Thurs 15 June: Cut and Dyed
Years of trying to make a little money go a long way have resulted in me developing a personal style which makes the term ‘low maintenance’ seem excessively demanding but as The Great Boat Debate rages I decide that it’s no more Mrs Nice Guy for me. I’m b*ggered if I’m going to be the one making all the sacrifices!
Whilst I’d half thought I might wait until I’d heard about my book before getting my hair done it’s becoming clear that my prospective agent has left the country never to be seen again. So, since I’m also in danger of disappearing, not on a plane but under an unruly mane, I book myself in not just for a cut but for a colour as well.
‘I’ve put you down for foils,’ the receptionist tells me.
‘Eh?’ Oh whatever, I don’t care anymore. Anything’s better than the way I look now. I abrogate any responsibility and leave it all to Llinos, my lovely hairdresser, to transform me whilst I have a great time drinking tea and reading all the gossip magazines. Bliss. Even better, when she’s finished I have beautiful coppery tresses with a few, it has to be said, slightly trashy, blonde streaks. Very satisfying. And, before I start to feel guilty about spending money on myself, cheap, too, at less than the price of a standard hair cut back south.
I come home to a call from Asda, they apologise, without sounding in the least bit sorry, for the condition of the flowers they sent to Hazel and offer to send her a voucher instead. Frankly it’s the least they could do.
Tuesday 19 June: Learning and Yearning
Torrential rain and still no news on the book front. I try to work up some enthusiasm for ‘Make, Do and Mend’ aka Novel 2. Having discovered that I went to a girls grammar school a couple of miles away from the one Exmoor Jane attended, it’s interesting to see that we both feel lashing of guilt at any sense of not working flat out. My mum recently found the offer letter sent to her by the education authority at the time, which practically requires her to sign in blood to assure them ‘of your intention that your child shall remain in school.’ ‘A pupil’, it warns, ‘who fails to complete the course loses a period of experience and education which cannot be made up later in life.’ Yikes! And that was before I’d even set foot in the building.
Given that I was educated in such a hothouse environment where the stress was entirely academic (Domestic Science was given the most cursory nod in the fourth year – in the first lesson we were told to keep our armpits shaved and how to dispose of sanitary towels, tampons only being used by racy girls. In the second lesson we taught how to make packet scones. Job done.) I had a terrible sense of shame for years that I wasn’t head of ICI, or the CEO of a huge financial institution. I’m sure it’s half the reason why I want to get a novel published so badly, not just for myself but to justify all those ‘crème de la crème’ (yes, really) expectations from so long ago.
Wednesday 20 June: A Troubled Conscience
Mum’s going in for day surgery today to have cortisone injections in her poor crumbling back. My cousin, Barbara, a lovely kind person, who has already done far too much nursing for her own nearest and dearest has offered to look after her but I feel absolutely wretched about not being there. To put it in context the procedure, I gather, is routine, takes about twenty minutes and Mum should be fine shortly afterwards. Of course if she was having a major op I’d be there. But, it won’t be comfortable for her, she’ll be nervous and possibly scared so I should be there and that’s what’s bothering me.
And finally…
I’ve had a terrible sense of not being myself since I’ve been writing these blogs. Waiting for news that doesn’t arrive has made me feel hemmed in and unable to pass go. I’m not usually this introspective and moany, I assure you. Oh, good, it seems I’ve just found something else to feel guilty about!
Hwyl fawr!
Years of trying to make a little money go a long way have resulted in me developing a personal style which makes the term ‘low maintenance’ seem excessively demanding but as The Great Boat Debate rages I decide that it’s no more Mrs Nice Guy for me. I’m b*ggered if I’m going to be the one making all the sacrifices!
Whilst I’d half thought I might wait until I’d heard about my book before getting my hair done it’s becoming clear that my prospective agent has left the country never to be seen again. So, since I’m also in danger of disappearing, not on a plane but under an unruly mane, I book myself in not just for a cut but for a colour as well.
‘I’ve put you down for foils,’ the receptionist tells me.
‘Eh?’ Oh whatever, I don’t care anymore. Anything’s better than the way I look now. I abrogate any responsibility and leave it all to Llinos, my lovely hairdresser, to transform me whilst I have a great time drinking tea and reading all the gossip magazines. Bliss. Even better, when she’s finished I have beautiful coppery tresses with a few, it has to be said, slightly trashy, blonde streaks. Very satisfying. And, before I start to feel guilty about spending money on myself, cheap, too, at less than the price of a standard hair cut back south.
