New things

Apologies for the paucity of recent blogs. The only excuse I can really muster is that I have been busy writing. Which pleases me. It means that I'm not using this space quite so much as a displacement activity. Still, I'm determined not to neglect it.

I made a big decision about the novel, namely that I have decided to shelve it for a while, while I concentrate on something different. This new project falls within the bracket, I guess, of chicklit, but hopefully not chicklit for chicklit's sake. I hope, at least, to make some points in it. I'm hoping that people won't find being confronted by somebody with cancer in the first couple of pages too much of a turn off. I know chicklit is meant to be all warm and fluffy, but there's no reason why art can't mimic life once in a while. So, for the time being, the more literary novel (I shouldn't say that because chicklit is equally challenging to write) is on hold.....to be continued.

As they say, watch this space!

Which one?

So, who will win the american presidency election? Who will get the keys to the White House and park their bottom in the Oval Office, where so many other notable Presidential bottoms have parked before?

My money, for what it's worth, is on Barack Obama. Well, at least I'm hoping that will be the case because the prospect of Sarah Palin becoming Vice President seems quite a scary one. I don't know a huge amount about American Politics - it all seems very confusing - but from what I do know about Sarah Palin, her views are a little tooooo conservative for the twenty first century. Anyone who tried to ban books, for heaven's sake, cannot be trusted to support any kind of free thought.

According to most of the news sites and Radio 4, after the last day of campaigning, Obama was still favourite to win, but McCain seemed to be hot on his trail if the last minute polls were anything to go by. I wonder how long it will take them to count the votes? I presume a lot longer than it takes here, judging by the fact they have almost three times as many votes to count. And they'll want to make sure they do it properly after the fiasco in 2000. Whatever happens, we can be sure that our news broadcasts will be dominated by the results as much as if it were a British General Election. I'm hoping that the outcome will be the right one and not, as Matt Damon put it, like a 'Bad Disney movie,' with a hockey mum (Palin) on the winning side.

Biorbopolis

It seems right that as so many people are interested in my aquarium and the antics of the fish and other inhabitants, I should set up a blog spot just to track the everyday goings on in the Biorb. So that's exactly what I've done! It's not going to be anoraky, I'm not going to talk about ph levels and all that kind of stuff in the new blog - there are plenty of forums out there that already do just that. No, my Biorbopolis blog will just be "a day in the life of" style thing.

It's amazing how fascinating fish can be, and how they really do have their own particular characters. I hope you'll check out the new place.

Jeepers, two blogs to maintain - will I EVER get my novel written?

Silly season

Me and horror movies do not mix. They never have. In fact, I'd go so far as to say that me and anything of the paranormal variety do not mix. I am scared of everything associated with it. I don't like this time of year for a number of reasons:

1. Trick or treaters. I remember when I was small and there was a spate of attacks where people did really nasty things in the guise of a 'trick' on Halloween. Ever since then a knot of fear coils in my stomach every time the doorbell rings on Halloween.

2. The abundance of horror movies they show on TV at this time of year.

3. The fear that something spooky might actually happen to me and I'd never get over it.

The big sticking point is that despite acknowledging my fear of everything paranormal, I am a bit like a moth to a flame with it. There is something darkly attractive about it. I am fascinated by, and curious about it, but at the same time utterly terrified of it. I've seen scary horror movies - I watched 'The Ring,' (the scariest movie ever made to my mind) and felt quite disturbed for a number of days afterwards. When I was in my teens I took delight in the horrific thrill of watching the series of Nightmare on Elm Street movies at countless sleepovers and suffered sleepless nights for weeks afterwards, sleeping with the light on. Yes, cliched but true.

I'd have thought that by the time I reached my thirties, I'd be over it. But no. I still find myself drawn to things that terrify me. For the past few nights I have been glued to 'Most Haunted Live' on the Living channel. The sensible side of me understands a lot of it must be faked, the rational part of me - the part that has studied the human mind - understands that the power of suggestion and belief can stir up some crazy things when a group of people are put together. But STILL I sit and cower in the corner of the sofa. I become rooted to the spot, unable to go to the kitchen to get a cup of tea, or go up to the loo, in case something comes and gets me.

So why do I do it? Why do I put myself through this? The psychologist in me analyses and identifies it as what's called 'threat rehearsal.' Evolutionists have a theory that nightmarish dreams serve a similar purpose - we rehearse threats in our mind and unconscious, so that we can better deal with them when faced with them. Naturally, back in the day we were chased by predators such as wild animals - not zombies or ghosts, but time and evolution distorts the picture.

