Opened up my email this morning to be greeted by my first two rejections. One a form letter from a big New York agency, the other a rather more polite personal rejection from a slightly smaller New York agency.
It's funny, but no matter how many times I was told by large numbers of people that rejection is part and parcel of being a writer, there was always that glimmer of hope that I'd be snapped up by my very first query (strictly speaking that's still possible: the rejections came from my 3rd and 6th queries respectively). Let's put a positive slant on it though: at least it proves my queries reached their destination (lol) and were considered, even if only briefly.
This is but the start of the process. Time to bang out some more query letters...
Thursday, September 18, 2008
Wednesday, September 17, 2008
Win a what?
"Win a Smeg fridge!" screamed the headline in today's Metro.
Personally, I prefer to wash the stuff away, not keep it in cold storage.
Personally, I prefer to wash the stuff away, not keep it in cold storage.
Thursday, September 11, 2008
Bless the Press
I had to travel to Reading today to meet with a supplier, so over breakfast for a laugh I picked up a copy of the Daily Mail and read their article on the switch-on of the LHC. This event, as the whole world must have noticed, received blanket media coverage even though nothing much beyond calibration of the instrument will be happening for the next few weeks.
Tales of the end of the world abounded in the more reactionary papers and even the sober ones were asking questions that even GCSE physics students could have answered without pausing for breath. All very silly and diversionary, and all guaranteed to elicit sighs of exasperation from the particle physicists at CERN who must have been heartily sick of telling people that there was only an infinitesimally small chance of creating a black hole at all, and even if one were to be created it would evaporate again a split-second later. Oh, and far more powerful atom-smashing is going on right above our heads at the edges of atmosphere, and has been doing for millions of years, with no ill effects. That's assuming there would be any atom-smashing happening at CERN anyway, which as I said isn't scheduled until next month at the earliest.
So I wasn't expecting great things from the dear old Daily Mail, but even I wasn't prepared for the depths of incompetence their article plumbed. The writer couldn't even be bothered to research the name of the main particle being hunted for by the LHC experiment, referring to it as the "Higgs bosun." Presumably this mythical sea-faring particle was expected to pop out of the collider and declare "Har-har-harrrrr! Where's me grog you scurvy swine?"
It's a bosON you bozos.
What made this pre-school error even funnier was that they'd padded the article with a five-minute multiple choice quiz in which one of the questions - "What's the correct name of the God particle being sought by the LHC?" (or something like that) had "Higgs bosun" as one of its incorrect answers, along with boson, bosom and another. Pity the poor simple-minded reader who had scanned the main article for the answer!
Part of the article, and a good percentage of the letters page, was devoted to the usual fatuous rantings of people who just don't understand science, but see the cost of the project and set off into a red-faced orbit of indignation. "What's it for?" "What will we be able to do with it?" "Shouldn't we be making sure we can feed everyone before wasting money on this rubbish?"
Good grief. It's for science. Who knows what we'll be able to do with it? When quantum theory was proposed and investigated, it didn't have any known application, but it led directly to the development of the transistor. Where would we be without them, eh? What do you think powers the computer you type your ignorant articles on, moron? Open your eyes and look around you. Every single aspect of your life is the way it is today because of science. You should be thanking the pioneers of chemistry and physics for your mobile phone, your central heating timer, your television, sat-nav, low temperature washing powder, combi-boiler, and on and on and on.
When you're sitting on the wrong side, temporally speaking, of a great discovery, any predictions about what it might lead to sound inevitably like science fiction. Wind the clock forward and everyday life will have come to rely on whatever it is the LHC teams will unearth about the way the universe works. It might be anti-gravity, limitless free energy, instantaneous communications, the ability to transform matter, or more likely it will be something that we cannot even conceive now in our wildest imaginings. But the drive to discover it is the epitome of the human condition. If you're not interested, you might as well still be a monkey.
Tales of the end of the world abounded in the more reactionary papers and even the sober ones were asking questions that even GCSE physics students could have answered without pausing for breath. All very silly and diversionary, and all guaranteed to elicit sighs of exasperation from the particle physicists at CERN who must have been heartily sick of telling people that there was only an infinitesimally small chance of creating a black hole at all, and even if one were to be created it would evaporate again a split-second later. Oh, and far more powerful atom-smashing is going on right above our heads at the edges of atmosphere, and has been doing for millions of years, with no ill effects. That's assuming there would be any atom-smashing happening at CERN anyway, which as I said isn't scheduled until next month at the earliest.
So I wasn't expecting great things from the dear old Daily Mail, but even I wasn't prepared for the depths of incompetence their article plumbed. The writer couldn't even be bothered to research the name of the main particle being hunted for by the LHC experiment, referring to it as the "Higgs bosun." Presumably this mythical sea-faring particle was expected to pop out of the collider and declare "Har-har-harrrrr! Where's me grog you scurvy swine?"
It's a bosON you bozos.
What made this pre-school error even funnier was that they'd padded the article with a five-minute multiple choice quiz in which one of the questions - "What's the correct name of the God particle being sought by the LHC?" (or something like that) had "Higgs bosun" as one of its incorrect answers, along with boson, bosom and another. Pity the poor simple-minded reader who had scanned the main article for the answer!
Part of the article, and a good percentage of the letters page, was devoted to the usual fatuous rantings of people who just don't understand science, but see the cost of the project and set off into a red-faced orbit of indignation. "What's it for?" "What will we be able to do with it?" "Shouldn't we be making sure we can feed everyone before wasting money on this rubbish?"
Good grief. It's for science. Who knows what we'll be able to do with it? When quantum theory was proposed and investigated, it didn't have any known application, but it led directly to the development of the transistor. Where would we be without them, eh? What do you think powers the computer you type your ignorant articles on, moron? Open your eyes and look around you. Every single aspect of your life is the way it is today because of science. You should be thanking the pioneers of chemistry and physics for your mobile phone, your central heating timer, your television, sat-nav, low temperature washing powder, combi-boiler, and on and on and on.
When you're sitting on the wrong side, temporally speaking, of a great discovery, any predictions about what it might lead to sound inevitably like science fiction. Wind the clock forward and everyday life will have come to rely on whatever it is the LHC teams will unearth about the way the universe works. It might be anti-gravity, limitless free energy, instantaneous communications, the ability to transform matter, or more likely it will be something that we cannot even conceive now in our wildest imaginings. But the drive to discover it is the epitome of the human condition. If you're not interested, you might as well still be a monkey.
Sunday, September 07, 2008
Manuscript Madness
I suppose there just might be one or two peeps out there waiting on news of progress with my search for an agent. And to you I say: "no news is good news." :-\
Actually I did have one reply. The day after Labor (sic) Day. My BS radar detected right away that it was a bit on the quick side to be a "real" reply, and sure enough it was a polite but firm proforma reply just basically saying "thanks, we got your submission, and if we're interested we'll get back to you in 8-12 weeks."
At least it wasn't a 'no' eh?
A quick calculation told me that we'd be into the next millennium if I waited serially for each agent to reply, so this automated response did have a positive effect. It decided me to continue sending queries out. In small batches. It also gave me a small problem. The next agent on my list was happy to accept the whole of the first chapter, as an attachment. Which meant I had to make sure the formatting was right. At that, dear reader, is easier said than done.
Check out online advice sites for manuscript formatting. You'll find a bewildering array of advice, much of it contradictory. OK, some things they do agree on. Most start off by saying that if agents have guidelines of their own, it's important to follow them. To the letter. No problem with this sensible suggestion. Trouble is, the majority don't have any formatting guidelines, so I have to fall back on the guidelines on other sites. Again, there's a lot of agreement on the simple stuff. Double line spacing is de rigueur - a hang over from the days when people actually made hand-written notes on physical bits of paper. Oh. They still do? Yes, much of the publishing industry has yet to catch on with the idea that modern word processors have commenting capability. So get those lines double spaced young man!
I knew that from the off anyway, so no problem. Big margins are also a common feature. How big? Ah, now we start getting into choppier waters. An inch all round, says one site. An inch top and bottom, but one-and-a-half inches left and right, says another. Anywhere between 1 and 1.5 inches all round is good, says Wikipedia. Half an inch at the top and 1.25" on the other three sides, says my Novel Writing text book. Does it matter? As long as there's space for notes in the margins, right? Wrong. Some guidance suggests that the margins have to be set to ensure 25 lines per page and an average of 10 words per line. This supports the word counting estimation theory of 250 words per page, for those sites that counsel against using your word processor's word counting feature.
Most also agree that emphasis should be shown using underlining, which is always visible. It's changed later by the typesetter. And that a mono-spaced font such as Courier New must be used, preferably at the relatively large size of 12pt. One site got totally confused by the meaning of "Courier 12" and another stated emphatically that font is irrelevant as long as your m/s is readable. And that last statement was, supposedly, based on a straw poll of 500 agents where 98% expressed no preference for font. I guess this is another area where history still holds sway in many places, but is gradually being replaced by pragmatism. Still, in a world where you feel you must do NOTHING to spike your chances of success, it's Courier New 12pt for me. Which looks weird when you first start to use it, but quickly becomes natural. Indeed, since it's a font I use for nothing else, it's a visible reminder that I'm writing for myself instead of "working" for someone else.
Section breaks are an area of great confusion. Where the point of view changes, and/or the scene. In printed work it's common for these to be indicated with white space, but most guidance absolutely forbids this. Section breaks should be indicated with a single, centred hash character (#). However many advice sites don't mention section breaks at all, and one states categorically that you may show a break with two (double) line spaces! Argh!
But the greatest confusion is saved for the cover page, and the page header. On the cover page should the author's address be at top left, or centred halfway down? Where does the word count go? Should the genre be stated? Each set of guidelines has its own mix, and the individual page headers are even worse. You should have surname/novel title/page number at the top left of every page, just like that with slashes between. No, they should be centred. No, they should be on the right. No, your surname and page number should be on the right, with the title of the work on the left (optionally followed by chapter number). No! The left-hand side is for surname and title, the right for your page number.
God.
In the end though, they all mention the same information, so it stays the way I've done it (is my view) unless a particular agent wants it a different way. And it's only a page header anyway. Reformatting takes all of 10 seconds.
Actually I did have one reply. The day after Labor (sic) Day. My BS radar detected right away that it was a bit on the quick side to be a "real" reply, and sure enough it was a polite but firm proforma reply just basically saying "thanks, we got your submission, and if we're interested we'll get back to you in 8-12 weeks."
At least it wasn't a 'no' eh?
A quick calculation told me that we'd be into the next millennium if I waited serially for each agent to reply, so this automated response did have a positive effect. It decided me to continue sending queries out. In small batches. It also gave me a small problem. The next agent on my list was happy to accept the whole of the first chapter, as an attachment. Which meant I had to make sure the formatting was right. At that, dear reader, is easier said than done.
Check out online advice sites for manuscript formatting. You'll find a bewildering array of advice, much of it contradictory. OK, some things they do agree on. Most start off by saying that if agents have guidelines of their own, it's important to follow them. To the letter. No problem with this sensible suggestion. Trouble is, the majority don't have any formatting guidelines, so I have to fall back on the guidelines on other sites. Again, there's a lot of agreement on the simple stuff. Double line spacing is de rigueur - a hang over from the days when people actually made hand-written notes on physical bits of paper. Oh. They still do? Yes, much of the publishing industry has yet to catch on with the idea that modern word processors have commenting capability. So get those lines double spaced young man!
I knew that from the off anyway, so no problem. Big margins are also a common feature. How big? Ah, now we start getting into choppier waters. An inch all round, says one site. An inch top and bottom, but one-and-a-half inches left and right, says another. Anywhere between 1 and 1.5 inches all round is good, says Wikipedia. Half an inch at the top and 1.25" on the other three sides, says my Novel Writing text book. Does it matter? As long as there's space for notes in the margins, right? Wrong. Some guidance suggests that the margins have to be set to ensure 25 lines per page and an average of 10 words per line. This supports the word counting estimation theory of 250 words per page, for those sites that counsel against using your word processor's word counting feature.
Most also agree that emphasis should be shown using underlining, which is always visible. It's changed later by the typesetter. And that a mono-spaced font such as Courier New must be used, preferably at the relatively large size of 12pt. One site got totally confused by the meaning of "Courier 12" and another stated emphatically that font is irrelevant as long as your m/s is readable. And that last statement was, supposedly, based on a straw poll of 500 agents where 98% expressed no preference for font. I guess this is another area where history still holds sway in many places, but is gradually being replaced by pragmatism. Still, in a world where you feel you must do NOTHING to spike your chances of success, it's Courier New 12pt for me. Which looks weird when you first start to use it, but quickly becomes natural. Indeed, since it's a font I use for nothing else, it's a visible reminder that I'm writing for myself instead of "working" for someone else.
Section breaks are an area of great confusion. Where the point of view changes, and/or the scene. In printed work it's common for these to be indicated with white space, but most guidance absolutely forbids this. Section breaks should be indicated with a single, centred hash character (#). However many advice sites don't mention section breaks at all, and one states categorically that you may show a break with two (double) line spaces! Argh!
But the greatest confusion is saved for the cover page, and the page header. On the cover page should the author's address be at top left, or centred halfway down? Where does the word count go? Should the genre be stated? Each set of guidelines has its own mix, and the individual page headers are even worse. You should have surname/novel title/page number at the top left of every page, just like that with slashes between. No, they should be centred. No, they should be on the right. No, your surname and page number should be on the right, with the title of the work on the left (optionally followed by chapter number). No! The left-hand side is for surname and title, the right for your page number.
God.
In the end though, they all mention the same information, so it stays the way I've done it (is my view) unless a particular agent wants it a different way. And it's only a page header anyway. Reformatting takes all of 10 seconds.
Saturday, September 06, 2008
Found Things
Next month we'll have been here two years. Where has the time gone? Anyhoo, for one reason or another, today was a sorting out day.
Ever noticed how, after moving house, things in boxes tend to stay in boxes? Especially things you rarely use. Or even never use. And if you never use them, why do you have them? The answer, as every hoarder knows, is "because you might need them."
So the space in the kitchen where the old boiler used to sit has been occupied, since the old boiler moved out in December 2006, by six plastic tubs; their contents largely indeterminate, except that I was vaguely aware one contained power tools and another heavy tools (chisels, lump hammers and the like). The others had "stuff" in them.
Having completed the lounge (the last job - putting the door back on - was accomplished this morning before I moved on to "sorting out") I needed somewhere to store all the decorating tools. Previously they'd lived under a sheet in one corner of the dining room, but the "new" dining room is destined to be a bit posher than the old, so that is no longer an option. They needed to share space in the kitchen and this was the driver for the sort out.
Well. How many times have I needed a 7mm drill bit since we moved in? And how many times have I shrugged, made do with the next closest in my toolbag (6.5mm) and gingerly hammered the wall plugs into the too-small hole? I lost count. Guess what I found at the bottom of one of the tubs? Correct. Doesn't look like it's even been used, but I suppose I must have used it once, at least. It's in my drill box now. Probably won't need it again :-\
Found a load of other junk too. My Sennheiser headphones - the ones I bought when I was 17 for use with my original portable stereo. I've dragged these from house to house for 35 years, my emotional connection to the memories of their use too strong to allow me to let them go. When did I last use them? I have no idea, but I certainly haven't plugged them into anything since I left the Village, and I don't remember using them even there, so my best guess is they haven't transmitted music since before 1988. About a hundred and fifty times heavier than anything on the market today, and a hundred and fifty times worse sound quality too, I shouldn't wonder. Not to mention I could probably pick up a replacement set of cans on eBay for not much more than a tenner. All of this logic still conflicted with my emotional attachment to these sad, dusty relics of my youth. But I couldn't deny that their time had come. I put them in the pile to go to the tip.
