End as you mean to go on. Or should that be start? We’re on the edge of 2011, staring down the barrel of 2012. I’m wrapping up this mad, tangled year with a cup of tea and a seat by the fire, basking in the glow of twenty-one successful eBay listings and the wonderful news that one of my poems has been published in the latest issue of Railroad. It’s a good way to wrap up 2011, and before I look ahead I would like to look back at everything else that’s occurred.

2011 was the year I…

…left the country.

At the end of February, after months of planning, I quit my job in the bookshop and travelled across the United States. They were the best weeks of my life. I cannot understate my gratitude and love for the people I met, the friends I made, lessons learned and experiences enjoyed. I wish I could do it all again only this time without it ending. Relive my USA adventure: here, here , here and here.

…recorded an audiobook.

Marley is probably the hardest working person I know. He keeps an eye on us unruly artists with his production company, Naplew Productions, and seems to have an endless supply of creative projects and brilliant ideas. I love him and loved working with him on the Fight the Sky audiobook, the making of which almost killed me, but I do adore the end result. Have you downloaded it yet? Have you laughed at my pitiful croaking towards the end?

…released Revolve.

2010 was all about my short stories collection. This year I released a second book under the Painting Lies imprint, a poetry collection called Revolve. It collects together pieces from 2004, right up to my return from America at the start of this year. I’m proud of it. Poetry is personal and it can be daunting to “get it out there” and into people’s hands, but I’ve managed it with this little book. I was also thrilled that the GoodReads promotional giveaway attracted over 700 entries from around the world. Still waiting on that first Amazon review, though…

…lived in a tent.

Between May and mid-October I lived in a tent in The Netherlands, working for a holiday company. I did this because I wanted to try something new, and also because I wanted the experience of working abroad. It was testing and an emotional drain at times, but I’m glad I did it. I met some wonderful people, got really into baking and fell head over heels in love with Holland. It’s best summed up by the poem I wrote, All Roads Lead To Duinhell.

…made a comeback.

After moving back to England, I went back from whence I came (for a short time, at least). I got a temporary position at the bookshop again. I sold a few books, found a few familiar, friendly faces, and slipped back into the routine of Wake, Work, Curse The Rail Service, Repeat.

…finished a novel.

I started writing a story, Doors, in May 2010, after Fight the Sky was published. I took it seriously then and still do now. On New Year’s Eve 2010 I completed the first draft, and have spent all of 2011 re-drafting and crafting it into something nigh on presentable. I’m happy with it and plan to publish it in the summer, if all goes to plan…

…started a new novel.

In November I set my heart on a follow-up to Doors. This will conclude the overall story, and kiss goodbye to another chapter of my life. For now, I’m calling this second novel Flipside. It’s still early days but it’s good to have that first draft creativity flowing again.

…lived alone.

Two days after returning from Holland, I moved into my own place. I’m in love with the solitude and can’t complain for all the space and opportunity I have to write, which is really all I’ve ever wanted to do. I know I can’t keep it forever, so I’m going to enjoy Solo Life while it lasts, and get as much out of it as possible. The day will come when I have to force my infurirating habits and obsessive behaviours on other human beings again, so we all might as well enjoy the peace for the time being.

…walked away.

There have been no specific confrontations, but I’ve walked away from many situations this year. I have no interest in struggling over things, or fretting, or worrying who or what or when I’ve caused an upset. At the beginning of 2011 I decided to Just Roll With It, and it’s a philosophy I can see myself sticking with. No arguments, no unnecessary emotion, no chasing after people or letting myself get hurt. Just pick yourself up and get on with it. Walk away if you have to. And if you can mend it later, try.

2012 is the year I will…

…try veganism.

I’ve been harking on about this for a few years now, and this time I mean to try. Since moving back to England I’ve been gradually removing dairy from my diet, and I think I’ll do okay. I can give this a decent chance. If It doesn’t work for me, I’ll be able to say I gave it serious effort. Here goes nothin’.

…publish a(nother) book.

Doors is coming. I want the second half ready by the end of the year. Push push push yourself apply apply apply and make somebody take notice.

…spread the word rather thin.

I will enter writing competitions (even the ones there is no hope of winning), I will find a writing group, I will talk to more writers, I will Get Myself Out There, I will try and I will believe. I will be nice. And most importantly, I will enjoy.

…study.

There’s a small plan forming, involving a course in the spring, and if all goes well, another in the summer. I don’t know what will come of it so I’m saying nothing more for now, in case it never happens. But I know self-improvement is an on going, wondrous thing that doesn’t come easy, so I’m taking steps over the next twelve months to progress myself further. There is always something you can be better at.

