Boxofficegirl. A Day In The Life Of...

Quietly Ignore.

2011-10-02T17:16:00.007+01:00

Did I embarrass you once in my salad days, so much so that

you feel the need now to turn away as we pass one another by?

There may as well be an ocean between us rather than a few feet.

But I see you

and I see you see me too.

No smile then, no hint of recognition

which might alert the world into thinking anything untoward

like - friendship - may have ever passed between us.

I watch you slink away,

fearful I may call out forcing you to acknowledge your worst case scenario.

Heaven forbid we should actually speak.

It's alright, have no fear, I understand your dilemma and

it matters not because I am not that girl anymore.

Although I have often thought of you over the years

- it shocks me to think how many -

I realised long ago how deluded I had been imagining

it was me who didn't measure up.

Despite your tailored suit and network smile,

-I can certainly see you've gone far in the world - but at what cost

I can't help wonder, as you hustle with bent head

towards a doorway and salvation.

How smugly you must have congratulated yourself

on such a lucky escape,

I am sorry for the years wasted with regret over you, your

boyish face etched in my mind for so long I forgot

that time has moved on for us both.

I'd have offered my hand though and

accepted yours in return.

Would that I could reach up so high.

Slava's Snowshow

2011-09-24T22:18:00.004+01:00

It hasn't been my practice to review theatre productions on this blog preferring instead to focus upon the characters who buy tickets to see the shows hence the tag title, Theatre of Life; but this week I witnessed a spectacle that will remain with me for a very long time and even though going to the theatre has become a bit of a bus-mans holiday, I for one can't wait for this production to return.

Describing the show is quite tricky and the only imagery I can conjure is that of a dream like sequence of random scenes which the audience somehow forgets to question or even try to understand. We are led like children by the hand through moments of humour, pathos, joy, playfulness and a finale so breathtaking it leaves you speechless. In fact words can do no justice so here's a snippet and if you get the chance to see this performance GO, you'll be the better for it - I promise.

The Customer is always...

2011-09-13T14:30:00.005+01:00

Hello, may I help?

Yes, I'd like to book some tickets please, for two shows.

Sure, what was the first one?

Could you turn your phone up please, I can't hear you very well.

Oh, is that better? I can hear you perfectly.

A little. It's quite a poor line really but anyway...(mutters in background) I need two seats in the stalls, concessions, middle of row J if you have it.

I have the side of row J or further back in the middle, about P.

Is that all! Nothing further forward more central? I don't want sides, what about M or H?

No, sorry. Row P for centre now.

Tch. (chewing a sweet loudly.) Let's try the other show, I'll come back to this one.

Row M centre is available, excellent seats, bang in the middle.

Anything further forward or what about upstairs?

Yup, dress circle, second row, centre block.

Hm, nothing better?

I don't think you can get any better than dress circle centre really.

(Clucks tongue repeatedly) It's just if you get someone tall in front... Where would you sit if it were you?

Well, as I say, dress circle is considered the best, it's tiered so I'd probably op' for those.

Hm, I don't know. I think the stalls are better. I'll have the ones in the stalls please - book me those.

Right. (sigh) Would you like to go back to the first show now?

I can't hear you, can you speak up!

I said, would you...(like to take a run and jump)...Can you hear me?

No, I can't.

You're serious, you can't hear me?

No.

How about now?

No, still can't.

Is that better?

Nope...

Robin Hoods Bay.

2011-09-05T15:21:00.020+01:00

This summer we spent our holidays on the North East Coast of England in the Shire of York near the historical Bay of Robin Hood which can be accessed by beach when the tide is out or on foot over cliffs and treacherous steep roads when it's not. Secluded and protected by the North Yorkshire Moors, for centuries the good folk of the bay have made their living from the sea whether by fish - or more famously, smuggling.

With houses built into and onto each other it has been said that smuggled goods could make their way from the beach to the top of the village without seeing daylight such is the design of connecting cupboards, secret passages, attics and cellars.

These days the 'Bay' as it's locally referred to, offers more in the way of second hand books, antiques and tea-shops than contraband although back in the 18th Century the tea would have cost a tidy sum more than it's modern day counterpart. The attraction of the place far outweighs it's size and tourists flock from around the globe to take in the romance of days gone by or to stand at the mouth of the sea on the tiny slip waiting for the tide to turn before continuing their adventures along one of the most exciting coastlines this country has to offer.

Beguiled by stories of shipwrecks and harsh winters we wandered happily in the sunshine around narrow streets - some no more than passages - stopped for breath several times as we scaled the steep singular road to the top of the village where yellow signs warned motorists not to descend for fear they may never come back up or indeed be able to stop on their way down.

Refreshed by copious amounts of tea and homemade slabs of cake, those of us who had bothered to make note of the tides rather than leave it to chance headed back down the hill in time to cross the beach towards the cove of Boggle Hole, another inlet made good use of by silent rowers under cover of darkness.
The beach by now was full of families and individuals rock-pooling, playing cricket, bowls, or like us, fossil hunting although having heard countless tales of cliff erosion involving occupants of houses who went into the kitchen to boil the kettle only to come back to find their sitting room had disappeared into the sea, we were eager only to collect what was already on the beach. Unlike some.

Having collected as much treasure as their pockets could hold I signalled my own party of smugglers including a rare old fossil and pointed them towards 'home'. Another steep climb, clothes laden with booty, they couldn't resist spilling and comparing their loot once the safety of the cottage had been reached. Each item held aloft for inspection came with it's own tale of discovery and went on well into the night - or at least bedtime when our youngest was still full of wide-eyed tales involving pirates and secrets and really bad eggs.

Is that another ship I see on the horizon?

Yo-ho me hearties - Yo-ho

Take All We Start and Spoil.

2011-07-11T21:05:00.010+01:00

Sometimes the paint won't come, there is no flow. I'd like very much to begin again.

Not the painting.

Life.

I remember working on an art project that was going really well until somehow, I managed to spoil the overall effect with black charcoal - way too much to salvage. Days of work went down the pan. Heartbreaking.

Throwing clay, the wheel spinning faster and faster as I drew the pot upwards, creating something out of nothing. One slip and the pot folded inwards, splitting, collapsing, returning to a soggy mass - Or - worse still, a unique form placed tenderly in the kiln, shattered from overheat. Not enough glaze.

Perhaps it wasn't the glaze.

Overwork(ed) Under work(ed) We've all been there. Not enough. Too much. When would be a good time to stop do you think or even to begin? At what point are we content before content becomes spoilt?

Every now and then at work, punters will lean forward and speak to me conspiratorially as if we shared secrets. Sometimes, I allow this to happen as it pleases them. Once in a while I don't if it does not please me. It is presumptuous and intrusive, my own fault for inviting this type of behaviour. Theirs, for misreading the signs.

Occasionally, they will ask for my name.

Why? I want to say. You have what you came for why do you need more? People always want more. I smile and answer hating them as they store this precious knowledge ready for use next time.

With every smile I sell my soul and take another step away from who I intended to be telling myself this was a good day. The customers were happy, I balanced my till, the kids were collected and dinner was made. A good day.

Could you pass me the crimson - thanks. I love mixing these rich colours with the darker ones, see how vibrantly they sit on the pallet, like freshly spilt blood. I must work quickly before they fade and spoil. They tend to dry out if not properly applied.

I knew a girl with long brown hair and clear eyes who was not afraid of the world before she tripped and fell in the trenches of life. I look for her in the mirror but she hides in the shadows laughing. I call out for her but it's no use, she will not come. Hers is a world beyond reproach. I search for the gifts she laid out for me and try to follow but the trail runs cold.

Vermilion - just behind you.

Only the smallest amount is required, the lightest stroke. A breath, no more.

Do you see?

Take it then, take my creation before I ruin it for we were beautiful once.

Validation.

2011-07-01T22:07:00.003+01:00

Things have been a bit dark recently, like the blackness on stage when the theatre is closed.
I keep waiting for the spotlight of sun to appear. Someone switch on the light, please.

And there it was. Ask and it shall be given.

Think this belongs to you.

The large weighty envelope dropped into my lap like a brick.

Hello old friend, I'd almost forgotten about you.

I waited until I got home before reading the letter. Some valid points, positive criticism. He'd obviously read it - properly read it. I found myself nodding.
Uh uh, yup, see what you mean, could re-think that, maybe re-work this.

Before I know it I have a pencil in my hand and notes scribbled in the margin. Not much but it's a start.
It's enough.

Sunset.

2011-06-28T22:30:00.006+01:00

Last night we sat in the garden and watched the sunset.

The light reflected through one lonely rain cloud creating a prism.

All the colours of the rainbow were momentarily present.

It was such a beautiful breathtaking sight that for a moment we were silent with wonder.

It's good to be reminded every now and then how small we are in the grand scheme of things - don't you think?

Where Do You Go...

2011-06-24T15:06:00.007+01:00

Where do you go
in the dark of night in the light of day
hanging in the space
between this place
and the next.

Do you wander far so
far away I wonder if perhaps
you lose your way deliberately
forgetting to turn around and
come back.

Perhaps there is better than here.

How annoying then, when
the eternal thread
tugs and you have no choice
but to return only to learn that
nothing has changed.

No miracle occurred whilst
you were away
which would allow
the slipping of
these mortal chains.

So, where do you go when
you're not here, to a realm far beyond this hemisphere
flying above the astral planes
tasting freedom
once again.

Two Ladies - Revisited.

2011-06-17T15:00:00.014+01:00

(Original Post of Two Ladies can be found here)

Residents Lounge - Afternoon

A. Have you been weighed today as well?

B. As well as what?

A. What?

B. Don't ask me, you were the one with the question!

A. You want to listen a bit more you do, open your ears.

B. Don't talk to me anymore please, you're upsetting me!

A. Me! Upset you? I don't bother talking to you. What are you talking about, that's what I'd like to know?

( Geoff enters. He is helping another resident with a walking frame to a chair.)

A. Oh, here he is. What did I weigh this week then, Geoff?

Geoff. What would you like it to be my darling?

A. (laughs) 10 stone please, no more, thank you very much.

Geoff. Well, that's what it is then my love, don't worry about it.

(Geoff leaves.)

B. What did he say?

A. (Preening herself) Says I only weigh 10 stone, that's good isn't it?

B. It is, considering the amount of pudding you put away at lunch.

A. How much do you weigh then? You don't know do you? See, that's what I was asking in first place.

B. (Mumbles something inaudible then closes her eyes to sleep. A. snorts in disgust, fiddles with her cardigan buttons before also nodding off.)

A short while later.

B. ( Opens her eyes suddenly and stares at A.) Oh, when did you get back?

A. Just now. The traffic's dreadful, don't know how people manage to get from A to B, never mind anything else. Anyway, how have you been, you look well.

B. Well, that's the thing, I don't know. Been trying to get hold of someone all day but they don't tell you anything in these places.

(Geoff enters with the tea trolley.

A. Here's someone now, why don't you ask him?

That Which Does Not Kill Us...

2011-06-15T10:11:00.010+01:00

Writing - question: What Keeps You Going? As posted by Scott Myers over on his blog: Go Into The Story.

My comment:
Not thinking about the audience anymore. Bit of a risky thing to say really isn't it when all the advice points to 'knowing your market'. I'm not sure I ever had or want a market, the words come I write them down and move on.

Am I telling the truth or is it only relevant to the way I feel right now? Having spent years reading writing magazines, reference books, novels, blogs, screenplay advice, anything and everything - you name it, I've read it etc, I think perhaps I am.

Things have gone a bit pear shaped recently and instead of commenting on the Theatre of Life, life has taken me/us by the scruff of the neck and forced us to wake up and open our eyes to reality. There's nothing quite like a trip to the Cancer Assessment Unit for Children to focus one's attention on the important stuff and the people who really matter to you. Before I go any further, let me reassure you that the child in question is fine but for a few days we were not so confident this would be the case. It was enough of a scare to make us question our priorities.

Our children are healthy - I can say that now.
We have a roof over our heads which is more than some.
We both have jobs with regular salaries.
We will not starve.

I enjoy writing but don't depend on it for a living. I am not deluding myself on this subject because I know the extent I'm willing to go in pursuit of a writing career and it's not at the expense of anyone I love no matter how understanding of my passion they may be. Sometimes I work harder than others depending on the idea involved, mostly, the words come from my present mood and have nothing to do with premeditation. I don't pretend to know more than I do or to be more than I am. When people read and comment it makes me happy and when they don't I move onto the next thought without worrying whether I gaffed or not. Boxofficegirl is of my own making, I created her and one day I may even kill her - who knows? The point is... She, 'it' is all part of an illusion, a play if you will, a telephone connected to the Universe to springboard thoughts, dreams, ideas and aspirations. Not something I live for but live with as part and parcel of every day life, paying particular attention to that last word and the subject I am focused on here. Life.

