Taking the Challenge

As if I'm not already busy enough I've decided to take up a challenge - for the next 15 days I am going to write on a daily basis.

Because...

Well, because that is what writers do.

And I am a writer.

Bed Time

It's time to go to bed. The big hand has overtaken the little hand - at least I guess it has as I tell the time by my phone or laptop these days - and most sane and sensible people have hit the sack.

At times it's frustrating to be an "owl" - awake when everyone else is asleep. But the silence and solitude is something to be treasured and occasionally worth the struggle to wake up the next morning.

The main reason for this post is to thank those of you that read it! I saw some of you this evening and I am genuinely touched that you keep in touch in this way. You know who you are - so thank you!

Another reason for writing tonight is that I have just sent my first ever HTML email in an endeavour to drum up a few more cupcake orders. I would love for you to take a look and get in touch if you are considering buying cakes for a special occasion!

You can find out more here http://filledwithlovecupcakes.org/2012/05/25/welcome/

That's it for now - night night!

Linda

A Sound Investment

I have to start writing down the ideas I get for posts. I had a really good one just the other day. It made me laugh, would have made you laugh, may have finally made my name in the writing world and allowed me to give up work and spend my time doing what I love. Except that might have meant give up writing and spend my time writing which makes little sense so perhaps the fact that I have completely forgotten whatever the idea was is a blessing in disguise?

This post came to me in a flash of inspiration as I was tidying my knicker drawer. Well, basket if we're going to be picky. I have a lot of clothes - of the under and over variety, and tonight it dawned upon me in a moment of clarity that these, ladies, are what we should be investing in!

Gentlemen, I apologise if at this point you feel in any way excluded - that is not my intention and you are most welcome to continue with us but don't blame me if from here on in you are bored...

I guess I have always been of the clothes are an investment school of thought, but never as seriously as today. I believe in buying the basics and classics and have a wardrobe full of black trousers and blazers, nicely fitted shirts and tops, cashmere cardigans and skinny jeans. Yes I have way too many pairs of shoes in some people's eyes but none of them are going to date, they're made of solid leather and I take good care of them ( my Dune boots have lasted more seasons than my sons have been season ticket holders at the Vic - that's some considerable time!)

I look in my wardrobe on a daily basis and find things to wear, things I want to wear, things I enjoy wearing. I take a certain satisfaction in not being part of the disposable throwaway culture that many are - er - primed to embrace from an ever diminishing age. Equally I won't be sucked into the designer catwalk craziness that insists I follow a certain trend at risk of social exclusion. I wear clothes that suit me, that I feel comfy in, that wash and wear well.

And the point of this self obsessed rambling is...? Had I not invested in all these clothes and shoes while I was working where would I be now? I wouldn't be rushing out to buy all of this and besides if I was the prices would have doubled by now. My clothes and shoes were a sound and solid investment for which I am grateful - forget wine and the stock market, blazers and boots are where it's at.

I am a Writer

Telling the world you're a writer isn't an easy task.

It doesn't have the same optimistic or life affirming ring to it as "I'm pregnant", or the sense of hope inherent in "We're getting married". Some of those witnessing the announcement may smell a rat of the "feel like dossing around in my dressing gown all day" variety. Others may smile sweetly and make nice murmuring noises, thinking all the time that you've finally accepted you'll never get a full time "proper job" and from henceforth will be scrounging off the hard working taxpayer - themselves included, whilst deluding yourself a best selling novel is just 100,000 words away.

A writer however is not something you become or choose to be. Yes you can study, train, practice and perfect your writing. You can tear up endless sheets of virtual paper in fury and frustration as you seek to improve your craft, make a name for yourself, get a deal, an agent, a hundred hits on your blog... but the one thing you cannot do is decide to become a writer.

Writers are born not made. Birthed not recruited. Writers must write as an outlet for the myriad of words and phrases that assault our brains on a daily basis, that cry out to be scribbled and typed and blogged and expressed and edited and shared and published.

That is why we sit in our dressing gowns bashing out another blog entry, news article, thought provoking piece or poem. That's why maybe we have to accept there simply isn't time to get a "proper" job". Why we believe passionately that our dream - be it a best selling novel, book deal, agent, successful blog - truly is a few thousand words away.

