Well, does it?

Hic.

Originally published at Couchspud. You can comment here or there.

I mean, piece OR piste, it makes no sense.

Does it?

Originally published at Couchspud. You can comment here or there.

Is it “across the piece” or “across the piste”?

Originally published at Couchspud. You can comment here or there.

Lots of work stuff happening that I can’t blog about.

Not much else going on apart from the usual grind.

Except that my copy of Ha’penny was delivered from Amazon yesterday.

Speed reading.  Talk to you later.

Originally published at Couchspud. You can comment here or there.

Tempest and I were just discussing the link (below) to everyclick.com and whether it was really a good idea.  I’ve looked into it again (and googled it - hey, it never ran off to Panama!) and I still can’t see a flaw.

So, again, please go here and click on the “Join this fundraiser” button.

Please.

Hey, we raised one whole pound for the homeless of Sheffield in the last twenty four hours.  What’s not to like?

Originally published at Couchspud. You can comment here or there.

Clearly the best view in the world is from Waterloo Bridge, because you get Tower Bridge, Tate Modern and St Pauls, but I can live with Wordsworth on Westminster Bridge. 

I walk across Westminster Bridge pretty much every day.

I say “walk”, but actually I stomp.  Or slide.  Or push.  Mostly it’s stomp.  Because of the tourists.

I have no problem with tourists as such.  I AM a tourist myself, as often as I can afford to be.  I’ve wandered around Times Square and St Mark’s Square, I’ve seen the Twin Towers and the Eiffel Tower.  I once won five dollars shooting craps in Vegas.  I think.  (I was a little hazy about the rules.)

But the tourists on Westminster Bridge don’t seem to acknowledge the presence of actual (and non-tourist) people, at all.  I was bumped, stepped on and barged into three different times this evening.  And this evening wasn’t atypical.  

Is it something to do with education?  Are people so used to computer games that they’ve forgotten the other characters they interact with in meatspace are actual people?  I have long suspected that there’s a large class of Americans who don’t really believe that people in other countries live in a different way from, you know, “people”, ie from Americans.  That in spite of the evidence in front of them, they believe the people they encounter in other countries are like the cartoon characters in Disneyland and they take off their costumes and stop speaking French at the end of their shift.

Actually that’s not fair.  One of the people who barged me today was Italian, from the accent.  And a splendid linguist, too, because she managed to say “sorry” in exactly the intonation that English people use to mean “you just barged into ME, you oaf!”

Maybe lack of empathy is a generational thing.  But for me, having empathy with the people is one of the attractions of being a tourist, in itself.

I mean, I’m fully aware that my experience of New York (say) is nothing like a real New Yorker’s.   I don’t go for any of this “I’m not a tourist, I’m a traveller” bullshit - I’m a tourist, and I live in a different world from the world of the native New Yorker.  The last time I was there I had lunch in the restaurant at the top of the World Trade Centre, tea at the Russian Tea Rooms, and on one memorable day rode around in a stretch limo to Tiffany’s and then to try and find a good vantage point to get a picture of the Chrysler Building (and never did, because it’s a bugger to frame and I’m a rubbish photographer anyway).

But all the time that was happening, I was aware that I wasn’t experiencing the New York that New Yorkers experienced and wondering what it would be like, actually to live there instead of just being a tourist there.

And if I barged into someone in the street, well, it was an accident. 

And if I said “sorry”, that’s all I meant.

Originally published at Couchspud. You can comment here or there.

…a covetable canvas shoulder bag, printed with the slogan “The Mend of the World is Now”, which was an environmental campaign earlier this year.

Of course, the corner of the bag was folded over, so what I saw was

The Men

of the World

is Now

which makes NO sense.  Except as a koan.  Maybe. 

Or crackfic flash?

Is that even a thing?

It’s after midnight.  Go to bed.

So I did.

Originally published at Couchspud. You can comment here or there.