Wasn't easy though.
Amazingly the sort-out left us with three empty plastic tubs, two full of stuff for the loft and one containing current, usable tools that will remain in the kitchen until I build a tool cupboard, alongside the decorating box. End result: seven boxes (including the decorating one) condensed to two. Job done.
Ever noticed how, after moving house, things in boxes tend to stay in boxes? Especially things you rarely use. Or even never use. And if you never use them, why do you have them? The answer, as every hoarder knows, is "because you might need them."
So the space in the kitchen where the old boiler used to sit has been occupied, since the old boiler moved out in December 2006, by six plastic tubs; their contents largely indeterminate, except that I was vaguely aware one contained power tools and another heavy tools (chisels, lump hammers and the like). The others had "stuff" in them.
Having completed the lounge (the last job - putting the door back on - was accomplished this morning before I moved on to "sorting out") I needed somewhere to store all the decorating tools. Previously they'd lived under a sheet in one corner of the dining room, but the "new" dining room is destined to be a bit posher than the old, so that is no longer an option. They needed to share space in the kitchen and this was the driver for the sort out.
Well. How many times have I needed a 7mm drill bit since we moved in? And how many times have I shrugged, made do with the next closest in my toolbag (6.5mm) and gingerly hammered the wall plugs into the too-small hole? I lost count. Guess what I found at the bottom of one of the tubs? Correct. Doesn't look like it's even been used, but I suppose I must have used it once, at least. It's in my drill box now. Probably won't need it again :-\
Found a load of other junk too. My Sennheiser headphones - the ones I bought when I was 17 for use with my original portable stereo. I've dragged these from house to house for 35 years, my emotional connection to the memories of their use too strong to allow me to let them go. When did I last use them? I have no idea, but I certainly haven't plugged them into anything since I left the Village, and I don't remember using them even there, so my best guess is they haven't transmitted music since before 1988. About a hundred and fifty times heavier than anything on the market today, and a hundred and fifty times worse sound quality too, I shouldn't wonder. Not to mention I could probably pick up a replacement set of cans on eBay for not much more than a tenner. All of this logic still conflicted with my emotional attachment to these sad, dusty relics of my youth. But I couldn't deny that their time had come. I put them in the pile to go to the tip.
Wasn't easy though.
Amazingly the sort-out left us with three empty plastic tubs, two full of stuff for the loft and one containing current, usable tools that will remain in the kitchen until I build a tool cupboard, alongside the decorating box. End result: seven boxes (including the decorating one) condensed to two. Job done.
Monday, September 01, 2008
I Submit!
Here we go then. Having spent a good part of the weekend knocking my synopsis into shape - the final (final) (no, really) stage of preparing my novel for submission - I composed my first email query letter and, after checking it about 50 times for spelling, grammar, panache, zizz, fizz and whizz, I closed my eyes and pressed Send.
There will come a time, and it's probably not too long in the future, when this process will become... well... just a process. But the first time? Equal measures scary and exciting. A bit like the first time you make love without contraception.
Then Nikki pointed out it's Labour Day in the States (my first submission is to a New York agency) so it probably won't be read until tomorrow. Now I really do feel like a pricked balloon. Or, to continue the lovemaking metaphor, a burst condom.
There will come a time, and it's probably not too long in the future, when this process will become... well... just a process. But the first time? Equal measures scary and exciting. A bit like the first time you make love without contraception.
Then Nikki pointed out it's Labour Day in the States (my first submission is to a New York agency) so it probably won't be read until tomorrow. Now I really do feel like a pricked balloon. Or, to continue the lovemaking metaphor, a burst condom.
Friday, August 29, 2008
Just wordling along
Well I just had to didn't I? Seeing as my better half had one, my world(le) wouldn't be complete without one
You can click on that to see the words in all their glory, and if you'd like one of your own, pop along to those lovely people at Wordle and make one for yourself. It's ever so easy.
Friday's were made for this kind of thing. Let's face it, they're not much good for anything else!
You can click on that to see the words in all their glory, and if you'd like one of your own, pop along to those lovely people at Wordle and make one for yourself. It's ever so easy.Friday's were made for this kind of thing. Let's face it, they're not much good for anything else!
Wednesday, August 27, 2008
Book Review: A Million Little Pieces
The book club selection for August was the controversial best-seller by James Frey. Chosen by Oprah when it was first published, this boosted the semi-autobiographical story of a young man addicted to just about everything to the top of the best seller lists. Trouble was Oprah, and millions of other readers, didn't realise it was semi-autobiographical. Frey had embellished certain parts of the text to make the memoir more... poignant? Interesting? Dunno, but those linear Yanks didn't like it. They'd swallowed it as the gospel truth of Frey's life and felt cheated when they found out parts of it hadn't happened. Or at least hadn't happened exactly as they're depicted in the book.Online commentaries I've read since beginning the book suggest that Europeans in general, and Brits in particular, don't have as much of a problem with this. I certainly didn't. I read the book for what it is (it may have helped that my copy is a later print run, which includes the author's explanation of why he changed some things around), and I can't say anything about it except that I was blown away. Not a phrase I use often, or lightly. I was blown away.
Frey breaks just about every rule ever written on novel writing. Or even use of English. He dispenses with quotation marks. Speech appears in the text just like exposition. The only clue to who's talking is if the speakers call each other by name, or in what they say, or very occasionally in the way they say it. This is disconcerting at first, but soon becomes entirely natural.
He almost dispenses with commas too. His first person narrative is more stream of consciousness than narration. I did this and I did that and I did the other. Sometimes even the 'ands' are omitted. Also, reflecting his extreme addiction and mental disarray at the start of the story, he frequently repeats things. Not only for emphasis or effect, but because it's the way he was thinking at the time. And although this initially looks, sounds and feels like a barrier to understanding, it too becomes natural. Surprisingly quickly. It reads like thought. A strange experience at first, but brilliantly executed so that within a few pages you don't even notice. It's like being inside his head.
Frey says that if the novel had been submitted as a piece of work to a grade class or a writing group, or on a degree course, it would have been thrown out. So many rules have been broken. So different is it from what we expect from a novel, or a memoir. Thank God for agents and editors with vision. For this is undoubtedly one of the most moving, involving and ultimately fulfilling books I've ever read. It's quite common for me to shed a quiet tear when I'm reading a well-written story. Sometimes it's just a pricking of the eyes, sometimes a welling up, sometimes the tear rolls down the cheek. This is, after all, the effect an author aims for. If you can't move your audience, what are you doing writing at all?
That said, never before has a book made me quite literally sob out loud. Uncontrollably. I can't explain what it was that struck such a deep chord with me. I am not now nor have I ever been addicted to any substance. I don't smoke. I drink the odd beer, glass of wine or gin & tonic at weekends. I have never done drugs of any kind. Chocolate is the nearest thing I could claim to be addicted to, and then only as a joke. And yet through the force of his writing I identified so closely with Frey's predicament and his journey from a wreck on the very edge of death to a man facing his future with strength and hope, that I was moved beyond any work I have ever encountered.
I will be giving this a 10 tonight. Only the second time in almost 30 months that I have awarded full marks. In this case, if I could give more, I would.
Tuesday, August 26, 2008
My chav side
Here's a bit of fun, coming via Diane and Nikki. Meez.com allows you to create animated avatars like this one with a host of different shapes, sizes, hairstyles and so on. When I found the mic and the karaoke bar I couldn't resist letting my dark side out. Yes, it's true, I'll take the chance to sing whenever it's offered.There are some restrictions with these things. That, for instance, is their fattest body size. Doesn't really do my pork justice. You can't colour the beards either, so that's more like mine 30 years ago than it is today. Etc.
But what the heck. I had a laugh doing it, and if you click on the pic, you can too!
Friday, August 22, 2008
Eating the elephant
After almost two weeks of work, my list of (potential) agents is complete. I found another source and, after raiding it, ended up with 136 candidates on my green list. This may be a bit obsessive, but the scoring system I came up with is quite complex, involving marks for location, genre, positive comments on writers' forums like Absolute Write, recent sales, and website.
Website?
Yes, I was amazed to find that many prestigious agencies don't have a website. Or it's a single page with no useful information. Many of those who have no site at all are clearly, even now, not very Internet savvy. They use email addresses at aol.com, or btinternet.com or somesuch generic bollocks. What impression do these people think they are giving? They bang on about writers taking a professional approach to writing, and then don't have a modern professional approach to their own online presence. Don't they know they're listed at various info sites?
I expect much of the answer lies in how busy they all are. Agents have to filter an awful lot of dross to find the few specks of gold in the bottom of the pan. The figure "98% failure rate" for submissions is quoted in too many places for it to be anything other than an accurate assessment. But whatever the answer, I've made a decision to deal online if at all possible, so those who haven't really thought about tinterpipes have fallen down the ranking. To be honest, if I get much below halfway through that list of 136 I'll probably rethink my approach. I mean, why would I settle for a relatively small agent just because they will deal electronically when there are bigger fish who only deal with paper? It's a dilemma to be sure, but one that, at the very least, can wait for another day. I live in naive hope that I won't get down as far as the middle of the list before my genius is recognised (*vbg*).
So the agents' list is ranked and ready, but is the manuscript? My very good friend CP warned me that the work would call to me, insisting on being rewritten one more time. And it has been calling. For days. So this long weekend will largely be devoted to "one more" go-through of the whole text, and then another go with particular emphasis on the first three chapters. Since many submission guidelines want to see one or all of chapters 1-3, they have to totally rock. Best get to it...
Website?
Yes, I was amazed to find that many prestigious agencies don't have a website. Or it's a single page with no useful information. Many of those who have no site at all are clearly, even now, not very Internet savvy. They use email addresses at aol.com, or btinternet.com or somesuch generic bollocks. What impression do these people think they are giving? They bang on about writers taking a professional approach to writing, and then don't have a modern professional approach to their own online presence. Don't they know they're listed at various info sites?
I expect much of the answer lies in how busy they all are. Agents have to filter an awful lot of dross to find the few specks of gold in the bottom of the pan. The figure "98% failure rate" for submissions is quoted in too many places for it to be anything other than an accurate assessment. But whatever the answer, I've made a decision to deal online if at all possible, so those who haven't really thought about tinterpipes have fallen down the ranking. To be honest, if I get much below halfway through that list of 136 I'll probably rethink my approach. I mean, why would I settle for a relatively small agent just because they will deal electronically when there are bigger fish who only deal with paper? It's a dilemma to be sure, but one that, at the very least, can wait for another day. I live in naive hope that I won't get down as far as the middle of the list before my genius is recognised (*vbg*).
So the agents' list is ranked and ready, but is the manuscript? My very good friend CP warned me that the work would call to me, insisting on being rewritten one more time. And it has been calling. For days. So this long weekend will largely be devoted to "one more" go-through of the whole text, and then another go with particular emphasis on the first three chapters. Since many submission guidelines want to see one or all of chapters 1-3, they have to totally rock. Best get to it...
Thursday, August 21, 2008
The human face of technology
The NeuroArm robot has been in the news a lot recently. I don't know why this has just burst into the consciousness of the UK media - so far I've only managed to catch the last few seconds of every news item on it - but we've been a bit slow to catch on. There's a news article on it here dated November 2007.Still that's the British media for you. Quick off the mark with the trivial stuff, good at making things up for a catchy headline, but when it's something really interesting and important? Almost a year behind the times. Nice one.
The little bit of the news that I have caught seems to have been focussing on people's reaction to being operated on by a robot. Despite the fact that the device works with pinpoint accuracy in the kind of surgery where being a millimetre off at the end of a gruelling six- or eight-hour op can mean the difference between life and death, will people trust it? It looks like something out of The Terminator, which is bound to be a bit worrying.
Seems to me they missed a very obvious trick here. If they wanted to give the device a more "human" face they should just have called it...
Robot de Neuro.
Are you looking at me?
Sunday, August 17, 2008
Please be seated
Sofa moving day, and the morning dawned fine, but as Annie's expected arrival time of 1pm approached, so did the dark clouds.
I spent an extremely sweaty half hour chopping back the hedge to give us the best chance - well, any chance really - of getting the sofa down the side of the house. Not being much of a botanist, I'm uncertain what the hedge is, but it sure as hell grows quickly. Some sort of creeper, and there's definitely a bit of ivy mixed in with it, not to mention the ubiquitous bindweed, left to itself it renders the path impassable within 12 months.
But armed with my trusty Wilkinson Sword shears I defeated the beast, and filled our green recycle bin to bursting.
Annie arrived at the appointed hour, and after a couple of false starts where we had moved the larger of the two sofas to the conservatory door only to have the rain start up again, we carted the four-seater around the back of the house, down the path and back in through the front door. A peculiar route, you may be thinking, to travel from one room to the adjacent room, but we knew from moving-in day that the sofas would not negotiate the turn from (old) lounge to hall.
Which was the reason for my slight niggling worry that they wouldn't manage the turn into the new lounge either. But I needn't have worried. We had to take the feet off anyway to get the buggers through the front door, but that meant the lounge door posed no problem at all, and within minutes the second, smaller, sofa had followed its larger sister into the new room, and we were sitting pretty.
Annie stuck around for another hour or so to run the cables for the rear surround-sound speakers, which leaves me with just one job - to rehang the door. It waits patiently in the old lounge (which we must now get used to calling the dining room) to have its new handles and hinges fitted, and there'll be half an inch or so to trim off the bottom to allow for the new carpet, but once that's done - a job for next weekend - the New Lounge Project will be complete. We've come a long way in three months.
Before After
I spent an extremely sweaty half hour chopping back the hedge to give us the best chance - well, any chance really - of getting the sofa down the side of the house. Not being much of a botanist, I'm uncertain what the hedge is, but it sure as hell grows quickly. Some sort of creeper, and there's definitely a bit of ivy mixed in with it, not to mention the ubiquitous bindweed, left to itself it renders the path impassable within 12 months.
But armed with my trusty Wilkinson Sword shears I defeated the beast, and filled our green recycle bin to bursting.
Annie arrived at the appointed hour, and after a couple of false starts where we had moved the larger of the two sofas to the conservatory door only to have the rain start up again, we carted the four-seater around the back of the house, down the path and back in through the front door. A peculiar route, you may be thinking, to travel from one room to the adjacent room, but we knew from moving-in day that the sofas would not negotiate the turn from (old) lounge to hall.
Which was the reason for my slight niggling worry that they wouldn't manage the turn into the new lounge either. But I needn't have worried. We had to take the feet off anyway to get the buggers through the front door, but that meant the lounge door posed no problem at all, and within minutes the second, smaller, sofa had followed its larger sister into the new room, and we were sitting pretty.Annie stuck around for another hour or so to run the cables for the rear surround-sound speakers, which leaves me with just one job - to rehang the door. It waits patiently in the old lounge (which we must now get used to calling the dining room) to have its new handles and hinges fitted, and there'll be half an inch or so to trim off the bottom to allow for the new carpet, but once that's done - a job for next weekend - the New Lounge Project will be complete. We've come a long way in three months.
