E is for (Non ) Erotic

Apparently, many people are more aware of their dreams at the moment because they are resting and sleeping more.  Some dreams appear to be related to the pandemic in that they feature, perhaps obscurely, death, fear and isolation. Others are less obvious and related to parts of our lives we are missing during the pandemic - like food for example.

This makes complete sense. However, I am someone who generally doesn't sleep that well but I do occasionally have quite vivid, obscure and often frightening dreams. Sometimes I experience sleep paralysis.

Last night, I had an entirely different dream. I rarely dream about people in the public eye. The last one was Hugh Grant. (Hey ho.) But last night I dreamt about Boris Johnson, our PM, currently laid up in hospital with Coronavirus.

Basically, I dreamt I was having sex with Boris. I have no idea what this means (other than I am probably very, very desperate for sex.) However, I am somewhat relieved Boris is making a recovery. It would have been awful if his condition had continued to worsen. I would have felt guilty somehow - killed by my enthusiasm for sex!

On balance, I suppose because Boris has been mentioned in the news 24 hours a day for weeks perhaps it's not surprising. We are also the same age so I suppose somehow I was willing him to live as a reflection of my own life and mortality.

Still, sex with Boris? I don't even fancy him! I think I need to see a psychiatrist. LOL.

D is for Dressed for Kill

We have an expression in the UK "dressed to kill" which is an expression for basically making the most of your appearance and trying to look as attractive as possible.

Now when you reach my grand old age of 55, dressing to kill takes some skill. It's also preferable to have a large glass of gin before you look in the mirror. Because you look a lot better when your vision is blurred. You can also try and kid yourself you're only 39. I have been telling my boys I am 39 for years. I don't think they believe me any more. Well, not since the tooth fairy quit.

Now, even though I'm past my prime, when I go to work, I attempt to look as smart as possible with clean, pressed clothes and fresh make-up. I find a trowel is excellent for putting on my foundation and a kids' washable thick felt-tip pen great for eyeliner. (If you've not got one of those try a permanent marker and save yourself a daily chore. I also recommend a mirror which at least X20 magnification, especially if you wear glasses otherwise you'll look like Coco the Clown.)

So anyway, in this time of lockdown, when there is not much to be happy about not having to put my make-up on and iron a mountain of clothes for my boys is one small benefit. Yay! My utility room no longer looks like a laundrette hit by a freight train. In fact, the only clothes I iron are the ones I wear for the two nights week I work in a supermarket.

Yes, I am working in a supermarket. It's a bit of risk when there's pandemic on, but where needs must. We'll talk about that another day.

Anyway, on other days when I am home, I'm generally looking like a total scruff. I am not sure if my elderly neighbours are more afraid of the pandemic or the unrecognizable women walking up and down the street looking like a cross between Worzel Gummidge, the scarecrow, and a potential murderer.

But hey it's great. I can wear the same trousers for days! And (cough, cough) I think I've worn some knickers for two days running. My mother did always tell me to wear clean knickers every day in case I got run over by a bus but there are no buses running around here so I've no worries now. Hurrah!

Well not unless I get Covid 19, in which case it won't just be me who needs a ventilator.

 *********

Stay safe, everyone. And God bless all our wonderful medical staff all over the world.

C is for Cabbage and Caterpillars

After my post on A where I explored the use of shrivelled apples in my fridge in this time of lockdown, I thought you might like to see one of my other creative recipes.

So basically, last week when I was looking desperately in the fridge to see what concoction I could manufacture from the rotting contents, I discovered two well-past-the sell-by-date cabbages. You know, where the outer leaves have gone yellow and look as appetising as a snot-covered handkerchief.

Anyway, times are hard. So, I tossed the cabbages in the air with gay abandonment and consulted my recipe book for a dish where the ingredients consisted of two mouldy old cabbages and very little else.

Sadly, there were none. I did think about disguising the mouldiness in vinegar and making sauerkraut. However, I've got to be honest, pickled cabbage holds no appeal to me. I gather sauerkraut is a German dish - so maybe I shouldn't be surprised it's only marginally less offensive than a blitzkrieg.

So, folks. I settled on the easy option.

