i just wanted to hold you

(Muse-Starlight)

Let's talk about books. Whilst I am not a technophobe by any means, I have never really got on board with the Kindle concept. I happily make use of my phone, tablet, pc and, at least before its demise, laptop, on a daily basis. I online bank, online shop and even did a whole masters degree online some years ago. However, there's certain things that I just don't like to digitise. I have always been a stationery geek, and although I have a backup electronic calendar I prefer the paper version in the filofax I bought myself when I started my new job, and I take comfort in writing with fountain pens, and using pretty notebooks.

I am an avid reader, or at least I was when I was younger. I dare not say I do not have the time, as this thought provoking post from Kelly recently made me recognise that not having time for something is generally quite a subjective matter. As I said in my response to the post, we seem to be a society that equates being busy and stressed with a life that is important and meaningful, and not having time to do the things we enjoy seems to be a way of quantifying how busy, and therefore how important, we are. I thought the post was right, if you want to do something, generally there are ways to make time. We decided to learn Italian recently, and now take two hours each week to go to classes. If you asked me each week to give up two hours I would undoubtedly feel it was a big commitment, but we manage to make the time, and very much enjoy it. Similarly, some people will sit and wait for an appointment, or commute and sit playing on their phone. Others see that as an opportunity to partake in a personal hobby, be that listening to audio books, or in my case, I often write (and then delete) blog posts when I am on a train.

I digress, as is my habit. What I was going to say is that I have always loved reading, and as befits my somewhat addictive, I've started so I must finish, personality, once I am engrossed in a book, it is usually finished the same day, even if it means reading until the small hours. I don't read so much recently, but more because I never know where to start with choosing some books. Reading blogs makes me realise how much reading other people do, and how well read they are, and I would like to start making time to read.

I am the proud owner of a Kindle, which The Husband bought me one Christmas. He had thought, quite reasonably, that my love of reading and my love of technology would combine into a love of e-books. He, misguidedly, thought my loud comments about not wanting a Kindle was an extreme attempt at reverse psychology, or me trying to dissuade him from buying me such an expensive present. Cue an awkward moment indeed on Christmas morning, as I laughed aloud at the Kindle box, incorrectly thinking it was a joke. He had also bought it a very beautiful case, exactly the style I would have picked, but I don't think he expected it to be more pleasing than the contents!

I do use the Kindle, mostly when travelling, and can see the value of transporting several tomes in something smaller than a magazine. I enjoy it, particularly the joy of downloading and reading books for free, especially the classics (The Husband downloaded Frankenstein for me to re-read after we saw the play). For me though, I would always choose a book. I have piles of them, shelves stacked, some unread, some with spines that are splintering from overuse. I like the weight of a book, feeling the paper, judging how much more there is to go from the thickness of the pages. I bargain between myself and the page numbers, just ten more pages, just one more chapter. I like things to be tangible, palpable, to buy a book and feel like I actually own it. Sometimes, traditional is best.

if i had anything to say

(Travis - Something Anything)

I cannot think of anything to write. That is not strictly true. I have started this post no less than five times now. So far it has been about the following things:

The fact that this weekend has felt longer than usual and why I think that is. If anyone is interested, my hunch is that having something planned on a Friday night and something planned for a Saturday morning helps. Not very insightful, or interesting. I wince with boredom just writing those two sentences, let alone a whole post.

Following this post I have a few more things I feel like I want to say on the topic. These posts may yet materialise, but there is something I keep trying to write about the division of labour when both partners work, and also something along the lines of this reply to Harriet's comment.

Last Saturday, when things seemed to go wrong, and not quite to plan, and generally a bit disappointing all round. This post was going to include a witty take on going for bridesmaid dress fittings, which at the time I thought would make a pithy post, but now I can't really find a way to make it work. I feel guilty writing a post about the experience in tones that are anything less than positive as I feel like it would somehow be being mean to my close friend who is the bride, even though she knows nothing about this blog. The fact that she was a bridesmaid for me last year makes me also feel that I have no right to moan, even light heartedly, about the process of being a bridesmaid at all. However, the basis of the post was about the sample dresses all being in an American size 2 and 4, which means however pretty they look on the hanger they are not a becoming sight on my English rose hips. It does make one feel like a bad bridesmaid, for not being that particular brand of bony beauty that is de rigeur for bridal parties (and life in general). Furthermore there seems to be a cruel irony in the new trend of vintage tea parties alongside the dress fitting, putting biscuits and cupcakes on offer whilst showing someone lots of dresses that are too small strikes me as a weird mind game to play.

