Decision Time

Should I? Shouldn't I? Should I? Shouldn't I? (go on the treadmill when I've got a stinking cold)? No, of course not. Surely this calls for a day of pampering myself. Stay in, laze about, drink orange juice, read a bit, have a sleep . . . Or am I a wimp?

Seeking confirmation of my hypothesis that 'Exercising with a cold is unsafe' I looked it up on several Internet sites. Oh dear, the general consensus of expert (well what do they know?) opinion seems to be it's okay to do mild to moderate exercise if your cold is 'above your neck'. So just a runny nose, congestion and sneezing shouldn't be used as an excuse. Yes, well... I expect those who wrote this are younger and fitter than I am. They'd probably say don't let not being able to breathe make you think you've got a good excuse for not trying to exercise.

Well, here I am in my tracksuit bottoms and trainers, wondering what I should do. If I don't sneeze again in the next five - ten - fifteen (or perhaps I'll make it twenty) minutes, then I will do it.

But why does the name Jim Fix keep coming to my mind? Who was he?

Swear Box

A sweet old lady in her nineties, whom Ian regularly visits, gave him this pink piggy money box as a present. About an hour ago he announced that he will use it as a swear box. Each time he swears he has to put a pound in it. When full, the money will go to a charity (which one is still to be decided).

It wasn't long before the first pound went inside. I was questioning him about something I disagreed with, and he told me to stop asking b... stupid questions. The second pound had to go in not long after the first. He was asleep on the sofa and I looked up my book ranking on Amazon. 'Ooh, it's sold one today!' I yelled, jolting him into the land of the living and out he came with another swear word.

If he carries on swearing at this rate it will soon be full. He says I'm purposely antagonising him into swearing. (No, I'm not, says I innocently. Come on, Ian, you can't blame me. You're not a puppet.) I've decided not to join him in this particular fund raising for charity venture. It's not that I swear a lot normally. Actually I swear very little, but if I start thinking about it and trying not to, then I'm sure the words will just come out.

So I'll leave this one to him and see how he gets on. Watch this space.

Fitness

We've just been out and done it. Not only talked about it but done it. Ordered a treadmill to put in the conservatory. So in future when I go into the conservatory alone, with my sixties and seventies songs to reminisce to, instead of sitting on my fat backside and drinking too many G & Ts, I can be doing something positive and healthy (ooh, where's my halo?). No excuses now for not doing at least a bit of exercise every day whatever the weather.

This is a short posting as I'm in a rush now. We're going out to see some friends for mulled wine and mince pies.

Normal blog service will be resumed as soon as possible.

Busy, busy, busy

Busy, busy, busy. And now the manuscript of my novel is almost completed. Time soon to celebrate finishing it. But I think I might have a problem. It's a novel for adults with a teenage protagonist. Googling just brings up YA for novels with teenage protagonists. Is it that adults tend to want adult main characters, and only teenagers want teenagers? Can't a novel with (dare I use the phrase?) 'coming-of-age' themes be of interest to adults and not be aimed at the Young Adult market?

I suppose it's a bit late for me to be wondering about this now. Why didn't I think about 'The Market' before I started writing it? Well, I did. I felt I was writing for adults but through the eyes of a teenager. Was I naive?

Go for it!

I seem to have embarked on a new career as a speaker. Wot? Moi! No sooner have I finishing giving a talk I've to start preparing another. At each talk there is usually one person in the audience who asks me afterwards if I will do a talk at their organisation. I must be doing something right. Great! I'm not saying this to brag. It's just that I've had so much trouble with shyness in the past that I can't help feeling flushed with pleasure each time I manage to come over as a competent and confident speaker.

It makes me wonder how many other things I've been held back from attempting in the past with thinking 'I can't do it. I'm simply not the kind of person who can do...' I suppose that's not a bad thing if it's informed by a heavy dose of realistic self-awareness. I mean, if I'd had the confidence to get up onto a stage and sing, it doesn't mean I should have done that. I really can't sing a note in tune. X-factor here I come - I think not! But, singing apart, perhaps there's a lot of things that maybe, just maybe, I could have done. If only I'd realised that years ago!

Twitter

I held out against it for so long. How can I find time to Twitter when I can't find time to write? Facebook is bad enough, the way it sucks me in and has me messing about on it when I've too much to do. So, no, of course I'm not going to sign up for Twitter. 'Oh yes you are,' said the pantomime baddie. Oh no I'm not.

But . . . I got curious. Was I missing out on something? I found some really helpful postings about Twitter in Nicola Morgan's blog archive. I printed out her instructions on how to get started - purely out of interest of course. Well, I suppose I could open an account just to try it, couldn't I? That was it. Hooked.

I'm just lurking there now. I'm not going to start spending too much time up that tree. I'm going to be, oh, so sensible. Until I have made satisfactory progress with my novel you won't hear a tweet out of me. And I'll wait until I've halved my 'To Do' list. Only then will I deserve to give myself a tweet (okay, that last joke is badly in need of a 'corn' plaster).

O be joyful at the Ilkley Literature Festival

As usual, the Ilkley Literature Festival has been full of sparkling events. I was thrilled to be able to participate this year. We had our event last night at the Ilkley Playhouse, ‘we’ being myself and the Leeds Survivors Poetry Group. I did a talk and readings from ‘The Dark Threads’ for the first half of the session, and then five members of the poetry group read out two of their poems in turn. Ian my husband was, as always, a brilliant support and I love him lots. He sat at the back of the theatre, manning the bookstall.

My book is obviously about a difficult and painful time in my life. What happened to me, and to many others, was wrong. I wanted to write a serious book with a serious message, and I believe I have done. However, without downplaying this, it seemed appropriate on this occasion to focus mainly on humour and hope. Most of the extracts I chose showed the courage and strengths of the patients I used to know, many of whom had a great sense of humour despite the often immense difficulties in their lives.

I must have changed a lot because I didn’t feel scared to death as I stood on the stage behind a lectern with a microphone. I’m not used to a microphone and it was interesting to do my parrot impersonation into it (not good for my throat though – think I need a Strepsil).

Here’s an extract from ‘The Dark Threads’ in fondest memory of Popsy:

Even the hospital parrot had a sense of humour. In part of the grounds surrounding the hospital there was a small aviary which housed, among other birds, Popsy the parrot whose party piece was to say ‘O be joyful’ to the watching groups of depressed patients.

‘O be joyful,’ Popsy said as Georgina stuck her face near the mesh to get a closer look.

‘Don’t you “O be joyful” me,’ Georgina said crossly.

‘O be joyful. O be joyful. O be joyful,’ the parrot squawked, running backwards and forwards along its perch.

‘You horrible creature. I’ll wring your neck if you don’t shut up,’ Georgina said, sounding as if she meant it, but then she turned to me with a smile. ‘Oh, listen to me arguing with a bloody parrot. I’m so miserable and bad-tempered today, I don’t know what to do.’

‘What to do? What to do? O be joyful,’ the parrot suggested.