The past few weeks have been horrible and I thought it couldn't get much worse than having to watch a parent slowly surrender to the horrors of Alzheimer's way before their time; but the last few days have proved me wrong. I saw enough of the children's Cancer ward to cling to my own child with grateful thanks for not having to go any further down that road. I met a mother in the ward kitchen who has not been so fortunate and we know of other families too who have an ongoing battle in this field.

Although I've have never felt more devastated as when faced with such awful possibilities, it's true to say I've never felt more alive either. The blood pumping through my veins, mind racing, every sense acutely alert and fully present in the here and now. Life is not something we need to scrabble around for, it's who we are and how we engage with each other and deal with the challenges thrown our way, most often without warning. I don't need another experience of this nature to remind me how fortunate we are to be here but I also recognise that there will be times when we'll forget, become lazy again in our approach to life only to remember due to another sharp lesson forged by the wrath of frustrated Gods.

I'm off now to do the school run, so bloody thankful that I still can and when she comes out of the school gates I'm going to listen to her chatter about her day, share in her jokes, hold her hand and treasure it all because one day these moments will all be memories and as our family already knows to their cost, even these can be spirited away.

Phrase For Today.

2011-06-13T16:41:00.002+01:00

Family is a mixed blessing.

You're glad to have one, but it's also like receiving a life sentence

for a crime you didn't commit.

(Richard Prior - Comedian and Actor b.1940)

Every Cloud...

2011-06-03T13:30:00.003+01:00

Had an email from these good folk telling me my blog was featured on their pages:

http://scrapbooklayoutsideas.com/blog_awards/index.php?id=23348

Rather cheered me up actually so thank you very much and have a good day.

A New Kind of Normal.

2011-05-28T16:51:00.005+01:00

I've never really had a plan, five year or otherwise and must admit to mostly blundering and stumbling my way through life with the naivety of a wide eyed child waiting for someone to pop up and show me the way. Occasionally, I'll display an odd moment of clarity or direction as a passing nod to the powers that be just to show them I know what I'm doing or at least appear to do so.

This past month however has seen major upheaval for my family who have been swept along by a tidal wave of gargantuan proportions that would have us clinging to life as we knew it one minute and acutely aware of the need to focus and plan the next. It's hard to concentrate though because I'm so tired and because of the smell of freshly baked cakes wafting in from the kitchen. Current buns to be exact, like my mum used to make before a dreadful disease stole her ability and her memory. The smell is comforting and reminds me of a childhood where I would come running in from school to see what might be on offer at home; scones, rock cakes, lemon meringue or, groan...Current Buns! 'Because they're quick and easy' Mum used to say when we teased her lack of imagination that day. The very thing I tell my own children when they groan about my offerings only to find the dozen or so which had been in the Tupperware box disappeared overnight despite complaints.

I remember a mother who knitted ten to the dozen and could finish one sleeve of a cardigan in an evening while watching telly and reading the paper. Mental arithmetic was another of her gifts as was having eyes in the back of her head which we all learned to our cost on more than one occasion. Dishing up Sunday lunch for six or more, cycling to work with a child strapped in the seat behind her to drop off at play group on the way, bathing, feeding, changing our dirty clothes into a mountain of clean ironing like Rumpelstiltskin spinning straw into gold. Making bread, having a gathering of people over to share a buffet table where, if we were good, we could steal a crisp or two before the guests arrived. Prepping veg' in the morning only to rush home from work in her lunch break to add mixed herbs and gravy just so we could complain in the evening about having casserole for dinner again. Letting your friends come in even though the house was newly cleaned; and bleaching the grate outside the back door so that we could play marbles without getting germs.

The family home is full of her but from tomorrow we must begin to dismantle, label, collect and transport the heart of that home elsewhere. We must put our trust in strangers to do for her what she did for us. A lady who resembles our mum and smiles at us with vague recognition as though too polite to state she has forgotten who we are, will take up new residence amongst like minded folk. She is still our mum yet not, once a loving partner to a heart broken father she has changed roles in the play that is our lives and become someone else instead. Her smile is almost one of pity for the rest of us who cannot follow where she has gone. There is a certain calm in her demeanour as she observes our attempts to create a new kind of normal which demands we readjust our compass's and our maps.

I'm still trying to get my head around the fact that the day we all dreaded would one day arrive... is here. Her absence from the family home will only serve to brighten the beacon from her new one as we jostle for position to beat a road to her door. How she would laugh in her delightful confusion to see people with sound mind behave in such a way. How we must laugh at our own inability to let go long after she said goodbye.

What will become of us all mum, these displaced refugees you abandon in your wake? I don't have the answer but what I do have is needle and thread, some tape with your name on it and for the next few days at least - a plan.

Pink Suede.

2011-04-05T19:12:00.004+01:00

I posted this a few days ago but the configuration was not correct, so here's round two and thanks for your patience.

I fancy that I catch a glimpse of you sometimes looking your best

and waving from somewhere behind the gift stand trying

to attract my attention

before smiling and drifting away.

I see you found the pink suede suit again

with matching handbag and shoes...

It still looks good with your hair nicely done - a dash of make-up.

Not too much.

You loved coming here to browse, to dream, seduced

by the scent and the colours of spring

before spying the bedding plants!

We'd need a trolley just to keep pace with your dappled lit face

over violets and pinks.

Especially the pinks.

I will remember you this way in love with

the promise of new life; at your best sighing

with delight at the miniature tea-cups and plates

wondering who would appreciate the time,

the effort spent pondering before declaring

'How lovely!'

...like a child presented with the dearest gift except

now I see

that in reality

the most precious gift

was you.

Sixth Sense.

2011-03-23T22:11:00.006Z

What's that you're reading?

I'm learning how to get in touch with my Psychic powers, we all have the ability you know.

Uh uh. Will it take long?

It won't happen over night, I have to practice reaching my basic psychic level before I can go any further.

Right you are. How does that work then?

There are exercises to do, mental workouts, things like that.

Are you having a laugh?

No! It's very serious, now stop putting me off, I'm trying to count balloons.

Balloons.

You're not going to give me any peace are you! Yes, balloons. One of the ways to unlock your higher mind is to alter your state of consciousness by concentrating or visualizing colours and objects.

Oh. So what do you do with these balloons then?

I'm holding them in my hand, there's seven of them and they're all the colours of the rainbow, red, yellow, orange, green, blue, indigo and violet. First I take a red balloon, admire it for a moment and then let it go. I watch it as it floats higher and higher until eventually it disappears into the wispy clouds.

You're serious aren't you? Then what?

I'm not putting up with any of your negative vibes today thank you. Besides, I've protected myself with my Psychic Shield so think on.

Oh, God.

Anyway, once the red balloon had disappeared out of sight, I take the yellow balloon and do the same thing.

Well?

Well, what?

Does it work? Do you reach your higher mind or whatever you call it? Do great and wonderful things happen?

Err...

That'll be a NO then.

Now then, don't be cynical. I'm hesitating because so far, I haven't been able to finish the exercise.

Why not? It sounds simple enough. Lie down, relax and count balloons instead of sheep.

There-in lies the problem.

I see. How far did you get exactly?

Can't remember much beyond yellow.

Watching Me Watching You.

2011-02-17T16:22:00.005Z

Next time you visit the theatre, (because you do go, right?) and you're sitting comfortably in your seats, with a full view of course and no large heads or hats in front of you, ask yourself this one small question.

If the audience is watching the people on the stage, who is watching the audience?

In the Blood.

2011-02-15T19:59:00.017Z

I'd like to draw your attention to the picture of the Theatre auditorium on the right.

As you can see it has been take from the stage to show the full breadth of the Stalls, Dress Circle, Upper Circle and the dizzy heights of the top Balcony.

At one time or another I must have sold every single one of those seats a thousand times over for hundreds of different shows. I've even sat in a few of them too. I can tell you about full views, just off centre, semi-restricted, easy access, disabled seating, which side to sit for a quick getaway or for nipping to the bar or the loo and discuss whether a right side aisle or left would best suit your knee replacement not to mention problems with hearing and sight from this ear or that eye. There is no such thing as a silly question when it comes to booking theatre tickets - not as far as the punters are concerned anyway.

For reasons that I cannot quite fathom I've worked in box-office for over twenty years. First in London at The Royal Opera House and for the past nineteen years here at The Royal Centre in Nottingham which is made up of the Theatre Royal and Concert Hall and can be seen in the picture below.

Every day I think about leaving in favour of pursuing my chosen career...? Each day I turn up for work and plug away alongside my colleagues and question the method in our madness, for madness it surely is, to do the same thing day in day out in a world that can be fraught with anxiety one minute and have you rolling (literally) in the aisles the next. The adrenalin rush of those last few minutes before the House Manager calls backstage to give them the GO as late arrivals come charging through the front doors in sheer panic without tickets, without knowing where they're supposed to be seated or whose name they booked under. Usherettes querying what looks like a double booking until it transpires that Auntie Nelly forgot she had given her tickets to both Colin and Fred plus guests; or a small child crying because the House lights went down and it was all just a bit too dark and scary so demanded to be taken out before the orchestra came to life and the stage lights came up to reveal all the magic that had been promised.

In days gone by if anybody asked what I did for a living I would say something like: 'Well, at the moment I work in a box-office but it's only a stepping stone until I figure out what I really want to do.' And they would be impressed and ask the usual questions like: 'I bet you get to see all the shows! Or, the real question they want an answer to...'Can you get me any tickets?'

These days if I'm asked I generally say something vague like: 'Oh, admin.' Trust me, it's easier.

The truth is I'm quietly content with my lot. I like what I do. I like where I do it but more than that, I'm good at it because I understand people and their needs which can be more of a drama than the one they're buying tickets to see in some cases. This window into other peoples lives fuels my creative drive some days and just about kills it the next but I wouldn't want to be anywhere else.

Why would I.
It's in the blood.

My Big Fat New Look Blog!

2011-02-14T18:11:00.007Z

So, I made the leap and changed the blog design and now it's too late to go back to the old one - it's gone forever. I think I like this one, it certainly looks fresher and the type is a little bigger which makes for an easier read, hopefully. I did lose a couple of widgets along the way most notably the stats counter I had running at the bottom of the page has gone but since it was one I put there in the first place I guess I could soon put it back again if necessary. We'll see.

Anyway, welcome to the new and possibly improved blog, particularly if you've joined recently in which case a hearty thanks to you, hope you stick around to enjoy the ride.

The Call to Adventure.

2011-02-11T22:13:00.005Z

Been a bit lapse in the old posting department of late due to heavy work loads of the paid variety and the family also. I can't quite believe that mid-February is almost upon us and must hold my hands up in confession of not reading one book this year so far - not one. In my defence I have learned far more about the human condition in the past few months than any book could ever teach, fact, fiction or otherwise; there is no substitution for meeting life head on, facing up to the challenge when you think that you can't only to look back and realise you already have. If I wasn't so far deep into the woods already I might look for a way back but for now the darkness and the unexpected suits me.

This is a roller coaster ride folks and we ain't done yet.

Spotlight - Ian Burke.

2011-02-01T16:52:00.005Z

Here's a talented artist I would like to bring to your attention from the musical fraternity who's written and recorded all of his own material. My personal favourites are Everything, Helen I and Summer, have a listen and see what you think.

http://www.reverbnation.com/ianburke

Hold On to Your Memories.

2011-01-16T20:42:00.004Z

You haven't got rid of everything have you?
Don't be daft, have you seen how much stuff was in there?
I know, to be honest I can't bare to look. What's this? We can't let this go, it'll still look good on her shelf even when she's an old lady.
Who' s doing the job - you or me?
You but there's no way we are getting rid of this...or THIS, I wondered where that had gone.
We can't keep everything love, the place is rammed, it's time to move on. I've bagged up the stuff she's outgrown for the charity shop and the rest is rubbish - Oh don't start undoing the bags it's taken me all afternoon!
I'm only having a look calm down will you. I remember when we got these and your mum and dad gave her this Dora thing, let me see if it works.

' Adios!'

It does! surely we can keep it?

I'm not having this conversation, I'm going to start putting things in the car before she sees, she won't want to let anything go otherwise.

OK...Not the Egg People, don't take those! Or the Scooby-Doo stuff!

Alright but nothing else, we are not keeping anything else do you hear me!

I know, sorry, it's just that we'll never get these years again, she's growing so fast and this afternoon M has asked if she could start wearing make-up, it's not two minutes since we cleared out her toys is it.

