my laptop has now a problem with the keypad: I can be merrily typing away, and suddenly a load of letters are missing, or the shift key has failed to work.
Feeling out of touch though. It hasn’t helped with the clocks changing either, that always throws me out. And losing an hour of sleep does not make me happy. I guess though that a longer evening makes up for it, and I still have time tonight to go for a walk in daylight.
Walking was one thing I really missed in Oxford; it just wasn’t the same. Partly because there was no seaside - I believe that Oxford is close to being the point in England which is farthest from the coast - and because I was more wary of walking round on my own than I am in Falmouth. That said, I took a few walks through the University parks and into the city. I was staying off Banbury road, which is not far from the centre. I felt safe, not as comfortable as here, but there was no danger. Mum though had other thoughts on this, and phoned me a few times to make sure I was okay and not walking about in the dark. I appreciated her thinking of me, but teased her about it. Then of course I started imagining bad things happening to me, and walked very quickly round the park, regarding everyone who passed me with suspicion. They of course were probably doing the same to me. I have a suspicious stare, a little like Paddington’s.
What I realised whilst I was there was that I am now very unsure of my home, and where I belong. I thought I belonged in Wirral, but I’m not sure, nor am I sure that I belong in Falmouth. I found it very easy to settle into another new place, and get into a routine. I am used now to living out of bags and packing my car up and going. Maybe that’s a good thing, I’m not sure. I feel dislocated. I missed the coast, the sea. That was one certainty. I am drawn towards water, and that would be the difficulty if I moved somewhere like Oxford. That was one of the problems I had when I went to Wyoming, it was just too far from the sea, totally land-locked. Which seems strange, but it had an effect on me.
However. The trouble with not writing this for a couple of weeks is that I am now spilling words. It doesn’t help that my laptop has now a problem with the keypad: I can be merrily typing away, and suddenly a load of letters are missing, or the shift key has failed to work.
Feeling out of touch though. It hasn’t helped with the clocks changing either, that always throws me out. And losing an hour of sleep does not make me happy. I guess though that a longer evening makes up for it, and I still have time tonight to go for a walk in daylight.
Walking was one thing I really missed in Oxford; it just wasn’t the same. Partly because there was no seaside - I believe that Oxford is close to being the point in England which is farthest from the coast - and because I was more wary of walking round on my own than I am in Falmouth. That said, I took a few walks through the University parks and into the city. I was staying off Banbury road, which is not far from the centre. I felt safe, not as comfortable as here, but there was no danger. Mum though had other thoughts on this, and phoned me a few times to make sure I was okay and not walking about in the dark. I appreciated her thinking of me, but teased her about it. Then of course I started imagining bad things happening to me, and walked very quickly round the park, regarding everyone who passed me with suspicion. They of course were probably doing the same to me. I have a suspicious stare, a little like Paddington’s.
Friday, 14 March 2008
New money
I know nobody in Oxford. And I am nervous about going there. I’m much more confident than I used to be, but now and again, bravery deserts me and I start thinking ‘I don’t want to go’. I do, I really do, but… I’ll just have to treat it as an adventure. Tomorrow my plan is to go to Truro and buy a few new clothes, having re-discovered my visa card. Maybe not a good thing. The clothes shops in Falmouth are not bad, but not as big or as varied as Truro. It is worth a trip there for the bigger stores. And it’s a lovely city. Saturday probably isn’t the best day for a look round as of course it’s pretty busy, but never mind.
I’ve been so careful with my money the last few months, I’ve bought almost nothing other than food and essentials, but I’ve become slightly more reckless the last few weeks. One reason is that, finally, my career development loan is coming through. As soon as I get my Falmouth address on my driving licence to prove I am who I say. This is despite the college writing a letter for me to say they’d seen my licence and it was me.
I would strongly recommend to apply for a CDL very early. I waited until December in the optimism that I could get by without one. I was wrong however, so applied. It’s been a long and frustrating process which is still not quite over. The problem has been that I don’t have enough forms of ID, and I have managed to be registered at three different addresses. So I’ve taken many trips to the finance office here and made a lot of phone calls to the CDL. They’re hopefully now satisfied that I am not going to be money laundering, and I can have the money. I guess I do need to bear in mind that it is not entirely my money, and I’ll have to start paying it back in November. I’m not thinking about that just yet though. I’m thinking about, finally, a pair of jeans that don’t fall off me.
I have new boots and shoes, at last! Mum has been very kind to me, and paid for a fantastically sturdy pair of doc marten boots. Not the classic Dms, but a really solid pair with rivets up the side. I also, this was the reckless part, bought two pairs of DM shoes with straps across and brilliant chunky wedge heels. I love them, and felt like a child again, trying them all on. I couldn’t help it, and bought a red and a black pair. Oh the decadence.
I’ve been so careful with my money the last few months, I’ve bought almost nothing other than food and essentials, but I’ve become slightly more reckless the last few weeks. One reason is that, finally, my career development loan is coming through. As soon as I get my Falmouth address on my driving licence to prove I am who I say. This is despite the college writing a letter for me to say they’d seen my licence and it was me.
I would strongly recommend to apply for a CDL very early. I waited until December in the optimism that I could get by without one. I was wrong however, so applied. It’s been a long and frustrating process which is still not quite over. The problem has been that I don’t have enough forms of ID, and I have managed to be registered at three different addresses. So I’ve taken many trips to the finance office here and made a lot of phone calls to the CDL. They’re hopefully now satisfied that I am not going to be money laundering, and I can have the money. I guess I do need to bear in mind that it is not entirely my money, and I’ll have to start paying it back in November. I’m not thinking about that just yet though. I’m thinking about, finally, a pair of jeans that don’t fall off me.
I have new boots and shoes, at last! Mum has been very kind to me, and paid for a fantastically sturdy pair of doc marten boots. Not the classic Dms, but a really solid pair with rivets up the side. I also, this was the reckless part, bought two pairs of DM shoes with straps across and brilliant chunky wedge heels. I love them, and felt like a child again, trying them all on. I couldn’t help it, and bought a red and a black pair. Oh the decadence.
Hospitals
On Sunday I’ll be taking another journey into the unknown. For the next two weeks I’ll be doing some work experience at a small publishing company in Oxford, which I’m really looking forward to, but an also very nervous about. The last time I did work experience was several years ago when I was in the lower Sixth at school. I was fascinated at the time by Casualty, and was utterly determined that I was going to be a nurse. So I found myself in the children’s outpatients department of Arrow Park Hospital. It was not what I was hoping it to be.
The only consolation was working there with one of my friends. There was really very little we could do, and I don’t think the nurses there had much use or need of us there. It was a ward for children who were having their tonsils or wisdom teeth out. They came in, then went out. We made a lot of pieces of toast for them. The smell of it almost drove us mad, as of course, we couldn’t have any. And we learned how to make a bed hospital style. I promptly forgot the moment our week finished. The best part of the time was going up to the playroom of the hospital school. So I think I’ve made a more thoughtful choice this time of what to do.
The point of this I seem to have wandered away from: what’s made me most nervous is arriving in a place where I know no one at all, again. Several times in my life I’ve done this, and actually each time it’s worked out well. Thinking back to the end of September, it struck me hard as I was driving down the M5 that I would arrive in Falmouth in a few hours time, and no one would know me. Who would I meet? Would anyone help me unpack the mountain of stuff I’d managed to cram into the back of my fiesta?
They did. I arrived at where I was staying, and found that people were kind, and I was soon feeling that I could get to know people. Josh, who was staying temporarily in the house took me out for a drink to the Waterman’s bar, and we watched the sun set over the harbour. I was reassured that I’d made the right move.
The only consolation was working there with one of my friends. There was really very little we could do, and I don’t think the nurses there had much use or need of us there. It was a ward for children who were having their tonsils or wisdom teeth out. They came in, then went out. We made a lot of pieces of toast for them. The smell of it almost drove us mad, as of course, we couldn’t have any. And we learned how to make a bed hospital style. I promptly forgot the moment our week finished. The best part of the time was going up to the playroom of the hospital school. So I think I’ve made a more thoughtful choice this time of what to do.
The point of this I seem to have wandered away from: what’s made me most nervous is arriving in a place where I know no one at all, again. Several times in my life I’ve done this, and actually each time it’s worked out well. Thinking back to the end of September, it struck me hard as I was driving down the M5 that I would arrive in Falmouth in a few hours time, and no one would know me. Who would I meet? Would anyone help me unpack the mountain of stuff I’d managed to cram into the back of my fiesta?
They did. I arrived at where I was staying, and found that people were kind, and I was soon feeling that I could get to know people. Josh, who was staying temporarily in the house took me out for a drink to the Waterman’s bar, and we watched the sun set over the harbour. I was reassured that I’d made the right move.
Sunday, 9 March 2008
Care of Mum
I just have to make one more excuse, and then that’s it for now. My mum has come down from Wirral to visit me, the first time since I’ve been here. I may have made her feel a little guilty, reminding her that she visited my sister many times in the three years she was here. I’m here for only one year, and that is almost half way through (oh my!) so here she is. After facing several motorways and two A roads, driving at low speeds - tankers have been known to overtake my mum on the motorway - she arrived safely on Friday evening. My room is very small so she is staying at a nice bed and breakfast on Melville Road. We spent Saturday walking through town getting very damp and windblown, and today getting extremely windblown, though not wet at Marazion and Mousehole.