I’m looking forward to reading everybody’s hopes and resolutions for the New Year. I hope everybody enters it happy and achieves what they set out to. And hey, if the world’s still around at the close, maybe we can have this conversation again.

Here are a few overused and meaningless words I despise:

~*Fabulous*~
Festive
Fresh
Free
Fierce

Why do they all begin with F? It makes my blood boil that anything remotely feminine deemed worthy for advertisement is either fabulous or glamorous or drowning in sequins. Festive is so liberally applied to anything within five metres of a string of tinsel that it now looks wrong when applied to any other occasion, such as Hallowe’en or Easter. There is so much emphasis on food being quality and fresh when really, there is nothing fresh about Subway. The salad comes out of a bag. There ain’t nothin’ fresh about Greggs sausage rolls or pizza slices from Ditsch or pretzels or donuts or milkshakes. Stop cramming such processed twice-digested rubbish down my throat – I know what it is, it is junk! And free? Don’t make me choke. If everything claiming to be interest free or free for the first year or available now with a free digital copy or 100% extra free was actually all it was cracked up to be, we’d all be living extravagant lives without spending a dime. It’s only free if I sign my income away for the next five years or consent to buying a box three times the size I usually do or immerse myself in an embarrassing amount of debt to a company of loan sharks interested only in finishing me off. See what I did there? FINishing me off? WOW YES. What a fierce thing to say. I am actually growling ferociously as I type this, fingernails filed down to points, my remaining teeth grinding against each other in a maddened mash of filling. I mean feeling. If that doesn’t get you cavitating, I don’t know what will.

There are underused words out there deserving of love. Ones beginning with F, such as FROLIC and FRENZY and FASTIDIOUS. I am also partial to the occasional utterance of FARCICAL, which sums up the mood.

It’s been lovely to have the rabbits around for Christmas. They don’t live with me so I see them when I go to my mum’s, which isn’t all that often. Christmas has been the perfect excuse to hassle them and stuff myself with good food at the same time. I have heard all about their most recent bad behaviours – Jaster helping himself to an apple, covering himself in sawdust, playing dead on the new upstairs landing carpet and thus transforming himself into an unavoidable tripping hazard, sitting in a wheelbarrow with Chip and refusing to budge, looking like lords of their own sad little kingdom of grass cuttings. Oh, to be a rabbit without rule or reason.

I didn’t sleep well on Christmas Eve. I wish I could say it was down to excitement. I think six days of book-related retail mania at work killed off bits of my soul. I got up at sevenish on Christmas Day and unwrapped a few books, mugs and bits of baking paraphenalia which I will happily put to use in the New Year. Sue and Jack did likewise; I haven’t seen much of the latter, probably owing to the fact that he now has Uncharted 3 to distract himself with. Not the kind of game you ignore!

We prepared dinner at my flat – I quickly made a round of shortbread to take back with us (YES IT WAS FRESH), and Sue started on the creme brulée. After returning to my mum’s I got started on my lovely hardback edition of Wuthering Heights and finally watched the first two episodes of Game of Thrones. Jaime doesn’t look like Jaime, I don’t like the actress playing Cersei, Jon Snow and Robb Stark look far too old, Daenarys is annoying, the direwolves are too cute, Cat has no majesty about her…but Arya is spot on, Viserys is perfect, Sean Bean is Sean Bean is The Best. So it let me down and spurred me on to pre-order the boxset, all in the space of two hours and an overdose of lengthy commercial breaks. What an emotional whirlwind.

Today we ventured into town for a walk…there were too many sale-faced bag-wielding nutters about for my liking. Sue managed to lose her bank card, and I found a nice green cardigan in Topshop to go with all my other nice green cardigans I coo over and never wear. Useful. Now I’m strapped to the settee once again, ready to watch The Borrowers with hot drink in hand and an empty head. I’m not ready for work tomorrow, but I don’t suppose any of us are ready for work. Work is something that follows you down dark alleys and looks over your shoulder when you’re desperate for privacy. Work is a life-long Nosy Parker you can only deter with carefully acquired Impossible Wealth, or a fortunate yet non-fatal injury resulting in Accidental Yet Still Welcome Impossible Wealth. How fabulous.

