There’s nothing quite like a Sunday roast, with all the stuff – Yorhshire puds, mint sauce, lashings of gravy. We ate at seven, outside in the garden with our old friends for company. Most enjoyable. The £100 giant paddling pool / mini swimming pool that we bought from Lidl or Aldi three years ago is still going strong and four of the kids were bouncing on the trampoline and then throwing themselves over the padded rim wearing a varity of rubber rings and killer whales. Water has that effect on people. We even have neighbours popping round for a dip! I don’t go in. It’s too cold and I feel like a goldfish because you can only swim round.
I’ve never shouted in a library before – it felt quite good. There were 18 children to entertain between 4 and 11 years, so I did random shouting and faces for the little ones as punctuation for the main event which was story-making using my box of tricks. The library gave me a bunch of Astromeira (spelling?) which was nice, which still is nice actually.
Just before I began the afternoon’s entertainment three very chatty girls came up to talk to me as I’d run an event at their school. They begged me to come back which was most flattering. Thank you.
An apology is in order. Some time ago I titled a blog with the name of my precious Godson and then completely forgot to mention him. So today’s the day Godson – you are a charming, cheerful creature who gives all of us the pleasure of remembering what it’s like to have no cares except food, instant pleasure and sleep. Come round anytime, but watch the road.
It reminds me of being a kid – deathly dull Sundays with only an old film on the TV or a board game. Too much lunch and only school to look forward to. Except I’m not going to school tomorrow, I’m going to the library to run a story-making workshop. I’m hoping for a smaller audience that normal so we can make a better story with less diverse agendas – we’ll see. At least when the attendance is voluntary you know there’s no one there who can’t bear books, reading, words . . . unless of course they’ve been dragged by a literary parent with over-expectation disorder.
It’s a quiet week ahead. Two boys disappearing with their dad and a daughter at the social highlight of the year: Chat-a-box. I might even crack on with Goodbye Copper Pie – the second Tribe book. Now there’s an idea.
At last, before-mentioned friend has given birth – eleven days late and 11 pounds. Yes, 11 pounds. Awesome. I hope to meet the infant tomorrow. A girl.
My week overdue friend asked me to take her swimming so I rounded up a couple of friends and the 6 of us set off for a labour-inducing splash about. It didn’t do the trick but we had a good time, making my dear friend attempt mushroom floats, race underwater (it was a feat to make her vast belly sink) and dive in like a Mexican wave (she didn’t actually do that).
Went to see Public Enemies – lots of shooting and handsome Mr. Depp. On blance I’d rather have cried my eyes out next door in My Sister’s Keeper.
How lovely not to be dissecting the latest event to publicise my book, Tribe, or anticipating the next. I’ve been to Woolacombe for a week contemplating nothing more than the waves, the variations in shade of the sky/sea, the roar (louder at night) and the spray. The food from the Barricane Beach Cafe was also worthy of contemplation as always. Do go there for a Weds to Sat night Sri Lankan curry, devoured on the shell beach with your own bottle of wine.
We all trundled off to Grandma and Grandad’s because I’m running an event at my old school tomorrow. Quite excited about seeing the old classrooms and ‘quiet’ rooms where you could go for a bit of peace. All hail the 70’s.
Went out for supper which was nice, in a symbolic sense, because Dad hasn’t been well enough to do that since the dreaded pneumonia. Cod was nice but as always no dairy-free puddings. (Dairy does indescribable things to my digestive system.)Have realised my school plan takes too long so sat mulling over which elements to cut / minimise. Decided in the end I should just ask for more time. The kids seem to love making the story and it would be hard to jump straight into it cold so . . .
Being an author is quite physically demanding I’ve discovered. I thought wallowing in my unsuitable computer chair for hours on end checking out BBC Weather and other such illuminating sites whilst eating toast (morning) and biscuits (afternoon) was the extent of the job but the last few days have proved otherwise. I’m either addressing the general public or carrying / fetching and almost everything seems to require me to be on my feet. Support tights and orthotics will be mandatory soon I’m sure. Enough moaning – no one likes a moaner. I had a stall today, together with Kathryn from the Durdham Down Bookshop, at the local street party. Good fun, although I think people are loathe to even venture towards a stall with only one product. But as I live in the vicinity it was nice to support the affair through my stall fee and start to spread the word that I am an author. Pizza, wine and bed. Bye.
Sports Day at the Upper School. What a great day. Beautiful weather, superb track, and Jakobek’s (the house my boys are in) won. Nice just being a mum for the day.