We’d been expecting severe weather today, but it seemed to have blown itself out last night, with a few lashing rain showers and shrieks from the wind. Today has been beautiful on the whole. The sun was shining bright, and the sea was turquoise at Marazion. Luckily enough, we arrived as the tide was out enough for us to walk over the causeway. We almost were blown away, but persevered and were rewarded when we arrived on the island by a contingent of firemen strolling about and doing things with very long hoses. We watched for a little while, and then battled our way back along the beach against the wind.
Mousehole was also lovely. Cold, but bright, and the cold was entirely my own fault for not dressing adequately again. I did however get two new tops from New Look yesterday, care of mum, and I had them both on. I probably got chilled indulging yet again in ice cream at Jessie’s Dairy. I was powerless to resist this time Ginger Fairing and Fudge ice cream. Mum was weak also and had ginger with chocolate. It was a good day out, and as mum had never been there, I felt in a responsible position for taking her there. She even coped with me driving, which is not something she usually likes. I’m really not bad, although I must confess that at the moment I have no rear view mirror after it dropped off, and she only held onto the door handle a couple of times. Being driven makes her nervous. By anyone. Not just me. And she did say I pulled off a marvellous parallel parking feat.
We’d been expecting severe weather today, but it seemed to have blown itself out last night, with a few lashing rain showers and shrieks from the wind. Today has been beautiful on the whole. The sun was shining bright, and the sea was turquoise at Marazion. Luckily enough, we arrived as the tide was out enough for us to walk over the causeway. We almost were blown away, but persevered and were rewarded when we arrived on the island by a contingent of firemen strolling about and doing things with very long hoses. We watched for a little while, and then battled our way back along the beach against the wind.
Mousehole was also lovely. Cold, but bright, and the cold was entirely my own fault for not dressing adequately again. I did however get two new tops from New Look yesterday, care of mum, and I had them both on. I probably got chilled indulging yet again in ice cream at Jessie’s Dairy. I was powerless to resist this time Ginger Fairing and Fudge ice cream. Mum was weak also and had ginger with chocolate. It was a good day out, and as mum had never been there, I felt in a responsible position for taking her there. She even coped with me driving, which is not something she usually likes. I’m really not bad, although I must confess that at the moment I have no rear view mirror after it dropped off, and she only held onto the door handle a couple of times. Being driven makes her nervous. By anyone. Not just me. And she did say I pulled off a marvellous parallel parking feat.
Other Worlds
Okay, so it wasn’t only acting in a sell-out comedy sketch show that has prevented me from adding to my blog since February the 27th (oh dear, hadn’t realised it had been quite so long…) I’ve become totally hooked on fan fiction, again. It all began when I was twelve. I blame my mother. I’d started reading the Chalet School series by Elinor Brent Dyer after I’d inherited ’Mary Lou at the Chalet School’ from my Grandma. She’s listed as one of my favourite authors, and the series is in my favourite books - she wrote the first in 1925, and the last was published posthumously in 1970. 58 books altogether in hardback, 62 in paperback for reasons that are too longwinded to go into.
I became addicted to them (there’s a recurring theme here) and despite feeling relieved that there were a lot to get through after finishing all six Malory Towers books in just over a week, I wanted more. So mum suggested I wrote my own story. The result was one of the worst things I’ve ever written called ‘Murder at the Chalet School’. Nearly everyone died, and the ones that were left at the end consoled themselves with a nice cup of tea.
It was however the start of many more to come. And the stories I wrote did get better. I moved on to Casualty, then X Files, Star Trek Voyager and Homicide: Life on the Street. One of my best ever efforts is a cross over story between the latter three TV shows, written between myself and one of my best friends who was as obsessed as I was. In fact, if I’m going to be blaming people, I’ll blame her for getting me stuck on Homicide and Voyager in the first place. I’ll take responsibility for the X Files. David Duchovny was irresistible to a teenager.
And now after a few years gap, the urge to write fan fic is back. This time as I’ve mentioned before, it’s CSI New York.
One of the best things on TV, and with such great characters, I just had to borrow them and write about them. Now suddenly it’s become a little world in itself. There’s a great online community of people who feel the same and who share their stories. You post a story, people review. You read a story, you review. It’s great. I’ve had such wonderful and thoughtful comments from people. That alone is addictive, checking to see if you have any more reviews. Checking to see if another author has posted up a new chapter. I just have to keep a grip on Real Life which cannot be ignored.
I became addicted to them (there’s a recurring theme here) and despite feeling relieved that there were a lot to get through after finishing all six Malory Towers books in just over a week, I wanted more. So mum suggested I wrote my own story. The result was one of the worst things I’ve ever written called ‘Murder at the Chalet School’. Nearly everyone died, and the ones that were left at the end consoled themselves with a nice cup of tea.
It was however the start of many more to come. And the stories I wrote did get better. I moved on to Casualty, then X Files, Star Trek Voyager and Homicide: Life on the Street. One of my best ever efforts is a cross over story between the latter three TV shows, written between myself and one of my best friends who was as obsessed as I was. In fact, if I’m going to be blaming people, I’ll blame her for getting me stuck on Homicide and Voyager in the first place. I’ll take responsibility for the X Files. David Duchovny was irresistible to a teenager.
And now after a few years gap, the urge to write fan fic is back. This time as I’ve mentioned before, it’s CSI New York.
One of the best things on TV, and with such great characters, I just had to borrow them and write about them. Now suddenly it’s become a little world in itself. There’s a great online community of people who feel the same and who share their stories. You post a story, people review. You read a story, you review. It’s great. I’ve had such wonderful and thoughtful comments from people. That alone is addictive, checking to see if you have any more reviews. Checking to see if another author has posted up a new chapter. I just have to keep a grip on Real Life which cannot be ignored.
Time to Act
Another busy week. Busy and frustrating at times. I spent a good part of Friday afternoon (it would have been good to have been elsewhere) stuck in a very cold room in the basement of Tremough House fruitlessly trying to upload articles onto bloc online, particularly trying to update my profile, which at the moment is quite embarrassingly bad. What was I thinking when I wrote it? I thought people would be interested in how I started out writing stories for my toys about coal scuttles. I think I was wrong. So I’ve written a much more sophisticated version, emphasising my skills, and can’t get it up there. Damn. And I gave up a swimming in the sea session. Next week I'll be there, as long as the storms have died down.
Dumbfunded has also taken a chunk of time. Time well spent though. The performances have been and gone, and I can’t quite believe it’s now all finished. It was so much fun, and it turned out brilliantly. The guys did really well, and every night at Miss Peapod’s was sold out. It’s a really nice venue, big enough to hold nearly a hundred people, but small enough to be an intimate comedy venue which I think works best. Nerve wracking though, as you climb up onto the stage, trying to be gracefully in character, you look out and realise that the front row of the audience can practically see the pores on your skin. I wore more make up than I would in a year. Getting it off was a bugger, and now my skin feels very strange.
However, it was good, Very good. It’s addictive being up on stage, performing, and having people laugh at you when they’re meant to. People said some very nice things about my performance, which as an amateur actress is very nice to hear. I did want to be an actress when I was a child, and was seriously addicted to watching Casualty. It reared up again a few years ago after watching Lord of the Rings and I sent off for Drama School prospectuses. However, I decided otherwise, and went the writing route instead, and stuck with amateur theatre. I think I also surprised a lot of people who know me, and did not expect to see me doing something like this. Another of us from the course proved to be a very good actor in the very first thing he’s acted in. Greg, you were amazing.
Wednesday, 27 February 2008
Hot Water
For a town by the sea, it took me a little while on Sunday to find myself a swimming costume. One that I could afford anyhow. I tried Quiksilver first, and was admiring a lovely polka dot tankini. Then I saw that it was £50 and left the shop shortly afterwards; after a casual, not too hasty browse round in an attempt to show that I could afford these things if I really wanted to. In fact, I could have bought two, I just didn’t want to. Yeah, really.
I drew the line at Tragos, I wasn’t that desperate for a swimming costume, and they possibly only sell children’s sizes. I’m not that thin. Dorothy Perkins had none, but I did see a very nice dress that I might treat myself to. I finally found what I was looking for in Peacocks. An underrated shop, Falmouth’s is not a bad size and the clothes are pretty good. I bought myself, for the first time ever, a tankini. Not being quite confident enough for a bikini, too much stomach. Black and white striped top, plain black bottoms.
I wore it almost straight away. My housemate and I treated ourselves to a swimming session at the Falmouth Beach Hotel. A treat because it costs £5 to use the pool. However, you do get an unlimited time in there, a good size pool (about 14m long) Jacuzzis, steam room and sauna. We were there nearly two hours and had great fun strolling between the super bubbly Jacuzzis and the steam room. Those I enjoyed, the sauna was something else. I’ve reached the age I am without ever entering one, and I’m not sure I will again. I may be missing the point, but it was just too hot, I thought I was going to faint. Cold swimming pool water was never so appealing.
The only problem was the time of day we went. Sunday afternoon is not good unless you like the idea of swimming lengths whilst dodging small children being tossed across the pool by fond parents, and teenage boys thundering through the water oblivious to anything in their path. Other than that we had a good swim. I think though in the future for a simple swim I’ll stick to the Falmouth Hotel, not quite as glamorous, but cheaper and quieter, and I’m sure the Jacuzzi will be fixed soon. And Gylly beach is of course free. Perfect.