However, much as I indulge my fear, I do draw the line somewhere. I believe that some things just shouldn't be messed with, which is why I got so upset with Yvette Fielding and her Most Haunted show the other night. Call me stuffy, call me a whimp, but I don't think invoking the devil is a terribly brilliant idea, especially when it's supposed to be for the purpose of 'entertainment.' But that's exactly what they did. There they were, standing in a circle of salt, chanting chilling incantations to summon the 'Lord of Darkness.' I really couldn't believe it. I don't care if it is fake, represents light entertainment, or that it is intended to be taken with a pinch of salt - it's silly. What worries me is that ill informed people will go off and do a similar thing, not understanding it. While I don't think anyone could invoke the devil, they could seriously psychologically damage themselves in the belief that they have, and the consequences of believing that they did.

It's all very well to indulge your fears at a safe distance, it's healthy, it helps you rationalize them. It's why horror movies and Most Haunted rake in viewers and money by the bucketful - and the producers know it. When, however, shows like Most Haunted irresponsibly air content that pushes the boundaries of light entertainment, where instead of bumps and knocks, they push for demonic manifestations, it's time to switch off the television and do something else.

The Thinning

Just after I got back from Spain, which is 6 weeks ago now, I pledged to lose weight. I made all sorts of claims and resolutions and then went very quiet about the whole thing. Well....today marks the end of the sixth week of starvation and yes, there have been results!! So far, my total weight loss is (drum roll) 1 stone, 2lbs. The two pounds has to be taken with a pinch of salt as my bathroom scales like to fib. They tell me I've lost a certain amount, and then take great joy in fluctuating, causing me to stress and think I am rubbish. The one stone, however, is solid weight loss i.e there's no fluctuation. Thank god I FINALLY seem to be winning the battle. I say 'seem,' because I don't like to take my resolve and determination for granted. Picture it as a very fragile plant - I have to keep watering and feeding my psychological state of mind to keep it going. It doesn't, and won't, take much to kill it.

So I'm allowing myself a little blog room to celebrate a bit. I can't stand it when people resolve to lose weight and do nothing but talk about it non-stop. My belief is that by putting it at the forefront of your mind one hundred percent of the time causes you to obsess about it and then you're more likely to fail. What I try to do is just get on with it, and hope the scales are kind to me at the end of each week.

Last week I invested in two secret weapons to reinforce my weight loss scaffold. The first was a dancersize DVD, which makes me feel nine stone heavier than I am and must make me look like a demented walrus when I do it. Still, it does the trick. By the time I get to the end of the dance track I am purple and gasping. My second weapon is a cross trainer. I get to run without the impact and without having to go out in the street where a) it would be cold and b) people would point and laugh at me! The cross trainer is great, not only for the fact that it looks like a proper piece of gym equipment, so just owning it makes me feel fit, but also (for the time being, at least) it is good fun. But hey, we'll see how long that lasts.

I suppose, like anything you really want, you have to keep plugging away at it, reminding yourself why you're doing it and why you're putting yourself through it. I'm just not looking forward to Christmas.....my mouth is watering already!

On being published and the trouble with Ebay

Writing has been going well. The novel is in bits from a narrative perspective and I don't know whether I'm coming or going, but the ideas are flowing, which is a relief. I think writing this novel could swing one of two ways - it will either be my making or undoing. It's one of those knife edge things. The trouble, being a writer, is that I constantly riddled with uncertainty and self doubt. Can I write? Are any of the words I put together any good? Should I just go and get a normal job? 

I'm always looking for validation. I'm like a little kid learning to do new things in life, looking to adult figures to nod and say 'yes, dear, that's the way.' Last week, though, I received an email confirming that I would be a featured poet in February on the online literary review site, Nthposition. Not only that, but it is archived in the British Library, so I'm chuffed that once I'm dead and gone, a little part of me will last. Who knows, maybe somebody might even read my poetry in years to come. That would be nice! So, now I'm feeling warm and comfortable like an apple pie. I feel that maybe possibly I can write and should carry on with this psychological tussle which requires an enormous dollop of self belief in order to get this novel done.

On another point entirely, but necessary to fit with the title of this blog, I have begun ebaying again. I boycotted it for a while after a nasty incident involving a pair of Jimmy Choo shoes. But we won't dwell. So far this month, the list of ebay purchases are:

A digital SLR camera (not for me!)

An intelligent LED light for the Biorb 

A cable tidy

A water siphon

A Krups kettle

A cross trainer exercise machine

A 30 litre Biorb

Little wonder, then, that we have no money left for the rest of the month and must eat beans on toast for the next two weeks. The trouble with ebay is that it doesn't feel like you're actually spending money. I've always thought that about internet shopping, actually. It must have something to do with the removal of the process of touching the item and taking it to the checkout and so on. But with ebay, there is another element involved that makes it so addictive, and that's the whole thing to do with 'winning' the auction. I am highly competitive - I can't stand being beaten, not even at board games. It isn't surprising, then, that I get completely carried away with ebay if I get outbid. It moves beyond winning the item and becomes much more about beating the person who is bidding against me. And then there's that rush of something like adrenalin when the time runs out and you win your item. This is usually accompanied by air punching and victorious hissing of 'Yesssss!' And it doesn't have to be a big item either - the same ecstasy accompanied the win of the water siphon as it did with the camera.