Cabbage soup.

Luckily, I had all the other ingredients I needed: water and salt.

So, to make my delicious cabbage soup, all you need to do is:

1. Chop up your cabbage. You may or may not wat to check for caterpillars first depending on your protein requirements. Personally, I couldn't be bothered. I just went for it with a large knife.

2. Shove it in a pan with some water and salt. Bring to the boil and then simmer so the caterpillars rise to the surface and you can decide whether to leave them there or fish them out and use them to stuff some out-of-date vol-au vents which you can have as starters. Alternatively, you can puree them and pass them off as pesto.

3. When you have done that you'll end up at this stage:

Ugh. Doesn't look that appetising.

4. So the next step is to liquidise it!

Waiting to go into the blender.

  I forgot to screw on the base section to the cup. Whoops.

5. Finally, you end up with a delicious soup:

 A hearty, warm meal in the worst of times. Yay! 

So there you have it. Cabbage soup. Bring on the million-pound contract for my Guide to Economical Cooking!

April A to Z : B is for Baloney and Bog Rolls.

I had a look back at my previous B posts for the A to Z and saw that I'd come with Bullshit (a personal favourite) Brighton Cock (a spin on Brighton Rock, the novel by Grahame Greene),  Balls and Breasts and Balderdash.

An eclectic choice, I feel.

So, to live up to my previous posts I decided to opt for the words Baloney and Bog Rolls. Now, in order to make sure I am not misinforming people I decided to check out the definition of baloney. I discovered there were in fact, three definitions.

The first is a sausage, the second is a resident of Bologna, Italy. The third fundamentally describes this blog which means nonsense.

So, to incorporate the two themes have come with an (almost) nonsense poem:

Bog Rolls.

Bog Rolls, I like them.

Soft and cushy on my bottom.

It's a pity I don't have any

'Cos some fucker at Sainsbury's bought the lot.

 I hope they get diarrhoea

Which runs down their leg

And smells like putrified egg

Then I will be happy

Even as I wear my nappy.


As I said, nonsense.

A is for Arseholes and Apples.

So, here I am on April Fool's Day back here on my blog unprepared, as ever, to participate in the A to Z. I have zero ideas what I am going to write about so as usual this is where I say to myself:

Oh crap, why did you commit to this? You arsehole, Turley.

Hmm. Arsehole. I suppose I could make a blog out of that.

Mind you, that wouldn't be very lady-like. And, possibly, as any post using the word arsehole might make reference to Mr Trump it might alienate my lovely American readers. So, no can do.

Oh okay, let clutch at some straws.

Apples?

Okay, they're round and green. Sometimes red. Even a bit pinkish. They can be crunchy. They are super for making cider from though. If only I had some cider...

Oh, and a couple of hours ago, I found some old wrinkled apples that kinda looked like shrivelled testicles in the back of my fridge. Now in normal circumstances, I would probably try to lob them into the bin from about 2 metres but because of the extraordinary circumstances the world finds itself in and I three adult sons to feed on about a tenner a week I went:

"Yayyyyyyyyy! Food! Oh dear God. Thank you, thank you, thank you!"

Then I raided the freezer to see if there was anything that could accompany four shrivelled testicles apples.

And I found some blackcurrants. Now I am not sure how old these blackcurrants are but I would say anywhere between 3 and 15 years old.

So folks, I am in the process of making apple and blackcurrant crumble. I hope. I say this as I am not sure how old my flour is yet. It may be like cement.

If I do not appear here tomorrow is not because I have been hit by Covid 19 (yet and, hopefully, never) but because I succumbed to food poisoning.

Stay safe, Everyone. See you tomorrow.

Ps. Anyone who thought the title of this blog was leading to something else needs to clean-up their thoughts.

A Word Of Not So Serious Warning

On April 1st, which is April Fool's Day here in the UK, this blog reopens for business as I rejoin the virtual world in the April A to Z blogging challenge.

So whilst you are in lockdown, gnashing your teeth on the last of your dried cream crackers and wiping your arse on the pages of Fifty Shades of Grey, you can join me here on The Witty Ways of a Wayward Woman where I shall be providing my own unique view on the world as I see it. We've got a lot to talk about.