I drew the line at Tragos, I wasn’t that desperate for a swimming costume, and they possibly only sell children’s sizes. I’m not that thin. Dorothy Perkins had none, but I did see a very nice dress that I might treat myself to. I finally found what I was looking for in Peacocks. An underrated shop, Falmouth’s is not a bad size and the clothes are pretty good. I bought myself, for the first time ever, a tankini. Not being quite confident enough for a bikini, too much stomach. Black and white striped top, plain black bottoms.
I wore it almost straight away. My housemate and I treated ourselves to a swimming session at the Falmouth Beach Hotel. A treat because it costs £5 to use the pool. However, you do get an unlimited time in there, a good size pool (about 14m long) Jacuzzis, steam room and sauna. We were there nearly two hours and had great fun strolling between the super bubbly Jacuzzis and the steam room. Those I enjoyed, the sauna was something else. I’ve reached the age I am without ever entering one, and I’m not sure I will again. I may be missing the point, but it was just too hot, I thought I was going to faint. Cold swimming pool water was never so appealing.
The only problem was the time of day we went. Sunday afternoon is not good unless you like the idea of swimming lengths whilst dodging small children being tossed across the pool by fond parents, and teenage boys thundering through the water oblivious to anything in their path. Other than that we had a good swim. I think though in the future for a simple swim I’ll stick to the Falmouth Hotel, not quite as glamorous, but cheaper and quieter, and I’m sure the Jacuzzi will be fixed soon. And Gylly beach is of course free. Perfect.
Tuesday, 26 February 2008
Ginger
Apparently, the main Post Office in Falmouth, on The Moor, has closed very suddenly and shockingly. A post office closing! The Moor has been under repair for the last few months, it looks like it’s being repaved, but the work has been going on a very long time. Which is a pain, as it’s meant that the market which is usually every Tuesday has almost disappeared. A few stalls have moved to Prince of Wales Quay, but it’s not the same.
Markets are great, much more interesting than supermarkets. There’s a place for Asda and Tescos, but the smaller shops are much better. I went into the health food shop on the High Street yesterday for the first time, I think previously I’d just been too lazy to walk all the way up there. It was great! So much stuff, I had a happy wander round for ages. Didn’t actually buy anything, but the staff were really helpful, and when I have more money I will buy my stocks of crystallised ginger from there.
Another secret weakness along with hazelnut and chocolate spread. Which I had a generous amount of on toast this morning, heavenly and so sweet. I had to have chocolate in some form after ostensibly giving it up for Lent. No, I’ve been pretty good, and I even walked down the confectionery section of Tescos yesterday without blinking an eye. Or drooling. Quite an achievement.
I’m eating tons of fruit and vegetables. So many raw carrots my skin will probably turn orange very soon. Since last summer I haven’t had a cold, and I want to keep it that way. Touch wood. Well, imitation wood style plastic table top anyway. I really don’t want to get ill. But I have a suspicion I might be about to. Again, I couldn’t sleep last night, and my throat is very dry today despite having drunk gallons of water. Better prepare for the worst and buy a box of balm tissues in and some lemon and ginger teabags.
Markets are great, much more interesting than supermarkets. There’s a place for Asda and Tescos, but the smaller shops are much better. I went into the health food shop on the High Street yesterday for the first time, I think previously I’d just been too lazy to walk all the way up there. It was great! So much stuff, I had a happy wander round for ages. Didn’t actually buy anything, but the staff were really helpful, and when I have more money I will buy my stocks of crystallised ginger from there.
Another secret weakness along with hazelnut and chocolate spread. Which I had a generous amount of on toast this morning, heavenly and so sweet. I had to have chocolate in some form after ostensibly giving it up for Lent. No, I’ve been pretty good, and I even walked down the confectionery section of Tescos yesterday without blinking an eye. Or drooling. Quite an achievement.
I’m eating tons of fruit and vegetables. So many raw carrots my skin will probably turn orange very soon. Since last summer I haven’t had a cold, and I want to keep it that way. Touch wood. Well, imitation wood style plastic table top anyway. I really don’t want to get ill. But I have a suspicion I might be about to. Again, I couldn’t sleep last night, and my throat is very dry today despite having drunk gallons of water. Better prepare for the worst and buy a box of balm tissues in and some lemon and ginger teabags.
Jelly and Boots
Dammit, I’ve wrecked another pair of boots. My favourite pair as well. I blame the hills and the ground of Falmouth. They’re a really nice pair of black lace up (with a handy concealed zip down the side) knee high boots, high heels but surprisingly comfortable to walk in. So I do walk in them, all over the place, including round the harbour at Mousehole which probably did for them. Now the tip of the heel has worn off, and the metal is showing through. I cannot throw them out so I’m searching for a cobbler. Back home along Borough road in Birkenhead, which was once a thriving Victorian commercial street, there remains a traditional cobblers, complete with frightening looking machinery and a proprietor in a long brown overall. He does a good job though, and has saved a lot of my footwear. Bit far to take this pair though.
My worn shoes and boots though have come good on something. I was still struggling for something to make a photographic story about; my only idea had been taking photos of cars, fiestas to be precise as I own one myself, am very fond of them and see a lot around Falmouth. But it wasn’t a great idea. Instead I’m going to take a photo of all the shoes and boots I have worn through since arriving here in September. I’d love to know the number of miles I’ve walked, must be hundreds now.
Today has been a short distance day so far, only to the post office and back. I had a parcel of socks to post back to Lancaster, having borrowed a pair when I was up last weekend. That would make a fascinating story - the things people send through the post. Tomorrow I will be sending a packet of jelly to my dad. I have a weakness for raw jelly so I sneaked packet out of his kitchen cupboard and ate it over the weekend, but felt obliged to replace it. So a pack of Rowntrees Strawberry Jelly will be on its way to Wirral soon. I used to have a long time ago when I was very young, a book from Rowntrees jelly about a boy who went to jelly land, it was great. I remember it vividly, the colours of all the jellies. Wonder if I still have it?
My worn shoes and boots though have come good on something. I was still struggling for something to make a photographic story about; my only idea had been taking photos of cars, fiestas to be precise as I own one myself, am very fond of them and see a lot around Falmouth. But it wasn’t a great idea. Instead I’m going to take a photo of all the shoes and boots I have worn through since arriving here in September. I’d love to know the number of miles I’ve walked, must be hundreds now.
Today has been a short distance day so far, only to the post office and back. I had a parcel of socks to post back to Lancaster, having borrowed a pair when I was up last weekend. That would make a fascinating story - the things people send through the post. Tomorrow I will be sending a packet of jelly to my dad. I have a weakness for raw jelly so I sneaked packet out of his kitchen cupboard and ate it over the weekend, but felt obliged to replace it. So a pack of Rowntrees Strawberry Jelly will be on its way to Wirral soon. I used to have a long time ago when I was very young, a book from Rowntrees jelly about a boy who went to jelly land, it was great. I remember it vividly, the colours of all the jellies. Wonder if I still have it?
Horror and Cocktails
More good places to go in Falmouth. Many of them, depends what you’re looking for. I was in a dilemma Saturday, I’d spent the day writing, going out only to breathe some air and post a letter. One of my course friends was planning a Rocky Horror party. I really didn’t want to go. I’m not so good at parties, I never quite know what to do, but I like just talking to people I know, finding a quiet corner. Also, I didn’t want to go because, rather lame I know, I really did have nothing to wear. My wardrobe, despite being increased by the two dresses I made is still very poor. My very kind mum though rang me the other day and told me she has posted two cardigans to me. And she gave me some money to buy a coat which I still haven’t got yet. However, I had nothing to wear for a party.
Probably, I should have gone anyway, but it was dressing up ideally. I guess it wouldn’t have mattered, but it mattered to me. Maybe it would have mattered more to my friend for me to go. I feel bad. Somehow, I just couldn’t face a party. So I didn’t go. I texted and said I had a migraine, which was partly true - I was getting the headache and lights in front of the eyes, but a couple of nurofen helped.
Instead I sat in my room and wrote at my laptop until my eyes hurt. But then one of my housemates texted me to tell me she was in The Shed with her sister who was staying for the weekend, did I want to join them? I did, so feeling a bit guilty I joined them. A friend works there, he was in and made the nicest cocktail I’ve ever had. Okay, I’ve not had that many cocktails, but it was good. A strasmopolitan, basically a cosmopolitan with strawberries, real chunks of strawberries floating in dark pink crushed ice, yum. It turned out to be a good night, and I was glad I went, despite feeling guilty about going to the party. We had fun, and I drank more than I have in a very long time - cocktails and a shot of baileys. So I’d recommend The Shed.
Probably, I should have gone anyway, but it was dressing up ideally. I guess it wouldn’t have mattered, but it mattered to me. Maybe it would have mattered more to my friend for me to go. I feel bad. Somehow, I just couldn’t face a party. So I didn’t go. I texted and said I had a migraine, which was partly true - I was getting the headache and lights in front of the eyes, but a couple of nurofen helped.
Instead I sat in my room and wrote at my laptop until my eyes hurt. But then one of my housemates texted me to tell me she was in The Shed with her sister who was staying for the weekend, did I want to join them? I did, so feeling a bit guilty I joined them. A friend works there, he was in and made the nicest cocktail I’ve ever had. Okay, I’ve not had that many cocktails, but it was good. A strasmopolitan, basically a cosmopolitan with strawberries, real chunks of strawberries floating in dark pink crushed ice, yum. It turned out to be a good night, and I was glad I went, despite feeling guilty about going to the party. We had fun, and I drank more than I have in a very long time - cocktails and a shot of baileys. So I’d recommend The Shed.
