Trial and error

This is the result of my photo shoot for the Skylight publicity last week - the chosen one, if you will. Unfortunately, however, it was decided there wasn't enough blank space around my boat race (I've cropped this one even further) to fit the title of the play and all the necessary wordy gubbins, so on Wednesday it was back to the drawing board, as 't'were.

Trying to recreate a picture, it turns out, is nigh on impossible, so we ended up with a different image altogether. It's going to be black and white, there may well be more flesh on show (although nothing X-rated I should point out, I'm really rather a modest lass when you get down to it) and I look a lot crosser. Not a hint of a smile in sight. I don't know why I look cross, I wasn't aiming for cross - I actually think the photographer caught me in an unprepared moment when I was feeling annoyed that I couldn't pull quite the same expression as last time - I mean, how hard can that be? Apparently, very. So anyway, there you have it, this old photo will never see the light of day other than on here. When the new image has been poster-fied I shall upload a copy.

First rehearsal last Sunday was good - there are an awful lot of props involved and trying to read my lines whilst unpacking shopping bags and making tea for two proved awkward. However, by what can only be described as a small miracle, I had my lines learnt for that scene for the second rehearsal on Wednesday, which made life much easier. I should point out that being off book by any sooner than six weeks before first night is unheard of for me, and it's unlikely I'll manage it ever again, so this was indeed an impressive coup.

I'm also not sure whether I mentioned that I will have a working kitchen on set and will have to not only really make cups of tea (getting the kettle to boil on cue should be interesting), but I will also have to rustle up an edible spaghetti bolognese. Fact is, in real life I can't cook, so I am faced with a double whammy here - remembering my lines whilst endeavouring not to burn onions.

I am, it has to be said, somewhat concerned about the logistics of this - there are many, many things that could go wrong. Let's hope they all happen during rehearsals and not in a performance. On the plus side, my family are looking forward to being able to come round for dinner and enjoy a meal they can actually eat (the last attempt, many months ago, having ended up in the bin - yes, I really am that bad). Surely after four months of cooking the same dish, I'll be able to make one I'm not scared to serve up to my nearest and dearest without fear of poisoning?

'Are you ready for your close-up?'

It's been a funny old couple of weeks. I've been working a lot, which is great - it's always a comfort when you're a freelancer to see a few pennies rolling in!

I have found the time for a creative venture or two, although unfortunately no writing. I have spent a large chunk of my day today critiquing the work of fellow writers on the forum I'm a member of - it's been fun, and hugely interesting, to read so many pieces of great writing, so many individual takes on everyday ideas, and so many unique ideas turned into clever stories and moving poems. I feel very honoured to be able to share my work with such a talented group of people. Not that I have any to share so far this month! Perhaps tomorrow I will find some time to sit and write something of my own.

I went pottery painting last week - it's a lovely way of passing an afternoon. There is a small and friendly farm shop near my home, where I'm now something of a regular. They set me up with my little table and my paint and brushes, supplied me with some marmalade on toast (an excellent source of energy when painting), and away I went. I have taken photos of my finished items, but they're a present for someone, so I shan't post the pics until the present has been given, just in case I spoil the surprise! I met and chatted with some nice people during the course of my afternoon, as when folk pop in for a cup of tea, they invariably wander over to take a look at what you're working on and conversations ensue. One lady I spoke to was a self-confessed Bloomsbury addict and we had a great chat about Vanessa Bell and Virgina Woolf, and it made me keen to get back to Charlston Farmhouse, which, if you haven't been, is a truly inspiring place.