So, I think I may have to give ebay a miss for a little while, not because I don't like it, but because I could end up spending a silly amount of money on stupid things like, ooo I don't know, cigarette cards, screws, extension leads, foil stars. I wonder if there is an Ebayers anonymous? Hmmmm.

Lost in Austen and not wanting to be found!

Hell's bells! It's already October. Time surely flies. I've even spotted the shops doing that cheeky thing of strategically placing Christmas wrapping paper rolls in boxes around their stores, in the hope of achieving some subliminal messaging, kind of like in Fight Club, where Brad Pitt pops up for one frame, to inform our subconscious minds. Of what, I'm not quite sure. Never did understand that movie.

But I digress...

Now that it's October, the nights are drawing in. It's dark by tea time, and the pathetic excuse we had for a summer has well and truly disappeared. Strictly Come Dancing is back on the telly, waging its annual war with the X Factor...again. Yes, it's that time of year when we hibernate. We stay indoors, except for a brief moment on November 5th, where, like the English wallies we are, we venture out into the chill night air. It's the time of year to bed down, snuggle into our duvets and spend time wishing we had a multi fuel burning stove in our fireplaces instead of an aquarium. Oh, no, that's just me.

Personally, I quite like this time of year - it's the lull before the festive mayhem, when you have time to slop around the house on the weekend in your slipper socks and cosy bathrobe. I've been getting into the idea of 'stopping in,' instead of 'going out' to summer barbies, and I recently bought (on the recommendation of some fellow writers - they know who thay are) 'Lost in Austen' on DVD, for those cold nights, when my partner is fighting imaginary snipers on his computer, and I need some heartwarming, eighteenth century fluff.

OK, so the series is only four, fort-five minute episodes long, but enough, I thought, to last a month. One episode a week - quite sufficient. Oh how wrong I was! I thought I did quite well to stretch the series across two sessions, but that was all I could manage.

In case you don't know, the basic premise of the series is that a modern day woman (Amanda Price) escapes the stresses of her everyday existence, by reading Jane Austen's Pride and Prejudice. One evening, she finds Elizabeth Bennet in her bathroom, and a doorway that leads into the novel itself. The 'fish out of water' situation allows for plenty of humourous moments, and the clever casting permits quite a bit of eye candy - Darcy, Wickham, Bingley.

Yes, it's romantic fluff. Plenty of die-hard, purist Austen fans will be disgusted that the plot of Pride and Prejudice is skewed and meddled with, but for somebody like me, who has never read the actual novel, I was immune to it. I totally loved it!! It's a girlie thing. It makes you want to eat chocolate and ice-cream. It makes you feel like Bridget Jones. It makes you all romantic and silly inside. 

The best bit is, naturally, the 'lake scene,' which has now, thanks largely to Helen Fielding, become an iconic moment. The Lost in Austen lake scene does not disappoint, and is even better, I hazard, than the Colin Firth version. The unsung hero of the piece, in my humble opinion, is Hugh Bonneville, who fits the role of Mr Bennet as though it was written just for him.

Bravo! Bravo! Now I need to find something else to warm the cockles of my heart of an autum evening. I wonder if the Thornbirds is available on DVD? 

The miracle of life

There's nothing like new parents to put you off having a baby. Well not the parents per se, but their experiences. I have been privvy, in the past, to all sorts of information about births that leave me either wincing or feeling slightly off colour. 

Anyone who knows me, also knows that I have a deep seated fear of blood. It's so bad, that even red liquid can make me feel a bit, you know - queasy. Take yesterday for example. I had to avert my eyes at a school I was visiting when the teacher did a demonstration with some water coloured with red food colouring! (when she added cornflour to it I almost had to leave the room!) So, let's face it, it's not going to take much of a birth story for me to balk at the very idea of childbirth and everything that the process entails. 

For that reason, now that I am of an age where becoming a parent is a consideration, and I have friends where that consideration is, or already has, become a reality, I always hope and pray they will have straightforward births, so I don't fret and stress about my own future. You know the kind of birth I'm talking about: the ones you see on American soaps, where the actress barely breaks a sweat through her make up, the baby arrives soft lense style, wrapped up in a gender specific coloured fleecy blanket, without even a smear of blood, (heaven forbid) all cuddly and swathed in a cloud of Johnson and Johnson baby smell. That's what I want. None of this primal screaming and, god almighty, placenta.

