Accomplished

The days are accomplished! November is ending on a spectacular note up here, with wind blowing last night's snow into exquisite drift sculptures in the afternoon sun. Sadly I forgot to take the camera out on my walk, having become preoccupied with an important envelope I was taking to the post box, and a spot of snow sweeping in front of the door. I walked along the road and up the lane a few paces behind a man with a hat with earflaps, pushing a pushchair, accompanied by two dogs, Piglet and Chillie. Piglet was a Jack Russell with a gammy back leg, careering gamely along in the snow, being verbally corraled regularly Piggy! when vehicles passed (two or three on the road, one each way on the lane - four wheel drive vehicles, otherwise thy'd have had no chance.) Only as I turned into the howling wind going up the lane, and wished I'd put my long johns on under my waterproof trousers, and saw the light on the windswept snow, only then did I realise I'd forgotten the camera. I will try, dear readers, to return to that place with it tomorrow, but who knows if the conditions will preserve the extraordinary curved banks of snow, their tops curling over like wave crests, touched with the pink of the afternoon sunlight, that met my view some distance up the lane, past Keelham Farm. There were ponies too, in the snow, in the field above the lane, looming over me, the tender hairs of their muzzles sillhouetted against the bright sky, their eyes placid, enquiring. I'll go back if I can...

But I must also tell you about the contents of the envelope because they are important! I have today sent four poems off to the magazine which has previously published three poems of mine (on separate occasions). It turns out it is almost three years since I sent the last batch to the editors, and I am immensely proud and excited to have at last got to this point... The letter I sent with the last poems was dated February 2008, just three months before I started the infamous job. Draw your own conclusions.

In other news, we really do have mice, and braved the elements this morning to go out and block all possible entry points, where pipes go in and out of the wall. Suspected culprit a disused sink waste pipe, which is now comprehensively stuffed with one of those metal scouring pads - like coarse wire wool. Next step is to set the humane traps (sic), baited with peanut butter (yes we have experience...), because it is more than possible we have a nest somewhere behind the kitchen cupboards, and then be willing to go for a walk or a drive in the morning to deposit the trapees at a suitable distance from the house (also anyone else's house). I fear in this weather they may not survive long, so exacly how 'humane' this method is I don't know, but I like to think it gives them a sporting chance. Any views or experience?

To finish, a couple of pictures, courtesy of L, from around our manor this morning.


And the second amaryllis whose splendour has brightened our days for a week or more.

I cannot say what will happen now. Au revoir, not goodbye!

Earth Stood Hard As Iron

And so Nablopomo is drawing to a close. Though I still don't really understand the 'Na' bit - I mean national... After all it is being done by folks across the globe as far as I can tell. Certainly in France and the US! It has at times felt like a pressure, but far more often a welcome challenge and a pleasure. Goodness knows I need a few bits of structure in my strangely formless life at the moment. And it's interesting what I find I can come up with, even on days when I've been scratching my head and feeling devoid of creative ideas or energy. I think the main thing I've got from it is to be reminded how much I enjoy the kind of writing I do on trains, in waiting rooms, cafes and the like. Writing about the minutiae of everyday life, and observing people and their infinite weirdness gives me great pleasure and seems to have been well-received here too.

The freezing weather continues, and every time I go out walking, the line from In The Bleak Midwinter - earth stood hard as iron, water like a stone - plays in my head. There'll be no digging the allotment for the foreseeable future. Most of the time the sun has shone on the frost and snow, and the light has been crystalline, and there's been little wind. Sometimes early in the morning, or as the sun goes down there is gorgeous pinkness in the clouds. Tonight there is heavy snow forecast, so conditions could get a great deal more challenging than they have been so far. This would not be a worry except that I'm due to travel south on Friday, and back home on Monday. By train I hasten to add. Nonetheless things can go a bit pear-shaped even on the railways if there's a lot of snowfall in a short time. No need for any difficult decision-making yetawhile.

I'm going to stay at my Mum's, and take the opportunity also to spend a little time with friend K whom I haven't seen since the summer. One of her oldest and dearest friends is dying, and she has been spending much of her free time with her. I've also been invited to join a very dear group of old friends, which includes K, for lunch at the Skylon restaurant in the Royal Festival Hall on Saturday. We all did our psychotherapy training together, and for many years thereafter, we all met monthly to support one another and do peer supervision, drink tea, and eat cake, and generally hang out. For the last few years they've been meeting four times a year, just socially, to eat lunch and catch up. Sadly I had to leave the group when we moved up here, but one of the group invited me to join them again this year for their pre-Christmas get together, and I was delighted to accept, despite the fact that I can't afford it whatsoever at all. Sometimes you just have to do these things though, and throw caution to the winds! K's friend is dying, J's father has just died, and I have had the year from hell, so I think we all feel just how precious old friends are to us right now.