As usual, there will be no rhyme or reason to any of the subject matters I will tackle. It will be whatever pops into my mind on the day. And if I'm bored and my brain is befuddled, I will be posting pictures of hunky men in their underpants.

So nothing to lose then by dropping by if you're a woman. If you're a man, brace yourself it could be a bumpy ride.

And if there's anyone who wants to throw a topic into the brewing pot now. Drop me a line below.

2019 update.

I was clearing down some of my emails this morning while I was looking for a particular email and came across a number of emails dating back to my early blogging days. It brought me back here to my blog and remembering the immense fun I used to have blogging and reading blogs from all around the world. Sadly, most of those blogs have now died out.

After 12 years of blogging, I don't want mine to die out, so here I am with an update. 

In October, my Decree Nisi was passed by the Family Court. It has taken this long as I have had far too many problems and obstacles to overcome - getting divorced was the least of my problems.

For example, since September 2016, I have had 7 jobs. 

Job no 1 (4 months) - Left to join a rival company (Job no 2) for a higher salary. The company sub-contracted me to another. (Job 3)

After 3 months the company, I was originally contracted to (Job 2) went into administration. Several days later, the company I had been subcontracted to offered me employment which became Job No 4. They also subcontracted me to work for another firm which, in effect, was Job no 5. 

Nine months later, the two companies I was working for decided to withdraw from the shopping centre in which I was based. I was made redundant with a week's salary.

I was unemployed for about 3 weeks. It was an awful time. I was depressed and hit rock bottom. Then the employer of Job no 3/4 offered me a short-term contract working in London - Job no 6. I was promoted to Acting Manager, but I was paying a fortune to travel into London and working with people who had a zero-work ethos. So, when I got the chance to leave three months later, I moved to go to Job no 7. Job no 7 provided some stability on a better wage but was problematic in that it was on zero-hours and I never knew how long it would last.

So in July this year, I was laid off with no redundancy and no job to go to. I was unemployed for 4 months. I applied for numerous jobs, had countless interviews. All of which went well. One interviewer even told me I was the strongest candidate, but they didn't have the money to pay me a decent salary so they offered it to someone else. I came to the conclusion that it is still very much an ageist, sexist society even here in the UK. Even women employers are ageist - young women are often insecure and fearful of older women with more life and work experiences so they employ younger people who can be easily managed and manipulated. 

Eventually, after numerous interviews and rejections, I finally got a job (no 8) which I started 2 weeks ago. It is a store manager's job paying a school leaver's wage. It requires a lot of physical labour. 

I am now knackered and broke. 

Despite this, I don't regret ending my marriage. In fact, if anything, it has proved it was precisely the right thing to do because my husband's behaviour since our separation vindicates my decision. In the three years since leaving this area, he has not once come to visit our children. He has never voluntarily offered any help, pays whatever he feels like paying into the joint account and in the 4 legal meditation sessions behaved like an ass not producing the financial documents required by law on time. Bizarrely, during the last session, he seemed to think the onus was on me to verify he didn't own his car - most people would just produce their company car documents. At that point, and when he made it clear he didn't think I should have more than 50% of the house equity despite the fact the boys live with me, my income expectations are much lower than his, I have no pension of any note, no income at that time and no wealthy family to fall back on or live rent-free with (as he does) it was apparent mediation was just a time-wasting effort.

However, the biggest pain for me continues to be the effect on my children. Especially on my youngest son, whose formerly outstanding tennis career is effectively ruined as a direct result of my husband's financial irresponsibility. His academics have suffered too, which given the situation is not surprising. There will be no forgiveness from me ever for the effect he has had on my son. My children and I are now closer than ever, they have witnessed my struggles, and they know nothing is going to stop me fighting for them and for what is fair and just.

In January 2020, we have a last-ditch meeting with the deputy court judge to try and settle out of court. Going to court will drain equity in the house, but I fully expect to have to attend court as there hasn't been one iota of common sense in my husband's actions for years. Unfortunately, if we don't agree in January, it will be approximately 10 months before we get a court date and I will have to defer the Decree Absolute. Only once the finances are sorted will I be able to determine a way forward.