Almost to the lighthouse
It’s been a busy weekend, and Monday as well, since I haven’t posted anything since Friday. Not to say I haven’t been writing though. Far from it, I’m onto my second fan fiction story, inspired by finally being able to watch a few episodes of CSI whilst home last weekend. And it is thoroughly addictive putting a story up online, and having people send you reviews for it. It’s good writing practice (no, really) I write in chapters, and leave a cliff hanger at the end of each. Very satisfying. I have also written some other pieces as well, and edited a piece for bloc online, which is at last live, it looks good. I have some pieces on there, so can say that I am now officially published. It’s a good feeling.
What else… good places to go in Falmouth and around. Friday was going to be our swimming day, before the sea gets too cold. But then we thought, hey, we’re tough, we’ll swim even in March when the sea is freezing! Carlo and I, well mostly Carlo, decided that swimming at Gylly was too tame and Petreath would be better. We made good use of my car and drove to the sea through Redruth and Camborne, places I’ve never been before, and arrived to find the sea a furious white, lashing against the shore. Undaunted, we went to fortify ourselves with an ice cream before braving the waves. More ice cream. As well as the horrifying amount I ate last weekend, I’d also had a small tub on Thursday from the Tremough shop - why does it sell such bad things?
We ate our Feasts in the car, and savoured them. I haven’t had a Feast for years, it was almost as good as I remembered. Then at Carlo’s suggestion, not that I’m easily led, we went to another cove further along the coast, in sight of Godreavy lighthouse (Virginia Woolf’s ‘To The Lighthouse’) if there hadn’t been a thick mist creeping up. It was an amazingly treacherous walk down to the cove. I had worn the most unsuitable shoes, and all I could think about when scrambling down the most slippery patches of rock was ‘my mum will kill me if I fall and drown.’ I didn’t fall and drown though, or crash onto the rocks beneath. Very, very sharp and black rocks. So that was okay.
Unfortunately the tide was in, so we never quite made it into the sea. But we sat and watched it pounding the grey sand for a good while. And we sat and talked. A good talk. We made our plans to come back when the weather is warmer. Gylly beach next Friday, into the waves.
What else… good places to go in Falmouth and around. Friday was going to be our swimming day, before the sea gets too cold. But then we thought, hey, we’re tough, we’ll swim even in March when the sea is freezing! Carlo and I, well mostly Carlo, decided that swimming at Gylly was too tame and Petreath would be better. We made good use of my car and drove to the sea through Redruth and Camborne, places I’ve never been before, and arrived to find the sea a furious white, lashing against the shore. Undaunted, we went to fortify ourselves with an ice cream before braving the waves. More ice cream. As well as the horrifying amount I ate last weekend, I’d also had a small tub on Thursday from the Tremough shop - why does it sell such bad things?
We ate our Feasts in the car, and savoured them. I haven’t had a Feast for years, it was almost as good as I remembered. Then at Carlo’s suggestion, not that I’m easily led, we went to another cove further along the coast, in sight of Godreavy lighthouse (Virginia Woolf’s ‘To The Lighthouse’) if there hadn’t been a thick mist creeping up. It was an amazingly treacherous walk down to the cove. I had worn the most unsuitable shoes, and all I could think about when scrambling down the most slippery patches of rock was ‘my mum will kill me if I fall and drown.’ I didn’t fall and drown though, or crash onto the rocks beneath. Very, very sharp and black rocks. So that was okay.
Unfortunately the tide was in, so we never quite made it into the sea. But we sat and watched it pounding the grey sand for a good while. And we sat and talked. A good talk. We made our plans to come back when the weather is warmer. Gylly beach next Friday, into the waves.
Wednesday, 20 February 2008
Identity
Writing is happening at the moment, slowly. I’m finding it difficult to capture the chaos of thoughts and ideas onto paper. This is bothering me. Without meaning to be arrogant, a few of my course mates (that’s an awkward phrase…) said to me the other day about our screenwriting class that they don’t like speaking after me because I have good ideas. This was very nice, but at the same time I now feel pressure - I’ll have to continue to have good ideas, and that scares me. That’s the trouble with a reputation, good or bad, you have to live up to it. I remember in junior school when I was seven, one of my friends asked me to help her with spelling because, she said, I was the best at spelling in the class. From then on, spelling tests became a fixation; I had to get them all right every week, or my status as the best speller would be lost. Similarly, people have on occasion told me they see me as very calm and relaxed, and that they can’t imagine me shouting. All good to hear, but sometimes I do shout, and I’m certainly not always calm. I just try to be, which of course doesn’t help me remain calm, oh dear.
So I’m going to have to strive to keep the ideas and the writing going. That’s how it should be though, needing something to drive you on. I feel like here, starting out somewhere different, that my identity became fragmented, and I’m still figuring out how to put it back together again. I’ve managed bits of it myself, other people have put bits together as well. A year ago, I was a completely different person. I came for the open day here, not sure what I would find, very unsure of myself, and the process began there. Since then, I have written more than I have in years put together, met so many people I would never have met otherwise and done things I couldn’t possibly have done anywhere else. Today I found myself replying to an advert from Miracle Theatre looking for models. There’s so much I could do, I want to keep on finding things I’ve never done before (modelling aside, I used to model for an artist in Liverpool, never for a theatre though) There must be so many things I can do that I don’t even know I can. I want to find them.
So I’m going to have to strive to keep the ideas and the writing going. That’s how it should be though, needing something to drive you on. I feel like here, starting out somewhere different, that my identity became fragmented, and I’m still figuring out how to put it back together again. I’ve managed bits of it myself, other people have put bits together as well. A year ago, I was a completely different person. I came for the open day here, not sure what I would find, very unsure of myself, and the process began there. Since then, I have written more than I have in years put together, met so many people I would never have met otherwise and done things I couldn’t possibly have done anywhere else. Today I found myself replying to an advert from Miracle Theatre looking for models. There’s so much I could do, I want to keep on finding things I’ve never done before (modelling aside, I used to model for an artist in Liverpool, never for a theatre though) There must be so many things I can do that I don’t even know I can. I want to find them.
Home
Thinking back over the weekend, I was only home from Friday night to Monday afternoon, but it threw me out in terms of daily living. I must be a creature of routine, there are certain things to be done every day, and nice as it is, going back home knocks these out. Plus all the turmoil it created this time over where I want to live. I love my family and my home, I don’t know though if I can live there anymore. And my friends as well. Many of them, my oldest friends (in the way of knowing them for a long time!) are established at the other end of the country. One of my best friends called round to see me on Saturday and she and my other best friend, who makes up our triumverate, had bought me the pair of slippes from Next that I had been wanting for over a year. They had been shopping and had missed me. How do I leave such friends as that to live down here?
That’s part of the challenge of postgraduate study in your late 20s I guess. It takes far more uprooting from established lives, and not all your contemporaries are doing it at the same time. I had to be different when I first went to University: most of my friends moved as far away as possible, the farthest was Emma who went to Dundee from Wirral. I chose Liverpool, not in isolation, as a few other from my year at school also did, but not amongst my close circle. It’s taken me ten years to feel ready to properly move away, but I think I had to do other things first, and be really ready for it. I’m not a confident person at all, and moving away from home at 18 was just too much, so I waited.
Having done that though, I went to an extreme just before I graduated and went to work in Wyoming for three months. It nearly gave me an anxiety breakdown in the end however, and I returned home, very homesick. It took a long time to get over, and I did safe things for a while, living at home, doing a job that wasn’t too demanding. Then I got a bit bolder and moved out, still only five miles away from my parents. The move here I think had been building for a long time: the idea of it came at my middle sister’s graduation ceremony - she got her BA in textile design at Falmouth - and I fell in love with the place that day. Then I saw the Professional Writing course, and it somehow became inevitable I would come here. I finally moved away. And now I don’t know if I can go back.
That’s part of the challenge of postgraduate study in your late 20s I guess. It takes far more uprooting from established lives, and not all your contemporaries are doing it at the same time. I had to be different when I first went to University: most of my friends moved as far away as possible, the farthest was Emma who went to Dundee from Wirral. I chose Liverpool, not in isolation, as a few other from my year at school also did, but not amongst my close circle. It’s taken me ten years to feel ready to properly move away, but I think I had to do other things first, and be really ready for it. I’m not a confident person at all, and moving away from home at 18 was just too much, so I waited.
Having done that though, I went to an extreme just before I graduated and went to work in Wyoming for three months. It nearly gave me an anxiety breakdown in the end however, and I returned home, very homesick. It took a long time to get over, and I did safe things for a while, living at home, doing a job that wasn’t too demanding. Then I got a bit bolder and moved out, still only five miles away from my parents. The move here I think had been building for a long time: the idea of it came at my middle sister’s graduation ceremony - she got her BA in textile design at Falmouth - and I fell in love with the place that day. Then I saw the Professional Writing course, and it somehow became inevitable I would come here. I finally moved away. And now I don’t know if I can go back.