Before After
Saturday, August 16, 2008
Order of importance
I'm a bit behind with the reportage of our final lounge activities, so apologies for that. This entry is dated August 16 but I'm writing it a week later. I have an excuse, which I'll come to later.
Anyhoo, today was the day for finally starting to move the furniture back into the new lounge. Well, I say "back" but of course it's never been in there at all, seein' as it used to be the dining room. But let's not get too hung up on semantics.
First order of business: hanging the curtains. Which included putting the curtain rails back up after giving them a thorough clean. These are our bargain eBay curtains that Nikki found. Probably around 400-quid's-worth of curtain for £70, and they match the sofas pretty much exactly. We just don't have that kind of luck normally.
Talking of sofas, we'd arranged to move them in tomorrow with Annie's help, so for today we enlisted the large conservatory cushions, sofa cushions and spare pillows so we could all camp comfortably on the floor for the afternoon and evening viewing sessions.
Which left the final item on today's agenda: the TV. I'd been procrastinating feverishly where the telly was concerned on account of it being so heavy. 70kg. Somehow I managed to lift it off the stand by myself, and Nikki and I penguin-footed it into the lounge in short bursts. Deciding the exact position of the stand in its new home was the subject of much debate. Not too far out into the room, the right angle to be seen from both sofas, not so close to the wall that I couldn't crawl behind it to cable everything up.
The cabling isn't such a nightmare as it was the first time round, 'cos I've labelled each end of every cable with its "from" and "to" locations. Blythe looked at the pile of cables and asked incredulously: "do you know where all those go?" Yeah, but I have a plan now, so it looks easy. When I first connected the media unit, PVR, surround-sound system and XBox together it took about 3 hours and 4 attempts to get everything right. Having multiple connections for sound and video signals is a luxury, but it can also be darned confusing!
Getting the TV back on the stand? Luckily there were sufficient hand-holds for us all to pitch in, and with four people lifting, it went on like a dream.
Anyhoo, today was the day for finally starting to move the furniture back into the new lounge. Well, I say "back" but of course it's never been in there at all, seein' as it used to be the dining room. But let's not get too hung up on semantics.
First order of business: hanging the curtains. Which included putting the curtain rails back up after giving them a thorough clean. These are our bargain eBay curtains that Nikki found. Probably around 400-quid's-worth of curtain for £70, and they match the sofas pretty much exactly. We just don't have that kind of luck normally.Talking of sofas, we'd arranged to move them in tomorrow with Annie's help, so for today we enlisted the large conservatory cushions, sofa cushions and spare pillows so we could all camp comfortably on the floor for the afternoon and evening viewing sessions.Which left the final item on today's agenda: the TV. I'd been procrastinating feverishly where the telly was concerned on account of it being so heavy. 70kg. Somehow I managed to lift it off the stand by myself, and Nikki and I penguin-footed it into the lounge in short bursts. Deciding the exact position of the stand in its new home was the subject of much debate. Not too far out into the room, the right angle to be seen from both sofas, not so close to the wall that I couldn't crawl behind it to cable everything up.
The cabling isn't such a nightmare as it was the first time round, 'cos I've labelled each end of every cable with its "from" and "to" locations. Blythe looked at the pile of cables and asked incredulously: "do you know where all those go?" Yeah, but I have a plan now, so it looks easy. When I first connected the media unit, PVR, surround-sound system and XBox together it took about 3 hours and 4 attempts to get everything right. Having multiple connections for sound and video signals is a luxury, but it can also be darned confusing!Getting the TV back on the stand? Luckily there were sufficient hand-holds for us all to pitch in, and with four people lifting, it went on like a dream.
Friday, August 15, 2008
At last! Something positive!
After many hours' work, I completed my trawl through on-line agency resources. I now have a list of 212 agents. Because I'm a methodical kind of guy (hey! nothing wrong with that! Most of the sites strongly recommend a professional approach to choosing an agent, so I'm making sure I do my homework) that list is divided into three categories:
Which brings me to the title of this post. My last couple of entries on the subject of agents accentuated the negative messages I'd found in my search, but the truth is these were more than counterbalanced by the positive messages many, many agents had taken the trouble to include on their sites. In advice pages, or on the "submissions guidelines" pages I found encouragement, warmth and humour and occasionally something to make me laugh out loud (in a good way this time). All of them expressed admiration for writers, and reminded their readers that just because one agent turns a book down doesn't mean it's unpublishable. Often their reasons for rejection are not really to do with the content at all, merely the genre, or the fact that they already represent someone who writes similar work and don't want a new client to compete with him or her, or they simply have too much on at that particular time. They all exhort writers to not be discouraged, to keep on keeping on. One memorable site put it like this:
"Think about a typical trip to the bookstore. There are thousands upon thousands of books there, and you can only take home a handful. Many of those books are great, but just not what you’re looking for at that moment. Don’t get discouraged, and keep going!"
So with that in mind, it's back to my list...
- Green: Agents that handle my kind of material and will take electronic submissions of some kind, from an email query only in the first instance, through to a letter and three chapters as an attachment. There are some who have an online form, some who want the chapters embedded in the email, but whatever the method, they'll all deal on the net.
- Amber: Agents that handle my kind of material and require paper-based (i.e. snail-mail) submissions. Again, some of these prefer a query letter only to start with; others are happy to take chapters right off the bat.
- Red: Agents that don't do fiction at all, or if they do it's not my kind of fiction. "Why have I bothered including these in my list?" I hear you ask. Because during the course of my travels I've read that it can take up to a year to find an agent. If it takes me that long, after nine months when someone in the know asks "haven't you thought about sending it to Bloggs & Co.?" I want to be able to run my finger down my list and say, "no, because they only do children's books."
Which brings me to the title of this post. My last couple of entries on the subject of agents accentuated the negative messages I'd found in my search, but the truth is these were more than counterbalanced by the positive messages many, many agents had taken the trouble to include on their sites. In advice pages, or on the "submissions guidelines" pages I found encouragement, warmth and humour and occasionally something to make me laugh out loud (in a good way this time). All of them expressed admiration for writers, and reminded their readers that just because one agent turns a book down doesn't mean it's unpublishable. Often their reasons for rejection are not really to do with the content at all, merely the genre, or the fact that they already represent someone who writes similar work and don't want a new client to compete with him or her, or they simply have too much on at that particular time. They all exhort writers to not be discouraged, to keep on keeping on. One memorable site put it like this:
"Think about a typical trip to the bookstore. There are thousands upon thousands of books there, and you can only take home a handful. Many of those books are great, but just not what you’re looking for at that moment. Don’t get discouraged, and keep going!"
So with that in mind, it's back to my list...
Thursday, August 14, 2008
Magic carpet
It's not flying anywhere, but it has magical sound-deadening properties! Our new lounge no longer echoes every time the kitchen door closes - the carpet is down!
Kinda magical the way it was laid too. The fitters were here less than an hour. Mind you they love me, our carpet fitters. When they arrive the room to be fitted is always empty, and the door is always off. Just about the easiest fit they ever have - the only way it could be simpler is if there weren't any awkward corners. Well I couldn't help that. With a bay window and a hearth it was never going to be as straightforward as a square room, but they were in and out in about 50 minutes, including underlay and gripper rods.
I'm very pleased with the way it looks - exactly as we'd pictured it. This weekend will be taken up with rehanging curtains and moving the furniture back in. Assuming it'll go in of course. There's still a little niggling worry that the larger of the two sofas won't actually negotiate the turn from the hall, but we won't know for certain until Sunday. Between now and then we'll be vacuuming the darned thing every hour to get rid of all that "new carpet fluff." The kind that used to cling to my school uniform as a lad, on account of me spending most of my time on the floor.
Kinda magical the way it was laid too. The fitters were here less than an hour. Mind you they love me, our carpet fitters. When they arrive the room to be fitted is always empty, and the door is always off. Just about the easiest fit they ever have - the only way it could be simpler is if there weren't any awkward corners. Well I couldn't help that. With a bay window and a hearth it was never going to be as straightforward as a square room, but they were in and out in about 50 minutes, including underlay and gripper rods.
I'm very pleased with the way it looks - exactly as we'd pictured it. This weekend will be taken up with rehanging curtains and moving the furniture back in. Assuming it'll go in of course. There's still a little niggling worry that the larger of the two sofas won't actually negotiate the turn from the hall, but we won't know for certain until Sunday. Between now and then we'll be vacuuming the darned thing every hour to get rid of all that "new carpet fluff." The kind that used to cling to my school uniform as a lad, on account of me spending most of my time on the floor.
Wednesday, August 13, 2008
More exciting encouragement
After trawling through P&E's list of publishers, it became pretty clear that approaching a publisher directly is probably a bad idea. I'll still have a go, but the chances of success are slim in a world where they started off poor. Slim multiplied by poor is not good. Fact is, most well-known publishers simply will not take submissions, or even queries, from people they don't know.
So I moved on to literary agents. The list here is MUCH longer. I'd already been advised to go the agency route, by two people I trust, but being a stubborn sod I had to work it out for myself too. Anyway, off I set, visiting each of the websites in turn and searching for those who (a) deal in the kind of material I've written and (b) are prepared to take queries or submissions by email. I mean, this is the 21st century, right? Any company that doesn't deal by email these days must either be mad or already have so much business they don't know what to do with that they can't possibly handle any more.
And indeed that latter argument is true in many cases. I found several dozen sites with the message "we are closed to new submissions" or similar. But for those working only with paper? Well I'm not saying I won't deal with them at all, it's just that they go to the bottom of my list of possibles. Paper is expensive for me to produce. They all want at least the first three chapters, which in my case is 118 pages. That's almost a quarter of a ream (and they insist on the good stuff), plus it would take the best part of an ink cartridge to print. With postage on top, and return postage to ensure I don't have to print it all off again, that's gonna set me back around £40 for each submission. Not to mention the environmental impact ;o)
Well if I get rejected by ALL the agencies that take email submissions then I'll have no option, but until then...
But the point of this post is to share some wonderful words of encouragement. Quite a few of the agency websites have pages of advice to both new and established authors. Not just "how to format your manuscript" (which is, annoyingly, slightly different in each case - and mandatory!) but also how to be a writer, what to expect, yadda yadda. So in amongst all this information and advice, I find this gem:
"Someone who sits down one day to dash off a thriller just for fun is not likely to succeed in the long run; nor in most cases is the casual writer who takes 10 years to complete a single book."
Well...I haven't quite taken 10 years, but I'm almost there. Should I just give up now, then? No. Thanks for the advice, but I'm not jacking it in just yet.
So I moved on to literary agents. The list here is MUCH longer. I'd already been advised to go the agency route, by two people I trust, but being a stubborn sod I had to work it out for myself too. Anyway, off I set, visiting each of the websites in turn and searching for those who (a) deal in the kind of material I've written and (b) are prepared to take queries or submissions by email. I mean, this is the 21st century, right? Any company that doesn't deal by email these days must either be mad or already have so much business they don't know what to do with that they can't possibly handle any more.
And indeed that latter argument is true in many cases. I found several dozen sites with the message "we are closed to new submissions" or similar. But for those working only with paper? Well I'm not saying I won't deal with them at all, it's just that they go to the bottom of my list of possibles. Paper is expensive for me to produce. They all want at least the first three chapters, which in my case is 118 pages. That's almost a quarter of a ream (and they insist on the good stuff), plus it would take the best part of an ink cartridge to print. With postage on top, and return postage to ensure I don't have to print it all off again, that's gonna set me back around £40 for each submission. Not to mention the environmental impact ;o)
Well if I get rejected by ALL the agencies that take email submissions then I'll have no option, but until then...
But the point of this post is to share some wonderful words of encouragement. Quite a few of the agency websites have pages of advice to both new and established authors. Not just "how to format your manuscript" (which is, annoyingly, slightly different in each case - and mandatory!) but also how to be a writer, what to expect, yadda yadda. So in amongst all this information and advice, I find this gem:
"Someone who sits down one day to dash off a thriller just for fun is not likely to succeed in the long run; nor in most cases is the casual writer who takes 10 years to complete a single book."
Well...I haven't quite taken 10 years, but I'm almost there. Should I just give up now, then? No. Thanks for the advice, but I'm not jacking it in just yet.
Tuesday, August 12, 2008
Writing a book is the easy part
My head is spinning. I've been searching for a publisher. Some of the purple prose on both publisher's and agency's websites is worthy of award in its own right, but this entry on a website that will remain anonymous (unless you really want to Google it, and even then...) had me laughing out loud:
But before you send us your manuscript you MUST understand a few facts:
1. Writing a book is the easy part; selling it to a publisher and then to a market is very much harder.
The easy part eh? Yeah, that'd be right. It's only taken me eight years. If that's the easy part and selling it to a publisher is "very much harder" then I'll be lucky if it gets into print before I croak. *sigh*
Then there's the word count argument. Published work is divided into "short story", "novella", "novel" by the number of words it contains. So how to arrive at that number of words? Here are two conflicting stories that coincidentally appeared on agency sites that I visited consecutively today.
Site A:
Your computer lies - you cannot trust its word counting ability. It can't even read. So, here is the quick and dirty method agents and publishers use. [with standard m/s formatting] your typed page will contain 250 words. If you have a manuscript 300 pages long, then the word count will be 75,000.
Site B:
Word Count: The three best ways for determining word count are simply
1. Use the word count feature in your word processor.
2. Use the same feature to count the number of characters including spaces and divide by six.
3. Or to use the counter to total the number of characters not including spaces. Take this number and divide by five
This is important. If you have used some sort of formula to tell you how long your novel is based on an assumed number of words per page, you're probably way off.
Good grief.
But before you send us your manuscript you MUST understand a few facts:
1. Writing a book is the easy part; selling it to a publisher and then to a market is very much harder.
The easy part eh? Yeah, that'd be right. It's only taken me eight years. If that's the easy part and selling it to a publisher is "very much harder" then I'll be lucky if it gets into print before I croak. *sigh*
Then there's the word count argument. Published work is divided into "short story", "novella", "novel" by the number of words it contains. So how to arrive at that number of words? Here are two conflicting stories that coincidentally appeared on agency sites that I visited consecutively today.
Site A:
Your computer lies - you cannot trust its word counting ability. It can't even read. So, here is the quick and dirty method agents and publishers use. [with standard m/s formatting] your typed page will contain 250 words. If you have a manuscript 300 pages long, then the word count will be 75,000.
Site B:
Word Count: The three best ways for determining word count are simply
1. Use the word count feature in your word processor.
2. Use the same feature to count the number of characters including spaces and divide by six.
3. Or to use the counter to total the number of characters not including spaces. Take this number and divide by five
This is important. If you have used some sort of formula to tell you how long your novel is based on an assumed number of words per page, you're probably way off.
Good grief.
Monday, August 11, 2008
An interesting query
I put the final touches to my query letter today.
I guess I should explain that, for all you non-writers. A query letter is a writer's calling card. In many cases, when you're approaching an agent or a publisher, it's your one chance to impress.