"My name is Linda, and I'm a writer..."

http://youareawriter.com/contest/

Going green - another rant regarding public transport...

Today was definitely a "write" day with several stories to file from yesterday and a full day in the office to look forward to. Ian is still on annual leave and offered a lift to Bricketwood so all good - so far.

After a long but productive day I was looking forward to a drinks reception just off Carnaby Street. An opportunity to catch up with friends and colleagues from a former life, surrounded by gardening items donated by celebrities and now being auctioned on ebay. Free wine and nibbles no less - and meeting up with Ian for a bit of quality time together.

On leaving the office and preparing for the mini trek to Bricketwood station I was thrilled to be offered a lift by one of my new colleagues. Within minutes I was stood on the platform waiting for the fast train to Euston where I would pick up the tube to Oxford Circus.

How, how, how had I managed to forget the events of two weeks ago? The whole Abbey flyer fiasco? Why had it not occurred to me to check train times, never mind whether there was a ticket office? What was I now doing standing on a station platform with a display sign telling me the next train was due in 50 minutes time.

And how had I forgotten that this station was on a branch line and not as I had anticipated the main line to Euston? That of course would get me as far as Watford where allowing for the sprint from Platform 11 and possible wait for the mainline train, followed by the hop on the Bakerloo Line, meant I would probably make it to the drinks reception around twenty minutes after it finished.

Never one to be defeated easily I struck up conversation with a young mum on the platform who, as it turned out, had a phone with the number of a local taxi firm saved, and an extensive knowledge of transport networks in London and the surrounding areas. She called them up but sadly the cost of a cab to Watford Junction was almost equivalent to the penalty fare on the Abbey Flyer. A Plan B was called for.

That involved me asking if there was any other railway station in the vicinity and another phone call later finding myself in a taxi to Radlett. From where I caught a First Capital Connect train to West Hampstead Thameslink. A short walk to the Jubilee Line, fifteen minutes to Bond Street, a ten minute walk and I was in the pop up shop with my husband and a glass of red. Twenty five minutes late and around twenty pounds poorer. Isn't it good to be green...?

Filled With Love

By anybody's standards today has been quite a long day. Common sense would say get to bed, get some sleep, you've done enough...

The Write-Fiend within me cannot go along with such sensible suggestions, feeling instead driven to post on here something of today's happenings before retiring to the warmth of the heatpad and comfort of the memory foam.

Today started - or ended - at 1.30am when sleep closed a long day of volunteering for Christian Aid. Judging a bake off that involved the tasting of 14 superb cakes, then hanging out in a pop up shop full of items customised and signed by A Listers made for an interesting day. It could have ended - or at least wound down - with a session of sofa slouching from 6pm onwards. Instead I baked somewhere in the region of 80 cupcakes to be tucked in lock'n'lock boxes for the night, ready for their 6.30am start.

I flat iced, frosted, piped and finished the cakes in time for a collection at 10am, a delivery at 11am and three postal orders this afternoon. All went well until the moment when the post office cashier told me - midway through my transactions - that the card machine wasn't working for my particular card. Expletive deleted but couldn't he perhaps have mentioned that before we started? Especially bearing in mind I am at the post office every other day with my pile of parcels?

He suggested I withdraw cash from the machine outside. I refused - why pay to withdraw money from my own account. He told me to tear off the stamps (presumably aborting the transactions). I refused on the basis these are cakes, they need to go today, and he could have said the machine was out of order. I ask him if he has a phone, no. Lady behind suggests I drive to petrol station, I start to explain why I don't drive and get exasperated - until - hallelujah - I have an idea!

I run to the dental surgery three shops down from post office and yes, my dear friend is there and able to lend me £20. I run back. Lady with advice re petrol station is now posting a trillion engraved badges she's selling via ebay. I wait.

I wait so long that by the time I am walking home it is hailing cats, dogs, snails, rabbits, geese, elephants and probably rhinocerii. I have no key so ring the doorbell, but Ian is in his studio at the end of the garden and Dave has his headphones on. I make my way round the back, into the house, shiver, turn the heating up to a couple of degrees less than it used to be when I had a "proper" job and decide what to do next.