Burnt Sugar

Ripped paper in the morning,
burnt the sugar just past four -
now I’m sprawling, warm and yawning
thinkin there aint nothin more
I could ask of Now, this day.
Disconnected by choice,
waking only to say I am
rested, I declare myself bested by
all the festivities, the
collected best restive
you requested of me.
I have switched off the phone and
the box remains black,
finished dinner then dessert, said
Good Day to the jack of all trades
what’s gone his own Christmas Way.
The woman here is peaceful,
sits still for a change.
Watchin lights nest in branches,
knowing now it is strange to
chop trees then dress them up in this way.
Tradition I bow to ‘cos it don’t hurt and
I care not for disruption today.
I ask only to be left on my own
for this minute, the moment
containing me in it, it takes all
my restraint not to say nothin.
It feels good just to know I’m not running
for a change. Tomorrow we can stir again,
ready for a new year
what’s winging our way.
But today I aint movin or kicking,
just lickin warm custard from my spoon,
passing time without purpose,
goin nowhere
in the very best way.

25.12.2011

To take my mind off the grind, I had a think about the things I depend upon. We get told that material possessions are evil and that greed will kill us all, which I’m sure is true. Still, it’s nice to find meaning in objects. They don’t even have to be terribly expensive to be lovely. Here are a few of my treasures.

What crowds my desk

I have two working typewriters, both salvaged from the wasteland of second-hand neglect, and I love them. They’re old, loud and redundant. To me they mean progress – I sat and transcribed the first draft of Doors on the one pictured here, turning it from a mess of handwritten notes into a coherent narrative. Every heavy clack of the keys says I’m getting somewhere.

What drips from my head

It’s nice to see my own books, whether in a bookshop, on a website, or in somebody’s hands. Seeing the spare copies and proofs I have lined up on my desk reminds me of the hard work I’ve done so far, and how much further there is still to go until I do my imagination justice. I have become one of those people incapable of rest.

What gets me thinking

My complete works of Shakespeare (I have more than one edition, but this is the prettiest) was found in a charity shop for next to nothing. Never say no to such finds – how somebody could part with it I’ll never know. I do not ever intend to. Next to it is my 209-year-old copy of A Winter’s Tale, because it is the oldest thing I own. I paid 50p for it in Hay-on-Wye. It pays to seek out the crumbling relics hidden in shop corners, sometimes.

What I come wrapped in

I’d never claim to be fashionable, but like any girl, I love my wardrobe. Fuck Narnia, get me a direct route to Topshop and I’d be quite happy! I have favourite things which I wear to death, like the vintage knee-high boots I bought from Camden Town all those years ago, or the flowery Republic dress that gets me through most debauched nights. Familiar clothes are comfort. Never be afraid to wear the same thing twice ninety thousand times.

What covers my ears

Can you call hair a possession? Well, I just did. Maybe mine’s more of a feature. Whatever it is, red is my favourite colour, and the one I think suits me best. Bright, dark, up, down, straight, curled, wavy, knotted from a long night without a comb. My hair says a lot about my personality. It’s loud, a tangled mess, tough to ignore and will not do as it is told.

What lurks in the cupboard

Ingredients are strange bits and pieces that make beautiful cakes, or granola, or savoury dishes, or pie. Mostly cakes, though, if you’re round at my place. The alchemy of food is magic. Over this past year I’ve learnt to enjoy cooking for myself, and baking for others. It’s a true pleasure.

What my eyes are glued to

I’ve grown up playing video games. I have all the time in the world for them and no time for people who blame them for awful children and their occasional lapses into psychotic behaviour. My PS3 (and PS2, DS, Megadrive, Gameboy, etc…) is entertainment, gateway to other worlds. Ones usually filled with CGI Asian pretty boys, and days’ worth of headaches and level building. Love it.

What fills my shelves

I really need to get a goddamn bookcase. Good grief. Books are precious to me, as they are to most everyone. Words are powerful weapons, whether ones used for ill-gain or comfort. Stack your books high and appreciate the fact that you can read, that others write, and that so many unbelievable thoughts have already been put to paper.

What takes me places

If you’d told me this time last year that I’d end 2011 in love with a kids’ bike with bright pink wheels, I would’ve told you to fuck right off. Alas, here we are. The Stycle is still off-road on account of it being an embarrassment (see also: dodgy brakes, even dodgier gears, crooked handlebars and a wonky front wheel), but I can’t wait to get it back. Just a shame Britain doesn’t have as excellent a cycle lane system as Holland. I miss long bike rides to Leiden.

What aches at the end of the day

The last on this list must be these unsightly things. Feet, my friend, feet! How many places have they taken me this year alone? Across continents and beaches, up and down the same stairs each day, across the road outside my home. Still so many places left to go. One of my favourite things to do, if I’m restless or stressed, is to put my headphones on and walk, lost in thought. If you asked me to choose between cutting my arms off or my legs, I’d go for the arms and hope I could learn to write with a pen between my teeth, because really, I would miss walking all too much.