Tuesday, 19 February 2008
Ice Cream
Okay, it’s one of the coldest days of the year, frost still un-melted from yesterday, the sky freezing blue and white, but we still went for a family day out to the Cheshire Ice Cream Farm. We were not the only ones either - the place was full. My sister and I managed to eat two each. I indulged in generous scoops of Choc fudge cookie dough and then millionaire’s shortbread; Margaret enjoyed ferrero roche and another millionaire’s shortbread. We did feel slightly ill afterwards, so it was just as well that by sheer coincidence, the BBC’s ‘Street Doctor’ was filming and eating ice cream at the time. Both of us were too embarrassed though to confess any illnesses or afflictions, but my mum, after being encouraged by us, went over and asked why her fingers turn corpse-like in the cold. Reynaud’s Syndrome apparently. The Street Doctor himself was very fine looking indeed, perhaps I should have been overcome with a fainting fit in front of him.
Once again, I was caught out with just how cold it was. I really did lose all feeling in my feet, standing around on concrete blocks looking and cooing at new-born calves (the farm has real cows to make the ice cream) but it was so worth it for the taste of that ice cream. It’s been a while since I’ve had any, apart from last Monday in Mousehole as I recall now… but before that it must have been a good two months. Roskilly’s is very, very good stuff, but I feel Cheshire Farm just has the edge. Something I might have to consider in my future living plans.
I just can’t seem to stop eating sweet things. I have pledged to give up crisps, chocolate, sweets, cakes and biscuits for Lent, but have weakened and cheated a little several times: half a chocolate and banana pasty last weekend, a small piece of cherry pie yesterday, and three liquorice allsorts also last weekend. I blame my Auntie for that. And now, I have a very large bag of jelly belly beans in my possession. Care of my sister after her trip to New York. They are possibly one of the best varieties of confectionery in the world, and one of my favourite ever kinds of sweet. But if I am to keep up my Lent thing, which I usually manage to do, then they’re going to have to stay in their bag for the next few weeks. Torture. Still, I haven’t forbidden myself ice cream, plenty of room for that.
Once again, I was caught out with just how cold it was. I really did lose all feeling in my feet, standing around on concrete blocks looking and cooing at new-born calves (the farm has real cows to make the ice cream) but it was so worth it for the taste of that ice cream. It’s been a while since I’ve had any, apart from last Monday in Mousehole as I recall now… but before that it must have been a good two months. Roskilly’s is very, very good stuff, but I feel Cheshire Farm just has the edge. Something I might have to consider in my future living plans.
I just can’t seem to stop eating sweet things. I have pledged to give up crisps, chocolate, sweets, cakes and biscuits for Lent, but have weakened and cheated a little several times: half a chocolate and banana pasty last weekend, a small piece of cherry pie yesterday, and three liquorice allsorts also last weekend. I blame my Auntie for that. And now, I have a very large bag of jelly belly beans in my possession. Care of my sister after her trip to New York. They are possibly one of the best varieties of confectionery in the world, and one of my favourite ever kinds of sweet. But if I am to keep up my Lent thing, which I usually manage to do, then they’re going to have to stay in their bag for the next few weeks. Torture. Still, I haven’t forbidden myself ice cream, plenty of room for that.
Dolphinholme
Saturday was another trip up to Lancaster, even further up North. I came up inadequately dressed, to the point of ridiculousness. I had been lulled into the wearing of short sleeve tops, and shoes without socks the last week in Falmouth, and had packed up my bag of clothes to come home accordingly. With one pair of socks as a concession to it being February. I’m fortunate not to have hypothermia today. The frost stuck around all day, and I spent much of the day almost sitting in the fire to keep warm in the farmhouse. I did at least take a coat with me, so we ventured out for a walk across the fields. By the time we got back, I could hardly speak my face was so cold; my feet were numb and my hands and fingernails were an intriguing shade of blue.
It was very beautiful though, and worth the cold. My cousins’ farmhouse is near Dolphinholme, set in acres of land and with the river Wyre running through. The sun sets magnificently across the fields, and with frost silvering the grass it had to be seen. It is one of the most peaceful and calming places I know, and whenever I go, I come away feeling younger. It is somehow timeless, but old, very old. The farm is called Street Farm: a Roman Road cuts through just beyond the farmhouse, which my cousin Eric excavated himself, just across the stream where he planted a weeping willow.
We have been set a task for a short photography course we are taking as part of the MA, the idea being to tell a story in five images, so I made good use of my camera and got some really nice images of the sun sinking behind the trees, and of the churchyard at Dolphinholme which is filled with crocuses and daffodils. Surprisingly, for being so far North, the daffodils were rivalling the ones I’d left in Cornwall and were full in bloom.
Today has also been one of still, winter beauty. The trees are stark against a sky the colour of a blood orange. It might snow, it just might. I really hope so.
It was very beautiful though, and worth the cold. My cousins’ farmhouse is near Dolphinholme, set in acres of land and with the river Wyre running through. The sun sets magnificently across the fields, and with frost silvering the grass it had to be seen. It is one of the most peaceful and calming places I know, and whenever I go, I come away feeling younger. It is somehow timeless, but old, very old. The farm is called Street Farm: a Roman Road cuts through just beyond the farmhouse, which my cousin Eric excavated himself, just across the stream where he planted a weeping willow.
We have been set a task for a short photography course we are taking as part of the MA, the idea being to tell a story in five images, so I made good use of my camera and got some really nice images of the sun sinking behind the trees, and of the churchyard at Dolphinholme which is filled with crocuses and daffodils. Surprisingly, for being so far North, the daffodils were rivalling the ones I’d left in Cornwall and were full in bloom.
Today has also been one of still, winter beauty. The trees are stark against a sky the colour of a blood orange. It might snow, it just might. I really hope so.
Cold Up North
Very, very cold. Driving up the M5 and M6, I felt the temperature drop the higher up the country I got. The first time I’ve been back home since Christmas, it felt like time to go back just for a little bit. I actually haven’t felt homesick this term, becoming more involved in life here has made me more secure in my new life in Cornwall, but it felt time to see my family and friends again.
So I added another 350 miles to the car’s mileage - my trip clock tells me that since January I have driven over 900 miles. By the time I get back to Falmouth on Monday it will be well over 1200. This is I think one of my little autistic traits, we all have them, mine is liking to know numbers of miles, and also miles per gallon. I can discuss mpg and fuel efficiency like a professional. I was probably over-excited about getting home on just one tank of petrol, mpg probably abut 45, and with 20 miles worth to spare. Strangely though, I seemed to have lost ten miles somewhere along the way: at Christmas it was 351 miles (not that I’m pedantic about these things…) this time, I pulled up outside my parents house 337 miles after leaving Falmouth after following exactly the same route. It bothers me more than it should.
Being away from places does make you feel more warmly towards them than you normally would. As I passed through each county on Friday evening, once I’d managed to escape the A30, I was greeting them like old friends: Gloucestershire, how are you? Worcestershire, hey, missed you, how’s things? By the time I reached Cheshire, it was getting very emotional. I got to Wirral finally, the place I’ve lived all my life apart from some brief interludes including this time in Cornwall, and something seemed different. It wasn’t the same. I realised with a shock that I hadn’t missed it. And that I would be happy not to live here any more. The ties here are family and friends. The place has lost my heart. I need to do some thinking about my future.
So I added another 350 miles to the car’s mileage - my trip clock tells me that since January I have driven over 900 miles. By the time I get back to Falmouth on Monday it will be well over 1200. This is I think one of my little autistic traits, we all have them, mine is liking to know numbers of miles, and also miles per gallon. I can discuss mpg and fuel efficiency like a professional. I was probably over-excited about getting home on just one tank of petrol, mpg probably abut 45, and with 20 miles worth to spare. Strangely though, I seemed to have lost ten miles somewhere along the way: at Christmas it was 351 miles (not that I’m pedantic about these things…) this time, I pulled up outside my parents house 337 miles after leaving Falmouth after following exactly the same route. It bothers me more than it should.
Being away from places does make you feel more warmly towards them than you normally would. As I passed through each county on Friday evening, once I’d managed to escape the A30, I was greeting them like old friends: Gloucestershire, how are you? Worcestershire, hey, missed you, how’s things? By the time I reached Cheshire, it was getting very emotional. I got to Wirral finally, the place I’ve lived all my life apart from some brief interludes including this time in Cornwall, and something seemed different. It wasn’t the same. I realised with a shock that I hadn’t missed it. And that I would be happy not to live here any more. The ties here are family and friends. The place has lost my heart. I need to do some thinking about my future.
Friday, 15 February 2008
Trying to be funny
I'm trying hard, and I think I'm succeeding. Funny acting. After a few hitches, I'm now acting in two comedy sketches with the DumbFunded Theatre Group, set up by three of my friends on the course. And I'm really enjoying it. It's something I'm rediscovering that I love doing, and am actually not bad at. The last proper comedy stuff I did was in Year 9 at school, when we did some improvised sketches, I played one of an old couple, bored of their marriage, and was delightedly surprised when everyone laughed at my friend and me (they were meant to). Since then, I've neglected it a little, other than taking a role in 'Daisy Pulls It Off' by Denise Deegan with an amateur theatre company, the Carlton Players in Birkenhead last year. It was so much fin playing a schoolgirl again, almost ten years after leaving school. A gymslip can knock years off you.
So I'm now doing it again, hoping I can make people laugh. It's quite addicitive. I'm not a great actress, but I'm good at certain things. I'm pretty good at learning lines too, which always helps. That's a weekend task: if only I had a tape recorder, I could play it on the very long drive home which I am embarking on once again this afternoon. Six and a half hours is a long time to fill, and driving is a very boring thing often. At least it's a clear, dry day. Bitterly cold, though I guess this is as cold as it gets in Cornwall.