Actually we didn't clear them out, we gave most of them to O.

You see, sentimental value, both of our girls childhood has been bagged up and booted today -it's too much. What's next, make-up AND boyfriends I suppose!

Boyfriends! Over my dead body! Here, we'll keep this bag and that's it do you hear me, nothing else! Tch, women!

Because sometimes life really is just too hard.

2011-01-01T18:09:00.002Z

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=7CbAjj80NIM

Happy New Year 2011.

2010-12-31T12:20:00.002Z

Wishing you a very Happy New Year and thanks for keeping the faith even though the postings have been few and far between recently. May the coming year bring peace, health and prosperity for us all.

Signs of Life.

2010-12-08T20:50:00.003Z

I ran a little ahead of myself and now I'm waiting for the rest of me to catch up. Normal service will be resumed eventually.

The Arms of Mater.

2010-10-31T16:29:00.018Z

I kneel before you and we both laugh in the struggle that ensues as minutes are spent forcing fresh socks onto stiff, twisted feet only for them to be soaked again in the effort required to stand.

Your face says it all.

Bless you.
It's not your fault.
Sit down, we'll try again.

The underwear's a challenge
but with one deft move and a little co-operation - your arms do seem to have a mind of their own, (at least some part of you does,) - a little manipulation and snap!
We're in business.

I just need a minute...

Now then, what about these trousers?

I hold them up and contemplate the next crucial move.
Climbing the north face would be easier.
Let's take it one leg at a time.

OK. Can you lift your foot - no, this one. Well done.
Take your time, there is no rush.
We have all day.

Your eyes beseech mine in frustration and it's all that I can do to hold back the swell of
A tidal wave of pain threatening to wash us both away.
I dam the cracks and smile instead,
All is not lost
Not lost.

Right, now this leg.
Steady, hold onto me,
Don't worry, I won't let go.
I'll never let go.

Your bony fingers grip mine, clinging on for dear life as
I must have clung to you once and no -
The irony has not gone unnoticed,
it's just too much to deal with right now.

Are you ready, arms up!

Alright, let's do it your way, half way is better than no way at all.
I'll pull your fingers through and the rest...should...follow.
That's better, almost there.

Where on earth did I put the shoes?

It's all very well you sitting there smiling,
what have you done with them, you rascal?
Ha! Here they are, you can't fool me.
Not anymore.

Shall we try standing again?

Put your arms around me and we'll go on three.

One...

Two...

I know, I know,
If we could only peel back the years eh?
I think you'd find that
this is no more than
you have already done...

for me.

The Customer's Revenge.

2010-10-23T15:38:00.007+01:00

Hello?

(On the phone.)

Hello, yes - I'd like to make a complaint please.

OK. Could you tell me a little bit more about the nature of the complaint.

What was that?

I said can you tell me what the complaint is concerning so that I can put you through to the correct person?

You'll have to speak up, I can't hear you.

Can you hear me now - is that better!

(Adjusts volume.)

No, still can't hear you - just a minute!

(Line goes quiet.)

I've put you on hands free, see if that works.

Right. You were saying you wanted to make a complaint, what was the complaint about?

It's no good I still can't hear you, you'll have to shout!

I SAID, HOW CAN WE HELP YOU WITH YOUR COMPLAINT?

(Hears lots of people laughing in the background on the other end of the line.)

I rang yesterday and tried to speak to someone about a booking but they kept saying they couldn't hear me so I thought I'd prove a point about how frustrating that was and now I have.

(Line goes dead.)

May I Help?

2010-10-21T14:39:00.004+01:00

Yesterday a lady took great pleasure in telling me she was no friend of our theatre if we were going to charge a booking fee on tickets.

'It's positively retrograde of you!' were the exact words she spat from a perfectly formed cosmetic pout.

Ironically, I agree with her which is why I bent over backwards to appease whilst charging her said amount at the same time. There was no gratitude shown for the service she'd received and her displeasure was most definitely punctuated by the aggressive high-click stab of heels crossing the foyer in angry departure.

My next customer was a young man training to be a primary school teacher. He wanted to book tickets for the ballet as a gift for his girlfriend of two years, he didn't have his student I.D. with him and no cash, only a card. I gave him the discount without batting an eye and forgot to charge him a booking fee too.

Life can be like that sometimes don't you find?

Take Your Seats!

2010-10-19T11:31:00.005+01:00

Just thought I'd say a big warm official welcome to those of you who have recently joined us here at the Box-Office! Please take your seats ladies and gentlemen, the performance will begin in three minutes, that's three minutes - thank you!

The performance is about to begin please make sure all mobile phones are switch off. Latecomers will be seated at the earliest opportunity - Enjoy the show!

Give 'em the old razzle dazzle

Razzle Dazzle 'em

Give 'em an act with lots of flash in it

And the reaction will be passionate

Give 'em the old hocus pocus

Bead and feather 'em

How can they see with sequins in their eyes?

What if your hinges all are rusting?

What if, in fact, you're just disgusting?

Razzle razzle 'em

And they;ll never catch wise!

Give 'em the old Razzle Dazzle

Razzle dazzle 'em

Give 'em a show that's so splendiferous

Row after row will crow vociferous

Give 'em the old flim flam flummox

Fool and fracture 'em

How can they hear the truth above the roar?

Throw 'em a fake and a finagle

They'll never know you're just a bagel,

Razzle dazzle 'em

And they'll beg you for more!

Chirpy-Chirp.

2010-10-15T21:56:00.006+01:00

Now what are you doing?

I'm just having a quick look at Twitter.

Aren't you supposed to be outlining that sitcom pilot?

Well, yeah...I sort of have.

Oh, right, let's have a look then, is it in this file?

Hum, needs polishing, I'll show you later.

Why have you got hand written notes all over the back of invoices? I can't make head nor tale of what's happening or who your characters are.

It's still a work in progress - ooh, listen to this, someones just posted a really good joke -

STOP right there! Have you heard yourself! Who cares if someone you don't know has posted some daft joke or what his sister's uncle's dog's called, you're supposed to be cracking on with this script. You've just spent good money on software you told me you couldn't live without and then the minute it's installed you lose all interest! I don't understand you, you say you want to be a writer and then spend all your time avoiding writing by wiling away precious hours on this page and that page chatting and tippy-tapping away like some kind of demented woodpecker! What is that all about?

It's called networking. I could write a brilliant script, the best script ever written in the history of film and television and it wouldn't mean diddly unless the right person read it so I'm networking, you know, getting my name out there, ducking and diving, wheeling and dealing, that kind of thing.

Oh, well, excuse me! I had no idea that reading jokes on Twitter was considered wheeling and dealing. I do dig your garden and go to the foot of our stairs with wellies on, my goodness me and to think I accused you of time wasting. Had I known I was in the presence of industrial greatness in my own living room I would have worn sunglasses before entering. So, these friends you say you've met, been round for tea have they?

Don't be ridiculous, you know what I mean. Technology today is amazing and our ability to connect with people on the other side of the world at the click of a mouse still blows me away. You won't believe the amount of like-minded souls I've hooked up with, all scribbling away somewhere in the world -

They're not though are they? They're no more scribbling away than you are because the soft twits, tweet-tie-birds, whatever you want to call them are all perched on a line twittering and getting nothing done. The only craft they or you are mastering is the art of chirpy- chirpy-cheep-cheep. Now what are you doing?

I've had enough of your insults for one day, I'm going to bed.

You going to cuddle up to your lap-top are you, should be cosy, and will your friends be popping in for a chat too? Tell them to bring some milk because I just had the last in my tea.

You know what your trouble is don't you?

Enlighten me please, I shan't sleep otherwise.

You have no...no...'Raison d'être'

That may be but cometh the hour you'll be panicking because you don't have a script ready where as I have no problems when it comes to ordering classic french cuisine - Goodnight.

Twit.

2010-10-05T09:36:00.006+01:00

Finally succumbed to the idea of Twitter and must say that so far have 'met' many like-minded comrades on the road to discovery as well as being delighted to bump into a few good friends from the blog too. You can find me here, there or on Facebook just click on the links down the left side column and never fear, Boxofficegirl is always on duty wherever she is!

The Optimist

2010-09-28T20:51:00.004+01:00

What did that lady want just now?

Front row centre dress circle for tonight.

How dare she!

I know, I could hardly contain myself.

Raise the Bar.

2010-09-26T14:53:00.007+01:00

What would you do if you didn't write?

I was chatting with a friend yesterday about how it feels when yet another rejection finds it's way to your door. We agreed that the problem was not so much about the rejection, (yes, it's disappointing,) but has more to do with finding the energy to go through the whole process of submission again from researching possible recipients to organizing yourself with enough postage to cover each way as you send your baby off again with a kiss and a prayer. It takes time, paper and ink to print a hard copy of anything let alone a couple of hundred pages, unless of course you're able to send by email but even that must be precise and correct according to the particular submission guidelines of the agent/publisher in question.

There are times when we can be forgiven for thinking to hell with it, what's the point when there are so many other people out there all trying for the same thing and chances are they are definitely more talented and know far more, have read much more...whatever.

I don't feel this way although I've had my moments and even come pretty close to shutting the blog down and walking away for good BUT.

It wouldn't be long before the itch would strike again and my fingers would be feeling around for a pen, pencil, scrap of paper, anything to jot down a conversation overheard on the bus, or note a particular attitude from a customer I couldn't help but tune into and wonder about in terms of character.

I've read and heard a lot about submissions where entries were of such a high standard and how difficult it was to make a decision, how people need to raise their game if they're to have any hope of succeeding and can't help but think it's no different wherever you go regardless of the type of job you're applying for whether it be mainstream or otherwise. So I say this...

Raise the bar, I'll jump over it.
Lower it and I'll limbo down as far as I can go.
Fire up the coals, I'll walk over them because there will come a time when it matters not what someone else thinks and I will still write. There will be a wall somewhere with my signature on it and you might not know my name but it will be enough to have entertained a small crowd for a short while.

The alternative is unthinkable.

Loglines Parts Deux

2010-09-23T10:01:00.008+01:00

I told you it wouldn't work!

Oh, do be quiet I'm trying to think.

Yes, well, it's a pity you didn't start thinking a little bit sooner and then we wouldn't be in this mess would we?

And you can stop looking so damned pleased with yourself, you were all for it when we started.

That's because you said it couldn't fail.

Hm, seems my cunning plan wasn't so cunning after all. I would've bet good money on them falling over themselves to get into the comment box this time.

They were falling over themselves, running in the opposite direction. There was a three car pile up on the M1 and all of the victims were writers. It was on the news.

How in the name of women-on-the-edge everywhere did I get lumbered with you?

Providence, I should think.

Providence! Community Service more like. Don't you ever listen to a word I say?

I try very hard not to.

Sigh. So, to re-cap, the deadline is Friday, we have exactly nil points on the score board when it comes to ideas; which is even less than we scored in the Eurovision last year and our get-rich-quick scheme is teetering on the edge of a very steep precipice...What's that smell?

It's fear.

Fear? Of what?

Of whatever donkey-do-do scheme you're about to come up with next.

We need a plan my lovely, one that smacks of stealth and ingenuity by Machiavellian proportions but more importantly, one that doesn't leave a trail to our door.

You could just -

Shush! I can see it now, the stage, the lights, the rapturous applause and Tom Hanks handing over the Oscar.

Hum, yes. You're quite far down the line now aren't you? Almost, one might say, dangerously self-delusional.

Do you have any other suggestions?

Actually, I do. You could just...

Come, let's hear these pearls of wisdom before http://scriptdoctoreric.com/ announces Logline Friday is open for entries. Shower me with enlightenment, pith and wit. Do, please, I beseech you.

...write it yourself.

Loglines.

2010-09-20T15:04:00.005+01:00

I've been having a nosey around the web looking for examples of Loglines. The idea is to encapsulate your novel/script into a one or two sentence pitch in order to entice the recipient into reading the whole manuscript, or at least the first ten pages anyway. (Let's not get ahead of ourselves here.)

For example:

A depressed cat, fed up with being savaged daily by the neighbours dog decides to exact revenge by inviting her lioness cousin to stay.

Ha, quite like that idea actually, maybe even worth running with. No? OK, well you get the idea. One of the benefits of beginning your script/novel with a Logline is to find out if it's got 'legs' and is also a useful tool to refer back to when the work begins to slip into unknown territory.

So.

I thought it might be fun for any regular readers and perhaps even the not so regular readers to have a bash at this and see what we can come up with.

The prize?

An idea you had never dreamt of until now which might just take you all the way.

Good luck.

Reality Check.