Finally, two attempts to write about a restaurant. I have a phone full of pictures of lovely food from lovely places we have eaten, but still feel too much of an amateur to actually write anything amounting to a review. After the disappointments of Saturday (and having bravely resisted the biscuits and cupcakes at the dress fitting) this was the meal that saved the day and put the smiles back on our faces. Having stumbled upon it when the place we planned to go was full (told you it was one of those days),they were obviously busy too but rearranged some bookings to fit us in, and we ended up on a cracking table by the window. Having arrived damp, dreary and having had a decidedly unsuccessful few hours, we left well-fed and in a much cheerier mood. When I was waitressing as a student, my mum (wise lady that she is) told me the best service is when you can go to a restaurant feeling grumpy, and end up leaving feeling happy (though I'm sure she put it more eloquently than that). She is, as ever, right. In a bad mood, it is easy to feel dissatisfied with even the smallest details when eating out, so somewhere must be really good to impress, let alone turn that mood around. The Hub, in Liverpool, did that for us, and meant that the night at the theatre that followed (still not confident enough to write a review of that either) was all the more enjoyable than it might have been. Good service, delicious, well-cooked food, and a great atmosphere. It really does deserve writing about, so in lieu of a longer review, The Hub  comes well recommended from me, and, to round up this post, some pictures of our sharing starter, and my beer-battered fish and chips.

you'll be the prince and i'll be the princess

(Taylor Swift - Love Story)

Harriet at Is There A Plan B recently mentioned NaBloPoMo, which was an entirely new concept to me. As it was the 2nd of November by the time I read about it I thought I had failed at the first hurdle by not posting every day (looking back now I realise I had actually posted on the 1st already so I was even more silly to give up so quickly). Luckily for me Harriet is aiming to post twice a week during November, and, considering I also have an exam I should be revising for, this is probably a more feasible option. So more regular posts for November, if not every day.

When the laptop was dead, and the PC was yet to be resurrected, there was a post I bookmarked, specifically so I would find it when my technology was working more effectively. Written by Hannah, at Muddling Along Mummy, it lamented the myth of the happy ever after ideology presented in Disney classics, as a less than realistic representation of adult relationships. It triggered for me some similar thoughts and also brought to mind a magazine article I read recently.

I don't know which magazine, or the interviewee, (I realise what a terrible attempt this is to sound well read), I vaguely think it was a businesswoman in an article illustrated with pictures of her posing in various rooms of her home, and I may have read it in the kitchen at work one lunchtime. Anyway, these are minor details, what was said is the one thing I can remember (sort of, I am also paraphrasing, having tried to find the quote by googling potentially relevant words and "magazine article" and failing miserably). She reflected, having been asked what advice she gave to young women, that they shouldn't marry young, because what appears attractive when you are young, is not what you find attractive when you are older. In marriage, romance comes from someone who gets up in the middle of the night to feed the baby, and shares the housework. I found myself nodding vigorously, I am only 27 but have always been old-headed (and definitely knew The Husband was a keeper when he would help me tidy my teenage bedroom).

I agree with Hannah. In fact I would argue that it is far beyond Disney that the problem stretches. The majority of the classic love stories, and their presentations of romance, fail to focus on the drudgery of domestic life as the ideal scene for love to blossom. There is the Romeo and Juliet model, where all protagonists are part of the social elite, such that cleaning and working are never part of the picture. Alternatively, there is the Cinderella classic, where one character (usually the woman) is saved from a life of such hardship by falling in love with somebody who is part of the social elite, and so cleaning and working are no longer part of the picture.

As a romantic at heart, who thoroughly enjoys the classic love story in any guise it isn't a complaint. But, having been married eighteen months, it is difficult to trust that your marriage is "successful" when love seems to be presented in a way so far removed from daily life. The Husband and I get in from work, cook a meal, see to the dog, work out whether it is bin day, check we don't urgently need to shop or iron, tidy round and go to bed, destined to sleep and repeat. It is easy to feel dull in comparison to the conventional depiction of newlywedded bliss.

