Recession of the imagination

Yesterday I went on the #EndAusterityNow People's Assembly demonstration in London with my dear friend Sam (her first demo and she took to it like a pro).  As she's an actor and I'm a notorious culture vulture, we decided to join the lovely folk from @Artsemergency and be part of their block. We wore red, we walked, we stalked the banner and we occasionally chanted.  Part of that very catchy chant was "No recession of the imagination".  Those words have been teasing my brain since, so I decided to vomit out a quick short story (apologies but that is how it feels sometimes).

It is short and rough but I like it. So I decided to share it with whoever it is that reads this dusty, neglected blog (hi Mum, hope you're having fun in Canada).  So enough back story, and on with the short story:

Recession of the Imagination

Aged 5 Caroline was asked to surrender a part of herself to the safe keeping of her school.

“You want to be a good citizen, don’t you Caroline” whispered Miss Aubrey, her favourite teacher. The scent of sweet vanilla, fresh biscuits and sun warmed skin melting away any doubts. 

Caroline nodded and did as she was told. Following the instructions to the letter she watched a glowing vibrant part of herself nestle into the corner of a jar: a jar that once held blueberry jam from Asda.  The lid was closed and the light dimmed. Caroline called out in alarm.

“Now now Caroline” soothed Miss Aubrey, “It’s quite normal for the light to shine less brightly. It’s adjusting to its new home. But we’ll take good care of it for you”

That night at home Caroline’s parents asked her about her day. She told them about Scott Presley wetting himself out of spite because Mr Gordon called him stupid. She told them about the lumpy yellow custard they had for pudding. She told them about her imagination being locked away in a jar.

Her parents smiled and nodded at the sound of her chatter, the words bouncing off their work-drenched brains.

The years passed and Caroline grew into a model citizen.  Working hard for little pay she never complained. They were all in it together after all.  Her once proud nation had grown poorer, emptier. The fickle corporations had left behind the carcasses of now empty corporate headquarters, enticed away by the promise of brighter talent, escaping an island of budget minds.

**************************************************************************

The government minister despaired.  This had not been done on her watch. The blame ricocheted from teachers to parents to drugs to immigrants to the previous administration to video games to pornography to single parents and back again. She wanted solutions not scapegoats.

“So explain this again, they collected the imaginations of an entire generation?” she asked the civil servant.

“Not everyone, only those that went to non-fee paying schools. It was felt an imagination was a luxury. It made for bad citizenship:  unhappiness with the status quo and the like. They kept demanding answers, wanting access to information. It was inconvenient. The system was stretched. We needed to be more efficient.”

The minister shook her head.  As each year passed they shuffled closer to obsolescence.  On a global level the future of humanity was tenuous at best and her precious Island was contributing nothing in the fight to find a solution. Their great minds was aging with none lined up to take their place or challenge their out-dated thinking.

“Where are they? The least we can do is return them”

“Afraid not ma’am, it turns out that an un-nourished imagination turns to dust. Only took a few years and there was nothing but powder.”

“Well at least we can give them that. Maybe there is a way to revive it?”

The civil servant tapped his fingers against the table. A nervous habit he despised himself for. He’d not wanted to be here but the others had pulled rank. How to explain the drug habits of the decadent, capricious rich.

“Ah yes the powder, about that ma’am ….”

THE END

We're buggered

Short & hopefully sharp

Breaking my blogging draught with this little micro poem I scribbled down last month.

Communication 1.0

He talked
I listened
If ears could weep
My neck would crackle salted wax

Time for a reality check

It is no secret that I’ve been really upset by many things our government is doing in the name of austerity. It feels like there is a conspiracy to protect & enrich the wealthiest in society while systematically attacking the most vulnerable. This frequently turns me into ranty Steph, which isn’t a great look for me.

Part of me knows that our government isn’t full of evil Bond villain types that sit in big swivel chairs rubbing their hands together, gleefully laughing as they plot the downfall of the everyday man. Just because they are putting forward laws & actioning cuts that will heartlessly and viciously make the life of many of the most vulnerable in society that much more of a struggle, that does not mean that they themselves are heartless, vicious bastards. They probably mean well and sleep the sleep of the righteous thinking that they are doing their best for society.  Right? I have to try to believe that to keep my faith in humanity alive. Plus I think reducing the conversation to name calling and finger pointing is exactly why our political system isn’t working.  Many Commons debates wouldn’t be out of place in a primary school playground (sorry but small kids can be just as mean, let’s not sugar coat childhood)

Why am I sharing the above thoughts? Because I’ve realised that we can easily be distracted by all the anger these policies are creating and are, as a result,  focusing too much of our energy in the wrong place. I still believe that we should protest against these changes, use our indignation to speak up for the most vulnerable. But that should not use up ALL our energy.

On Monday (15^th July) a friend of mind invited me to the opening of Emmaus Lambeth’s Brixton shop. If calling it a shop is really doing it justice, but more on that subject later. He had been working with them on the launch. I’ll confess to knowing nothing about Emmaus until I looked at the website after receiving his email.  What I read made me book the afternoon off work so that I could attend. You can find their site here: http://www.emmaus.org.uk/

In a simple snap shot Emmaus provide:

•           a way for the homeless to get off the streets, learn new skills & feel like part of society again
•           help and support for the local community
•          restored furniture/white goods for those most in need in the community or to be sold on to raise money to support the Charity

What I discovered on Monday is that the shop in Lambeth has been opened as part of a joint project with the council: a council who are on the front line dealing with many of the cuts that are making me (for one) so angry.  They have seen what Emmaus can do and how that can provide a practical & cost efficient solution to help many of the most vulnerable within their own borough.

This isn’t about the opening of a furniture shop. It is about an organisation that has given homeless people a second chance: the opportunity, through their own hard work, to earn money & have a home.  While also creating hubs for the local community, places they can go to when they are in need. 

It was great to hear Lib Peck from Lambeth Council talk about the relationship with Emmaus and the positive impact the opening of Emmaus Lambeth’s Brixton shop is going to have on the borough.  It made me feel very humble. For all my raging against the government, what have I done that is actually helping the people that I’m so indignantly defending? Naff all is the honest answer.

So I’ve made a promise to myself. Instead of howling at the moon (although I cannot promise NO howling at all, not ready to go cold Turkey & those petitions needs to be signed), I’m going to take time to think. If things aren’t going to get any better (and the reality is they aren’t, the forecasts I’ve seen are terrifying in terms of number of people expected to be living in poverty in  Britain in the next 10 years), what can I do to help?  I can’t trust the government to fix it. They may not be Machiavellian villains but, at a National level at least, they are part of the problem.  I do, however, know lots of very smart & caring people (including those of you reading this blog – yes you!). Surely if we all stopped & took inspiration from the folk at Emmaus, maybe we could find ways that we could help too. It is worth a shot, right? 