But I have to face facts. Life isn't like that. There's going to be a bit of pain involved. OK, I can cope with that. But, you know, my friends REALLY don't help. A couple of weeks ago, my closest friend was kind enough to wait until I got home from Spain to pop out her baby. I'll spare you the details of the whole saga. It's enough just to say that she didn't make it to the hospital on time and ended up giving birth on her bathroom floor! (it has floor to ceiling white tiles - the mental picture has been haunting me for some time now) Lucky for her the birth was complication free - I think she is built to produce children factory line style. I mean, she basically coughed and out came the baby (a little girl, in case you were wondering.) But, this hasn't helped with my whole aversion to child birth, particularly as she described her husband being 'white for a very long time afterwards.' I bet he was! 

So, if, and I stress the word if here, I ever have the inclination to have a baby, I think I'll opt for an elective caesarian. Failing that, I'll stock my bathroom with an overwhelmingly abundant supply of black towels!

Be afraid...Be VERY afraid?

We're meant to be wetting ourselves with worry about the state of the economy. There are banks going under, merging, being bailed out. There are talks of 'hedging' and 'betting' on the stock markets - which has apparently been banned - and new laws being put into practice over in the states to enable the government to take over the 'bad lending' of banks.....or something.

You see, unless you have a degree in Economics from LSE, or you're a trader in the city, or have some other method to acquire a deep understanding of the economy, I think you'd be hard pressed to find many people who actually know what the hell is going on. But nevertheless, wherever you go, people suck air through their teeth and make small talk out of 'how awful the financial situation is.' Go to a school playground, a canteen, a coffee shop - everyone is talking about it. It's the thing to be commenting on.

Yes, I know Lloyds TSB is taking over HBOS (which I only realised today stood for Halifax Bank of Scotland) and I know Lehman Brothers went under. Somebody said to me yesterday: 'If Goldman Sachs goes under, that'll be a true sign of disaster,' and I nodded my head and agreed, thinking: 'Isn't that a movie studio?' (no, that's Metro Goldwyn Mayer) Everyone is going on about 'how awful things are,' and I'm sure they are, but I just don't get it.

Ok, my loaf of bread has gone up, apparently due to rising food prices, apparently due to the credit crunch, but I can live with that. I don't have any money to speak of in any bank anywhere and I'm not about to go and withdraw it in order to keep it in a biscuit tin under the bed. I have a mortgage, and I don't plan to sell my house for the foreseeable future. I don't have stocks or shares, so I've no need to worry about that. So why should I jump on the bandwagon?

Some bloke on Question Time last night - the CEO of Next I seem to recall - berrated the people in this country for getting up in arms about the state of the economy, a panic, he argued, that has been inflated by the media and exaggerated by hyperbolic language and comment.

Perhaps I am being naive and flippant. I'm sure this credit crisis, or whatever name they're currently giving it, affects many people, but until I understand it, and until somebody can explain how it directly affects me, I'm not going to jump on the panic bandwagon and potentially contribute to exacerbating the whole problem.

Anoraks, tanks and fishy subcultures

About eight weeks ago, I invested in a fish tank. Initially, it was an interior design solution, aimed at filling the big space in the hearth in my living room. I thought an oversized fishbowl would do the job quite nicely. This plan began to blossom and grow, and before I knew it, I had bought a Biorb fish tank (which is a vast designery goldfish bowl type thing) for marine fish.

*Warning* This Blog is about to become anoraky!

Biorbs have a bad reputation. If you do a search on them, you'll find forum thread upon forum thread of people slagging them off. The main argument being that the Biorb's filtration is not good enough/modern enough to support marine fish, and that the sixty litre capacity is not big enough to house marine fish happily/safely - the idea being that they will add too much ammonia to the water via their waste, which cannot be converted well enough into nitrite and nitrate. The end result being, you end up with dead fishies.

I found all of this out AFTER I had spent £150 on my shiny new tank. I did some more frantic research and found a few people out there who had had success with their Biorbs, which renewed my confidence slightly. I hasten to add that there didn't seem to be a problem with people keeping 'normal' fish (ie coldwater/tropical) in their Biorbs, just those who were doing the all out marine thing. I quickly realised that marine husbandry is FULL of fish snobs! They can't agree on anything! 

I came across a whole new subculture of people on the internet who spoke in strange acronyms: FOWLR (which means a tank for Fish Only With Live Rock.) They argued on the compatibility of fish, the benefits of using reverse osmosis water, the stocking levels of tanks, you name it. I was amazed that people could, and did, get so heated about such a topic. I found myself enthralled, and spent hours and days researching and trawling through web age after web page of fishy facts.

So, back to the Biorb. Well, I'll spare you the whole set up performace, because that's just one anorak too far. After I'd read all the fish stuff my brain could handle, I went about setting up my marine Biorb with more knowledge and confidence. Nevertheless, I felt a bit uncomfortable going into the aquatic shop and asking for anything, for fear they would ask what kind of tank I had. I had visions of confessing to owning the Biorb and the aquatic employees slinging me out on my ear. Yes, there really is that much sniffiness towards them. 