Unlike a few years ago, a good proportion - maybe even more than half - of agents will now accept queries by email, but this is a double-edged sword. It opens the floodgates to many more queries from first-time authors and thus makes it even more important to create a stand-out query letter. You have to describe yourself, your novel, the plot and why it's the perfect novel for them to be interested in, all in 3 or 4 paragraphs and all in as compelling a way as possible.
Sound like a hard job? You're damn right. There are examples of "good practice" online, but simply taking one of these and slotting in your own details is clearly not a good idea. Thousands of others will have been there before you. That is not "stand-out."
And then there's that secret ingredient - sizzle. That's marketing speak for what makes your query irresistible. What makes it POP!
So anyway, after a lot of work and several revisions, I'm now pretty happy with my query letter. Now I just have to work out who to send it to.
I guess I should explain that, for all you non-writers. A query letter is a writer's calling card. In many cases, when you're approaching an agent or a publisher, it's your one chance to impress.
Unlike a few years ago, a good proportion - maybe even more than half - of agents will now accept queries by email, but this is a double-edged sword. It opens the floodgates to many more queries from first-time authors and thus makes it even more important to create a stand-out query letter. You have to describe yourself, your novel, the plot and why it's the perfect novel for them to be interested in, all in 3 or 4 paragraphs and all in as compelling a way as possible.
Sound like a hard job? You're damn right. There are examples of "good practice" online, but simply taking one of these and slotting in your own details is clearly not a good idea. Thousands of others will have been there before you. That is not "stand-out."
And then there's that secret ingredient - sizzle. That's marketing speak for what makes your query irresistible. What makes it POP!
So anyway, after a lot of work and several revisions, I'm now pretty happy with my query letter. Now I just have to work out who to send it to.
All quiet on the lounge front
Nothing's ever simple, as I've mentioned several times in the past on this blog. Even the simplest job will turn out to have some weird glitch to trip you up. Yesterday's glitch was the size of my gun. Not big enough by a long shot (haha!).
Yes the day was taken up with those last few tidy-up jobs that mark the end of another decorating era. Screwing the power sockets back on, touching up the paint splashes, runs, and missed bits, sweeping up the dust and paint shavings, removing the tools from the work area.
And finally, in this case, applying a bead of sealant to the skirting boards to stop the howling gale that blows up from the sub-floor and would, if not stopped, turn the edges of the new carpet black in no time. The first tube of sealant went down without incident, being a tube I had left over from the last job. When I came to cut the seal off the next tube though, I realised I had a problem. I'd bought two trade-sized tubes of decorator's caulk, and they were just two inches too long to fit in my standard, amateur's gun.
An emergency dash to B&Q, fast becoming the highlight of every single DIY project I've ever undertaken, was called for. There are no photos on this blog entry, because the sight of me in my decorating clothes is one I don't normally share with the world. Apologies then to those few poor unfortunates who happened to choose this particular rainy Sunday afternoon for a shopping trip to B&Q, and thereby suffered an even greater shock than such an outing would normally visit upon them.
Ten pounds poorer but with a professional caulking gun in hand (and two regular-sized tubes of caulk too, in case the gun still wasn't the right size), I returned home and finished the job.
Now the lounge sits silently, emptily waiting to have its carpet laid, and every noise from the rest of the house echoes around its newly-decorated, but still spartan, walls.
Yes the day was taken up with those last few tidy-up jobs that mark the end of another decorating era. Screwing the power sockets back on, touching up the paint splashes, runs, and missed bits, sweeping up the dust and paint shavings, removing the tools from the work area.
And finally, in this case, applying a bead of sealant to the skirting boards to stop the howling gale that blows up from the sub-floor and would, if not stopped, turn the edges of the new carpet black in no time. The first tube of sealant went down without incident, being a tube I had left over from the last job. When I came to cut the seal off the next tube though, I realised I had a problem. I'd bought two trade-sized tubes of decorator's caulk, and they were just two inches too long to fit in my standard, amateur's gun.
An emergency dash to B&Q, fast becoming the highlight of every single DIY project I've ever undertaken, was called for. There are no photos on this blog entry, because the sight of me in my decorating clothes is one I don't normally share with the world. Apologies then to those few poor unfortunates who happened to choose this particular rainy Sunday afternoon for a shopping trip to B&Q, and thereby suffered an even greater shock than such an outing would normally visit upon them.
Ten pounds poorer but with a professional caulking gun in hand (and two regular-sized tubes of caulk too, in case the gun still wasn't the right size), I returned home and finished the job.
Now the lounge sits silently, emptily waiting to have its carpet laid, and every noise from the rest of the house echoes around its newly-decorated, but still spartan, walls.
Sunday, August 10, 2008
I might be an anachronism
Yesterday, the painting concluded with that last coat of gloss on the skirting board and door frame. The end is nigh I tell you! It's nigh!
But it occurred to me while I was cleaning the paintbrush I'd used for the undercoat, that I might be becoming an anachronism. Or may even already have achieved it. I mean, do people still clean their paintbrushes?
It's one of those things I do without thinking. One of those "it's the way it is" things. My Dad always - almost religiously - cleaned his brushes, the same way he looked after all his tools. Carefully, lovingly, and with precision. And so, following his example, do I.
On the other hand, back then, paintbrushes and the like were relatively expensive. I don't know what proportion of his wage he would have had to spend on a new brush back in, say, 1965, but I can guarantee it's more than the 0.37% of my (weekly) salary that a new Harris costs. I know the price because I just had to buy a new one. One of my cleaning sessions wasn't quite so diligent as it should have been. A couple of days too late, in fact, to prevent the brush turning into a zombie.
When we had the bathroom done last year I noticed how the tradesmen bought new brushes (at our expense, naturally), used them once and threw them away. I'd never even considered doing this until then. To me, brushes were just part of your toolkit, to be used, reused, and looked after. Now I'm wondering if the best way to avoid filling the house with white spirit fumes, and dumping nasty VOCs down the loo, is just to not clean them in the first place. It's a bit of a culture shock that is, believe me.
But it occurred to me while I was cleaning the paintbrush I'd used for the undercoat, that I might be becoming an anachronism. Or may even already have achieved it. I mean, do people still clean their paintbrushes?
It's one of those things I do without thinking. One of those "it's the way it is" things. My Dad always - almost religiously - cleaned his brushes, the same way he looked after all his tools. Carefully, lovingly, and with precision. And so, following his example, do I.
On the other hand, back then, paintbrushes and the like were relatively expensive. I don't know what proportion of his wage he would have had to spend on a new brush back in, say, 1965, but I can guarantee it's more than the 0.37% of my (weekly) salary that a new Harris costs. I know the price because I just had to buy a new one. One of my cleaning sessions wasn't quite so diligent as it should have been. A couple of days too late, in fact, to prevent the brush turning into a zombie.
When we had the bathroom done last year I noticed how the tradesmen bought new brushes (at our expense, naturally), used them once and threw them away. I'd never even considered doing this until then. To me, brushes were just part of your toolkit, to be used, reused, and looked after. Now I'm wondering if the best way to avoid filling the house with white spirit fumes, and dumping nasty VOCs down the loo, is just to not clean them in the first place. It's a bit of a culture shock that is, believe me.
Saturday, August 09, 2008
We're on the level
So there was this gap in front of the fire, where the new hearth didn't quite come out as far as the old hearth. The fireplace fitter recommended self-levelling compound, as anything else would crack and to leave the gap there would cause the carpet to sag in front of the fire. He advised using a small tub, but the smallest one I could find was 5kg. Still, I thought, may as well mix it all up. I don't need it for anything else and I can just chuck away what I don't use.
There was about a teaspoonful left by the time I'd finished. It kept leaking away UNDER the new hearth. The daft buggers had just sat it there, on top of the floor, bridging over the old concrete plinth.
The compound also leaked through two or three small holes at the front as you can see here. I guess those leaks will have dripped through to the sub-floor. Luckily the holes weren't large enough for the whole mix to disappear before it set sufficiently to stop dripping.
All this does of course mean that we'll never be able to have bare floorboards in the lounge again (unless we fit new boards to this section) but frankly after years of bare floors - stripped pine in this house and laminate in the last - that's not a serious worry. We wanted it cosy, and that means carpet.
The final task for today was to apply the gloss coat to the skirting boards and door frame. This didn't have such a profound effect on the look of the room as yesterday when the undercoat went on. I knew that would be a watershed. Painting the last of the woodwork removed the only remaining rough edges and made the whole project look finished, with just a few bits of tidying up to do. Today's gloss coat just made it... err... glossier.
There was about a teaspoonful left by the time I'd finished. It kept leaking away UNDER the new hearth. The daft buggers had just sat it there, on top of the floor, bridging over the old concrete plinth.
The compound also leaked through two or three small holes at the front as you can see here. I guess those leaks will have dripped through to the sub-floor. Luckily the holes weren't large enough for the whole mix to disappear before it set sufficiently to stop dripping.All this does of course mean that we'll never be able to have bare floorboards in the lounge again (unless we fit new boards to this section) but frankly after years of bare floors - stripped pine in this house and laminate in the last - that's not a serious worry. We wanted it cosy, and that means carpet.
The final task for today was to apply the gloss coat to the skirting boards and door frame. This didn't have such a profound effect on the look of the room as yesterday when the undercoat went on. I knew that would be a watershed. Painting the last of the woodwork removed the only remaining rough edges and made the whole project look finished, with just a few bits of tidying up to do. Today's gloss coat just made it... err... glossier.
The rumours of my death have been greatly exaggerated
There was another John Beresford.
Actually, there are many more than two, but in my small universe, for a long time, there was only one. Me. When I moved up to "big school" rumours started to reach me of another one. He attended the other main high school in my home town and was approximately the same age. Over the years, a number of my friends met him, befriended him even, and in due course I met him too. He was, naturally, always referred to as "the other" John Beresford. Apparently, he used to insist that I was "the other" John Beresford, but that just goes to prove how misguided some people can be.
Or could be. The other John Beresford died last week.
Yesterday one of my mates called me to point out that his obit had been in the paper, and it was just possible my mother would hear of "my" death and be extremely shocked and/or worried. We agreed I'd better phone her right away to head off any such trauma.
Hello Mum.
Ooh! Hello.
I'm just phoning to let you know I'm still alive.
<long silence>
Only, you know how there was another John Beresford?
No.
Oh, well he's died. And it's been in the paper this week.
Well I don't get a paper.
No, but your friends do, and if one of them came in asking when I'd died, you'd be a bit upset.
Oh. Yes. I suppose I would.
Well it's not me.
No. Alright then.
Do you ever have those days where you wonder why you bother?
Actually, there are many more than two, but in my small universe, for a long time, there was only one. Me. When I moved up to "big school" rumours started to reach me of another one. He attended the other main high school in my home town and was approximately the same age. Over the years, a number of my friends met him, befriended him even, and in due course I met him too. He was, naturally, always referred to as "the other" John Beresford. Apparently, he used to insist that I was "the other" John Beresford, but that just goes to prove how misguided some people can be.
Or could be. The other John Beresford died last week.
Yesterday one of my mates called me to point out that his obit had been in the paper, and it was just possible my mother would hear of "my" death and be extremely shocked and/or worried. We agreed I'd better phone her right away to head off any such trauma.
Hello Mum.
Ooh! Hello.
I'm just phoning to let you know I'm still alive.
<long silence>
Only, you know how there was another John Beresford?
No.
Oh, well he's died. And it's been in the paper this week.
Well I don't get a paper.
No, but your friends do, and if one of them came in asking when I'd died, you'd be a bit upset.
Oh. Yes. I suppose I would.
Well it's not me.
No. Alright then.
Do you ever have those days where you wonder why you bother?
Friday, August 08, 2008
The number 8
We have a TV ad here for the HSBC bank where a room full of frantic Chinese people are bidding for a car number plate containing a single number 8. The spiel goes that the number 8 has great significance in China, where it's seen as a symbol of good luck and power. (The ad is for an account with an 8% interest rate, but that's by the by).What I hadn't twigged until this morning, when I heard it on Today programme, is that the opening of the Olympic Games this year is seen as a VERY auspicious event in China, occurring as it does on the 8th day of the 8th month in the 8th year of the century. To maximise the good fortune, the opening ceremony will commence at exactly 8:08 Beijing time. The fanatical numerologists among you might also be interested to know that the word 'China', when converted to a number using the traditional methods, also has the value 8. Spooky, or what?
Monday, August 04, 2008
People are our greatest assets
I can't hear that phrase without a feeling of creeping cynicism. It's a mantra that HR departments and directors always trot out when they want to impress the workforce with how well we're being treated. Like the BBC hype surrounding their execrable new drama Bonekickers however, the message does not reflect the medium.
I arrived at work this morning - the first time I've been into the office for some weeks - to find a corporate email in my box. It was about business travel. Some poor graduate trainee has been given the task of analysing the business mileage data for the last year, and the message is that the top 10 drivers are responsible for 41% of total mileage claims and spend 62.5 days per year in their cars.
These incredible statistics, along with averages for the rest of us, are used to promote the message that we should all be more careful at deciding whether we drive or not, and consider alternatives such as telephones (no! really?), voice conferences, video conferences or instant messaging. So what drives the corporate need to achieve a reduction in miles driven? Is it concern for those poor employees, trapped in their cars for nearly 9 weeks of the year? Is it perhaps a recognition that we need a better work-life balance? Are they trying to reduce stress levels among the employee population? Or maybe it's a simple case of wanting to save money?
No. None of these things. They've pledged to reduce the corporate carbon footprint, and this is one of the most significant contributors.
Give me strength.
I arrived at work this morning - the first time I've been into the office for some weeks - to find a corporate email in my box. It was about business travel. Some poor graduate trainee has been given the task of analysing the business mileage data for the last year, and the message is that the top 10 drivers are responsible for 41% of total mileage claims and spend 62.5 days per year in their cars.
These incredible statistics, along with averages for the rest of us, are used to promote the message that we should all be more careful at deciding whether we drive or not, and consider alternatives such as telephones (no! really?), voice conferences, video conferences or instant messaging. So what drives the corporate need to achieve a reduction in miles driven? Is it concern for those poor employees, trapped in their cars for nearly 9 weeks of the year? Is it perhaps a recognition that we need a better work-life balance? Are they trying to reduce stress levels among the employee population? Or maybe it's a simple case of wanting to save money?
No. None of these things. They've pledged to reduce the corporate carbon footprint, and this is one of the most significant contributors.
Give me strength.
Sunday, August 03, 2008
You are being very expensive, Mem-Saab
A constant stream of weekends stretches behind me during which decorating looms large as the primary activity. So it was with great joy that we kicked the lounge project into the long grass this weekend and headed off to Nottingham for a night out with friends.
The festivities started early, with champagne and strawberries on the terrace at Ian & Gill's. My, aren't we posh? Yes, we are. Well, when you've got married after being together for 25 years (or thereabouts) and you've just returned from your honeymoon, you can be forgiven for pushing the boat out a bit. And they did. Top stuff. Champagne supplies appeared to be virtually limitless, so we sat and quaffed from around 5pm to when the taxis arrived shortly after 7. And quaffed, and quaffed, qand offed, nand squiffed, ajklfc,...