Round up of theatre & other goodies

Once again I've lost track of time and 2 months have passed by far too quickly and un-blogged about. Scandalous I know. So here is a quick snapshot of the things I've seen in my on-going glut of theatre & stuff.

Late September we have:

Oh the Humanity at the Soho Theatre: a wonderful cocktail of short plays brought to life expertly by some truly exceptional performances.

Rachel Sermanni at Bush Hall: she was so good I bought her album (which continues to delight) and I got the added bonus of discovering a fabulous new (to me) venue

In October the theatre train kept rolling:

A double bill of Ding Dong the Wicked and Love & Information at the Royal Court, both by Caryl Churchill who is a playwright I hugely admire. Lots of short pieces, some funny, some shocking, some sad but all reflecting the lives we (the broad mass of humanity) are living today. 

Chavs at the Lyric Hammersmith - the theme of short plays continues here. Fabulous collection of short works inspired by  "Chavs, the Demonization of the Working Class" by Owen Jones. Loved them, really true to the spirit of their source of inspiration, resulting in powerful and enjoyable political theatre.

Josephine Hart poetry week at the Arts Theatre - I sadly couldn't do every night but I did make it along for the Philip Larkin evening. I remembered loving his work back in my school days and hearing them read by such a talented group of actors was uplifting. Hopefully next year I can further expand my repertoire.

Timon of Athens at the National Theatre - what a great production! By the interval I was questioning why this is such a rarely performed piece by Shakespeare.  The answer was clear by the end, as the play does lose its power in the 2nd half. Saying that, this is more to do with faults with the source work and not in the production or performances, which were of an exceptional standard throughout.

Hello November, I'm almost up to date

The Divine Comedy at the Royal Festival Hall. It was Neil Hannon's 42nd birthday and a great time was had by all. The evening included party hats, party blowers (oh the noise), a cake, a giant no 42, lots of big present shaped boxes, a hidden string quartet, the whole of Promenade from start to finish and guest appearances by the fabulous Tom Chaplin and Alison Moyet.  As per usual Mr Hannon completely over delivered and I left the event feeling exhilarated. Bloody awesome.

A double bill of Chewing Gum Dreams and Chapel Street at the Bush Theatre as part of RADAR 2012, their new writers festival. Both were strong pieces.  The stand out for me was Chewing Gum Dreams, a solo performance that really got under my skin. A very truthful and affecting work of theatre.  Chapel Street was definitely an interesting piece, some really clever ideas in there but there was something a little distracting about it, which stopped it being as powerful a piece as it could have been.

The Magistrate at the Olivier (National Theatre). Both the set and costume designers deserve accolades for their work on the Magistrate, as from the first you are struck by the visual impact of the production.  In terms of the overall piece I understand that the critics haven't been overly rapturous about it, which I don't believe is fair. It is a really strong production of very lighthearted and frivolous farce.  I'd give this a firm 3.5/5 stars if I was into that sort of thing.  A fun, enjoyable and visually stunning confection. Plus it has the added benefit of still being on (ok so I'm rubbish at timely reviewing)

The Story Book Project 4 at Theatre 503. Collection of 10 short 10 minute plays by up & coming playwrights.  The quality of the collection was exceptional (to quote my mum).  Both the writing and acting talent on display makes me excited about the future of theatre (now if only our government could get with the program and stop cutting funding to the Arts, I could get really excited)

Berenice at the Donmar Warehouse.  Anne Marie Duff is a consistently wonderful actress and as Berenice she was magnificent. For Racine, this was a virtually perky story (SPOILER ALERT: no-one dies! But they do all agree to live in the misery & loneliness of lost love).  Overall a strong production but I did feel that both Titus and Antiochus could have had more emotional clout, in places it felt like the actors were tripping over the language. Racine can be a tad unwieldy.

Well that brings us almost up to date but the final review will wait until tomorrow. This is because I promised my friend Mark I would write it and if I don't do it justice I'll never hear the end of it (Mark you know it's true). So tomorrow evening you can look forward to my review of Cabaret. This is not for the current West End production featuring the ever gracious Will Young but the City of London school production. An ambitious piece to pick for a school play but, not to give too much away, they rose to the challenge.

Confessions of a theatre devil incarnate

It isn't every week that I go to the theatre 4 times, although it must feel that way for a lot of my friends. This last week was a prime example of cultural gluttony and I'm not even vaguely sorry. I wouldn't have missed any of the shows. Arguably I didn't need to see Brand New Ancients for a 2nd time, but to quote Lear "reason not the need". Plus the only thing stopping me trying for a 3rd viewing is the fact that the sold out run has now finished. 

So last week can be summarised as follows:

King  Lear at the Almeida on Monday

Brand New Ancients at the BAC on Wednesday

Hedda Gabler (plus post show Q&A) at the Old Vic on Thursday

Twelfth Night at the Globe on Saturday

I've already posted about Lear, a really good production that is worth catching. While it may not have left me as stirred as the 2003 Almeida production, any high quality performance of Lear demands to be seen, in my humble opinion it is  Shakespeare's best work.

 My second viewing of Brand New Ancients has cemented my fandom of Kate Tempest. She is intimidatingly talented & yet so down to earth & real in person that I wonder if she grasps just how great she is. This 2nd time the tears came earlier as I experienced a whole new dimension of enjoyment because I knew where the story was taking us.

Another joy of Brand New Ancients was the audience, so many young people who were clearly transfixed throughout the performance & quick to show their appreciation with a standing ovation at the end. It is exactly this kind of show that brings fresh blood into our theatres. I think the BAC are doing a lot of great work in terms of making theatre relevant to younger people, and have become one of my favourite theatres in London as a result.

Saying that the casting of Sheridan Smith as Hedda Gabler at the Old Vic was also an inspired move, bringing fresh new audience to this classic play. I must confess that I'm not a Hedda expert. The post show Q&A with the director, Anna Makmin, and Sheridan Smith was illuminating. I hadn't realise just how much Friel had played with the original text in order to create this adaptation. Saying that, one  of my favourite scenes apparently doesn't exist in the original so I'm not going to sit in the purist camp on this one. 

I also learned that Hedda is frequently played as a cold & heartless ice queen. That is not the case with this production, thank god. While Hedda is flawed and does many cruel things, Sheridan Smith's performance is so delicate & layered that you can't help but feel for her. The frustration of having no power over her own life is palpable. The entire cast are brilliant resulting in a breathtaking piece of theatre. 

Whether you've seen Hedda as often as I've seen Lear, or know nothing about the play, this production is really worth seeing. The lovely Louise (my Hedda theatre buddy) is already plotting a 2nd trip she loved it so much. Catch it if you can.