I’m going with King’s novel first, of course, but I’m eager to read Inheritance. I haven’t looked yet but I’m hoping there’s an introductory chapter recapping what went on in the prior novels. It’s been so damn long since I read them that I really won’t have a clue what’s going on otherwise. I remember not enjoying Brisingr, but maybe Paolini’s improved since then. Or his editors have woken up. If it’s a bad book, at least I’ll be able to laugh at it. I feel hypocritical, seeing how I based a module of university work on Paolini’s blatant Tolkien-worship, but I feel like I need to read it, see how the whole shin-dig ends. I’ve seen Star Wars, though, so if I just chuck in a couple of dragons and go easy on the Death Stars, I could probably figure it out for myself.

This week’s baked goods consist of scrumptious slices filled with raspberries, fresh lemon juice and almonds (I wanted to give them a catchy name, but can’t think of any decent alternatives for tangy, a word I don’t much like), and crumbly shortbread. I couldn’t resist a piece of the latter straight out of the oven…God, I do love me some warm shortbread.

I’ve been feeling quite reflective for the past few days. The 8th was the anniversy of Anno Birkin’s death. I felt sad, but obviously on a different level from what his family would be feeling. I just think talent can be such a curse, along with potential. You will always wonder what could have been when you should focus on what’s been achieved already. He did enough, more than enough for me. I wouldn’t write and want to be a better writer if I hadn’t found his poetry and music. Maybe he would have progressed and become even better, but that shouldn’t matter. What he left was enough to start something, and I’m sure I’m not alone in having him to thank for that.

Anno’s Journey

Watching water drip down windows,
wondering where his thoughts lie, if anywhere,
in which direction they fly.
Didn’t see your soul soar overhead,
sad fact I’m too taken
with the tangled yarn in my head;
many minutes gone this morning
before I remembered you, dead.
Not gone, no,
not yet.
If we remember
there’s no time to forget
or regret minutes spent
on the edge of your tongue,
ink in your pen
a steady stream of intent.
You made a journey
and I make one tonight,
in your stead.
To where you went,
or the streets I know well,
ones I’ll walk in the morning
when dawn is
still only a rumour.
Humour me, boy,
tell me there’s life at the end;
tell me dreams are not wasted,
that hoping hearts might transcend
and with imagination I’ll fly
for an indeterminable time
with you, supernova,
crashing back to earth by my side.
I could forget mortal men
if I knew you again,
in the next life.
The heart tells me
your journey’s not done yet,
not by some miles.
I hope heart is right.
Turn my head from him,
back to you and your words,
hums of youth
and a promise of pathways.
I’ll pick a pencil to
scrawl like a spider down margins,
fill pages with hard lines,
know it’s you
I’ll be reaching for at
the end of my days.

Doors is going well. I’m on page 190, editing chapitre 78 (though they’re not really chapters - some are only a few lines in length), organising the printing and binding of manuscripts. I’ve got a new extract to share but I’ll save it for the weekend. I’m going to have a stab at a cover letter some point soon, whenever I remember. I’ve also got a couple of reference books from the library to aid me in my editing. Hopefully Alex will agree to proof read again, he did such a good job with Revolve. Fingers crossed! Everybody’s always so busy, me included. I wish this was my full-time job, with all of my heart. It’s the only thing I’m even remotely good at.

Apart from cake. Getting pretty nifty with the ol’ whisk, these days.

Anyway, my books have been selling well in recent weeks. There are copies to be shifted at Waterstone’s, but I’ve been monitoring at Amazon and they’ve been requesting new stock, so that’s positive. Reckon if I do a naked webcast or two, we might see a spike in my sales? You think I’m kidding.

Don’t think there’s much else to report at this point in time. I went to the dentist and for a change she didn’t want to rip teeth out of my head or stick needles in my gums, which was a pleasant surprise. Let’s end this with another poem, one I wrote some months ago but feel is more relevant now. I like it when you can create something with one person in mind, and even if that person becomes irrelevant, the writing can still apply to something else. Effort is rarely a waste of time.

Well-Spaced

I don’t think you mean it
you meant not a scratch
when you said you were sad
you were not,
but they said you were sad I
was gone, oh.
Did you say that?
Was it writ on your face
like bad lines on a postcard?
Wish I knew what to say
what to say to
you. I am glad you are far.
Stay from me, angel,
you’re trouble, I know.
It’s a good thing you’re gone.
Don’t know what was said
what to say to you.
Don’t know if there’s anything but
w h a t    d i d   y o u   m e a n   ?
and I don’t like the feeling
of drowning.
Listen through walls
to high voices, a bedlam
but I can’t pick
your sounds from the crowd.
Fine phrases I miss,
the awkward in you
and the fact that
I don’t know why
I care.
Long nights to fester the thought,
to imagine and
deny my own interest,
to admit I should know better
to accept I know nothing
except I wish
you were t h e r e .