Also last week, I went to see a play called The Boy Juliet. It's basically Shakespeare in Love, but unfortunately without Joseph Fiennes. It was a good production, the set was very clever and held it's greatest surprise until the end, when the back panels, which for the duration of the play had been the rough wooden boards of a barn or similarly rustic rehearsal room, opened out towards the back of the stage, revealing a misty darkness lit by a line of tea lights. The cast walked away from the audience and out into the darkness, the candles, of course, denoting the edge of a different stage, as they commence their production of R&J to a different, imaginary audience. Very clever indeed. The script (by Royce Ryton) was basic and slapstick in places, but produced laughs and did its job. Perhaps not the highest praise, but I think I've seen plays and read scripts that have been cleverer and made more of the English language. That said, I've also seen a lot worse. A terrible play called The Man Who Left the Titanic, springs to mind.

I went to see this a couple of weeks ago, and actually left at the interval in favour of going to the pub for a gin. The play was a two-hander, about Bruce Ismay, he of the White Star Line who hopped off the literal sinking ship into one of the lifeboats. The script contained no drama, but appeared to be merely a vehicle to convey the facts of the case. The performances were lack-lustre and the actor playing the ghost of Andrews did an excellent job of carrying the show, as Bruce himself seemed deeply uncertain of his lines in places. It's a touring production - should you find it coming to a theatre near you any time soon, I'd be inclined to give it a miss. The pub was much more entertaining.

This week I went to the photographer's studio to have my photo taken for the publicity for Skylight. I have never sat for a professional photo before and found it to be an unusual experience. There were lights upon me from many angles, and a silvery space-age contraption that looked like it had been designed by NASA, was stuck under my chin. The resulting photos, however, made me wish I could take all the lighting and photographic paraphernalia with me everywhere I go, as they clearly work miracles. Once the poster has been designed and I have a copy in my hot little hands, I shall scan it and upload it here so you can enjoy my discomfort. First rehearsal on Sunday - I'm feeling quite excited about it.

Inspiration blockage

I have an idea for a story - it's full of joy, sorrow, history, romance, familial duties and pressures, teenage rebellion - it has potential I think. But can I write it? Can I heck as like.

I've started - there's an opening to be sure, but now what? I've written a couple of middling paragraphs, shuffled them around a bit. And I know how I want it to end, but haven't attempted to put that down on paper as yet. It's like doing a dot-to-dot with an invisible pen.

I need to write this story - it is too early on in this fledgling fiction writing career of mine to be thwarted by writer's block and a lack of inspiration. The question is, do I slog away at it, or do I put it to one side and try and write another?

On a different subject - rehearsals for Skylight will be starting in just over two weeks, and the issue of publicity has arisen, i.e. the poster/flyer/programme image and the photographing thereof. Turns out, the publicity image for this particular play is... my face.

Hadn't reckoned on that.

The naked hen

I am beginning to look on this blog as my own personal rant vehicle. Today I have a rant that is entirely unrelated to anything creative, literary or in any way cerebral. Today I am venting my spleen about shopping.

Am I the only woman on the planet who hates shopping? Please tell me I'm not alone. It's meant to be an age-old male/female divide thing - men hate it, women love it. But I am a woman, and I HATE SHOPPING!

The reason I have worked myself up into this tizzy is a themed hen night next weekend. I have to attend as I'm a bridesmaid, and of course I want to attend, as the bride-to-be is one of my closest friends, but glamour is not my forte, and the theme of the night is Sex and the City, so glamour is something of a prerequisite.

I spent Friday trawling around Brighton trying to find a dress, and failed dismally. In fact, I started talking to myself - never a good sign. On entering Oasis, I stood in the doorway and demanded of the people around me, "When do I ever shop in Oasis? What on earth am I doing in here?" then turned and walked out. No doubt I left a few bemused shoppers in my wake. After four hours I could feel the pull of the sea - a flying leap from the end of the pier was tempting. Instead, I headed home and phoned my mama, who talked me down.

Yesterday I drove to Canterbury so that my lovely mum could accompany me around yet more shops, trying on more dresses than I knew existed and looking utterly ridiculous in all of them. I reached the point where I could no longer be civil to the incredibly helpful and patient shop assistants in Noa Noa, so called it a day and once again headed home empty-handed.