Last but not least, I was one of the lucky folk with tickets for Twelfth Night at the Globe. Among my favourite Shakespearean comedies (Much Ado and Midsummer being my other loves), I'd secured my spot long before the casting of Stephen Fry was confirmed. Fortunately my friend Andrew is a friend of the Globe so we get early booking. A must for those of us who can't face standing for long periods of time. Well, in my defence, it isn't pure laziness, I do have a dodgy back.

While we did have to contend with the frustration of a pillar blocking a lot of the front of stage action (& of all the shows I've seen at the Globe, Twelfth Night had the largest proportion of action taking place front of stage) this was an exuberant & fun all male production.

With such a talented cast, all gifted with excellent comic timing, my witch like cackle got a really good work out. I laughed a lot! Mark Rylance had us howling with laughter just at the way he walked. He didn't even need to speak, our sides were already splitting. Stephen Fry was perfect for poor, yellowed stockinged & cross gartered Malvolio. In fact I could sit here for hours praising each member of the cast. They were all, to a man, fabulous.

I would love to know just how much corpsing there was during rehearsals. I wouldn't have been able to keep a straight face. I'd have been fired for giggling.

As you can see I've been a jammy theatre devil. It has been a wonderful week to be me.  

Next week will be quieter. I have Oh the Humanity at Soho theatre to look forward to. From what I've heard on the jungle drums, I'm in for a treat. Plus it is good timing to indulge in some short plays as I'm currently embarking on the adventure of writing one (eek). 

On top of my theatre outing I've also won tickets to see Rachel Sermanni in concert. It has been a while since I've been to a gig, so i'm really looking forward to it. She has a lovely voice & is such a gifted songwriter. It is going to be wonderful. 

I hope you are all looking forward to some wonderfulness next week as well. Don't be too shy to pounce on the opportunities around you. Whatever your poison, don't ration you lives.  It isn't pure selfishness you know, an inspired mind is much more likely to achieve great things. Plus I know I'm a nicer person to be around when I'm getting regular doses of cultural goodness.

Obsessed with Lear

I have an obsession with King Lear. If it is on & I hear about it, I have to see it.  There have been some productions where I've been so hooked I've had to watch it multiple times, something about that play really gets under my skin. In terms of the richness of the language it is Shakespeare at the very peak of his powers.

The current production at the Almeida did not disappoint. While it has not triggered my obsessive need to repeat view, it is nonetheless a very solid and well performed production.  Jonathan Pryce makes a wonderful Lear. One moment he is convincingly  obnoxious and selfish, the next quite roaring mad and in the end, so reduced that I cried.

Other stand out performances included Zoe Waites as a beautifully cruel Goneril, Ian Gelder as loyal Kent and Richard Goulding as a spirited Edgar. I also enjoyed Phoebe Fox's feisty Cordelia, it was so nice not to have her moping around being all goodness & perfection. This Cordelia is a living and breathing human, not some 2 dimensional symbol of female virtue.

Edmund remains my favourite Shakespearean villain, and Kieran Bew brings him to life with a healthy dose of bluntness that brings his selfishness & all consuming ambition to the fore.  

The only reason that I'm not queuing up to go back for another helping is that it was essentially (apologies for repeating myself) a very solid production, with no major surprises, the most controversial aspect being an angry Cordelia. Maybe  I've seen too many Lears over the years, or maybe seeing  fresh modern fringe theatre means  that I require higher levels of innovation to keep me entertained.  I suspect ultimately it is to do with the overall chemistry of the complete piece.

 Many years ago I saw a production of Lear also at the Almeida (although they were in a temporary site at the time) which I was compelled to see 3 times. Oliver Ford Davies was Lear, and he was excellent. But what really hooked me was the interplay between Edmund (James Frain) and Edgar (Tom Hollander). It was the first production that made me care about poor Edgar's fate, while Frain was so deliciously villainous as Edmund that you really felt torn between the two. 

Chemistry is a funny thing, particularly in the world of theatre. You can break apart the pieces of the whole & enjoy them based on their individual merit but when put together some magic ingredient might be missing. So good doesn't quite attain the heights of greatness.

Saying that, this is most definitely a very good Lear. 

Brand New Ancients

Today has been a good day. One of those days that just roll smoothly. It involved an early start (early mornings & I have a difficult relationship at best) and a long train journey, but all parts of the transport jigsaw clicked together perfectly. There were two big meetings that were being approached with twinges of trepidation but went better than I'd dared hope.  The journey home got off to an earlier than anticipated start & again the journey was smooth & sweetened by good conversation. As effortless as a Manchester to London followed by a cross London commute home could ever be.

So when I stepped out of my home to go & meet a friend for pre-theatre food followed by Brand New Ancients at the BAC I was feeling confident of a good evening. It was just that kind of blessed day. My confidence was so high I risked the bus over the train. They never normally turn up moments after I reach the bus stop (my friends can vouch for my relatively common bus related rages) but today the normal rules did not apply.

Dropped a dozen steps from the restaurant. Food was lovely & my friend was buoyed with her own good news. Life is good.

We headed to the BAC for pre show twitter tix drinks. The atmosphere was electric. It was opening night. Expectations were high and it was a full house.

As a spot of background Brand New Ancients is a brand new piece of theatre written and performed by Kate Tempest. The score was composed by Nell Catchpole in collaboration with Kwake Bass, Jo Gibson, Natasha Zielazinski & Raven Bush.  It went through several scratch sessions but tonight was the premiere of the finished piece.

I didn't really know what to expect but frankly I like that sense of discovery when I go to see any performance art. What I didn't expect was to find myself standing and clapping like a crazy woman, tears in my eyes because I'd just experienced something so genuine and true. Kate Tempest can find love & humanity in the most unexpected & unforgiven people. Her storytelling is powerful & evocative. You feel that she loves her characters no matter how flawed, or twisted by their circumstances. It is impossible not to respond to that. Add to that the disarming way she peppers the piece with her own thoughts and the performance feels very fresh & alive.

I now have an amazing feeling of clarity. I was considering going straight to bed the minute I got home but I didn't want to squander this feeling.  My breath was taken. I still feel a bit out of puff.  When I said that today was a good day I lied, it was bloody amazing!

Brand New Ancients is on at the Battersea Arts Centre until 22nd September.  Nab tickets while you can because if this doesn't sell out on word of mouth alone, the world is even madder than I thought.

A London Lunchbreak

Apologies for my long absence. It has been a busy few months as I ultimately decided to take the leap and move back to London. While I love Australia, and Sydney will always feel like a second home, the lure of family & friends was just too strong. My attempts at being a rootless citizen of the world only helped me realise just how rooted I really am.

So now I am back in London. I arrived late November and started working almost straight away (I'm not happy unless I'm busy & never let me pretend otherwise). It has been quite an emotional adjustment but I'm still very much at peace with the decision that I made to return. I'm happy here.