Anyway, after putting in live rock (bits of dead coral, teeming with bugs and stuff) and waiting for the water to get to the right temperature/ph/salinity etc etc, I was allowed to add creatures! At this point, I was allowed to add a 'clean up crew,' who go around eating algae and the bugs from the live rock and who basically do good things for the tank. So, I added 4 hermit crabs, (called Sebastian 1 & 2 and George and Orwell) 2 cleaner shrimps, (called Salvador and Vincent) a black long spined (poisonous!!) sea urchin called Oliver (also referred to as Evil Oliver on account of being poisonous) and a feather duster pipe worm called Ken (after Ken Dodd and his feather duster fetish!) 

The tank became a very exciting place, and lots of things began to happen. A shrimp gave birth to a gazillion tiny shrimps, the sea urchin pooed in a most exciting way (showering hard pellets all over the place), a shrimp shed his skin, or rather his 'exoskeleton' and I thought he was dead for about fifteen minutes, a hermit crab came out of his shell, shed his skin and then got back into his shell, and Oliver filled the tank with gooey strands of something I'd rather not think about. And all this without any fish!!

I get to add fish this week, which I have to admit, is very exciting. Because it is a small tank, I am only allowed a couple of fish. This brings me back to the criticisms levied against the Biorbs. As far as I can tell, with what basic knowledge of marine husbandry I have, the Biorbs are fine PROVIDING you do what they tell you to do in the instructions. It's no good getting a Biorb and then ignoring all the advice they give you. I think many of the problems people have is that they overstock the Biorb, or try to cut corners by using their own insufficient knowledge. I've followed their instructions to the last letter and have had no problems at all. The creatures in there seem happy enough - they don't show signs of stress, like being twitchy or anything like that. So, all seems well for now at least.

I have to admit, the hobby of keeping marine fish has sucked me in completely. I've now turned into one of those anoraks who sucks air through their teeth on hearing a yellow tang is being kept in a tank below 100 litres capacity. I'm planning the next tank, which will house corals and anemones and will, of course, be much much bigger. But, if you're ever thinking of getting a Biorb, don't be put off by what you might read online. As I say, there are fish snobs out there who think they know better than anyone, and whose opinions need to be taken with a grain of salt. If I can set up a Biorb and get it to run with any level of success, then anyone can!

Return and resolutions

Well, I'm back. Spain was hot, dusty and burny as expected. I have sunburn on my legs which is still giving me jip. Thank the lord for aftersun. 

Since I've been back in Blighty, I've been off to Wales (again) to visit my brother, but now I am back home for the foreseeable future. Back to the cellar, which seems to have dropped in temperature by about seven degrees since I was last down here.

The big news is that I am going on a diet. One of these Tesco jobbies. This comes as a result of one too many tapas and FAR too many sweet things consumed on holiday. That, and looking at the vile holiday snaps of myself. But enough with the self loathing. I have a lot to lose! In the past I have dieted with moderate levels of success, but this time I have put my money where my mouth is and forked out thirty quid for ten week's membership. I've done my meal plans, printed my shopping list, and I'm ready. I felt compelled, however, to dispense with the remaining chocolate digestives in the cupboard before I begin tomorrow. Well, we'll see what happens....

I'm going to do a big Blog tomorrow about my marine aquarium. I keep saying I will, and then I don't. Other things, seemingly more important, tend to crop up. However, there is much to report and it deserves a blog entry of its own. For now, I will keep this short and sweet. I feel terribly guilty for neglecting my fledgling Blog, and promise that I'll keep more up to date from hereon in.

Back tomorrow on reports of fish and hunger pangs.

Incidentally....

I am going on holiday to Spain on Wednesday. My Blogs, though not always timely to date, will not be occurring until my return. I can't face taking my laptop to Spain with me, not because I don't love my shiny macbook air, but because of the farting about I'd have to go through at the airport in order to get it on the plane! (There are rules about whether it constitutes hand luggage/part of hand luggage or separate, which only serve to confuse me!)

This is a note to self; a reminder of what I am going to write a Blog about when I get back:

1. The lastest additions to my marine aquarium (it sounds very anoraky, and probably is, but I must indulge myself)

2. My forthcoming wheat-free, dairy free diet push in readiness for baby making.

3. My review of the 1967 movie 'In Cold Blood,' which, despite being in black and white, scared the bejesus out of me. I don't know why, but I have this perception that black and white movies will be a) crap and b) innocuous. I'm not sure what Alfred Hitchcock would have said about that, mind.

Cheerio - back in ten days! Espana here I come!

Cool Stuff

Art has a bad wrap, and little wonder. I've never been a fan of The Turner Prize, for example, because in my opinion it's contrived and full of people trying too hard to be arty for art's sake. But there is so much cool arty stuff out there, left unappreciated by the masses because they're turned off by the elitism of the art world where people practice a lot of chin rubbing and air kissing. 

