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November 30, 2005
Party Psychology. (No this is not a Tory leadership post)
Ever since I remember I’ve hated parties. They follow the same formula whether you are 3 or 33; massive egos competing for attention, Billy-No-Mates in one corner sobbing into his or her drink, constant bitching, fighting, overindulgence and vomiting. And one of the most annoying thing about being a mother (especially at this time of year) is that it becomes less easy to avoid the bastards.
There is of course no rationality behind the psychology of parties. When I was my daughter’s age, despite the fact that I loathed parties from the core of my delicate stomach, I would still accept any invitation with pride. Yet when the day actually arrived I would be standing there in my pretty frilly dress, beautifully wrapped gift in one hand, grabbing onto the doorway of my house with the other, sobbing and crying at my mother that I didn’t want to go anymore and my mother would say something along the lines of ’Why didn’t you say earlier? Like for instance before I forked out for the present.’ (Swap mother for husband and the situation is pretty much the same as an adult.)
Well the answer is that there is a certain amount of honour felt in actually being invited to a party that for a while smoothes over the natural fear until about 1.3 seconds after you have said. ‘Thank you! I’d love to come!’ And of course all this means that there’s only one thing worse than *going* to a party and that’s *not being invited* to a party.
Yesterday morning in the playground the whole horror of the situation rushed back to me rather like a tidal wave. Picture the scene, a girl is handing out invitations to her fifth birthday party, now this girl isn’t one of Littleone’s best friends but I know she plays with her every now and then, so shall we say she fits into the in-with-a-chance category. One of Littleone’s best friends is given a shiny pink envelope. Now I thought this was one of the unwritten rules of parenthood injected into you at childbirth along with the pain killers, thou must not spilt up groups of friends, if thou invit’st one thou must invite the other. Maybe this particular mother had a natural birth or something, I don’t know but after a while it became obvious that Littleone and her other friend were not invited.
Oh the pain! If you too could have seen the way my daughter hovered hopefully around the pile of envelopes whilst trying to make it look like she wasn’t hovering at all; if you too could have seen the way her other friend turned to her dad and said expectantly, ‘maybe mine will be the next one’; and if the last sight you caught of your daughter’s face as she disappeared into the classroom was that stoic I’m-not-disappointed-really-I'm-not look; then you too would have had to stuff your clenched fists into your pockets in order to stop yourself from walking up to birthday girl’s mother and punching her goddamn lights out.
And because after I dropped her off I couldn’t get the picture of her face out of my mind, what did I do? Why of course I headed straight round to the school office to buy some tickets for the after school Christmas party. Yes that same one I was going to avoid like the plague this year, the one I blogged about last year where the cheap and very very nasty sight of 3, 4 and 5 year olds doing the Kylie-wiggle-arse dance nearly ruined my Christmas.
To be honest I think it was that ticket rather than my novel which caused her to tell me that she liked me better than conkers when she got home from last night but in these harsh times I grab my credit wherever I can.
Posted by purple elephant at 09:28 AM |
November 29, 2005
The finishing line.....
50,885 words so far and one more chapter to write and bingo a first draft!
Everyone I've told so far has been so kind. My husband is as we speak down the pub toasting my success with his friends, which is fair enough because I'm stuck here home alone with no alcohol and I've finished my celebratory chocolate. My mum said something very motherly like, 'That's very nice dear.'
But nothing brought a tear to my eye quite so much as my daughter's response. When she got in from school I told her that I'd finished my book and she said.
'Mummy I love you more than conkers!'
*sniffle*
Better than mother nature herself, that's me.
Well in my poor deluded daughter's eyes at least.
Posted by purple elephant at 09:01 PM |
November 28, 2005
Food for thought...
360m GBP Voluntary donations received by children's charities in 2003-2004.
515m GBP Spent on children's toys (not computer games) in the UK last December only.
From this week's Independent on Sunday.
