Tales From a Small Island

Thought For The Day

2010-03-15T14:12:00.000-07:00

Novel writing is an occupation where success can be gauged by whether or not your work has been shelved.

Atonement

2010-03-06T01:32:00.000-08:00

Recently I killed a Poinsettia. Now, to make atonement, I have brought this Basil plant back to life. It belongs to my room mate who is out of town at the moment and was looking pretty miserable. I took a chance and watered it and miraculously it seems to be recuperating. This is officially my first ever success with a living plant.

Procrastinate is Just a Fancy Word For Saying 'Mañana'

2010-02-20T04:08:00.000-08:00

I'm a writer. I procrastinate. That's what writers do. We look for any way to put off the actual business of writing.
My favourite methods (in no particular order) are:

Highly focalised internet research (that's a fancy way of saying wasting time on t'internet)
Adherence to domestic engineering responsibilities (a fancy way of saying washing the dishes)
Attendance to the amalgamation of complex harmonious and melodious vibrations for aural satisfaction (an obnoxious way of saying listening to music for fun)

As for procrastinate, this is a word of latin origin meaning 'deferred until tomorrow'.

Adiós hasta mañana folks.

This Week Has Been Murder

2010-02-07T03:14:00.000-08:00

Earlier this week I killed a character in my book.

Now I have killed this innocent poinsettia. (Not purposefully I hasten to add). This is why people should not give me plants.

Killing My Darlings

2010-02-03T13:36:00.000-08:00

It's not often that you can get away with killing someone, but sometimes as a writer you have to take that chance.

'Killing Your Darlings' is a phrase used in writerly circles to describe cutting out unnecessary elements of your work. This could be something small like a phrase, sentence or paragraph or it could be something larger, such as a chapter, sub-plot or character.

It's not an easy task for many writers. When you've spent several hours, days, weeks or even years on something, it's hard to cut something out - even when it's obvious that it doesn't belong.

Just before Christmas I started working on a novel. I had an idea that centred around two characters whose stories I really wanted to tell. Unfortunately I'm having trouble getting the story to work and now it's come to a standstill. I've tried all the usual fixes employed by artistes to summon their muse and aid the creative process. I spent many hours staring out of the window contemplating the passing of the clouds over Falmouth Harbour. I drank cheap wine and became maudlin. I made inappropriate passes at young gentlemen (until someone shouted 'Cut it out Grandma or I'll call the cops').

None of these things worked.

So after a huge amount of heartache (and a good chat with my tutor) I realised that in order to get back on track I need to 'kill my darling'. In short I have to axe one of my characters. This is hard to do and I am somewhat remorseful, but nevertheless, in the name of literary progress I will do it.

I'm also a reasonable person (and kind hearted too) so I felt it important to explain to my character what it is I am doing and why. So to illustrate the turmoil I feel about killing my character I have written another "Dear John' style open letter:

Dear Jack,

There's no easy way of saying this so I'll just come right out and say it. I have to kill you.

Sorry.

It's like this: whilst I think that you are a wonderful character, full of hidden depths and peppered with personality, you just don't fit into this story. Sure, you're a sensitive guy with a long and varied history, but frankly buddy, it just isn’t enough. Unfortunately for you, my 'other' character, Maggie, seems to have taken control of things. She's tenacious and passionate and she asserted herself whilst you hung around in the wings hoping for some action.

OK. I will admit that she is a pushy bitch, but what am I supposed to do? I'm just the author of this novel. How am I supposed to keep control of my characters? Next thing you know, folks will want me to have a handle on other aspects of my writing such as 'plot' and 'genre' and 'narrative point of view'.

It's as if, as an author, I'm supposed to be omnipotent or something. Jeez!

Please don't take it personally. You had a good run, but like all good things, your time has come.

Farewell old friend. Let me know how it is on the other side.

Love
Sarah

Farewell To a Lover

2010-01-19T01:43:00.000-08:00

Dear Bronchitis,

When I woke this morning I realised you had left me. There was no note, no tearful farewell, not even a final kiss. All that remained of you was a faint tightness in my chest that passed quickly.

I suppose it was only a matter of time before things between us ended. Although our relationship was intense, I always knew it was never meant to last. The times we shared were memorable: the chronic cough, the dislocated ribs, the pain. But I will not miss you.

