Can I have a self indulgent private

public howl of anguish ... just happens this is the nearest most anonymous place.

I get the most god awful mood swings, helped only by writing. It doesnt much matter what it is - even mundane rubbish, as some of you have kindly pointed out (tic smiley). It's the manipulation of words, word order, word choice, seeing the little buggers crawling across the screen, that diverts my head. It's not - well, I don't think it is - depression, because mostly my mood is up. It's more a physical clench in my head and gut, and I am literally hunched over. I can wake up with it, for no apparent reason, or listening to unexpected music - Grayson Perry's choice in Desert Island Discs just now brought this one on - it can last a minute, or several days. And the only way I know of exorcising it is tapping away at a keyboard, scribbling on a piece of paper.

When I was lecturing, words spoken, I got tremendous pleasure from arranging words in my head to explain a concept that could then be understood. I've used writing in the past to earn my living. I may do this in the future - but this would be for money - not for alleviation of a mood. Might as well do both, though, I guess - and get a benefit.

Strange dichotomy - to capture that mood, I have to destroy it in its description - and this can lead to a certain sorrow at its absence.

Should I lift it? Should I let it run its course? Should I feed it, with music, for instance? It has its own compelling allure ...

Does anyone else have a mood lightener?


(This has appeared elsewhere)

May I introduce members of my staff?

Head of the household is James, my personal body servant. James is a rather tall, slender young man, pale of body, dark of hair, bony of nose, impassive of face. He is often called upon to draw my bath and to ensure I am presented to the world well scrubbed and well groomed. He is into cocoa and pink feathered handcuffs. He is the only person able to control

Rosy Fingered Dawn - she who lives on the end of a leash down in the cellar. Built like a sumo wrestler, with the teeth of a pitbull, RFD is often exercised under cover of the dark hours. There have been queries whether she has an alter ego, Dawn Fingered Rosy, but this can now be refuted as vile calumny. Dawn's homeric odyssey is to scrabble in darkened corners in the hope of seeking out stray shards of broken window glass overlooked from previous escape attempts, to insert beneath her fingernails. She doesn't fight fair.

Princess Beauty is a flighty young thing, into violet satin corsets laced tight and fishnet holdups. She is often to be seen trawling the less salubrious back streets of our nearby city, but prefers to remain at home, writing letters to naive gentlemen, inviting them to part with their bank details in return for promises of untold wealth. Her command of the English language is uncertain at times.

A newcomer to the fold is Erich - a teutonic trainspotter, of somewhat obese rotundity. Erich likes to get his kicks standing on a bridge over a railway when a steam train comes underneath. Sadly, he has yet to realise all train lines are now electrified, and his desires are doomed to remain unfulfilled.

And finally, may I introduce Susy? She is an ageing upper middle, under the impression that she is irresistible to young gentlemen. She is sure the girlish abbreviation of her name, black kohl-rimmed crepey eyes, red lipstick bleeding into the smoking induced lines around her mouth, fag sticking to her bottom lip, and her patchily dyed hair with the grey parting make her among the great beauties of the century.

The Dating Game

BIG JIMMY: Hi - what sort of relationship do you seek? FWB* or SB* perhaps?

You: Well, good afternoon, my dear sir. I do like a few formalities before getting down to business...

BIG JIMMY: Aha - so sorry, may I introduce myself then... Jim (or James to the vicar or magistrate) - a cultured rough diamond from the smoke, begging your acquantance. Author, Travel writer musician businessman and general bon viveur! seeking woman for the Good life.

You: I have plenty of fuck buddies already matey - dont need any more, thanks.

BIG JIMMY: Do you - so where exactly do you find them - women seem to all have them - my friends and I just dont.

You: I think it's got something to do with being charming and well mannered, dont you think?
[Private PS - I feel the irony will be lost]

BIG JIMMY: Oh well, I try every approach, from blunt to gentlemanly, and all women seem to want is either the big romance with all trimmings or nothing. Am I wrong here? And as it happens I am still paying for the last big romance!

You: scuse me, Big Jim, (PS I like the initials) is there a small problem you have with romance and all that or is it just a shag you're after? I think you might have the wrong ideas, chum

BIG JIMMY: Id just like a friend (with the shag) and then see of romance works out later - is that unreasonable?

You: Doesn't sound at all unreasonable to me - in fact, I would go so far as to say you've probably pulled.

You: But I wouldn't like to say what.

BIG JIMMY: Well, glad you agree with me then - now, are you Susy or Rosy, just so I'm not confused!

You: That will have to remain an unanswered question, I'm afraid - I have to rush to the shops before they close - byeee [Private PS - such a lie!]

BIG JIMMY: Bye SusyRosy! Jim x

You: Bye J - interesting approach, but maybe not quite right ....

BIG JIMMY: well I will try again later - when you come back!


[ Sorry, dear reader, I had to leave it there... it would be a shame to confuse his addled brain further]


(*FWB - Friends with Benefits ie Fuck Buddies; SB - a variety of meanings - Slow Burner might be appropriate, but I await further suggestions, probably far ruder)

"Play me

some merry dump to comfort me."

Peter - Romeo and Juliet

Tuesday 6 February 2007

I saw a ...

While making up the bed for my middle daughter and husband just now, I went to the airing cupboard for clean sheets.

Hmmm, sez I to myself, bending down to pick up autumn leaf from the floor of said cupboard, how did that leaf get blown in from outside, up the stairs and under the closed cupboard door?

Just - JUST - in time, as hand reaching out and almost closing round little brown curled up leaf, I saw it was a mummified mouseling. That's what sons in law are for...

Oh, and errm, I have a little confession here.

One of the children's hamsters escaped (this is years ago) and disappeared immediately. After a time, there was a really horrible smell in the kitchen, which I pretended I couldn't smell - denied it strongly in fact, as strongly as the stench... After yet more time - quite a bit of time, actually, my then husband pulled the freezer away from the wall, where this frightful smell was coming from. The hampy had chewed through something electrical, electrocuted itself, and then decomposed .... it was simply disgusting. I made my husband clear it up. Well, gotta be a squeamish girlie sometimes, you know...

Mouse Tale (what else?)

Whilst staying in a whorehouse in Belize (it was cheap - so cheap, I didn't have to work off the cost), door didn't meet floor by about a foot, bed didn't have many slats under the mattress (!), no window - no voyeurs - excellent bedside fan (silence in the back stalls) - a little mouse scuttered across the floor. Aaaah...