Posted by purple elephant at 10:05 PM |
November 27, 2005
My stab at being a genius.
Has anyone been listening to Genius, Dave Gorman’s show on Radio 4? If not I can highly recommend it, of course I’m fashionably late with my recommendation because I think it will be the last in the series this Thursday but I think that if you go to the website you can listen again....
Anyway I came up with a genius idea yesterday whilst having the displeasure of trying to shop for some tracksuit bottoms for my daughter in Cambridge town centre on a Saturday in the run up to Christmas.
You know how I loathe shopping, well it’s not so much the shopping I hate but the people. Yesterday I realised I could narrow this down even further, it’s the browsers* who ruin shopping for the rest of us. So I’ve devised a shopping system which will sort the rough from the smooth.
Firstly browsing should be banned and punishable by death.** You should have to state on entrance to the shop what exactly it is you are looking for. In yesterday’s case;
‘Hello There! Yes I would like a pair of trakkie bottoms for my 4 year old daughter. I want a pair that a) keep her legs warm, b) Are NOT boot cut at the bottom for these suck water half way up her legs c) Do NOT have something offensive like ‘BABE’ written across the backside, in fact they shouldn’t have ANYTHING written across the backside because Hello, she is four years old. And finally d) Dark colours please because anything else shows up the dirt.’
Fussy Moi?
Anyway here’s the best bit, all shops should work on a conveyor belt system, running at a set speed. Like shall we say 5mph? Anyway you are allowed on at the start after you have confirmed what it is you want. Then you have to grab the item on your way past, if you do not grab it in time then you have to go all the way round again. None of this prattling about, ‘Shall I shan’t I?’ whilst you hold everybody else up.
The conveyor belt system also works to our advantage at the checkout. Remember we are going round past the checkout at 5mph. If you have the item in your hand and the staff don’t get it together in time to take your money, then you get the item for free.
Ha! That would make the big companies speed up their chip and pin checking system.
So what do we think guys?
Genius or not?
(And to think I had a serious post planned about Nuclear Power. You see what NaNo does to you?)
*By Browsers I mean those who wander in a shop with absolutely no idea what they are shopping for.
** Of course I am against the death penalty for lesser crimes such as murder and paedophilia but have no objections for bringing it back for those who actually enjoy shopping.
Posted by purple elephant at 10:55 PM |
November 25, 2005
I’m still here...
Just been putting all my effort into improving my health (getting there) and writing the novel (41,493 words) nothing left for dreaming up fantastic blog posts that don’t mention either of the above.
Suffice to say that when I opened this window I was going to write about how the clothes rail collapsed in our bedroom and how there were clothes everywhere and how I just had to spend almost a whole evening tidying up so that I could actually get to my bed. That’s why I’ve only just finished my word quota for the day.
Go on, now tell me you prefer the silence.
Some links;
My least favourite story of the past couple of days.
The best story of the past couple of days.
Posted by purple elephant at 12:30 AM |
November 21, 2005
Note to self
Next time you are running a fever do not lounge on sofa and watch Regeneration and Not Forgotten in one day, for you will be sure to go to bed and have nightmares about the war..
Posted by purple elephant at 08:53 PM |
November 20, 2005
*cough* *splutter* again.
God knows how I managed my word quota this weekend. I think I’m still just about on track, I haven’t the engergy to do the maths. Apart from writing I’ve been lounged on the sofa, shedding a tear over Regeneration which I taped the other night. I’ve seen it before and read the book but it got me thinking about the war again, or just war in general.
I’ve also been sheding a tear over PC Sharon Beshenivsky and the fact she was murdered on her kid’s 4th birthday which is tragic. What is also disturbing me about this case is the knee jerk reaction from the pubic that Police should be armed, I’m concerend that this policy would cause more tragedies than it prevents.
But dear reader these posts will have to wait for a future date when breathing itself does not take up so much effort.