Currently my friend will have a naked hen... well, I have some shoes.

Call me Kyra

After an amazing audition on Sunday, I have just found out that I have, once again, landed the part of Kyra in Skylight. And thanks to the casting of a superb male lead, I feel confident that the play will be good, if not great, and I am finally looking forward to doing it. I had started to fear my enthusiasm would never return.

Having turned down the role for various reasons earlier in the year, I was caught in a strange limbo land of not being entirely sure I wanted to reaudition (even though I had said I would) but also not sure that I wanted anyone else to play the part either. It was all dependent on the right chap playing opposite me, and I do believe, having seen him in Equus earlier in the year, the director has bagged himself the right actor for the job. Hurrah!

I now await my rehearsal schedule...

What NOT to do

Okay, I'm not anywhere near the point of approaching an agent to represent me - I think it's safe to say that's a good couple of years down the line (unless I surprise myself). However, I shall be referring to this blog - SlushPileHell - daily, for handy tips on what not to write in my query letter.

It's very funny, so if you want a good laugh you should definitely check it out - my favourites thus far are June 20, 11, 8 & 3, and May 30, but they're all cracking in their own way.

I'm a novice, I admit, but I like to think I have enough common sense not to make mistakes like these. But then I guess they thought that too...

Six fingers and one thumb

So here's something I've been wondering - how do people prefer to write and why?

All the way through my last OU creative writing course, we were told again and again, write in your notebook, but I have to be honest (now that the course is finished and I can't be berated) and say that my notebook is sadly bereft of scribblings.

It isn't that I don't have ideas, and it isn't because I don't know how to hold a pen, and it's not because my handwriting is illegible - I just find the pen and paper system extremely longwinded.

I know there are writers out there, famous, prolifically published ones, who write in ratty old notebooks, piles and piles of them, until they've produced their masterpiece. But then what? I'm assuming they go back to the beginning and start typing it all up. Which seems to me to be a bit of a waste of time.

That said, I also imagine that may well be an excellent way of starting the editing process and the ideal time to begin cutting paragraphs and waffle. So perhaps I'm missing a trick...

I am an advocate of typing from the get-go - albeit inexpertly with only six fingers and one thumb out of my available eight and two, in a configuration that would make a typing teacher cringe and clench. I'm not sure if I type faster than I write with a pen, but I think, psychologically, that I feel I'm achieving something more quickly by seeing all those neat black lines appearing on the clean white screen - even if they don't make sense!

I'm thinking of investing in one of those little A5 laptops to use as my 'notebook' - small enough to carry around, which will hopefully encourage me to jot down ideas the moment I have them, rather than carrying them around in my head until I find a moment to sit down at my laptop and write. Until then I shall keep my redundant notebook and pen in my bag, just in case.

My first award - hurrah!

Many thanks to the lovely Mandy for giving me my very first award! I would like to thank my mum and dad for creating me, and the world for letting me live in it. :o)

According to the rules I now have to tell you ten things about myself that you don't know. So here goes:

1. Sweet Williams are my favourite flower
2. One day I want to live in Aldeburgh in Suffolk
3. I have an interesting family: My step-grandad was a journalist amongst many other talents and interviewed Elizabeth Taylor and Salavador Dali in his time. My granny, amongst her many other talents, was known as the Queen of Portobello Road (a term coined by The Observer I think) and brought back the trend for vintage clothing in the Sixties. My great-uncle, who is American, was a Senator. My mummy is a vicar!
4. I'm terrified of Daddy Longlegs
5. Sometimes I snort when I laugh and I'm not ashamed to admit it
6. Cinnamon gives me a headache
7. I am really quite obsessed with the Twilight Saga, even though I am no longer a teenage girl. If you haven't read these - you should!
8. I HATE hoovering
9. I don't play sport and am not interested in watching any sport - apart from the Tour de France, which has me glued to the screen every summer. One day I would like to hire a camper van and follow the the whole tour.
10. I have absolutely no idea what the future has in store for me - sometimes that scares me, but most of the time I find it thrilling.