You see, I have moved on too. I've been trying to find the way to tell you for some time that I have met someone else. His name is Good Health and although you guys don't move in the same circles, he's kind of fun and I think you'd like him.

I hope that you won't take this personally but you were always going to be a temporary part of my life - a fling. It was fun - in a wheezy sort of way - but not substantial. I know we spent a lot of time in bed together, but let's be honest, we're not exactly compatible lovers are we? And yes. I've had better.

I hope that you meet someone special. You deserve to. You have an infectious personality and I know that it won't take you long to meet someone new.

You left a few things at my place - the inhalers, antibiotics, steroids and pain meds. Please come and collect them. I don't need them anymore.

Oh, one final thing. I think it's best if we don't see each other anymore. As much as I'd like us to remain friends, there is always the chance that we'd get drunk one night and end up in bed again - and you know what that usually leads to.

Love

Sarah

For Sale: Box of 1000 Brand New High Quality Commas

2010-01-14T06:57:00.000-08:00

,,,

Are you a writer? Have you noticed that something is missing from your work? Are you looking for something that can turn your writing from an incomprehensible stream of words into a well-polished masterpiece?

Used for centuries by writing experts from Charles Dickens to Dan Brown, the comma is a powerful device that can be used by any writer. There is very little training required; simply write your story, then sprinkle with a generous helping of commas to create a unique and exciting writing project.

These commas are brand new, never used and come with the original packaging and instructions. Useful for all writers, commas make a fun gift for a friend or colleague. They would also be great stocking-fillers for the kids.

These commas are compatible with both PC and Mac and will work every time, both on screen and when printed.

Starting bid: 99p (no reserve)

End of An Era

2010-01-09T03:26:00.000-08:00

Many of you who read this blog know me in real life and some of you don't, so here's a little bit about the real me.

For the past five years I co-owned the dive shop Reef Gliders on the island of Roatan, Honduras. My (ex) husband and business partner, Barry Pope and I bought the business in February 2005 from Justus Falkenroth, who had started it almost ten years earlier. We were tired of the London rat race and the British weather, so running a dive shop in paradise seemed like a good excuse to run away to the tropics. Plus we thought that we could drink beer all day and get suntans.

Like all good dreams, the reality turned out to be a huge amount of work. We were not scuba instructors, and although we had business experience, we'd never run a dive shop in a country whose language we did not speak. I also didn't expect to be the plat de jour for sand flies and mosquitoes, and the quantity and size of the bites on my body soon became legendary. Barry's last car had been a Mercedes so he didn't know much about fixing engines and I don't think I had ever looked under the hood of a car before.

Fortunately there were some amazing people on Roatan who offered friendship and help whilst we learned the ropes. Uwe and Dorte from Tyll's Dive shop were our life support and they bought us beers and cheered us on each time one of our boats broke down - which in the early days seemed to be about once a day. Somewhere along the line Barry became a Divemaster and boat engine repairman and - in an uncharacteristic and bizarre twist - I became a grease monkey servicing the scuba equipment and compressor.

During the past five years, being part of Reef Gliders has introduced me to some incredible people from all corners of the globe and has given me opportunities and experiences I never imagined possible. Barry and I built a house (a full-length story in itself, as are the parties we had there). I learned how to tie a bowline and my sunburn gradually became a suntan. Barry learned how to cook (he is now a sushi supremo) and I learned how to make a killer margarita and how to fix any wound using only superglue and duct tape. I also managed to learn a little Spanish along the way (si, es verdad!)

Being my own boss gave me the freedom to do whatever I wanted with regards the written aspects of the business. I wrote the website content, advertising copy and newsletter - not to mention the brief, but infamous, 'Dive Site of the Month' feature. All of this rekindled my childhood passion for words and writing. At the same time as living the dream on Roatan, I was trying to keep in touch with friends and family around the world. One of our Divemaster trainees, Sarah suggested I start writing a blog and thus Tales From a Small Island was born. It seems like only a few hop, skip and jumps away from taking me onto a Professional Writing course.

Whilst not every event over the last five years has been perfect - a robbery, a scooter accident and Barry and I decided to divorce (but stayed friends), I wouldn't change a single thing.

So now it is the end of a chapter. Barry and I have sold Reef Gliders to two of our divers - Barbara and John - and we have handed over the reins to them so that they can continue its story. I know that if they can make even half as many new friends as I have then they are going to be very lucky indeed.