This reminds me, I must record a reading of my Duinrell-related poem, and post that up next time. Another one for the weekend. Just got a few shifts of bookselling to make it through first…

Try not to lose sight of what inspires you. You might change, and grow, and move on, but remember that the flicker came to you once. Words that were powerful to you then are still magical now, if you read them the right way. People don’t stop being brilliant, they just forget how to show it.

Now darlin’, don’t you ever grow up.

Acorns hitting my tent wake me up every morning. I suppose there are worse ways to wake, but still. I’ve crushed loads of them under the wobbly wheels of my stycle, but there’s always more to be found…and branches to dodge. I was on my way to Leiden the other afternoon and a branch fell right out of a tree and into my arms. How safe.

It is precisely one month today until my job in Holland ends, and I ship myself back off to England. I want to bring my shameful excuse for a bike back with me, so Sue’s kindly offered to drive to Wassenaar so it can be brought back via ferry. On the 13th she’ll be here to help me spirit all my junk away, and by the next morning I’ll be back. Still nowhere to live and no job to return to, but it’s okay. Everything will sort itself out, and if it doesn’t, I’ll bury my head and pretend it ain’t happening.

A lot of the other couriers are leaving tomorrow, it’s sad. They’re all clearing out their tents to make way for the new team, who already know each other and are presumably staging a mass takeover…I’m sure it’s still going to be fun, but seeing as this will be the third new team, it’s a tiring prospect trying to fit in all over again. Never been much good at that, let’s face it. We’re having a final meal together tonight, then tomorrow, all change. Again. I’m sad to see everybody who was here to welcome me go home, but I’d like to think we can say in touch. That’s pretty much the kiss of death, right? Damn. I can console myself with the veggie curry Mike’s cooking tomorrow night. It’s gonna be good.

I’m looking forward to seeing my rabbits, getting back to the gym, going to Chiquito and eating garlic cheese tostadas until my stomach explodes, sitting in Royal London with friends and a cherry sourz with coke, finding out what they’ve been up to this summer. And then soon enough it’ll be Hallowe’en and I’ll make another unnecessarily time-consuming costume, and then it’ll be time to start thinking about Christmas, and before you know it this will all just be memory. I’m going to work hard at this last month and make sure every day’s a good memory. I’ve already got things to look forward to when this ends - a trip to Paris is booked for next year during the French Open, and if Nat sends me dates, I’m going to Japan to visit. I want to go back to America too, next year if possible. Now, to make it happen…

Can I say a big happy birthday to Harry Potter, what a guy! I am still waiting on my letter from Hogwarts. Any day now. Any day.

I’m still caught between love and loathing for this predicament I’m in. On one hand I enjoy the blurry days, late nights, living on coffee and whatever I can find, and on the other I hate the complete lack of sleep, the cold, the boredom. It’s all about finding moments, I guess, the ones you’ll keep hold of afterwards. 2am this very morning is one example – taking off our clothes, running down the beach and into the sea, singing the same line from a song over and over again until it’s lost all meaning. More moments could be made in a week or so, when four of us girls are planning to take a train to Paris for a couple of days. I’m still in love with Paris, I hope and pray we get there. Most of me will be tempted to not come back.

I got paid this week. The one extravagance will be Paris, and apart from that, I’m living as basically as possible. I’ve got to start thinking about England and where I might live when I get there. I’ve looked at a couple of studio apartments in Birmingham, which is the likeliest place to end up, but part of me’s tempted to try a brand new city. I don’t know. I just want to travel. I want to go to Japan then America, Italy and Mallorca. I hate that the only thing keeping you from doing what you love is little bits of paper with faces on. And if you want to get those pieces of paper, enough to be able to go everywhere, you have to kill yourself with effort. Well, that’s what it feels like to me. To some people it seems to just slot into place. Can we get a serving of luck over here, please?

My mind moves to Nat, who’s going to Japan to teach for a year. I’m proud and excited and envious all at once. I’m going to miss her so much, but we have Twitter, and I hope we keep sending each other letters. I’ve had letters from her and Nomes so far, not heard much from many others. The world moves on, I guess!

Anyway. I managed to see a couple of new places last week:

Delft is gorgeous. I’m going to go back on a sunny day with my proper camera (I took this with my BlackBerry) and take photos of all of the wonderful buildings. There’s a cafe there called Bagels & Beans that’s amazing.