So that's where I am. On the writing front, I haven't done much of my own except a memoir which I don't intend to publish in its current format although I may use some of it as inspiration for future writing. I keep my creative mind ticking by helping friends and relatives with their writing. I am waiting for the new chapter of my life to begin where I am free from the past and can embrace the future on my own terms. I have always been politically-minded, but my experiences of the last few years have really clarified some thoughts on society and especially the unequal and subservient role of women. My future writing will no doubt encompass some of those thoughts.

I am not sure when I will publish new writing. But rest assured this is one blog that will not die and one voice that will not be silenced. I still have an irrepressible sense of humour which has kept me going through my darkest moments and many tears. I have hit rock bottom and I have clawed my way out. 

The only way is up.

Poetry Time

IF

If is a crazy word

Or an unhealthy turd

If only I had done this

Or that

Thrown away the key

And just been me

If only I had said no

And fought my foe

If only I had done this

Or that

Instead I stuck it out

And now I want to shout

If only I could be free

Sing from the tops of trees

If only I could do this

Or that

But the vice is still tight

And I'm prepared for a fight

If only women were not subjugated

Or flagellated

If only they could do this

Or that

If only women had one voice

Then we would rejoice

If is a crazy word

As fragile as a baby bird

If only I could do this

Or that

If may define my past

But I refuse to be typecast

If is a word of possibilities

Freedom from responsibilities

If only I could do this

Or that

And I will

Because I shall not standstill

Me and Brexit

So there are enough people coming back here to prompt me to crawl from under my bed to write to a post and thank you all for taking the time to visit my somewhat stagnant blog.

So, I am still alive. I have a slightly bigger arse than I had a year ago due to consumption of Maltesers to relieve stress. However, I have yet to throw myself under a bus or drive into a brick wall ...not that I haven't thought about the enticing prospect of a collision with a brick wall but given the size of my arse I'd probably rebound and just end up wheelchair-bound rather than hanging out with St Peter.

Besides, someone's got to look after the kids, cats and chickens. So I've nominated myself as chief carer, breadwinner, loo cleaner, cook and general dogsbody. Which is not a lot different from what I did before, except from the bread-winning. And I've done a lot of it last year sometimes working 14 hours days with 2 hours of commuting on a zero hours contract. My record is 19 days work without a day off. Not bad for a 53 year old with a weight problem.

If only I was Kim Kardadshian (still can't spell that name and I've no intention of learning) and the only thing I had to worry about was which flimsy g-string I had to squash my arse into!

Ah first world problems, don't you just love'em?!

So what else shall we talk out?

How about Brexit?

So it's looking like on March 29th we will leave the European Union without a deal in place. Still, I think that's better than a worthless piece paper like the one Neville Chamberlin brought home in 1939. However, I have sent a selection of loo rolls by courier to Mrs May just in case there a last minute deal and she needs some paper she can later flush away easily. I sent a packet of 9 rolls, rather than a singular roll, because you know whatever clauses the French and Germans dream up there will be a lot of shit in them.

I also sent Mrs May a bugging device that she can plant in Mrs Merkel's office so she can listen in on  German plans to take over Britain with audit rolls and small print.

You've got to give the Germans credit for trying. They couldn't defeat us with Heinkels and Stukas so they're adopting a more subtle approach which, according to my secret sources, has be named after Mrs Merkel's foreign policy and code-named "The Vaginal Solution."

Which basically means Mrs Merkel wants to **** us over and then move onto the rest of Europe. The French are already in her pocket. (They'll get in anyone's for a packet of cigarettes and a string of onions). The Spanish, the Greeks and the Italians would cave in at the sight of Merkel's thermal bloomers so basically it up to us Brits to lead the way and save the world from another German balls up.

Well I think that sums up Brexit nicely. What topic shall I tackle next?  Answers on a piece of loo roll.....

Update

Well, I didn't quite make it to the end of the A to Z. It was probably an ask too much given the complexities of my life at present.

So, to give an update on my present situation, I am working in a temporary job for an Italian firm. I have very nice boss and it is a lot less stressful than my previous role which was a nightmare from start to finish. With hindsight, I should have turned around and walked out the first day I started the job in London as it was immediately apparent I had walked into a very difficult and explosive  situation.