Oh the joy. (heavysarcasm!mode off)

Turns out three different people in my small team have had the same thing I’ve had.

Turns out another symptom I’ve got is bursting into tears.  Apropos of nothing.  In meetings, dammit.

Way to look cool.  Professional.  Sane, even.

Gah!

Originally published at Couchspud. You can comment here or there.

No, not going to get involved in the latest in-fighting over at the Science Fiction Writers of America (use your first penny to look it up lol)

Except… I tried to get them to include Farthing as a Qualifying Market… let me explain to the non-writer friends who read this.  SFWA is a group that’s not quite a trade union, not quite a professional organisation, for science fiction writers.  But to join it you have to be a published writer.

I don’t qualify, because the stuff I wrote for Interzone etc wasn’t fiction, and I haven’t published any fiction except stuff like fanfiction.  You have to publish a novel or three short stories in “qualifying markets” and there are various rules about what is and isn’t a “qualifying market”, presumably to stop you publishing three copies and giving two to your grannies and saying you’re in print.

I thought it would be good for Farthing to be a “qualifying market”.  This was back in the days when I thought people who sent in stories would also buy copies of the magazine (because I’ve never sent a story to a “market” where I haven’t at least seen a copy of the magazine first.  Turns out I’m completely the exception to the rule, but that’s a whole other story).  So I passionately wanted to be a SFWA-qualifying market and to be listed on their site.  And by issue 4 Farthing clearly met the four qualifying criteria, by virtue of paying the authors professional rates, publishing for a year, having a print run of 1000 copies and not being a vanity press (yes, more than 10 different writers were published and no, I didn’t charge them for the privilege)

I filled in the form.  And waited.

I wrote to the chairman.  And waited.

I wrote again.  And waited.

I spoke to some people about it at Wiscon.  And waited.

Yeah.

I’m not saying it’s SFWA’s fault Farthing ran out of money and is on hiatus till I have some more.  SFWA’s response would have been unlikely to have made any difference, I know.  And “of America” - why should they care about some little foreign title?

But I’m surprised, writing this, to find how much it still rankles.

Originally published at Couchspud. You can comment here or there.

A long time ago, around the time I lost my faith (a whole other story) I used occasionally to go to church with my parents.  They had closed down the church we used to go to when I was a child, so my parents had started going to Sheffield Cathedral.  And at that time they did tea and toast for the congregation after morning communion… and word had clearly gone around the homeless in the area that, if they turned up in the church hall at the right time, well, there was free breakfast.

It amused me hugely to see all these respectable people trying really hard to practice Christianity at (on?  with?) all these people who didn’t play by the rules - put sixteen spoonsful of sugar in their tea, and kept eating the toast till the bread ran out, and were variously um… aromatic.

Amusing, but also gallant and kind of touching.  I can’t believe there is a god, but if there was then this is the kind of behaviour I’m sure he or she would encourage.

After a while, people being what they are, a solution was found.  A project for the homeless was set up.  A breakfast club was founded.  Breakfasts were cooked, medical and other assistance was gradually put together.  My father was honoured with a “wooden spoon” award for the number of times he’d volunteered and cooked breakfast.  A large scale project to build a well-equipped facility on the side of the Cathedral was set up, funds were raised, and there’s now all sorts of good stuff going on.

These are good people.  They deserve support.  I occasionally give them money, when I have some.  They’re quite polite and very grateful.

So here’s a sort of query.  There’s this thing (the mouse thingy, below)  The deal seems to be that you register with this website and use it as your search engine, and your searches produce advertising income for Ask.com (the source of the search results) which is split with this company, Everyclick, and half of Everyclick’s turnover is donated to various charities.  Apparently each search is worth about a penny, and you can determine which charity your penny goes to.  The Cathedral and Archer Project has, would you believe, four - no, counting me, make that five - supporters and has raised - so far - £33.72 (out of just over quarter of a million raised by the site so far)

I don’t know.  The business economics look reasonably solid to me, although I’d like to know a bit more about Everyclick and how much overhead is coming out of their half of the gross (are they actually making much of a profit, in other words).  And I have no idea if Ask.com’s search engine is any good, because, you know, I google, d’oh.