2010-09-11T14:37:00.004+01:00

So, I've had my first NO on the script which is fine and not totally unexpected. Onwards and upwards then, at least I'm now free to send it elsewhere and send it I shall just as soon as I've gone through it once more with a fine tooth comb. In the mean time I've been researching people and places I wouldn't ordinarily have had access to; it's funny how life can throw you a challenge every now and then and if you're willing to accept and go along with the flow the rewards can be quite surprising and unparalleled. This past week has certainly opened my eyes and given me back the incentive to quit sitting on my hands and crack on with another script. No excuses now, the school holidays are over and a new term is under way; it's time to dust off those pencil cases and start work.

By the way, I've still not heard a peep from the boss who has been sitting on his copy for some time now.

I feel a little chat coming on.

Been a While.

2010-09-03T15:26:00.003+01:00

I'm not sure my fingers can remember what to do but let's give it a whirl anyway eh?

Why? You've got nothing to report, not about The Script at any rate?

No, there's nothing to report on that but they might like to know what we've been up to since we last spoke don't you think?

OK, get on with it already, people have got better things to do than hang onto your every word lady.

Shush, you're putting me off, now where were we? Oh, yes, the holiday. We went up to Yorkshire didn't we and stayed in the cottage, that was lovely, pity we had to move on but then had we known what we know now we'd have probably stayed put but never mind.

Are you talking about the place in Norfolk?

Of course, it wasn't that bad.

Speak for yourself, too many mirrors for my liking.

Yes, there were rather a lot of those but it was very pretty don't you think, very quintessential England?

If you say so, I suppose, yes alright, during the day it was picturesque, very chocolate box, but...

I know what you're going to say...

At night it was down right creepy - there, I've said it.

Sigh.

Even you have to admit there was something, you know...odd about the place.

It's a shame because it really was a pretty place by day.

So you did sense something? I knew it!

Alright, there may have been a certain undercurrent, a something I couldn't quite put my finger on.

Ha! What about the clock? Tell them about the clock!

Oh come now, that was something and nothing. Probably just dust.

It was not just dust, that clock was perfectly all right in Yorkshire and then the minute we stepped foot into that other place -

It stopped. It was a bit weird wasn't it?

It was spooky that's what it was and I'm telling you now...we weren't alone.

Oh come on that's ridiculous, of course we were it's just that the place took on a different atmosphere at night that's all, you're being over dramatic.

So how do you explain what happened?

I don't know, like I said, dust.

So even though we tried all those different batteries and nothing, the minute we go out and buy a new clock...

The old one started working again, it proves nothing.

Someone or something was messing with us. What about the chair?

A chair like that was always going to have history it was Victorian.

But you said you felt as though someone was sitting in it, you had to turn the other way to sleep you said, couldn't settle you said...

Oh for goodness sake. Yes, the chair freaked me out a little bit but honestly other than that the place was fine.

Hm.

I think you were put off because it was an old chapel, you didn't like the nooks and crannies.

No I didn't like the nooks and crannies or not being able to see who was coming down the corridor even though I could hear someone quite clearly and called out.

I told you we were all outside, it must have been an echo from the garden.

Do I look as if I came down with yesterday's rain! There was someone in the house I tell you and it was broad daylight.

You have to admit that the Hamlet was lovely even if it was in the middle of no-where.

Middle of no-where, it was the village of the damned, not even a bloody mobile signal. They could have made their move any time they wanted and no-one would have been any the wiser.

Calm down, who are you talking about now?

Them, in the house.

Them? There's more than one now is there?

Has to be, a place like that's probably got loads of hangers on.

So you don't want to book for next year then?

Are you trying to be funny?

There and Back Again.

2010-08-15T17:21:00.003+01:00

Been away on holiday and now I'm back although strangely still not ready to commit to a full post just yet. Hope you're all well and I'll catch up with you soon, happy days.

Show Time!

2010-06-22T10:27:00.015+01:00

Last Friday and Saturday night saw the curtain go up on the first ever Ilkeston Youth Theatre production and what a show it was. Songs, dance and plays, they did a cracking job and here are a couple of pic's for your perusal.

Above left is the opening number of Radio Ga Ga, and below, scenes from A Mining Disaster, a play set at the turn of the last century written by my good friend, Roy Scott.

The cast were in good voice and the audience were appreciative even on Friday when England were playing - I think it's fair to say judging by England's game that the youth theatre were leagues ahead when it came to giving an impressive performance.

We Will Rock You to the left here and to the right a scene from A Small Matter of the Heart written by yours truly. A short sketch about a group of rowdy teenagers in conflict with an elderly couple at the local bus stop.

It was a couple of evenings to be proud of not least because we saw our children in a whole new light. For their part, they've trodden the boards and acquired a taste for performance declaring they can't wait to get back into rehearsals and auditions for the Christmas show which will begin very soon. All I can say is well done Roy and Rowena for whipping them into pretty good shape and presenting a show we'll all remember for a very long time.

I promised my daughter I wouldn't cry and I didn't...not in front of her anyway.

Follow the link for more photo's http://www.facebook.com/home.php?#!/group.php?gid=241276494020&v=photos&ref=ts

Break a Leg.

2010-06-13T15:07:00.004+01:00

With less than a week to go before their big night, the Ilkeston Youth Theatre group are all twitters and nerves as they buzz in and out of last minute rehearsals. I feel for them I really do, all that excitement and potential not to mention the camaraderie as they anticipate opening night on Friday. Bit of bad luck that England play their second match at the same time but the die hards will be there and there's always Saturday when the place will be rammed to the rafters with the guilty no-shows from the previous evening. As I said to my eldest - 'gives you a chance to get rid of the nerves'. So it's all go from here with props arriving and costume sorting to be done not to mention make-up. If she's told me once she needs to plaster herself in moisturiser before putting any on she's told me a hundred times already.

Today is technical rehearsal with instructions to 'please bring a snack'
Thursday is dress rehearsal from 6.30pm with an aim to be done by 9.30 'if all goes well'
Friday and Saturday is SHOW TIME at 7.30pm and tickets cost £4.00 no concessions -including me and I wrote one of the plays!

I'm very proud of them all but particularly of her as I've watched her bloom and grow (there's a song in there in somewhere,) over the past few months and she deserves her moment in the spot light this weekend. England game or no I'll be somewhere in the crowd, or could just possibly be the crowd, cheering them on and clapping until my hands smart as my girl makes her debut. I wouldn't miss it for the world (cup.)

Still Waiting...

2010-06-08T16:38:00.004+01:00

Just an update on the situation regarding 'the script' as it's known round these 'ere parts.

Not much to tell so far as the boss, after three very long weeks for me, still has it in his possession and I've not heard so much as a whisper from the hallowed ground and well worn carpet of the admin' corridor. I'm thinking he's either; given it to someone else to read who's been away on holiday and only just got back, read it and forgotten all about it which doesn't bode well, not read it and forgotten all about it which bodes even less well, is using it to prop open his door on muggy/humid weather days, can't find the right moment to give me the bad news on what he really thinks...or...is so spell bound by the genius of a part time box office clerk is even now sitting at his desk with the phone glued to his ear desperately trying to broker a deal with an independent TV company.

My money's on the former.

Of course there is the other alternative...His job is a tad busier and more demanding than mine and although 'the script' is on his 'to do' list I doubt that his PA has seen any need to stamp URGENT all over it thus far.

Hm, I wonder what time she goes out for lunch..?

Amazon Reviews for Another Night at the Circus.

2010-06-01T16:16:00.002+01:00

Thought I'd throw this in for Rose who's probably going to link as well but every little helps as they say.

http://www.amazon.com/Another-Night-Circus-Rose-Hunter/dp/1451553811/ref=sr_1_1?ie=UTF8&s=books&qid=1275405296&sr=1-1

Reviews are written by both Don and myself, let's hope they help to bring in a few sales.

The Circus is Coming to a Town Near You.

2010-05-23T16:40:00.003+01:00

I've got that hands in pockets scuffing in the dirt kind of feeling since finishing the script and today the weather is very hot-hot. There are of course many other things I could be working on but...just can't quite raise an eyebrow to them at the mo'. Considering I've not actually posted the damn thing anywhere yet I suppose I ought to get used to the waiting or better still fill the time with something useful. At least I'm reading again, I find I can't do both, read and write at the same time I mean but then I always was an all or nothing kind of girl.

What was that...? Oh, sorry, it's called Another Night at the Circus by my good friend Rose Hunter.

You can find her over at: http://rosehunterblog.blogspot.com/ Now don't get me wrong, I like to think I've lived but Alex, the main character in the book, well this girl has really lived and I have to say that reading about her adventures puts me in touch with my wild side, she gives a girl a sense of liberation, of being in control of her own destiny even when the going gets tough - and it does. When I pick up this book I want to let my hair down, put my shades on and just go with the flow. It's a good feeling, you should try it.

The Waiting Game.

2010-05-18T15:33:00.004+01:00

For those of you who drop in here from time to time, (thanks by the way,) you'll know that the posts have been a bit few and far between recently due to me putting every spare hour into developing a script idea. Well, the script is finished in as much as I've done and given all I can to it and today I handed it to my boss at work who has very kindly said he will read it. I feel sick and excited all at the same time.

I've worked in a box office for more than twenty years, ridiculous isn't it that it should take me until now to discover resources that have been staring me in the face all this time? Quite frankly I blame it on the kids, they will insist on being fed and clothed, then there's the bills to pay and before you know it dreams are shelved and become something you dust and chat about with friends every now and then...

A couple of years ago my steady, not unhappy world was rocked by the news that jobs in the box office were going to be streamlined which meant only one thing, redundancies. If I was going to make this writing thing work I needed to get a move on and so Boxofficegirl the blog was born. If I hadn't done that I would never have met Brad or through him Don who pointed out to me that I was not a novelist but rather a dramatist and maybe should spend some time working on that direction. You're not a Horse dear, go play with the Ostriches. I wrote to Don recently to thank him for the nudge into the next field, he underplayed his role as I knew he would but promises to be there on opening night. If there ever is such a thing I will most certainly hold him to his word; and if it all goes pear shaped?

I'll keep you posted.

Phrase For Today.

2010-05-11T21:15:00.000+01:00

Measure for Measure

"Our doubts are traitors, and make us lose the good we oft might win, by fearing to attempt". - (Act I, Scene IV).

(William Shakespeare)

Surfacing.

2010-04-12T17:34:00.005+01:00

Just taking a bit of a break from a world which has scarily, taken over me.

I began adapting the youth theatre script as a 'calling card' for television and soon realised that I had plenty of work to do. The original is only about 15 minutes long and to make the story work for TV, I need it to be around 90 minutes so you see what I'm up against. A couple of the characters, including the main one, have undergone name changes and acquired families I knew nothing about until I unearthed them. The more I live in their world the harder it is to come back to reality; I am obsessed to the point of exhaustion and find I cannot bare to be apart from them for more than a couple of hours at a time in case they do something without my knowledge. I lay awake at night thinking about this scene or that, would he/she really behave in this way and is there a need for words at all when action could say far more?

I printed off the first 20 pages and soon found that the words on the page sound very different to the spoken word when read out loud. I became the characters, standing this way then that, feeling the emotion running through their veins. Stanislavsky would be proud of my method acting and I knew that degree in Drama would come in handy one day.

I'm having the time of my life. I love the process of script writing, how immediate it is; how vital and alive the characters are as they spring off the page, visible within seconds telling their stories faster than I can type sometimes. I have so many ideas, anything and everything I contemplated for a short story or character study will find a home now, no more wandering aimlessly between the pages of a forgotten notebook or blog post.

Come my darlings, come toward the light!

HAYLING ISLAND by Steve Clement-Large.

2010-03-15T09:18:00.008Z

'Hi Steve, I'd like a painting of Hayling Island down in Hampshire. It's where Paul grew up and spent summers fishing with his friends. He misses the sea and I'd like to give him something to remind him of his childhood home.'

This picture is what Steve came up with and now hangs proudly in our home. We love it, even more so because it's a one off original by a very talented artist. The colours are scorching, reminding us of the long hot summers of our youth and a promise of the ones yet to come.

You can find Steve over on http://mydogateart.blogspot.com/ or click on the link down in the left column of this blog. At the moment his work is reasonably priced so now is the time to invest before the big guns over at Christies and Sotheby's get the nod on the next big thing to hit the art world.

The Blog is Dead Long Live the Don.

2010-02-02T16:44:00.002Z

It saddens me that Don Merritt can no longer be found blogging randomly from that corner of cyberspace I have long associated with him ever since we came into contact with each around eighteen months ago. He was part of my daily Internet checks starting with email - blog - followed by Don or Brad's blog depending on who had posted most recently followed by anyotherbusiness. In virtual terms, I know these garden gates and paths like the back of my hand but now one of those houses is empty, vacant, return to sender, address unknown.

