Knowing your onions

Yes, I know my onions (look here).

You, as ordinary people, have no knowledge of onions and don't dare think that you do. Even though you may use the onion everyday it does not give you the right to express an opinion about them.

My thoughts about onions are well publicised, printed in all the best culinary books. I mix with the cream of onion appreciators, talking onions all day long, whilst you dabble about with the inferior shallots(here) and pickling onions(here). Do not possibly think that you know more than me about the revered allium - I have degrees in the subject. How could you think, or even contemplate, that you would know more than me, or share my enthusiasm for them?

I am skilled in the onion department and you know this now because I am telling that I do. Do not try to form your own opinion and please refrain from talking onions with any other amateur enthusiasts - it can only lead to onion revolution.

Find out more about 'Knowing your onions'

You wouldn't?

Maxine called a meme a few days ago - here it is.....

I would never....

1) Go out in underwear that didn't match

2) Behave myself

3) Stop writing everyday

4) Use up my energy on jealousy or envy

5) Leave the house without make-up or jewellery

6) Hex in malice

7) Behave myself

8) Have my humour amputated

9) Forget that love is at the core of everything

10) Lose the determination to enjoy this life!

Little Minx

Shameless has called for pictures to explore your inner child.

Well, here's mine - The Miserable Witch!

Taken in September 1963 (I was 7 months old - fatso). I was not only peeved that my more than adequate thighs were on show but that some dimwit had neglected to furnish me with shoes! How crass.

Here I am in June 65' and still holding on to those sturdy thighs. My sister and I hated each other until we were older and I was no doubt angry that we had been forced to submit to the wearing of identical swimming attire. I was also probably just about to clump her one with me spade for wearing a lampshade on her head!

The Gin Co-op - a coven of sorts!

We haven't done it for ages. Life, jobs and a summer spent on the beach have kept us apart, but this morning the evidence was there. A table full of empty wine bottles told me that I had been 'Ginned'.

Historically it started with tea. The girls and I got together on a Saturday afternoon to escape from the football that was either being played, or watched, by our menfolk. Our children were small, needy and unable to withstand the rigours of shopping that had dominated our Saturdays BC. We huddled around the teapot, exchanging moans whilst our offspring played together and our men went off to bond in shorts!

As the children grew we swapped the pot for a bottle, and the 'Gin Co-operative' was formed. Saturdays became a therapy session that no psychiatrist could compete with. The world was put to rights, mad ideas put into action, personal problems were sorted, and we could face the week again as working mothers.

I came down this morning to find a list telling me that once again we had arranged something under the influence of firewater. New Years Eve promises to be one of the best, but I still can't work out what 'pimps on sticks' are!

Oh, oh, here we go again!

Me and the book are off to London!

We are going to be here

at

The Bookseller Crow

on the hill

on December 9th

The Americans are giving thanks today....

..... that there are less ugly birds in the world today, than there were yesterday!

Time to wave the white flag

There are times in our lives when everything becomes complicated and unmanageable. Times when a good soak in the bath won't do the trick and no amount of wine will take away the stress of trying to live in the fast lane. So what do we do, where do we go when we need to wave the white flag?

My Grandmother was born here. A tiny fishing village on the south coast of Devon called Hope Cove. It hasn't changed much in 200 years, and this is where we go when we need to chill out and get off the world for a while.

Its appeal lies in the fact that it is quiet, unspoilt and has an ambiance that is different, even from beautiful Cornwall.

Another factor is its name. This tiny village is split into two parts and there is nothing more comforting than staying in a place called Inner Hope.

Gratuitous lunch box

Flirt

You can think what you like
you can say what you mean
Don’t twist me with your blatant lies,
or take the line between

You can spread me like butter
and fill my ears with charm
your words will never haunt me
my heart you’ll never harm

Hah!

Do you still think I’m a babe?
Let the gorgeousness shine through
Flattery might get you somewhere
if I was going there too

You can coax all you will
you can wheedle, you can whine
I’m old enough for wrinkles so
don’t try to take what’s mine

Now!

Do you still think I’m worth it?
You seem to relish the pain, of
rejection and denial,
whilst I remain the same

And I will,
for some time to come,
be wild, seductive, free.
I am not what you are looking at
your eyes do not see,
that beneath this painted face
hides a completely different me.