I come home to a call from Asda, they apologise, without sounding in the least bit sorry, for the condition of the flowers they sent to Hazel and offer to send her a voucher instead. Frankly it’s the least they could do.
Tuesday 19 June: Learning and Yearning
Torrential rain and still no news on the book front. I try to work up some enthusiasm for ‘Make, Do and Mend’ aka Novel 2. Having discovered that I went to a girls grammar school a couple of miles away from the one Exmoor Jane attended, it’s interesting to see that we both feel lashing of guilt at any sense of not working flat out. My mum recently found the offer letter sent to her by the education authority at the time, which practically requires her to sign in blood to assure them ‘of your intention that your child shall remain in school.’ ‘A pupil’, it warns, ‘who fails to complete the course loses a period of experience and education which cannot be made up later in life.’ Yikes! And that was before I’d even set foot in the building.
Given that I was educated in such a hothouse environment where the stress was entirely academic (Domestic Science was given the most cursory nod in the fourth year – in the first lesson we were told to keep our armpits shaved and how to dispose of sanitary towels, tampons only being used by racy girls. In the second lesson we taught how to make packet scones. Job done.) I had a terrible sense of shame for years that I wasn’t head of ICI, or the CEO of a huge financial institution. I’m sure it’s half the reason why I want to get a novel published so badly, not just for myself but to justify all those ‘crème de la crème’ (yes, really) expectations from so long ago.
Wednesday 20 June: A Troubled Conscience
Mum’s going in for day surgery today to have cortisone injections in her poor crumbling back. My cousin, Barbara, a lovely kind person, who has already done far too much nursing for her own nearest and dearest has offered to look after her but I feel absolutely wretched about not being there. To put it in context the procedure, I gather, is routine, takes about twenty minutes and Mum should be fine shortly afterwards. Of course if she was having a major op I’d be there. But, it won’t be comfortable for her, she’ll be nervous and possibly scared so I should be there and that’s what’s bothering me.
And finally…
I’ve had a terrible sense of not being myself since I’ve been writing these blogs. Waiting for news that doesn’t arrive has made me feel hemmed in and unable to pass go. I’m not usually this introspective and moany, I assure you. Oh, good, it seems I’ve just found something else to feel guilty about!
Hwyl fawr!
Painting is 'Garden' by Tom Tomos - to be honest it needs a hell of a lot more grey splashed all over to bear any resemblance to what's going on outside at the moment.
Comments
Never had my hair dyed - still no grey - but always have a good cut. Feel encouraged by you to perk mine up a bit. Make good and mend here today - his best favourite linen shirt has hole in front - got one of those invisible mending kits and found myself patching it today - christ almighty there must be something better than this!!
He has four sodding cars in the garage and I am mending a shirt. There was talk of collar turning but I walked out of the door on that one - hope this makes you smile - love mousie
Do hope your Mum's day goes well. Sounds most unpleasant. She needs all the sympathy she can get. Please give her my best wishes.
hope you hear soon, it must be agony waiting.
I too am so low maintenance htat I am almost free!! Dyed my own hair red this morning, and it came with its own free highlights courtesy of teh white hairs that turned an interesting colour all their own!!!
Oh let us go hunting your commissioning editor or whoever they are and roast him alive over a pile of pulp ficiton, it won't get teh book published any quicke but better than having to get your nunga nungas out dear!!
I too feel I have not lived up to my promise !! Ah well I suspect we all underneath!!
Work on Grouse's upward spiral . . .
I have to leave my hair to the hairdresser, she colours it red every five or so weeks, I have too much grey showing otherwise.
And don't feel guilty. Mum's are tough cookies!
I've been dying my hair since I was 14, then for fun, now for covering grey, daren't know how grey I am!!
Oh gawd yes, I looked at my old school website the other day and shivered. failure, failure, failure!
Keep the faith, dear heart (can one say cariad, or is that just a lovey dovey thing?) - sure you;'ll have good news soonest of soon (or maybe a bit later of late but please ye gods, as soon as you can). Sorry, sounding a bit odd here I realise - think the house-move stress is finally kicking in - plus my editor has finally (four weeks late) decided to give me all the pages upon pages of changes she wants in the memoir. Aaaaghhhhhhhhh....