Off The Record

Today the sky was blue and it was cold. It was the first crisp autumn day we’ve had this year and the first time I’ve actually noticed the leaves changing. I’ve resisted the impulse to write in my online diary this month because I do not wish to leave a permanent record of latest happenings. Not that I worry about re-reading any of these entries, for I never do, but there is something quite off-putting about writing about feeling down when we are in the middle of it. It somehow makes it more real and, consequently, more painful still. Last time I wrote about flux. It’s still all in flux, not just for me but for Rick as well. I hope that my next entry on here will bring conclusion to a period that, quite frankly, I cannot wait to draw a thick, fat line over.

Flux

A couple of weeks ago one of my clients wrote to me with a quick update regarding everything being in flux. Yes, in flux. This word, flux, really stuck to my mind as I considered my year up until that point. Then someone else wrote and told me that, hey, the planets are shifting, everything’s changing! And do you know something? Yes, it’s true. I think that much is afoot and that would be great because I have to tell you that I need some novelty in order to stop and think.

The year has swooshed by me. I just cannot believe that I last updated this place almost three weeks ago. In fact, I cannot quite believe how slack I’ve been over the summer, when I concentrated on other things and decided, quite, quite consciously I should tell you, not to keep a record of non-happenings. But now... everything’s different. I’m on the cusp of something, even though the everyday is still the same: squinting dogs, sleeping dogs and cakes.

Delicious

There is something really, really weird about reading other sites and blogs and looking at pics of people on beaches, in gardens in swimming costumes, walking around in plastic flip-flops. Of course I am not referring to the people of Oz or thereabouts, they are always wearing flip-flops down there, aren't they, but in North America and in many other parts of Europe it is still decidedly summer.


Here meanwhile, despite the pleasant weather, mornings are nippy to say the least, and when I was out with my dogs earlier I could just smell autumn. Hence I felt slightly odd that my most unexpected birthday gifts are so summer-like that I don't know what to do with them. A pair of glorious satin Prada wedges and a Tom Ford nude lipstick. I may just soldier on at 13C and pretend I'm in California anyway.

Tepid Birthday

Considering how low-key, weather-wise, July and August have been (not that I am complaining), today was a pleasant surprise or, as I often like to say, everything looked weird under the sunshine. It is the first birthday in many years that I've spent at home, by which I mean, in the house. Yes, that's right, I didn't go anywhere. I didn't do anything. Well, nothing other than beginning the day with a breakkie of chocolates and tea and spent the rest of it munching on my Irish coffee chocolate truffle cake. In fact, shouldn't I be posting that recipe around about now?



I'll tell you what, I'll do that another day. So while I lounged in the garden surrounded by dogs, I thought of how odd this year has been. I just cannot believe it is already September. Sorry, I just can't. I am deliriously happy that it is, mind you, but the year has morphed into one day that started sometime back, with the snow on the ground and now the leaves are about to turn again. One day. One... Groundhog Day actually. And that isn't necessarily a very good thing, is it?

The Unexpected Guest – Part II

Sometimes last year I told you about this unexpected guest. Yesterday, another one showed up. As I was watering my plants, I noticed a bird I never see in my garden, a duck. So I rushed outside to investigate, as I was pretty sure she had flown in but I couldn't quite figure out why she wouldn't return to where she came from, although it ain't unusual for young ones to lag behind and need some assistance later.



After some running around, she did end up in my porch, and that's where I succeeded in getting hold of her and inspecting feet and wings. She was absolutely fine, apart from a bit of a heart attack, as I could feel her little heart pounding in my hands as I opened the door back to the garden and threw her in the air to check on flight abilities.

She was in good spirits after that, as she wasn't injured, and continued to plod around the garden, drinking from the pond, unearthing worms and picking crickets and spiders in the high grass. So I left her to it, ensuring that both William and Victoria stayed inside. I could see them with their mouths wide open, spit smeared all over the treble-glazing, and figured that Duckie may not have been able to fly after all if I let them out too.