Annual medical report for the Inner Minx

Failure to follow the advice in the report of 2005 had led to some minor and slightly worrying symptoms that appear to be getting worse:-

Eyesight reports that there has been a 20% deterioration since March. This would coincide with the start of blogging and therefore the advice would be to give it up, or face 'jam jar' lenses by 2008.

Endorphins show a rise, also since March. This would not be a problem, as obviously laughing is good for all of us, but it is recommended that posts should be semi-serious and 'funny' blogs should be avoided in order to keep the bank full.

Liver function tests provide the statistics that the constant abuse of this organ is leading to a marked deterioration. This advice is always ignored and once again a warning letter has been sent to the appropriate department.

The bones continue to report good density but the ankles have once again complained about 'the pointy boots' - advice has been issued. The incident of dancing on the table at the Christmas party did not go un-noticed.

Hair reports a marked growth in some areas which is still being kept under control to some extent, but colour abuse is starting to take its toll. Hair predicts the use of wigs within ten years and could it please have a more 'normal' colour to suit its advancing years (a cut wouldn't go amiss either).

The stomach is in a worrying condition. Failure to eat anything more than a packet of crisps at lunch time has resulted in weight loss, but the medical council sees no fit reason why this diet should be endorsed to the nation. The stomach also complains that chocolate consumption has increased (again), replacing the vegetables that the blood requested some time ago.

The brain reports a constant struggle to keep up with the dual personality that has arisen since March. It has also reported that the constant arguments with the Minx about 'acting her age' are becoming a problem.

The nails are very excited by the new interest in their department but report that maintenance is already flagging. The skin, however, is pleased to report that she has kept up the moisturising regime started after she found that huge wrinkle. Another will not be issued until Jan 07 and will appear overnight, giving her the jolt she needs.

The lungs, again, have failed to make a report but the voice is worried that if she continues to smoke then she will end up sounding like Orsen Welles.

General comments :
The Inner Minx has constantly ignored advice on looking after her middle-aged body. The council has no alternative but to issue a warning letter to the brain which will in no doubt lead to a court case as her addictive nature is being allowed to run amok. Excuses have been made in the light of the added abuse to fingers on the keyboard of late but changes will have to made before she becomes a bent old hag incapable of doing much more than grunting from behind a computer. These changes lie in her hands, but unfortunately her hands seem to be occupied elsewhere.

Techno babe

Yes, it's true. Well, not so much of the 'babe', bit old for that, but I have definitely embraced all things technological. I don't understand half of it. I am trying my hardest, getting a lot of things wrong, but I am improving - daily.

Five years ago I didn't know a 'byte' from a 'bite' and even emails defeated me - what was wrong with paper and a pen for goodness sake? MSN and MySpace were like a foreign language and I had no interest in how big your giga-mega-whatnots were.

Yes, times do change. I am now au fait with publishing on the net, dashing around the world via the blogs. I can google chat with people in Australia and now I can even use me computer like a phone! Wondrous wonders!

But oh dear......WARNING, WARNING!!

The other day a fellow blogger, who shall remain nameless, nearly got me the sack. Another fellow blogger had sent me an interactive animation that I thought the children at the centre might like to see. We have a Smart Board installed in the classroom that allows the kids to use their hands to control the five foot screen. I just nipped into me mails to retrieve it when said blogger popped up on Google chat. It went something like this....

"Hi there, now that you are just lazing around in the mornings, are you up for a chatette"

I replied as quickly as I could.

"Err, no ****, I'm in the classroom working, catch you later"

Before I could shut down this came back in ten inch high letters

"BOLLOCKS , later then"

Fortunately three-year-olds can't read.
Unfortunately all the adults could.
Fortunately they all have a sense of humour!

Anyway, yes, here I am. A newly fledged techno babe, embracing this world as if it were nearly my own. But sometimes it all gets beyond me and I have to resort to the button below.

Hard cash and glory

I read the words.

I read them again.

And every time I am amazed that the words I read are not the words of a published author. I read them everywhere. They pop up on blogs, in journals, poetry sites, short stories and in half-formed manuscripts.