I want to go back to Haarlem, too, even though I didn’t think the city centre was anything special. I didn’t get to go inside this magnificent cathedral, and I get the feeling it’s something that has to be seen.

Scheveningen is a nice beach town with a pier (complete with bungy tower) and plenty of bars to lounge around in. We cycled there through the sand dunes and just had a great afternoon on the beach, burying Mike. I also had a hot waffle with sugar…took me back to Bruges and the homemade waffle shop! If I get two consecutive days off in September, I’m considering a trip to Bruges. Why the hell not? In fact, I’m definitely doing it. Don’t stop me.

My next day off is Wednesday…I haven’t decided where to go yet. I’ll get up, go to Den Haag or Leiden depending on which way I walk out of the campsite, and get on a train. There’s a whole country out there and I want to see all that I can. Plus, it means I get to have Starbucks for breakfast…some things don’t change.

If we walk for forty minutes we can reach the local beach. Iona, Jack and myself cycled down there at half four in the morning one time, just to catch the sunrise.

Wassenaar has the necessary shops, such as a couple of supermarkets, a music shop, cafés and so on, but not much else. Luckily we’re situated between several of Holland’s cities, so it’s easy enough to jump on a bus on your day off and go somewhere. These are some of the places I go to when I get chance…

Leiden

A beautiful town filled with history and canals. Lovely. And they have Starbucks!!!

Den Haag

Probably my favourite city. It’s sprawling, has gorgeous architecture, tons to see and do…just watch out for the trams!

Amsterdam

The most infamous city in Holland, but if you look past the sleaze and haze of cannabis, you’ll actually find it’s a nice place to visit.

Rotterdam

I haven’t been up the [Euromast] yet, so I want to go back at least once more and do that, but what I’ve liked what I’ve seen of Rotterdam so far. As a city it’s quite spread out and very busy, the kind of place you need a whole day and lots of money to make the most of. A nice balance of historical and contemporary, though, and lots to see and do.

This little cupcake shop is amazing…what a wonderful job.

Before the season ends I’d like to go to Delft (POTTERY!), Gouda (CHEESE!), Zaanse Schans (WINDMILLS AND CLOGS!) and Eindhoven, though the latter’s further away. I’m enjoying being here. It’s very beautiful – West Midlands, take note.

There are a couple of things I miss about home…first thing that springs to mind is, of course, my previously strict ongoing surveillance of all things Rafael Nadal. I know he lost Wimbledon (Nole deserves it, the way he’s going this year) but can I just take a moment to say VAAAAMMMMOOOOSSSSS for that legendary sixth French Open title, which I wish I had witnessed, but delights me nonetheless. Let’s take a moment to appreciate this fine specimen of the human race:

Other things I’m missing…
- I suppose family and friends come into it somewhere.
- My rabbits. So very much.
- Having Heinz vegetable soup on tap.
- Proper English custard and proper English sponge cake.
- Fox’s crunch cream biscuits.
- My PS3! I forgot to even bring my DS or PSP out with me, what a pillock.
- All of the clothes I couldn’t fit in the case.
- Having an oven so I can bake whenever I feel like it.

Regarding the last point, I’ve been able to get a few things made. The cupcakes, of course, for Courier Christmas were the first, and I’ve since made a cheesecake which I managed not to take any pictures of. It was glorious, I assure you. Can’t forget about these beauties, either…

…looking good, right?! I want to attempt a jam tart at some point, if it ain’t too ambitious, and I’m also hoping to make a birthday cake for one of the girls. I’m starting to think I’m a project person, which I never saw myself as before. I always thought I was fine with drifting listlessly, just seeing where life takes me, but I’m thinking not. I’ve always known I’m driven, but this year I’m finding out just how far I take it sometimes. When my mind fixes on something I don’t seem able to stop until I get there, which could be useful considering what I aim to do with my writing. It’s good to dedicate yourself to every decision, which I do 100% when I decide what to bake, when I chose to quit my job and fly to America, when I say I’m going to find my own place when I get home and have a room just for books.

Oh yeah, I should probably elaborate on that. I’m not going back to my house, or at least I don’t plan to, unless I’m in a body bag. I don’t know how much money I have or how far I can get or even if I’ll get anywhere at all, but I’m going to try to find something that’s mine. It’s about time.

this post is brought to you by one hour’s worth of sleep.