She was still around when I took them for a spin of the garden after dinner, both on lead obviously, but she was clearly setting up for the night as she was calm and cozy in the grass. I checked on her again at nine and I saw that she was surveying the scene from the high-rise of the steps outside the patio doors, probably wondering where on earth the rest of the posse was and whether it would be safe to stop here overnight.



That's what she must have done as I didn't hear a thing since and this morning she was gone. Good luck Duckie, it was good to have you!

Changes

Last Thursday I was in London for a meeting. The day before I went, I wrote in my paper diary: 'Tomorrow's meeting is going to Change Everything'. And as it turns out, I may have to say that, yes, it did change things in unexpected ways. I have another meeting tonight and it all looks set to solve one rack of important issues insofar as what I do is concerned.



I took the opportunity to have a spin around my favourite places and had lunch at Ladurée at Harrods, coming away with a large box of macaroons (because it would be criminal to visit without bringing some home) and three boxes of their fantastic tea. Such a difference from the supermarket rusk, I am telling you (that includes you, Twinings).

Rick and I have been talking about moving to London for a while. In fact, we've been talking and thinking about moving for ages and ages, we've just never done anything specific to make this happen. Now we are. The thing is, I miss London terribly. I love where I am now, but it cannot be compared to London. In fact, few places can, and they usually are other vessels of creativity (New York is one). I'll tell you more; I've bought a little pretty notebook which I am calling My London Move Notebook. In it, I am listing all interesting things I see around, houses for sale, new shops that crop up and so on and so forth. Actually, I highly recommend this sort of activity for anything you may wish to achieve. Show intention and things will begin to happen, you'll see.

It's Coming Home

I was out in the garden super-early this morning and I was thrilled. Yes, thrilled. Do you know when the weather is turning, usually for the worse, and you feel and smell new air? I swear I caught a first whiff of, dare I say it, autumn. But it isn't a first sign actually, as the other day I was driving through some trees and I noted many little yellow leaves wafting in the wind and landing on the road. My heart skipped a beat; could this be it?! It has begun already, hurrah!



The result of this slow-but-steady seasonal change is two-fold: I've proceeded really nicely on the work I am doing, after a June which turned out to be pretty much a total write-off, and I have paused to consider how incredibly fast this year has zoomed past me. I know that it ain't over yet for a really good stretch, but there is something of an enormous shift within oneself when certain dates are coming up and one realises that, yet again, life is skipping along at a million miles an hour as we pant and shout in its wake: 'Wait! Wait for me! I am coming too!'.

I know why I feel this way. My birthday is coming up in September, in fact, at the very beginning, on the very first day, and there is nothing I like more than it (well, Christmas, but if we discount Christmas then there really is nothing I like more than my birthday). And the very odd realisation, when I look at pics from birthdays past, is that I haven't changed that much at all. Reasons to rejoice you will think? I guess so and yet it seems to me that, not having changed that much, makes me feel stuck and muddled in The Same, whatever I perceive that to be, with all the dangers inherent to that thought.

Today the Dyson doctor is coming. On Friday the cable detached itself from the machine as I was using it and a Mighty Pow at full 240v force left a burn in the floor as I picked it up, surveyed the sizzling end and realised that I got really lucky. I may not have died (wouldn't want to try it, mind you), but I could have ended up with a zinged foot. So why telling you this? Because the last time the Dyson doctor came over was two years ago. Two years. And, no kidding, it feels like five minutes ago.

Tirami-Not-Quite-Sù

Rick doesn't like coffee very much. He particularly dislikes coffee puddings and coffee ice-cream, which is the reason why I very, very rarely make tiramisù, as I explained to you here. But then on Friday I thought that perhaps I could make a hybrid version of it, a nice, cold, no-bake pudding that would be just as nice but contain no coffee.

