Santa's Little Helpers Say

Merry Christmas
from

Peggy Flobbins
and
Teabag
xxx

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Thank you to Laurie for this lovely award.



What a nice way to end the blogging year. Thank you Laurie. I shall be passing it on.

Merry Christmas everyone.
May your stocking bulge, your stomach be full and your liver not too knackered. But, most of all I wish you and your loved ones....peace.

A Bigger Splash

Once upon a time there was a little girl who liked to view the world upside down. Well it was the sixties so it was as good a view as any. See how well rounded she was? And how flexible?

She also dreamt of swimming pools. Vast blue pools of splashing fun. They gave her a bowl and she loved it. Sometimes it had water in it.
Many summers passed. Too many to mention. And then she reached the year of 2007 and she decided enough of this playing in the little pool, I want to join in the big pool. She started to blog, dipping a toe in cautiously at first. It might be cold. There might be sharks. People might laugh at her attempts to write a book. Or worse still ignore her. But they didn't.

She still likes to view the world upsidedown but now she has Upsidedowners to keep her company. Thank you.

There is actually a third photo to this sequence where the little girl falls backwards out of the bowl but luckily for you I couldn't find it. In the last photo her mother is giving her some lucky heather. I'm passing it onto you - wishing all of you good luck and health for next year.

Sorry is Just a Slip of the Tongue

I went Christmas shopping yesterday. I had to. Apparently Father Christmas is fictional and therefore I must provide.
I found myself uttering the same word, over and over.
Sorry.
Sorry if you stomp on my foot.
Sorry if I have to dodge your steam roller buggy.
Sorry if I'm looking at something on a shelf and you want to walk in front of me.
Sorry if I go to a cafe for some Leek and Potato soup and I trip over your leg sticking out from the table.

I go to Whittards. For non UK readers, this is a shop which sells coffee and tea by the scoop and smells like heaven. A woman brushes past me and I wince with pain like a footballer scheming for the red card. I wince not because she hurt me you understand but because I had done something to my elbow in a freak floor-washing incident the previous day.
"Oh I'm so sorry" says the nice woman.
"No, I'm sorry, really, it's nothing".
She places her hand on my bad arm as she apologises again for something she hasn't done. I try not to flinch to upset her further.
When our mutual apologies finally peter out, each of us sorrier than the other, we turn our attention to the Gaggia machines.
"Isn't the red beautiful" she sighs and we stroke it together, examine the price tag, quietly gasp and move on. Apologetic shoppers united.

Postscript: I had seriously underestimated the traffic getting home and was half an hour late picking up the small one from school. Bad, bad mummy had more apologising to do.

Fried Brains and a mid week meme

Rebecca Burgess (who has great book recommendations and a cool line in sunglasses) has tagged me for a middle name meme. Thankful that my middle name is not Mahershalalhashbaz I though I'd give it a go.

A - Appearance. I spent my youth and far too many years after, agonising over this. Looking back, I looked fine. If only someone had told me. Now I am evangelical about telling people, especially young girls (and boys but not in a pervy way you understand) how gorgeous they are. Compliments make a difference. They really do.

L - Lazy, for this is what I am. If lazing were a sport, the Olympic committee would have scouted me and come 2012, England would be awash with medals.

I -Illuminating?, Ingenious?, Imaginative?, Irritable?, Incontinent?. Gosh 'I' is hard. Inertia - ha! See 'L'

C - Coldness. I loathe the cold. Yes, the idea of a Wham! style Christmas with crunchy snowball fights and roaring fires is seductive. However the reality where I come from, is slushy muck, damp days, cracked fingers and the gas bill.

E - Exercise. This is alien to me. I am as fit as a blancmange and twice as pink after a bit of dog walking.

Peggy was slightly disappointed that I didn't chose Animals for A, thereby mentioning her. She hasn't been on the blog for a 'whole few days'. Given that she has no self image problem whatsoever, I decided Appearance was more important. Her mug still graces the post though.

(Quite a few people have done this meme so I won't tag. If you haven't and want to - give it a whirl.)

Gwyneth Has Nothing on Ms Write

Long time poor souls readers may remember Ms Write. She gave birth to a plot, lazed in bed alot with a t-pod and gate-crashed the Novel Racers thinking it was Racy Novels. Then she retired ungracefully as elves and dogs and general blathering took over. Today she's back in full Gwyneth Paltrow Oscar mode (complete with gunky mascara but without the appalling dress. She has some pride) The reason? A shiny new award.

Now after a couple of days scurrying around like an under parlour maid tending to the not so poorly, the poorly and the really, really poorly, this roaring lion passed on kindly by Wayne made the day a little brighter. The award originated from Seamus Kearney of Shameless Words . Have a look. He's got a great blog and he's a staunch supporter of the power of words in the blogesphere. As writers, we all know only too well there's a cruel world of rejection out there. For me, one of the best bits about blogging is clicking that little 'Publish Post' button without anyone's permission. There are no editors to convince, no slush pile and no rejections. Feel the power.
Anyway we've all got our favourite blogs. As the list grows, the problem is reading them all but I wouldn't have it any other way.