Posted by purple elephant at 06:56 PM |
November 19, 2005
Come Back Immune System All is Forgiven
What’s going on? I’m ill for the second time this month, or perhaps I just never got better, I can’t quite remember. Either way today my voice has dropped a couple of octaves which might sound husky and sexy if I didn’t stink to high heaven of Aromatherapy Chest Rub and Olbas Oil whilst hacking like a old woman who has been smoking 60 Malboro’ Reds every day of her life since she was 6 months old.
Please guys form an orderly queue. *cough splutter growl*
I never used to be like this, I was one of those one cold a year stalwarts and that for some reason was always in the summer.
I blame Littleone for starting school with all those skanky kids who live on Big Macs, don’t wipe their noses and cough and splutter all over each other. She gets it for ONE DAY and passes it to me and I’m at death’s door for the whole month. Fair deal.
I got through 2 bags of spinach this week, what else am I supposed to do?
*grumble*
Posted by purple elephant at 07:59 PM |
November 18, 2005
Little Britain
Am I the only one disappointed in the new series of Little Britain? I was certainly a big fan of the first series and even the second, but now if I’m honest I feel a little cheated as if they have worked for their viewing figures and now all they have to do is sit back and let the cheap visual gags roll on. There are only so many times I can laugh at an old lady in supermarket/ church fete/ enter location here, pissing herself/ vomiting/ enter body fluid here. And then there was the old man getting a hard on, fat women fighting with their clothes falling off, transvestites with beards, the prime minister dusting in a pair of skimpy pants, and ‘the only gay in the village’ as a rent boy with his groin half hanging out. Cheap boring and anyone can do it.
I’m also wondering if all along I was laughing at the wrong part of the Lou and Andy sketches. What always made me smile was the way in which Andy barely says anything but ‘Yeh I know’ and ‘I want that one’ but Lou always credits him with poetry and eloquence. For instance last night I did laugh when Lou said something along the lines of ‘but you always say that the underwater world has a sublime beauty...’ or something like that. Andy jumping out of the wheelchair and parachuting/ swimming blah blah blah became tedious after about the second sketch. And the pusses gag was so poor it borderlined on the Carry On..
And my favourite Scottish hotelier? Nowhere to be seen. .
I think last night I only laughed during the Tom Baker bits...
Posted by purple elephant at 07:51 PM |
November 16, 2005
Coalition forces used chemical weapons in Iraq
John Reid says,
"We do not use it for anything other than a smokescreen to protect our troops when in action."
Oh as a smokescreen. Why didn't you say? That makes it all totally OK then!
Liam Fox's reaction is slightly more disturbing.
"Although white phosphorus is a brutal weapon, we need to remember that we were talking about some pretty brutal insurgents."
And everyone else in the vicinity presumably.
Posted by purple elephant at 10:35 PM |
November 15, 2005
RSPCA and Remembrance Sunday; nothing escapes my wrath...
At the moment NaNoWriMo seems to be taking up every spare hour I have, which wasn’t many to start with I can tell you and possibly all my patience too.
Anyway you should be grateful I didn’t post on Sunday where I was going to get all snarky about Remembrance Sunday. Well OK not Remembrance Sunday as such but I couldn’t help wondering if Tony Blair used his 2 minutes silence to plan his next move on Iran. How that man sleeps at night I’ll never know.
Secondly it really does stir something with in me to see those elderly men and women still marching along even though they can barely limp and I am truly grateful to them really I am. So grateful in fact that I absolutely goddamn refuse point blank to sing ‘God Save the Queen’ I mean what is that all about? Which limb did she sacrifice for our freedom then? And don’t get me started on how apparently William or Harry (I never know which is which) is off to join the army. I somehow can’t quite see the second in line to the throne dodging suicide bombers in frontline Basra, soon to be Tehran. I wait patiently to be proved wrong.