I would like to pass this award on to:

Fanciful Alice

Lucy Diamond

Clara Wieland

Sally Quilford

Emma Darwin

Better late than never... I guess

On a scale of one to ten, how bad do you suppose it is to be 40 minutes late to a pre-audition audition? Hmmmm.... That's what I thought, so it's safe to say that I have made a bad impression this afternoon then!

Earlier in the year I auditioned for the part of Kyra in Skylight (by David Hare). I got the part but turned it down as the performances clashed with the end of my course. But the director postponed the play until November and asked me to audition again when he recasted, which was today and next Sunday. Today was a read-through so that actors could get an idea of the parts, before next weekend's audition proper. I thought it was at 4.30, but got a phonecall from the director at 3.40 to ask me where I was, as it had started at 3.30. Needless to say, I drove like the wind to get to the theatre, but was still VERY late and on the receiving end of some unimpressed faces. Ah well, 'tis all in a day's muddle for me!

On a lighter note, last night I went to the theatre to see a play called Two by Jim Cartwright, he of The Rise and Fall of Little Voice made famous by Jane Horrocks. Jak was prompting and two friends, Duncan and Bertie, were in it. The play is set in a pub, with the landlord and landlady leading the charge, and the two actors playing them also playing the various customers who pop in for a drink.

By turns poignant and funny, scary and slapstick, the play was brilliantly written and the various characters wonderfully observed. From a little old man who has conversations in his head with his dead wife, to a violently jealous man and his downtrodden, defeated wife, a colourful array of characters pass through the doors. And all the while, the landlord and landlady deal with their own unresolved problems, weaving seamlessly between their clientelle and coming to a head after closing time. Duncan and Bertie did an amazing job of bringing all the characters to life, and Duncan's crazy 'dad' dancing will go down in the annals of the theatre. Oh how I wish I'd had a video camera.

Haunted houses and men in dresses

Well, it's unofficially official, Jak and I will be directing our first play next year, so now, no longer risking the temptation of fate, I can announce that the play we have chosen is...

da da da daaaahhhh...

The Mystery of Irma Vep - a penny dreadful by Charles Ludlam

Hands up all those who've heard of it... Yup, thought not.

So, here's a little background. It's a spoof of Gothic melodrama, a quick-change farce, loosely based on Rebecca. It requires two male actors to play eleven roles, which include the lord and lady of Mandacrest Manor, a Mrs Danvers-esque housekeeper, a servant with a wooden leg, a werewolf, a vampire and a topless Egyptian princess.

Jak and I have already started designing the set. Pictured is our in-progress, scaled-down and much-simplified Blue Peter effort to help demonstrate our ideas to the set builders. Clearly there is a long way to go! But seeing as neither of us has ever designed a set before or built a mini version, we are rather pleased with our amateur efforts. Anyone caught smirking will be summarily executed - you have been warned.

The quick changes within the play (and I'm sure Jak, who is the 'details queen' of this particular operation, will correct me if I'm wrong) number in the high thirties, the majority of which need to be of around 10 seconds, less if possible. When this play was originally staged in Greenwich Village, New York, in the early 1980s, starring Charles Ludlum and his partner Everett Quinton, people would pay extra to have a seat backstage so they could watch the quick-changes, rather than sit out front and watch the play itself. That's how spectacular they were, and how amazing we hope we can make them. No pressure.

The set involves secret entrances and exits, as well as a bleeding painting, the mechanics of which we have yet to figure out. We have to bring in an Egypt set in the second act that needs to be removed without dropping the curtain and with the audience in situ, which could prove tricky. However, we have a cunning plan up our joint sleeve for that one.

So there will be challenges aplenty, but I have no doubt that we will not panic at all and will remain calm and in complete control throughout the entire project. I'm absolutely sure that will be the case. Okay, 85% sure. Well, high 70s anyway. But then again... Hmmmmmm...