In order to ensure I remain happy I have fully embraced the cultural richness that London offers. It feels really good to behave like a tourist in my own city. I recommend it to everyone. I'm going to lots of plays, concerts, films, dinners with friends and I'm taking very long walks through the streets of London to make sure that all that London-ness seeps in and warms my bones.

There are some hangovers (good ones) from Sydney. Given my propensity to walk, I've become addicted to London's bridges. Waterloo, as always, remains my favourite for the "London moment" views (proximity to Waterloo station doesn't hurt either). I think this is because I need to see the water. I saw Sydney Harbour everyday, the water soothes me. I suspect that a proper trip to the sea will be required soon though, the Thames can only do so much.

The other habit is my lunchtime walks. Instead of strolling by the harbour in a summer dress though I'm now wrapped up warm and strolling through Regent's Park (right next to my office). It has to be one of my favourite London parks. You walk through certain parts & feel like you've stepped back in time. Exactly what you need to re-set the old brain cells in the middle of a hard day's work.

Speaking of which I'd better tie up a few bits & bobs before I can enjoy an indulgent weekend packed full of London goodness.

Escaping the Hotel Lounge

How often do you make a major life choice? No, deciding what to have for dinner doesn’t count.

How often do you even review what your choices are? Or are you driving on auto pilot through life? Sometimes the status quo, no matter how miserable it makes you, is the only choice you can see. But unless you are in prison, which is designed to remove the luxury of choice from the prisoner, you do have choices. They aren’t necessarily going to be easy choices. In fact making important, life altering decisions is a distinctly uncomfortable experience.

The reality is that being unsettled by our choices is one of the main reasons that we put up with situations that make us unhappy. Passivity is a growing modern phenomenon as we struggle with indecision. The making of the “wrong” decision feels so much more dangerous than opting out and making no decision at all. This is bullshit!

For one, living in a perpetual hotel lounge is the only consistently wrong choice you can make. It will wear you down. Your abilities to make a decision will atrophy. Eventually you simply won’t be able to find your way out for want of being able to even see the exit sign.

Secondly, while you live in your passive little bubble, people in the world around you are making choices and these will impact you. Change is inevitable. You can either be its victim or its champion.

I have recently had choice forced upon me. I have to move out of my comfortable little house in Sydney. Louis and I have 2 months to find a new place to call home. The initial trauma was horrible. I’m not an agent of change, particularly if that change is disruptive to my day-to-day life. I reacted the only way I know how. I started to research all my options. The house hunt began in earnest within minutes of my being given the news. I didn’t stop to analyse my choices, I scrambled frantically to keep my life exactly how it was. I wanted to find a new home, quick smart, move in and carry on as usual.

Lucky for me, my initial research yielded little success (don’t get me started on anti-pet buildings). This meant that the decision making part of my brain had a chance to be heard. It made me stop my search, just for now. It has made me realise that there are a lot of things that I need to review. I suddenly realised that I had a lot more choices than I realised if I was brave enough to look at them all.

So that is what I’m in the process of doing. It is a very unsettling experience. I find that I have a lot of nervous energy that I didn’t have before. Now that I’m properly using my brain, my body is awake. I’m also much more aware of what makes me happy and what doesn’t.

In fact, I could say that I’m living a much more mindful life. While I may not know where I’ll be living in just over 2 months from now, I have the courage to weigh up my options and make the right choice for me. Once I’ve made those choices and followed them wherever they might take me, I’ll tell you all about it.

I leave you now to live your lives mindfully. I hope you find it as invigorating as I do.

Short Story: Time Travel, Baby Sisters and Hobbits

At school they make us write about what it means to be Australian and stuff. That’s cos I’m an Australian. So is my mum. My Dad is what we call a Pom. He isn’t from Pomland but a place called England. England is so far away that they are backwards in time, which makes it complicated when Dad is trying to phone them cos he has to pick a time that works in the past as well as now.

I’ve never been there but Dad has decided that we are all going to go this Summer cos he wants us to meet our pom family properly, cos talking through the video on the computer doesn’t count.

I’m not sure about it cos Mum says it never stops raining and the trains never come. Sitting at stations and getting wet sounds rubbish. I’d rather go to the beach but Dad has promised that I can use his enormous umbrella that pops open when you press the button. It is a really cool umbrella. If Batman had an umbrella it would be like this one cos it’s black and has the turbo charged open button.

Course going back in time will be cool too. I’ll know what’s going to happen but I won’t tell no one cos that might change history and stuff like in the movies. Messing up the space time continumum is bad and you can end up not existing cos you change things and are never born and stuff.

Mum seems worried about the trip. I asked if she was worried about me changing the space time continumum, cos she didn’t need to worry cos I knew about stuff like that and would be careful but she told me to stop being silly. This is what she always says when she is only half listening and thinking about something else. I can tell cos her eyes don’t look at me.

I heard her shouting at Dad and she is worried about 24 hours on an aeroplane with 3 kids. I don’t know why she is worried cos Dad told me all about aeroplanes and they sound cool. He says you can watch movies and play games and other cool stuff without leaving your seat, it is all in the ‘puter on your seat. It will be like we each have our own IPad, I won’t need to fight with my sister Charlie to use Dad’s.

Dad has told her not to worry, that Mabel will be fine. Mabel is my baby sister. She isn’t big like me and Charlie so she can’t play games or watch movies. All Mabel does all day is blow spit bubbles, fart really loudly and do smelly things in her nappy that my mum has to clean up. She can do that on the aeroplane too, no worries. Sometimes she cries too but normally that is cos she wants you to plug a dummy in her mouth. Babies are easy.

It will be a waste really cos she won’t be able to ‘preciate the time travel or her own ‘puter with games and movies. Sometimes she stares for ages at cuddly toys going round and round over her head and she even laughs. I was worried that she was stupid but mum got cross with me for saying that and told me that I was just like Mabel once too.

I don’t remember being that little but I’ve seen photos so it must be true. I asked Mum if I farted as much as Mabel does but she just said “Oh Georgie” with a big sigh, which means that I’ve just said something wrong. She does this a lot.

My best friend Tom isn’t coming with us cos his parents are taking him to the red centre. The red centre is in the middle of Australia and is really cool cos it looks like Mars so Tom is going to explore and look for new life. He’s going to be a famous scientist one day, he told me so.

Tom thinks my time travel trip is cool but he thinks it’s weird we’re going backwards. If he was time travelling he’d go to the future. I asked Dad if we could go to the future instead but he just laughed and said we’d go to New Zealand another time.

I thought this was really weird cos I learned about New Zealand at school and they never said it’s in the future. All they told us is that it has lots of volcanoes and sheep and hobbits. That is a rubbish future. Really in the future there should be future people dressed in silver with lots of cool stuff we don’t have yet.