Not feeling (much) the worse for wear, we poured ourselves into two taxis and headed into town, to the Mem-Saab. Situated on Maid Marian Way, not far from the pub where we spent almost every summer evening 30 years ago (the Trip to Jerusalem), this oasis of fine Indian cuisine presents an impressive appearance both from the outside, and on first entering. A cool, dimly-lit interior with lots of marble, linen, and polished wood, we were shown expertly to our table and ordered drinks and poppadums in the traditional manner.
From then on, the evening comes back to me as a series of significant events. The arrival of the food courses, the bill, the walk to the canalside bar, me adopting a rather brash American accent whenever I spoke to any of the wait staff or bar people (don't ask me why - although I heard recently of something called Foreign Accent Syndrome and started to wonder if I am a closet sufferer), the sudden decision to leave, catching a taxi. I can't remember much about what we discussed over dinner, although I know there was a lot of laughing and joking (as always).
I remember the meal being good, but not spectacular. The menu was quite disappointingly sparse, with a lot of lamb and fish dishes (not keen on either), but I did manage to find something I liked. The reshmi kebabs were excellent - very spicy and nicely textured - but the chicken jalfrezi main course was fairly mediocre. Luckily it was tempered with a very nice peshwari nan, and of course the highpoint of the night and an unexpected bonus was the excellent rasmalai we enjoyed for dessert. Probably the nicest example of this traditional dish I've had, and I've been eating it for - guess what? - about 30 years.
Not a place I could eat at frequently - there's not enough variety on the menu - but thankfully that won't be a problem as this was probably a one-off visit. Nevertheless it was definitely worth going for the experience. My initial reaction to the bill was that it was very expensive, although afterwards when I remembered we'd polished off 6 bottles of wine between the 8 of us, I revised my opinion slightly.
All that aside the highlight of the whole day, as usual, was the company. No matter how frequently or infrequently we spend time with friends, it's always a joy. We're already planning our next get-together, sometime in October. Well, you need something to look forward to, eh? And maybe the decorating will be finished by then.
The festivities started early, with champagne and strawberries on the terrace at Ian & Gill's. My, aren't we posh? Yes, we are. Well, when you've got married after being together for 25 years (or thereabouts) and you've just returned from your honeymoon, you can be forgiven for pushing the boat out a bit. And they did. Top stuff. Champagne supplies appeared to be virtually limitless, so we sat and quaffed from around 5pm to when the taxis arrived shortly after 7. And quaffed, and quaffed, qand offed, nand squiffed, ajklfc,...
Not feeling (much) the worse for wear, we poured ourselves into two taxis and headed into town, to the Mem-Saab. Situated on Maid Marian Way, not far from the pub where we spent almost every summer evening 30 years ago (the Trip to Jerusalem), this oasis of fine Indian cuisine presents an impressive appearance both from the outside, and on first entering. A cool, dimly-lit interior with lots of marble, linen, and polished wood, we were shown expertly to our table and ordered drinks and poppadums in the traditional manner.
From then on, the evening comes back to me as a series of significant events. The arrival of the food courses, the bill, the walk to the canalside bar, me adopting a rather brash American accent whenever I spoke to any of the wait staff or bar people (don't ask me why - although I heard recently of something called Foreign Accent Syndrome and started to wonder if I am a closet sufferer), the sudden decision to leave, catching a taxi. I can't remember much about what we discussed over dinner, although I know there was a lot of laughing and joking (as always).
I remember the meal being good, but not spectacular. The menu was quite disappointingly sparse, with a lot of lamb and fish dishes (not keen on either), but I did manage to find something I liked. The reshmi kebabs were excellent - very spicy and nicely textured - but the chicken jalfrezi main course was fairly mediocre. Luckily it was tempered with a very nice peshwari nan, and of course the highpoint of the night and an unexpected bonus was the excellent rasmalai we enjoyed for dessert. Probably the nicest example of this traditional dish I've had, and I've been eating it for - guess what? - about 30 years.
Not a place I could eat at frequently - there's not enough variety on the menu - but thankfully that won't be a problem as this was probably a one-off visit. Nevertheless it was definitely worth going for the experience. My initial reaction to the bill was that it was very expensive, although afterwards when I remembered we'd polished off 6 bottles of wine between the 8 of us, I revised my opinion slightly.
All that aside the highlight of the whole day, as usual, was the company. No matter how frequently or infrequently we spend time with friends, it's always a joy. We're already planning our next get-together, sometime in October. Well, you need something to look forward to, eh? And maybe the decorating will be finished by then.
Thursday, July 31, 2008
Movie Review: The Dark Knight
Took the girls to Manchester's IMAX theatre today to see this. Apparently there are six (or so) scenes shot in IMAX 3D.This is the first time I've been to a 3D show where you didn't have to wear special glasses to get the effect. OK, OK, that shows (a) my age and (b) that I don't go to the cinema much any more. What can I say? When you have a 50-inch plasma TV and a Dolby5.1 surround-sound home cinema system, you don't need to go to the cinema much.
Except to see IMAX. God. It was awesome. And I mean that in its original sense, not in the vacuous American high school "ah-summmmm" sense. Those 3D scenes - the ones shot from high above the Gotham city skyline looking down, especially the night-time one where Batman leaps from a tall building, extends his bat-wings and flies (glides) around the skyscrapers for a bit - were simply breathtaking.
Special effects apart, and not wishing to spoil the plot for anyone, the rest of the movie was good. Much has been written about how dark it is, and it is. Both literally in places, and figuratively. But in this case that's a good thing. It's quite clever too - the symbolism of starting the film with mainly sunny scenes and daytime aerial shots, and moving it to night scenes as the story gets darker. Very graphic.
Much has also been written about Heath Ledger's monumental performance as the Joker. I suspect most of that is right too. No, he didn't "steal" the film. He was a very significant, but integral, part of it. But his acting? You can't really call it acting. He INHABITED the character. He was the Joker, pure and simple, and for once, and rightly so, there was nothing funny about the Joke. I'd put Heath's Joker in the top five performances I've seen in a film, ever. He'll be a hard act to follow, and presumably (OK, small spoiler coming up), since the Joker survived he will at some stage be followed.
Criticisms? If pushed I'd say the movie is about 30 minutes too long. Indeed at one point somewhere between 1:50 and 2:15 (and since our showing started at noon, those are both times-into-the-movie and actual clock times) things got so slow and tedious that I fell asleep, only to be woken up with a HUGE jump by a set of exploding windows. That'll teach me. And those interminable fight scenes. Why do directors think we want to see long sequences of thwapthwapthwapthwap when you can't really tell what's going on? Yawn. Very clever, seen it before, get on with the plot, thank you.
One for the DVD collection though, definitely. There is so much going on in the film that it will certainly stand another watch. Might even be the one that convinces me to buy a Blu-ray player.
Wednesday, July 30, 2008
We're all fired up!
Due at 9.30, the fireplace fitters were 15 minutes early and after exactly two-and-a-half hours, the new fire was in and looking pretty damned good.Just having that awful gaping hole plugged has made the room look so much more complete. The end is now enticingly near. I just have some woodwork painting to complete and we can order the carpet fitters. Oh, and I need to pour some self-levelling compound in front of the new hearth. It's marginally shallower than the previous hearth, so there's a small gap. Too small to be cemented in - it would crumble eventually and leave the carpet sagging in front of the fire.
As with the radiator, we had to suffer a test firing, but at least it was only in the one room this time, and only for a few minutes. Looks brill with the flames on, btw.
Tuesday, July 29, 2008
Book Review: The Riders
Book of the month for July, I finished this yesterday - just in time for the book club meeting tomorrow. Recommended by a member who originally hails from Australia, it's written by an Australian writer - Tim Winton - who receives all the usual sycophantic gushing praise in his cover notes, but who stirs up a storm of adverse comment if you read some of the reviews of this novel, The Riders, on Amazon.So let's accentuate the positive to start with. Winton has a unique descriptive formula. A way of selecting words that are at once slightly out of the ordinary and yet also surprisingly apt. It's a clever trick. One which, when you first start to read this book, feels a little uncomfortable and awkward, but which after a few chapters begins, almost against your will, to feel natural, clever and right. So I'd have to say that yes, I ended up enjoying his writing style, his use of language, and the meter of his prose.
But of this novel in particular, I'd have to say: No. A virtually plotless mish-mash of travelogue-style observations, a few good but half-formed characters thrown into the mix in various separate geographical locations, and a central character who verges on being a child abuser by virtue of dragging his 7-year-old daughter halfway round Europe on a hopeless quest to find a wife who he believes is just missing but, we have to conclude, never really wanted to be with him at all.
This is a book to read if you're depressed and you want proof that someone is worse off than you. Less skilled at living than you, more stupid than you, uglier than you and certainly, with the exceptions of Billie and Postman Paddy, lonelier than you. It's one of those books that you finish and your uppermost thought is how much life you wasted reading it, that you'll never get back. Does it help that the desperately tedious voyagings of Scully as he drags Billie from Ireland to Greece to France to Holland are well written? Not really.
It helps that the book is a page-turner, I guess, but only because you rattle through it looking for answers at a cracking pace. Trouble is, you find none. It's like climbing a hill and cresting it only to find there's another hill further on. And another. And another. And when you finally reach the top, there's nothing there. Not even a particularly rewarding view.
Monday, July 28, 2008
Blowing hot and cold
Continuing the theme I started yesterday, with a bifurcated post on writing and decorating, today was a day for blowing hot and cold too.
The cold? My daft way of referring to the 5th and final draft (hahaha! 'draft' geddit? I crack myself up) of my novel, which I began today. Working through the feedback I've had from my most excellent beta-readers Nat & Blythe, I took it from the top. I noted as I progressed through the chapters that the volume of comments dropped off steeply. There could be several reasons for this.
I think the main one is that the quality of writing improves as the story picks up pace. Bearing in mind some of the early chapters were written 7-8 years ago and despite being edited several times still had structural faults that I hadn't spotted. But I like to think a secondary reason is that both of them became so engrossed in the story towards the end that they kind of forgot they were supposed to be reviewing. I'm fairly comfortable with that delusion. And I'm not losing out, revision-wise. Funny, but the fact that someone else is reading/has read it has made me review it more closely, even in the absence of many comments.
The hot? Well wouldn't you know it, we "chose" the hottest day of the year on which to have the new radiator fitted in the lounge. With temperatures pushing 30° we had to run the heating for half an hour to test the installation. Sheesh! I'm melting! Meeeellllllting!
Anyway, it was worth it. Here's our nice new rad all ready to go. The end of this project is nigh. It's nigh, I tell ya!
The cold? My daft way of referring to the 5th and final draft (hahaha! 'draft' geddit? I crack myself up) of my novel, which I began today. Working through the feedback I've had from my most excellent beta-readers Nat & Blythe, I took it from the top. I noted as I progressed through the chapters that the volume of comments dropped off steeply. There could be several reasons for this.
I think the main one is that the quality of writing improves as the story picks up pace. Bearing in mind some of the early chapters were written 7-8 years ago and despite being edited several times still had structural faults that I hadn't spotted. But I like to think a secondary reason is that both of them became so engrossed in the story towards the end that they kind of forgot they were supposed to be reviewing. I'm fairly comfortable with that delusion. And I'm not losing out, revision-wise. Funny, but the fact that someone else is reading/has read it has made me review it more closely, even in the absence of many comments.
The hot? Well wouldn't you know it, we "chose" the hottest day of the year on which to have the new radiator fitted in the lounge. With temperatures pushing 30° we had to run the heating for half an hour to test the installation. Sheesh! I'm melting! Meeeellllllting!Anyway, it was worth it. Here's our nice new rad all ready to go. The end of this project is nigh. It's nigh, I tell ya!
Sunday, July 27, 2008
New light through old windows
It's a pun. Shorthand for two subjects I want to write about today. The inevitable and the inspirational.
Decorating
This, of course, is the inevitable. At least, it will be for the next few years as we traverse the house, repairing the neglect and damage wrought by the previous occupants and restoring the place to some semblance of habitability. In the case of the old windows, I refer to those in the new lounge, which have not seen a brush, mop, leather, squeegee or even vacuum cleaner in however many years it takes to build up a layer of dust and dead bugs several millimetres deep on the rails. There's paint to scrape off, dirt to wash off and broken catches to screw off, but sadly we can't stretch to a full refurb job on these lovely Edwardian sashes just yet, so they'll have to make do with a spit and polish.
So a spit and polish is exactly what I gave them yesterday. One of the hottest days of the year so far and I'm stood with both hands submerged in a bucket of hot sugar soap, with a scrubbing brush for the larger areas and an old toothbrush to winkle out the grime and grit from the lead work. As I've remarked before I'm not wedded to the idea of returning the house entirely to its original state. In 2008 I believe it should be comfortable, functional and benefit from the one-hundred-years of progress we've made since it was built. Even so I love some of the period detail and I would be sad to lose these windows. They may not be the most detailed or interesting examples of leaded lights you've ever seen, but I like their symmetrical simplicity.
Writing
And this is the inspirational. Eyes are the windows of the soul, poets have told us through the ages, and mine can certainly be classed as old, so I've felt ... well, blessed I suppose is the best word for it and, yes, inspired ... this week, to have some new light come in through these old windows in the shape of some fresh perspectives on my writing.
I have a colleague on TV Scoop who regularly bemoans the lack of feedback on his writing and it's true that blogging of any kind, unless you're one of those fortunate enough to appear on a "top 100" list somewhere, is a shot in the dark. With a few notable (and welcome!) exceptions among family and friends, you never really know who, if anyone, is reading your blatherings and from those, who is really enjoying it.
So here's a heartfelt thank-you to those who have felt moved to comment recently. Since childhood, I've never felt comfortable receiving compliments. I put this down to having it drummed into me by my mother that I would become "big-headed." Something, apparently, almost worse than being two-headed, at least in her mind. Whether I overcompensated or what, I don't know, but I've always been very... British... when it comes to compliments. Oh, no, seriously? You liked it? Well...thank you. It's nothing really.
It's nothing really. Why do I say that? It's my life. It's my heart and soul. It's everything, really. And I've already spent almost 50 years denying it. So, I must learn to accept compliments graciously and admit that, yes, your words of encouragement, enjoyment, and even enchantment with my writing have not only touched me deeply but also given me a new impetus. A work-free week stretches before me and I'll be spending as much of that time writing as I can.
Decorating
This, of course, is the inevitable. At least, it will be for the next few years as we traverse the house, repairing the neglect and damage wrought by the previous occupants and restoring the place to some semblance of habitability. In the case of the old windows, I refer to those in the new lounge, which have not seen a brush, mop, leather, squeegee or even vacuum cleaner in however many years it takes to build up a layer of dust and dead bugs several millimetres deep on the rails. There's paint to scrape off, dirt to wash off and broken catches to screw off, but sadly we can't stretch to a full refurb job on these lovely Edwardian sashes just yet, so they'll have to make do with a spit and polish.
