Twenty something year old doing twenty something year old things

 How do you approach your deadlines? An easy breezy week or two in advance with plenty of time for editing, procrastination and intelligent gathering of brain waves? Or up to the wire, dotted i's, crossed T's the day of?  I always liked to think I was in the first camp, however last weeks experience has shown me that in my old age, I have slipped up. Panic writing for two job applications on two separate days occurred with caffeine and a thesaurus being the necessary survival kit. Cover letters require a degree of cunning, artifice as well as gumption. I generally have these by the bucket load and live to tell the tale. I am hopeful that my future bank account as well as adulthood will thank me. This is also my excuse for not giving you, dear readers, a blog last week. I know that you missed me.  I write this now feeling distinctly cosy--or, to satisfy the Norwegians--Hygge. I returned from child minding 90% wet and 10% human and have recently returned to a semi-normal st...

 A wet and grey day to begin the first of a new month. Grim, unsolicitous skies not withstanding, it is a lucky day. Why is it a lucky day? Because despite waking up late on my day off and remembering at ten thirty AM "crap, the BINS!!" they were somehow still collected. Silver linings. Or should I say, bin linings?  My wet laundry was finally hung up to 'dry', it now hangs sodden like wet rags on the line--mocking me.   I spent the day scrubbing, glad tidings for the arrival of my new flatmate. My hair was in curlers, the vacuum was on and a cigarette dangled from the corner of my lips. Hint, only one of those statements is true. Conclusion: domestic goddess virtues are not all lost. A day of spring cleaning for the arrival of the first day of spring. It was also a day of staring blankly at a power point presentation due to be used during a lesson on Saturday. I productively added pretty pictures in between taking compulsive sips of coffee. It is a fact that drinkin...

Nostalgic memory of youth: My mother telling me not to watch too much TV in case I got "square eyes".  I spent a long time trying to find someone suffering from this affliction but strangely never did.  But ah,  the days when 'screen time' was seen as an unnecessary pleasure and square eyes the risk associated with it, akin to the 'monster under the bed'. Now it is a necessary evil. We buy special 'anti-blue light' glasses to allow us to continue to stare, squarely, into the screen in an intense 'who blinks first' match. I'm currently in one and will continue until four pm when I log off my duties of monitoring  psychology classes.                                                                        ***** The above section was written, as you can guess, well before the present --when I ir...

 In reverse order from yesterday, let us start with a sentence:  "I learned about being thankful a couple of years ago, from some experts--a conversation on facebook--and now I do it everyday; like in the way you're supposed to do yoga everyday but I don't, because the idea of yoga, perversely, makes me tense." I am drawn to this sentence mainly for the camaraderie I feel to the author, Caitlin Moran's, aversion to yoga. I have never been a yogi and possibly never will. I put this down to the same reason that I'm not into soup: food in my opinion should be solids and an activity should be active. If I want a meditative state, I'd probably go for a swim. I get bored easily or perhaps I'm just put off by the heavy breathing. I also like that she puts her find of 'being thankful' down to Facebook. Such beautiful irreverence--it makes me very thankful.  Another thing I am thankful for, is my child minding job. I spent a long couple of hours happily...

 I sit now, cheese toastie lying temptingly beside me and a fermentation vessel, loaded with a treacly sweet smelling liquid, sitting conspicuously in the corner of the room. I have begun to brew my first ever batch of beer: moved on from sourdough (SO lockdown one) to the harder stuff. Still involving yeast but this time a lot less infantile--my sourdough pet starter was very needy and ultimately ineffective, resulting in a distinctly flat loaf. I was, for a few wonderful hours, transported back to chemistry class of 12' as I dunked my hydrometer into the wort and, carefully avoiding the tricksy meniscus attempting to lead me down a false path, read its gravity .This will be important for future groggy mornings, serving as a sort of post-mortem, also known as the alcohol percentage.   The reality of this chemistry kitchen is a lot more slap dash than it may sound--jargon hides a multitude of brewing sins. The proof, as they say, will be in the pint. It may be ready in ti...