My photo album is crammed with images from the dive shop and of Roatan but the image below really sums up the character, colour and life of Reef Gliders. It was created by Kristin Haynes and I hope you enjoy it as much as I do.

Hitting The Ground Running Into 2010

2010-01-01T10:56:00.000-08:00

Whilst most folks are nursing hangovers today, I have decided to kick-start 2010 in the way in which I think it's going to continue - with hard work, determination and a healthy dose of humour.

So despite nursing a dislocated rib and a producing a cough that could rouse Satan from his subterranean slumber, I have been busy writing today.

Today's to-do list has included working on my novel (including some research which will take me back to London), preparing an application for an internship opportunity and researching potential jobs for when I finish the MA.

Oh yeah, and writing this blog piece.

By hitting the ground running I'm hoping to start the momentum that I will need to get me through the next few months.

Welcome to 2010!

A Year in the Life of a Readaholic

2009-12-30T07:32:00.001-08:00

In June this year I started to keep a record of all the books that I read. I have two journals, one for fiction the other for non-fiction. As it is almost the end of 2009, I wanted to see how many books I have read this year and was pleasantly surprised to see that I have read 42 books (plus a few I've probably forgotten), not to mention that I still have a couple to finish before the year is out. Anyway here is my 2009 reading list in no particular order:

Haruki Murakami - The Wind Up Bird Chronicle
Umberto Eco - The Island of The Day Before
Gabriel Garcia Marquez - Memories of My Melancholy Whores
Jhumpa Lahiri - Unaccustomed Earth
Bruce Chatwin - On The Black Hill
Umberto Eco - Misreadings
Paul Auster - The New York Trilogy
Umberto Eco - On Literature
Kurt Vonnegut - A Man Without A Country
Paolo Coelho - The Witch of Portobello
Jon McGregor - If Nobody Speaks of Remarkable Things
Italo Calvino - Difficult Loves
Haruki Murakami - Blind Woman, Sleeping Willow
Joan Didion - The Year of Magical Thinking
Italo Calvino - Invisible Cities
Stephen King - On Writing
William Boyd - Fascination
Raymond Carver - What We Talk About When We Talk About Love
Tom Holt - Little People
Pat Barker - Regeneration
Antoine de Saint-Exupery - The Little Prince
Robert McKee - Story
John Simmons - We, Me, Them and It
David Lodge - The Art of Fiction
T.C. Boyle - The Tortilla Curtain
John Mullan - How Novels Work
Sol Stein - Solutions For Writers
Aristotle - The Art of Rhetoric
Joseph Campbell - The Hero With a Thousand Faces
Francine Prose - Reading Like a Writer
Neil Taylor - Brilliant Business Writing
Raymond Carver - Short Cuts
John Simmons - 26 Ways of Looking at a Blackberry
Simon Van Booy - The Secret Lives of People in Love
Neil Taylor - The Name of The Beast
Paul Cobley - Narrative
HP Abbott - Cambridge Introduction to Narrative
Sarah McCartney - The Fake Factor
John Simmons - The Invisible Grail
Christopher Vogler - The Writer's Journey
Patrick Gale - Notes From an Exhibition
Anne Michaels - Fugitive Pieces

Getting Published

2009-11-24T09:18:00.000-08:00

Here's a little shameless self-promoting from yours truly. The blog article I wrote about my experiences during the first week of the MA Professional Writing at Falmouth has been published on Profwriting.com. Please follow this link to check it out.

I have my first byline!

Giving Myself Space To Write

2009-11-23T09:50:00.000-08:00

My writing class recently met Simon Van Booy when he taught a short-fiction workshop at The University College of Falmouth. I found it a very inspiring class and I loved reading his work. This was the first time that I have met a published author and I was happy to discover that he was not at all scary, but in fact a shy and funny guy who was very encouraging to us aspiring wordsmiths. During the class, one of the things Simon asked us to think about was the place where we like to work – our writing space. He encouraged us to create a place that we can go to whenever we want to write.

Many famous writers have had unusual places or methods of writing. Philip Pullman writes in a shed at the bottom of his garden, Hemingway wrote standing up and Proust wrote in bed.

