I have just had a slight and foolish accident which, hopefully, is not going to result in any outward physical injuries. It was caused, inadvertently, by one of my damn library books (21 at last count). It was not, before you jump to conclusions, caused by the leaning tower of books on the bedside table.
Instead, I was in the study/laundry/library scanning several pages of the Gotham Writers Workshop book, as it is already a few days late, and although I am loathe to give it back, I realise that if I keep it too much longer, that it will be cheaper to buy my own copy. So I have scanned 50 pages to keep me going until I order one from Amazon (I would use Fishpond, but they don't have the most up-to-date version - boo, Fishpond; sort yourself out). As I finished scanning, I picked up the laptop to return to the lounge. As I did so, it slipped and clouted me on the nose. Don't ask what sort of a position you need to be in to cause this sort of an injury; suffice to say it is awkward. (The study/laundry/library/storeroom is very small and requires a highly able person, preferably without snowboarding knee ailment.)
I spent the next five minutes with a packet of frozen edamame clamped against my nose and upper lip, until I could no longer bear it (today is the coldest day of the year so far).
It is now almost half an hour later. It still hurts. I don't think it is broken. But I will not be happy if I get a bruise. (Athough it is likely.)
So I am going to turn this unfortunate incident into a poem. What can I say. I'm a writer. That's what I do. (Unless I am procrastinating.) Deadline 25 May.
Showing posts with label mission. Show all posts
Showing posts with label mission. Show all posts
Thursday, 21 May 2009
Tuesday, 5 May 2009
Mission 037: Where Susan pushes for more space
Six months the Buckwell and I have been in our little house, which at 55 m2 consists of:
one lounge
one kitchen
one bathroom
one bedroom
one laundry/study/library/storeroom
It is a very cute house, and just perfect in summer for two people freshly moved back from the UK, from an apartment the same size.
It is not, however, big enough for two people, one cat and a dog. Especially in winter, when the french doors are closed, and the dog has been outside for a wee in the rain and has come back in stinking of wet dog. And the study/laundry/library/storeroom is too cold to write in without gloves and ugg boots on, so the dining table (which is squished into the lounge room) is covered with all manner of folders and books and pens. And three laptops.
Last weekend, some friends rang to see if they could pop in for a visit with their two children, but it was raining, and even though the Buckwell was away, there would have been three adults, two children, one dog and a cat stuffed into one small lounge room. I had to tell them all to go home. I was actually busy writing (that was my legitimate excuse for barring the gate), but really, even if I hadn't been, there's no room at number 14 for rainy day visitors.
In the beginning, we blabbed to plenty of people about how we were building an extension onto our wee house. "It should be done by Christmas," we said to UK-based friends. "You can come and stay."
We meant Christmas 2008, although thankfully, no-one took us up on the offer, or they would've been camping in the back garden. And now Christmas 2009 is looking increasingly less likely, too. The trouble is that our architect (the Buckwell) has too much on his plate to have time to draw up the extension and get it into council. And, ironically, the house is too small to work in without distractions.
So from today, I am going to set some deadlines, clear some space, and motivate the Buckwell into getting it done. He has no idea that I am setting these deadlines, and is unlikely to read this blog and find out. So this mission is more about motivating someone else, rather than me doing.
These are the deadlines:
Drawings into council: 20 May
Obtain quotes on work: 1 June
On site by: 25 June
Extension complete by: 25 August (just in time for me to have a birthday party in the 'new house').
Wish me luck.
one lounge
one kitchen
one bathroom
one bedroom
one laundry/study/library/storeroom
It is a very cute house, and just perfect in summer for two people freshly moved back from the UK, from an apartment the same size.
It is not, however, big enough for two people, one cat and a dog. Especially in winter, when the french doors are closed, and the dog has been outside for a wee in the rain and has come back in stinking of wet dog. And the study/laundry/library/storeroom is too cold to write in without gloves and ugg boots on, so the dining table (which is squished into the lounge room) is covered with all manner of folders and books and pens. And three laptops.
Last weekend, some friends rang to see if they could pop in for a visit with their two children, but it was raining, and even though the Buckwell was away, there would have been three adults, two children, one dog and a cat stuffed into one small lounge room. I had to tell them all to go home. I was actually busy writing (that was my legitimate excuse for barring the gate), but really, even if I hadn't been, there's no room at number 14 for rainy day visitors.
In the beginning, we blabbed to plenty of people about how we were building an extension onto our wee house. "It should be done by Christmas," we said to UK-based friends. "You can come and stay."
We meant Christmas 2008, although thankfully, no-one took us up on the offer, or they would've been camping in the back garden. And now Christmas 2009 is looking increasingly less likely, too. The trouble is that our architect (the Buckwell) has too much on his plate to have time to draw up the extension and get it into council. And, ironically, the house is too small to work in without distractions.
So from today, I am going to set some deadlines, clear some space, and motivate the Buckwell into getting it done. He has no idea that I am setting these deadlines, and is unlikely to read this blog and find out. So this mission is more about motivating someone else, rather than me doing.
These are the deadlines:
Drawings into council: 20 May
Obtain quotes on work: 1 June
On site by: 25 June
Extension complete by: 25 August (just in time for me to have a birthday party in the 'new house').
Wish me luck.
Monday, 4 May 2009
Mission Update
I've had mixed success lately. So positive news first.
Mission 036 was a success. (!) I managed to refrain from buying books or borrowing any extra books from the library until after 11 April. Of course, on the 14th, I went absolutely bonkers, taking out library books right up to my limit (22 books). I guess I was binging after my book diet. And oh, it felt goooood. Might need to get a sturdier bedside table though...