I no longer work in that darned book shop…I will not miss offering the linksave. I will, however, miss the people there quite badly. Find a way to go on without me, guys~~~~~

If you’re bored (current browsing situation suggests you most certainly are) go to Google and type orange battered chips into the images search box. All out fuckery ensues:

Everybody I’ve told about this has laughed at me. At first I wasn’t sure whether to be embarrassed or defiantly proud, but after today’s happenings, I’ve settled on the latter. To tell this sorry tale, I will first share the story behind me making this terrible discovery in the first place. Orange battered chips are a staple of any self-respecting Wolverhampton-inhabiting humanoid’s diet; they may look frightening, but if you’ve grown up eating them every once in a while, it’s perfectly usual. Honest. Anyway my dearest Naomi told me she’d never tried them had in fact never heard of them DISGRACE I cried! Onto Google I went to track down a photograph of the rare delicacy so I could @reply to her on Twitter showing her what she has been missing out on for twenty-three years…and lo and behold, what do I find? A photograph of myself dressed as Poison Ivy, from last Halloween, sitting pretty in the top row. Y’WHAT? I cry. WHAT AM I DOING HERE? WHAT’S GOING ON?

…Turns out I mentioned chips in a blog I wrote around the time of the Halloween party, so, mystery solved. The story don’t finish here though, kiddo – today I took Naomi and Louise, both non-believers in the ways of the orange batter, into the chip shop on St. Anne’s Road that serves them up…and introduced them to the bright, perfectly healthy looking things. They liked them. We ate loads. I now live on in hope that one day I could perhaps be the number one search result for orange battered chips on Google Images, and not just number two. Will it help if I keep saying orange battered chips over and over and over again? orange battered chips orange battered chips orange battered chips orange you glad i didn’t say banana.

Fascinating.

Love is knowing that no matter how many “friends” you surround yourself with, there will always be those patient few who wait for you, the only ones that really care. This short, curly one just happens to linger on Asda carparks at 4am, wearing a transparent plastic poncho, bag of vegibo in hand. That funny lookin’ pop star might catch a grenade for ya, but she’d stay up ’til 6am for me, walking in the rain past Molineux with other enjoyable nutters. I know which I prefer. Thank you Nat, Lisa, Naomi, Stephen, Louise, Alex and Brett for a last night of Royal London and Babylon fun.

The past few days have involved lots of socialising and partying to make up for the fact that I’m buggering off to America for weeks upon weeks and will forget everybody’s ghastly faces. I can’t see everyone, but that’s okay. If I’ve missed you out I’ll just have to see you when I get back.

Everybody’s behaving like I’m not coming back. Some of the comments I’ve received have been downright funereal, grim stuff what would make Dani Filth proud. We all could kick the bucket at any moment, why focus on me and my harebrained escape plan? I’ll be back, pretty darling, and I still won’t be making any sense. In the meantime there will be blood/postcards.

We’ll shelve that thought and come back to it another time. Now, where were we? Ah yes, unemployment. I will enjoy the next few days of freedom before the flight. Tomorrow will involve early morning cake baking (coffee and walnut, want a slice?), lunch with Sue and Jack at Chiquito and, I am quite certain, several other classy scrapes I will talk myself into before I sleep.

Self-respect. Bottle it and sell me some.
Two wonderful photos stolen from friends to close:

Hairdressers

Can I start this off by saying NO OFFENCE, SOZ? No? Everybody knows a hairdresser, or somebody who wants to be one, or used to be one, or who is currently training to yield the honoured scissors…but no. I don’t believe that hairdressing is a skill or talent that one must study for. Some of us are good at wrapping presents but so far as I’m aware there is no need for a qualification in gift wrapping…yet. I’m probably wrong. Hairdressers are akin to unicorns in my mind: mythical creatures living in a forest somewhere, sippin’ on the ends of rainbows. Maybe the reason I don’t believe in them is because I haven’t been to see one for so long (I think I was 16 the last time I ventured through the doors). Maybe they were never there to begin with. Maybe, just maybe, I’m justified in saying that paying a human being anything over £10 to do something you can do to yourself for free is ridiculous. Goes for a lot of things in life, I suppose.

Microwaves

What a scary machine. It’s like a nuclear missile for your food. What’s wrong with waiting minutes more for it to cook in the oven? Is your life really so urgent and pressing? Are you really so bone idle? I used to eat microwave meals during my time at university, but since coming home I haven’t touched one, don’t own a machine and will never buy one. It tastes better if you stick it in the oven, anyway.

Forgiveness

This is where I start to sound hollow and dead inside. I believe in forgiving if you’re ready and willing, but I don’t believe in ‘letting it go’ for the sake of keeping the peace. That’s just as bad as picking a fight, sometimes. If you’re holding something against someone there’s usually a reason. Maybe you should stew on it like I do, becoming gradually more jaded as time goes by. Maybe we can be extremely angry together, you and I. I don’t think I could handle being completely happy…my best writing happens when I’m pissed off with something, or somebody, or myself. For art’s sake, and all that.