So a spit and polish is exactly what I gave them yesterday. One of the hottest days of the year so far and I'm stood with both hands submerged in a bucket of hot sugar soap, with a scrubbing brush for the larger areas and an old toothbrush to winkle out the grime and grit from the lead work. As I've remarked before I'm not wedded to the idea of returning the house entirely to its original state. In 2008 I believe it should be comfortable, functional and benefit from the one-hundred-years of progress we've made since it was built. Even so I love some of the period detail and I would be sad to lose these windows. They may not be the most detailed or interesting examples of leaded lights you've ever seen, but I like their symmetrical simplicity.Writing
And this is the inspirational. Eyes are the windows of the soul, poets have told us through the ages, and mine can certainly be classed as old, so I've felt ... well, blessed I suppose is the best word for it and, yes, inspired ... this week, to have some new light come in through these old windows in the shape of some fresh perspectives on my writing.
I have a colleague on TV Scoop who regularly bemoans the lack of feedback on his writing and it's true that blogging of any kind, unless you're one of those fortunate enough to appear on a "top 100" list somewhere, is a shot in the dark. With a few notable (and welcome!) exceptions among family and friends, you never really know who, if anyone, is reading your blatherings and from those, who is really enjoying it.
So here's a heartfelt thank-you to those who have felt moved to comment recently. Since childhood, I've never felt comfortable receiving compliments. I put this down to having it drummed into me by my mother that I would become "big-headed." Something, apparently, almost worse than being two-headed, at least in her mind. Whether I overcompensated or what, I don't know, but I've always been very... British... when it comes to compliments. Oh, no, seriously? You liked it? Well...thank you. It's nothing really.
It's nothing really. Why do I say that? It's my life. It's my heart and soul. It's everything, really. And I've already spent almost 50 years denying it. So, I must learn to accept compliments graciously and admit that, yes, your words of encouragement, enjoyment, and even enchantment with my writing have not only touched me deeply but also given me a new impetus. A work-free week stretches before me and I'll be spending as much of that time writing as I can.
Wednesday, July 23, 2008
Insignia - you drive; we nag
I made the mistake of giving the local Vauxhall dealer my email address, so every now and then I receive a gentle reminder that it's been a while since I bought a car. The reminder usually includes a supposedly tempting offer I can't refuse and/or an "irresistible" graphic of their latest climate change inducing product.
Nothing, however, could have prepared me for what arrived in my much-abused Inbox yesterday.
This is the Vauxhall Insignia. "Designed to make life easier," the marketing blurb trumpets, "new Insignia is packed with technological innovation:" and then proceeds to supply a bulleted list of features clearly intended to make the prospective car buyer's mouth water.
My mouth watered alright. Only it was the kind of watering that usually precedes vomit. Especially when I reached the final point.
"The Front Camera System even reads speed limit signs and displays a reminder"
Whoop-di-do! You know, that's really useful. Cos my eyes aren't that good any more and I find it hard to read those little round red "30" signs when I'm doing 85 past my local primary school. So a dashboard reminder is guaranteed to make me think "oh - 30 is it? Gosh, I'd better slow down right away."
Good grief.
'Course, it's only a matter of time before that "Front Camera System" is connected directly to the throttle and rather than displaying a reminder it will simply adjust the speed for you. Welcome to Stepford.
Nothing, however, could have prepared me for what arrived in my much-abused Inbox yesterday.
This is the Vauxhall Insignia. "Designed to make life easier," the marketing blurb trumpets, "new Insignia is packed with technological innovation:" and then proceeds to supply a bulleted list of features clearly intended to make the prospective car buyer's mouth water.My mouth watered alright. Only it was the kind of watering that usually precedes vomit. Especially when I reached the final point.
"The Front Camera System even reads speed limit signs and displays a reminder"
Whoop-di-do! You know, that's really useful. Cos my eyes aren't that good any more and I find it hard to read those little round red "30" signs when I'm doing 85 past my local primary school. So a dashboard reminder is guaranteed to make me think "oh - 30 is it? Gosh, I'd better slow down right away."
Good grief.
'Course, it's only a matter of time before that "Front Camera System" is connected directly to the throttle and rather than displaying a reminder it will simply adjust the speed for you. Welcome to Stepford.
Tuesday, July 22, 2008
Getting down with the brown
Having taken the day off on Sunday, I figured yesterday that it was time to get back to it. I also figured that if I worked a slightly shifted day, I could probably get around the top of the walls - above the picture rail - before dinner.
Putting down my proverbial quill at 3pm and picking up my paintbrush, I started on the umpteenth circumnavigation of the room. Astonishingly, by around 4.30 I'd completed two tours - edges and filling in - and on such a bright sunny day I had at least another 3 hours of usable light left. What could I do but press on?
The simple explanation for my increased speed is the reduced accuracy with which I needed to paint the edges. Having already applied one coat, I could skim around the cornice, picture rail and door frame very quickly (and inaccurately) with no ill effect. In those few areas where the first coat hadn't quite covered the white base coat I had to take a bit more care, but these made up less than 5% of the total. I was flying!
I completed the whole room at 6.50, which made me feel very smug and put me back on track with my self-imposed schedule. This schedule is a double-edged sword. There's no doubt it has speeded up the whole process - when compared to the five months the study was out of commission, this room (admittedly only half the size) has so far only taken two - but it has also made me feel pressured to keep up the pace. Taking a day off has felt like a guilty pleasure. I like the increased level of control over the project, but if I plan the next one in such detail, I'll set a more relaxed pace and build in some down time.
Putting down my proverbial quill at 3pm and picking up my paintbrush, I started on the umpteenth circumnavigation of the room. Astonishingly, by around 4.30 I'd completed two tours - edges and filling in - and on such a bright sunny day I had at least another 3 hours of usable light left. What could I do but press on?
The simple explanation for my increased speed is the reduced accuracy with which I needed to paint the edges. Having already applied one coat, I could skim around the cornice, picture rail and door frame very quickly (and inaccurately) with no ill effect. In those few areas where the first coat hadn't quite covered the white base coat I had to take a bit more care, but these made up less than 5% of the total. I was flying!
I completed the whole room at 6.50, which made me feel very smug and put me back on track with my self-imposed schedule. This schedule is a double-edged sword. There's no doubt it has speeded up the whole process - when compared to the five months the study was out of commission, this room (admittedly only half the size) has so far only taken two - but it has also made me feel pressured to keep up the pace. Taking a day off has felt like a guilty pleasure. I like the increased level of control over the project, but if I plan the next one in such detail, I'll set a more relaxed pace and build in some down time.
Monday, July 21, 2008
All grown up
I'm sitting here in the study, staring at the empty space on the floor where for the last few weeks my elder daughter's worldly belongings - or at least that part of them she had with her in Uni halls of residence for a year - have sat patiently waiting to be taken to her new home.
The new home for which yesterday, at 12:30, she picked up the keys and moved in.
A lovely place it is too. As I commented to the other families assembled while Nat's housemates collected their keys: at least three orders of magnitude better than anything I ever lived in as a student. It has brand-new carpet throughout, not the threadbare rags we walked quickly over, on account of them being so sticky-dirty they threatened to hold you down forever if you stood for too long in one spot. It has bright, modern, NEW decor, not the damp and peeling Anaglypta that provided a depressing back-drop to our evening revision sessions. All the furniture is new, including (double) beds and mattresses, so she won't have to sleep on a lumpy, sagging, stained, single bed like I did. The kitchen is equipped with every modern appliance - separate upright fridge and freezer, washing machine, tumble drier and dishwasher, combi boiler, kettle, microwave and cooker. We had a cooker, a kettle and a small fridge. Laundry was dragged around the corner to the laundrette, or taken home in the holidays for Mum to do. In a house of 6 blokes, I'll let you guess which was the more popular option.
No, I wouldn't have wished my digs on my worst enemy, let alone my own daughter, so I'm very pleased she's found such a grand place. Didn't stop me having a small pang as she waved us goodbye and closed her own front door to spend her first night alone in the place though.
The new home for which yesterday, at 12:30, she picked up the keys and moved in.
A lovely place it is too. As I commented to the other families assembled while Nat's housemates collected their keys: at least three orders of magnitude better than anything I ever lived in as a student. It has brand-new carpet throughout, not the threadbare rags we walked quickly over, on account of them being so sticky-dirty they threatened to hold you down forever if you stood for too long in one spot. It has bright, modern, NEW decor, not the damp and peeling Anaglypta that provided a depressing back-drop to our evening revision sessions. All the furniture is new, including (double) beds and mattresses, so she won't have to sleep on a lumpy, sagging, stained, single bed like I did. The kitchen is equipped with every modern appliance - separate upright fridge and freezer, washing machine, tumble drier and dishwasher, combi boiler, kettle, microwave and cooker. We had a cooker, a kettle and a small fridge. Laundry was dragged around the corner to the laundrette, or taken home in the holidays for Mum to do. In a house of 6 blokes, I'll let you guess which was the more popular option.
No, I wouldn't have wished my digs on my worst enemy, let alone my own daughter, so I'm very pleased she's found such a grand place. Didn't stop me having a small pang as she waved us goodbye and closed her own front door to spend her first night alone in the place though.
Sunday, July 20, 2008
Browned off
If I thought last Saturday's efforts were a marathon, nothing could have prepared me for yesterday.
I'd intended to make an early start to put the final coat on the cornice (the first coat went on in two stages during the week) and finish that before breakfast so I could progress to the colour - the bit we'd all been waiting for. Ha! I hadn't appreciated just how long it would take for the whole room. Thing is, the cornice is so detailed it effectively has nine surfaces to be painted. So each metre takes nine times as long as a metre of, for example, skirting board. I started at 7.30 and didn't finish until 11am. A late breakfast then.
Although breakfast was a leisurely affair - when the girls are here we like to take our time, chew and chat as it were - it wasn't long enough for the cornice to have skinned over, so I started the edge work below the picture rail. We went through four different choices of colour for this room, trying to find a brown that was rich and warm without being too dark. Our final choice still didn't have our full confidence, so we only had one tin mixed up just in case it proved wrong. We needn't have worried. It was clear even at this early stage that it was perfect.
But again, my estimates of elapsed time were way off. I expected to have finished the first coat by mid-afternoon, but I was having to take much greater care with the brown than I had with the white undercoat. I wanted to get the edges as near perfect as I could, which meant very slow progress with the brush along the edge of the picture rail (although the bottom edge wasn't so critical, since I always leave skirting boards 'til last).
By around 1pm I'd completed the lower section of walls and graduated to the upper section. Here progress proved even slower. Now I had two critical edges - cornice and picture rail - and I was working on a plank. I decided to complete both edging and rollering in one circuit, but this slowed me down even further, as I had to keep swapping from brush to roller. It was after 5 by the time the upper section was complete, but having already worked for so long I was determined to finish the whole room in one day.
I finally completed the bottom section rollering at 6.40, having worked for eleven hours with only a short break for breakfast. Even though this is the first coat (of two), the coverage of this paint is excellent and we were very pleased with the result. The photo doesn't really do it justice. It was starting to get dark and I had to use flash. Imagine that Wedgewood's Jasperware comes in brown - oh, hang on (*checks Google*), it does - so yeah, it's that kind of effect. That powder-brown (cf powder-blue) matt effect against the crisp white of Jasperware, during daylight, and in artificial light it takes on a wonderful rich, warm, chocolatey aspect which is exactly what we were trying to achieve.
It needs a second coat, but that's a job for another day. Me? I'm taking the day off to recuperate!
I'd intended to make an early start to put the final coat on the cornice (the first coat went on in two stages during the week) and finish that before breakfast so I could progress to the colour - the bit we'd all been waiting for. Ha! I hadn't appreciated just how long it would take for the whole room. Thing is, the cornice is so detailed it effectively has nine surfaces to be painted. So each metre takes nine times as long as a metre of, for example, skirting board. I started at 7.30 and didn't finish until 11am. A late breakfast then.
Although breakfast was a leisurely affair - when the girls are here we like to take our time, chew and chat as it were - it wasn't long enough for the cornice to have skinned over, so I started the edge work below the picture rail. We went through four different choices of colour for this room, trying to find a brown that was rich and warm without being too dark. Our final choice still didn't have our full confidence, so we only had one tin mixed up just in case it proved wrong. We needn't have worried. It was clear even at this early stage that it was perfect.But again, my estimates of elapsed time were way off. I expected to have finished the first coat by mid-afternoon, but I was having to take much greater care with the brown than I had with the white undercoat. I wanted to get the edges as near perfect as I could, which meant very slow progress with the brush along the edge of the picture rail (although the bottom edge wasn't so critical, since I always leave skirting boards 'til last).
By around 1pm I'd completed the lower section of walls and graduated to the upper section. Here progress proved even slower. Now I had two critical edges - cornice and picture rail - and I was working on a plank. I decided to complete both edging and rollering in one circuit, but this slowed me down even further, as I had to keep swapping from brush to roller. It was after 5 by the time the upper section was complete, but having already worked for so long I was determined to finish the whole room in one day.
I finally completed the bottom section rollering at 6.40, having worked for eleven hours with only a short break for breakfast. Even though this is the first coat (of two), the coverage of this paint is excellent and we were very pleased with the result. The photo doesn't really do it justice. It was starting to get dark and I had to use flash. Imagine that Wedgewood's Jasperware comes in brown - oh, hang on (*checks Google*), it does - so yeah, it's that kind of effect. That powder-brown (cf powder-blue) matt effect against the crisp white of Jasperware, during daylight, and in artificial light it takes on a wonderful rich, warm, chocolatey aspect which is exactly what we were trying to achieve.It needs a second coat, but that's a job for another day. Me? I'm taking the day off to recuperate!
Friday, July 18, 2008
I have done 53 stupid things
Been a dearth of "Friday Fives" recently, so here's an alternative bit of Friday fun. I don't usually do these, but I found this on my younger daughter's blog and I don't mind making a fool of meself, so here goes.
Level 1.
[X] Said LOL out loud. (Not until you two started!)
[] Forgotten your own age.
[] Tried to lick your elbow.
Total so far: 1
Level 2.
[] Said the wrong name in bed. (Came close, but covered it up with an authentic-sounding moan)
[X] Had unprotected sex.
[X] Hurt yourself sexing.
[] Sexed yourself hurting.
Total so far: 3
Level 3.
[] Licked your toe.
[] Licked a frozen pole.
[] Licked a dog bone.
[] Licked a dog.
Total so far: 3
Level 4.
[] Drank old milk.
[] Drank milk right from a cow.
[] Ever thought chocolate milk came from brown cows.
[] Drank Qwik right from the brown cow.
[] Pushed a cow over.
Total so far: 3
Level 5.
[] Eaten bugs.
[] Eaten garbage.
[X] Eaten food off the floor after five seconds. (Umm...chewing gum. Off the pavement. When it had a footprint on it)
[] Eaten a booger.
Total so far: 4
Level 6.
[X] Been in a five-seater car with more than seven people. (Easy. I've been in a four-seater car with 10 people. And I was driving)
[] Been in a seven-seater van with over twelve people.
[X] Driven in a seven-seater van by yourself.
[X] Driven a tricycle past the age of three.
[X] Driven yourself to the wrong house.
Total so far: 8
Level 7.
[] Put dirty dishes in the fridge.
[] Put bowls of food in the dishwasher.
[] Put a full glass of juice in the cupboard.
[] Put salt in your coffee.
[] Dropped the cap into the glass you were drinking from.
Total so far: 8
Level 8.