However, now for the failure: I have not yet grown an aubergine. (Or an eggplant, for that matter.) The damn flowers keep forming and then falling off, despite me taking to them with a cotton bud, poking each flower in return, and swishing it about inside their purple petals like a primitive IVF specialist. And now the plants have started to die off. Not sure if it is a disease, a pest, or just getting too cold for them, but something tells me that my time for aubergines is over for this season. I'll have to pick up my mission again in spring. On a more positive note, though - I have not had to buy tomatoes for the last two-and-a-half months, despite my father telling me that it was pointless planting them last December: "Too late - it'll be a waste of time." HA! It was not a waste at all. Although I concede that they were (are) a little tasteless - probably would have been better planted earlier and I will do that with the next ones. Definitely not a waste though this time. Oh no. No wasting going on. Not even with all the time spent watering and the feeding and the cost of it all. No waste. (Believe me?). The second crop of beans are also coming away wonderfully - although there is something eating them, which is almost making me consider going non-organic. Why won't the birds eat my garden pests instead of the grass seeds? Zucchini plants are about to die off too, sadly, so I will have to go back to buying zucchinis, after almost five months of picking them straight from the garden.
On a complete aside, I would like to have a rant about something grammatical. However as rants don't usually come under the category of missions, you'll have to read it here. (Please do, as I fear greatly that this grammatical failing is becoming more widespread, and a few short minutes of your time can help stop the degradation of language and thus society - do your bit!)
Mission 036 was a success. (!) I managed to refrain from buying books or borrowing any extra books from the library until after 11 April. Of course, on the 14th, I went absolutely bonkers, taking out library books right up to my limit (22 books). I guess I was binging after my book diet. And oh, it felt goooood. Might need to get a sturdier bedside table though...
However, now for the failure: I have not yet grown an aubergine. (Or an eggplant, for that matter.) The damn flowers keep forming and then falling off, despite me taking to them with a cotton bud, poking each flower in return, and swishing it about inside their purple petals like a primitive IVF specialist. And now the plants have started to die off. Not sure if it is a disease, a pest, or just getting too cold for them, but something tells me that my time for aubergines is over for this season. I'll have to pick up my mission again in spring. On a more positive note, though - I have not had to buy tomatoes for the last two-and-a-half months, despite my father telling me that it was pointless planting them last December: "Too late - it'll be a waste of time." HA! It was not a waste at all. Although I concede that they were (are) a little tasteless - probably would have been better planted earlier and I will do that with the next ones. Definitely not a waste though this time. Oh no. No wasting going on. Not even with all the time spent watering and the feeding and the cost of it all. No waste. (Believe me?). The second crop of beans are also coming away wonderfully - although there is something eating them, which is almost making me consider going non-organic. Why won't the birds eat my garden pests instead of the grass seeds? Zucchini plants are about to die off too, sadly, so I will have to go back to buying zucchinis, after almost five months of picking them straight from the garden.
On a complete aside, I would like to have a rant about something grammatical. However as rants don't usually come under the category of missions, you'll have to read it here. (Please do, as I fear greatly that this grammatical failing is becoming more widespread, and a few short minutes of your time can help stop the degradation of language and thus society - do your bit!)
Thursday, 26 March 2009
Mission 035: Where Susan grows an aubergine
Okay, so I'm still slacking off. Not a lot of bloggage happening. However, thanks to the recession I now have a bit more time (and bit less money) as my two days a week of work has ended. For now, anyway.
Right now though, I have a new and very important mission. It'll take a few weeks to know whether I have had success.
I am trying to grow an aubergine/eggplant. Obviously I would like to grow many, but just growing one is proving challenging. See, the problem is that aubergines need pollination, like all vegies and fruits. They need the boy flower and the girl flower for this to happen. Yet, despite planting several aubergine plants, so far my plants have been stubbornly refusing to produce more than one flower at a time. And not even at the same time. One plant produces a flower, then it falls off. Another plant produces a flower, which then falls off. And so on, and so on and so on.
Until today, my aubergine plants have been sitting in the garden slowly growing larger (they've been there four months), eating their compost goodness, drinking copious amounts of water, with nothing to show for it. Then this morning, I saw two flowers. At the same time! Successful home aubergine growers recommend hand pollination to boost your chances of getting fruit. That is, you get a cotton bud and wave it round in each flower in turn, several times, to share the pollen, and hopefully fertilise the flower. Then boom, out pops an eggplant several weeks later. Well, maybe not quite that instant.
I can't help feeling that all this cotton bud waving is a bit like a group turkey basting. What a hideous thought. But good for plants. And if it gets me an eggplant or two, it'll be worth it.
Right now though, I have a new and very important mission. It'll take a few weeks to know whether I have had success.
I am trying to grow an aubergine/eggplant. Obviously I would like to grow many, but just growing one is proving challenging. See, the problem is that aubergines need pollination, like all vegies and fruits. They need the boy flower and the girl flower for this to happen. Yet, despite planting several aubergine plants, so far my plants have been stubbornly refusing to produce more than one flower at a time. And not even at the same time. One plant produces a flower, then it falls off. Another plant produces a flower, which then falls off. And so on, and so on and so on.
Until today, my aubergine plants have been sitting in the garden slowly growing larger (they've been there four months), eating their compost goodness, drinking copious amounts of water, with nothing to show for it. Then this morning, I saw two flowers. At the same time! Successful home aubergine growers recommend hand pollination to boost your chances of getting fruit. That is, you get a cotton bud and wave it round in each flower in turn, several times, to share the pollen, and hopefully fertilise the flower. Then boom, out pops an eggplant several weeks later. Well, maybe not quite that instant.
I can't help feeling that all this cotton bud waving is a bit like a group turkey basting. What a hideous thought. But good for plants. And if it gets me an eggplant or two, it'll be worth it.
Thursday, 13 November 2008
Mission 033 - Where I learn to make sushi
Now that I am officially once more residing in New Zealand, there are lots of things that I'd like to do. Things I need to learn how to do. One of these is making Japanese food.
Food is one of my great loves, following close on the heels of sunshine and fresh air, and leading travel by a long neck. While I can't claim to be Michelin-star quality, there are several things I do well, and some that, with a little more attention, I could probably make money from, as long as I'm not drinking wine while I cook it.