I certainly looked funny today: I am a student ambassador, and have been up at Tremough for the postgraduate open day. Lots of visitors which was great, including loads for the Professional Writing course. I hope people like it, and want to come next year. It was quite weird as I came myself in February last year, and spoke to students then, and did wonder at one point where I would find myself a year on. And here I am. Dressed in a mustard yellow hooded sweatshirt, which clashes horribly with a purple skirt. But at least it was warm for standing outside ushering people through the car park barrier. I was very visible - the outfit was completed by a fluorescent vest.
So I'm now doing it again, hoping I can make people laugh. It's quite addicitive. I'm not a great actress, but I'm good at certain things. I'm pretty good at learning lines too, which always helps. That's a weekend task: if only I had a tape recorder, I could play it on the very long drive home which I am embarking on once again this afternoon. Six and a half hours is a long time to fill, and driving is a very boring thing often. At least it's a clear, dry day. Bitterly cold, though I guess this is as cold as it gets in Cornwall.
I certainly looked funny today: I am a student ambassador, and have been up at Tremough for the postgraduate open day. Lots of visitors which was great, including loads for the Professional Writing course. I hope people like it, and want to come next year. It was quite weird as I came myself in February last year, and spoke to students then, and did wonder at one point where I would find myself a year on. And here I am. Dressed in a mustard yellow hooded sweatshirt, which clashes horribly with a purple skirt. But at least it was warm for standing outside ushering people through the car park barrier. I was very visible - the outfit was completed by a fluorescent vest.
Re-dressed
Last weekend was a busy weekend, not only did I entertain my cousins and my auntie, but I also spent Saturday slaving over a very hot sewing machine, and plying a needle and thread. After being intrigued by an advert for saving clothes rather than throwing them away, I made enquiries and booked myself on, having almost a whole wardrobe full of stuff that I don't wear.
It was really good! For a small fee, we had a day at Falmouth Methodist Church, tea, coffee and biscuits and use of sewing machines, ribbons, thread and material. Along with the guidance of Lynee who does amazing things with old clothes. She didn't even flinch when I tipped out my very large bag of clothes that I wanted to renew.
In the end, by 4pm I had made myself two new dresses out of 3 skirts and another dress, chopped in half. I had so much fun! The best bit, and scariest bit initially was using a very large and sharp pair of scissors to slice through the material. Once I was in there though, there was no stopping, and I cut and hacked away with abandon.
The sewing machines were fab, the same ones I used at school, slightly yellowed, liable to heat up to burning point if you leave the light on for too long, but reliable, and almost fool-proof. I even managed to sew in a respectably straight line. So at last, I now have some new things to wear, and on Wednesday and Thursday I showed off my new dresses to admiring fellow students. I was only a little smug about the fact that I'd made them myself. Now of course I want a sewing machine of my own, if only I had the room. Recycling clothes - it's the future
It was really good! For a small fee, we had a day at Falmouth Methodist Church, tea, coffee and biscuits and use of sewing machines, ribbons, thread and material. Along with the guidance of Lynee who does amazing things with old clothes. She didn't even flinch when I tipped out my very large bag of clothes that I wanted to renew.
In the end, by 4pm I had made myself two new dresses out of 3 skirts and another dress, chopped in half. I had so much fun! The best bit, and scariest bit initially was using a very large and sharp pair of scissors to slice through the material. Once I was in there though, there was no stopping, and I cut and hacked away with abandon.
The sewing machines were fab, the same ones I used at school, slightly yellowed, liable to heat up to burning point if you leave the light on for too long, but reliable, and almost fool-proof. I even managed to sew in a respectably straight line. So at last, I now have some new things to wear, and on Wednesday and Thursday I showed off my new dresses to admiring fellow students. I was only a little smug about the fact that I'd made them myself. Now of course I want a sewing machine of my own, if only I had the room. Recycling clothes - it's the future
Tuesday, 12 February 2008
Visitors
Sleep at last, I actually, for the first time in over three weeks, slept almost a full night last night. And even managed an hour or so this afternoon. I still look and feel slightly haggard and dazed though. I think it was having such a busy weekend. A great weekend though. My first visitors to Falmouth, my Auntie and my cousins. I felt like a railway child waiting at The Dell to meet them off the train on Saturday evening, I stopped short at running down the platform though, and in truth, there was no cloud of steam, nor was it my dad on the train returning after a stretch in prison… so okay, nothing like the railway children.
It was fun to meet people off the train though. And I was very noble, carrying bags and guiding them the least hilly way to their guesthouse. They come from Cheshire, which is flat, so the hills were a bit of a shock. I reassured them that their calf muscles would be spectacular after just a few days up and down the hills.
I saw them off at the station this morning, and muscles were definitely more defined. As were mine. We spent Sunday wandering round Falmouth, and indulging totally in a chocolate and banana pasty, I couldn’t even begin to comprehend the calories that must have contained, so worth it though. I’ve not tasted anything so chocolatey for ages, not since adventures with a chocolate fountain at my friend’s summer barbecue.
To work it off, we took the boat over to St Mawes and explored the streets. I can’t believe I’ve never made it over there before now. It was lovely, and the perfect Spring day, cold and bright. We had a great time on the beach, collecting stones, scrambling over rocks, and pretending with my eight year old cousin that we were spies trying to prevent an invasion. It’s amazing what a small piece of driftwood can become in imaginative hands.
Yesterday we went to Truro, I threw them out into the city centre while I went to the record office with the course, then we went to Mousehole, indulged in ice cream, far too much ice cream. But again, a burst of exercise sorted that out: we ran races along the beach at Marazion, splashed in the sea, and nearly sunk into a pit of seaweed. So much adventure. The sun set as we were there, one of the most beautiful I have ever seen. I felt sort of responsible for the weather, vanity, but having visitors is a responsible thing. I think they saw everything at its best. And they were pleased to see me. That was the best thing.
It was fun to meet people off the train though. And I was very noble, carrying bags and guiding them the least hilly way to their guesthouse. They come from Cheshire, which is flat, so the hills were a bit of a shock. I reassured them that their calf muscles would be spectacular after just a few days up and down the hills.
I saw them off at the station this morning, and muscles were definitely more defined. As were mine. We spent Sunday wandering round Falmouth, and indulging totally in a chocolate and banana pasty, I couldn’t even begin to comprehend the calories that must have contained, so worth it though. I’ve not tasted anything so chocolatey for ages, not since adventures with a chocolate fountain at my friend’s summer barbecue.
To work it off, we took the boat over to St Mawes and explored the streets. I can’t believe I’ve never made it over there before now. It was lovely, and the perfect Spring day, cold and bright. We had a great time on the beach, collecting stones, scrambling over rocks, and pretending with my eight year old cousin that we were spies trying to prevent an invasion. It’s amazing what a small piece of driftwood can become in imaginative hands.
Yesterday we went to Truro, I threw them out into the city centre while I went to the record office with the course, then we went to Mousehole, indulged in ice cream, far too much ice cream. But again, a burst of exercise sorted that out: we ran races along the beach at Marazion, splashed in the sea, and nearly sunk into a pit of seaweed. So much adventure. The sun set as we were there, one of the most beautiful I have ever seen. I felt sort of responsible for the weather, vanity, but having visitors is a responsible thing. I think they saw everything at its best. And they were pleased to see me. That was the best thing.
Thursday, 7 February 2008
Buying and Selling
Definite feelings of paranoia yesterday. I was quietly minding my own business, making my way peaceably down the lawn in front of Tremough House to walk back to my car, when halfway down looking up from admiring the Primrose Path (there’s another story there) I realised that a large crowd of people had stopped at the bottom of the slope and were all standing looking towards me with cameras and binoculars.
This threw me into a dilemma: did I carry on boldly, breezily unaware, or did I bolt back up the slope in a guilty fashion? Emboldened by something, lunch maybe, I continued and tried not to think about how I was walking, and made it safely to the bottom without slipping up in the mud. It was spoilt at the last moment though when I made a wrong step and stood heavily in a muddy puddle. Fortunately, the crowd didn’t seem to have noticed. Binoculars and cameras were trained on Tremough House. I felt a little deflated that that was the object of attention. Probably just as well, I’m not the right kind of figure for an object of observation.
Sadly, the muddy puddle finished off finally my loyal pair of boots. There’s really no hope for them now, and as I write they are lying on the floor covered in mud with the holes that I’d been ignoring now painfully obvious. I think it’s really time to let them go. And I have seen a very nice pair in the shoe shop in town. Time for a little essential shopping. I think I can justify it as I sacrificed one of my Chalet School books on eBay the other day. A first edition hardback, with dust wrapper which in collector’s terms is as good as it gets. I have a small collection of them, and when times get tough I sell a couple, and buy them back when times are good. I do also read them, books could never be just a commodity.
This threw me into a dilemma: did I carry on boldly, breezily unaware, or did I bolt back up the slope in a guilty fashion? Emboldened by something, lunch maybe, I continued and tried not to think about how I was walking, and made it safely to the bottom without slipping up in the mud. It was spoilt at the last moment though when I made a wrong step and stood heavily in a muddy puddle. Fortunately, the crowd didn’t seem to have noticed. Binoculars and cameras were trained on Tremough House. I felt a little deflated that that was the object of attention. Probably just as well, I’m not the right kind of figure for an object of observation.