Having moved around a lot, I haven’t experienced the luxury of a private writing space, so I have been writing anywhere I can. This includes writing whilst moving in trains, or planes, writing in waiting rooms to pass the time, writing in coffee shops or hiding out at the library. I didn’t have a special place that I could escape to.

Due to having bronchitis I spent a lot of time in bed recently, and because I hate to be out of touch with things back in the real world, my laptop has been sharing my pillow.

Surprisingly, I’ve found that this is working very well for me. I like my room. I share a house with two great girls, but my room is my private space. In here all the little things that I collected whilst travelling surround me, and I have many memories to draw inspiration from. My room is a little bit quirky just like me. I’m a huge reader but I hate bookshelves, so my books are stacked and scattered around the floor. Instead of a regular light fixture I have fairy lights and I have a bus stop on the wall (just in case I need to catch a ride somewhere). Since moving in here two months ago, I have created a writing cocoon within my room and I love the inspiration I get from working here. I’m curious to see what I create from within here over the next year.

Notes From My Sick Bed

2009-11-18T07:12:00.000-08:00

I am currently engaged in a miserable battle with Bronchitis that has knocked me off my feet and kept me bedridden for the best part of two weeks. It’s certainly challenging my sense of humour but it has given me some time to reflect, so here are a few of the things that I have learned this week.

I don’t watch TV, but encouraged by my roommate Sharon, I opened my mind to the possibilities of Saturday night entertainment. In doing this I discovered that everyone on Strictly Come Dancing seems to have a disturbingly orange shade of skin colour.

The clock in my room has an offensively loud ticking sound and it must be destroyed. Immediately…

Smash.

Problem solved.

Supermarkets can be an overwhelming place for someone with a bad cough to explore. I zig-zagged the aisles for twenty minutes trying to find ginger ale (it’s not where you think it is), before crumpling in a heap on the floor somewhere between bread products and pet food. Why do supermarkets have to be so hard?

I wanted to imbibe a medicinal Scotch & Dry the other day but did not have any ginger ale (see above), so I improvised with Lucozade, and thus, Scotchozade (TM pending) was born. This is not a drink that I recommend to anyone. Please don’t try it as it may turn you orange like the folks on Strictly Come Dancing.

Opening a pack of new sheets and putting them on your bed when you are sick makes you feel a million times better – especially when they are silk sheets.

At this point I believe that chicken soup is most definitely better than sex. If you think otherwise then send your comments to me on a postcard together with your best recipe for chicken soup.

More thoughts from my sick room coming soon…

Semi-colonic Irritation

2009-11-12T08:31:00.000-08:00

I’m five weeks into the MA Professional Writing at Falmouth and my head is spinning from all the new friends, words and writing that I am experiencing.

The course is a lot of work and some days I wonder how I am going to find the time I need to write essays, read textbooks, set up my website and critique the work of fellow students - not to mention trying to keep up with this blog.

This first semester is taking my class back to the basics of writing including the dreaded topic of punctuation. So over the last couple of weeks we’ve been learning about the cheeky little fellow known as the comma, we now live in dread of offending our tutors by using exclamation marks (apparently it’s the kiss of death for a professional writer) and finally we have been introduced to the great enigma of punctuation; the semicolon (see I just used one right there).

I think I know what a comma is now. I’m happy with colons and dashes (not to mention parentheses) but the semicolon still remains a mystery. To me it is the off-side rule of the punctuation world – everyone knows what it is when they see it in action but try explaining it to someone and you’ll usually come unstuck.

So in an attempt to become a polished and punctuation-perfect writer, I have now become the kind of person who can spend hours agonising over my work before replacing a semicolon with a colon, then later removing the colon, inserting a full stop (period) and making two sentences and finally returning to the original format by replacing the semicolon two days later.

Writer is a much deeper spiritual pursuit than most people give it credit for. The craftsmanship required is exquisite and the right punctuation mark (exclamation marks notwithstanding) can make or break a piece. The semicolon is the Holy Grail and I am on a quest to find it and understand it.

Week One of a Writing Course

2009-10-27T11:04:00.000-07:00

It’s Friday afternoon. The setting is a small lecture room at University College Falmouth, Cornwall. The main characters are fifteen students of various ages and backgrounds – all of whom were strangers until five days earlier. Their reason for being there is to listen to a radio comedy being broadcast on The Source that was directed and Produced by the BBC’s Paul Dodgson.