I don’t think Dad was being properly truthful about New Zealand being in the future. I think he was adult lying. Adult lying isn’t like Kid lying cos you get in trouble for kid lying but adult lying is ok. It is OK cos with adult lying the other adults know the adult is lying and they laugh cos it is like a big lie that is actually a joke. A bit like stories which aren’t true but aren’t lying either cos they are just a story. So maybe Dad is telling me a story about New Zealand being in the future.

One day I’ll get Dad to take me to the future, the proper future not some story future that is full of short people with hairy feet.

Home is...

... where the heart is?

... where your stuff is?

... the address financial institutions and banks have for you?

... wherever you lay your hat?

... where the cat is?

Frankly I don't know. Is the answer to the question of home as simple as a single address? I've got at least two homes right now. Some might call that greedy but a heart shared across 2 countries isn't as fun as it might sound.

Going back to England recently was a great opportunity to catch up with family, friends and felines. I had a fabulous time, but there’s no escaping that it was an emotional roller coaster: each exuberant hello was followed far too soon by sad goodbyes. That is the reality of choosing to live on the other side of the planet. The time you get to spend with those you left in your home of origin is far too fleeting. That was the sacrifice I made.

Why would I do that? What is so special about this new life I’ve built for myself? Well it took time but I adjusted and I nested. I made friends, created new routines, adopted pets, started writing again and one day I woke and realised that I love this new life. It suits who I am now. Living alone so far from where I grew up forced me to custom build my life to suit who I am today.

Sometimes you can feel rootless because you've lost the comfortable short hand of years of shared experiences. It can feel as if people don't know who you really are, because they didn’t see the evolution for themselves. At the same time this can be liberating. There are no assumptions based on the old "yesterday" you.

We are all works in progress, we need to change but sometimes we don't let ourselves. Maybe that is where my urge to move to the land of far far away came from. I am more guilty than most of not just getting stuck but wallowing in a rut. I needed to shake things up and as I never do things by half measures I now live in Australia (new home) and only get to visit England (original home) every other year.

I definitely shook things up. In fact I had a much needed mental collapse. I had buried trauma beneath the rubble of stress and routine for years, but finding me distracted by a new environment it managed to sneak to the surface. This was terrifying. I’ve never felt such darkness, the black dog bit me hard. Shortly after being diagnosed with acute depression my doctor told me that her patients who made it through this kind of breakdown often ended up being the strongest and most well adjusted people that she knew.

I’m not an advertisement for the obscenely well adjusted just yet but after 3 years I’m newly off the medication and so far the black dog is staying away. I like to think that Louis the cat wouldn’t be letting him visit for long if he did turn up. Frankly the life-sucking parasite depression isn’t welcome in any of my homes.

Photos: Top is Daisy May Dazzler resident cuddler in my London home. Below is Louis my Sydney home guard cat & incorrigible flirt

Ressort's Review of Recent Reads

I may have over-indulged with the alliteration in the title but I couldn't resist.

As I'm an avid reader I've decided that on occasion I will blog about some of the rather fabulous books that I've had the pleasure of spending time absorbed in. I've had a really good run of some really inspiring works. Here are the books that I've particularly enjoyed over the last few months:

The Seamstress by Frances de Pontes Peebles

This is a book I picked up because it was on sale. I discover a lot of new writers through the cut price book stalls you can find here in Australia. Sorry but the price of a brand new first hand book is obscene, particularly for someone who grew up in England (we're talking at least 3x the price people!! Insanity I tell you). So when I'm not throwing myself into the loving arms of a second hand bookshop (I believe there is magic captured within the walls of second hand bookshops, it ' the only way to explain the "lost time" phenomenon I experience when I walk into one), I'm finding bargains at book stalls where I've even been known to find works by Haruki Murakami (be still my beating heart)

This is all by the by in terms of the experience of reading The Seamstress but it does highlight how you can find gems in the most unexpected places, including a food hall in North Sydney.

The Seamstress is an epic novel of love, adventure and politics. Set in Brazil & spanning a period from 1928 to 1935, this books follows the two very different but intertwining stories of 2 sisters from a small village, who through some very dramatic circumstances lead very different lives. 1 ends up married into a wealthy family in a city, the other is kidnapped by rebel bandits and become one of them. This may all sound rather over the top but these two different lives are used to depict the political and social situation in Brazil across that period.

In both cases Frances de Pontes Peebles avoids the trap of over romanticising the lives of her protagonists, as both sisters are forced to grow up and face the harsh realities of life. This is not a swashbuckling novel for the faint-hearted but nor is it so brutal that you lose sympathy for the sisters.

For those that enjoy a meaty read that gives a really strong sense of place and period, with strong character development, the Seamstress if for you. I really enjoyed it and felt thoroughly satisfied when I finished the final pages.

The Girl with Glass Feet by Ali Shaw

This was another North Sydney food hall find. I bought this book because it was a first time novelist (as someone working on her own first novel, I love reading books by new writers). I could be mean and say I didn't completely fall in love with this novel, but that would be talent envy speaking.

I LOVED this book. I've now lent it to a friend and bought it for another and will keep spreading the word, even if everyone thinks I'm mad. I've even started to twitter stalk the author (well I follow @ali_shaw on twitter, which is kind of the point of twitter but it amuses me to think of myself as a twitter stalker - plus I need to be on top of when novel no 2 is going to be released into the universe for me to consume). All joking aside, a fan is born, and Ali Shaw has been added to my "must read" list of novelists. These are the novelists for which I will pay full price for their latest works at my local Australian bookshop, because I simply have to have the book then and there. This is a surprisingly short list which compromises Gabriel Garcia Marquez, Rupert Thomson, Haruki Murakami, Neil Gaiman, David Mitchell, Carlos Ruiz Zafon and Scarlett Thomas. (and yes if they're on twitter I follow them, unless they don't write in English that is cos my Japanese & Portugese is hopeless)

Why did I love Ali Shaw' first novel so much? Because it if was a colour it would a mysterious foggy grey/white. Because it fuses fantasy with reality in a way that doesn't feel forced or trite, but instead feels possible. As if suddenly turning to glass could happen to you.

He creates wonderful but wounded characters and weaves a web of secrets that will keep you hooked to the end. Not for those that struggle to suspend disbelief, The Girl with Glass Feet is a beautiful, haunting first novel that I'll be re-reading for years to come.

One Day by David Nicholls

I always approach critically acclaimed books with some trepidation. It is the same with films that everyone tells you are "simply amazing", the hype can put me off. So I hesitated before reading "One Day" but it lived up to the reviews.