I don't think fairy tale romance is any bad thing, but it is just a story. Real love needs to be fixed firmly in reality. I think love is mostly about sharing the mundane and the everyday with someone, and finding pleasure in the small things, them usually seeming better, or more bearable, because that other person is by your side. Romantic gestures, for me can be as simple as The Husband having cooked dinner when I am late home. It is about sharing the load because you care about the other person, more than you care about yourself.

an ending fitting for the start

(The Libertines - Can't Stand Me Now)

We went watching Frankenstein last night, it was the cinema screening of the National Theatre production. It was an excellent choice for Halloween, and a brilliant adaptation of the book. I studied it at school and loved it, and now I want to read it all over again. It asks such deep questions about humanity and morality, and the ethics of scientific endeavours. I noticed when we got in we both seemed to make even more of a fuss of the dog than usual, I wondered if subconsciously we were both guilt-ridden about abandoning our creature!

The production had the actors playing Frankenstein and the Creature alternate the roles each night. The screening in the next few weeks shows the casting the opposite way to last night; I'm  tempted to go and see it the other way around. The production was directed by Danny Boyle in 2011, and it was also interesting to watch it now, following his celebrated Olympic opening ceremony, as you can see some of the beginnings of  it in elements of Frankenstein. The industrial imagery and the incredible lighting designs would both have fitted straight into the ceremony itself.

The man under the stairs at the bookshop does not work on Fridays. I didn't get to thank him in person for the lovely job he did of binding my dissertation. He was right to be proud of his gold lettering, I was right to hope that he would look after them.

The admin lady in the University Department does not work on Fridays either. I left them on her desk, I arranged them neatly, I pondered whether to write her a note, but it was blatantly obvious from my name printed on the cover, and the spine, too, for good measure, who had left them there. It felt rather anti climatic to leave them there, in silence, and slip away.

Walking to the car I discovered a hole in my shoe. I realised that is something you only ever find out when it is raining. I wasn't wearing socks. I blame the dog for the hole, she has a fondness for footwear. Back in work I submitted my research for an international conference. There was a box asking if I was under thirty. I am. It meant I could be considered a young researcher (I think they are awarding prizes). I like that in some circles I am still considered young.

I had to go to a meeting with some of my senior supervisors in my soggy shoes. I managed to tie back my hair, which had frizzed fantastically in the rain. I had forgotten about my hands though. The bright red nail polish which had felt bold and brave when I applied it on Sunday night, and which pleased me on Monday morning, has not lasted well throughout the week. My left hand has survived better than my right so I spent the whole meeting trying to pick up my cup with the wrong hand.  I couldn't work out how to hold my pen so that you couldn't see my nails, and probably made myself far more conspicuous with my bizarre contortions.

It was all very silly as I actually had a lot to contribute, and I can only hope that what I said was more easily memorable than my hands. I think I will go for a subtler colour this week just to be on the safe side though. On my journey today I passed the pub again, I honestly happened to go the same route, it wasn't a deliberate diversion. The pram had gone, though the pub still stood empty. It suddenly all seemed like a lot of worry about nothing, but that does tend to be my way.

I dedicated my dissertation to my mum. It is probably the best work I have done, it seemed only fitting to acknowledge her with it, my mum who has always taught me to do my best, has supported me in striving to be my best, and has always in life given me her best. We both had a little cry when I pointed out the page and it didn't feel anti climatic any more.

the rain floods gutters

(James - Sometimes)

The storm that was predicted didn't ever hit in our part of the country, although I'm not sure it was ever thought that it would. Even so, there has been a sense of foreboding about the day, as though the wind might pick up speed at any moment. The clouds overhead have seemed heavy with threat, and although the storm never came, the rain did. I had to do quite a lot of driving today, and the journey this morning was dismal. The rain was heavy and the cars on the motorway appeared to be driving on water, each set of tires leaving small waves in their wake. Through the spray, the red lights of the vehicles in front became a guide, mapping the contours of the road ahead.