Sadly, the muddy puddle finished off finally my loyal pair of boots. There’s really no hope for them now, and as I write they are lying on the floor covered in mud with the holes that I’d been ignoring now painfully obvious. I think it’s really time to let them go. And I have seen a very nice pair in the shoe shop in town. Time for a little essential shopping. I think I can justify it as I sacrificed one of my Chalet School books on eBay the other day. A first edition hardback, with dust wrapper which in collector’s terms is as good as it gets. I have a small collection of them, and when times get tough I sell a couple, and buy them back when times are good. I do also read them, books could never be just a commodity.
Fun
The joy of writing is definitely returned to me. I’m still absorbed with my piece of fan fiction for CSI New York, and having a huge amount of fun writing it. Even better have been the reviews and feedback people have given me. I’ve now posted up three chapters onto the fan fiction forum, and have had some fantastic comments. I sat there reading them with a huge grin, it’s so worth it writing. If nothing else, I’m writing and enjoying it, and giving other people pleasure by reading what I’ve written. Some people wrote they’d been really moved by what I’ve written, that was cool. I’ve nearly finished my story, one more chapter to go, and I have plans for more.
I haven’t been forgetting though the official stuff. I’m now feeling more confident about my non fiction project, which is definitely going to be about the phenomenon of Steam Engine / Train enthusiasts. Hopefully, in a few weekends time I can go up to the Severn Valley Railway and have a footplate ride. Which is always an amazing experience, and one I would recommend to anyone. The thrill is awesome.
Script ideas I’m still a little unsure of, however I have one or two, so can work something out. One is also on a Steam Train theme, which would be good to link in with my other module. I love hearing other people’s ideas as well, despite sometimes suffering writers’ envy that I hadn’t come up with them. I’ll deal with it.
Finally, this weekend I’m having my first visitors to Cornwall. I was beginning to feel a little paranoid that I’d been here since the end of September and not even my mother had made it down. Okay, so it’s a seven hour or so drive down, but surely for the eldest child… Instead, she has promised to visit in March, and this weekend my Auntie and two cousins are making the journey from Chester. I’m really excited about it, and looking forward to showing them round and showing them all the places I love here. Weather as it was yesterday would be lovely, so I shall hope. Even if not I know it won’t matter.
I haven’t been forgetting though the official stuff. I’m now feeling more confident about my non fiction project, which is definitely going to be about the phenomenon of Steam Engine / Train enthusiasts. Hopefully, in a few weekends time I can go up to the Severn Valley Railway and have a footplate ride. Which is always an amazing experience, and one I would recommend to anyone. The thrill is awesome.
Script ideas I’m still a little unsure of, however I have one or two, so can work something out. One is also on a Steam Train theme, which would be good to link in with my other module. I love hearing other people’s ideas as well, despite sometimes suffering writers’ envy that I hadn’t come up with them. I’ll deal with it.
Finally, this weekend I’m having my first visitors to Cornwall. I was beginning to feel a little paranoid that I’d been here since the end of September and not even my mother had made it down. Okay, so it’s a seven hour or so drive down, but surely for the eldest child… Instead, she has promised to visit in March, and this weekend my Auntie and two cousins are making the journey from Chester. I’m really excited about it, and looking forward to showing them round and showing them all the places I love here. Weather as it was yesterday would be lovely, so I shall hope. Even if not I know it won’t matter.
Tuesday, 5 February 2008
Rain
It rains like nothing else in Falmouth. Last night the clouds literally fell down on us. After midnight, still not sleeping but at least there was something to enjoy, I had to open my window just to watch the earth being assaulted by water. So much rain. It was awe inspiring to watch, I felt like a little girl again watching thunderstorms. The noise was tremendous: like waves exploding. I put my hand out of the window just to be a part of it, but was thankful that the rest of me was inside, I wasn’t struggling through the streets.
Ironically then today, I was out when the rain chose to wash us out again. I’d had a lovely warm swim at the Falmouth Hotel, a treat I allow myself now and again, and had more or less dried my hair. I stepped out of the door and into a grey sheet of water. Being slightly fatalistic at times, I sighed and carried on back to the house. And arrived back five minutes later practically drowned. I looked like I’d swum in my clothes, and then showered in them as well. After laughing at me, which I had to do myself, my housemates kindly made me a cup of tea.
I didn’t mind being wet too much, there’s something slightly romantic about being soaked in the rain, hair dripping, skin wet. Slightly muddled visions of Jane Austen heroines in the arms of heroes, or at the very least, Andi McDowall in four Weddings came to mind. Sadly though, I have no romantic hero just at the moment to rescue me, the situation is vacant. Catching a chill is also very unromantic. I just drank my tea and shoved my clothes in the drier. And realised once again that my boots leak and I need a new pair. I need rescuing.
Ironically then today, I was out when the rain chose to wash us out again. I’d had a lovely warm swim at the Falmouth Hotel, a treat I allow myself now and again, and had more or less dried my hair. I stepped out of the door and into a grey sheet of water. Being slightly fatalistic at times, I sighed and carried on back to the house. And arrived back five minutes later practically drowned. I looked like I’d swum in my clothes, and then showered in them as well. After laughing at me, which I had to do myself, my housemates kindly made me a cup of tea.
I didn’t mind being wet too much, there’s something slightly romantic about being soaked in the rain, hair dripping, skin wet. Slightly muddled visions of Jane Austen heroines in the arms of heroes, or at the very least, Andi McDowall in four Weddings came to mind. Sadly though, I have no romantic hero just at the moment to rescue me, the situation is vacant. Catching a chill is also very unromantic. I just drank my tea and shoved my clothes in the drier. And realised once again that my boots leak and I need a new pair. I need rescuing.
Saturday, 2 February 2008
The Sea
I understand Iris Murdoch when she wrote 'The Sea, The Sea'.
There is a lot of water in Falmouth. Every day, I pass by or see water. Be it through my window at the sea and harbour, or streaming in floods down the roads and pavements. Sometimes when it hasn’t even been raining. Where does it all come from? I’m not complaining though. I love water, am drawn to it even. I can stand and watch the sea for hours at a time, or a stream gushing along, every second in a different state. There are streams all around Tremough. I’d love to know where they start, how they used to be. I like the fact that when I walk up the drive, I pass across water.
I always used to play in water when I was a child, a little brook or a muddy puddle would do. I couldn’t pass water without touching it, I had to dip my fingers in, swirl them around to have the sensation. Strangely though perhaps it took me until I was eleven to learn to swim. And it was something previously that I had been afraid of doing. I think because I realised the danger of water as well as its allure. The sea is the same. I am drawn to it, and if too far away, I become deeply homesick for it, but even when I swim in it, I am aware of the terribleness of it, and the vast empty wastes of water that I am on the edge of.
We always went on holiday to Aberdaron in North Wales, a village by the sea. Hours on the beach, and at the water’s edge, but I could only go so far, before the water frightened me. And I would have spectacular nightmares at times about the sea sweeping me away, dragging me into itself before I could scream.
I think the sea partly drew me here. It Is never the same. Today I walked along a familiar route round Pendennis Point, and along the coast road. The sea was metallic, heaving sheets of silver and lead, and at the same time, blue steel at the edges. Not a day to insult the sea with a swim.
There is a lot of water in Falmouth. Every day, I pass by or see water. Be it through my window at the sea and harbour, or streaming in floods down the roads and pavements. Sometimes when it hasn’t even been raining. Where does it all come from? I’m not complaining though. I love water, am drawn to it even. I can stand and watch the sea for hours at a time, or a stream gushing along, every second in a different state. There are streams all around Tremough. I’d love to know where they start, how they used to be. I like the fact that when I walk up the drive, I pass across water.
I always used to play in water when I was a child, a little brook or a muddy puddle would do. I couldn’t pass water without touching it, I had to dip my fingers in, swirl them around to have the sensation. Strangely though perhaps it took me until I was eleven to learn to swim. And it was something previously that I had been afraid of doing. I think because I realised the danger of water as well as its allure. The sea is the same. I am drawn to it, and if too far away, I become deeply homesick for it, but even when I swim in it, I am aware of the terribleness of it, and the vast empty wastes of water that I am on the edge of.
We always went on holiday to Aberdaron in North Wales, a village by the sea. Hours on the beach, and at the water’s edge, but I could only go so far, before the water frightened me. And I would have spectacular nightmares at times about the sea sweeping me away, dragging me into itself before I could scream.
I think the sea partly drew me here. It Is never the same. Today I walked along a familiar route round Pendennis Point, and along the coast road. The sea was metallic, heaving sheets of silver and lead, and at the same time, blue steel at the edges. Not a day to insult the sea with a swim.
Train Spotter
Absent for a few days. The work has been almost getting out of hand. I can see myself, if I don’t really sit down and get myself writing hard, slipping behind and missing deadlines. Suddenly, there seems to be a huge amount to do. Bloc at last has been sorted – we go live in the next few days and last week took a lot of work to edit, get things uploaded, and the site re-organised.
The uploading I had been terrified about, worried most I think that I would get it wrong and be responsible for the crashing down of the whole site. Which stems from I think the time when I was at Liverpool University: one day after pressing something on my computer in a networked room of twenty odd computers, the screen of every monitor went blank. I fled, coward that I was and sincerely hoped it hadn’t been me. Fortunately the next day everything seemed none the worse. And also fortunately, I didn’t bring down bloc. I’m sure it can withstand my technical fumblings.