What a wonderful read. I agree with the review by Jonathan Coe on the cover of my copy as "you really do put the book down with the hallucinatory feeling that they've become as well known to you as your closest friends"

What really made this an immensely satisfying read is the obvious warmth and affection that David Nicholls has for his protagonists even as he puts them through hell. They are not picture perfect people with sterile lives but very much inhabit the same flesh & blood world that we do.

The concept of catching up with them on the same day every year, could have easily felt forced and clunky but instead Nicholls makes the narrative fly. I was reluctant to close the final pages of a truly compassionate book about human nature and relationships. I think I would struggle to find someone who doesn't finish this novel feeling as if they really know Emma and Dexter, they are among the most well rounded characters I've ever had the pleasure to meet.

The Night Watch by Sarah Waters

I'm a big fan of Sarah Waters and positively devoured Little Stranger on my last holiday. I bought Night Watch as I was interested in catching up on her back catalogue.

As with One Day, The Night Watch has an unusual structure, in this case the narrative starts in 1947 and works back to 1941. As a reader who enjoys the "big reveal" of your standard chronology I was surprised by how much interest and tension Sarah Waters could create with a story that goes backwards.

Past events are hinted at, with the truth eventually revealed. Set in London starting after WWII before going back to the very vivid setting of the Blitz, The Night Watch follow 4 characters whose lives are linked across the 6 years of the story.

Kay, Helen, Viv and Duncan have all suffered as a result of not quite fitting into society. Going back in time we come to understand why Kay walks the streets alone dressed like man, why Helen is so obsessively jealous, why Viv continues to have an unsatisfactory affair with a married man and what is so wrong with Duncan.

As with many of Sarah Waters' books, sexual identity is a key underlying theme and one of the contributing factors that makes our four protagonists feel like outsiders.

I would recommend this book to pretty well anyone, unless you happen to be homophobic ( but as I don't seek out the company of narrow minded or intolerant people hoping that doesn't apply to any of my blog readers).

The End (for now... so many books, not enough time)

Conversation with a Moonbeam (a spot of flash fiction)

I talked to a moonbeam the other day. I lay in a field, the grass prickling my sun tarnished legs. I gazed up at the sky, squinting my eyes to catch the moonbeam mid flight as it rippled towards me.

I asked it questions that leapt like fish from the ocean of my mind

"where are you going?"

"where are you from?"

"can you see the future?"

"were you ever human too?"

The questions bubbled and frothed, bombarding the moonbeam. More & more spilt from me, slowing it until it stopped just above my head.

It seemed to ponder them all before caressing my face with its tentative light. The touch, as pure as silver weighted my eyes with sleep. In the world of dreams the moonbeam answered me with seductive slowness. Long pauses peppered the answers as it carefully examined the questions for their true meaning.

My soul sang at the answers. I could feel my body purring with the freedom of understanding. All mental barriers were knocked down one by one.

A fire came blazing through my dreams scattering the moonbeam and making my precious knowledge evaporate like dew.

Reaching out to grasp whatever remaining flakes I could my eyes burst open. The moon was gone, banished by an angry and jealous sun. The gift of understanding was scorched from my mind.

I thought I might cry but a sliver of silver remained. A moonbeam spoke to me, a truth that will survive the rational light of day.

Baby with the Bath Water

Welcome to my first post of 2011. As you may have noticed I took a blogging break over the silly season but now I’m back and primed to blog voraciously. Well, maybe voracious is too strong a word, but my determination to examine the events of my life is renewed following this rest from introspection.

So how are we all feeling about 2011? Do you have ambitious resolutions that will make you a more effective, bionic version of your 2010 selves? Have you fully embraced the New Year, New You frenzy that kicks in with a vengeance every January?

I haven’t. That is the short answer to my own questions. I don’t need to be a new, improved me. I don’t want to beat myself up for my “bad habits”. I don’t think that it is realistic to expect me to go from hedonist one day to healthy automaton the next. 1st January doesn’t signal a sudden switch in my behaviours. If only it were that easy.

Why would I want to set myself up for failure in 2011? I want to enjoy 2011. I want to revel in the opportunities that it brings me. I want a guilt-free 2011 where I continue to invest in myself but accept my weaknesses with love and affection.

There is nothing more insidious and exhausting than constant self recrimination. I feel that the culture of annual resolutions creates more wide spread self recrimination than it does long term positive behavioural change. People get so caught up in the date change that they believe that suddenly making the changes that they want to make in their lives will be easy. It doesn’t work that way.

You need to start with an honest appraisal of yourself. If the change of year has prompted you to reflect on yourself, your happiness and the opportunities to bring more harmony to your life, that is fabulous. But a bullet pointed list of things you will and won’t do in the coming months is the wrong way to go about it. I’d be really interested to find out the statistics around ex-smokers that successfully quit in January. I bet that the conversion rate to happy long-term ex-smokers will be discouragingly low.

If you are a smoker and you want to stop, I recommend dealing with the psychological addiction. Steer clear of the marketing gimmick that is nicotine patches (I speak from experience nicotine withdrawal isn’t what makes you go back to cigarettes) and make sure that you are stopping when you are mentally ready, which is unlikely to be suddenly at the stroke of midnight. Real life doesn’t resemble a Cinderella story in reverse. Reading Alan Carr’s book is what worked for me, if you want to explore that route, I can endorse it. However, it may not be the right solution for you. Explore the options, be honest about your triggers and be generous with yourself throughout the whole process. If you do it based on your own timetable your chances of success will increase exponentially.

Of course smoking is just one of the many popular New Year resolutions which also include: weight loss; getting fitter; stressing less; working less, and spending more time with the family. Whatever your poison(s), don’t be disappointed if 2011 doesn’t make it magically easy to change your ways. There is no date from which you will suddenly find it easy to make radical changes to your lifestyle. Frankly I don’t remember reading a manual for life that tells us that living to our full potential would be easy. It is a challenge. We live in a society that is obsessed with convenience which can skew our perception of reality.

We are all works in progress. There is no sudden “new you” but if you invest positive energy in nurturing yourself, when you are celebrating the dawn of 2012, odds are you’ll look back and realise that 2011 was a vintage year. By avoiding the creation of a mass list of resolutions, you won’t throw the baby out with the bath water. Focus on what you need on a daily basis, and you won’t lose your way.

For me, this means that I will continue to focus on the things that motivate and de-motivate me. I want to live a passionate life full of energy and creativity. So in my on-going exercises in introspection, I’ll be checking-in with myself to see whether I’m allowing myself to do that. If not, well I won’t be beating myself up about it. I’ll be going into the next day more self-aware and open to exploring new adventures.

(Pictured above: Sake, Jodie & Ian's puppy, who likes to dig holes that are 5x bigger than she is)

Sunny Days and Snow Storms

Having grown up in England, Christmas in Australia never really feels 100% right. This may well explain the introduction of the tradition of “Christmas in July” although frankly even in the midst of winter, Sydney never quite gets cold enough for me to hear the faint whisper of sleigh bells on a chilly Southerly wind (see even the winds are the other way round, Northerlies are the chill-bringers in England).