Maybe the internet will change all that. In my opinion, there is no replacement for being able to see the work of art 'in the flesh,' so to speak, but the internet certainly makes things more accessible, less stuffy and more fun. These days it's not unusual to receive an email that's doing its rounds among office folk, which is full of wow factor arty things. Makes a change from the naff jokes or 'read this and pass on or DIE' type chain mails that used to make their way into mail boxes across the land.

So, I've compiled my top five 'cool arty things' that are WELL worth checking out. I've noticed a bit of bias going on towards sculpture, for which I make no apologies. Perhaps that is because sculpture translates much better to computer screen than paintings, who knows. If you check out the following five, I guarantee that you will agree that sculpture can make your day. And I could lay money on you passing on these website links to at least one other person! Enjoy.

1. Jason de Caires Taylor. 

Check out his eerie and haunting underwater sculptures! 

Unfortunately, these amazing sculptures are not only located off the shore of some far flung Caribbean Island, they're also about thirty metres under water, so only scuba divers can really get up close and personal to them. Nevertheless, I love them and I'm looking forward to checking out the more art-lover-friendly installation that Taylor has created along the River Stour near Canterbury. Thankfully these ones can be viewed from land, as they're only at a depth of about two or three metres. You see a beautiful video of some of the sculptures off the shore of Grenada, here

2. Camille Allen's baby sculptures.

People often believe they're made out of marzipan but are, in fact, sculpted using clay similar to Fimo. I love her work. There are a number of video's on YouTube that aim to teach how to sculpt a clay baby. I've tried. It's impossible. I ended up with something that looked quite scary and not very baby-like at all.

3. Anthony Gormley

His figures, largely cast from his own body, have become his trademark. He is best known for the Angel of the North and the figures on Crosby Beach, which, last I heard, were going to be kept there for good, much to my joy. I haven't been to see them, but will do at some point. However, Londoners or visitors to the capital (specifically Westminster and Lambeth) should keep their eyes peeled, as there are figures scattered about the city, perched on the tops of enormously high buildings. I saw one of these not far from Waterloo a few months ago. It frightened me to death, as I thought it was somebody about to take a suicidal leap. I'm not sure if they're still there, but I hope so! 

4. Willard Wigan

He will blow your mind. If you only look at one of the artists listed here PLEASE look at Wigan's work. It is amazing! He has sculpted Rodin's 'The Thinker' on the head of a pin, and if that wasn't enough, he's done Henry VIII and his wives inside the eye of a needle. All I can say is, he must have awesome eyesight.

5. Ron Mueck

Aussie born Mueck is described as a hyper-realist sculptor. His sculptures not only look completely real, but he plays around with scale, producing massive babies, tiny people and miniature crotchety old women. They are brilliant and will bring a smile of wonderment to your face. 

Booze Ban

Apparently, there is going to be a mass boozey picnic in Hyde Park next weekend as a protest to the rising number of bans imposed on drinking in public spaces. Like the disastrous mass booze up on the underground to mark the last day of legal drinking on June 1st, this so-called protest is being promoted heavily on all the social networking sites. And similarly to the June 1st shenanigans, it sounds to me like an excuse for one big piss up in the guise of pushing a political point. No doubt, it will descend into violence, much like the organised Hyde Park waterfight that was also publicized by sites like Facebook.

I don't know what these peoples' problem is. Is it so bad to have to drink in - heaven forbid - a pub, a bar, a restaurant, a club or even your own house? Do these people rely so heavily on alcohol that they CANNOT go a tube journey without cracking open a can of Stella, or sit in a park without downing a bottle of Becks? I would argue that, no, they don't. These protesters are nothing but professional nuisances. They go around creating mayhem and pretend to be making a point - pretend to be protesting at how their civil liberties are being stripped from them, when really, they just want a bit of media exposure and the kudos of organising such an event. Get a grip. The only thing these people have been stripped of is their own common sense and sense of perspective. I say to these people: Go and protest about something that actually matters, something you really care about, something that has real political significance. And in the meantime, go and drink your alcohol in a pub. It won't hurt. Really.

La Vie en Rose

I am well known among friends and family at having, what I like to refer to, as cinematic dyslexia. Basically, I cannot follow movie plots, particularly those that deal with drug rings/crime/politics/the mob. Something else happens when I watch a movie, as well: I become deaf. When I watch a DVD, I have to have the subtitles running, much to the irritation of anyone who watches movies with me. As a result of all this, I'm not a big movie watcher. I prefer books - at least I can go back and re-read the bit I didn't quite follow. So, it's fairly rare that I will really love a film. My favourite, for quite some time now, has been Crash, but yesterday I watched a movie that took my breath away.

