Book Club Members Get Grumpy - well, one of us does anyway

Saturday night and it's the long awaited Book Club trip to see Grumpy Old Women at the theatre. Hey, I'm not grumpy but I'll go along for the ride.

Marian organised it. Boy, is she good! Not only has she booked tickets for the theatre, she's booked dinner for eight at a hotel restaurant a short drive away, planned a five mile walk with a view of the sea beforehand, even packed hubby off to visit the family in Sheffield so the coast is clear...
Eileen is a nominated driver
As is Alison
And so am I.
Except no-one wants to wait for me to get home from the Lovely Bookshop so they squash into two cars and set off without me.

I work my four hour shift, get home, finger nails broken from all that shelving of heavy cookery books and jump into a hot bath just as the rains start to fall.
Me, Grumpy?
Never.

The girls have had a lovely walk in earlier sunshine, followed by afternoon tea, a gossip and a G and T before I arrive having driven 50 miles - alone.
Me, Grumpy?
Never.

Dinner is divine; canapes, a glass of Bucks Fizz, three courses, mince pies and coffee (all for £18.50).
Marion says: "Let's have another glass of Champagne.
I say, "I can't, I'm driving."
Me, Grumpy?
Never.

I drive four of the Book Club girls from the restaurant to the theatre, leaving Eileen's car in the restaurant car park. We've cut it a bit fine by now and there's nowhere to park. The rain is bucketing down. I drive twice round the car park; still nowhere to park.
"Park here," says Debra of the distracting jade earrings and I'm tempted. Grumpy Old Women is due to start at 8pm and it's now 7.55pm.
"Is it legal?" I ask. I can just make out some yellow paint on the tarmac through the gloom of the car window.
"No problem," says Julie and mutters something about not blocking an exit. I think she probably knows what she's talking about since she does drive a Harley Davidson...

We dash into foyer with moments to spare and take our seats.

We all laugh at Grumpy Old Women but interestingly enough, not all in the same places.

I'm sitting next to Eileen who falls asleep on my shoulder for most of the first half (it must have been the five mile walk followed by the gin and tonic)...
Marian and I hoot with laughter when Jenny Eclair describes the new contraption at the gym; the Power Plate. Apparently, it shakes off the flab while you just stand there. However, after 20 minutes of vibrating it also shook out Jenny's tampon...
(No, of course that's never happened to me...)
There is, of course, a cursory mention of sex but most of the jokes are good, clean, familiar subjects involving cake, cleaning and cups of tea.

By the time we leave the theatre I don't think anyone in the audience is the slightest bit grumpy...

But, then I get back to my car, it's still raining and so I put on my windscreen wipers and a parking ticket flies across the windscreen reminding me what being grumpy is all about.

Me, Grumpy?
Too bloody right I am.

I had sole responsiblity that evening for making sure that my friend's hair-dos were not totally ruined by the rain which is why I didn't park six miles away. For that selfless action I have been charged £25 (£50 if I don't pay it in the next half an hour or something ridiculous.)

But then - Debra, Julie and Sleepy Eileen have a whip-round, reminding me what's so lovely about being a woman, grumpy or otherwise and, before you know it, I only owe north Wales traffic police a tenner.

But of course, by this time, we are all Very Grumpy Indeed.

Someone Help Me, Please

I'm only working 20 hours a week in the Lovely Bookshop but it feels like more. I come home at 1pm and hurtle through the house, chuck dishes in cupboards from the dishwasher, throw dirty washing in the washing machine, open the freezer door and see fish fingers, spinach, and fruits of the forest for dinner (again), feed the cats, the guinea pigs and myself, slurp down two cups of tea and and finally, finally switch on the computer. I read a couple of blogs and sigh with pleasure, then intend to write a new post myself until I realise I haven't done the ironing, put out the rubbish or stripped the beds. I've also just remembered I've forgotten an appointment of some description and phone the dentist to apologise.
"No, your appointment isn't until March 2010," says the receptionist and I'm confused until I find my son's optician's appointment card in my handbag and realise it was last week.

I have said it before and I'll say it again; how do full-time working mothers do it? I take my hat off to you all. Actually I'd take more than that off if I was confident I'd remember where I put it when I took it off.

And as for writing anything - are you kidding me?

The Book Club 'Progresses'

I've had an interesting week; two phone calls and two emails re the possibility of ghostwriting commissions, the beginning of the Christmas Rush at the Lovely Bookshop and the organising of the yearly Progressive Dinner.