Saying that, and before all the Australians I know tell me to pack my bags and go home, it doesn’t feel wrong either. It is simply that Christmas is a very different experience for me here but it is still very much a season that inspires gratitude for the wonderful people around me. Whether sitting on a beach or rugged up in a London pub, the festive season is all about catching up with the people that make your life meaningful.

It isn’t just about those that are in the same time zone as you. I’m suddenly hyper aware of the Christmas developments back home. This makes me feel connected to my family and I’m really excited about calling them Christmas Day morning (Christmas Eve evening in UK when my predominantly Polish family gather together to celebrate Wigilia). Over the noisy background noise of 30+ boisterous members of my family the telephone receiver will be passed around so that I can catch up with my mum, my god daughter (who turns 18 Christmas Eve and is really the most wonderful young woman), my aunt, my uncle and my cousins. It may not be the same as being with them but hearing their voices is now an integral part of my new Christmas tradition.

Plus the reality is that even if I had been planning to go back to England for this Christmas, the odds would have been against my making it. The snow that made me vow last year to only visit in the European summer is back with a vengeance and causing no end of mayhem for people all over the world. The ensuing chaos means that the gifts I sent may or may not make it (my aunt updates me – I can’t actually track the pacakge as sending it recorded delivery would have pushed the postage north of $140 which is nuts). Since it is out of my hands, all I can do is hope for the best.

Now would be a great time to wish for some Christmas miracles though, so St Nicholas if you could please oblige here are mine:
- For my friends trying to make it home, I hope you have a wonderful Christmas with fabulous people even if it may not be exactly where you were planning to be.
- For my Wigilia-going family, I hope the snow allows you to safely make the trip to Berkshire so that you can all be together to share Opłatek as per decades of tradition.
- For packages that are currently in postal limbo, I hope that you find your way to your destinations and deliver the smiles the gifts inside were selected to inspire.
- For the Queen of England, don’t be afraid to experiment with your Christmas speech: I’d love to see you break with etiquette and tell us what you really think. Go on, you know you want to!

I’ll be spending a lovely Christmas Day with my big brother Guy, his wife Ann, my nephew Tom and their pets Alfie (puppy) and Joey (rabbit). Some might say that Guy isn’t actually my brother because he isn’t a blood relative but to them I’d answer “if it walks like a duck and talks like a duck than it’s a friggin’ duck.” Hopefully Gertie Getz will get me there (she recently threw a strop, we’re working through it) ummm maybe I shouldn’t have used up my quota of Christmas miracles.

On that note I’ll sign off. Louis is sound asleep on the sofa in the most improbable position that means that his tummy is in immediate need to tickling.

Merry Christmas!!

Interim Post

It is Monday night and I'm feeling quite exhausted so I won't be doing my usual detailed post. I wanted to reassure my friend and family that all is good with me. My silence isn't some sinister reflection regarding my new job. I'm actually really enjoying it at ZenthOptimedia. They are a lovely bunch of people and I'm in the midst of a major information download. It is always weird being the new girl though, take a while before you feel fully functioning.

The only negative recently was an unfortunate bout of food poisoning that kicked in during the early hours of Saturday morning, knocking me on my bottom for the rest of the weekend. Fortunately between Louis and Indiana, I had plenty of felines checking in on me. Cats really are a lot more sensitive than people give the credit for. My boys looked after me.

I drove Gertie Getz to work this morning and managed not to get lost (this is a first). I have to admit, driving is rather frighteningly addictive. Bang goes the planet. I had my guitar lesson this evening which was great fun. Now I've been learning Wonderwall, Opportunity and Disarm which makes for a nice mix of tunes to mess around with. I'll be happy if I can play them and someone can actually recognise what I'm playing lol.

Louis is currently doing a fabulous impersonation of a big fluffy rug. Between the excitement of my guitar lesson (he loves them) and his dinner, I think he's exhausted himself ; )

Leah, the kitten from next door, just escaped which led to a fun packed 10 mins chasing her down the street. She is the naughtiest little ragdoll, not sure where she was trying to get to, but she does love making a break for it on a regular basis.

So it has been an action packed Monday night and I need to get a good night's sleep before my big day tomorrow. I'm off to see JayZ and U2 in concert tomorrow night. So excited!!

Normal blogging will resume this weekend. Take care all

Escaping the Box

I struggled with the title of this post because all the options that I came up with didn’t quite work. It was almost “Love what you do”, flitted to “Be free to be”, hovered over “Escaping your inner demons” and finally ended up being the rather odd “Escaping the Box”.

So what do I mean by “Escaping the Box”? I think the rejected titles should give you a pretty good idea but we’ll start with what has inspired me this week.

In my current visa-less stasis I have the luxury of time, something that I frequently lack (or feel as if I do). This would be the perfect opportunity to dedicate time to my passion of writing. Actually I lie, my real passion is storytelling and writing is the means that allows me to explore that passion (I have limited creative abilities outside of my way with words). I actually find writing very hard and sometimes even torturous. While I am getting some drafting of concepts done, I have suddenly become extremely shy of writing and am nowhere near as prolific as I thought I would be given the circumstances. There is a great big wall blocking me so that my ideas rattle around my head in growing numbers but I’m increasingly reluctant to commit them to paper. I’ve tried knocking this wall down but it is strong, I should know, I built it.

I have very effectively created a box around myself and I’m finding it hard to stretch outside of its confines. I had help building this box, but while I could point to society, education, other people, time, work, money, stress as providing some of the building blocks, the reality is that as the architect I need to take responsibility for it. I keep waiting for the stars to align, for everything to be perfect, so that I can begin work on my masterpiece. This alignment of celestial influences is the code for opening the box, so that I can explode outwards and fulfil my potential. What a load of bollocks!

The ideas are sitting inside me, like anxious children desperate to get out, explore and have amazing adventures. Instead I’m keeping them locked up blaming everything BUT myself for my reluctance to set them free. There is no code for opening the box. I just need to reach up and push open the lid and the thought scares me. What if I free these ideas, this creative potential and it disappoints? I’m paralysed with the fear that if I set these stories free, they’ll become flat, two dimensional, lifeless words on a sheet of paper. I’ve been germinating some of these stories for so long, that for them to die in the outside world would feel like a still-birth. I would feel as if I had failed them, better to keep them locked away until a better time comes.

The truth is that a better time will never come. I need to set myself free from my own crippling fears and self-imposed limitations NOW. I suspect that I’m not alone in needing to escape a box of my own creation. How often do you stop yourself from doing something because you believe you will fail? What is so bad about failing? Never trying is surely 10 times worse, but we can hide our dreams and ambitions, while often our failures are more public. So is it public opinion that we are afraid of?

