A new project

Brief run down of last month.  From the bathroom non-drama until now.

Coughed, coughed a bit more, got sent to bed, stayed there a week or so, got up, felt rubbish.  Looked for work, finely honed CV, applied to loads of jobs, heard nothing.  Sulked.

Felt better, quit smoking, gained weight, started Zumba, twist knee, sullked.

Right then, so I'm up to date. 

One other thing I have done was read a book by Edith Sitwell called English Eccentrics.  I read this book because it was given to me recently by a friend, it was given to me because I mentioned that I was in some way distantly related to the Sitwells.  She got excited.  She told me no more, told me to find out for myself. 

And that is what I'm doing....

I knew a little, that the Sitwells once had Renishaw Hall, that Osbert was a War Poet, that we once had a cat called Osbert, and that my Granny shuddered at the mention of their name because they were 'mad as hatters', I knew Edith used to kick back with artists and musicians, and was considered bohemian. That's about it really.  This is my project. 

Firstly I want to know how I could possibly be related, she only died in the 60's, so it shouldn't be too hard to find a connection.  I already LIKE her though, purely from the one book by her that I've read, she found people interesting, she had a quirky style, and we have similar noses (well my Uncle has EXACTLY her nose).

More soon.

The law of sod...

The last week or so has been governed entirely by the law of sod.  This law dictates that what ever you do, the least expected most targeted act of sabotage will occur as if by bloody magic.

Its really been nothing too dramatic.  Starting from a tiny matter of finally ridding myself of this cold I've had for weeks, only to catch another one, and growing is size of both affect and rage... I spent 3 days decorating the family bathroom.  I've never done anything more complex than slap paint on the wall before so for me this was a learning curve and a challenge.  I used Polyfilla, silicone sealant, I used a DRILL (I am a capable woman, but I really shouldn't be left in charge of any kind of power tool) and remembered wall plugs and that little machine that detects for electric cable and water pipes. 

I'm sure some will think, so what?  But it was a big deal for me and wowzer, my bathroom looked beautiful in the end (I however have wrecked hands and I'm still trying to get gloss out of my hair). Even if I do say so myself I have a good eye for colour, and the shade of blue I chose lifts my small pokey anciet bathroom into something quite chic.

I was very smug.

I even laid floor tiles. 

5 minutes after I laid the last of these tiles, I smelled smoke/death/something not right, that went beyond the usual smell of beer brewing in the airing cupboard or the whiff of oil, and certainly was not glue or silicone.  The boiler had caught fire internally, black smoke was pouring out of the outside vent (nothing inside) so I turned it off and phoned a man who was qualified to make it right.

Nothing too dramatic.

He did his job and left.  We were expecting guests any time soon so returned to the bathroom to light candles and create that photoshoot mood so I could unashamedly show off my hard work. 

Black soot clung to every surface. Every newly painted, not-quite-dry surface.

Anyone who's cleaned up soot will know that no matter how bad it looks, when you go to wipe it, it will look (for a while) a million times worse.  It was an utter disaster.

I admit I had a mini-meltdown... on hands and knees scrubbing, a pointless task, I was simply moving around not quite dry paint and soot and making a smoothy.  Sobbing "it won't cleaaaaaan".  I think I may have wailed.  I certainly swore a LOT.  My sons learned some new words.

This I think is the Law According To Sod.  

It was NOT a good thing.

I'd love to say alls well that ends well, but happy endings aren't to be found here as its not over.  I just can't muster up the will to repaint, so it now looks like a pleasant but in need of decorating room.

Sod sod.

Fat Club

So its Tuesday which to me means Fat Club day.  After a lifetime of loving food and never being able to get the balance right or understand 'moderation' I finally joined a Slimming Club last March and have lost 2 stone. 

I hated the thought of group 'therapy' or restricting my life, and loathed the idea of a life of denial. 

I was wrong.

I'm eating more than ever, nicer food, healthier food and have become very dependant on thelovely people in group who never judge, or tut, or see me as a failure (I do enough of that for myself). 

So today I gained 3lbs.  ARGH.  The difference now compared to the past is that I'm not depressed about it, I'm not hateful to my reflection, I just pick myself up, dust myself down and get back on the horse...

One thing I've learned is that if you're a food lover, if you have a tendancy to eat the wrong things, or eat too much of the right things, there's no 'cure'.  This is about managment for life.  Its not as simple as 'eat less, do more' yet it is.  Its about balance, good choices, support and friendship.  Its about liking oneself, respecting your reflection, learning to love who you are without being arrogant. 

So yeh, Fat Club rocks.  I'm losing weight, slowly, healthily and thoroughly enjoying myself.  Its also very cheap therapy because the emphasis is also on image therapy, knowing yourself, dealing with issues and not being judged. 

So I had a gain.  I earned every lb.  I will lose that gain for next week with no denial or shame. 

That is a GOOD THING.

Landlocked

I'm taking abreak from Woosley Gumpt (the book) today as I'm over thinking things. 