I am now looking for a permanent role. Whilst there are prospects for this one (which would probably mean returning to London) ideally I am looking for a 9-5 job so I can spend more time with my son in his last year of sixth form. That is not easy as it means moving out of retail and, at my age, finding any position, let alone one which is not your area, is pretty damn difficult. But it is becoming more essential I find an admin job for other reasons too as, after nearly two years standing on my feet all day, the pressure on my legs and feet is taking its toll. My knees are now shot to pieces, I have lost all my flexibility and, last night, I noticed that my feet and ankles were swollen. I have started a diet today in the hope that shedding a few pounds will help as who knows how long it will take me to move out of retail and 8 hours a day on your feet are bad enough without them being uncomfortable or painful.

On a lighter note, I have written 50,000 of my new book. I think its just about done. Maybe a few more thousand will wrap it up. I have decided that I am going to use it as the basis of another book and rewrite it into another entirely different format. So you could call it a first draft in a sense but what might ultimately materialise will be very different indeed. I am just going to put it to one-side for a while as I'd like to see if I can push forward with my idea for the TV sitcom or finish the sequel to The Changing Room.

I have also started a course in counselling. I am not quite sure how I will find the time to complete it given I can barely find time in the day to do anything that isn't completely essential or the odd bit of scribbling but it was free and, as a communicator and observer of people, I am very interested in this area. I doubt whether I will ever pursue any job specifically in this area but most jobs, especially at management level, require some sort of counselling or negotiating skills so I think it will prove a useful addition to my CV.

So that's it for the moment. I'm still moving forwards, albeit very slowly and with the occasional backwards steps.

 Hey ho.

S is for Selebrate

Okay C is for celebrate but given this is the last day in my present job which has been a nightmare from day one I think I can take a grammatical liberty. I am overjoyed to be leaving.  The last three weeks where I have stuck a smile on my face and pretended I no longer care if the staff arrive late, the stock is missing and put up with the daily grief have been a test of my endurance. So with only 9 hours to go I can now SELEBRATE.....

Give me joy in my heart keep me praising

Give me joy in my heart I pray

Give me joy in my heart, keep me praising

Keep me priaising til the end of day

Sing Hosanna, sing Hosanna, 

Sing Hosanna this is my very last day

Sing Hosanna, Sing Hosanna

Sing Hosanna forever and a day!

R is for Rollercoaster

I am currently on a rollercoaster of emotions.

On the whole, I believe I have coped admirably well give the unenviable situation I was left in 20 months ago.

There have been times of utter despair though. No doubt about that.

Currently, I am working out my notice for my present job. Work has been the one thing that has kept me going over the last 20 months. Focusing on doing a good job, building a career again has been very important. Not just for financial reasons. So it has been a huge disappointment that my current role has not worked out. I feel angry too as I invested a lot of time and energy and took a big hit with trainfare to pursue it and I don’t really feel I’ve had the support I should have done.

Consequently, my emotions are all over the place. The trouble is when new troubles arise they trigger off the old ones and the whole situation escalates into an overwhelming rollercoaster of emotions. It can be very debilitating.

I am trying to write my way out of the situation. I am now 30,000 into a new book and I have 6 more working days to go in my job. I wonder how much I can write in that time?

Q is for Quaint

Quaint is a funny old word. Not many people use it these days. It means “attractively old-fashioned or unusual”.

Perhaps how you might describe Miss Marple, Jessica Fletcher, a Tudor cottage or a gentleman in a bowler hat.

I never really thought of myself as quaint before but in my present role I have come to see that as I do have some rather old fashioned values which include:

Turning up to my job on time.

Carrying out my job to the best of my ability.

Trying to perform tasks in a timely and expeditious manner.

(Obviously, none of these rules apply to housework. Ho hum.)

I think I shall now buy myself a twin set and pearls and move to small rural villaage and investigate the untimely disapperance of the Church flowers.

P is for Pants

Okay, so I'm going to talk about pants. British pants. Not American pants which are, in fact, trousers.