Apologies

I suppose this is related to the above. I tend to say sorry for every single little thing, like bumping into somebody in a shop, and I walk away and think “you know what, I ain’t sorry at all” – so why do I say it? It’s a knee-jerk reaction that’s just gotta stop, quite frankly. Because I’m not sorry in most situations I get myself into, and neither are you, so why lie? You don’t need to hear it and I rarely need to say it.

Coincidence

I always think about Signs, which is just about the only Shayamalan(?) film that I can cope with. “Do you see signs or do you see coincidences?” – I’ve never been a fan of the latter. I suppose this is where spiritual belief comes into effect, to some extent. If you believe in an ordered world, with reason and purpose, you might be more disposed to seeing signs everywhere, too. ‘Coincidence’, to me, is a cheap and convenient way of getting around what you can’t explain. I’m not saying I have a better explanation, but maybe it’s more than just chance? And maybe that’s okay?

Science

Don’t get me wrong, I accept that we breathe oxygen and that the sun is a swarming mass of hydrogen and that my body needs this, that and what-have-you to get by, because these are convenient little truths that make life easier, and I’ve been given no preferable alternative. But I don’t pin my hopes and dreams on science and equation. All scientists are human beings, and in the grand scheme of things, we probably don’t know very much at all. It’s often clever but it’s just like a pleasant  fireworks display to me. I appreciate the effort, and the results are often pleasing, but it’s all just sparks and sulphur. I can’t make myself interested in breakthrough.

Jargon

Has your manager ever reeled off a stream of nonsense at you, a verbal barrage so unnecessarily confusing that you’ve been left shaking in the corner, jabbering on about company hoohar and other such bullshit? Happens to us all. Jargon is another burden that modern language has to carry. If you’ve got news for me, tell it to me straight. Sometimes you just want a burger, without all the salad and dressing and mayonnaise and relish and onions and sesame seed bun and all else besides. KEEP IT SIMPLE, PEOPLE, IT’S GETTING RIDICULOUS.

The absence of manners

I do not think it impossible, nor indeed unreasonable, for any human being to be polite to another person. I will hold the door open for you if you are black, white, male, female, old, heavily pregnant, holding a can of cider, wearing an eyepatch or smelling of garlic. I don’t give a shit, I will hold that bleedin’ door til my hands fall off, because my mother taught me not to let it close in somebody’s face. I will say please and thank you whenever necessary. I will thank you when you let me cross the road (conversely I will swear at you if you drive by pretending not to see me, you twat – there’s no way you can’t see me standing on the curb with hair like this, don’t be ridiculous). I will be polite to you even though you might be a complete bastard to me, because I was raised to show respect, and because, at the end of the day, it will not kill me.

The future

Where will you be in five years? Do you want to get married and have kids? What are your job aspirations? Who do you most want to be like? Where do you want to take your next holiday? Why do you care? Why does it matter? Why are you so nosy? Why can’t you live in the moment and stop worrying about things that haven’t happened yet, and indeed may never happen at all? Why can’t we just try to be happy right now and stop ruining ourselves with all of these intrusive What Ifs and Why Nots? The future is coming a day at a time, and it will always come at that pace, so stop panicking. I want to enjoy myself every day, gosh darn the consequences, because for all I know I might not be here this time next week, and then what would I have worried for? The future is not a thing, it’s a possibility. Let it take you where it goes, see what happens.

Waiting

…and by this I simply mean that life goes fast, money doesn’t make me happy, I spend like it’s going outta fashion because whilst I’ve got it I might as well try to make myself and others happy with it…I don’t know. I try to live in the moment. Debt and stock markets and money just seem to fuck everything up and depress people. Money worries are like the mental equivalent of root canal surgery. You don’t have to be ignorant, but you could relax every now and again. And breathe.

“I believe in nothing but the beating of our hearts.”

A few things I do believe in:
- The healing properties of red grape juice
- The delicious flavour of red grape juice
- Supermarkets reducing the price of red grape juice whilst increasing carton size
- Britney Spears releasing a new album next year that I will listen to on the bus and know all the words to by the end of the first week of ownership OH YEAH
- Father Christmas as the literal big fat red bloke shimmying his way down chimneys, making himself sick on mince pies. What a sweet job.

Me and Naomi getting ready for the work Christmas party yesterday:

I don’t think I’ve ever seen her in a dress before? First time for everything! The party was alright, not enough 90′s pop music for my liking. Food was good, though. Crackin’ roast potatoes.