And together with my new friends in this room I helped to write it.

It was a tough assignment and an incredible way to start the first week of our MA in Professional Writing. We had four days to make this happen. Could we do it?

Our first task was to agree on a setting for the show. Paul gave us the choice of a supermarket or a railway station. A quick show of hands and the supermarket was the winner.

Next on the agenda was a title – the most important part of any writing. We threw out ideas as Paul wrote them down on the whiteboard. Someone in the room told us to BOGOF! We were a little insulted. Then we learned that BOGOF! means Buy One, Get One Free.

We liked it. We had our title.

We brainstormed ideas for sketches that could happen in a supermarket. Once we had a good idea of the kinds of thing we wanted to include we started the hard part.

The writing.

We began by each of us writing a sketch. Time was tight so we only had 30 minutes to do this. We then read our piece to the group. This was a scary prospect. We were new writers who didn’t know each other and now we had to read aloud a piece of writing that we’d had only a few minutes to create. Plus there was a guy from the BBC directing our work so it had to be good. Once the first couple of writers shared their scenes it quickly got easier. There were laughs from the group at the jokes that we’d written.

We were funny.

As our writing deadline approached we had to be tough. Some sketches were cut and others were rewritten and polished. By the end of the second day there were more gags on the writing room floor than in the script.

On Wednesday we began the final editing. Scenes and sketches were chosen. The show needed to be fast-paced so we interspersed longer scenes with snappy one-liners. The format was coming together.

On Thursday we moved to the recording studio where we met the four actors who would perform our script. As professional scriptwriters we would not normally be involved in this stage of production but we were given the opportunity to experience the full process. The actors read through the script and they laughed. We laughed.

A collective sigh of relief ran through the studio.

The recording started and there was a final twist in store. We were going to perform in the final scene. We were not only writers but actors too.

Friday morning. The final day of production arrived and Amy Sampson, our production engineer edited the recorded pieces and added the sound effects and music. It was beginning to sound like a professional radio show. With literally one hour to go, the show was finished, and Paul ran to the radio studio to deliver our work.

So here we are on Friday afternoon. Fifteen students in a lecture room waiting for our radio show to be aired. The moment of truth has arrived – our work is on air.

We like it. It works. It’s funny and we’re proud of our collective achievement. Four days ago we were students in a room presented with the challenge of writing a radio comedy. Today we are writers.

What have I learned from this?

Writing can be a lonely business. Most of us write alone and we usually only share our work when we are certain it is ready for an audience. Collaborative writing is fun, challenging and emboldening. There’s no time to tweak something that you have written, you have to throw it out to the others and hope it has merit. You learn how far you can push your own writing limits and you try to pull the best writing from others.

In the final edit a writers’ words may not make it onto the script but their participation in the overall process is hugely important. Everyone has something of value to share, everyone’s voice counts. Our radio comedy would not have happened without the contribution of everyone in our class.

One of the hardest things that I found about writing comedy is that when you write a scene or a line and read it to yourself it sounds funny. You then read it to the group and they laugh too. But after two days of re-reading the same scenes over and over you stop thinking of them as funny. Doubts creep in and you wonder how this radio play will ever work. If you’re not laughing anymore how will the audience react to it?

But a transformation occurs.

The actors arrive and do a read-through of the script and amazingly they laugh. They perform the scenes and you find yourself laughing again at your own jokes. The production engineer pulls each sketch together with skill and speed and the Producer orchestrates the piece adding a sound effect here and a snippet of theme tune there.

It works.

A writers’ work is their baby. They nurture and feed it and care about it but eventually they must let it go. It must be given to others to direct and mould. A director can lift it with effects. An actor can enhance it with their delivery. But as a writer you have to hope that the listener or reader will love it just as much as you do.

Our class are terribly proud of ourselves and would like to show off our work, so follow this link and listen to 15 minutes of fun set inside a supermarket. And if you don’t like it then you can BOGOF!

Sitting on The Dock of The Bay: Or Why Falmouth is Like San Francisco

2009-10-01T14:50:00.000-07:00

I left San Francisco over two months ago and since then I have written almost nothing. Perhaps, like the song, I left my (writing) heart in my favourite city.