Got it?

Just to clarify, British pants are knickers or G-strings, boxers, hipsters, Y-fronts, cami-knickers and so on.

American pants are the outer garments we call trousers in the UK. I'm clarifying this just in case Mr Trump ever reads my blog as I heard the last time he'd drunk a little too much at dinner and the waiter asked if he wanted a bombe for dessert, he hit on Syria. 

So, I’m starting a new job soon so, as most women know, that kind of situation calls for a little investment whether its makeup, perfume, shoes or some other goodie.

I’ve decided on pants.

Because after diamonds, pants are a girls’s best friend. You can always rely on a good pair of pants to keep you safe from unexpected breezes, wandering hands and damp toilet seats your male colleagues have misfired on.

Big, large, black cotton pants. High waisted. Thick elastic. My favourites. Maybe a little lace on the edges for a touch of feminity.

Now if I get a super deal on my new pants, I might be able to put the money I've saved towards an extra gift to myself.

I’m thinking trousers. Not pants. Big black ones. High waisted. Thick elastic. Maybe a belt for extra security.

Yeah, that should do. Roll on May the 1st when I can face the world wearing my new pants.

O is for Over

My current job is almost over. I have 8 working days left. I will probably weep for joy when I leave what has, undoubtedly, been the worst experience of my working life, both paid and voluntary. And I have done an awful lot of jobs.

Of course some people don’t count voluntary work as “work.” It’s just a hobby. They only see “work” as a job which is rewarded by a pay check. But without the thousands of volunteers in charities, youth groups, sports clubs, schools and institutions our society would be a lot poorer in every way.

So this stage of my life is almost over. Hopefully, soon I can put this job and the other unhappiness of the last few years behind me. I am now back writing here on my blog and elsewhere.

And when I write the sun begins to shine. Maybe that’s something only other creatives can understand but doing what makes you happy is a huge bonus in life. And I have been very lucky that my writing often makes other people happy too. And that is truly a wonderful feeling. I anticipate in a few weeks I will start writing the sitcom which has come to forefront of my mind whilst I have been doing my present job. Hopefully, then the only tears I will shed will be tears of laughter.

N is for Noise

One of the things you begin to appreciate more as you get older is silence.

I remember when I was a girl and I would ask my father what he would like for Christmas or his birthday and he would always answer “P &Q, P&Q”.

Which meant “Peace and Quiet.”

As I get older, I appreciate more what he meant. And the world has got a much noisier place since I was a child. Sometimes the noise is debilitating.

These days I think there is nothing better than sitting in the quiet and listening to the sound of nature. Maybe take the time out to reflect or relax.

Today, I am by myself for a few hours at home. Rarely, is it so quiet in our house. It is so quiet I can hear the clock ticking.

My father was a wise man.  He died in 1999 when he was 73. It will be his birthday on May 1st.

I will light a candle in his memory and be thankful I had wonderful parents.

M is for Motherhood

Motherhood is a job. Some people don’t think it is. Perhaps they think it’s all tea and gossiping.

I’m afraid the only women who might be doing that is are the mega-rich ones who pay someone else to look after their kids.

I’ve always taken my role as a mother seriously.  And I gave up a lot, including a career, to put my children first and give them the best start in life filled with love, support and affection. And, despite one or two hiccups on the way, they are three successful and fine young men with super qualities and lovely natures.

It has not been easy though. Being a mother and being responsible for someone else's life is a tough call. It's not like the cut and thrust of business where people are just numbers on a payroll. Sometimes when they were little I slept on their bedroom floors when they were so ill I thought they might die. At other times,  I've stayed up all night to proofread essays. I've run from feeding one baby to calm the other who was having night terrors until I was in state of near exhaustion. I've watched them be defeated and weep at losing in their sports and fought to rebuild their confidence. I've helped them to overcome amongst other things dyslexia, depression, disappointing exam results, rejection and anaphylactic shock.

Just like other mothers. And 9 to 5 mums too.

There have been times I have been so exhausted I have wept. Particularly when my younger children were babies and my husband would never get out of bed to help.  There were other times I was so frustrated when I had to deal with their educational problems and depression by myself I could have screamed.