La Vie En Rose has the bonus of being in French - great for me, because of the subtitles - and is about the life of Edith Piaf. I once wrote a project in the third year of senior school about Edith Piaf, (we had to write about an important historical figure) so I already had an interest. Marion Cotillard, who plays Piaf in the film is utterly brilliant. She is totally believable when she plays Piaf at the height of her success as well as when liver cancer has almost finished her off. So many biopics tend to rely on makeup to do the work of convinving an audience that the character has aged, but with Cotillard this is definitely not the case. She stoops and shudders and croaks her way through the lines, rendering the deterioration of the french icon both heart wrenching and real. Her Oscar for Best Actress was entirely deserved.

I have never really warmed to Edith Piaf's style of singing - all that warbling leaves me a bit cold, but the performances in the movie of classics like 'Padam, Padam,' 'La Vie en Rose,' and the ubiquitous 'Je ne Regrette Rien,' are brilliant. I had to wonder whether they had lifted old recordings of Piaf and digitally cleaned them up for for the soundtrack, but apparently the songs were performed by singer Jil Aigrot. (check out her performances on You Tube) I hope she gets the recognition she deserves off the back of the movie, unlike the wonderful Marni Dixon who dubbed the singing for actresses in classic movies like 'My Fair Lady,' 'The King And I,' and 'West Side Story' and who is seriously under celebrated for her talent.

Cinematographically the film perfectly evokes France in the first fifty years of the twentieth century. The influence of the french new wave flavours the way the film has been shot, making it a pleasure to watch. 

Ultimately it is what it is: a biopic and, because of that, you know exactly how it is going to end. My only criticism would be that the performance of 'Je ne Regrette Rien' was dangled like a carrot on a stick throughout the movie, and finally came at the most predictable point, (Piaf's death) which made it all a bit cheesy.

However, even if you know nothing about Piaf's short, troubled life, it is well worth watching even if you just want to see a brilliant piece of method acting. The soundtrack is rather wonderful, too!

Stick that on your barbie and smoke it!

I don't want to be accused of jumping on the bandwagon. Before the Olympics, I knew precious little about cycling. I didn't know what a team pursuit was, let alone a Madison. Now, thanks to the amazing performance of the British cycling team in Beijing, I know precisely what these are!

I must admit, though, that part of my enjoyment of these Games is down to our thrashing of the Australians. Having lived there for five years, (which included the Sydney Games) I had to put up with a LOT of Australian gloating, self adoration and back slapping, not solely in their performance in Olympic Games, but in Rugby, Cricket and yes, even football when the Socceroos beat England. But let's not dwell on that, because now, it seems, that the worm has finally turned!

Australians love to hate the Brits. In terms of sporting achievement, they have long looked down from their higher ground, scoffing and gaffawing at our lack lustre performances. But not anymore. They were quietened in 2003 after the Rugby World Cup and then again when we beat them to win the Ashes, but these successes have always been met with the argument that our wins were down to 'flukes.' And, as patriotic as I am, I couldn't shake the feeling that they might be right. However, the past few days' performance by the British Olympic athletes in Beijing puts pay, well and truly, to any doubts the Australian's may have had regarding our sporting prowess. Typically the Australians have dominated in the Velodrome. How delightful, then, to see the Brits stealing almost all of the gold medals on offer, leaving the Australians to limp home with a solitary silver. Not that gaining a silver is any mean feat, not at all, but I have to admit that it was extremely satisfying to see Victoria Pendleton snatch the gold in that event, leaving Australia's only hopes of a cycling gold in tatters.

Having read the Australian press today, (namely The Australian, which traditionally makes a sport out of sledging Great Britain wherever possible) I see no sign of the word 'fluke,' anywhere. But don't be misguided. Don't be fooled into thinking that Australia are taking a leaf out of the British book and actually being good sportsman about all of this. No, they are smarting. They still feel the need to take cheap shots, and they're doing it in the form of highlighting how Great Britain has put four times the amount of funding into Olympic Sports than Australia, and that's why they're winning medals. Yes, of course. How foolish one would be to suppose for one moment that Team GB are winning golds because they are actually bloody good at what they do. 

Maybe the Australians will actually learn from all of this - that sport isn't solely about being good sports people, but practicing good sportsmanship. It can be a bitter pill to swallow, and one which, I suspect, Australia will choke on.

Finding inspiration

One of my biggest problems, being a writer, and trying to make a living from it, is finding inspiration. It is one of those elusive things that I manage to grab hold of infrequently. The trouble is, I don't have the luxury of being able to sit around waiting for those light bulb moments. If I'm hoping to earn money at what I do, I just have to keep plugging away.

So what do writers do to find inspiration? Well, I suppose what I'm talking about, really, is how to avoid writer's block. There is a school of thought (one that all my creative writing lecturers subscribed to) that says there is no such thing as writer's block. Those who believe this think you should just pick up your pen/open your laptop/boot up word and write. This one doesn't work for me I have to say. I find the flashing icon on a word document or the open expanse of a blank white page too intimidating, so much so that I will avoid it. 

