SWB grits her teeth and gets on with it…

I wrote this last night guys and am pleased to say I resisted the grog and took myself to bed early with the wonderful Eleanor Oliphant. It depressed me slightly that someone’s first novel could be full of such sharp, witty prose, but I resolved to just rejoice in her creativity as making comparisons is poor for the soul. To quote Lear: ‘that way madness lies.’ Glorious as the novel is, I’ll still glad that Helen Dunmore posthumously won the Costa Prize for her volume of poetry, Inside the Wave. To write such beautiful, life-affirming words while on one’s deathbed, reminds us that anything is possible.


Now, please do send positive thoughts: my nerves are in fecking tatters.


(Oh and the parents did come up, fed the children, cleaned my sinks and hovered the floor and even scrubbed the minging old grill. They’re a fine pair.)


Here’s last night’s moan…..


Oh Dear God people. I need prayers and positive thoughts by the BUCKET LOAD. I have a teetering tower of papers to process and a looming deadline. I am cranky, I am fraught, and my children are testing me to the limits of my patience. It is actually the older one who is being thran and defiant tonight. Six going on sixteen, she is full of rage and belligerence, and directing her vitriol at me. I had the audacity to suggest that eight o’clock was an appropriate bedtime and met with downright hostility. Finally, after a row and a shouting match I sat on her bed and gave her a cuddle. She says she ‘doesn’t know what’s bothering her,’ but something is afoot. I have work to do and decisions to make and I have just now set my arse upon the sofa and boy, do I have a thirst on me for a large glass of red wine with my beef stew.


Last week, I confess, I cheated on my Dry January challenge, and had a pre-gig tipple before we saw Public Service Broadcasting on Thursday night, and then the tiniest of tiniest glasses on Friday. I’m still mighty pleased with myself though. Two glasses in a month as opposed to in an evening, now that’s what I call progress. But my nerves are in shreds tonight. I shall hoist my sorry self off the settee and direct it towards the yoga mat instead. Perhaps that will shake me from my funk…

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