Right so I’ve just about covered Remembrance Sunday, now I move on to charities, the RSPCA in particular. I got this phone call yesterday, as usual when I was right in the middle of cooking dinner. The conversation went something like this;
‘Hello Ms Elephant my name is .... and I’m phoning on behalf of the RSPCA. I would like to start by saying that I am paid for making this call but I do not receive commission. Is that clear?’
‘I guess so.’
‘Well I would like to start by thanking you for your very generous monthly donation and to let you know that your money has gone towards helping us set up the Cruelty Line. Have you heard of our Cruelty Line Ms Elephant?’
‘Yes’ I lied because as I say I was busy and didn’t need an explanation of what the cruelty line was. I could kind of more or less work it out myself.
Enter here long winded rehearsed speech about RSPCA’s utter greatness and how they help thousands and thousands of cute fluffy animals every day.
‘Anyway Ms Elephant unfortunately so many calls to our Cruelty Line go unanswered, so we are stepping up our campaign by contacting our regular donators and asking if they could cripple themselves further by giving three times as much.’
(OK so he didn’t quite put it like that but that was what he was asking of me)
‘Well I am awfully sorry, Mr Whateveryousaidyournamewas, but I already do what I can. I’m out of work you see. I’d love to give more really I would but I’m afraid it’s just not possible in my situation.’
‘OK I understand Bye.’
Please tell me, you too would feel slightly piqued at this phone call.
Now let’s get this straight. My fiver an month, which I can’t really afford as it is, (because hello we bring up a whole family on what makes most single 18 year old students cry into their watered down piss at the injustice of such a pittance) Is spent paying this man’s wage, so that he can phone me back to beg for more because in the time it has taken him to talk to me, so many calls have gone unanswered on the cruelty line. Wouldn’t the resources have been better spent paying this man to work on said Cruelty Line in the first place?
Just a thought..
Posted by purple elephant at 08:52 AM |
November 12, 2005
Utter weirdness...
I had one of those nights on Thursday and I only consumed ONE shot of scotch. I went out you see, I took the bull by the horns and left the house, not only that but it was the second night in a row having been out the previous night to meet this year’s Cambridge NaNo lot. The day trudged along normally, only managed 1,000 words, shouted at the computer a lot, shouted at my characters even more, had to listen to a load of racist bullshit at the school gates, dreamed of living in a little cottage in the middle of absolutely nowhere where I don’t have to interact with anybody unless I want to, plonked kid in front of DVD to tried and get another 1,000 words done, failed, kid refused to eat tea blah blah blah.
At 6:45 my Dad, the babysitter phoned to say that he is terribly sorry and that he knows that I said 7pm at the latest but he is stuck in traffic that is just not moving on the M11 about 20mins from my house and he will get here as soon as he can. I have to calm my Dad down because he is convinced he is about to ruin my night. At 6:47 Mr PE phones me from Cambridge town centre to say that he is awfully sorry and he knows that he was supposed to be getting the last bus from Cambridge to Comberton at 6:45 and meeting me there but he bumped into a mate who bought him several drinks and he lost track of time, so he is going to have to walk there. Roughly what sort of direction should he head?
My Dad trundles through the door at 7:35 extremely stressed and so I do some more calming down. Bearing in mind that my Dad knocked off work an hour early to come and free me for a night out and an hour’s drive has just taken him over two and that he is diabetic and his blood pressure really should be kept at a reasonably normal sort of level, there was absolutely no way I could ask him for a lift to Comberton as I had planned, especially as it was in the same sort of direction from whence he came.
So I phoned for a Taxi, or at least I tried to phone for a taxi. The first one wouldn’t pick up the phone, the second despite having the first three postcode digits EXACTLY the same as mine, insisted that I should try someone more local. The third said that they would be 10-15 minutes and were in fact 20 but who was counting because the doors opened at 8:00 and for at least an hour there was bound to be some sort of support act, because that’s the way gigs work right?