Coincidentally, just as I joined Facebook to see what all the fuss was about, Don joined too. Brad was already there as was Rose and a few others have cropped up along the way so we are once again reunited in friendship with a great big Hooray!

I will continue to blog onwards and hopefully upwards. It is time consuming and there is always the fear that the little bit of creative energy I had in me that day was spent on the blog rather than 'the next big thing' on the best seller list but I'm happy to continue for now. Don has his reasons and I must say that on the whole I can see where he's coming from. He has 'killed his darlings' as one famous quote has it in order to realise the bigger picture which for a Novelist is sometimes the only way to go.

The Blog is dead but you can still find Don on Facebook looking very much alive, well and ready for the next big adventure. Isn't that right Don?

Golden Opportunity.

2010-01-26T21:12:00.006Z

I had a meeting today with a friend of mine who runs a youth drama group. He has asked me to come up with a script for about five-six characters, something upbeat, which will last for approximately fifteen minutes or in writer's terms, eleven sides of A4.

I'm quite chuffed about this.

There is no financial gain before you ask but what it does present is a chance to show myself and others what I can do and see it played out in front of an audience. I have known this chap for ten years plus, he's been an active member of the local amateur dramatics during that time and when he mentioned a year or two ago that he thought eleven to sixteen year old would benefit from a group of their own which he would run, I took a certain amount of interest but no more than that. It's his thing, like trying to write is mine. We have a lot in common on many levels, his kids attend the same school as our eldest, but we don't tread on each other's artistic toes.

Thinking about it now as I write this it seems ridiculous to me that we didn't venture down this road before now. We've had many conversations in the past about books and writing etc, but never put our heads together on a combined project. I'm looking forward to the challenge and the hands on experience of seeing my words brought to life in fact ideas are already starting to flow. I've been so busy concerning myself with trying to come up with the next big thing in terms of writing that a golden opportunity almost slipped through my fingers. Even Alan Bennett had to start somewhere and so I'm more than happy, honoured, to make my start right here on the doorstep.

Journals and Diaries.

2010-01-15T16:49:00.002Z

This was actually written for another forum but I thought it would be an interesting subject for discussion here too.

I've just been catching up with the wonderful series, 'Dear Diary' which is showing on BBC4 in three parts. (The final part is next Monday so you can still see the first two if you're quick on BBC iPlayer.) Mariella Frostrup presented this week in a bid to discover what it takes to write a compelling diary, noting that the best ones became compulsive reading simply because they were never written to be published therefore allowing the reader unlimited/uncensored access into the author's private world. As an aspiring writer I have always jotted thoughts down but never managed to keep a diligent daily record of events in a particular order. There have been attempts at 'morning pages' and moments that demanded to be recorded with time and date but these are patchwork and scatty at best.

So I wondered how many of you do keep regular dates with your diaries and journals and if this was helpful to you in terms of dividing your writing between the personal and creative? Do you allow yourselves to write freely and unhindered knowing that nobody else will ever read what you write, or is there perhaps a fear that the words will somehow leak out and you can't help but edit as you write on the off-chance that one day they might find their way into the public domain?

House of Eeyore.

2010-01-04T09:23:00.006Z

I've been having a virtual holiday as well as one from the normal routines of daily life by spending time looking around at other web sites to see what the general feeling about writing might be. My ears are now clogged with the buzz of thousands, millions of conversations going on all over the Internet, all over the world. It truly is an amazing thing. Everyone has something to say on the subject and there are a few who like to push their point home in a very determined manner whilst those with a quieter, softer approach are in danger of becoming lost in the melee. I'm not sure just how much the former hope to endear themselves to would be agents or publishers but they do appear to practice the 'he who shouts loudest' philosophy rather freely, verbally bashing anyone who stands in their way or dares to disagree unless they prove themselves to be a worthy adversary. Not an easy task for the frail and vulnerable.

Something else that has struck me is how difficult it is to read/understand the comments that people from different cultural backgrounds make. What could be deemed as light hearted here was taken very seriously elsewhere and vice versa. It makes me wonder just how much time the individual spends in front of their computer screens, as oppose to engaging with the world in the physical sense, for minor details to become such major issues?

On the plus side, the challenges can be rewarding. Being alive in the world, having an opinion and somewhere to put it without undue risk to one's personal safety, encourages a healthy attitude towards debate and respect for the views of others. Something I have always felt was practised here to be honest and although I may wander abroad from time to time to see what the other fella' thinks, these few sticks of virtual furniture will always be home to me.

2010

2010-01-01T12:06:00.001Z

A very Happy New Year 2010 to you all.

Have Yourselves a Merry Little Christmas...

2009-12-23T22:43:00.005Z

I'd like to wish you all a very Happy Christmas. Thank you for reading, commenting, laughing, sighing, despairing, groaning but most of all thank you for showing up and being here with me - especially you Clive if you're out there reading this. The card's on it's way dear friend.

It Ain't What You Do...

2009-12-11T17:03:00.010Z

Actually I'm a bit cheesed off.

Having thrown myself into the lion's den and with shaking hand pressed 'send' to various agents and publishers as well as sticking good old fashioned stamps onto envelopes, the euphoria has left me and I am faced with the harsh reality of what it means to begin the laborious job of filing rejections, tweaking and going through the pain barrier all over again.

Today I made a telephone enquiry. The Agent returned my call much to my astonishment but only to politely inform me she is not taking on any more clients, her ‘books’ are full.

Hey ho.

On the plus side, I do now feel like a writer. In fact I was quite proud to print and file the first couple of email blanket messages of ‘thanks but no-thanks,’ having learned a thing or two in my approach to the movers and shakers down in London. They were some of the big players to be fair and I knew I was batting out of my league but still felt it was worth a shot if only to get a handle on how these things work.

Today has been a mixed bag of shifting moods and the weather hasn’t helped either. We woke up to freezing fog followed by drizzle - you couldn't move without being dripped on. I should have read the signs and not made that call today. The fact that our youngest was crying in the background after being reprimanded didn’t show me/us in the best light I fear. I don’t think this particular agent’s answer would have been any different on another day just that I might have received the news more gracefully had I taken on board the very lesson of patience I’d been preaching only moments earlier.

Frame of mind is everything. A few weeks ago I was possessed by enough self confidence and positive thinking to lead an army to victory; today I couldn’t find my way to the high street without feeling paranoid and suspicious of everyone around me.

Here is where I shall draw the line on the negative.
-------------------------------------------------------

I’m off to cash up now and pull the curtains on another day in the box office. Tomorrow will bring fresh opportunities and as many chances as we are willing to give ourselves and those around us to show up, raise a smile and try again.

White Knuckle Ride.

2009-12-03T20:45:00.005Z

The journey to work can be fraught with danger. Take the other day for example, our driver was somewhat heavy footed on the breaks, we took a couple of curbs on rails narrowly missing a cyclist and an elderly couple on the zebra crossing. Passengers were rocked from side to side involuntarily introducing themselves to one another by sheer force of body contact. Laughing nervously you find yourself nodding to regular faces with raised eyebrows wondering if today will be the day when you can make a genuine call of emergency and let the boss know that you might be a tad late.

I've had some ding dongs with drivers in the past over the shifting price of fares, one day it's this another that depending on who's behind the wheel and the time on the clock. 'Jobsworth' doesn't nearly cover the colourful rants rushing through my brain at moments such as these.

Last winter we had heavy snow, heavy for us you understand before you start cramming my comment box with feet and inches of personal experience. I left the house ready for action, kitted out in boots, hat, heavy weather coat, the works. The bus arrived straight away. 'Hero,' came to mind as I paid yet another differing amount to the smiling elderly driver I recognised as being one of the good guys. I sat down to the background noise of muffled mobile conversations relaying information about how late the bus was and would be. On time for me, an hour and half late for them I realised. Another hour passed and we hadn't moved much further than a couple of miles, things were beginning to look pretty bad and people were growing anxious. I made my call and contemplated my next move.

The driver took a call on his phone, it wasn't good news, he'd been ordered to turn back. People complained to him and each other, some got off, some refused to get off, women sat chewing their lips.

' If you wanna get to the city, I'll take you, if not jump off and another bus'll pick you up heading the other way. There's still a few of us on the road trying to make it in,' he announced with a hint of war time spirit.

Some stayed, I baled being nearer home than work. I looked at his lined face and crinkled eyes as I reached the exit and he grinned at me which left me concerned for his well being.

'Will you be OK?' I enquired.

'Don't you worry about me love, you get yourself home, alright?'

I didn't want to leave him then just in case but his grin widened, I suspect out of enjoyment for the drama he'd found himself in. I remember watching his tail lights inch bravely onwards through the snow.

A few of us were picked up on the way back by a lone vision of yellow ploughing it's way courageously across the moor road. Like survivors in a disaster movie we flagged him down with exaggerated relief, anyone and everyone got on and the driver didn't ask for money or passes, he just waved us into the bus and crawled on searching for more stranded, displaced victims.

I've flagged the old boy down a few times over recent months and he always smiles when he sees it's me, we have become comrades in arms. Last week I saw him twice and he wouldn't allow me to pay at all.

'Snow'll be 'ere soon,' he nods at the sky grinning.

'Hope not,' is my response laughing at his childlike anticipation.

There's been other adventures since and more wranglings over the price of a journey but I'd rather pay up than take the car any day. You never know what's going to happen when you get on the yellow bus, from unannounced diversions taking you on a mystery tour, to strangers becoming friends for life just because they were there at the time. In the end it's the thrill of the ride that counts more than the destination and I wouldn't have it any other way.

Phrase for Today.

2009-11-26T22:46:00.003Z

I had to come out to see if I was in.

(Unknown UK writer residing in Derbyshire.)

Welcome to My World.

2009-11-16T09:22:00.002Z

Morning.

Alright.

He fixes me with that look.

What?

Oh nothing, just checking out your choice of wardrobe that's all - keep your hair on.

Mm.

I log on. He watches me from beneath half closed lids while tapping away on his mobile. I sense he's on the prowl and decide to get in first.

Andrew? I rest my chin onto knitted fingers and give him my best wide eyed and innocent.

May I help? Shoots me that 'give it your best shot' look.

Have you ever felt the need to try on women's clothes?

He pauses. I've got him now.

No, you snarled toothed old crone - Have you?

Damn that boy.

The Compliant Ones.

2009-11-14T09:18:00.004Z

Anything left for this? (flashes a leaflet in my face.)

Sure, how many is it for please?

Four, if you've got them. Wherever you think best.

OK. Do you prefer the stalls or would you like to go upstairs, I have good seats in both areas? ( I show them the seating plan.)

(He mops his large bold head which is dripping profusely onto the counter top. His wife smiles benevolently. Neither have any intention of committing.)

Wherever you think will give us a good view, you know best. Don't worry, we won't come looking for you, just give us some decent seats. (They both laugh in an affected relaxed manner.)

I can see where this is heading but find at least three options of seating to show them which they study. They look at each other and then back at me. She is still smiling in a -'We are determined not to be any trouble.' - kind of way.

Yeah, any of those. Wherever you would be happy sitting is fine.

Perhaps they really don't mind and it's time to close this sale.

I usually sit downstairs, these are a bit off- centre but you will see the artist's faces very clearly. OK?

They both nod and he shrugs his shoulders totally non-plussed. I begin the process of booking still not entirely convinced. As I'm typing I see her out of the corner of my eye squinting at the seating plan, her index finger travelling over the seats I am about to book. She traces an imaginary eye line from the seats to the stage. She looks at him, he's busy soaking up the perspiration which shows no sign of abating. I wonder at this unpleasant affliction imagining the extent of their weekly laundry. Pillow cases, in particular, must be a nightmare. In my head I begin to count. 10...she tries to nudge him discreetly 9...he catches her eye and she raises her eyebrows 8...

Postcode please? 7...

He's suddenly caught between trying to understand her silent gesticulations and answering me. She's pointing at various seats which I have already shown them, 6...

And the name on the card please? 5...

The computer screen flips onto confirmation of booking and my finger is poised for authorisation of credit card. 4...3...2...

How much further back would we need to go for central seats?

Remembrance.

2009-11-11T18:20:00.007Z

With great sadness we watch the news as yet more of our soldiers are brought home slowly through our streets to their final resting place. We wonder at the waste of life both here and abroad, military and domestic and question our presence in these countries at all.

I wore my poppy today and felt how deeply pertinent and relative to the daily lives of serving families it has become. I wore it for them and for all victims of war.