 My new friend and bike, Juliette, was looking particularly foxy this morning. She has been suited and booted with a new pannier rack to hold her side bag. The equivalent, I like to think, of a sassy handbag on the elbow. Her bag is red which perfectly off sets her glossy green coat. What's perhaps more worrying about my bike-doting is the fact that it was not isolation which tipped me over the edge. I humanized my bikes long before the lockdown crazies. That's right, back in BC. Reading Dervla Murphy's Full Tilt however confirms that I am not alone in this, she also names her bike and, rather inspiringly, cycles to India on her. Though she would probably go one step further and use the preposition 'with'. They, like Juliette and I, are a team. We've heard of man and dog--what about woman and bike?  The reason for the use of side bags on this sunny Saturday was to collect my organic vegetable order. This is not something I do often enough, mainly because I...

 What is your technique for bringing your space shuttles into land? I personally like to make sure that gear flaps are engaged and that my partner has established a safe landing zone. Whenever I visit those on planet B I also like to make sure that they're happy for us to potentially land in on them-- when things go tits up over here.  No, I'm not planning for the apocalypse. I am preparing for an audition. First things first.  Via the high tech 'zoom' space station, I will be guided back to planet earth and hopefully a role on the mission, IF I successfully and convincingly land the space shuttle 'Kitchen chair' into orbit. It sounds like a tough gig for this first time astronaut, but someone's got to do it. The launch window is fifteen minutes but I'm an eager recruit, keen to do right by my team. I also have that killer Capricorn energy --and if the stars align then the planets probably will too. Cross your fingers for me?  I watched a film last night...

 Smashing is a smashing word isn't it? It seems to encompass excitement and brilliance but in a kick-ass, plate breaking kind of way. My obsession for this word today is inspired by an earlier workshop I took part in run by a theatre company called, drum roll,  Smashing Times--they are pretty kick ass. They use theatre and film as a tool for social change, underpinned by a "rights based approach" and with a commitment to promoting "social justice, peace, gender equality, human rights, positive mental health and anti racism". Phooo. Is that all?  Their workshop today, via the good aul' zoom, made me feel all fuzzy inside, with a sprinkling of empowerment. Before I go full blown 'american wellness blogger' on you, hear me out. I loved it because this is what you get from the darkened auditorium of a Theatre. I loved it because once again it was about going on a journey with total strangers. In a Theatre, all you see is the heads and shoulders of peopl...

Monopoly is amazing at its ability to turn, even the most unwilling, participants into fat cat capitalists. It's almost like it's inspired by real life socioeconomic systems or something?   Child A did not want to play. She grumbled, she groaned, she feigned ignorance. She used all the tricks. Myself and Child B hustled and convinced her--by her third dice throw she was exclaiming enthusiastically "I LOVE this game" and laughing uproariously at my pitiful rent take-ins.  Much to my chagrin, I was losing. Badly.  The game shall be continued when I return tomorrow. Waiting for me is a note, beside my reducing pile of money, reminding me that 'I owe' child B two pounds. No, he will not let me off. He's a tough landlord. Perhaps Herbert Simms or the Dublin corp. might step in to help me out?  We play this game whilst using over the top British accents--funny that--and sitting cross legged on the floor. The wolves of Grafton St.  Before becoming capitalists, my...

Twitterature. I am not a Twitter-er but the idea of using this network to publish stories, drip fed 140 characters at a time, excites and intrigues me. Yes, it's a thing. Blogs sit in the shade, frumpy and plain beside this literary coyness. The chicken to Twitter's turkey fat. Tantalizing. Co-opting short attention spans and unsocial social networks for loudly publishing your fiction seems extremely foxy.  I know these foxy pieces of fiction exist, I've done my research, but classically, I cannot find any. One elusive example captured my imagination whilst researching this very subject. It is called "Some contemporary characters". Clever, very clever. The author is Rick Moody. What a character.  I know about the story, the premise of the story, but I cannot find THE story. That is to say, the tweets seem to have disappeared into cyber darkness.  Another major character in my life right now is child A who, upon my arrival yesterday, announced the following: "...