Meanwhile Mr PE is phoning me every 2 1/2 minutes, to let me know that he *thinks* he is heading in the right direction but he wouldn’t know because he is in the middle of nowhere without any indication of civilisation. When I tell the Taxi driver that I am going to Comberton Leisure Centre, he has never heard of the place but Comberton is so small that we agree that he should drop me off at the centre and I will find the place on foot. By the time we get there Mr PE insists that he is walking down the main street of Comberton so our paths should cross any minute now. So I’m standing at a crossroads in what feels like the middle of a ghost town, under a sign that says Comberton and I wait and I wait. He insists he is walking down Barton Road and I’m standing where Barton Road turns into East Road, so if he just keeps walking..... there is a point where we think that perhaps he is not in Comberton at all but oh look there he is at last! He feels it necessary to point out that a) I am standing under a sign that says CAMBRIDGE 5 miles; and b) He has a hole in his pocket and he thinks that 30 quid has escaped at some point during the walk.
So we finally stumble through the doors of Comberton Leisure Centre at 8:45 and get instantly leaped upon by a woman in a power suit who asks if she can help us. So we reply that we have tickets reserved to see Show of Hands, she finds the tickets and announces that they have already started and would we mind waiting until in-between songs before we enter the auditorium? We ask how much we have missed and she replies that they came on at 8pm (as we discover it says on the tickets but of course Muggins here booked the tickets but arranged to pick them up there on the night, rather than having them sent out)
So while we are waiting she asks us if we have come far, to which I reply something along the lines of ‘Only five. It just felt like a million.’ Her snootiness subsides in a swoop and she asks,
‘One of those days?’
To which I mutter something about a babysitter being late and she instantly asks if she can get us a drink on the house as we have had such a terrible evening but then the song finishes and she opens the door and sends us on our way to find a couple of seats, urging us to come and find her at the interval and she will get us those drinks.
What seems about two songs later, the interval arrives and I decide to queue for the ladies while Mr PE gets the drinks in. I have moved forward about two people when he returns with a whiskey, he says he saw the power suited lady but she seemed so busy that he didn’t have the heart to demand the drinks. Mr PE heads off outside for a cigarette because it is a non smoking auditorium and by the time I get to the front of the toilet queue (without wetting myself) I have downed my whiskey in a couple of sips.
What in God’s name can go wrong whilst spending a quick penny? Ask and Purple Elephant shall tell.... So I’ve finished what needs to be done and I turn to yank a little bit of toilet paper and the whole toilet roll holder falls off and comes crashing down on the bridge of my nose. It hurt so much that I was blinded for a second, there in that cubicle with a queue building up outside.
So shall we get this straight? Purple Elephant gets herself blinded by a runaway toilet roll holder on only one shot of whiskey. And yes it does still hurt. Thank you for asking.
The rest of the gig passed without mishap but let’s face it, you can’t really upstage almost breaking your nose on a toilet roll holder, now can you?
Except that the power suited lady was waiting for us on the way out with a bottle of fizzy plonk ’Courtesy of Comberton Leisure Centre.’
I do believe Mr PE gave her a hug.
Posted by purple elephant at 09:31 AM |
November 10, 2005
Gender specific language; starting them young.
I was flicking through some catalogues and I stumbled across these magnetic words, essentially a great educational idea. What disturbs me is that they got away with releasing separate ‘girls’ and ‘boys’ talk. Yes you’ve guessed it boys get to learn to read and write infinitely more exciting sounding words as ‘conkers’ ‘grass’ ‘treehouse’ ‘mud’ ‘dirt’ and ‘climbing’
Whereas as a result of her gender my poor daughter would be lumbered with; ‘clothes’ ‘hair’ ‘fluff ’ (I kid you not!) ‘angel’ ‘sparkle’ and my particular favourite ‘cooking.’
Yep sorry Littleone I know which pack you’d prefer but it’s not really worth teaching you how to spell the word ‘climbing’ because it’s not like you are ever going to be doing any. Get thee to the kitchen and speak no more.