James Blunt wrote a song called 'Carry You Home' drawing on his own experiences of combat which I would like to leave you with now. The sentiment is far stronger than I could ever hope to achieve with mere words.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=_l3M2c-0ZHs

Phrase for Today.

2009-11-09T21:16:00.006Z

History, despite it's

wrenching pain,

Cannot be unlived, but if

faced with courage, need not be

lived again.

Mayo Angelou (b 1928) US writer. Read at the inauguration of President Bill Clinton.

' On the Pulse of the Morning' (January 20,, 1993.)

Box Office Banter.

2009-11-07T22:07:00.007Z

ME: Don't look at me I'm having a bad hair day.

Work Colleague: How can you tell?

I've never warmed to that boy.

Legend in the Dining Room.

2009-11-05T21:49:00.032Z

I'm a bit of a John Denver fan on the quiet. I get it from my dad who played Country/Easy Listening as I grew up. We attended many of his concerts whenever he was in the U.K. and I even managed to see him when I was working on a summer camp in Maine over in the U.S. A girl I had become friends with, (I forget her name,) borrowed someones pick-up truck and we drove out to Orchard Park for an open air event. I was amazed by how relaxed the audience were sitting on their picnic rugs scoffing sandwiches while he stood on stage doing his thing and couldn't resist blagging my way to the front under the pretence of having travelled there especially for his show.

We had a blast, well as much as you can to his kind of music.

One of dad's favourite songs (and mine too) is 'The Wings That Fly Us Home,' which comes from the album, 'Spirit'. He wants us to play it at his funeral and is only sorry that he won't be able to fully embrace the experience himself except from some far away place wherever that may be. Dad thinks he is John Denver whenever he picks up a guitar to have a strum or a singalong which he doesn't do so often these days because his fingers have become gnarled with age and arthritis.

I loved it when he played. He became someone else for a little while as he escaped into that other world of dreams that didn't involve face masks to protect against inhaling sawdust from the machines he worked on all day turning out kitchens we could never afford to buy. I'd watch his fingers picking the chords, his eyes closed,on stage somewhere with John by his side rather than on the turn-table in the dining room, until one of my sisters' begged him to turn it down. He even got together with a few others to form a group and went around the old folk's home at Christmas time. (I may have been persuaded to take the mic' myself on one or two occasions but that's another story.)

I received a parcel today from America which I have been waiting for. Inside was 'Spirit' on CD because like dad, I only had a vinyl copy which has long since been gathering dust in the loft. The memories came flooding back the minute I put it on to play. My children stood amazed as I embraced the moment and howled along with John at the top of my voice in my own dining room this time, lost in another world altogether until they begged me to turn it down.

Johnny-boy died in'97, the same year as Diana. My dad misses being in concert with him and I miss being in concert with my dad. Anyway, here he is, follow the link below, close your eyes, relax and enjoy.

http//www.youtube.com/watch?v=t-f66EO2D1U

Coming Home.

2009-10-20T10:45:00.007+01:00

When I started this blog just over a year ago it was because it seemed an ideal, instant way of reaching people with my thoughts and muses on subjects close to my heart. It began with frustration over work issues and developed through into creative experiments, some that worked, some that didn't work and a few that have taken on a life of their own. I virtually met some very good people and have even spoken to a couple of them by phone which has been wonderful. One of those lovely people suggested, after reading through the whole blog, (poor love,) that perhaps I had lost my way. Having started off as myself, (naturally a very funny person, it's true!) the tone had dampened into something more serious, perhaps even sombre.

I have been thinking about this.

This morning I read the latest post on Don Merritt's website which you can find here. http://doniganmerritt.typepad.com/donigan_merritt/ entitled: 'Sage advice from a sage-less writer.'

It's worth reading for many reasons.

It's well written and I would expect nothing less from a published writer.
The advice is sound and based on years of experience.
We have all found ourselves caught one time or another in the trap of trying to be someone other than ourselves when it comes to writing, myself included. Perhaps via flattery or for reasons best known to ourselves we adopt an approach which we tell ourselves feels right, a bit like buying a new pair of shoes that we really want and are willing to ignore blisters in order to wear.

I'm not sure that anything I write now or in the future will outlive me but I take great comfort from Don's final sentence because deep down I'm not too worried. It's been great just to be around and have the chance to chew the fat. If you got any more from my posts other than a smile, then that's a definite bonus.

Phrase for Today.

2009-10-09T14:26:00.003+01:00

I have striven not to laugh at human actions, not to weep at them, nor to hate them, but to understand them.

(Baruch Spinoza 1632-77. Dutch philosopher and theologian.)

Windows and Doors.

2009-10-08T21:22:00.004+01:00

We've been busy with home improvement the last week or so. After 18 years of living in a drafty house we have finally succumbed to the modern wonder that is double glazing. Our new front door is the smartest on the street - nay, the Shire, I kid you not. These days it's a pleasure to put the key in the door rather than a foot to it in order to gain access to our small kingdom. The kitchen window actually opens, don't even get me started on the bedroom and condensation is a thing of the past as are rotten flaky sills.

Those good fellows put their backs into it and within a couple of days the only home our family has ever known was transformed. A surgeon's knife could not have done better nipping and tucking to reveal a splendid new face to the world at large making us the envy of the neighbourhood to be sure. A dentist could not be prouder of the whiter than white frames gleaming proudly like newly fixed crowns you can't help but touch and explore. It's a new house without the hassle of moving and yet...

For all the beauty and comfort our recent investment brings, I miss the old front door. I miss the dirty hand prints permanently stuck to the paint which used to be white until we gave up trying to disguise years of frustration over swollen wood which never closed properly except with a good kick. I miss the tut-tutting of the postman as he struggled to push basic envelopes through the booby trapped letter box until we were forced to help the door deliver her unborn mail. I miss turning down the TV to listen to the neighbourhood on a Saturday night because the slightest noise became audible through the rickety panes of glass. But most of all I am sad for all the memories tossed into the back of the tradesman's van such as the very first time we brought our children home as tiny promises of what they would become.

So I guess we had better get busy creating new memories to befit our elevated position in the heady world of modern living; although I think our youngest read my thoughts and made a start by digging her nails into the wet seal around the bathroom window. Wait 'til I get my hands on that girl...

There is no other Love but you.

2009-09-24T18:07:00.014+01:00

There is no other love but you

What on earth do you take me for?

Oh pass me those pots I've things to do,

Who left those clothes on the floor?

Yes, I know we have bills coming out of our ears

But we deserve better than this!

Don't you yearn to feel the wind in your hair?

No? - Must be just me then I guess?

I'm not bothered about watching telly tonight

It's only repeats anyway and

Actually I said I'd meet Sonia in town

I'm sure I mentioned that earlier today.

Well, I meant to, so sorry

If you didn't quite hear but now I need to get dressed.

IF EVER THE BATHROOM IS FREE OF COURSE.

Who left these towels in a mess!

I'm sick to death of picking things up

It's time you stepped up to the plate.

Now look what you have made me do

Rushing so much I'll be late.

Can you zip me up, careful please

Don't get it snagged in the seam.

What, this old thing, had it for years.

You've seen it yes - No I don't have the receipt.

God's teeth but are you still going on

What exactly have I done now?

Oh, the neighbour said she saw me at the gate

Chatting with whom? When? And how

Is it you believe her over me

When all is said and done - Ye of little faith

It cuts me to the core to think

You'd sabotage my fun.

Fuchsia Pink. Two Christmas's ago

You see I hardly spend anything at all.

And these shoes must be five years old

Can't remember when they last saw a dance floor.

Night-club? Me? Well, now you mention it

It's possible we could be late. I'll be sure

To let you know if our plans change

From drinks to a full blown date.

Did I say date? Just yanking your chain

The frown on your face was enough.

Now kiss me and tell me that we're OK

And stop looking so Billy-Goat gruff.

There are too many years between us my love

For you to start worrying now

About have I or haven't I cheated on us

Our marriage, our kids - Holy Cow!

Is that the time where are my keys?

Make sure they're in bed by nine.

The sandwiches are done your dinner too

Yes of course I'm going to be fine.

Thank you, I'm glad you noticed my scent

You bought it ages ago.

Do you remember where we were and what we did?

You rascal you must let me go.

Sonia called when? - But I was in the shower.

You lay there and watched me get dressed

Knowing all along that the evening was off

Why wait 'till now to confess?

You Dog! You Cad! You enjoyed the show,

I think a beating is long overdue.

Damn your eyes man I fail to comprehend why for me

There is no other Love but you.

Park Bench.

2009-08-31T14:44:00.008+01:00

I found an email from an old friend this morning and decided to give her a ring on the spur of the moment. Even though it has been some time since we last spoke, we picked right on up from where we had left off, sharing stories, laughing about time moving on and worrying that we hadn't made the best use of it. We talked about our children, their schools, growing up and how you begin to realise that life is about so much more than the list of wants and desires we made back in college.

Twenty years plus have somehow come and gone, perceptions have changed and personal ambitions shelved to be replaced by the demands of children and the needs of ageing parents. We have become the filling in the sandwich of time.

Long ago, my friend and I made a promise that when we are old and done fighting with the world we will meet at a park bench to chew the fat and reflect. We laughed as we made our pact having spied a couple of doppelgangers in their dotage doing exactly that as we cavorted youthfully over the grass to wherever it was we were going. Not long afterwards we got onto the roller coaster of life and haven't heard much from each other since apart from cards at Christmas and birthdays which strangely seems to have been enough. Our friendship has that rare quality which exists beyond the measure of time. There is no awkward silence in the sporadic telephone calls between us, only joy to hear the sound of each other's voice reminding us at once of whom we were and where we have been.

She is my pit stop and I am hers, a touchstone of encouragement in times of doubt; ready to re-assure and re-affirm the confidence we had in our youth but perhaps lost sight of along the way. One brief conversation is enough to know that for all the years passed there are still plenty more to come bringing with them adventure, new challenges and worlds to discover before the draw of the park bench at last calls us home.

The Book Thief by Marcus Zusak.

2009-07-08T17:01:00.009+01:00

I can count on one hand the amount of books I would be willing to read again but I believe The Book Thief by Marcus Zusak might be at the top of that very short list. In fact I was sorely tempted to turn to the first page again immediately after finishing the last which is something I never do.

Set in 1939 Nazi Germany and narrated by Death, it tells the story of 9yr old Liesel who is fostered by Hans and Rosa Hubermann when her own parents are sent to a concentration camp. The Hubermanns' live on Himmel Street which we are told means Heaven. By the time she reaches the Hubermann house she has already stolen her first book from the graveside of her 6yr old brother.

The plot concerns itself with:

a girl

an accordionist

some fanatical Germans

a Jewish fist fighter

and quite a lot of thievery.

At the heart of the story lies the power of words, how they can change lives for ill or good and one child's attempt to make the horror of the world around her a little more bearable. Even Death has an amusing side to his nature as he observes the best and worst in humankind. He declares himself openly on the very first page with the statement:

Here Is A Small Fact

You are going to die.

But immediately soothes the reader by following up with:

Does this worry you?

I urge you - don't be afraid.

I'm nothing if not fair.

So even though we know the fate of the characters before we meet them, our interest is heightened not diminished by prior knowledge of their fate. They perhaps seem more alive to us because we know what will become of them and the small town they inhabit as the bombs begin to fall.

The language is plain and the style cryptic as the author playfully concocts images and characters who will remain with you long after the close of Death's final statement.

I laughed out loud and shed tears reading this book and I cannot recommend it highly enough.

Summer.

2009-07-04T16:30:00.004+01:00

We just finished watching Mamma Mia! on DVD for about the fourth time this year. What a feel good movie that is, so much so you come away singing, dancing and feeling the burn of fire red shoulders glittered with sun-creamed sand.

I want to taste the smell of youth again. Dip my toes into aqua blue seas that shimmer like diamonds, a gift from the gods.

Lie on the beach 'til the sun goes down and feel the scratch of baked hair shift across my back.

Ah, the summer.

The summer of my life is come again.

The Gate Keeper.

2009-06-08T15:00:00.006+01:00

Swimming Pool. 8.50pm.

Hi, I'm here for the ladies only session at 9.

I can't take any payment at the moment.

(She is counting out change from the till, there is money everywhere.)

Actually, I have a leisure card if that's any help?

Would you mind waiting just a few more minutes dear? (Patronising smile nods towards the chairs.)

Sure. ( I am the only person in the foyer, I take a seat.)

8.55pm

(The change is counted and put away, she is sitting at the till staring into space.)

Me again. Are you OK to put it through now?