Ice

9.28 To Manchester Victoria

Off we rattle through the snowy landscape, raucous male laughter behind me, female in front. I mistakenly thought the 9.28 would be quiet on a Saturday morning. Obviously people make early starts to go and do whatever it is they're going to do, and the train is soon full. Just laid down on t'bench. Just laid down on t'bench. Never expected that! laughs one of the male voices. I have slight indigestion and haven't slept well, but I feel OK. Anybody else? asks the ticket man with the curious shuffling walk reminiscent of a mechanical toy. Sunlight on snow-whitened rooftops. A heavy dusting. My reflection in the train window, a little tousled from my hat. Thinking about the coffee or tea I'll drink when I get to the John Dalton building where my personality development seminar is taking place. Today it's pregnancy and birth. A large group of ladies travelling together. One of the younger ones approaches some of the others with a clutch of plastic glasses containing slices of lemon, and little cans of, I'm guessing, gin and tonic or similar. One woman refuses, others accept. It's 9.50am. I don't want to! repeats Dylan, a small child sitting on his Dad's lap next to his Mum who is next to me. Mum says eventually please stop saying you don't want to, and for moments at a time he does. She tells him she's going to buy him a new hat. He says he wants his Thomas one, and she assures him he'll have this too, though I detect subterfuge. Dylan returns to the litany of don't want tos, begins to cough. Mum tells him they're going to see the pretty lights. A group of geese congregate on the snow-covered ice in the middle of a large pond.

It is at about this time that a group of young men boards the train, many of them holding beer or cider cans, many of them sporting hooded sweatshirts emblazoned with the words English Defence League and a little shield with the words No surrender above it, and below to Al Qaeda. On the back of these sweatshirts are the words Rochdale division. Dylan's Mum intones oh my Lord under her breath, and Dylan falls silent. All the young men have very short hair, all wear dark clothing that doesn't look quite warm enough, some woolly hats, one a hood up. They are between 16 and 35 as far as I can tell, with the majority being 18-25. And they are very loud. The train is full and they are standing in the aisle and around the door, and seem to feel the need to conduct their conversations by shouting. Once or twice one of them chants EDL! but mostly I cannot detect any obviously offensive or 'political' content to their conversation, except a snippet about mosques being breeding grounds - I don't hear for what but I can guess. Then I hear not all mosques. I think maybe one of them has engaged a fellow-traveller in conversation, or perhaps been asked about the regalia, and is attempting to appear reasonable. What is most offensive is their loud and aggressive energy, the space they take up physically and psychically, and the swilling of beer and cider at 10 in the morning. I imagine they are going on a demonstration, and will drink all day long. I imagine there will be disturbances later. Or maybe they're just going to see Man United play. I enclose myself in a psychic bubble, look mostly out of the window. Look forward to getting to Victoria.

Return

I finally heard at 7.30 yesterday evening that I had not got the job. My response was a feeling of unalloyed relief. The manager of the centre was one of the most unfriendly people I have ever encountered in such a situation - barely civil at the outset. Her colleague introduced herself and then the manager, at which I said 'good to meet you'. She made no reply... It is so good not to have to work there. All my dealings with them had shown the organisation to be disorganised, casual, unprofessional and chaotic. Halfway through the interview I was asked how I felt about doing a series of other tasks that had never previously been mentioned - no Job Description had ever been forthcoming... Since the job was only 13 hours, it was hard to see how the time was to be managed. And on top of all this it took me nearly two hours to get there. Oh, and the money was way below the usual going rate for anything comparable. So, no shipbuilding for me. Hurrah!

In more good news I heard yesterday that I will finally receive some money next week from the self-employment credits scheme, and that it will after all be back-dated. That's £200 I thought I wasn't going to get! Even more amazing, I filed my tax return online this afternoon, and the calculation showed that they owe me over £240 in overpaid tax! This could hardly be more timely! I take both of these developments as good omens.

One of my local therapist colleagues also phoned to tell me she is in discussion with a local secondary school regarding counselling for their pupils, and she wanted to know if she could mention my name with regard to the 11-16 year olds, as she only works with over -16s. No idea if this will lead to anything, but it's a sniff of something, and lovely to have someone in my corner who may be able to share opportunities with me.

Outside it grows colder and colder, and snow is forecast overnight. I'm off to Manchester in the morning for the first of a series of seminars on personality development, so I hope it doesn't snow too much or it might make my journey down to the station challenging - though the whole route is actually gritted, so it should be fine. Always a bit of a shock when it first does this, though, and it does seem to have gone very cold very suddenly.

Flurry

Cold hard ground mottled with frost, the water butts at the allotment hard discs of ice, the carpet that we spread yesterday frozen.

L reads out of the local paper small ads section:
4 Debenhams bridesmaids dresses never worn, in rose pink, 3 size 14, 1 size 22. All can be altered - £200
Stunning Pro-Novias wedding dress, ivory duchess satin with embroidery detail. Size 14, never worn. Cost £1000. Accept £450

Winter light filters through the amaryllis petals.

The first flurry of snow as I walked down into the little valley this morning. The small flakes rattling amongst the last dry leaves.

Into town later on errands - shoelaces for me, shoes for L, white emulsion, fish, money, a hot water bottle.

My lower back is tender in a way it rarely is these days, and I have an incipient headache all the time. Tension, pure and simple. Still waiting.

My feet warm in my slippers despite the holes my big toes have worn in them.

An acid yellow Smart car is parked outside the Post Office, its reflection in the front window giving a double dose. I think of a song called 'A Double Dose of You'.

I dreamed of my nephew F and large sprigs of parsley.

The cries of children in the playground.

Shipbuilding

Awake at 3-4am this was going round and round my head. I worked out why this morning. The unconscious is a strange and at times subtle thing. Contemplating having to accept work I don't want to do, out of economic necessity obviously fired a certain neuronal connection.