old book, new book and summer mists.

It's that time already, when I check my blog and think whoops, left it too long. Don't look at me like that, you have no idea how busy I've been. Thinking, worrying, frustrating, and that's just about which brand of beans to buy. Anyway, things are moving with Anthem for Jackson Dawes, which comes out in January, I'm shockingly delighted to say, and just a tad tingly about. The road has been busy of late with the traffic of copy editing, details to address, long phone calls between here and London, little changes, bigger changes, relief at nothing to change too much and just yesterday, hopefully putting it to bed, letting it sleep and wake up in a cover and binding in 2013. Perhaps a premature dream but I can own my dreams and have them when I like. Erm. Think so anyway. Speaking of which, I have a dream for novel number 2 which plagues me day and night, which makes dull wallpaper of the rest of the world and its troubles, and which is boiling away inside the pressure cooker that is me. I've sent off the idea and a few extracts and though it would be silly to hold my breath or hang on by the fingernails till the decision is made, that's what I'm doing, metaphorically.  What a delicious agony, a lovely dilemma to be in. At least that's what I tell myself. Others might say, get yourself a proper job, woman, and stop wandering around in the mist. But no. I like the mist. It's there for a purpose. I like the moo of fog horns at night and clang of the bell on the buoy. And when it all clears I can start. Just waiting, poised, for the sun to burn it all away. Keep tuned.

spinning

What a lot going on! I can't move for spinning. Recording the band, a couple of songs a week, which mean the kitchen's taken over, once again, by amps and wires and now a sound engineer; and coffee pots and meals for rounded carnivores and stick-like vegans (there's possibly something in that, but I'm not giving up dead fauna just so that I can look like a wire) and we now have a cat flap. Don't ask. Cats are not welcome in our house, they eat birds and cause allergies to those nearest and dearest to me, but it is to do with music. And multi cores. Meanwhile I'm researching pits, ponies and Flanders' fields, hoping that we can come to some agreement on which book I should write as novel number two. Meanwhile novel number one is being copy edited. Soon, oh let it be soon, we'll be looking at book covers. Whoopee! Excited? Me? Hold me down with a pitchfork before I fly away on it! Meanwhile the magazine I write for has been bitten by the financial situation and so we have to take a cut for our stories. Heck. Come on you money-laden people in high finance/high government give us a break. Off to flex some muscle at the gym, chisel off a few kilos and think about more important things in life, like babies.

Hot Aitch two oh

Water. Hot. Hotter than ever. Brilliant.
One happy dude.

hot water

So it's been a month. No hot water from tap. A whole month. The plumber came, it was a Saturday, and what a comedian. Really. No sweat. Perhaps if it had been a hot day and my water was running hot etc there might have been a few trickles. But no. The other plumber removed the wrong bit. It was white and rubbery. He should have removed the solid metal thingy. The one pointed out to me, twice, by the comedian. So he's coming back. With his mate. To do this two man job of removing a thing which is not white and rubbery (new one on order) but the metal thingy. Oh, and they're bringing a bag of sand and cement to fill in the hole. Not that they're meant to, but, hey, we've been without hot water for a month, so plumber says we've been mucked about enough.
You think??????
Be nice. Make tea. With sugar. They all take sugar.
Hey ho once more.

If I could only have some hot water

My kitchen is FULL of amps, guitars and drums, coils of wire and tangles of wire, as we try to re-organise the music room, the rehearsal room, the room with so many years of dust, beer stains and coffee spills. Notice the beer never gets spilled... Great vats of soup for the workers (i.e various band members from various bands who can turn their hand to carpentry and heaving heavy equipment) and various drop ins, long haired drummer, round guitarists etc friendly birds of prey ready to rescue anything we're chucking out, and our lovely Alan doing the electrics, all delighted at soup and bread and freebies. Pandeflippymonium!

And, the water heater by sink has been broken for weeks. Had engineer in twice. He’s coming back today. He’s never seen one of these machines before… He gets the hot water going and it runs really well. He turns off the tap, I sign a thingy and out he goes. Ten minutes later I turn on the tap and no hot water…
Today I’ll lead him through the maze of musical/sound stuff and MAKE HIM HAVE A CUP OF TEA (white, lots of sugar, no doubt) and then try the tap again. To prove that it's not the way I do it. Is it?
Hey ho.

Got a bouzouki to try out. It's sitting on the kitchen table and now and then I get it out have a strum and put it back. Words and airs keep floating through my head. And just now, I read a poem written by a Padre, during the war. It's not a famous poem, it's possibly even twee, but I tell you what... it made me cry.

Off to the gym.

Alice and

My friend Alice has just eaten a chocolate covered ant. How's about that for bravery above and beyond the call! Surely deserving of an 'I've eaten a chocolate covered ant, bet you haven't' medal. She is the bravest person I know. Apart from Colin, but then he's eaten half a sheep head in a restaurant in Cyprus; tripe soup which smelt like sewage at a pow-wow in Manitoba and maggot in barbecue sauce (part of this rather odd present we were given - Christmas creepy crawlies encrusted in chocolate or salt or something) given us by a friend who is now definitely not a friend, I'll see to that...
When I discovered what I was eating, thinking it a chocolate covered coffee bean and wondering if I'd ever sleep again, I spat the whole lot out and was picking pieces of ant legs from between my teeth for what seemed like hours. At least I'm convinced they were ant legs. Crispy ones. Someone out there, who will claim to know better, is sure to tell me otherwise but I won't believe that it was just a sugar casing, which only looked like ant legs.
I told Alice my story and still she thought it would be good to try it.
Mind you, we did have ready a glass of wine, just in case it was too horrible for words, a willing hand to waft her face in case she fainted and some resuscitation equipment (erm... more wine...) because, well, you just never know do you?
As it happens, Alice did have a mouthful of wine straight after eating the ant, so perhaps it wasn't the most wonderful experience, but there was no shrieking or spitting out, no hysterics, nothing to suggest she hated the idea. So yes, pin that medal on her chest.
Not sure if she just swallowed it or crunched it though.
Hmmm.
Let's hold that medal until this has been thoroughly investigated.

jingle jangle bell time

Is it that time already? Christmas upon us once more and only just hanging witch catchers or preventers or whatever they're called on the tree. (Baubles to those who aren't in the know.) Does anyone out there really know anything about the witch and the bauble thing? Let me know ASAP. Anyway, the tree is now full of glitz and smells of forests and stands like a rather large green brush which has just cleaned out a bottle full of light and colour and pine wood sap. It's in the corner by the fire. A Victorian Christmas card scene. Actually it's hiding the mess that sits on the shelves and which suffers an occasional dusting, an occasional sorting and culling, but never looks any different How is that? Answers please.
Well, it seems that at least with Alice and me, Franco-English relations are fine and dandy, no matter what David C. tries to do to stymie it things. In answer to Alice's question (see post -oh how wonderful that feels to be able to write that. Take note everyone who might be toying with the idea of saying hello...all is forgiven...) my manuscript has already done the Frankfurt thing, I believe. What actually happens there is mystery to me, but it's been there done that and if books can get T shirts then it has one of those too, and will be published in Berlin apparently. So brushing up on the few words I have in teh lingo, just in case. So there it is. Maybe soon we'll have a book cover to show everyone. We have a title but until the cover is sorted I'm keeping it to myself. Who knows what might happen if I give the game away too early. Happy Christmas to you all. And to the person who will no doubt come to my door selling yellow dusting cloths and gadgets to clean the inside and outside of my windows both at the same time. Which is remarkable.