(Sighs and looks at the clock.) The pool is booked until 9pm for Aqua Aerobics.

Oh yes but I am here for the swim not the Aqua and I need to get changed.

I understand but some ladies have been getting into the pool before 9pm and there have been complaints.

I can assure you I have no intention of entering the pool before 9pm but I do need to get changed and it is almost time now.

Try and see it from my point of view dear. (holding the palm of her hand to her chest with the pained expression of a victim.) You might say that now but then decide to get into the pool and I'll be in trouble for letting you in before time.

8.59pm

Excuse me, I have given you my word I will do no such thing and we have had this conversation once already. It is now 9pm and I would very much like to go in.

Well, I am sorry if I have offended you and if you promise not to enter the pool before time I will let you go in. If there was anyone else here I would have to ask you to wait you do see that don't you dear?

I respond with a tight smile and a 'Thank you.' as she returns my leisure card. I head for the stairs but she calls after me.

It's 20p for the lockers dear, non refundable.

Yes, I know. Thank you.

I thrash my way through thirty laps before hitting the showers. I dry off, get dressed and creep back down into the still empty foyer. She has her back to me so I make good my escape into the car park where I am blinded by the full beam of head lights I left on earlier.

Blink.

2009-06-05T14:27:00.004+01:00

Is there someone I can talk to about the mailing list please?

Sure, how can I be of help?

Well, we received mail this morning for my sister who passed away a few days ago. Do you think you could remove her name from your data?

I'm terribly sorry to hear that. If you'd like to give me the address details for your sister I'll take care of that for you.

Thank you.

( I stared at her name, address, postcode, email, telephone number and booking history before clicking 'Archive'. The computer asked if I was sure I wanted to delete this persons' details? Click yes/no. I clicked 'yes' and she was gone forever.)

Phrase For Today.

2009-05-27T15:57:00.002+01:00

Madam, before you flatter a man so grossly to his face, you should consider whether or not your flattery is worth his having.

(Samuel Johnson 1709-84)

Shadow.

2009-05-23T22:00:00.005+01:00

Do you want to tell me about it?

Not sure.

We can take as much time as you need. Really, there is no hurry, we have a good ten minutes left.

Silence.

You look better today, you have a little colour in your cheeks.

S'pose.

How are things at work?

I don't want to talk about work. I hate that job, do you hear me? Hate it! Why don't you ask me about my mother? You're supposed to ask me about my mother.

Do you want to talk about your mother -

No.

I didn't think so. You know we might not get another opportunity to chat for some time. I know what it cost for you to come here today, I understand and I want to help.

Very reassuring, you seem to have got the hang of this. How about me asking you a few questions? Come on, don't be shy, we still have a good...oh, seven minutes at least before it's time for me to leave. Why don't you tell me about your notes?

There just notes to help me remember our conversations, nothing more.

That's not entirely true is it?

I wouldn't lie to you. What would I gain by lying? There would be no point.

(Laughs) Exactly. There is no point in taking notes you will never look at again. Who are you kidding with this anyway, certainly not the people who know you. Have you noticed how they stop listening when you talk about your work? Work! There's the joke in itself.

I'm sorry if it bothers you, would it help if I were to put my notebook down?

Why are you being so nice to me? You're always being nice to me. I bet you're nice to everyone even when you don't feel like it, even when you're screaming inside and want to tear their faces apart for asking stupid questions.

I don't have a problem with anger if that's what you mean.

Liar.

I see our time has come to an end. Is there anything else you would like to say before we conclude?

We haven't even begun to scratch the surface.

Quite so. Plenty more to discuss for next time.

I'm counting the nights already.

The Grieving Widow.

2009-05-21T09:25:00.014+01:00

Hello, may I help?

Yes. I rang yesterday and reserved a single seat for the matinee next week in exchange for two seats that were booked for the evening.

OK, let me just get those details up on the computer. Here we are, Mrs _. What a shame, you have wonderful seats for the evening. I see that you booked some time ago. Will you be able to return the two tickets you don't require before the show and we'll post this one out for you straight away?

I'm not sure that will be possible, I did explain this when I rang before. My husband passed away you see, which is why I now only need the one ticket.

I am sorry to hear that Mrs_Let me just check with the manager that we are happy to issue the new ticket without a return. I won't keep you a moment.

( A few seconds later.)

Hello, sorry to keep you waiting, Mrs_. The manager is happy to issue the ticket if you wouldn't mind posting back the originals at your own convenience.

As I explained, I am far too busy organizing the funeral. I'll be cutting it fine getting from the crematorium to the theatre on the day as it is, surely there's a way around this? I would very much like to see the show. I was told a full refund on the extra seat would be no problem under the circumstances.

( Stunned silence.) Yes, of course.

Phrase for Today.

2009-05-12T21:20:00.004+01:00

Can't write, won't write.
Not at the moment anyway.
The truth is I'm in a waiting room, not sure where but I can see you and hear you, you are still within reach - just.
Don't know when this withdrawal will end but it doesn't necessarily follow that this is an unpleasant place to be. More about knowing than doing for the time being.

Here's a little something to bridge the gap while we wait.

For I see now that I am asleep that I dream when I am awake.

Pedro Calderon de la Barca (1600-81) Spanish playwright and poet. Life is a Dream (1635), Act 2

Two Ladies.

2009-04-23T14:56:00.006+01:00

Residents Lounge. Morning.

A: Can you see this chair?

B: Looks around and nods.

A: This is Sophie's chair. She sits here.

B: She does. (nodding in agreement.)

A: She didn't sit here yesterday though.

B: No. (listening intently.)

A: She sat over there on that other chair.

B: She didn't!

A: Her chair's over here not over there.

B: She wants telling.

A: Aye, that's what I said. (nodding vigorously.) You shouldn't sit in other people's chairs.

B: No, you shouldn't. (pause) Who's chair is that?

A: Where?

B: Next to you.

A: I've just told you! It's Sophie's chair.

B: Oh. (pause) Haven't seen her for a while, wonder how she is.

A: Who?

Manuscript.

2009-04-18T23:22:00.004+01:00

The collection of posts I withdrew under this label have not been forgotten. I have been toying with an idea concerning most of the characters which will see the light of day again in one form or another.

It takes a long time to put the pieces of the puzzle together but I believe that finally the picture is beginning to take shape. I found myself with a mountain of words on paper in no particular order which I left to fester for a while only to find there was life in the debris after all.

Fancy that.

Phrase For Today.

2009-04-17T15:55:00.002+01:00

A person with a new idea is a crank until the idea succeeds.

(Mark Twain: American Author. 1835 - 1910)

I Dreamed a Dream / Les Miserables.

2009-04-11T22:53:00.008+01:00

Some of you might recognise these lyrics from the production of Les Miserables. It's a beautiful song and the words are just as haunting without the music. This is the scene where Fantine is left alone, unemployed and destitute.

There was a time when men were kind

When their voices were soft

And their words inviting

There was a time when love was blind

And the world was a song

And the song was exciting

There was a time

Then it all went wrong

I dreamed a dream in time gone by

When hope was high

And life worth living

I dreamed that love would never die

I dreamed that God would be forgiving

Then I was young and unafraid

And dreams were made and used and wasted

There was no ransom to be paid

No song unsung, no wine untasted

But the tigers come at night

With their voices soft as thunder

As they tear your hope apart

And they turn your dream to shame

He slept a summer by my side

He filled my days with endless wonder

He took my childhood in his stride

But he was gone when autumn came

And still I dream he'll come to me

That we will live the years together

But there are dreams that cannot be

And there are storms we cannot weather

I had a dream my life would be

So different from this hell I'm living

So different now from what it seemed

Now life has killed the dream I dreamed.

Not drowning, waving.

2009-04-06T12:47:00.004+01:00

I am aware that using my Phrase For Today slot has been useful for filling the 'post' gap when time and ideas are limited. In my defence, I have been snowed under of late with reading and research for a project which is still in it's infancy and requires much of my attention and is actually quite a lot a fun too. I know that one or two of you are also dedicating time to various personal creative pursuits and although we are not in as much contact as we might have been, we are, I feel, all pushing along the same road in the knowledge that somewhere out there kindred spirits shadow the path we tread.

It's a comforting notion.

So, whether you're hammering out the next 5 thousand words, (Brad,) rewriting, (John) or experiencing a natural creative retreat between books, (Don,) then I salute you all and other's besides,(Matt, Sarah, Keith, Annie, Tony.) My writing life has been enriched by your presence here and beyond the confines of blogesphere into genuine, rewarding friendships with most, if not all of you, which I hope will last for years to come.

I'll leave you with this little snippet I found in my writing magazine this morning which made me laugh being the world's worst procrastinator. It's attributed to Mark Twain and reads:

A good writer is one who has the ability to apply the seat of his pants to the seat of a chair.

Now I must go and tidy up the laundry cupboard!

Phrase for Today.

2009-03-28T21:54:00.001Z

We have met the enemy, and he is us.

(Pogo.)

Phrase for Today.

2009-03-24T22:06:00.002Z

Don't let anybody tell you you're wasting your time when you're gazing into space. There is no other way to conceive the imaginary world...I daydream about my characters...take pen and paper and try to report what I've witnessed.

Stephen Vizinczey (b. 1933) Hungarian-born British writer, editor, and broadcaster. Truth and Lies in Literature. (1986)

My Town continued...

2009-03-23T14:49:00.024Z

A few pictures of Nottingham and surrounding area near to where I grew up.

Left and right is the old market square which features from time to time a big wheel where at £5 per person you can take a ride and see for miles. We haven't done this yet but a few friends have and said it was brilliant fun and yes you can indeed see way across the county.

The Robin Hood statue stands proudly at the entrance to the castle just up from the town centre. Once a strong hold and fortress it now houses a museum and a few years ago myself and the family went along to see an exhibition of pre-Raphaelite work which was wonderful. Some scoundrel keeps steeling Robin's bow and it's had to be replaced a number of times recently. Probably some outlaw on his way home from 'Ye Olde Trip to Jerusalem', which is reputed to be the oldest pub in England and situated just down the hill from the castle. Both can be reached via Friar Lane or Maid Marian Way.

Below is a picture of my house. OK, not really. This is Wollaton Hall just half a mile or so from my parent's home. I've spent many an afternoon rambling around the hall and grounds and as a Brownie walked 10 times around the lake for sponsorship money. Each rotation is about a mile, so no mean task for a seven year old. The hall used to belong to the Willoughby family but is owned by Nottingham City Council these days putting on all kinds of public and educational events throughout the year. Last year, I took a 'behind the scenes' tour up into the turrets and onto the roof as well as checking out the cellars and kitchens restored to their former glory. Legend has it that Lady Willoughby haunts the roof floating about in white but I couldn't spot her, I think she must have been on a lunch break.

The Deer wander freely around the grounds and lake but I haven't been lucky enough to bag one yet despite taking hunting lessons from my good friend Robin. The rutting season has led to a couple of precarious moments in that department but that's another story...

We are very fortunate in as much as we live within easy reach of many places of historical interest in the midlands; Chatsworth House isn't far and neither is Haddon Hall, home of the Manners family. Keddleston Hall, which is the Curzon family seat is also a stones throw away. I think our families must have been off -shoots of the spare rather than heir since we are very much the poor relations in this particular dynasty.

Hey-ho, back to the keyboard then to see if I can revive lost fortunes or better still create a new one.

I saw Jesus on a number 2 bus...

2009-03-18T18:24:00.007Z

and like a moth to the flame felt disturbingly and inexplicably drawn by the presence of this curious force within our midst. I listened to his conversation with the man next to him (who could easily have been Simon Peter,) alert for any vile unfavourable words that would surely blow his cover but there were none, he was eloquent, intelligent and polite to those around him. Skinny frame, long coat with scarf wrapped loosely around his neck like a student, (which in reality was nearer the truth,) but had me thinking about the man himself and how he might have mingled with everyday folk.

When we got stuck in traffic he lent his head against the window, his seat facing the back of the bus from where I could clearly see the contours of his model-like beauty gently framed by the morning sun. Late 20's, maybe 30, certainly no more, centred, still, contained, at peace within his own skin, unruffled by the crowded bus and bodies pressed together around him.

"Hello, I'm on the bus, gonna be really late, can you let the boss know - thanks."

He opened his eyes and smiled generously at the girl next to me as she stuffed her phone back in her bag, saw me notice that she did not before drifting off again. I took the opportunity to stare which he sensed and I had to divert my gaze afraid of what he might see, conscious of my transparency.

He offered a helping hand to an elderly lady as we got off before striding confidently into the throngs. I craned my neck over bobbing heads for a last glimpse, unwilling to break away without some hint of recognition until he became submerged in the crowd leaving me behind to contemplate the impossible.