I'm pretty good at Italian, Greek and even French. I've tried my hand at simple Indian, Thai and Chinese. But Japanese has always been left to a 'dining out' choice. Bit of a shame really, when I love it so much.
Now, take sashimi. I reckon that's a breeze. All you need is really fresh fish, a very sharp knife and a little bit of hand-eye coordination so you slice the fish and not your fingers. I already have some rather special Japanese knives (bought from the seriously amazing Tokyu Hands store in Tokyo, but that's another story). And I know where to get some fresh fish (Auckland Fish Market). And most of the time, my fingers keep themselves away from sharp implements. Sushi though, has a few more challenges. So this is what I've chosen to get the Japanese ball rolling. Although it's a cliche, it's a great summer starter. And you can buy most of the ingredients in the supermarket, including the bamboo roll thingy. I give myself until November 20th to make it for the first time. Anyone want to volunteer as a guinea pig?
By the way, I will post some piccies of the lovely Japanese ceramic knives here in a day or so. They're sharper than stainless knives, and can cut practically anything, except pumpkin, apparently because they don't flex. Or are pictures of knives a bit weird? Never mind, I know those of you who cook will appreciate my knives. Won't you?
Food is one of my great loves, following close on the heels of sunshine and fresh air, and leading travel by a long neck. While I can't claim to be Michelin-star quality, there are several things I do well, and some that, with a little more attention, I could probably make money from, as long as I'm not drinking wine while I cook it.
I'm pretty good at Italian, Greek and even French. I've tried my hand at simple Indian, Thai and Chinese. But Japanese has always been left to a 'dining out' choice. Bit of a shame really, when I love it so much.
Now, take sashimi. I reckon that's a breeze. All you need is really fresh fish, a very sharp knife and a little bit of hand-eye coordination so you slice the fish and not your fingers. I already have some rather special Japanese knives (bought from the seriously amazing Tokyu Hands store in Tokyo, but that's another story). And I know where to get some fresh fish (Auckland Fish Market). And most of the time, my fingers keep themselves away from sharp implements. Sushi though, has a few more challenges. So this is what I've chosen to get the Japanese ball rolling. Although it's a cliche, it's a great summer starter. And you can buy most of the ingredients in the supermarket, including the bamboo roll thingy. I give myself until November 20th to make it for the first time. Anyone want to volunteer as a guinea pig?
By the way, I will post some piccies of the lovely Japanese ceramic knives here in a day or so. They're sharper than stainless knives, and can cut practically anything, except pumpkin, apparently because they don't flex. Or are pictures of knives a bit weird? Never mind, I know those of you who cook will appreciate my knives. Won't you?
Monday, 25 August 2008
Mission 031: Where Susan tries to lose some weight
Ok, tough mission this. I have been travelling in India now for just on a month, and several unknown bacterial visitors have left my body slightly slimmer than it is normally. But several scarves, sarees and bags have made my bag decidedly plump.
It's not too much of a problem for getting around. But now that I'm due to fly out of India, things are coming to a head. I have a 15kg limit on my checked-in baggage (that's the trouble with these low-cost airlines). And my bag is weighing in at around 17 (not including hand luggage. So, somehow, I must slice a couple of kilos off my bag before the 28th August.
Shall I fling a couple of pairs of undies in the bin? Ditch a book onto the nearest shelf? Weed out the top that lurks closest to the bottom of the bag, fold it neatly and leave it lying on the bed, to be claimed by the cleaner?
Perhaps all three.
It is a tough mission this, and afterwards, I may be short on clothes and reading material, but at least I will be well accessorised.
It's not too much of a problem for getting around. But now that I'm due to fly out of India, things are coming to a head. I have a 15kg limit on my checked-in baggage (that's the trouble with these low-cost airlines). And my bag is weighing in at around 17 (not including hand luggage. So, somehow, I must slice a couple of kilos off my bag before the 28th August.
Shall I fling a couple of pairs of undies in the bin? Ditch a book onto the nearest shelf? Weed out the top that lurks closest to the bottom of the bag, fold it neatly and leave it lying on the bed, to be claimed by the cleaner?
Perhaps all three.
It is a tough mission this, and afterwards, I may be short on clothes and reading material, but at least I will be well accessorised.
Wednesday, 21 May 2008
Mission 030: Where Susan decides to become a neo-Italian mama
I am in Siena, Italy at the moment, and due to a freak weather pattern (stormy and very rainy - typically more English than the Italian weather the Buckwell and I know and love), we are spending a lot of time eating, or browsing food stores while wiping dribble from our chins.
A quick sample from yesterday's menu:
- Pici(Big fat strands of a spaghetti-like pasta) with parmesan and pepper for the Buckwell
- Ravioli alla maremmani (not sure what maremmani is, sorry) with rustic chunky pesto oozing all over it for me
- Some zucchini trifolate to share ( which seems to be sauteed zucchini in olive oil)
And a half litre of wine plus a bottle of sparkling mineral water to wash it down
Then we moved on to wander the local supermarket, where we observed no less than 55 types of pasta on the shelves or in the fridge.
There were:
tortellini
ravioli
gnocchi
cannoli
pici (also seems to be known as bagoli)
tagliatelle
lasagne
spaghetti
fedelini
linguine
tortiglioni
cavatappi
penne rgate
fusilli
pipe rigate
rotelle
pennoni rigate
casarecce
farfalle
sopraffini
digitale rigati
dischi
gallanini
anelli
stellette
digitale piccoli rigate
avena
filini
gigli
amorosi
mini penne rigate
capellini
spahettini
vermecellini
bavettine
corallini
pintine
tempestine
sedani rigati
mezze penne rigate
gnochetti
orechiette
reginette
penne lisce
nastrini
pipette
dischi volanti
bucatini
mezze maniche rigate
trenette
spahettoni
lasagnette ricce
fettucine
taglerini
cavatelli
So. Are you impressed that I stood there and wrote it all down? I got a few funny looks, I can tell you. However, the outcome of all this is that I have decided to perfect my pasta-making skills. Luckily, the Buckwell and I own a pasta machine, which I have used (and he has eaten the results from). It may have been used twice. However, as soon as we re-settle after this trip, I am going to become the homemade pasta queen - a neo, or rather pseudo (because as far as I know I have no Italian ancestry), Italian mama in the kitchen. But first I shall need a few essential ingredients:
- a louder voice
- a bigger bosom
- stout shoes (this should be easy as I have big feet anyway)
- a poster of the madonna holding baby jesus
- some fake flowers to arrange around the poster
Once I have assembled all that, you're all invited round for Sunday lunch...