Have you ever caught yourself whispering your true dreams to a friend, almost embarrassed by them? Our hopes can feel impossibly vulnerable and this can trigger our need to protect them. But instead, what we are really doing is stifling and repressing them. I think the most successful people we admire around us are those that never felt the need to build their own protective box. They embrace their dreams, learn and grow from their failures and see where they take them. How can we enjoy success if we are good at everything we do and never fail?

The next time you speak to a friend or colleague who has recently spectacularly failed at doing something, don’t feel sorry for them. Congratulate them for trying, for getting involved, for not holding themselves back. You should admire the people that try to live their dreams. I sometimes think that there is a small mindedness in many of us, which would have us holding others back because of our own fear of failure.

One of the aspects I really like of Australian culture is that of giving everyone a “fair go”. There is an inherent optimism here that is lacking in Europe. An example I’ll give is of a French man who has set up his own company doing wine tours in the Hunter Valley. When he told his Australian friends what he was doing, they were really pleased for him: very encouraging and supportive. When he told his French friends, they started to list all potential problems he might face, the many ways it could go wrong and why he was crazy to give up a stable income for the unknown. Well, last time I saw him (as one of his customers) he seemed to be doing just fine, thank you.

My problem is that my inner dialogue seems to be very French and not particularly Australian. I don’t give myself the support and encouragement I need. I feel surprised by how much I get from my family and friends (from all around the world), which can make me feel like a phoney because they seem to have more faith in me than I have. I was speaking to some friends about my novel idea: they seemed so genuinely engaged with the concept that it was a phenomenal boost to my confidence. It was after this boost that I truly felt the claustrophobia of living in my self-imposed box. The very next day I wanted to write and I found plenty of other things that were suddenly urgent to do instead. The day after, I read an entire novel from start to finish. Finally, several days later, I’ve realised that I’m never going to let myself write until I destroy the box and fully put myself out there.

So this post is me taking a sledge hammer to this box. I want to tell you I’m working on my first novel. The protagonist is a rather wonderful lady called Mrs Millicent Daily and she wants her story to be committed to paper. I am promising to do this for her and one shouldn’t break one’s promises, even if they are given to fictional characters that currently only exist in one’s head. The only way that I can truly fail in this endeavour is if I don’t write this book. Even if I write it and am dissatisfied with the results, I’ll still have succeeded. I don’t want to not try. I don’t want to cage up my potential and treat it like some valuable but easily shattered gem. I want to set myself free, escape the box, embrace the fear and write my book.

What action are you going to take, to make your dreams reality?

Pictured above: Louis knows exactly what to do with a box lid: flatten it!

The Waiting Game

I often joke that my lack of patience comes from my French genes (have you ever seen the French try to queue? It doesn’t come naturally) but putting joking aside, I’m very bad at dealing with uncertainty. As someone who is trying very hard to learn to live in the “now”, I struggle not to be preoccupied with the “later”. You must know the feeling: that distracting knot in the base of your belly that does the occasional back flip to ensure that it keeps churning up your worries about what is coming “later”.

My current overactive belly knot relates to my still to be approved new 457 visa. As I’m changing companies I’m getting a new sponsorship visa. The downside is that I was due to start work yesterday but can’t because the visa still isn’t through. So my Now looks great, I have extra holiday time. Except I find it hard to enjoy it as the knot keeps churning up questions about “how long will this holiday be?” and “how long can I afford not to be working?” It’s crazy, I’ve missed 2 working days so far and am fighting the urge to panic already. Saying that, we’ve had a little progress with the lovely folks at Aussie Immigration (love your work guys, really do, honestly am not just kissing butt in hope you’ll speed up my visa approval, that would be cynical) so it is looking hopeful that approval will be through in the next few days.

The reality is that as I can’t control when this will happen, I feel a tad cranky. Don’t misunderstand, I’m loving the extra time off. Today I’ve been writing, took Gertie Getz out for a spin and bought some yummy healthy goodness from Harris Farms and Fourth Village (going to stuff myself full of raspberries later) and watched a rather mediocre rom-com that I’d recorded (Did you hear about the Morgans? = spot on for a lazy rainy day but not a film I’d go out of my way to watch).

Does this make me a control freak? The more I think about it, the more I realise it’s when I’m relying on others (and particularly if those others are some kind of bureaucratic organisation) that my belly knot does Olympic level acrobatics and I get a major case of the cranks. Don’t I trust other people to get it right? I know I had to work long and hard on my delegation skills but I thought I’d cracked that particular problem. I don’t think it’s about my needing to do everything myself, it is more about the lack of control that I have over others to do what they need to do. After all, if I picked up the telephone to call immigration it would have zero influence on them.

Government departments and similar organisations are structured in such a way as to ensure that you feel as impotent as possible. I suspect that this is why they get so much rage directed at them. People don’t like to feel helpless. Like a cornered animal, they will fight back. Is this something that organisations need to do more about? After all, it will make the lives of their staff much more pleasant if the majority of the people they deal with aren’t frothing at the mouth with rabid frustration. Banks, governments, telephone companies, energy companies take note: your customers (and governments please don’t forget that your people are, to all intents and purposes, your customers) need to feel they have some level of control to prevent explosions of anger.

A perfectly happy, calm person can transform into Cujo (after he has contracted rabies) if they face the following:

• Endless recorded messages that send them circling around without reaching a real person


• Speaking to a completely disengaged person (or empty vessel) who has no power or control of their own and therefore their only interest is to transfer you onto another empty vessel


• No news, no commitment, no timelines: seriously how can there be no one who can give you clarification re when you are going to get the answers you are chasing? Why hide these magical oracles from us?

Admittedly businesses are getting wise to this and there have been improvements but not enough. In this age of social networking, you can’t afford to be sending out Cujos to infect the rest of the population against you.

So to answer my question, I don’t think I am a control freak. I think I’m a pretty normal person, prone to higher than average levels of anxiety, who just wants some kind of reassurance that things are happening and moving forward. While I’d love to have a couple of weeks off, sadly my landlord equally loves to be paid rent (weird I know) so it isn’t controlling to worry about when I’ll be able to start working again. But it does mean that my focus isn’t as in the Now as I would like. After all it is a warm evening, Martha Wainwright’s fabulous voice is serenading me via my Yamaha speakers , some beautiful aromatherapy oils are burning, Louis is off prowling and once I’ve finished this blog post I’m going to work on my novel outline. Life is good at this particular point in time. I’d feel quite serene if my tummy knot would just calm down.

Any anxiety fighting tips gratefully received, I’m all about self improvement. Never forget that we’re all works in progress, it’s good to help each other through.