I'm feeling landlocked.  I grew up in Devon, my spiritual home and now live in another lovely part of the world that would be perfect if it weren't for the lack of the sea.  I am craving a wet and windy walk along the shore watching the rolling waves, feeling the Atlantic's strength, making me feel both small and inferiour yet so so alive.  I miss 'my' ocean.  My parents moved back down to the West Country a few years ago, I think I resented them at the time, after all it was they who enforced my own relocation northward away from the spray.  Now I envy them and their decision. 

I need to be grown up about things really.  It would be impossible to relocate right now, my boys are happy and settled, my husbands work centres around this (beautiful) area, my father-in-law needs us.  I have good friends here, and pleasant cottage, there are many trees.... but still, I still ache for my ocean. 

It inspires me. 

I'm going to hold onto this thought, these feelings and memories and try to work them into my landlocked life.  Why do I feel I can do things when in Devon that seem impossible here?  Daft really, but any one who's heart has been stolen by the coast and its people will probably understand.

Only 4 months until I'm back in my own slice of Heaven, at which point, true to form, I'll decide I miss my trees and mountains and ache to come home.  My long term mission is to combine both, and make my/our home in Devon again.  Today's mission is to daydream about my home and take comfort from my beautiful memories, because really, I'm not far from home at all, its in my heart.  I want to share it with my family everyday, especially on a cold November day where the sky everywhere else would dampen the spirits but where, in Devon, its just another beautiful day. *sigh*

A good thing...

Revisiting Woosley Gumpt has been a good thing, I read it to my children last night.  My youngest, who's the target age, fell asleep.  My eldest loved it but found the characters a little 'babyish'.  Their reactions weren't wrong.  The book needs stripping back, simplfying, less twaddle. 

So that is what I'm in the process of doing.  I'm am the sort who uses 500 words when 5 well chosen ones will do, this is going to be tough.

As it is a book that is supposed to be read aloud, I am reading it aloud. 

This is all good.  Exciting for me actually because once editted, I think its a tale with legs. I enjoyed reading it. 

This isn't an ego trip, I'm still rather embarassed about it all, but I have surprised myself in my faith in something that I'd written off long ago and only kept because well, its part of my history and I'm a hoarder.  Today I am glad I kept it.

The Second Step

So what's my hook?  What is this blog about? 

I am not going to think too hard about that, I'd get bored in a week if I only wrote on one subject, I'll never know how I got through 3 years of a degree but I do know I was 'spent' half way through the first term.  Sheer determination to finish the damn job got me through.  It paid off. 

I guess as I'm a woman, and a mum, and a knitter and a recovering fat person, this blog will touch on random musings about being a woman, a mum, a knitter and a recovering fatty.  I hope its more than that, though when I think what else it could be I draw a blank.  Just like I do when asked what I want for Christmas, I spend all my spare time day dreaming and creating wishlists, only for the lights to go off when it matters. 

Ah, there you go, I'm also a daydreamer.  That should plump the content out a little.

Its January and extremely mild, miserably so.  The kind of weather the UK is mocked for.  Not one thing or the other, grey, drizzly, uninspiring (though there was an 'Armageddon' type sunset last night - the end of the world will be pretty I think) and it seems everyone has a cold.  I have a cold.  I've had it for 5 weeks now and was beginning to think something was seriously amiss until I spoke to other people who reckon this one lasts a good few weeks.  Bah. 

So I'm feeling crappy. Its January, the hangover month after a wonderful magical Christmas.  I'm on a mission to de-clutter my house, detox my body, purge my mind of dust.  I need a better hoover, plus as I'm feeling rubbish, its far easier to sit here and talk about it than actually do something about it. 

Which is why I'm being strict.  One hour a day on bloggery, no more.  No planning of what I will say, no drafts.  This is a kind of automatic writing, lets just see what happens. 

A good thing has happened though, I burrowed through a box of 'stuff to keep' and found Woosley Gumpt, the original children's story. Its alright.  It needs serious reworking, but I enjoyed reading it.  I've added it to my 'to do' list.  To be done in my downtime from duty.  That is a good thing.  I also found an old dairy that contained another of my wishlists.  Less said about that the better, its a little depressing.  I will return to that once I've decluttered everything else and try and make peace with the 14 year old child who wrote it. 

Newbie fears...

Oooh get me, a blog no less.  I've often wondered "what is this thing of which you speak?" and moved on to something else without second thought.  So now I'm here, taking baby steps into the world of the blog, and feeling slight trepidation.  I shall start small and slow.

What do I want this blog to be?  Mostly an outlet, sometimes a vent, somewhere to write general musings, part dairy part commentary and always unplanned... I can't think of another way to do it. 

I feel like I'm shouting into the void.  Maybe that's a good thing, I will learn as I go. 

The title, Woosley Gumpt, is the first thing I could think of, and also the first story I ever wrote, and the last I ever completed.  It was a very low standard, aimed purely at the children I babysat for when I was 19.  I'm not sure if it has any future, as its so far in the past, but I enjoyed writing it and there's the link.  I hope I enjoy writing this.  It would be lovely if people enjoyed reading it, but really, its not about that, this is therapy!  Woosley Gumpt is also a nonsense, so seemed very fitting.