Self-publishing - friend or foe?

The sun is glorious, there's not a cloud in the sky, the sea is like a mill pond, and I am sitting at my desk, working and missing it all. Such is the life of a freelancer. This has made me bitter, so I'm going to have a rant. Please forgive me in advance.

I'm currently proofing a manuscript that makes my heart cry. I'm always torn when I receive work that I don't rate. I'm full to the brim with admiration for the author, who has devoted their time and soul and managed to set their ideas down on paper and complete a book. I'm only too aware this is no mean feat - I've been writing and rewriting the first three chapters of my humble offering for about 6 months now. I'm struggling to get off the starting blocks, finding that my need to edit and proof as I go (an occupational hazard) is slowing me down and drowning my creativity. This is something I'm working on.

But the flip side to this admiration is when the work I read (in my opinion, obviously) is not good. The majority of manuscripts I proof are self-published, which doesn't surprise me as I fear no agent or editor would touch them with a barge pole. Plots are as leaky as the Titanic, if there is a plot at all. I have found Ann Summers shops, AK47's and drug addict-riddled high-rise flats lurking in Victorian England settings - honestly, don't even get me started on that one. Grammar and spelling are hurled by the wayside - what happened to polishing your work before you send it out?

A common problem I find, particularly with children's novels and sci-fi, is a complete inconsistency in the spelling of invented names and places. Seriously, how hard is it to make up a name and write it down on a piece of paper, so that you ensure you spell it the same way throughout the book? I have found myself, on more than one occasion, creating glossaries for the author so that if there is a sequel, they have a point of reference for their own creations.

I can't begin to explain how much it frustrates me. Mainly because it's such a colossal waste of my time and I don't get paid nearly enough for the amount of basic work I have to do to make the manuscripts make any kind of sense (which is surely the job of the author?). But there's a small part of me that is frustrated because I know, if only I could get past my bad habit of editing myself, I could do better! That's not a boast, I would put money on the majority of people out there who call themselves writers being able to do better also.

So my thought for the day is this - is self-publishing a good way to go? Personally, I would rather write something and take the agent route. If I'm told that my work is no good and unpublishable then I will feel sorry for myself for a while then move on. I would rather that than think my work is amazing when it isn't, publish it myself because I'm so convinced the world will want to read my words, then sell five copies to close family and friends who tell me it's great because they feel they have to, not because it really is. It's like the people who audition on X Factor because their mum and dad have told them they're the next Whitney Houston. Simon Cowell tells them, actually, you're distinctly average, and mum and dad (or gran) come barging in, affronted, and pick a fight, telling the expert he's wrong.

My feeling is, listen to the experts - if your writing is good, they will tell you that and they will help you. If they reject you, there's a reason for that. Take a step back, look at your work objectively and honestly, and fix it. Then try again.

And my tip for the day is this - if spelling and grammar are not your strong points, that's okay - but buy a book on punctuation and learn it. Some people find it easy, others don't, but if you're writing a book, you need to know when to use a full stop or a comma or a colon; you need to know when to put your punctuation within quotes or without; you need to know when and how to use an apostrophe. Spare a thought for the person who's going to be proofing your work while the sun is shining outside. It's also the kind of thing that will help an agent decide whether you're worth representing. They get so many manuscripts that a missed apostrophe in the first line could send your book into the bin.

Okay, I'm clambering down from my enormous horse now. I shall return my attention to this overly complicated book, with Regent's Park spelled Reagents Park (come on!). Fortunately, my friends are arriving in an hour or so to rescue me, and we're going for a picnic on the beach, so all is not lost!

Things to make and do

Through my haze of germs (which are thankfully lessening) I forgot to write about my creative and productive day last Saturday.