Some words are good, rich, thick with meaning that leaves a pleasantly cloying aftertaste. Others are light, feather-like, tickling my fancy, making me laugh and smile at their cleverness. All are good and worthy of a lasting paper memoir. And yet most of these writers are on the verge of giving up, or gave up years ago, drowning under an avalanche of rejection slips handed out by an agent/publisher who has just experienced his first 'bestseller' orgasm.

Don't get me wrong, books should be not be elitist. Everyone is entitled to read, and my own shelves sag under the weight of the good, the bad and the downright ugly. But tell me, when are publishers going to get their bravery back? When are they going to stop this madness that makes them reject the gold, in favour of hard cash and glory? Isn't it about time that we went back to the values that made a book a 'keeper'?

The Year of Constant Mourning

Yes, I know, I'm a lazy cow..... new story on Little Minx

The Minx guide to female blogging

1. Choose a name that suits your personality. 'Morwenna Fluffybunkins' or 'Naomi Nappybuyer' gives the reader an idea of exactly what they are in for.

2. Also choose a name that takes up most of a comments box - less to worry your pretty head about when actually dropping a comment.

3. Fill your blog with flowers, hearts and small furry creatures and let the world know that you care. 4. Never talk about religion, politics or wanking - these are are part of the male domain and should be avoided at all costs.

5. You can talk about the more intimate details of childbirth - it is a fascinating subject and should be treated with the seriousness it deserves.

6. Hobbies should be shared with the world. Post plenty of pictures and that way you don't have to worry about sentences making sense

7. Mention your menstrual cycle often, some periods of your life should not be kept a mystery. The male population is entitled to know exactly when you are off your rocker and a warning sign could be added to the head of the post.

(now, do you think I've got the fluffy pictures right?)

Patience

I was beginning to feel like a cat chasing a mouse - a mouse that had consumed large and regular doses of speed, and was forever just out of reach.
I had rummaged around in the cupboard and brought out every set of cards and runes I owned, but they all said the same thing. Patience.

I couldn't go on much longer. I found I was writing into the night most nights and the house was starting to resemble something out of a horror movie. It was no good - work was getting in the way of everything but there was no solution in sight. My job was too convenient to give up completely and we couldn't manage on one wage - I have a shoe fetish to support.

On Tuesday someone answer a prayer that I have been yelling into the ether for quite a while. On Monday I start a new job. Less hours, more money, less children. What more could I ask? So as from next week I shall have the pure and utter luxury of being a morning blogger. Oh, and I'll be able to get in a few hours writing as well!

Just damn rude if you ask me.

A fight in the Post Office during my lunch hour. So rude.

Don't they know that people are in a hurry between 12 and 1? It is bad enough on a normal day.

Usually a careful mental calculation of 'is it it pension day?' or 'last day to get your car tax this side of legal?' means that the queue will only be halfway around those stupid barriers that are designed to fool only the idiot. I can count. I know that there are twenty-three people in front of me and no amount of wiggly nylon is going to dupe me into thinking that I haven't got to wait for at least half my lunch hour.

Oh yes, the fight. It would have been even more dramatic if I wasn't trying to avoid the unpleasant odour that was emanating from the festering human in front of me. Suffice to say that the badly dyed blonde was having a go at the equally tastelessly coiffed brunette about a stolen boyfriend (he was probably better off without the pair of them). The spat peaked with a poorly aimed stiletto heel grazing a leg that should never really be seen in the light of day.

The staff were looking nervous. Not sure why, because they are holed up safely behind their bullet proof glass with a nice red panic button to keep them company. The people on the 'dangerous' side, had to make do with shuffling about on the spot or trying to breathe in some fresh air.

Anyway, the blonde limped off and the brunette sat in the photo booth, screamed into her mobile and I watched the clock. Twenty-six minutes of queuing, still six people to go, and it looked as if one of the staff was about to desert her post. I groaned.

No, no, I was saved. The woman who was next had forgotten her purse and the suit behind her had run out of time. I was next.

I presented my parcels.

"One airmail, States, and the other is inland, large letter rate please".

"Large letter?" he smirked "I will have to check...."

I raised an eyebrow and tapped a fingernail on the counter.

"Yes, yes, of course." he said "No problem."