It turns out to be an easy decision - emails in my inbox suggest a couple of phone interviews might be in order, to get ahead for local news magazine this week. After which building a website becomes the priority - so I do that (as you do....)

I finish in time to go for drinks with some very good friends. Four of us, three bottles of red, the world is put to rights and it is finally time for bed. 

There have been some lovely emails asking how I am enjoying being a lady of leisure... #justsaying

Not such a good girl

A huge, enormous, massive thank you to my daughter Sarah for sharing the link to my blog on her facebook page, with an exceptionally nice comment which doubled the hits on here overnight.

Another giant, stupendous thank you to my mum for an immensely generous blog post of her own which complimented me on my creativity when it comes to cupcakes, and tenacity in the face of some trials and tribulations.

In receipt of such compliments it would be easy to allow my head to swell to such a size that the London Ambassador trilby I am soon to be wearing would perch in a ridiculous fashion atop my plum tinted plumage. It might also be tempting for me to believe these nice things to the extent that I forget I have my faults also.

To ensure this is not the case I have decided to consider some of these faults and in a spirit of openness and confession to blog them here...

First up, since losing my job I confess that yes, I have been known to watch daytime television. Shock, horror, gasp I hear from those of you with better judgement and a more evolved sense of what is right. But please let us not bundle all daytime TV together and tar it all with the same sticky brush. We do have standards - well some of us do - and whilst Jeremy Vile may be a part of the government's conspiracy to keep us all in work until we are 75 there are some gems to be had amidst the gross and ghastly offerings. You want examples? 60 minute makeover - now that they are honest about the three and a half weeks (my estimate) or so of preparation that goes on before the team of photogenic painters and decorators move in. I have been known to cry at the stories of well deserving people who return home after lunch with a friend to find their dreary bedroom transformed into a boudoir worthy of Billie Piper...

I have also been known to cry at Dickinson's Real Deal - not only because I wish I could pick up a bargain in Sue Ryder's shop that would sell on ebay at a 1000% profit. But also because there is a particular dealer - male - who wears so much jewellery that I suspect a visit to "we buy any gold.com" would keep him for life and safe him the embarrassment of having to appear on Daytime TV...

When it comes to being bad I have other things to admit to sadly. Whilst I vowed never to give up putting on make up if I lost my job I have sadly succumbed to the temptation not to wear eyeshadow. Mascara is an essential - why scare the postman? But life is suddenly too short to brush taupe coloured powder across my eyelids on a regular basis. Who am I trying to impress with my shadowy sockets anyway - the guy behind the counter at the post office who's become my most regular conversationalist?

Likewise, I have given up on tights. Not that I'm suddenly into stockings and suspenders - nowadays it's more jeans r us. And not the skinny jeans I used to take comfort in. Autograph. M and S. Enough said.

And then...

When it comes to confessions this is the big one. Up there with the seven deadly sins in some people's minds, so prepare yourself reader, you may be shocked.

Apparently I have been known to leave the bathroom in a disgusting state. I know, you cannot believe this. Neither can I as someone who has enjoyed the company of an environmental health inspector on various occasions with my kitchen being registered at the local council offices and all that. However, having left the bathroom after pulling the plug out, and not having returned before a member of my family has entered the room, apparently the remains of a bath bomb were once found adhered to the base of the bath. Be warned ladies - and gentlemen - who are lovers of Lush. This is a grievous sin up there with the final confession of the night...

... Not eating "properly".

Put simply, outside of the office routine mealtimes become somewhat arbitrary. You're hungry? Then eat - and whatever it is you fancy. You're busy, engaged, focussed on something else and 1pm comes around and you don't notice it - so what?! You're thinking of making a business out of cupcakes and have spent a day tasting sponge and buttercream and frankly cannot face a mouthful of anything other than tea and toast. Does it really matter?

Naturally it's important to have a balanced diet. Five a day and all of that. But there is eating to live and living to eat and maybe sometimes when we're so busy living that grabbing a bite to keep us going is all we have time for then it is okay to listen to our bodies - our tummies even - and indulge in a little of what we fancy?

Says she, having just enjoyed a delicately flavoured vanilla cupcake with a spoonful of ice cream :-)