Five years ago Alison and I asked our neighbours (that's book club members and others) if they would be interested in the concept of a meal whereby you prepare just one course yourself but eat two other course in different houses with six different guests, moving between houses for each stage. As we all live in the street no-one has to drive and we all know each other - vaguely - but it means we get to know each other much better...or in the case of one of our neighbours and book club members you could end up meeting your husband.

So A and I send out initial invites. This year we have a record 18 couples attending.

The evening requires a fair bit of organisation to ensure that no couple eats with the same couple twice. We have a spreadsheet, the previous four years' itineraries for comparison and a bottle of wine.
We pour a glass of wine each then peruse the list.
"I'll do a main course," says A magnanimously. "But please don't give me a veggie; they're a pain when it comes to planning a menu."
I say we'll try our best.
I've ended up with coffee, chocs and after dinner drinks for 36 so I am exempted a course. (Thank goodness.)

Last year the husband of the newly married couple forgot to return the invite and so was not included on the PD itinerary which nearly led to their divorce. Adding an extra couple at this late stage meant A and I had to reorganise the WHOLE THING which meant another spreadsheet and another bottle of wine.
This year the couple's acceptance was posted through my letterbox within hours of receipt.

On the invite we always ask if there are any food allergies or likes/dislikes that should be taken into consideration when cooks are planning their course.
P always puts 'fish', 'hayfever' and 'Man United'
Wife of newly married couple always states that she is veggie and doesn't eat fish but that hubby 'likes lots'
H always states 'no offal'.
We also have one of the guests with a wheat intolerance and one who doesn't like mussels.

We won't know where we're going for each course (apart from the one we're preparing) until 7 O'clock on Saturday; all we know is how many we have to cook for.

Four hours and a bottle of wine later we finish the spreadsheet and are exceptionally pleased with ourselves. Everyone is indeed eating with a different selection of neighbours for each course. This perfect combination means we can't make any late changes without upsetting the whole thing.

A looks at her guests. "I hope I haven't got a veggie," she says.

A's guest include: H: 'no offal'
Wife of newly married couple: 'veggie, no fish'
She also has the guest with a wheat intolerance And the one who doesn't like mussels. (Honestly, I'm not kidding.)

As far as I know she's still planning the menu.

Book Club and the Run Up to Christmas

Book Club again last week and this time we were at Sue's house. The smell of apples, cinnamon and cloves greeted us as we walked in.
"I've got a glut of apples," explained Sue as she offered us hot cider and mulled wine. We nibbled on home-made sausage rolls, dips, cheese and lovely moist apple cake and sat in front of the fire, sighing with pleasure.

It was a good turn out for discussion of Aravind Adiga's White Tiger.

Julie was back from Harley Davidson-ing her way along the west coast of America so hadn't had time to read it but we forgave her. (Actually I don't remember the last book Julie DID read. Must have a word with her about that.) Julie apologised for leaving all our presents on a bus (senior moment) for which, I'm sorry to say, we were a little slower in forgiving

Alyson had ditched the new glasses and was wearing her more usual contact lenses so she was looking much more alert

Elaine (our super reader) was still powering her way through Oscar and Lucinda which is supposed to be our next book choice but Debra (she of the beautiful but distracting jade earrings) made no bones about the fact that it was just too thick for her to contemplate

I suggested saving it for the summer and "long balmy evenings sitting in the garden" the fantasy of which was pounced on immediately:

"When do we get time to languish in the garden?" asked Alison, who was, right at that very moment, languishing on the settee

Carol suggested switching books and reading The American Wife next time round instead. I mentioned that it was on offer - Buy One Get One Free - at my Lovely Bookshop so that was seized on as a good enough reason to swap. I promised to take advantage of the offer on behalf of the members the very next day

Marian reminded us that we were off to see Grumpy Old Women at the end of the month so we discussed car sharing and a day out in Llandudno in an extremely non grumpy manner

And then Alyson mentioned December's book club meeting which is always held at Alyson's house. We all pick a book we've read, wrap it up and give it to another member, although if we're feeling flush, we might buy a new book. Then (and this is the best bit) Alyson makes us all 'Twinklies' (or is it 'Sparklies'?) - lovely Xmassy cocktails with elderflower cordial, sparkling wine and vodka. (Actually after a couple of those you don't really care what they're called.)