Hence I followed my own recipe, as linked to above, but substituted vanilla Rooibos tea for coffee. One word of caution if you try this one out (maybe you want to feed a tiramisù-looking thing to the kids, minus the coffee): you need to dip the savoiardi in the tea twice as fast. I have found that their tendency was to suck up more liquid and to become disgustingly soggy, something that you really do not want to have when covered in that beautiful whipped cream that you make with eggs, sugar and mascarpone.

So it may not quite pick you right up when made with tea, but it's a very acceptable sweet all the same.

Lists

I consider myself remakably bad at getting things done. Yes, that’s exactly what I said. I am aware that this may seem an odd thing to say, especially for one who brags about writing, cooking, knitting, sewing, walking in parks and whatnot, but the sad truth is, I never feel on top of things. I am in constant catch-up mode. I’ve been in catch-up mode since I finished my first degree, when days stretched empty and sweet ahead of me. Oh if only they could have stayed that way. Life, real life, is hideous.



I’ve never felt so disastrously behind as I have over the past four weeks. I know exactly what stopped my progress which, at the time, was chugging along quite smoothly, if only ever slightly super-slow on the occasional bend; the weather did. See? I knew that I wouldn’t be able to sit here and update this diary without mentioning the weather. So, the weather did. It was only on Sunday that my bedroom started feeling like a bedroom again and not the stifling greenhouse that it had been up until then.

But yesterday morning, when I sat down detrmined to list all that needs doing, all that needs catching up on and all of the missed deadlines, I felt tears pricking my eyes. God I want this stuggle to be over so badly. Not life itself, no, just these never-ending pressures that have squashed me to the ground and then stuck a fork in my back ever since I took my first steps into the world of work.

I haven’t been serene for a very long time and I just cannot wait for the day when I won’t have to write yet another meaningless list which, in fact, is not an organised step-by-step solution but a monument to failure, there, in black or white (or blue and white, as is the case with me). But there is a plus point today: as it’s cloudy and only +15C outside, it means that I can start making cakes again. Or at least, I would if I had bought the eggs which, I am sure, I must have written down in some other damn list I have yet to work through.

Hello July

At the beginning of last week the weather changed, by which I mean the temperature dropped enough for my bedroom to shift from furnace to open plan pottery studio in the country. Slowly, very, very slowly, I started to return to normality even though I still find this seemingly never-ending stretch of dry weather fascinating. As you can see, I mention it every time I write.



When I got up yesterday morning, however, not only was it sensibly cooler than the previous week, it was also very windy and I just adore windy days, be these by the sea, in the country or in the city. Within five minutes my room smelt clean and fresh and ready to start the day and I myself felt just like that. Except I attempted a home-made coffee which, as per usual, ended up down the sink accompanied by plentiful curses.

Have I ever told you that going out for a decent cup of coffee annoys me immensely? I have three stove-top coffee makers (make that four if we include the Bialetti’s Mukka) and not one, not one, makes one half-decent cup of coffee. Still, I persist. Still, I disgust myself. Still, I try time after time. Narky and pissed off, I got into the Shaguar at 1 pm and went to Starbucks.

I spent today planning because, try as I did try, the past three weeks have been shockingly un-profitable. I have progressed at less than snail’s pace and this morning I found myself with a list of stuff that run over two pages. Odd as it sounded when I used to work as a management consultant, this morning I really did feel there is some merit in planning the plan, especially when everything is completely, for lack of a better description, out of control.

I have short stories to critique and edit, I have one proposal to finish, one 20,000-word piece to write, 300 poems to edit and turn into proofs, three writing appraisals to write and, for fuck’s sake, I’ll stop right here. And of course, July has just started and the World Cup is coming to an end. Gosh, I already miss it. There is something rather reassuring about the flock of early-stage games that fill up our screens for the first two weeks. Ah, yes, who is playing today? Now we’re down to the last four matches and then it’s over for another four years. But you know how it goes... it’s July already... in five minutes’ time it will be 2014.