Phrase for Today.

2009-03-14T23:01:00.003Z

I make myself laugh at everything, so that I do not weep.

(Pierre-Augustin Caron de Beaumarchais 1732-1799. French playwright.

The Barber of Seville 1775, Act 1, Scene 2)

My Town.

2009-03-08T17:32:00.005Z

Here are a few pictures of Ilkeston, Derbyshire where we have lived for the last 17 years.
The first two show the market square looking across from the library towards St Mary's Church and the fountain outside the Sir John Warren public house. On Thursdays, which is market day, both of these areas are filled with stalls selling all kinds of things although sadly, the market is now much thinner than it used to be.

This is Bath street taken from the bottom end looking up towards the church. Ilkeston is an ex mining town but community spirit is still very strong.

In October the fair comes and takes up residence along Bath street and into the market place. People do their shopping while the children have a ride.

The picture below is of a walk our family have taken many times. It leads to the canal or 'top cut' as it's know locally. Their are views over Cossall towards Eastwood which is DH Lawrence country. A local farm became Marsh Farm in his book The Rainbow.
The canal as the sun is setting is quite beautiful and atmospheric. There is a great sense of history and sometimes when I close my eyes, I fancy I can hear the clod of a horse pulling the plough through the rich soil in the fields just behind those trees.

Although we have lived here a long time, I still feel a sense of awe when I come across scenes like this one.

Phrase for Today.

2009-03-04T20:11:00.001Z

Hope...Go after her - she'll fly away

Ignore her - she'll chase you

She'll keep you company

Until your breathing stops.

( Ai Qing 1910-96. Chinese poet.)

Woman on the Edge.

2009-03-01T13:11:00.002Z

Does anyone know where I might get hold of a good outboard engine?

Phrase for Today.

2009-03-01T11:09:00.003Z

Drama is life with the dull bits cut out.

(Alfred Hitchcock. 1899-1980.)

Boxofficegirl in Peril.

2009-02-28T15:37:00.008Z

I started this blog last August after the first initial threat of redundancy and this week the Indians have been circling again. I have thus far managed to dodge gunfire but other's have not been so lucky including loved ones closer to home.

I am relieved of course to still be employed,( what would happen to Boxofficegirl if I wasn't?) But there is also a part of me who longs to tell the bureaucrats to shove it before marching off into a brave new world, or in my case stepping aboard a No 2 bus heading away from the city lights.

So, for the time being, I am still shackled to the wheels of commerce thanks to the latest rescue package yet can't help but wonder about the wealth of unimagined experiences waiting out there if the decision to cut me loose was made for me and I really did have to go into the world and live off my wits. I'm beginning to think it might be an adventure worth taking the risk for.

Book Review.

2009-02-21T10:16:00.009Z

The Common Bond.

Donigan Merritt.

The story follows Morgan's return to Hawaii 10 years after meeting Victoria, the love of his life who has since died. Haunted by grief he takes up fishing again in an effort to escape the sense of guilt he feels by her suicide. The story moves with ease between the present and the past describing the beginnings of their encounter involving the betrayal of Tioni, a local guy that Victoria was seeing when she first meets Morgan, a ‘haelo’, white person. Tioni and Morgan had been friends since childhood and worked together on a tourist boat of which Morgan was Captain. The love between Morgan and Victoria shatters more than friendship by unearthing historical tensions and racial prejudice.

Told through a series of flashbacks the reader becomes privy to the vulnerable fragile and ultimately tragic development of Victoria, in contrast to the steady down to earth character presented in Morgan before he spirals towards uncontrollable meltdown. The central themes of love vs. the human condition are handled by Merritt with compassion and empathy; injecting the reader with same raw emotion the two main characters experience both individually and in their relationship with each other.

I did wonder how well the story would hold up with the reader already in possession of the outcome that Victoria is no longer alive, but the conclusion is satisfying and the language rich and evocative capturing the truth about relationships as we travel with Morgan into despair until hope is offered through the unlikely porthole of a local family.

The Common Bond is not a book I would instinctively have chosen to read, but on completion felt rewarded and gratified by the experience. Possessed by Shadows, written by the same author, is winging it's way to my door as we speak and I look forward with anticipation to it's arrival.

No Worse, There is None.

2009-02-20T14:46:00.010Z

That's it, no more. You've had it with rejection letters, it's time to stop this nonsense and think about the future. There was no way this was ever going to be more than a hobby and someone has to pay the bills. Get the cardboard boxes out, put all your notebooks, manuscripts, reference books and tapes in them. Pack away the computer -

What was that?

Oh, OK, leave the computer it'll be useful when you want to grocery shop and compare road tax prices etc. Change the calenders from deadlines to school runs, after school clubs and don't forget that Conference in a couple of weeks time. Has your suit been dry-cleaned, more than your jobsworth if not. At least you can have meaningful conversations with colleagues about soft furnishings or the greenhouse instead of thinking of plot lines, characters and build up to a dramatic conclusion.

Your wife/husband will be thrilled to have you around in the evening, just as they got control of the remote too. Think of all those parties, dinners, cheese and wine events you'll be able to accept not to mention helping out the PTA and going down the pub with your mates. Did someone mention decorating?

Nip to Tesco's this very minute and stock up on all the 2 for £7 offers in the book isle without one moment of regret or bitterness for the embossed name of the author on the cover who signed a contract after only a few hundred rejections and as many sleepless nights before seeing the fruit of their labours come to pass, the dream realised in hardback glory. You did your best, no-one could ask for more.

And if that small voice inside does happen to lament and mourn the loss of creative impulse, silence them with a couple of beers, bottle of vodka, good wine/cheap wine, they won't know the difference...

Whatever it takes to anesthetize and smother the persistent grief stricken cry of abandoned self.

Denial.

2009-02-17T20:10:00.006Z

(Woman approaches girl standing outside the dry cleaners smoking)

I know you.

(Girl looks alarmed, shrugs her shoulders in a dismissive way and avoids making eye contact with the woman.)

People pretend they don't know me after a few years of not seeing me because I look down on my luck but I don't do that -

I know you.

(louder)

Ask her. (nods her head towards the assistant in the dry cleaners who sides with the girl by staring vacantly and uncomfortably back. )

She knows all about me and I know all about you. I remember people and I don't pretend.

(Woman shuffles away down the busy street, her crutches hindering rather than aiding her dignified exit. Every few steps she turns to look back. In the shop the girl and attendant raise their eyebrows and continue with the pretence of not knowing.)

Phrase for Today.

2009-02-12T18:57:00.002Z

Where can you scream? It's a serious question:

Where can you go in society and scream?

(R.D Laing 1927-1989 Scottish psychiatrist. Quoted in Mad to be Normal.)

Point Of Re-Entry.

2009-02-08T17:17:00.003Z

As usual, the room was crowded with adolescent bodies and I couldn't remember the last time I had been able to sit comfortably and watch a programme or DVD of my choice without interruption.

“Look on the bright side,” my husband commented cheerfully. “It won’t be long before she’s old enough to baby sit and we can go out.”

“Out? You mean in the dark, as in night time?”

“Sure, why not? Like we used to B.C.”

“Uh?”

“Before Children.”

Anxiety crept down my spine and legs and nestled into the depths of my furry slippers. The mug of tea I was holding tilted slightly slurping a few drops onto the oatmeal carpet.

“Where would we go?” what would I wear? I enquired hesitantly, gazing through our small window like an astronaut peering into space. “All the places we used to go are closed down now. It’s a young person’s game to be out on the town these days you know.”

His eyes shone with nostalgic anticipation.

A vision of the earth loomed before me like a giant suspended home made ball. Each city made up of different coloured glitter sparkling with luminous energy. On closer inspection, colonies of young people dressed skimpily, clattered over the cobbles beneath husky yellow street lamps; their laughter and conversation lost in burbling, alien language.

I’d seen enough.

Unable to spot a safe place to land I guided our ship expertly away from the atmosphere back into outer space.

“What are you doing, I thought we were going out?”

“We’ll buy a bigger sofa.” I mumbled picking up a book. “Put the kettle on while you’re up would you.”

Phrase for Today.

2009-02-06T21:09:00.003Z

The great question...which I have not been able to answer, despite my thirty years of research into the feminine soul, is 'What does a woman want?'

( Sigmund Freud 1856 - 1939 Austrian psychoanalyst.)

Repeat to Fade.

2009-02-04T21:34:00.008Z

Grey mass seeped like mist rolling in from the sea foam-balling beach bathers as they awoke from sun drenched sleep to find themselves cold and clammy enveloped in white stumbling about like children with newly formed feet. She remembers stepping aboard the bus knowing without looking that it was the right bus heading into an endless line of rear tail-lights motioning her into daydreams trickling across her eyelids in a prism of psychedelic dew twisting through the tree-lined avenue of endless journey’s flight just like this one taken many times before, so many times before she wished the road and the bus would remember her imprint stained into her seat like a video recorder playing over rendering her physical presence obsolete no longer required in order for the film to roll out the repartition of her decay. Edges of time blurry with nothing to differentiate routine besides contents of sandwiches, covers of books, and faces at the window - so many different faces - snarling sniping coveting demanding dishing out poison drip drop drip drop before coming home again to see the man in the street walking his dog at the exact same time today tomorrow yesterday nodding his head in recognition of the time-warp he treads she treads they tread ignorant of the ghosts they will become careful not to disturb the ones already dead and gone. Fleeting moments of clarity trapped inside her head she shakes and holds in an effort to remember why she took the bus and where exactly was it she was going before the mist descended without mercy without gaps – there had always been gaps - through which to see the sun and focus the mind calming her breath on the window pane smudged by pained fingers tracing circles in a silent plea to wipe this tape and begin again.

New Toy.

2009-02-01T14:02:00.002Z

We finally got the Wi-Fi sorted for my laptop and I've been experimenting with a number of different websites etc including a new blog space in addition to this one. However, after due consideration based on feedback and my own feelings on the matter, I've decided to stick with Boxofficegirl.

Polite message: I am more than happy for people to link to my posts but perhaps just one link would be enough for readers rather than a whole list. Many thanks.

Phrase for Today.

2009-01-29T11:22:00.004Z

Taken from the book featured here, Bloomsbury Anthology of Quotations.

The displacement of a little sand can change occasionally the course of big rivers.

Manuel Gonzalez Prada (1844-1918) Peruvian politician and writer.

Since I've been having a good think lately about change and truth in myself and in my work after reading posts by Brad and Selchie; (see people of interest down left column) I found this quote inspiring, challenging and worthy of consideration.

Being What You Wanted To Be.

2009-01-23T21:16:00.006Z

In his latest post, Don Merritt suggested that he would perhaps prefer to be a character in one of my fantasy pieces than be faced with the prospect of 'what next' on the writing front.

http://http//doniganmerritt.typepad.com/donigan_merritt/2009/01/without-poetry-there-is-no-city.html

Not a serious comment, I know, but it did get me wondering about who we would wish to be if not ourselves and the kind of life we might choose to live given half a chance.

For myself, there are a number of options which I'll list below and just for fun I invite you to add your own in the comment box. Knock yourself out and let those imaginations fly!

A Victorian Heroine capable of supporting herself without financial reference to significant male.
A Man. (Just for the experience of really knowing what that felt like.)
Helicopter Pilot. (I've always like the idea of being in control of flight.)
Psychologist. (Although with my job I think I'm half way there already.)
Lara Croft. (I know...)
Undercover Agent.
A Cat Thief who never got caught.

The Wrong Clothes.

2009-01-20T21:19:00.004Z

Q: How do we find out which clothes suit us?

A: By experimenting with the ones that do not.

We try on clothes in many different colours and styles as we go through life to see if they fit and match our expectations. Sometimes we are fortunate and find exactly the right garment for the right occasion but mostly the majority of us are faced with a near match rather than a perfect fit and in all likely hood we tell ourselves that these will do, we have found a style which suits, these are the clothes for us.

We settle with and accept the decisions we have made only to wake up twenty years down the line and realise we have spent a life time in the wrong clothes. Or, the clothes did fit but now they are too small/large, they irritate us, a few are cosy and comfortable, familiar even but they are not in keeping with our life style anymore.

What do you do?

Stay as you are, after all you and those clothes go back a long way.
Put them in the charity bag and wave goodbye.
Rip them up, regret it and try to sew them back together.
Mix and match.
None of the above, you don't have the energy to care.

Deep down you have this niggling feeling that somewhere in the world there is a set of clothes that would better suit your needs, if you only had the courage and strength to reach out and claim them.