Honestly, I bet you didn't know that reading could be such fun!

What Not To Do On Your Day Off

The plan is I'll work in my new job at the Lovely Bookshop five mornings a week (with my hirsute co-workers by my side) and in the afternoon I'll write or pitch - articles features etc. However, I've got a bit involved in my new obsession of short story writing since my usual editors are being so ...elusive.

So far I've sent three short stories off to competitions. Not all written this week I hasten to add; this week I'm a third of the way through a two-parter for a short story radio competition and I was really enjoying it until tonight when I got waylaid by the plaintive cry:

"Mum, can you help me finish my story; it's got to be in by tomorrow."
This was at 5 o'clock this evening and flushed with the idea that I thought I could string a fiction sentence together I replied:
"No problem; I'll be there in a jiffy."

Well, it's half past ten and I'm absolutely, utterly knackered with the stress of it all. We're talking Proustian length sentences here with the picky, annoyingly precise adjectival requirements of a non-English lover who is only happy when he's doing 'sums'. The story had to be Gothic in nature but my son informed that he didn't want it to be a 'cliched horror story'. I'm hopeless at horror. I'm still quaking from watching Halloween more than 30 years ago so I have no idea what's cliched or what isn't. He wasn't asking me to write it for him - I don't know if this comes with the territory ie. a teenager who never reads books - but he has to talk everything through that requires 'thinking'. As far as he is concerned nothing needs 'thinking' like a story does. Maths - no problem; French - no problem; History - no problem. I think you get the idea. My son is lost when it comes to story writing because he has to think on his own.

Except he doesn't think on his own; he insists on thinking with me. Trying out 20 words when I think the first one will do is completely and utterly exhausting.

It's now Friday (my day off) and I'm still recovering. I've had two chocolate bars and written no fiction whatsoever. I pray he has music amd maths homework this weekend since he knows that I know nothing about either of those subjects.

First Observations of a Bookseller

There are one or two things that make me different from the three other part-timers who have all started work on the same day as me (yesterday) at the lovely bookshop in town.

1 They are all 20 years younger than me
2 They all have facial hair and I don't
3 They all have an impressive knowledge of crime fiction and writers.

Which leads me to my first observation gleaned while answering customers' queries and shelving books - CRIME IS HUGE. If you want to write a bestseller, ditch the chick lit and brush up on your crime fiction instead.

Unfortunately, I don't know my Agatha Cristie from my Stieg Larsson. Is there any chance I could count Kate Atkinson as a crime writer? I've read all of hers.

Gottajob

I start tomorrow.

I'm working mornings only and I think I'm going to enjoy it. Surrounded by books I'm sure I'll be inspired to keep writing.

Can't wait for all those 'three for two' offers.

I think our book club members will be keen to stay on the right side of me. I'm pretty sure I'm eligible for staff discount...

Gissajob

I had an interview recently for a part-time 'communications assistant'.

I didn't get it.

The interviewer looked at my application form and said: "You seem to have a lot on." In other words: How are you going to fit this job into your life? But the reason I am looking for a job is precisely because I HAVEN'T got a lot on, it just looks like I have because everything I've done in the last few years is squashed onto my CV. But it's all listed in the PAST TENSE. I thought that was the idea?

I didn't say that, of course, because I think it would have sounded rude.

I have also been turned down for a temporary 'project assistant' post. Filling in the application form on-line took me the best part of an afternoon and I had to dredge up all sorts of memories. Apparently you are not allowed gaps in your CV so the two years I spent as a Tumble Tots instructor went down on paper too. Again, not sure it did me any favours. The prospective employer very kindly gave me feedback stating that I didn't fulfil all the necessary criteria and since they had had 60 applicants (for a six month temporary post) I think they were telling me politely that I stood no chance.

Other vacancies have been applied for via further on-line forms, hard copy forms and my own laboriously typed CVs. Closing dates have come and gone with no communication at all. I presume I haven't got those jobs either then.

But I've got an interview on Friday with a well known book chain for a temporary, part-time post. I submitted my on-line form (I'm getting good at this now), then had a preliminary interview on the phone. The advertised post was for 15 hours a week but the manager asked if I could work more. I don't mean to be flippant but I'd work any hours he wanted me to just so I don't have to fill in any more blasted application forms. I haven't written anything else for the last two weeks - and I am supposed to be a writer....

Oh no, maybe I'm now just a writer of application forms?