Summer holidays: not a Ten Point Plan
So, it’s the summer holiday and I am surrounded by children. I only have two, but they seem to circle a lot. I am feeling guilty that I haven’t blogged for ages, since my hurried I-Can’t-Believe-I-Won-Something boasty one last month. So, here’s what I’ve been up to, with apologies, and a promise that I shall get back onto something literary or ranty feminist just as soon as I have some headspace in September.
2) Nipped down to Cardiff from the Highlands for aforementioned boasty thing, leaving my children with a friend for twenty-four hours. I owe her big time.
3) Cleaned my house after surprising my husband by returning at exactly the time I said we would, and texting to remind him. He had reverted to Bachelor Mode.
4) Forced my elder child to play at an orchestral week, which he would have enjoyed a lot more if they hadn’t made it ‘fun’ with masks and dancing and general extrovert-based games. I have done him a deal regarding trips to amusement parks later.
5) Abandoned my family for ten days to go and sing and sleep in a tent. Discovered I was a minor poet-celebrity and had to read out some of my work to drunk musicians one evening. Also shocked people that a woman of my age can still limbo dance, given a small amount of sherry and a following wind. There is no photographic evidence of this. Sang a whole two-bar Holst solo. Did not drink nearly as much as I should have. Showed my Saint Cecilia poem to a composer friend, who wants to set it for choir. Now THAT will be an exciting blog post when it happens.
6) Returned, and cleaned house again. But at least I’m not making a big deal about it.
7) Realised how behind I am with writing work and find solace making list-based blogposts, hoping the discipline will spill over into my life.
8) This week, builders arrived to rip out various bathrooms. I know it will be lovely when it’s done. I vowed not to let this be a blog about builders. Neither of us is strong enough for that right now.
9) Read a lot. Two of the best books I’ve read for a long time are Michael Chabon’s The Amazing Adventures of Kavalier and Clay, and Hannah Kent’s Burial Rites. Both absolutely breathtaking, meaning I had to put the books down after reading a phrase or a paragraph and let it swirl around my brain, admiring the total mastery of language. Reading is bloody brilliant.
I have a sitcom pilot to rework, some poems to finish and a novel to tweak. But that will all have to wait until my children are back at school. Thank you for your patience. Summer holidays, eh? Where’s the gin?