A quick sample from yesterday's menu:
- Pici(Big fat strands of a spaghetti-like pasta) with parmesan and pepper for the Buckwell
- Ravioli alla maremmani (not sure what maremmani is, sorry) with rustic chunky pesto oozing all over it for me
- Some zucchini trifolate to share ( which seems to be sauteed zucchini in olive oil)
And a half litre of wine plus a bottle of sparkling mineral water to wash it down
Then we moved on to wander the local supermarket, where we observed no less than 55 types of pasta on the shelves or in the fridge.
There were:
tortellini
ravioli
gnocchi
cannoli
pici (also seems to be known as bagoli)
tagliatelle
lasagne
spaghetti
fedelini
linguine
tortiglioni
cavatappi
penne rgate
fusilli
pipe rigate
rotelle
pennoni rigate
casarecce
farfalle
sopraffini
digitale rigati
dischi
gallanini
anelli
stellette
digitale piccoli rigate
avena
filini
gigli
amorosi
mini penne rigate
capellini
spahettini
vermecellini
bavettine
corallini
pintine
tempestine
sedani rigati
mezze penne rigate
gnochetti
orechiette
reginette
penne lisce
nastrini
pipette
dischi volanti
bucatini
mezze maniche rigate
trenette
spahettoni
lasagnette ricce
fettucine
taglerini
cavatelli
So. Are you impressed that I stood there and wrote it all down? I got a few funny looks, I can tell you. However, the outcome of all this is that I have decided to perfect my pasta-making skills. Luckily, the Buckwell and I own a pasta machine, which I have used (and he has eaten the results from). It may have been used twice. However, as soon as we re-settle after this trip, I am going to become the homemade pasta queen - a neo, or rather pseudo (because as far as I know I have no Italian ancestry), Italian mama in the kitchen. But first I shall need a few essential ingredients:
- a louder voice
- a bigger bosom
- stout shoes (this should be easy as I have big feet anyway)
- a poster of the madonna holding baby jesus
- some fake flowers to arrange around the poster
Once I have assembled all that, you're all invited round for Sunday lunch...
Friday, 25 April 2008
Mission 029: Where Susan tries to avoid everything piscine
First, a little background. I am no longer in London, but travelling around Portugal, one week into a mammoth trip with the Buckwell. You an read more about the trip here .
So far, there are plenty of interesting sights and surprises, one of which is that there is a peacock 2 metres from my foot. Actually, she is a peahen, to be precise.
Over the last week, the Buckwell and I have been sampling a range of Portuguese dishes, many of which have been of the piscine variety. I have had sardines, prawns, golden bream, sole, tuna, monkfish and skate. And I am heartily fed up with all of it. Don't get me wrong - it's been tasty, and unlike the Buckwell, at least I like fish. But one meal finished me off. The biggest fish stew known to man as served up at a beachside restuarant to myself, the Buckwell, along with his brother and brother's girlfriend (latter two pictured here looking in disbelief at the pot'o fish. Eight people would have struggled to get through it. We four didn't stand a chance.And now my new mission is to avoid all fish for at least 3 days.
So far, there are plenty of interesting sights and surprises, one of which is that there is a peacock 2 metres from my foot. Actually, she is a peahen, to be precise.
Over the last week, the Buckwell and I have been sampling a range of Portuguese dishes, many of which have been of the piscine variety. I have had sardines, prawns, golden bream, sole, tuna, monkfish and skate. And I am heartily fed up with all of it. Don't get me wrong - it's been tasty, and unlike the Buckwell, at least I like fish. But one meal finished me off. The biggest fish stew known to man as served up at a beachside restuarant to myself, the Buckwell, along with his brother and brother's girlfriend (latter two pictured here looking in disbelief at the pot'o fish. Eight people would have struggled to get through it. We four didn't stand a chance.And now my new mission is to avoid all fish for at least 3 days.
Saturday, 29 March 2008
Mission 028: Where Susan takes some exercise
In just over a week, the Buckwell and I are going snowboarding in Verbier. It will be my first time on a snowboard, and the first 'active' holiday I've had in a very long time. And I have not prepared my body for the shock.
So today's mission is to try and minimise the inevitable pain and suffering by reminding my hamstrings, calves, gluteus maximus and other muscles that they exist for a purpose other than walking to Clapham Junction train station. I am going to use the gym 2 floors down in our apartment block for the first time. (Sauna and swimming pool use don't count.) I'll be coaxing the best out of my body by putting some really nasty techno/dance type music on my ipod. Afterwards I'll wind down with 200 or so revolutions of the hula hoop (upstairs in the privacy of the lounge).
So just in case you know me and will be seeing me over the next few days, be prepared for me to whinge about being aching and stiff.
So today's mission is to try and minimise the inevitable pain and suffering by reminding my hamstrings, calves, gluteus maximus and other muscles that they exist for a purpose other than walking to Clapham Junction train station. I am going to use the gym 2 floors down in our apartment block for the first time. (Sauna and swimming pool use don't count.) I'll be coaxing the best out of my body by putting some really nasty techno/dance type music on my ipod. Afterwards I'll wind down with 200 or so revolutions of the hula hoop (upstairs in the privacy of the lounge).
So just in case you know me and will be seeing me over the next few days, be prepared for me to whinge about being aching and stiff.