Despite the grey it has been a successful day all in all. I have submitted final copies of my dissertation for binding to a man who appears to live under the stairs in a bookshop. The Harry Potter of the bookbinding world perhaps, maybe the Kindle is his Voldemort. He was proud of his gold-embossed lettering and sewn cloth covers. He only takes cash which he keeps in one of those lockable money boxes. I like to think he will take as much care of my dissertation as I did.

On the drive from the University I saw a pram outside a pub. It was eleven in the morning and there was nobody around. It was a jarring sight, an empty pram outside an empty pub, and I haven't been able to forget it. The pram was modern, brightly coloured, and difficult to miss, perhaps that is why it caught my eye. Although empty, it did not seem discarded, it looked too new for that. I can't help wonder if there is a story, and wonder if anyone else walked by and stopped, if it registered with them as out of the ordinary, as it did for me. I have the remnants of a passage from a book about empty prams and bad luck swirling in my head, but I can't pull it together or remember where it would be from.

I am writing this post on a word counting website for the first time. Since my laptop died a few weeks ago I tried to write posts on a tablet using the app version of this website, but the posting and formatting wasn't the most intuitive process. However, having resurrected the old desktop PC, or should I say, The Husband having resurrected the old desktop PC, I am enjoying working, and writing, at a desk again. Perhaps that is why I have managed two posts in two nights, although no promises that it will continue at quite the same rate.

What I like about this website is that, as well as counting the words, it also analyses the frequency of keywords in the writing, and works out which words are occurring most commonly within the post. I can see this becoming interesting in the future, particularly on days like this when I'm writing without a real sense of where the content might be going. I'm sure some psychoanalysis beckons based on my most used terminology, at the very least some version of a word association game could be construed. My top three words at the moment are:

although empty writing

Make of that what you will, although (there I go again with that one) I have to say it isn't the most auspicious summary for a blog post. Not exactly sounding like a riveting read based on that. I have half written so many posts and often feel like they don't quite amount to enough to justify a post, particularly one that has to be seven hundred words long. I think perhaps all I really wanted to write about today was that pram. I wanted to record it, share it, remember it. It seemed so poignant as I passed it, yet I'm not sure why, maybe it was the incongruence of it, or the sense of abandonment. It isn't on my normal route, I'm not even sure I could find my way back there. I hope it isn't still there.

enough hours in the day

(Gomez - Whippin' Piccadilly)

The clocks going back always feel like a much better idea than the clocks going forward. Whenever the clocks change it always seems like a trick of the mind, as though just for two days of the year, on a minuscule scale, we have suddenly learned to time travel. However, as somebody who constantly wishes I had a Bernard's Watch to conjure up a pause button for the clock, time gained feels much more magical than time lost. There's also less potential for embarrassment this way round. Turning up an hour early for something can be potentially disguised, and is in most cases more forgivable than arriving an hour late. Arriving late for something when the clocks go forward makes it abundantly clear to everyone that you are the person that forgot. Perhaps worse still, I vividly remember one year wanting to get up to do some schoolwork at 8am. Having got up at 7am believing the clocks had gone forward, I later found they had actually gone back. Doing homework at 6am on a Sunday morning has to be the ultimate daylight saving failure.

If one does negotiate the transition through time successfully, there is a much more positive feeling when the clocks go back. The air is filled with the sense of a little time gained, people seem better rested, or more productive, and the dark mornings and dark nights seem like a comforting prelude to wintry days spent wrapped up outside or curled up inside. Compare that to the sleep-deprived faces of spring, heavy eyelids and general disorientation that arises from unceremoniously having an hour deducted from your day. It seems a bizarre way to mark the season of new awakenings really, blundering around short of time and short of sleep, but maybe the bright(er) days that follow make it more tolerable.

I have enjoyed my extra hour today, although I haven't decided where it occurred. I resisted the urge to sleep in, and somehow it seems I have noticed my extra minutes all the more for that. I got up bright and early and raced through the revision I wanted to do. Getting up early, and working at the weekend without procrastinating are both unheard of for me, but perhaps I was ensuring I didn't waste the gift of time. 