But I’m going to give it a try.

Anyone else in the mood?  Go here and remember the name of the charity.  Please.

Or just send them money.  How many crap Christmas presents do we all need anyway?

Originally published at Couchspud. You can comment here or there.

Originally published at Couchspud. You can comment here or there.

Amazing to feel OK again - out buying a newspaper and had a sudden surge of energy and realised, oh yes, this is what feeling normal is like!

On Saturday had a quick coffee with Helen Keeble before she went off to do China-idolatry and then, while we were there, I had a call to say my grocery delivery guy was sitting outside my front door, so I went home, let in the groceries and put them away, and then had the unexpected sensation of finding myself awake, dressed, caffeinated and feeling fine at 11am with nothing else I had to do for the rest of the day!

Luxury!

I should have written, of course.

I could have written, of course.

What I actually did?  Erm… watched the Gold Cup on television and had an extremely exciting few moments when the two horses I’d backed came in first and second.  In the wrong order, of course, but still.

Writing.  Yeah.  I can do that.

Originally published at Couchspud. You can comment here or there.

Good drugs.  Feeling quite a lot better, thanks.  May have taken the pain killer ones a tad too close together (zonked out in the chair, woke up in the middle of a scary fever dream with the whole dry throat from excessive snorage thing)

Today, I plan to achieve some cleaning, some tidying, maybe a journey out to get a newspaper, and have another go at drawing up a schedule for when to take the blasted things without knocking myself out.  How hard can it be? 

Don’t answer that.

Writers group tonight.  Allegedly.  Still haven’t written anything for them.  It’s possible there may be a coup and I’ll be expelled and/or exiled.  I don’t *think* being put up against a wall and shot is a possibility.  But I wouldn’t put anything past …..

Originally published at Couchspud. You can comment here or there.

So there’s the thyroid meds to take every day, first thing, on an empty stomach.  And now there’s two to take three times a day with food and one to take four times a day, also with food.

How many times do I need to eat????

I thought “you do the math” - and then thought, that’s a good idea, let’s get someone else to work out the timings.  And maybe get a groovy pill box/timer thing to keep them all in.

Definite gap in the market there - those ones I’ve seen are just gross!

Originally published at Couchspud. You can comment here or there.

It’s no secret that I’m not particularly happy about moving from Covent Garden to Waterloo and that I’m not too keen on my new place.  But the one spectacularly good thing about the move was gaining a new GP.

Went to see her this morning and she was generally reassuring in the “don’t feel guilty about taking as much time off work as you need” area, with added “ring me if you’re still feeling rotten after you’ve been off seven days and I’ll write you a sick note over the phone” yumminess.

She thinks the problem may be something to do with my thyroid condition not being well managed (I *told* them I was ill!!!) and sent me off to St Thomas’ for another blood test.  Four lots, this time - cue “practically an armful” jokes.

She gave me a different combination of tablets to try, and now I feel a lot better.  No, haven’t even filled the prescription yet, but a bit of sympathy - not to mention some natural light, a bit of a walk and, well, to be frank, a shower and some clean clothes - can do a lot for a person’s morale!

Yes, still twitching.  But, you know, not maniacally or anything.

Originally published at Couchspud. You can comment here or there.

… of most pathetic posting day evah!

Yup.  Now I can’t sleep.

Eye still twitching.

Just eaten an entire packet of chocolate biscuits. 

I’m guessing I’m not going back to work tomorrow, then, either.

Little help here, please, universe?

Originally published at Couchspud. You can comment here or there.

The corner of my left eye is twitching maddeningly.