Posted by purple elephant at 05:25 PM |
November 08, 2005
Purple Elephant Saves the Day! (Well a mug really but who is counting)
I was trekking over to the Post Office to post some parcels. (I will not mention that I was in a world of my own planning the next scene of my novel because I’m trying so hard to write a post here that doesn’t mention writing AT ALL. I think that perhaps I’m trying to prove to myself that NaNo is not the only thing in my life right now. Heck while I‘m thinking of it, where the hell did I put my husband and daughter?) So where was I? Oh yes walking down the street, when a car stated backing out of a driveway, so I politely stopped to let the car pass. Actually that is a lie, there was no altruism in my act, I just thought the driver hadn’t seen me so it was the safest thing to do. So what did this car have sitting on its roof then?
Go on guess!
Yes that’s right, a mug of tea!
So I frantically waved my arms about pointing to the mug on the roof (which I acknowledge was a silly thing to do because it wasn’t like he could see it from the driver’s seat because if he could then it wouldn‘t be there if you see what I mean) He looked at me with a the-madhouse-is-THAT-way kind of look and started backing some more. Only at that moment the cup started to slip of the roof, so do you know what I did dear friend(s)? Remember this is me, we are talking about here, lowly uncoordinated me who cannot even cock her lazy unwilling legs over a hurdle. I ran a whole three steps and do you know, I caught that mug in my hand WITHOUT FALLING OVER!
I got cold milky tea down the arm of my jacket (Goddamn you Mr. Driver why was it not coffee? I hadn’t had my caffeine fix for all of about an hour) but I saved the mug all the same.
Go me!
Now it’s your turn. Tell me how proud you are of me because;
a) I saved a mug’s life.
and
b) I (almost) didn’t talk about NaNo for a whole post.
P.S. All offers of bravery medals to my fsmail email address thank you. Please be warned that Purple Elephant does not under any circumstances shake hands with Margaret Thatcher or the Queen.
*bows*
Posted by purple elephant at 09:16 PM |
November 07, 2005
Knackered tonight - have a quiz!
For some reason writing 2,000 words a day is taking it out of me this time. Last year I had less time and I managed to keep up a blog and more to the point I was still standing at the end of the day.
Strange.
Here is a quiz I found but believe me I have never written a sex scene in my life and there are no Potter inspired characters I swear.
You may win, you may not - it's hard to say. Could
you be the next JK Rowling? Maybe not.
It's Nanowrimo Time! Will you reach 50K? What kind of novel will you write?
brought to you by Quizilla
Posted by purple elephant at 10:06 PM |
November 06, 2005
To think I share genes with these people.
This is a real conversation that took place at the firework display last night.
BROTHER (aged 27); Oooooh ahhhhhhhhh.Oooooh ahhhhhhhhh. Oooooh ahhhhhhhhh. Ooooooo - oh whoops!
MUM; Oh ... I feel a bit sorry for all the fireworks that go wrong.
ME; Let me get this straight. You feel sorry for a - firework?
MUM; Yes I do actually.
BROTHER; Yes I agree. Put yourself in their shoes, you spend your life waiting for that moment. The build up - the wooosh and then instead of a bang you go ‘poof’ and peter out. It’s not like you get a second chance now is it?
MUM; Staring wistfully into the distance. So sad.
ME. Well look at it this way. If that firework was sitting by your foot, it wouldn’t feel sorry for you. It would blast you to smithereens.
MUM; Yes but that doesn’t mean we should lower ourselves to their level now does it. Didn’t I bring you up proper or something?
ME; I can’t believe we’re having this conversation.
MUM; I can’t believe we’re having this conversation.
ME; Well you started it.
SILENCE.
ME; Do you think they are going to be much longer? Only my back is killing me standing here like this.
SILENCE
LITTLEONE; Can we go now?
Posted by purple elephant at 09:21 PM |
November 05, 2005
Bah Humbug!