Wednesday, 19 March 2008
Mission 027: Where Susan finds a decent waterproof jacket by the weekend
Is there a clothing item that you need and should really go shopping for? Do you, like me, know that whenever such a need arises, the chances of you finding said item are slim at best - unless of course, you have no money to buy it, when your chances of finding it increase exponentially. Wouldn't you rather just open a bottle of good wine while someone reads your mind, finds the item and delivers it to your door with a smile and a guarantee?
I have a need for a good quality (read 'quite expensive') Gore-tex jacket, in a common size and colour, suitable for walking in the Lake District, snowboarding in Verbier and many other outdoorsy type pursuits. I also have the money to buy it. And I need it for this Easter weekend. Oh dear, I feel despondent already. The chances are next to nothing of me finding it by tomorrow lunchtime. And that's if I even make it to the shops.
If you know somebody who can source such an item (in black, women's size 10-12 please), please send them over this evening to slip it under my pillow while I'm asleep. A bit like the tooth fairy did for me many years ago, only with money, not jackets.
Or damn it, I will have to embark upon my shopping mission tomorrow. Without any confidence whatsoever. Oh dear, I feel another failure coming on.
By the way, I haven't got my photos done yet, either.
Hopeless, I am.
I have a need for a good quality (read 'quite expensive') Gore-tex jacket, in a common size and colour, suitable for walking in the Lake District, snowboarding in Verbier and many other outdoorsy type pursuits. I also have the money to buy it. And I need it for this Easter weekend. Oh dear, I feel despondent already. The chances are next to nothing of me finding it by tomorrow lunchtime. And that's if I even make it to the shops.
If you know somebody who can source such an item (in black, women's size 10-12 please), please send them over this evening to slip it under my pillow while I'm asleep. A bit like the tooth fairy did for me many years ago, only with money, not jackets.
Or damn it, I will have to embark upon my shopping mission tomorrow. Without any confidence whatsoever. Oh dear, I feel another failure coming on.
By the way, I haven't got my photos done yet, either.
Hopeless, I am.
Friday, 8 February 2008
Mission 025 - Where Susan tries to save the world
First off, I’d like to declare that I am a greenie. Have been for years. Hell, I even had my own tree from when I was six. I used to hug it and everything. I am also a militant recycler and, until recently, was a co-leader of the voluntary Green Team at my workplace. And I was using carbon-neutral transport to get to work long before it was fashionable.
Right. Now that I’ve established my credentials, there’s something I want to get off my chest. (It’s been festering away a good while.) Is it just me, or is all this green business (and I don’t use the ‘b’ word lightly) becoming a bit too much like a religion? Suddenly, everywhere I look, there are avid greenies milling about high streets and websites everywhere. In droves, they are buying jute bags, devouring organic broccoli and converting their cars to bio-diesel.
It’s as if they’ve been born again – and they want the world to know. Like all new converts to a religion they are overzealous; they want everyone to join them in the Church of Green; to save the world from itself.
Yet what they don’t realise is that the Church of Green has been taken over by the Church of Commerce. And membership to that is not about how green your behaviour is - it’s about who buys the most green stuff. Ironic, really, as the key principle of sustainable living is REDUCE. Then comes REUSE. Then comes RECYCLE.
Now I didn’t see CONSUME MORE STUFF in there. Did you?
It’s all very well to be devouring eco-friendly options, but only if they replace less eco-friendly ones. For example, I have no truck with people who drive 5km to their ‘local’ farmers market in their SUVs. Or people who buy designer jute bags to do their shopping in, then continue to put all their vegetables in single plastic bags to be weighed. Adopt a wider view, people.
Green is becoming the status quo – its commercialisation grows every day. It’s been scooped up into the brand lifecycle and is feverishly working its way to cash cowdom as I write. We should all know the end result of commercialisation. Commodity. Then ennui. Which will mean the death of green. Although Commerce will go on.
So to save Green, better lose the preachiness, especially if you’re not the perfect apple-hued tone (and few of us are, surprise, surprise). Stop adopting the first, new, ‘cool’ green thing that comes along. Make being green an integral part of your life, not a clip on fashion accessory. I hate to take a line from one of the bishops in the Church of Commerce here, but it works: Just Do It. Or most of it. But whatever you do, please shut up and do it quietly. You’re boring me to death.
Psssst (whispered): My latest mission is to take the stairs instead of the lift for the next week, thus conserving precious planetary energy. And firming my flubbery, blubbery thighs.
Right. Now that I’ve established my credentials, there’s something I want to get off my chest. (It’s been festering away a good while.) Is it just me, or is all this green business (and I don’t use the ‘b’ word lightly) becoming a bit too much like a religion? Suddenly, everywhere I look, there are avid greenies milling about high streets and websites everywhere. In droves, they are buying jute bags, devouring organic broccoli and converting their cars to bio-diesel.
It’s as if they’ve been born again – and they want the world to know. Like all new converts to a religion they are overzealous; they want everyone to join them in the Church of Green; to save the world from itself.
Yet what they don’t realise is that the Church of Green has been taken over by the Church of Commerce. And membership to that is not about how green your behaviour is - it’s about who buys the most green stuff. Ironic, really, as the key principle of sustainable living is REDUCE. Then comes REUSE. Then comes RECYCLE.
Now I didn’t see CONSUME MORE STUFF in there. Did you?
It’s all very well to be devouring eco-friendly options, but only if they replace less eco-friendly ones. For example, I have no truck with people who drive 5km to their ‘local’ farmers market in their SUVs. Or people who buy designer jute bags to do their shopping in, then continue to put all their vegetables in single plastic bags to be weighed. Adopt a wider view, people.
Green is becoming the status quo – its commercialisation grows every day. It’s been scooped up into the brand lifecycle and is feverishly working its way to cash cowdom as I write. We should all know the end result of commercialisation. Commodity. Then ennui. Which will mean the death of green. Although Commerce will go on.