Jak and I went to visit a lady about costumes for our play, and spent a most enjoyable time rummaging through rails and rails of frocks and frock coats, blouses and bloomers, and rafter-high shelves crammed with wigs and hats, shoes and trews. Despite the small cast of two for this play, we will need 15, yes, that's 15, costumes. If/when we take our actors to this most magical barn to fit them for costumes, it will be, I fear, necessary for me to dress up too.

We also, Jak and I, had our very first sewing lesson. This is with the view to being able to alter some of the costumes ourselves next year. Should we get to direct it of course, still not tempting fate!

Having only ever carried my mum's sewing machine from her house to mine, and not even removed it from it's case before, the whole experience was extremely alien to me. But by the end of our lesson I had not only learned how to switch the machine on, I had made an actual pin cushion - pictured here in all its glory.

I am aware that my feeling of triumph is disproportionate to the end product, and have been heartily mocked by my mum and brother, but I don't care. As Jak pointed out, with a suitable dose of mirth, it is only a hop, skip and a jump from pin cushions to corsetry. Non-believers will be laughing on the other side of their faces when I can rustle up stunning cushion covers and curtains from old dust sheets, bits of ribbon and the odd button I find lying around. Oh yes.

Love this poem!

Listen by Charles Bukowski

If it doesn’t come bursting out of you
in spite of everything,
don’t do it.
Unless it comes unasked out of your
heart and your mind and your mouth
and your gut,
don’t do it.
If you have to sit for hours
staring at your computer screen
or hunched over your
typewriter
searching for words,
don’t do it.
If you’re doing it for money or
fame,
don’t do it.
If you’re doing it because you want
women in your bed,
don’t do it.
If you have to sit there and
rewrite it again and again,
don’t do it.
If it’s hard work just thinking about doing it,
don’t do it.
If you’re trying to write like somebody
else,
forget about it.

If you have to wait for it to roar out of
you,
then wait patiently.
If it never does roar out of you,
do something else.

If you first have to read it to your wife
or your girlfriend or your boyfriend
or your parents or to anybody at all,
you’re not ready.

Don’t be like so many writers,
don’t be like so many thousands of
people who call themselves writers,
don’t be dull and boring and
pretentious, don’t be consumed with self-love.
The libraries of the world have
yawned themselves to
sleep
over your kind.
Don’t add to that.
Don’t do it.
Unless it comes out of
your soul like a rocket,
unless being still would
drive you to madness or
suicide or murder,
don’t do it.
Unless the sun inside you is
burning your gut,
don’t do it.

When it is truly time,
and if you have been chosen,
it will do it by
itself and it will keep on doing it
until you die or it dies in you.

There is no other way.

And there never was.

Desperately seeking young, vibrant writers’ group!

I’ve read in various different places how important it is as a writer to join groups and communicate with fellow writers. First and foremost because writing can be such a solitary pastime, but also because you can give and receive valuable feedback. I’ve really enjoyed that aspect of my OU course and will miss it now that it’s coming to an end – my final assignment is in the polishing stages and I plan to send it on Tuesday. Not nerve-wracking at all then.

To take the place of the course, I have been lucky enough to join the lovely Get It Write online group run by Amanda Brittany, in order to hold on to that ‘we’re all in this together’ side of the creative process! I’ve also been curious about ‘real life’ writers’ groups, where you actually meet face to face with your compadres. My friend Susannah tracked one down and on Thursday night we went along to see what was what.

Hmmmmm… T’was an experience to be sure, but not quite what we were after. It was a little bit ‘blue rinse’ to be honest, with S and I feeling rather watched, as if to see what ‘the youngsters’ would do next. When we spoke eloquent sense it possibly came as a surprise, and we were crowded and manhandled by a somewhat overbearing Fleet Street sports reporter. The best laid plans and all that…

So we’re back to the drawing board on that one: Desperately seeking young, vibrant writers’ group! There is however the possibility that S has found us a book club to join – she’s working well! We shall find out in a couple of weeks if that too is overly cobwebby and crusty for our tastes, but until then I’ll endeavour to be optimistic.