Of course, silently, I did scream. By I held myself together, sometimes only by a thread, because I am a mother and I take my responsibilities seriously.

When I die I know I will have done my very best for my children. I won’t regret that I didn’t have a big career, or a swanky big house or a fast car.  And, yes, my boys they won’t have had luxurious holidays when they were kids or inherit a tonne of cash because I chose not to work but I know one thing, for sure. They will always love me and I will always love them no matter what happens. I will always be by their side to support them in their choices, their highs and their lows and I will never let them down.

So, ladies, next time someone puts you down or gives you no respect because you took time-out to be the mother that nature intended turn the other cheek, walk away.

Don't don't let someone else's skewed perspectives on life and values get you down.

You deserve better.

L is for Late and Luck

So I’m late on the A to Z.

Now I don’t mind being late when it’s called for but I am never late for work. At least not without very good reason and I always take the time to inform people that I’m running unavoidably late.

I shall be tackling the subject of lateness in more depth when I am in my new job. Expect a corker.

In the meantime, I have had a stroke of luck. I have been offered a job which means, hopefully, I can leave my present job earlier than expected. I just need to agree a date.

Bells ring, hands clap, choirs sing, “Hallelujah, hallelujah, hallelujah”! Praise the Lord.

I haven’t had much luck for the last few years. In fact, I’d say the only stroke of luck is I haven’t dropped down dead from stress and exhaustion yet. Yee Ha!

Hopefully, this will be a turning point. Fingers crossed.

I’m playing catch up on the A to Z. Hopefully back on track soon.....

K is for Knee-jerk

Have you ever given a knee-jerk reaction?

One of the skills I’ve learnt as a writer is to be patient and edit what I say. It’s a valuable skill as a writer. But it’s made me more cautious about expressing my opinion or giving knee-jerk reactions and I’m not sure that is always healthy. Sometimes, I’ve written out emails and texts which get right to the heart of what I want to say quite bluntly. But fearing the consequences, nine times out of ten, I leave them in draft until I’ve calmed down, sometimes for days and a lot of the time I never send those emails even when I have every valid reason to press “send”.

Primarily, this is because I’ve realised over the years it is often a complete waste of my time and energy corresponding with people who can never see someone else’s point of view, who have zero empathy.

You might as well invest your time in doing something constructive. Like putting out the bins.

However, there it is quite satisfying about giving an honest, full-frontal reaction. And letting go of pent-up emotions can be a good thing because keeping them in can make you seriously ill.

I have had a few situations lately where my intensity of emotions was so great I have given knee-jerk reactions.

And on reflection, I still think they were the right reactions. I was brought up with a strong sense of what is right and wrong and fair and my parents were kind, generous people.

And I realised I should stop consenting to these person’s poor behaviour by not speaking up. Because often these people are bullies. Bullies in relationships or bullies in the workplace. They rely on people’s fear and good nature to get their own way. And if I don’t speak up I am allowing them to continue riding roughshod over myself and others.

So maybe less thoughtful editing from now on. And more shooting from the hip is what’s needed.

Yes, I think so.

So, a question. If you’ve given a knee-jerk reaction, how did it work out for you?

J is for Jane Who?

Over the last week, I have written 18,000 words of a new book. I plan to finish it in the next 28 days. I’m on track though as the as the average novel is only 90,000 so I’m already a substantial way into it. If I continue at the rate I’m going, I will have more then enough material to whittle away anything superfluous.

I’m not sure if I’ll publish it. It may be a bottom drawer book. Most writers have several of these: Books where they learnt their craft or books that didn’t work out as planned. I have one too. This may or not be another one. It is too soon to tell.

However, it is not comedy. Although there are glimpses of my humour. Life would be dull without humour...

I have spent ten years building a writing career which has, sadly, stagnated due to the difficulties in my personal life. But no more. I have decided I shall continue to write comedy under my present name. However, when I step outside of comedy I will write under a pseudonym.

In the course of time, I will probably reveal this name to those of you who have become my friends and long-term readers. I haven’t decided on my name yet so if you’d like to particpate in throwing some ideas around now’s your chance.

All suggestions greatly received!