So to save Green, better lose the preachiness, especially if you’re not the perfect apple-hued tone (and few of us are, surprise, surprise). Stop adopting the first, new, ‘cool’ green thing that comes along. Make being green an integral part of your life, not a clip on fashion accessory. I hate to take a line from one of the bishops in the Church of Commerce here, but it works: Just Do It. Or most of it. But whatever you do, please shut up and do it quietly. You’re boring me to death.
Psssst (whispered): My latest mission is to take the stairs instead of the lift for the next week, thus conserving precious planetary energy. And firming my flubbery, blubbery thighs.
Wednesday, 6 February 2008
And another thing
Oh dear.
Now I remember one of the reasons why I am going to miss England. The English sense of humour.
On my internet meanderings, I came across this blog written by one of the writers for The Observer newspaper (incidentally, one of the few newspapers I buy).
It made me smile at work. And for that I thank him.
Now I remember one of the reasons why I am going to miss England. The English sense of humour.
On my internet meanderings, I came across this blog written by one of the writers for The Observer newspaper (incidentally, one of the few newspapers I buy).
It made me smile at work. And for that I thank him.
Mission 024 - Where Susan says no to queues
Well, once again it's a gloriously grey day here in Crawley, which has kept my mind well and truly focused on my work. No reason to gaze absent-mindedly across the carpark to the trees when I can't even see as far as the nearest car...
Once again I am reminded why it is time to leave England. I've never been anywhere where grey skies feel so oppressive. 7 years of it is enough.
In a couple of months, the Buckwell and I will depart England and go travelling. And for that, we'll need some rather impressive and possibly obscure visas (although I only have 10 spare pages in my current passport). I'm already mentally preparing for the embassy queues, another feature of English life that I'm not going to miss. Not everyone's dismayed by queues, mind you. I like how this blogger has embraced queues, turning them into a pastime.
However, I'm going to go to the other extreme. This week's mini-mission (it lasts until Friday afternoon, because then I am off to the airport, when I KNOW FOR A FACT it would be impossible) is to avoid all queues.
I foresee several challenging situations over the next few days.
Entering and exiting the train station
Getting on the train
Buying my lunch
Filling up my water bottle at the water cooler
Making tea
Buying drinks at the pub tonight
Buying food for dinner, washing detergent and toilet paper
Buying hair dye at the chemist
Telephoning the bank (yes, phone queues count too)
I will, of course, let you know how I get on.
Once again I am reminded why it is time to leave England. I've never been anywhere where grey skies feel so oppressive. 7 years of it is enough.
In a couple of months, the Buckwell and I will depart England and go travelling. And for that, we'll need some rather impressive and possibly obscure visas (although I only have 10 spare pages in my current passport). I'm already mentally preparing for the embassy queues, another feature of English life that I'm not going to miss. Not everyone's dismayed by queues, mind you. I like how this blogger has embraced queues, turning them into a pastime.
However, I'm going to go to the other extreme. This week's mini-mission (it lasts until Friday afternoon, because then I am off to the airport, when I KNOW FOR A FACT it would be impossible) is to avoid all queues.
I foresee several challenging situations over the next few days.
Entering and exiting the train station
Getting on the train
Buying my lunch
Filling up my water bottle at the water cooler
Making tea
Buying drinks at the pub tonight
Buying food for dinner, washing detergent and toilet paper
Buying hair dye at the chemist
Telephoning the bank (yes, phone queues count too)
I will, of course, let you know how I get on.
Wednesday, 30 January 2008
Mission 023: Where Susan gets all independently-minded
I think I must've been living in a hole in the ground over the past year.
I have just discovered the Wedge Card, a cool card that gives you discounts for local, independent shops around London. The Wedge Card costs a mere tenner (with £5 of that going to a worthy charity - local, of course). and it was launched in December 2006. The people behind the card say: "Wedge is the little man. The local independent shopkeeper and all the locals who love the fact that their High Street hasn't fallen prey to the large multinational large chain, turning it well into well, a faceless, desensitized "brand only" environment."
Even though little men don't really do it for me, personally (sorry, bad joke, couldn't help it - low on blood sugar), I'm really turned on by the Wedge Card right now. I've gone and signed up for one, and I wish more Londoners knew about it.
A quick flick through the discounts on offer turned up:
The Design Museum
Nina and Lola (hip online fashion store)
Crockatt and Powell (yay for my fave independent bookshop)
And there are lots more. So if you're a Londoner, please sign up for a Wedge Card now, here . You won't regret it, especially once you've made a couple of small purchases, because it will pay for itself. (You'll probably also feel quite smug and pleased with yourself for supporting local shops too.) It's just a pity that I won't be around in London much longer to use it.
So that defines my new mission: to shop more at independent shops this year. I already do try to shop locally, but sometimes I get lazy. Now I have a new excuse to avoid the Tescos and the Asdas and the Selfridges of this world. It's my new mission, dammit. Make it yours too.
I have just discovered the Wedge Card, a cool card that gives you discounts for local, independent shops around London. The Wedge Card costs a mere tenner (with £5 of that going to a worthy charity - local, of course). and it was launched in December 2006. The people behind the card say: "Wedge is the little man. The local independent shopkeeper and all the locals who love the fact that their High Street hasn't fallen prey to the large multinational large chain, turning it well into well, a faceless, desensitized "brand only" environment."
Even though little men don't really do it for me, personally (sorry, bad joke, couldn't help it - low on blood sugar), I'm really turned on by the Wedge Card right now. I've gone and signed up for one, and I wish more Londoners knew about it.
A quick flick through the discounts on offer turned up:
The Design Museum
Nina and Lola (hip online fashion store)
Crockatt and Powell (yay for my fave independent bookshop)
And there are lots more. So if you're a Londoner, please sign up for a Wedge Card now, here . You won't regret it, especially once you've made a couple of small purchases, because it will pay for itself. (You'll probably also feel quite smug and pleased with yourself for supporting local shops too.) It's just a pity that I won't be around in London much longer to use it.