Maybe the time we spent walking the dog is where the hour went. We walked to the train station, collected a thick wad of tickets for a variety of trips I will be taking in the coming months. The machine spat them out one by one, dates, times, stations, a pack of orange cards forming the calendar of my life. Coming back we headed by the lake and through the park. Muddy leaves squelched underfoot and we both staggered back each time the puppy threatened to jump up, joyfully imprinting paws onto our legs. The park ranger wasn't so cautious of his clothing, patting her head and asking her age as she bounded around his boots. We saw two squirrels, but she did not, although her beagle instinct caught their scent and she circled round the bases of the trees  with nose stuck to the ground.

Perhaps our spare hour was spent over lunch, using vouchers provided by my wonderful mum, to have a delicious and cost-free two course meal. We rarely eat out just the two of us, and the chance to do so was very welcome, as was the free food! I like the thought of losing the hour to a wonderfully cooked roast dinner, and some quality time with The Husband catching up and also practicing our Italian. It is funny which bits we each remember, between us I think we could just about make ourselves understood, although neither of us enjoy the grammar. Even if the hour went to being stuck in traffic on the way out I wouldn't mind. The blustery day, blowing the burnt orange leaves from the trees was lovely to observe, adding to my sense that winter was well and truly coming.

Or perhaps the time has been gained here, enjoying the opportunity to write these words, revelling in not an hour, but a whole day well spent.

gone so fast

(Green Day - Wake Me Up When September Ends)

I am sitting counting the minutes until September is over. I have a revision course to book onto, for which there are only a small number of places, and booking opens on October 1st. I have my email written to request a place, so all that remains is to press send at 00.01.

This month started in Sicily, where we spent a week after the dissertation was handed in. Since we returned home it is almost unfathomable how much has happened, now I sit and think of it. Shortly after our return The Husband's grandfather passed away. It was not unexpected, but perhaps sooner than anticipated. It was only a few days later, following an assessment in London, that The Husband was told he was now fully qualified in his profession, following fifteen exams and three years of studying, whilst also working. The celebrations were understandably a little bittersweet, coming as they did so soon after such a loss.

In September we have also started taking Italian lessons, the second of which was tonight. It has been good to be back in the classroom, and as the classes are held at a local school, I mean that literally as well as figuratively. As The Husband and I met in school, it has been quite funny to sit next to him in "lessons" again, and it's nice to have something planned together each week.

We have also begun puppy obedience classes, although we haven't been back yet as we didn't feel Millie had learnt enough since the first class to go back. Next Saturday is the day! Millie is keeping us, and the wider family, busy! She is incredibly beautiful but certainly has a strong personality. We are making some progress with puppy training and she has definitely settled right in. We took her to the beach recently and she thoroughly enjoyed the sand, but wasn't so sure of the sea.

As well as my dissertation viva, I have started back at work full time, and we are slowly getting accustomed to the new pace of things. We have also had a number of birthdays, including The Husband's, to celebrate. I have been trying to make more of an effort to cook more on a daily basis, so I have also been trying to meal plan and shop for specific recipes. So far it is working well and we are having a much greater variety of meals, rather than the same few old faithfuls on rotation.

In the last week I have seen a NTLive screening of Othello at the local cinema which was fabulous. We are booked to watch the repeat screening of Frankenstein at Halloween too, which I am very excited about! I studied both texts at A-Level, but have never seen either performed, and it made me want to search out my old essays and re-read them all. I also saw an incredible production of All My Sons at The Royal Exchange. This was the other extreme, as it was a play I had never read, never seen and knew very little about. It was a phenomenal performance with a really strong cast, and made for a great night out with my lovely mum. A few weeks ago we also saw Daniel Kitson's new production "Tree" at the Royal Exchange. This had quite a different feel from his solo work, as it was a two part production, but it was no less brilliant than we expected. We have seen a few of Daniel Kitson's pieces over the years, having first seen him at Latitude Festival in 2010, and he never disappoints. My mum and stepdad went to watch on another night, and I was nervous as it was on our recommendation. I needn't have been, they loved it.

Actually, now I think of it, it isn't surprising that September has gone so fast, being as full as it was. I love this time of year and the gradual transition from new term optimism, to festive excitement, all with the promise of a new year just beyond. It is so easy to pass through the days, months and years and feel that time is rushing by. One of the unexpected joys of having a dog is the fact that it forces me to be outside more than I would, and in doing so I feel much more aware of time passing, weather changing and nature shifting seasons. It punctuates the days, ensuring a chance to notice, and appreciate, life.