Choosing five to pass the lion on to is horribly difficult. Impossible even. But ...

Helenmh
Laurie at Three Dog Blog
Cathy
Leigh
Pacha

There's a lion waiting for you to pick up here . You can even chose a colour!

Florence I'm Not

I was so smug yesterday. Now remember what Smugness does. It allows you two minutes to swan around in your bubble of self congratulation and then its friend Sucker! jumps up and bites you on the bum.
Remember the twinkling house (see last post)? Remember the very first glimmer of Christmas cheer? I even braved the rain and got a bit of Christmas shopping done. Still cheerful. I believed a bit of writing time would be entirely in order. Everthing was Working To Plan.
Then they fell. One by one. They ran to the bathroom. Sometimes they made it. Sometimes they didn't.
Now that twinkling living room looks like a hospital tent in the Crimea. The patients are semi-comatose and shivery under quilts, buckets at the ready. A grouchy Florence Nightingale, still in rude health, runs back and forth administering a multitude of cold flannels, drinks and ice lollies. Florence Flaming Nightingale has just about had it. Florence wants to change her job. And her corset is killing her.

Twinkle Time

I had to let Christmas in. It forced itself, demanding attention and a wreath on the front door to acknowledge its imminence. Much as I've resented the way it's crept up on me, I no longer had the will to resist. Think of the children.
A scurry around the loft was necessary. Various boxes were found in the darkest corners and after much coughing due to the dust, rockwool and decomposing detritus up there, they were brought down. My worst fears were confirmed. Every year I promise myself that I'll pack the decorations away like a normal person. Neatly. And labelled. The boxes revealed an explosion in a cut-price Christmas shop.
So I sat playing the untangling game which is actually quite theraputic until I got bored and was tempted to throw the lot away and buy new. I persevered. Waste not, want not.
Now in our house they favour the fairy lit Bordello look. Strings of lights must be strung around everything in headache-inducing splendour. Every plug socket is overloaded, cables trail and we have to grope around in this twinkling semi-darkness. On a positive note, it masks the dirt and carpet stains.
Once it was all up I must admit to a mild tingle of Christmas cheer. It was so pretty that I raised a glass of cut-price Cava to our handiwork. And then another until the twinkles began to blur.
Now, how long is it until I can take them all down again .... and pack them away ....neatly.

Prince Charming has a spittle retention problem and he's not afraid to use it.

The Man is concerned at being cast as Prince Charming in The Finishers Pantomime. He had rather hoped for the role of Dick Whittington's cat with a chance to browse London.

He's agreed as long as he doesn't have to kiss any girls.

He will be the keeper of the keys and will drool if no words are written. And when The Man drools he really lets drip. I have been warned.

Fairy Tale in Blog Lane

Once upon a time (October 29th) in a land far away (the kitchen) a woman sat and gazed at a screen. Let's call her Writerella although she bears a strong resemblance to the woman on the right.
"I so want to be a real writer" she sighed as she dunked her Kit Kat in tea. "'But I will never finish the first draft for I am lazy and have appalling habits."
Suddenly a Fairy Godmother appeared. She looked a lot like Teabag but with wings and she said
"But you shall finish the first draft by Christmas. Start a blog called The Finishers and others will join you. Together you will encourage each other and you will Finish". And ...poof, she was gone.
So The Finishers was created and lo! Other bloggers followed the url and found The Finishing Land. And together they wrote and they cheered and they wrote.
But then the Wicked Stepmother appeared. She looked rather like Peggy Flobbins but with an evil laugh. Angered at their success and rising word counters she STOLE November.
"You will not succeed" she cackled.
"Oh yes we will" we replied
"Oh no you won't" she scorned and we went on like this until we tired ourselves.
"You won't" she said "because I am going to steal December too!"
GASP
*Intermission*

Now Writerella is scared. Will she ever make it to 'The End' before the end of the year? Will she remain 'Writerella the Half Finished' forever? And where the hell is Prince Charming when you need him?

Moody Passion

I've been wearing a mood ring. It was a present. What can I say.
Usually it is black which the little leaflet tells me indicates Stressed. Sometimes it's bright blue which equals Very Happy. This morning as I took the washing out of the machine it turned bright green. Apparently this equals Passionate. I ran to gaze at a cover of a Bob Dylan CD. It turned grey. I returned to the washing. Bright green.
So now I know. These days it only takes a bit of clean laundry to get the pulse racing. I'm not sure whether to be relieved or slightly alarmed by this.
What's your mood this fine December morning?