So that defines my new mission: to shop more at independent shops this year. I already do try to shop locally, but sometimes I get lazy. Now I have a new excuse to avoid the Tescos and the Asdas and the Selfridges of this world. It's my new mission, dammit. Make it yours too.
Thursday, 10 January 2008
Mission 022 - Money, happiness and con-men
The Buckwell and I have just sold our flat. We made a reasonable sum of money on it. This got me thinking about whether money really can buy happiness. Certainly for me, the moment I saw the bank account balloon was a source of great excitement. But that excitement fizzled out about as quickly as a cheap Catherine Wheel.
The letter from the property lawyers turned up, giving the breakdown of the whole transaction. So in my practical, skeptical way I went through it, item by item. And one item I didn't like the look of. For some reason, we have been charged rent payable of £230.49. Quoi? We've had a lot of trouble with our solicitors; they've been generally hopeless. But I will refrain from mentioning the name of the firm thus far, until the Buckwell chases the discrepancy up tomorrow.
In the meantime, I have been stewing over it in my head, mentally scripting the complaint letter and scheming to garner as much negative publicity for them as I can. After all, nobody rips me off and gets away with it. Well, that is unless you are a papyrus seller in Cairo, a camel driver hawking rides around the Pyramids, a carpet seller in Aleppo, a spice seller in Marrakech, a jewellery merchant in Sousse, or a furniture transport company in Denmark. (But I'll get them back too, eventually.)
My, I do sound like a vengeful sort.
Money doesn't buy happiness, but losing it can mean unhappiness. Particularly when you lose it through property lawyers with no concept of customer service. Hmmm, perhaps service is the real issue here? After all, with the benefit of distance, I actually have rather fond memories of some of the other cons.
But I have decided that it's time to put a stop to it. My mission is to not fall for any more cons in 2008.
Have a happy new year.
The letter from the property lawyers turned up, giving the breakdown of the whole transaction. So in my practical, skeptical way I went through it, item by item. And one item I didn't like the look of. For some reason, we have been charged rent payable of £230.49. Quoi? We've had a lot of trouble with our solicitors; they've been generally hopeless. But I will refrain from mentioning the name of the firm thus far, until the Buckwell chases the discrepancy up tomorrow.
In the meantime, I have been stewing over it in my head, mentally scripting the complaint letter and scheming to garner as much negative publicity for them as I can. After all, nobody rips me off and gets away with it. Well, that is unless you are a papyrus seller in Cairo, a camel driver hawking rides around the Pyramids, a carpet seller in Aleppo, a spice seller in Marrakech, a jewellery merchant in Sousse, or a furniture transport company in Denmark. (But I'll get them back too, eventually.)
My, I do sound like a vengeful sort.
Money doesn't buy happiness, but losing it can mean unhappiness. Particularly when you lose it through property lawyers with no concept of customer service. Hmmm, perhaps service is the real issue here? After all, with the benefit of distance, I actually have rather fond memories of some of the other cons.
But I have decided that it's time to put a stop to it. My mission is to not fall for any more cons in 2008.
Have a happy new year.
Mission Update - Starting the year on a low note
Well here I stand before you, just over a week into 2008, with hanging head and shamefaced expression. I have failed two missions.
I had been going strong, staunchly resisting the chips from the canteen downstairs at work, but yesterday something inside me broke. I ordered some and ate them. They were actually pretty good. But I didn't feel so well afterwards. So there, my first confession is out. Now for number two.
I got also Jerome's flu - my excessive garlic and chilli concoction came to naught. The morning we got up to depart for Japan, I was tired and listless. My nose was hot, my throat felt like a piece of sisal was hitching a ride in it, and my eyes were watery. Halfway to the airport, the sneezes were coming thick and fast, along with lots of mucus. "I feel hot," I said to the Buckwell. "Feel my forehead."
He did. "No fever," he replied.
So I popped a couple of cold and flu tablets and tried to ride it out.
The flu tablets must've worked a bit, because British Airways upgraded us to Club class on the way over to Tokyo. However, it was obvious that I was really sick; I declined the Champagne on boarding, and went for an orange juice instead. Then, despite the fully-flat bed, movies on demand, and food on proper china plates, things went rapidly downhill. It all reached a head about 30,000 feet up, somewhere north of Ulan Batur, when I woke up after a short sleep, with a piercing earache, the shivers and a large trail of mucus winding its way from my nose to my mouth. I winced, and said plaintively to the Buckwell, "I think I have a fever".
Dutifully, he reached across and felt my forehead. "Nope."
So I curled myself up in the foetal position (what a waste of a flat bed), and shivered for an hour.
"What about now?"
"Sorry. You still don't have a fever."
"Oh".
Eventually, we got to Tokyo, and I soldiered on for a couple of days until my cold/flu faded away. By about the fifth day, I was back to my normal self. But on our penultimate morning, I woke up with a sore throat and ballooning neck glands. By the evening, I was exhausted and in bed by 9pm. "Damn," I moaned. "I think I'm getting another cold." The Buckwell reached over and felt my forehead. "Oh no," he said. "Now you really do have a fever."
I had been going strong, staunchly resisting the chips from the canteen downstairs at work, but yesterday something inside me broke. I ordered some and ate them. They were actually pretty good. But I didn't feel so well afterwards. So there, my first confession is out. Now for number two.
I got also Jerome's flu - my excessive garlic and chilli concoction came to naught. The morning we got up to depart for Japan, I was tired and listless. My nose was hot, my throat felt like a piece of sisal was hitching a ride in it, and my eyes were watery. Halfway to the airport, the sneezes were coming thick and fast, along with lots of mucus. "I feel hot," I said to the Buckwell. "Feel my forehead."
He did. "No fever," he replied.
So I popped a couple of cold and flu tablets and tried to ride it out.
