Home is not so sad

January 18, 2011 at 8:35 pm | Posted in art, cooking, dreams, family, gardening, home, house, money, mortgage, women | 1 Comment
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It’s official – the owner of what will very soon be my new house has agreed to my offer!  I am absolutely thrilled. The house is beautiful, it’s in a road down which you only drive if you’re specifically going to that road, and it will blatantly sell for much more when the markets improve.  Not that I have any intention of selling it in the next ten, or even the next twenty, years.

Obviously, I feel extremely lucky.  How many people of my age own their place outright, let alone have mortgages?  It’s scary out there for people of my generation when it comes to home ownership.  Yes, I know that renting’s always an option, but I for one would rather have my own place which is mine and mine alone, thank you very much.  An Englishwoman’s home is her castle, as the saying (almost) goes.

I’m already envisioning the sheet music on the piano, the tomatoes I’ll grow in the greenhouse (once I’ve babyproofed the entrance with crime scene tape), my cookbooks, food-splattered, dominating all four corners of the kitchen.  The art I’ll put on the wall is my favourite fantasy; some years ago, I saw a painting of The Deal Beach Parlour and I would absolutely love to see that hanging on the wall.  it would make me a very happy lady indeed.

Schlaf in himmlischer Ruh…..

January 16, 2011 at 2:25 am | Posted in books, dreams, family, house, insomnia, work | Leave a comment
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…………or not.  Not only can I not sleep, and have been forced to confront the Clipper Sleep Easy tea which smells of manure and other unwanted countryside fragrances, but I also still have the freaking Carpenters in my head (Goodbye to Love, to be precise).  Nice and uplifting for 2am on a Sunday morning in winter.

If I lived here, I would go outside for a cigarette, or, better still, have a cheeky fag in the flat, but this is my friend Emma’s place, and she probably wouldn’t be too impressed by the smell of tobacco, given her ex-smoker status.

So, I have work tomorrow at 9:30; great, let’s hope I’ve managed to actually get some sleep by then, given the fact that I have to drive to Thanet and may have to cash up/operate heavy machinery (ok, well, Phoenix is neither ‘heavy’ not a ‘machine’, but there you go.

I’m not prone to imsomnia, but I am susceptible to bouts of nervous energy; it’s one of the reasons for my recent weight loss, along with too many fags and an aversion to breakfast.  My brain is at its most active at the most inconvenient times, lately, mainly because I am no longer living with my son and therefore no longer need to be a lark.  I’ve never quite decided if it’s a lark or an owl I am naturally; I was an owl at university until prescribed Prozac, which turned me into the larkiest of larks, for want of a more suitable epithet.  If you need to be wide awake and raring to go at 5am, I heartily recommend it.

It is now 2:10am and I am starting to worry, given the fact that my morning shower and subsequent attempt to get a comb through my sodden hair really require me to rise at 7:30.  Yes, many an all-nighter was pulled during my university days, but I would not advocate doing so when you actually have to work for a living.  Nevertheless, despite the hour and the fumes of toxic, manure-esque Clipper tea invading my nostrils, I am decidedly bright-eyed.  I need a lullaby from W H Auden.

The other day, my dad (I am chez parents while waiting to move into my new house) walked in and woke me from a delicious dream.  I was playing a clown on Eastenders and Hilary Mantel had offered to give me free piano lessons and pay me £350 a week to write.  Nice work if you can get it, eh?

Stockholm, mon amour

May 5, 2010 at 8:41 am | Posted in dreams, travel | Leave a comment
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The view from DEN RÖDA BÅTEN MÄLAREN

Last night, my dreams were devoid of coin-covered Frenchmen, and filled with Stockholm.  I dreamed I stood outside a chocolate and oyster shop which featured in Stieg Larsson’s Millennium trilogy (if you’re asking what that is, why haven’t you read them already?).  Sadly, I missed the Millennium tour when I was in Stockholm last summer, as it runs only on a Saturday.  However, hopefully it will become more frequent, as the interest in Stieg refuses to die down (probably not the best cliche to use, as Larsson is in fact dead now.

Speaking of cliches, those they use about Sweden are true: there are lots of healthy young things storming around the city on bikes, it is very clean and it is mouth-droppingly expensive (so much so that we ate most of our dinners at McEvil.  The shame.  Pie is paj in Swedish, btw).

But nothing was cliched about our hostel,  Den Röda Båten Mälaren.  Greeting us on our arrival was the scene below:

which I changed later to:

Plopp, indeed

Do not trust Swedish chocolate.   Not only the name, but also the taste of that bar was decidedly suspicious.

Every night in my dreams, I see you, I feel you….

May 3, 2010 at 5:27 pm | Posted in dreams, men, money | 1 Comment
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Apologies for the Celine Dion, but I feel that its foulness is in direct proportion to my offensive dream last night.

I went to Paris and I got stalked by a man with coins all over his body.  What does that mean?  Do I want a magnetic Frenchman, or merely a rich one?  Or is this one of those things which doesn’t have to  mean something?

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