I’ve been conducting research as well, and feeling like a proper researcher and writer. The Falmouth Bookseller and Waterstones in Truro were very helpful to me when I asked about transport books and their market. For non-fiction, I’ve decided definitely to write about a passion for Steam Engines. Something I admit to, though I’m certainly not in the same league as my dad who will cheerily admit to owning records of Steam Engine noises. I will however confess to a predilection for car spotting in my childhood – I became obsessed with Ford Fiestas for a while, strangely enough. It may be no coincidence that I am now owning my fourth fiesta… hmm, hadn’t connected the two before now.
I’m never far from my inner anorak, or inner obsessive personality. Fan fiction still has me in its grip, though I had to shelve my fab CSI story to get proper work done. But I took a few hours out yesterday to finish chapter 1, and I became slightly over excited this afternoon after posting it up on the internet, and seeing my work there. I just need some feedback now, it’s what writer’s live for and live on I guess.
The uploading I had been terrified about, worried most I think that I would get it wrong and be responsible for the crashing down of the whole site. Which stems from I think the time when I was at Liverpool University: one day after pressing something on my computer in a networked room of twenty odd computers, the screen of every monitor went blank. I fled, coward that I was and sincerely hoped it hadn’t been me. Fortunately the next day everything seemed none the worse. And also fortunately, I didn’t bring down bloc. I’m sure it can withstand my technical fumblings.
I’ve been conducting research as well, and feeling like a proper researcher and writer. The Falmouth Bookseller and Waterstones in Truro were very helpful to me when I asked about transport books and their market. For non-fiction, I’ve decided definitely to write about a passion for Steam Engines. Something I admit to, though I’m certainly not in the same league as my dad who will cheerily admit to owning records of Steam Engine noises. I will however confess to a predilection for car spotting in my childhood – I became obsessed with Ford Fiestas for a while, strangely enough. It may be no coincidence that I am now owning my fourth fiesta… hmm, hadn’t connected the two before now.
I’m never far from my inner anorak, or inner obsessive personality. Fan fiction still has me in its grip, though I had to shelve my fab CSI story to get proper work done. But I took a few hours out yesterday to finish chapter 1, and I became slightly over excited this afternoon after posting it up on the internet, and seeing my work there. I just need some feedback now, it’s what writer’s live for and live on I guess.
Tuesday, 29 January 2008
Yellow Lines
A feeling of Spring seems to have crept into Falmouth. For the last few days street cleaners have been busy moving the dirt around the roads, and strangely leaving chunks of moss all over the pavements. My car is now even dirtier than it was having been sprayed as the little carts with brushes on wheels went past. The house is clean though. The front door was washed down the other day so the black paint is gleaming. And double yellow lines have been painted along the road. Obviously it is now too clean for people to park there.
A day of not getting very much done, but enough to get by. Still can’t seem to rouse myself. Probably compounded by the fact that I am so tired after a week of not sleeping. But maybe now it’s been a week, I can break the cycle. I’ve tried a herbal tea tonight which tasted unexpectedly pleasant. Usually I gulp down herbal teas with a shudder and the hope that they are doing me good. Who’d have thought a combination of chamomile, cinnamon and valerian would taste so nice?
Little bit of stress, bloc magazine has to be launched on Thursday, so tomorrow is our last day for uploading and tidying up. I still have no idea how to upload. I’ll have to smile nicely at people, and perhaps offer them some of my tea. I like the idea of exchanging goods for favours or vice versa. Nothing seedy, just fair exchange. For instance, I made a sponge cake with chocolate chips in it for the weekend for someone who fixed up my printer to my laptop, and I’m happy to give lifts to people in exchange for the occasional cup of tea or coffee, or even a piece of Roskilly’s fudge. I’d even sweep a street for a bag of organic ginger fudge. I have my weaknesses.
A day of not getting very much done, but enough to get by. Still can’t seem to rouse myself. Probably compounded by the fact that I am so tired after a week of not sleeping. But maybe now it’s been a week, I can break the cycle. I’ve tried a herbal tea tonight which tasted unexpectedly pleasant. Usually I gulp down herbal teas with a shudder and the hope that they are doing me good. Who’d have thought a combination of chamomile, cinnamon and valerian would taste so nice?
Little bit of stress, bloc magazine has to be launched on Thursday, so tomorrow is our last day for uploading and tidying up. I still have no idea how to upload. I’ll have to smile nicely at people, and perhaps offer them some of my tea. I like the idea of exchanging goods for favours or vice versa. Nothing seedy, just fair exchange. For instance, I made a sponge cake with chocolate chips in it for the weekend for someone who fixed up my printer to my laptop, and I’m happy to give lifts to people in exchange for the occasional cup of tea or coffee, or even a piece of Roskilly’s fudge. I’d even sweep a street for a bag of organic ginger fudge. I have my weaknesses.
Monday, 28 January 2008
Seeing things
I don’t think I’ve walked as much in the last few months as I have for a very long time. I really should have calves of steel by now. I’m sure it must have taken inches off my butt as well. Strangely enough I was reading an article by Gillian McKeith on the same subject only this afternoon. Walking is good. Even better is running up hills. No shortage of films here in Falmouth of course, though whether I’ll be running up any of them is a different matter. Think I’ll stick to a measured stride.
Sunday again I was drawn to the beach, and a good long walk up to the docks and around Pendennis point. As I reached the road overlooking the shipyard, I was slightly disconcerted by a large crowd of people staring out to something. I had a little look too whilst trying to appear that I wasn’t. Maybe I didn’t look hard enough, but I just couldn’t make out what people were staring at. I don’t think a P and O ship in for repainting is that interesting.
Slightly baffled, I moved on, remembering a time when I’d been in Wyoming and had come across a huge crowd of people staring into the bushes at the side of the road. My friend who was driving stopped and we had a look as well. There was nothing there. Someone had stopped and claimed to see a moose, so everyone else had stopped. It turned out to be a large branch.
I did feel somewhat silly though today when it turns out that there had been a warship in the harbour, somehow I’d managed not to see it. Possibly it was too big.
Winter’s end definitely feels here today. Tremough old path is covered in primroses, snowdrops and cyclamen, and Camellias are blooming. Tiny flowers and the promise of Spring I can see.
Sunday again I was drawn to the beach, and a good long walk up to the docks and around Pendennis point. As I reached the road overlooking the shipyard, I was slightly disconcerted by a large crowd of people staring out to something. I had a little look too whilst trying to appear that I wasn’t. Maybe I didn’t look hard enough, but I just couldn’t make out what people were staring at. I don’t think a P and O ship in for repainting is that interesting.
Slightly baffled, I moved on, remembering a time when I’d been in Wyoming and had come across a huge crowd of people staring into the bushes at the side of the road. My friend who was driving stopped and we had a look as well. There was nothing there. Someone had stopped and claimed to see a moose, so everyone else had stopped. It turned out to be a large branch.
I did feel somewhat silly though today when it turns out that there had been a warship in the harbour, somehow I’d managed not to see it. Possibly it was too big.
Winter’s end definitely feels here today. Tremough old path is covered in primroses, snowdrops and cyclamen, and Camellias are blooming. Tiny flowers and the promise of Spring I can see.
Saturday
Another beautiful day in Falmouth. I feel much more settled here now, and feel part of life in Falmouth now. Last term I had a subconscious feeling that I didn’t quite belong yet, I was only temporarily here. Now after the first difficult few days back after Christmas, three weeks into term and I can see myself staying here. Money depending of course. The early Spring weather helps, but that is by no means all. I think it’s a change of heart on my part. I don’t find myself thinking of home as much, and counting the days until I can go back to visit. What I miss though is not having my home friends and family here to share experiences with me.
Like walking around the coast and sitting on the beach. I spent a good couple of hours walking round from Castle Beach to Gylly Beach on Saturday at low tide. The rocks were exposed, and made for a wobbly path. I trod very carefully across the seaweed, fortunately I’m fairly sure footed so tripped lightly across the rock ridges and rock pools. I love rock pools, trapped water, and the ripples of light they cast on the rocks. It was very satisfying reaching Gylly beach. I resisted treating myself to an ice cream.
After a clear day, the sky froze, and came as close to a heavy frost as I’ve seen here. I spent Saturday evening at a friend’s house watching Studio Ghibli films, fab. It was a shock to come out though and sea the moon a wounded red in a greenish sky. So cold. And so dark. Just beyond Falmouth, there are no streetlights, and the dark is solid. Strange and beautiful.
Like walking around the coast and sitting on the beach. I spent a good couple of hours walking round from Castle Beach to Gylly Beach on Saturday at low tide. The rocks were exposed, and made for a wobbly path. I trod very carefully across the seaweed, fortunately I’m fairly sure footed so tripped lightly across the rock ridges and rock pools. I love rock pools, trapped water, and the ripples of light they cast on the rocks. It was very satisfying reaching Gylly beach. I resisted treating myself to an ice cream.
After a clear day, the sky froze, and came as close to a heavy frost as I’ve seen here. I spent Saturday evening at a friend’s house watching Studio Ghibli films, fab. It was a shock to come out though and sea the moon a wounded red in a greenish sky. So cold. And so dark. Just beyond Falmouth, there are no streetlights, and the dark is solid. Strange and beautiful.
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