The flu tablets must've worked a bit, because British Airways upgraded us to Club class on the way over to Tokyo. However, it was obvious that I was really sick; I declined the Champagne on boarding, and went for an orange juice instead. Then, despite the fully-flat bed, movies on demand, and food on proper china plates, things went rapidly downhill. It all reached a head about 30,000 feet up, somewhere north of Ulan Batur, when I woke up after a short sleep, with a piercing earache, the shivers and a large trail of mucus winding its way from my nose to my mouth. I winced, and said plaintively to the Buckwell, "I think I have a fever".
Dutifully, he reached across and felt my forehead. "Nope."
So I curled myself up in the foetal position (what a waste of a flat bed), and shivered for an hour.
"What about now?"
"Sorry. You still don't have a fever."
"Oh".
Eventually, we got to Tokyo, and I soldiered on for a couple of days until my cold/flu faded away. By about the fifth day, I was back to my normal self. But on our penultimate morning, I woke up with a sore throat and ballooning neck glands. By the evening, I was exhausted and in bed by 9pm. "Damn," I moaned. "I think I'm getting another cold." The Buckwell reached over and felt my forehead. "Oh no," he said. "Now you really do have a fever."
Thursday, 20 December 2007
Mission 021 - Cough cough, sniff sniff
Wow. A month's silence. Sorry for being so inexcusably slack. I've actually had more time than usual for blogging, given that the last 2 weeks have been spent on jury service. That means a little bit of sleeping in (love those 10:15am starts), a little bit more exercise (walking to court), cultural lunchtimes (Tate Modern), and plenty of opportunities to read books while waiting to be herded into the court for a cattle, sorry, jury call. The first week I managed three books, the second week was a little less literary owing to actually being in court for most of it.
I found it a welcome change from the tedium of my everyday life. But I feel dreadfully sorry for the people on the jury for the Diana inquest. There's only so much monotony I can take.
So this Christmas, the Buckwell and I have decided to go all out with a bit of culture shock. We're off to Japan.
However, there is a nasty threat looming over the trip. The Buckwell has been suffering a nasty bout of MAN FLU this week, which had him bedridden, feverish and coughing. So my mission is rather obvious - to avoid his flu at all costs. As I am a woman, it should not be too hard. However, just to be on the safe side, I am planning to liberally lace onight's dinner with garlic and chilli....
I found it a welcome change from the tedium of my everyday life. But I feel dreadfully sorry for the people on the jury for the Diana inquest. There's only so much monotony I can take.
So this Christmas, the Buckwell and I have decided to go all out with a bit of culture shock. We're off to Japan.
However, there is a nasty threat looming over the trip. The Buckwell has been suffering a nasty bout of MAN FLU this week, which had him bedridden, feverish and coughing. So my mission is rather obvious - to avoid his flu at all costs. As I am a woman, it should not be too hard. However, just to be on the safe side, I am planning to liberally lace onight's dinner with garlic and chilli....
Tuesday, 20 November 2007
Mission 020 - To bye or not to bye
First up, sorry for the really bad pun. It's somewhat indicative of my desperate state of mind as this week, as I wrestle with my latest mission - to resist the temptation to resign. It could be quite a good idea for you to adopt this mission too, to avoid you joining dole queues and getting far too familiar with daytime telly.
Here are a few reasons why you should resist the urge to resign:
- At your latest dinner party, someone tells you that you're an excellent cook and should open a cafe. Although this may sound like a valid reason, remind yourself that although your duck and couscous was undoubtedly extremely tasty, you can't guarantee that every patron at your cafe will be just as drunk and rambling.
- You have a mortgage/rent that needs to be paid regularly. And you are not talented at busking.
- Your husband likes to spend money on bike parts, and you like to spend money on shoes. And the money has to come from somewhere. Especially for the shoes. (I know it's a cliche, but that's the way it is.)
- The grass is not always greener on the other side. in fact, sometimes it's astroturf.
- The current job is building character. (I just don't know what kind.)
Hmm. I'm not doing a very good job of convincing myself. I'm going to watch some telly.
Here are a few reasons why you should resist the urge to resign:
- At your latest dinner party, someone tells you that you're an excellent cook and should open a cafe. Although this may sound like a valid reason, remind yourself that although your duck and couscous was undoubtedly extremely tasty, you can't guarantee that every patron at your cafe will be just as drunk and rambling.
- You have a mortgage/rent that needs to be paid regularly. And you are not talented at busking.
- Your husband likes to spend money on bike parts, and you like to spend money on shoes. And the money has to come from somewhere. Especially for the shoes. (I know it's a cliche, but that's the way it is.)
- The grass is not always greener on the other side. in fact, sometimes it's astroturf.
- The current job is building character. (I just don't know what kind.)
Hmm. I'm not doing a very good job of convincing myself. I'm going to watch some telly.
Thursday, 1 November 2007
Mission 017 - 50,000 words
I've spent much of the day researching blogs. Partly for work (might be doing a work blog), partly to see what else is out there. One link led to another and eventually I ended up at NaNoWriMo, the site for National Novel Writing Month. I actually joined this last year (or was it the year before?), and didn't write a word. This year, I seem to have ended up there the very day before it all kicks off, which seems like quite a nice piece of serendipity. So I joined. Again. And my new mission flowered into being: to write 50,000 words before the end of November 2007.
I know NaNoWrMo isn't the way to instantly produce a work of prize-winning quality. But it's a way to produce A Work. Which is a start. It means writing around 1700 words a day, and no, I can't cobble together the 30,000 I've already written on Untitled Novel 1. They have to be all fresh – quite a steep challenge if you're in full-time work. But not necessarily if you work as an in-house copywriter and seem to be hitting a quiet patch...
We'll see.
I know NaNoWrMo isn't the way to instantly produce a work of prize-winning quality. But it's a way to produce A Work. Which is a start. It means writing around 1700 words a day, and no, I can't cobble together the 30,000 I've already written on Untitled Novel 1. They have to be all fresh – quite a steep challenge if you're in full-time work. But not necessarily if you work as an in-house copywriter and seem to be hitting a quiet patch...
We'll see.
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