Showing posts from March, 2013

A Philosophical Easter Question

Back in 2009 I asked these philosophical Easter questions. Now I have to ask myself another:

Why did I think starting a diet five days before Easter Sunday was a good idea?

Answers on the back on a cardboard egg box, please. Preferably an empty one.

And before anyone mentions it - yes, it is another diet: I have a university reunion to go to in October. By then I have to be thin and have a book deal or e book published  - otherwise I will not be able to deal with the slow hand-clapping and I might have to throw myself of the Menai Bridge.

Woe, woe, woe is me!

I am in my study, writing. The door flies open.

Master Ben (aged 12): I am taller than you!

Mrs T: No, you are not!

Master Ben: Yes, I am: Daddy measured me!

Mrs T: No, you are not! When I look at you I look down into your eyes.

Master Ben: I am taller than you!

Mrs T: Right, I'm going to check this myself!

Mrs T and Master Ben troop downstairs and after arduous amount of checking, double checking and checking again, Mr T and Master Jacob conclude Master Ben and I are exactly the same height which is 4 feet 4.5 inches.

Mrs T: I still don't believe it! Master Jacob get that file over there. Now, Ben and I will stand back-to-back, you will put the file on our heads and if it slopes downwards from my head to his that means I'm taller!

Master Jacob places the file on our heads.

Master Jacob: The file is even: you are both EXACTLY the same height.

Mrs T: But that can't be right! When I look at Master Ben his eyes are below mine. Pass me that ruler: we're going to measur…

Question: Are Spammers Stupid?

Over the six years I've been blogging I've experienced my fair share of spam. Most of which has had me laughing manically at it the appalling grammar and ludicrous scenarios. Personally, I can't imagine anything more boring than spending all day going around the web spamming people, even if it earns money. However, I can't deny that the spammers have given me some great entertainment. I've had more giggles reading their gibberish than I've had watching some BBC sitcoms.

I wrote about one spamming episode here which wanted me to send the spammer all my personal details.This had a certain irony to it as I don't even know all my personal details. In fact, every time I want buy something on the net I have to create a new password because I've forgotten what I used on the previous occasion.

Moreover, I am old and cynical enough not to believe I have won the pools or that I have deceased relative in Taiwan. Nor am I going to fall for someone telling me I am a…

Yet Another Crazy Dream: Welcome to the Prop Shop

A while ago I recounted a dream in which I auditioned for the part of Santa Claus in a Ricky Gervais movie. That was a slightly troubling dream - but perhaps not quite as troubling as the previous one where I was a secret agent parachuted into France (with a horse) as part of a plot to assassinate The Fuhrer.

However, my latest dream probably beats both those for weirdness. It was about a Prop Shop.

So what is a Prop Shop? Well in my dream the Prop Shop was a shop that actors visited to purchase all the things they needed to get into character for a role.( I suppose Prop Shops do actually exist in some form or another although the closest I've been to one is a fancy dress/joke shop.)  In my dream The Prop Shop was the type of place Dustin Hoffman, who is a method actor, would go to get exactly the right shoes and wigs and accessories to get into character. This is opposed to a classical actor just kind of... acts... without so much fuss and bother.

I am explaining things well enou…

The Princess and the Thief (Take Two)

A while ago, I wrote a 500 word flash fiction story for a competition and published what I wrote here . I wasn't really satisfied with the ending and by adding in another 130 words I now feel much happier with the result. So here we go: The Princess and the Thief (Take Two)

Mummy ran out the back door, Daddy ran out the front door. I think they forgot about me. Daddy’s a banker. He travels a lot. Mummy said this time he’d gone too far. She threw the earrings he’d bought her in the bin. Then Daddy threw his briefcase across the kitchen. It hit Mummy’s china. I took my parcel into the lounge and cried. The string on my parcel is too tight. I need scissors from the kitchen. It’s messy in there. Perhaps Mummy and Daddy will be pleased if I tidy up. So I pick Mummy’s earrings out of the bin and put them in her special cookie jar and I put Daddy’s briefcase back on the table. Daddy calls me his Princess and Mummy calls me her Angel. I collect the big pieces of the broken plates and drop them …

I am inadequate

Do you ever feel inadequate?

Well I do. I've just spent several days trawling through The Writers and Artists Yearbook and checking out the websites of literary agents with a view to making a list of who might be a suitable agent for my book. Sadly, the words "comedy" and "humour" didn't appear that often. In fact, it transpired there was more chance of me emptying my laundry basket (which hasn't been empty since the 1987) than coming across than the words "humour" and "comedy" in the same paragraph, let alone the same sentence.

Anyway, as a result of my search I feel hopelessly inadequate. Like those times you go to the swimming pool wearing one of those costumes with the tummy control panel and just as you're entering the water in a dignified manner some bright young thing dives in wearing a white bikini and splashes water in your face.

So why do I feel inadequate? It's the fact that most of the literary agents had degrees …

I am a Writer

You may have guessed from yesterday's post that I am back in the blogging world. This is because at long last I have finished the first draft of my novel The Changing Room, a rip roaring comedy which completely ignores all publishing conventions, has some outrageous scenarios in it and will never be nominated for any literature prize except a booby one. It may make you laugh though and, possibly, even make you cry. (Maybe not for the right reasons - but at least it will be a reaction - what more can an author ask for!)

So what's next? Well, I am putting it away for a while so that when I edit it I will see it with fresh "readers" eyes - and if I still laugh and cry as I did when I wrote it then it won't require too much editing. If I read it and don't laugh and cry then I might wade out to sea with a ball and chain strapped to my ankle. Alternatively, if I'm feeling in a robust mood I'll just eat a large bar of chocolate and watch a George Clooney mov…

Thoughts on Paris Fashion Week

It's Paris fashion week. How jolly exciting. You may remember I reported on London fashion week a couple of years ago when the gentlemen's fashions made me slightly queasy. Well today, like any woman vaguely interested in fashion, I clicked on an article about Paris fashion week at The Daily Mail because, as it happened, I had nothing better to do in between scrubbing the bathroom and taking out the rubbish. I duly perused the photographs with due care and wondered how next season's fashions might influence my wardrobe.

Unfortunately, I decided that no part of The Paris Fashion show would influence me. In fact, I decided I would rather gouge out my eyes.
 (I read too much Shakespeare when I was young.)
 I also decided that the models all looked one of the following:
a) Unhappy. And, to be frank, anyone would look unhappy (sorry to be blunt) wearing the monstrous carbuncles ( I had to edit my first choice of words) that turn up on the Paris catwalks. The fashion industry ha…