My favourite practice is to read some poetry or short extracts of writing to give me a push. This can be slightly dangerous as the result can serve one of two purposes. Either it inspires me and motivates me to try and harness my creativity, or (and this is the pitfall) it makes me feel as though there is no way I could produce writing of the quality I have just read. Typically this happens when I read poetry. There are so many amazing poets out there who seem to have a firm grasp of their craft and insights that I could never achieve. 

However, I have found a new mode of pinning down inspiration. Unfortunately it only comes around once every four years, Brigadoon style, but nevertheless serves its purpose well. Yes, I'm talking about the Olympics. Last night I watched the diving and it astounded me to think that the young women who were competing in this sport, must spend hours and hours every day of every week climbing the steps to the diving board, executing a dive and getting out of the pool over and over and over again for the chance to get to the Olympics and compete in a diving competition where they are judged on less than 2 seconds of action. Imagine the amount of effort, dedication and focus you must have to have to set your sights on perfecting just a period of 2 seconds during which you jump from the board, do your thing mid-air and then enter the water. Hours, days, weeks, months, even years perfecting every twist, every tuck and every nuance of movement, and it's over in a flash.

When I compare this to writing, it seems that writers have such a greater advantage. Yes, we similarly have to hone our output. Like a diver who plugs away at perfecting their movement, a writer must strive to tweak their work to make it the best that they can. But the point is, that writer's have the bonus of being able to go over their work. Unlike a dive or a race or a gymnastics routine, the work isn't over in a flash, it exists and can be re-visited time and time again. And at the end of it, writers have a piece of work that can be read and re-read, re-experienced, re-worked. An athlete, though they have the benefit of video replays, can never go back and tweak that bit where they could have made up two tenths of a point. 

I might be overdoing the analogy, but I find the dedication of these athletes tremendously inspiring. If they can spend the amount of time they do on their craft in order to attain achievement, then surely I can face a blank screen today. Surely I can churn out a few thousand words. Hmm, yes. But maybe I'll just watch the four men cycling pursuit first!

Up, Up and...

This weekend was the Northampton Balloon Festival. I was quite excited by this prospect, as I've only ever seen a few hot air balloons in my life, usually through car windows - never up close. The balloons were released or 'untethered,' (if you want the official balloon speak) at 6am and 6pm on Friday, Saturday and Sunday. 

On Friday evening Pete and I ventured out of Northampton to the village of Hardingstone, just south of town, to watch from a height. We parked the car on a hill with a good view and stood in a corn field, waiting for a swathe of colour and tear drop shapes to fill the sky. They did, but rather unconvincingly. I was surprised later, to find out it was actually a race. It just looked like a few people mucking about in balloons. The pace did pick up a little bit later on, but it was nothing in comparison to what I'd imagine in my head. An over-active imagination can do that to you..

Yesterday, was even worse. My parents came to visit, and we actually paid the £4 entrance to get into the balloon festival, hoping that perhaps Friday had just been a practice. I took from the event programme that as Rick Astley (who was the headline act!) was performing on Sat, we could expect them to pull out all the stops on the balloon front and see a glut of shapes fill the sky. We stood in the field. We waited. And we waited. A helicopter took off - that was exciting for a moment. Then came the announcement. It was too windy. Apparently, balloons have to have a maximum of ten knots wind speed at height, and it had been measured at thirty. So, no balloons. No inflated Bertie Bassett. We were gutted. We came home feeling robbed. My parents felt even more robbed - they'd sat in a traffic jam most of the way from London to Northampton and spent an evening in an empty field. Such is the Bristish summer.

On the plus side, I did learn some quite pointless information about hot air ballooning. Maybe I can use it some day.

Introduction

I'm new to HTML so I really don't know what I'm doing, but we'll give this a go. This is a place for me to air my writer's block angst and to wax lyrical on the everyday things that colour my life. 

A little about me: I'm 31 years old. I work as a writer in an office in my house (the cellar) - this makes me feel like I should be writing horror novels, but no - I write fiction (can't bring myself to call it literary fiction without sounding like a pompous idiot.) I also work as a consultant behavioural analyst with children who have autism. That means sorting out tantrums and getting my hair pulled and my arms bitten along the way. I live with my partner. He is an artist, a very good one. We don't have pets of the furry variety. We have a marine aquarium with no fish (we add them in September), but we DO have a shrimp in there - he must have come with the rock we bought. We haven't named it....yet. 

We cook lots. My partner makes a LOT of stock. He likes it - it's cathartic. I fill my days with displacement activities to prevent any actual writing. I don't know what I am going to do when Big Brother ends (should I  admit that?) I read a lot. I start books and don't finish them. I am surprised I actually like James Joyce. It pleases me to like somebody like Joyce and actually mean it when I say it. Mostly I say I like writers to make me sound cleverer than I am.

I think I'll stop here and see what happens. Did I mention I don't know anything about HTML?