[] Jumped over a car.
[X] Jumped out of a moving car. (It was a bus actually)
[] Jumped into a thorny bush on purpose.
[] Jumped off a bridge.
[X] Jumped off your house. (Outhouse, but still counts :o))
Total so far: 10
Level 9.
[] Forgotten where you live.
[] Forgotten your own birthday.
[X] Forgotten to zip up in the morning.
Total so far: 11
Level 10.
[X] Walked into a pole.
[X] Walked into a wall.
[X] Walked into someone.
[X] Walked into a parked car.
Total so far: 15
Level 11.
[] Won a burping contest.
[] Burped the alphabet.
[] Burped just to break the silence.
[] Burped too hard and thrown up.
Total so far: 15
Level 12.
[X] Eaten a whole bag of chips.
[X] Eaten a whole pint of ice cream in one night. (One night? One helping! :o))
[X] Eaten a whole pizza so no one else could have a slice.
Total so far: 18
Level 13.
[X] Been caught picking your nose.
[X] Been caught going to the bathroom outside.
[] Been caught with your pants down.
[X] Been caught having sex.
[] Been caught sexing yourself.
Total so far: 21
Level 14.
[X] Shoved something up your nose.
[X] Picked your nose and studied what came out.
[X] Picked your nose till it bled.
[] Let your nose bleed to see the awesome blood all over you.
[] Blew your nose so goddamn hard your whole body hurt.
Total so far: 24
Level 15.
[X] Told a lie.
[X] Been caught in a lie.
[X] Lied to cover a lie.
[X] Lied to cover your ass.
[] Lied to an undercover hooker cop.
Total so far: 28
Level 16.
[X] Laughed at someone in pain.
[X] Laughed too loud and embarrassed yourself.
[] Laughed at a funeral.
[] Laughed so hard you pissed yourself.
Total so far: 30
Level 17.
[X] Written a letter to Santa Claus.
[] Believed in Santa past the age of eight.
[] Believed your folks when they said that a bunny laid chocolate eggs in the house.
[] Believed you were NEVER too old for trick-or-treating.
Total so far: 31
Level 18.
[] Thrown a party for yourself.
[] Thrown a ball at yourself.
[] Thrown up on yourself.
[X] Thrown a ball at a wall that returned directly to your crotch.
[X] Thrown a super ball in the house and taken it right in the face.
Total so far: 33
Level 19.
[X] Pretended to know what you're doing. (This is my job)
[X] Pretended you were hot shit.
[X] Pretended you weren't listening.
[] Pretended you were Spider-Man.
Total so far: 36
Level 20.
[X] Fell on the sidewalk. (We call them pavements or footpaths over here)
[X] Fell down the stairs.
[] Fell UP the stairs.
[] Went sledding down the stairs.
Total so far: 38
Level 21.
[] Tried to do a really cool back flip...
[] And busted your ass.
[] Tried to do a really cool cartwheel...
[] And didn't lift your feet, retard.
Total so far: 38
Level 22.
[X] Eaten food that you just kind of... found.
[] Eaten the mystery food in the back of the fridge.
[] Eaten something nasty to get a laugh.
[] Cried when no one laughed.
Total so far: 39
Level 23.
[X] Cried when you hurt yourself. (This is the one. Why is this stupid?)
[X] Cried when you didn't get your way. (I was like, 39, so that was perfectly OK)
[] Cried over spilled milk.
[] Cried after sex.
Total so far: 41
Level 24.
[X] Gone swimming naked.
[] Gone swimming in a stranger's pool.
[] Gone swimming with a hose in the yard. (Huh?)
[] Gone swimming in a stank-ass pond.
[] Gone swimming in the bathtub like a champ.
Total so far: 42
Level 25.
[X] Ridden a pony.
[X] Ridden a donkey.
[] Ridden a lawnmower pretending it was an awesome racecar.
[] Ridden a shovel pretending it was an awesome spaceship.
[] Ridden the dog.
Total so far: 44
Level 26.
[] Locked yourself out of your house.
[X] Locked yourself out of your car.
[] Locked yourself IN the car.
[] Trapped yourself in a child's plastic house.
[] Tangled yourself up in a rope.
[] Tangled yourself up in a hose.
[] Locked yourself in the trunk WITH the keys.
Total so far: 45
Level 27.
[X] Overcooked a fancy meal.
[] Overcooked Easy MAC.
[] Overcooked a Pop-Tart.
[] Overcooked a tiny plastic army man.
[X] Overcooked yourself at the beach. (Klingon Head lives!!!)
Total so far: 47
Level 28.
[X] Bitten plastic fruit.
[X] Bitten into something too hard and hurt your teeth.
[X] Bitten down before you got the fork into your mouth.
[] Lifted an empty soda you thought was full, thereby flinging it.
[X] Overcompensated an extra step in the stairs that wasn't there.
Total so far: 51
Level 29.
[X] Mistaken a stranger for a family member and blabbed at them.
[X] Mistaken a man for a woman or vice-versa.
[] Shaved your eyebrows.
[] Poked yourself in the eye with safety goggles! Sweet irony.
TOTAL: 53
(There's definitely some blog posts in there!)
Level 1.
[X] Said LOL out loud. (Not until you two started!)
[] Forgotten your own age.
[] Tried to lick your elbow.
Total so far: 1
Level 2.
[] Said the wrong name in bed. (Came close, but covered it up with an authentic-sounding moan)
[X] Had unprotected sex.
[X] Hurt yourself sexing.
[] Sexed yourself hurting.
Total so far: 3
Level 3.
[] Licked your toe.
[] Licked a frozen pole.
[] Licked a dog bone.
[] Licked a dog.
Total so far: 3
Level 4.
[] Drank old milk.
[] Drank milk right from a cow.
[] Ever thought chocolate milk came from brown cows.
[] Drank Qwik right from the brown cow.
[] Pushed a cow over.
Total so far: 3
Level 5.
[] Eaten bugs.
[] Eaten garbage.
[X] Eaten food off the floor after five seconds. (Umm...chewing gum. Off the pavement. When it had a footprint on it)
[] Eaten a booger.
Total so far: 4
Level 6.
[X] Been in a five-seater car with more than seven people. (Easy. I've been in a four-seater car with 10 people. And I was driving)
[] Been in a seven-seater van with over twelve people.
[X] Driven in a seven-seater van by yourself.
[X] Driven a tricycle past the age of three.
[X] Driven yourself to the wrong house.
Total so far: 8
Level 7.
[] Put dirty dishes in the fridge.
[] Put bowls of food in the dishwasher.
[] Put a full glass of juice in the cupboard.
[] Put salt in your coffee.
[] Dropped the cap into the glass you were drinking from.
Total so far: 8
Level 8.
[] Jumped over a car.
[X] Jumped out of a moving car. (It was a bus actually)
[] Jumped into a thorny bush on purpose.
[] Jumped off a bridge.
[X] Jumped off your house. (Outhouse, but still counts :o))
Total so far: 10
Level 9.
[] Forgotten where you live.
[] Forgotten your own birthday.
[X] Forgotten to zip up in the morning.
Total so far: 11
Level 10.
[X] Walked into a pole.
[X] Walked into a wall.
[X] Walked into someone.
[X] Walked into a parked car.
Total so far: 15
Level 11.
[] Won a burping contest.
[] Burped the alphabet.
[] Burped just to break the silence.
[] Burped too hard and thrown up.
Total so far: 15
Level 12.
[X] Eaten a whole bag of chips.
[X] Eaten a whole pint of ice cream in one night. (One night? One helping! :o))
[X] Eaten a whole pizza so no one else could have a slice.
Total so far: 18
Level 13.
[X] Been caught picking your nose.
[X] Been caught going to the bathroom outside.
[] Been caught with your pants down.
[X] Been caught having sex.
[] Been caught sexing yourself.
Total so far: 21
Level 14.
[X] Shoved something up your nose.
[X] Picked your nose and studied what came out.
[X] Picked your nose till it bled.
[] Let your nose bleed to see the awesome blood all over you.
[] Blew your nose so goddamn hard your whole body hurt.
Total so far: 24
Level 15.
[X] Told a lie.
[X] Been caught in a lie.
[X] Lied to cover a lie.
[X] Lied to cover your ass.
[] Lied to an undercover hooker cop.
Total so far: 28
Level 16.
[X] Laughed at someone in pain.
[X] Laughed too loud and embarrassed yourself.
[] Laughed at a funeral.
[] Laughed so hard you pissed yourself.
Total so far: 30
Level 17.
[X] Written a letter to Santa Claus.
[] Believed in Santa past the age of eight.
[] Believed your folks when they said that a bunny laid chocolate eggs in the house.
[] Believed you were NEVER too old for trick-or-treating.
Total so far: 31
Level 18.
[] Thrown a party for yourself.
[] Thrown a ball at yourself.
[] Thrown up on yourself.
[X] Thrown a ball at a wall that returned directly to your crotch.
[X] Thrown a super ball in the house and taken it right in the face.
Total so far: 33
Level 19.
[X] Pretended to know what you're doing. (This is my job)
[X] Pretended you were hot shit.
[X] Pretended you weren't listening.
[] Pretended you were Spider-Man.
Total so far: 36
Level 20.
[X] Fell on the sidewalk. (We call them pavements or footpaths over here)
[X] Fell down the stairs.
[] Fell UP the stairs.
[] Went sledding down the stairs.
Total so far: 38
Level 21.
[] Tried to do a really cool back flip...
[] And busted your ass.
[] Tried to do a really cool cartwheel...
[] And didn't lift your feet, retard.
Total so far: 38
Level 22.
[X] Eaten food that you just kind of... found.
[] Eaten the mystery food in the back of the fridge.
[] Eaten something nasty to get a laugh.
[] Cried when no one laughed.
Total so far: 39
Level 23.
[X] Cried when you hurt yourself. (This is the one. Why is this stupid?)
[X] Cried when you didn't get your way. (I was like, 39, so that was perfectly OK)
[] Cried over spilled milk.
[] Cried after sex.
Total so far: 41
Level 24.
[X] Gone swimming naked.
[] Gone swimming in a stranger's pool.
[] Gone swimming with a hose in the yard. (Huh?)
[] Gone swimming in a stank-ass pond.
[] Gone swimming in the bathtub like a champ.
Total so far: 42
Level 25.
[X] Ridden a pony.
[X] Ridden a donkey.
[] Ridden a lawnmower pretending it was an awesome racecar.
[] Ridden a shovel pretending it was an awesome spaceship.
[] Ridden the dog.
Total so far: 44
Level 26.
[] Locked yourself out of your house.
[X] Locked yourself out of your car.
[] Locked yourself IN the car.
[] Trapped yourself in a child's plastic house.
[] Tangled yourself up in a rope.
[] Tangled yourself up in a hose.
[] Locked yourself in the trunk WITH the keys.
Total so far: 45
Level 27.
[X] Overcooked a fancy meal.
[] Overcooked Easy MAC.
[] Overcooked a Pop-Tart.
[] Overcooked a tiny plastic army man.
[X] Overcooked yourself at the beach. (Klingon Head lives!!!)
Total so far: 47
Level 28.
[X] Bitten plastic fruit.
[X] Bitten into something too hard and hurt your teeth.
[X] Bitten down before you got the fork into your mouth.
[] Lifted an empty soda you thought was full, thereby flinging it.
[X] Overcompensated an extra step in the stairs that wasn't there.
Total so far: 51
Level 29.
[X] Mistaken a stranger for a family member and blabbed at them.
[X] Mistaken a man for a woman or vice-versa.
[] Shaved your eyebrows.
[] Poked yourself in the eye with safety goggles! Sweet irony.
TOTAL: 53
(There's definitely some blog posts in there!)
Tuesday, July 15, 2008
Every cloud...
In tonight's news Lewis Gordon Pugh, dubbed the human polar bear on account of having swum for a kilometre at the North Pole to prove how global warming has affected the polar ice caps, now plans to kayak all the way up there this summer.
This trip *should* be impossible, but returning from his swimming trip last year he predicted it would be possible "sometime in the next ten years." Now that the ice caps are melting faster than anyone believed possible, turns out it can be done this year.
In a grimly ironic turn, the fact that the North Pole will shortly be exposed for the whole summer on a regular basis has heated up (sorry) the race by the oil and mineral companies to exploit the rich natural resources that exist in the Arctic ocean bed. So global warming will itself allow us easier access to more of the fuels whose burning will ... contribute to ... more global warming.
(*sounds of hollow laughter indistinguishable from exasperated weeping*)
This trip *should* be impossible, but returning from his swimming trip last year he predicted it would be possible "sometime in the next ten years." Now that the ice caps are melting faster than anyone believed possible, turns out it can be done this year.
In a grimly ironic turn, the fact that the North Pole will shortly be exposed for the whole summer on a regular basis has heated up (sorry) the race by the oil and mineral companies to exploit the rich natural resources that exist in the Arctic ocean bed. So global warming will itself allow us easier access to more of the fuels whose burning will ... contribute to ... more global warming.
(*sounds of hollow laughter indistinguishable from exasperated weeping*)
Sunday, July 13, 2008
A good day's work
Very pleased with progress yesterday. Although I was aching so much I could hardly move, I'd managed to turn the photo from yesterday into one that looks like this:
Starting at 9.30 and working through virtually non-stop until after 5pm I'd effectively done a full day's work - on a weekend! Wah! - but I'd had to circumnavigate the room four times in all. Washing down the cornice and picture rail with sugar soap, going round again to rinse it off followed by a third go round with the paint brush to do "the margins." Old rooms like this have a lot of margins too - both sides of the cornice, both sides of the picture rail, skirting board and windows. Took blimmin' ages. And finally around again with the roller to fill in the blanks.
Damned hard work too. Fresh plaster sucks the moisture out of paint almost instantly, so I had to work quickly. It's inevitably patchy, but I'll be going over it all again today for what is effectively the second undercoat. By then the plaster will be well sealed and ready for the colour coats. (No, we're not having a white lounge! Good grief. It *is* the cheapest base coat though, and very easy to see where you've been :o))
Starting at 9.30 and working through virtually non-stop until after 5pm I'd effectively done a full day's work - on a weekend! Wah! - but I'd had to circumnavigate the room four times in all. Washing down the cornice and picture rail with sugar soap, going round again to rinse it off followed by a third go round with the paint brush to do "the margins." Old rooms like this have a lot of margins too - both sides of the cornice, both sides of the picture rail, skirting board and windows. Took blimmin' ages. And finally around again with the roller to fill in the blanks.Damned hard work too. Fresh plaster sucks the moisture out of paint almost instantly, so I had to work quickly. It's inevitably patchy, but I'll be going over it all again today for what is effectively the second undercoat. By then the plaster will be well sealed and ready for the colour coats. (No, we're not having a white lounge! Good grief. It *is* the cheapest base coat though, and very easy to see where you've been :o))
Saturday, July 12, 2008
And so it starts
Even such a cold, Northerly room as this has only taken a week to dry out. Look:
Aided by the ventilation of the fireplace, we're ready for painting a week earlier than scheduled. On top of that, I've stolen a march on proceedings by sanding the picture rail and the cornice this week, so apart from a bit of washing down with the old sugar soap, we're good to go.