A lost art

I've had some emails thanking me for the book. Amongst the comments were a few that remarked on my handwriting. Once again it is time to come out of the closet and finally admit aloud that I am a complete perve for a good hand!

The trouble is that this beautiful art is dying. When was the last time you wrote a letter? Not a quick scribble to the milkman or a note to remind yourself to buy loo roll on the way home but a full 3-4 page letter to a friend?

These days we spend our time filling out forms (mostly in capitals), and rarely take the time to perfect our penmanship. Schools spend less and less time teaching letter formation, preferring to encourage computer literacy. Today the phone and email has taken over from the personal script that says so much about us.

I can remember groaning over the spider-like efforts of the feckers. Annoyed at the lack of care, smudges and smears that littered the paper. They have improved, but they do not share my quivering joy in coming across a perfect hand.

Am I alone, or was I just born in the wrong time?

Twelve things that you may not know about a woman's wardrobe

1. The biggest wardobe is ours by right and we have unlimited capacity to add to it at will.
2. Supportive undergarments are never talked about in public and we don't own any anyway!
3. Shoes are bought in bulk, it is the law
4. We reserve the right to hate something once we get it home and can store it in your wardrobe for the next five years.
5. Wardobe mirrors lie all the time but you are expected to tell the truth!
6. New boots always come with a free pair of jeans, a new top, a scarf and that lovely jacket that you've had your eye on for ages.
7. A coat is never bought to keep the rain off. We have cars for that.
8. Our bum's never look big in anything, but the bum walking down the street in front of us is allowed to be huge.
9. A nod from behind the paper is not the answer we are looking for when we have enquired whether we look okay.
10. It is perfectly acceptable to wear your best t-shirt to bed
11. Female underwear is made to fall apart after six washes - it is a design fault.
12. "No, of course it's not new. I bought it in the sale last year" is always the gospel truth.


This is a Skint version of a m**e.
If you wish to join in just title your post 'Twelve things that you may not know about.....' - the rest is up to you - as long as you tell the truth!

Is this the write way?

I had an interesting phone call just now which has just obliterated the post that I was going to do. A friend or a friend rang and said "I've just read your book, it's good, how did you write it?". I ummed and ahhed and tried to sound a bit more literary than I was feeling but managed to sidestep her blunt question and move smoothly on to another subject.
Don't get me wrong, I am still high from the other night and could quite possibly rattle on about the story and background until the world stopped spinning. What I wasn't prepared for was the "how".

Looking back the question could be construed in different ways. How did I 'manage' to write it would have been easy and could have been answered in one phrase - stolen time.
I could have also interpreted it as "How the hell did someone like you manage to write a whole book?". Again easy - anyone can write.

So how did I write it? How do I write? How does the idea get itself on to the paper/screen?

Oh dear, this is something that I am not very comfortable with but I suppose it is time to come out of the closet.
When I went on creative writing courses (all for the wrong reasons btw) I found quickly that I didn't fit into the norm. I listened with interest to the tips for avoiding writers block. I listened and made notes about plots and plans. Plans that should stretch across the wall, accompanied with six months worth of research all packed into a neatly labelled lever files for easy reference. Some people planned out the entire novel on rolls of wallpaper and some used colourful post-it notes to map out chapters. Others gathered plots like precious antiques, storing them away for future reference and some made meticulous bullet-pointed lists of motivational cues and complete character breakdowns.
Ummm.
I sat my glasses on the end of my nose and nodded my head in all the right places and all the time I was thinking 'I hope we don't have to show that we know all of this' and my mantra became 'they do it their way and you do it yours'.
I don't really know what right and wrong is, I only know that I don't do it like that.
I write the last sentence first and then work towards it and if I don't use it in the end, then who the fuck cares?
I wouldn't know a plot if it bit me on the ass and planning would take all the excitement out of the next bit which I am usually dying to get to.
We should surely write in the way that is comfortable for us. Am I wrong? Tell me.

Thank you

Just about to set off back to Cornwall but just wanted to say thanks to everyone who made last night so special.

It was a lovely night and under a perfect Samhain moon we set Coven of One on the road. Friendships were sealed and new ones made. What more could anyone ask?

Thanks