Agents and actoring

So, let me tell you a little about a project I hope to be undertaking next year. My good friend Jackie (Jak) and I are members of a local theatre. We met several years ago when we acted together in an uplifting and joyful (can you hear the sarcasm?) one act play about suicide called 4:48 Psychosis (written by Sarah Kane should you feel inclined to read it). We weren't put off and between us we've been in many other plays since then.

After the final performance of a play I was in last October, it was suggested to me by a fellow cast member that I consider directing something. Daunted about taking on such a task on my own, I suggested to Jak that we do it together and, fortunately, she thought that was a good plan. We had talked about doing something two or three years ago, but were never quite brave enough to do anything more than discuss what a good idea it would be.

So having decided this time to go for it, we spent quite a bit of time reading and researching plays we may like to direct (any with roles in that either she or I would want to play were summarily dismissed), and we finally settled on one with an enormous all-male cast of two. We presented it to the artistic planning group at the theatre and were shortlisted - very exciting.

On Sunday just gone we were invited back to give a second presentation, and although we haven't been given an official thumbs up yet, I think it's in the bag. Not wanting to tempt fate completely though, I shan't unveil any further details on our chosen production until I have something in writing!

On a different note entirely, I follow a blog by a literary agent called Nathan Bransford - I'm new to it so still discovering things about it. I found out yesterday that every week he does a critique of a follower's first page. As far as I can tell it's on a first posted, first served basis. Even if you don't get your post on in time, his critique and red line of the successful person's work is incredibly useful.

Also, I'm currently reading a book by an agent called Noah Lukeman called The First Five Pages. If you haven't discovered this book - go on to Amazon and get it now, it's fantastic! (Or Waterstones, as, at the time of writing, it's on offer with them.) He basically tells you, step by step, the cardinal sins that will ensure your work ends up in the agent's bin, rather than on his 'to call immediately' pile. He also gives you exercises to apply to your work, in order to correct any problems that may stand between you and an agent reading it. He's done a couple of other books too - The Plot Thickens and The Art of Punctuation. I haven't read them yet, but if Five Pages is anything to go by, they'll be equally interesting.

Bodies on the roof

My friend Susannah and I went to the Antony Gormley exhibition yesterday at the De La Warr Pavilion in Bexhill. We went twice, once in the morning and once in the afternoon. 'But why?' I hear you cry. Well, the exhibition is on the roof, so we wanted to see it in different lights. The roof of the Pavilion is an amazing venue, with the sea providing a beautiful backdrop. The exhibit was unusual and had the sun not been so bright and the sky not been so blue, it may have been eery. As it was, it was bizarre but interesting to be surrounded by casts of the artist in various postures.

Other things that happened yesterday: An entire, lovely day spent with a new friend (aces); an extremely low flyby from a military helicopter; impressive sunburn; a laryngitis diagnosis (rubbish).

Hello, good evening and welcome

Well, I have set up my blog. Here it is. Pretty innit?

I have spent today in the throes of task avoidance, with a manuscript (unfortunately not mine) to proof, and a final assignment for my course to be edited. Instead, I went into town and bought some boxes to organise things in, some new photo albums (2 for 1 so obviously irresistable), and a large bag of Doritos. All important things, I'm sure you'll agree.

But this afternoon I did eventually knuckle down and edit my assignment. I had to cut vast amounts to fit the word limit so I imagine my plot line is now reminiscent of a leaky seive, but nonetheless, it is done. Still a couple of weeks till it's due in so I can look at it again next week and grapple with it some more. The manuscript will have to wait until tomorrow as my head is full of cold and I've had enough now. Spending money I don't have earlier took it out of me and I need a lie down. And I might do some knitting. Yes, I knit, what of it? Don't judge me.

Fred is calling, it's tea time and I am being an unfit mother by ignoring him. I must be off to fulfil my maternal duty before he jabs  me with one of his pin-like claws.