One of the perks of keeping a blog for over a year is that on certain points during the second year you come up with a post that sounds disturbingly familiar. So you trawl through your archives and discover that you have said it all before.
No need to write anything. I lazily direct you to my apostrophe phobic post of November 5th last year.To be honest I don’t even like fireworks that much and come 5th November I’m sick to death of them anyway because they have been going on until 1:30am every night for the past 2 weeks. So why is it that everybody knows my opinion, even daring to agree with me and yet when it comes to the day I’m made to feel like the worse possible Scrooge if I so much as hint that I might give the whole firework display thing a miss this year. I’ve got Bonfire Night Celebration invitations coming out of my ears and to be honest I’d rather turn them all down and sit at home writing.
Shock horror! But what of the children? I hear you ask. Isn’t it all worth it just to see their pink cheruby cheeks light up as they write their name in the air with a sparkler? Well let it be known that last year I dragged my protesting arse round my Mum’s, abandoned my 2,000 words a day goal, only to stand cold, wet and hungry at her village display, watching my 27 year old brother and his wife ‘cooooooh’ and ‘ahhhh’ while my own daughter sat with her hands over her ears, alternating her valued opinion between ‘Too loud!’ and ‘Can we go home now?’
And no doubt the whole sorry state of affairs shall repeat itself again tonight.
Next year, Dear friends and family, I shall put my foot down. Ho Yes!
Posted by purple elephant at 10:23 AM |
November 04, 2005
Be careful what you write about
Just imagine for a moment that you lived in a mad mad world. you know, one of those strange places where people challenge each other to write 50,000 words in a month. FOR FUN?!
Just say you planned this spooky ghosty story about a certain place in the world where children fall from cliffs into the sea and there is a giant search operation but the bodies are never found. Just say you had a particular place in mind, you changed the name ( and a couple of other things for the sake of the plot) but anybody who had been there would probably recognise where you were writing about.
Day four and you are tapping away on the keyboard while listening to the radio and you hear, no surely you think you hear a news story about some boys who have been swept out to sea IN THAT VERY PLACE.
For certainly you are going mad.
Just to reassure yourself you type the name of the place into the BBC news search engine and Oh My God, there is the whole sad story in black and white.
Would you be as spooked as me?
Next year I’m definitely sticking to the teddy bear novel. There can never be enough news items about teddy bears.
Posted by purple elephant at 11:19 PM |
November 03, 2005
Cheap laugh of the day..
I quote;
‘I have a great deal of admiration for David Blunkett. I am a Socialist after all.’
However much I wish I had written those words, they were in fact spoken my Max Clifford, credit where credit’s due.
I cackled so hard my throat hurt.
What do you mean, you don’t think Max Clifford wasn't trying to be funny and I had a sore throat anyway?
And in case you were wondering, wordcount will be updated later, when I've finished for the day.
Posted by purple elephant at 06:35 PM |
November 02, 2005
Throat hurts
Want my bed.
That's it!
Posted by purple elephant at 09:32 PM |
November 01, 2005
Radio 4 and 4.3% of a novel. I gotta be a writer - surely?
For some reason I was putting off the start this year. I’ve been listening to the series of plays this week on Woman’s Hour about The Gunpowder Women (well worth it, if you want to listen again) so I thought I’d make a start after Woman’s Hour. Then I started itching a bit, so I opened up a blank document and wrote the title. The last thing I remember is someone talking about transsexuals within the church and before I knew it the radio was beeping midday. I had only written 800 words or so by that point but it was a start at least. Look at my sidebar now! I’ve written 4.3 % of a novel apparently.
Ah! Dark afternoons and a whole paragraph describing a sip of water. It must be that time of year again.
Non-NaNo related sentence of the day; Does anyone know how long a packet of roll-out icing lasts once opened, especially as it tells you on the packet not to keep it in the fridge?
Posted by purple elephant at 06:26 PM |