Had a slight wobble when I couldn't find my pole. It makes painting ceilings so much easier when you don't have to climb up and down a ladder, or walk along a plank. But I couldn't remember where I put it. At least, I *could* remember, but it wasn't there. And it wasn't in any of the other logical places it could be either. And then I found it. In the place I thought I'd put it in the... err... first place. I just didn't look hard enough, if you know what I mean.
I dunno. Going blind now as well as deaf. Sheesh.
Aided by the ventilation of the fireplace, we're ready for painting a week earlier than scheduled. On top of that, I've stolen a march on proceedings by sanding the picture rail and the cornice this week, so apart from a bit of washing down with the old sugar soap, we're good to go.Had a slight wobble when I couldn't find my pole. It makes painting ceilings so much easier when you don't have to climb up and down a ladder, or walk along a plank. But I couldn't remember where I put it. At least, I *could* remember, but it wasn't there. And it wasn't in any of the other logical places it could be either. And then I found it. In the place I thought I'd put it in the... err... first place. I just didn't look hard enough, if you know what I mean.
I dunno. Going blind now as well as deaf. Sheesh.
Friday, July 11, 2008
Chorlton Beer Festival - Mark 4
Although it was raining (again! Jeez!) early evening, by the time we'd had dinner the clouds had passed over and the rest of the evening looked promising, so we ventured out to the fourth ZestQuest beer fest.
This event has grown bigger and more popular with each passing year, and the early rain certainly had not dampened the spirits of the revellers who thronged the church grounds when we arrived shortly after 8.30. We'd soon filled our half-pint glasses with our first sample tipple - Jaipur India Pale Ale - and caught up with some friends who were already well established on a couple of large rugs in one corner of the grounds. This proved a good pitch later on, when a slight sprinkling of rain was easily held at bay by the canopy of trees above.
Having eaten before we left home, we weren't tempted by the food on offer, even though it looked very good. The hog roast of previous years was absent, but the Danish sausage looked very appetising. Half a pint never lasts very long, so in the space of a few minutes we were back in the "beer tent" (I think it was the vestry, actually) queuing up for two halves of Summer Solstice from the Pictish Brewing Company. "A crisp refreshing blond ale" said the tasting notes and they weren't wrong. Delicious, and helped down by the good company which had by now been swelled by the arrival of another half-dozen friends.
With space on the rug now at a premium, the beers slipped down even faster and before we knew it we were supping on Wild Swan. We had limited ourselves to a £5 voucher each (I'm not going to explain the voucher system). We no longer live within walking distance of the festival, so having to drive meant four halves was my legal maximum and previous years' experience showed that with careful selection of ales we could each enjoy four beers for a fiver. If we'd been attending for the whole session - the Friday night session started at 5pm, and tomorrow the revelries will commence at 1pm and go right through to 11 - we'd have taken the bus, but this was only ever going to be a short, sweet visit.
The Wild Swan was excellent, but we were prevented from enjoying another on account of it having run out. Forced to choose anything at less than £1.25 a half, we opted for the rather mundane Hartington Bitter for our last glug, with a wistful nod in the direction of the more exotically named beers on offer such as Wobbly Bob, Alchemist, Dave's Hoppy Beer, Golden Wrath, Guzzler or Dark Side of the Moose. We'd beaten last orders by five minutes (yes, they rang the church bell to call last orders - how cool is that?) and stood supping our Hartington in the gloom of the churchyard, under the ancient trees and in the company of good friends. A very pleasant two hours or so, and a fine way to start the weekend!
This event has grown bigger and more popular with each passing year, and the early rain certainly had not dampened the spirits of the revellers who thronged the church grounds when we arrived shortly after 8.30. We'd soon filled our half-pint glasses with our first sample tipple - Jaipur India Pale Ale - and caught up with some friends who were already well established on a couple of large rugs in one corner of the grounds. This proved a good pitch later on, when a slight sprinkling of rain was easily held at bay by the canopy of trees above.
Having eaten before we left home, we weren't tempted by the food on offer, even though it looked very good. The hog roast of previous years was absent, but the Danish sausage looked very appetising. Half a pint never lasts very long, so in the space of a few minutes we were back in the "beer tent" (I think it was the vestry, actually) queuing up for two halves of Summer Solstice from the Pictish Brewing Company. "A crisp refreshing blond ale" said the tasting notes and they weren't wrong. Delicious, and helped down by the good company which had by now been swelled by the arrival of another half-dozen friends.
With space on the rug now at a premium, the beers slipped down even faster and before we knew it we were supping on Wild Swan. We had limited ourselves to a £5 voucher each (I'm not going to explain the voucher system). We no longer live within walking distance of the festival, so having to drive meant four halves was my legal maximum and previous years' experience showed that with careful selection of ales we could each enjoy four beers for a fiver. If we'd been attending for the whole session - the Friday night session started at 5pm, and tomorrow the revelries will commence at 1pm and go right through to 11 - we'd have taken the bus, but this was only ever going to be a short, sweet visit.
The Wild Swan was excellent, but we were prevented from enjoying another on account of it having run out. Forced to choose anything at less than £1.25 a half, we opted for the rather mundane Hartington Bitter for our last glug, with a wistful nod in the direction of the more exotically named beers on offer such as Wobbly Bob, Alchemist, Dave's Hoppy Beer, Golden Wrath, Guzzler or Dark Side of the Moose. We'd beaten last orders by five minutes (yes, they rang the church bell to call last orders - how cool is that?) and stood supping our Hartington in the gloom of the churchyard, under the ancient trees and in the company of good friends. A very pleasant two hours or so, and a fine way to start the weekend!
Thursday, July 10, 2008
Fine insults of our time
Just browsin' along, like you do, spinning my Internet wheels when I came across this gem. It was several minutes ago now, my excuse being that I couldn't type before now owing to being collapsed on the floor in fits of giggles.
"He's a RETARDIS. His brain is much smaller on the inside than it looks on the outside."
Genius.
"He's a RETARDIS. His brain is much smaller on the inside than it looks on the outside."
Genius.
Monday, July 07, 2008
When science fails
In the news today: How biofuels may not be such a good idea after all.
I can't tell you how disappointing this is. How stupid was I to think that we could trust today's scientists to come up with a solution to the world fuel crisis and global warming? The more you hear, the more incompetent they seem. Apparently, the worst offender is fuel made from American corn, which is responsible for releasing 20% MORE CO2 into the atmosphere than regular fuel made from crude oil! How pointless is that?
But naturally, there's more money in biofuel than there is in selling corn to - you know - FEED people, so we're making the world hotter and hungrier at the same time. Great solution guys.
I can't tell you how disappointing this is. How stupid was I to think that we could trust today's scientists to come up with a solution to the world fuel crisis and global warming? The more you hear, the more incompetent they seem. Apparently, the worst offender is fuel made from American corn, which is responsible for releasing 20% MORE CO2 into the atmosphere than regular fuel made from crude oil! How pointless is that?
But naturally, there's more money in biofuel than there is in selling corn to - you know - FEED people, so we're making the world hotter and hungrier at the same time. Great solution guys.
Sunday, July 06, 2008
We're drying out
Only two days after plastering and the new lounge is drying out nicely, as you can see from this pic which attempts to capture the same area as the one I took on Friday.I put two weeks into the plan for drying out, because this is a North-facing room and a lot colder than the last room we had plastered, but I'd not accounted for two things. The new lounge has an open flue, so the moisture is flying up there, and the plaster is mainly skimming, which is a lot less deep than the study, where a lot of the original plaster was blown and had to be removed (or fell off!). With a bit of luck I'll be able to start painting next weekend.
We were planning on visiting Beech Road festival today, but it was bucketing down around noon, so we decided against it. By the time the rain had passed over and the sun came out, we'd already settled comfortably into doing other things and couldn't be arsed to rouse ourselves. Lazy Sundays. Ya can't beat 'em.
Saturday, July 05, 2008
Bury Market
Nikki has a project in mind. In anticipation of the new lounge being a colder room than the old, and in an effort to keep the gas bills down in the face of rising fuel prices, she's going to crochet me a blanket to keep my old bones warm when I'm crashed out in front of the telly. The wool is available for an unbelievable price from Bury market, so we all headed off there first thing this morning to see what else is there.
Wow. I've lived in and around Manchester for 30 years and I've never been there, but it's big. A quarter of a million visitors a week and it's easy to see why. An initially confusing array of buildings and assemblies of open-air stalls - Market Hall; Market Place; Market Plaza to name but three - soon takes on a kind of weird logical structure as you wander about familiarising yourself with the place.
We stopped in a café for a breakfast toastie and a coffee (or banana milk shake in the case of the girls) before almost tripping over the right wool stall in our first five minutes. With the business of the day transacted straight away we were free to wander up and down the aisles in search of other bargains. We had an idea we may be able to find something for the new lounge, but in the end nothing was quite right. To be honest, faced with so much choice, I tend to go into a kind of sensory overload, and can't concetrate on any one thing because I'm always distracted by several other things all at once.
I did find a replacement pair of slippers though, which means my old slippers can now take the place of my painting slippers, and my painting slippers can be relegated further down the pecking order of household footwear (which might even mean them fetching up in the bin).
Two hours of dodging the pouring rain (pouring sometimes from the sky, and other times from the edges and corners of various awnings and canopies) was enough for us, and we headed home around 11am. A fascinating place though, which we'll certainly return to when the weather is more conducive to a leisurely amble.
Wow. I've lived in and around Manchester for 30 years and I've never been there, but it's big. A quarter of a million visitors a week and it's easy to see why. An initially confusing array of buildings and assemblies of open-air stalls - Market Hall; Market Place; Market Plaza to name but three - soon takes on a kind of weird logical structure as you wander about familiarising yourself with the place.
We stopped in a café for a breakfast toastie and a coffee (or banana milk shake in the case of the girls) before almost tripping over the right wool stall in our first five minutes. With the business of the day transacted straight away we were free to wander up and down the aisles in search of other bargains. We had an idea we may be able to find something for the new lounge, but in the end nothing was quite right. To be honest, faced with so much choice, I tend to go into a kind of sensory overload, and can't concetrate on any one thing because I'm always distracted by several other things all at once.
I did find a replacement pair of slippers though, which means my old slippers can now take the place of my painting slippers, and my painting slippers can be relegated further down the pecking order of household footwear (which might even mean them fetching up in the bin).
Two hours of dodging the pouring rain (pouring sometimes from the sky, and other times from the edges and corners of various awnings and canopies) was enough for us, and we headed home around 11am. A fascinating place though, which we'll certainly return to when the weather is more conducive to a leisurely amble.
Friday, July 04, 2008
A day for getting plastered
An early start today for our plasterers. They were here at 7.45 and aimed to be finished by 2pm. A much faster job than I'd anticipated, and a welcome surprise because this was not only a day for getting the new lounge plastered, in another sense it was a day for getting ourselves plastered. It was the day of Pete's funeral.
I collected Nikki from work at quarter past eleven, giving us time to return home, change into funeral gear, and step across the road to wait outside the house with the slowly gathering family, friends and neighbours. By the time the hearse arrived about half an hour later, I counted over a hundred people in the crowd. Pete's coffin was piped out of the house and carried behind the hearse down the road, with us all walking solemnly behind.
As we rounded the corner and the church came into view, I was amazed to see at least another hundred people waiting outside, but my astonishment hit new levels when, after a few moments delay, we entered the church to find ANOTHER hundred people had already taken their seats. A man who made his mark on many, many lives, Pete was given the kind of send-off most of us can only dream about.
The service was as nice as it was possible to be, given the sombre nature of the occasion. The priest did a very good job of explaining what was happening for those of us in the congregation not familiar with Catholic ritual, and also for the younger people there, so they weren't confused by the strange symbolism and incantations. My own views on this kind of event can wait for a more appropriate time to be expressed, because this was a day for Pete's friends and family, and in the end, who am I to question another person's beliefs? If the ritual brings them any comfort, then that can only be a good thing.
All told we were in the church for something approaching 90 minutes, which gave us time between the service and the wake, when the family and closest friends headed off to the cemetery to inter the coffin, to pop back home and see how the plastering was coming along.
With accuracy born of long experience, the men were virtually spot on with their estimate, and by the time we arrived home at about 1.45pm they had almost finished tidying up, and the room looked like this. Even in this state, it is so much more relaxing to walk into. To not have the glaring, angry, untidy look of the original paint, and to have the old, wobbly, dowel corners replaced with crisp modern angles just makes me feel calm.
Nikki fetched the colour chart and surprisingly the wet plaster was an almost perfect match to the chocolate colour we've chosen as the main colour for the walls. That copper colour on the picture rails will go - they'll be white - but apart from that, the photo above should be a pretty close approximation to the finished look.
We waited a few minutes for the plasterers to collect the last of their gear before locking up and walking back to the pub where the wake was being held. Almost all of the 300 throng appeared to have stayed behind to raise a glass in memory of Pete. I was only sorry I could only stay for one, but I left Nikki to represent our household and our "branch" of the neighbours' fraternity, while I headed off to pick up my lovely daughters for their weekend visit.
I collected Nikki from work at quarter past eleven, giving us time to return home, change into funeral gear, and step across the road to wait outside the house with the slowly gathering family, friends and neighbours. By the time the hearse arrived about half an hour later, I counted over a hundred people in the crowd. Pete's coffin was piped out of the house and carried behind the hearse down the road, with us all walking solemnly behind.
As we rounded the corner and the church came into view, I was amazed to see at least another hundred people waiting outside, but my astonishment hit new levels when, after a few moments delay, we entered the church to find ANOTHER hundred people had already taken their seats. A man who made his mark on many, many lives, Pete was given the kind of send-off most of us can only dream about.
The service was as nice as it was possible to be, given the sombre nature of the occasion. The priest did a very good job of explaining what was happening for those of us in the congregation not familiar with Catholic ritual, and also for the younger people there, so they weren't confused by the strange symbolism and incantations. My own views on this kind of event can wait for a more appropriate time to be expressed, because this was a day for Pete's friends and family, and in the end, who am I to question another person's beliefs? If the ritual brings them any comfort, then that can only be a good thing.
All told we were in the church for something approaching 90 minutes, which gave us time between the service and the wake, when the family and closest friends headed off to the cemetery to inter the coffin, to pop back home and see how the plastering was coming along.
With accuracy born of long experience, the men were virtually spot on with their estimate, and by the time we arrived home at about 1.45pm they had almost finished tidying up, and the room looked like this. Even in this state, it is so much more relaxing to walk into. To not have the glaring, angry, untidy look of the original paint, and to have the old, wobbly, dowel corners replaced with crisp modern angles just makes me feel calm.Nikki fetched the colour chart and surprisingly the wet plaster was an almost perfect match to the chocolate colour we've chosen as the main colour for the walls. That copper colour on the picture rails will go - they'll be white - but apart from that, the photo above should be a pretty close approximation to the finished look.
We waited a few minutes for the plasterers to collect the last of their gear before locking up and walking back to the pub where the wake was being held. Almost all of the 300 throng appeared to have stayed behind to raise a glass in memory of Pete. I was only sorry I could only stay for one, but I left Nikki to represent our household and our "branch" of the neighbours' fraternity, while I headed off to pick up my lovely daughters for their weekend visit.
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