I’m off sick from work and - as well as feeling lousy physically - also feeling lousy emotionally, what with the random bursting into tears and the soul-sucking feeling of the worthlessness of continued existence.  Which was not alleviated in the slightest by a good talking-to of the “count your blessings” variety earlier this evening.  My life may demonstrably not suck in many, many ways.  But this isn’t about any kind of rational “you have enviable personal freedom, wealth and autonomy in a civilised first-world democracy” kind of feeling.  It’s about the irrational feeling of having failed in life at every endeavour that counts, and it doesn’t matter how many bits of me know the irrationality of that feeling that doesn’t make the feeling go away.

And now I have a tic in the corner of my eye.

I first had it when I was living in Stoke on Trent, back in the long-ago days when I was teaching.  And I went to an optician about it, and had worked myself up into such a state of anxiety (clearly, to a hypochondriac, a twitching eye is an obvious sign of imminent and irreversible blindness, d’oh) beforehand that, when he told me it was just a nervous tic, the equivalent of a hiccup, and that as soon as I stopped worrying about it would go, well, I burst into tears.

And when I stopped crying, the tic had gone.

Yes, well I know that now.  I know it’s nothing more than the eye’s equivalent of a hiccup. 

And that as soon as I stop worrying about it, it’ll stop.

So why won’t it stop.

Stop!

It won’t stop because I can’t relax.

I can’t relax because it won’t stop.

That’s some catch, that Catch 22.

Originally published at Couchspud. You can comment here or there.

The opposite of progress, that is.

Not feeling too hot at present - off sick from work and feeling thoroughly sorry for myself.

Remember the scare I had two years ago when I broke my wrist and the nurse in the hospital tried to calculate my weight in stones and pounds from a machine that only weighed in kilos and came up with an improbably low number that meant I was neurotically begging the anaesthetist to recalculate it because I thought I was going to die on the table (and yes of course now I realise I should have been more worried about not getting enough anaesthetic and waking up on the table)? 

Well, since then I have been watching my weight - not dieting, you understand, but trying to follow the Paul McKenna principles of eating when I’m hungry and stopping when I’m full.  And I did some work with Alex Jamieson, who’s Morgan “Supersize Me” Spurlock’s partner and helped him get back into shape after his month on McDonalds.  And I did McKenna’s self-hypnosis thing and managed to break my two bars a day minimum chocolate habit.

So I’ve been quietly pleased to see that, without having to eat lettuce or feel deprived, my weight has been quietly going downwards.  And I managed to stop myself weighing myself neurotically twice a day and instead have been recording it once a month since January of this year.

Yeah.

Not feeling well today, remember?

Just had the monthly weigh-in.

Half a stone of fluid retention????  Because if my scales are right (and I weighed myself twice) I’ve just put back all the weight I lost since January.

Um… and now I’m hungry!

Originally published at Couchspud. You can comment here or there.

…and, in the “too stupid to live” category, we have the woman who lost the login and password for her own stupid blog, dagnabbit!

So, no, I haven’t disappeared off the face of the earth.  Just the face of the blogosphere.

Normal service will be resumed as soon as my brain starts working again.  (Don’t hold your breath!)

Originally published at Couchspud. You can comment here or there.

… while I’m about it, how come everyone’s cat is so freaking fragile all of a sudden?  I just want to borrow a cat for a day or two.  I’m not planning on swinging it by its tail or plunging it into a bag of fireworks or anything.  I just want it to sit comfortingly on my lap while I try and watch television and to be able to point it anything that skitters in the corners of my eye.

One is a bit far off and has medical problems.  Another is too nervous to travel.  And the one that is already on loan is, you know, already on loan and will be too confused to go visiting.  I’m offered bags of used cat litter (and I take the offers in the spirit in which they’re intended) but for goodness’ sake doesn’t anyone have a robust, healthy moggy they’re willing to lend?  (Flashes back to The Door Into Summer - cats that happily travel in carpet bags and drink ginger ale.  And time travel.  Although strictly speaking that part isn’t a necessary qualification) 

Originally published at Couchspud. You can comment here or there.