So where am I now, and what has triggered my pen back into action? Well I’ve just moved to Falmouth in Cornwall. I’ve had a week or so to introduce myself to the town and the thing I soon noticed is that Falmouth is a lot like San Francisco (although it does seem to be missing an iconic bridge).

Like San Francisco, Falmouth is a very arty place. When I look out of my windows I can see sculptures and art installations in my neighbourhood. A clear sign that the University that calls this town home has a strong influence on art, design and creativity.

Falmouth’s hills rolls up, down and over much like those in San Francisco. Great going down not so much fun heading back up. Leading me nicely onto:

Skateboarders. They make just as much use of the hills here as the guys in San Francisco do. I hate to admit this but I actually missed seeing them.

Both places are good for live music. Singers including Ben Taylor, Scott Matthews and Seth Lakeman will be playing in Falmouth over the next few weeks (having also played shows in San Francisco in the past).

Weather-wise the climate in Cornwall is the warmest on the UK mainland, which is probably why there are palm trees in Falmouth. Seeing them took me straight back to Dolores Park where many good memories were made with friends this year.

It’s also strange but true that I have found a food connection: Oysters. I associate Oysters with San Francisco, as that was where I first tried them. Next month is Falmouth’s Oyster festival and I can’t wait for it. Perhaps some Oysters and wine will put me in a Hemingway frame of mind – perfect for someone like me on a writing course.

Suspended precipitation is in the air in both locations. I admit that San Francisco fog and Falmouth mist are not quite the same but they provide a similar effect. The other day I watched the little sailboats in Falmouth bay gradually fade from view as the mist rolled in and I thought of my friends back in San Francisco who were probably being fogged in at the same time. Over a thousand miles away yet the weather can bring about a memory of another place and time.

Falmouth has so many images that remind me of my favourite city. Just as when I moved to San Francisco I immediately sensed the rhythm here and I seem to move in sync with it already.

At least for a little while I can stop moving. I am right where I need to be.

I feel that in artistic exploration we can grow as individuals. Falmouth is an artistic town and I’m ready to start exploring. If I plant my roots in Cornish soil I wonder which direction I will grow in?

Synecdoche

2009-08-21T03:33:00.000-07:00

Three months ago I had never encountered this word and now I seem to stumble upon it everywhere I go much like a pair of sneakers left out in the hallway that I keep tripping over.

Synecdoche has its origins in Greek (yes I do love my words of Greek origin!) and essentially means a part that is used to describe a whole, for example "I needed a shoulder to cry on" referring to the person as a whole, not just the shoulder.

It is, without a doubt, my current reading habits that are causing this encounter. I am currently digesting a large volume of books on rhetoric, narrative and the art of fiction writing in general - synecdoche comes up a lot.

That being said, my favourite use of this word is courtesy of Charlie Kaufman and his movie of the same title (Synecdoche: New York). As usual Kaufman's writing is incredible but enhanced by the subtle use of signs in the movie that you may just miss if you are not paying full attention. If screenwriting was my thing then Charlie Kaufman would be the standard that I would aim towards. Anyway, watch the movie if you can - I don't think you'll be disappointed. In the meantime I'm off to find a copy of the script to read.

A Contradiction in Feelings

2009-08-13T01:44:00.000-07:00

I have been back on the island of Great Britain for three weeks and I am slowly beginning to settle back into things here. Returning to my hometown after so many years away is a rather strange feeling - as if I am somehow resonating on a different frequency to everything here. I feel simultaneously very small and too large for this place. As I move around the city old landscapes from my childhood awaken feelings of nostalgia within me that make me feel like a little girl again yet at the same time those very landmarks seem much smaller than they did when I was younger. Whilst everything is generally familiar and the street layouts are much the same as they always were there are the signs of the inevitable changes that the years have brought. Old buildings have been demolished to make way for new constructions housing hotels and shopping malls. Family store names have been replaced by newer, national chain-store gaudiness. Progress has made its way here but perhaps taken something away with it. The history and identity seems to have been diluted a little but the people remain the same as always to keep the spirit strong. Perhaps it is my own perspective that has changed rather than the actual meat and bones of the place. I am not who I was when I left here so I see things through different lenses now – not rose-tinted in anyway, but certainly clearer than on my last visit. I am re-learning this place whilst I slip back into old routines.
It is most definitely a contradiction in feelings.

Lollygagging: A Guide

2009-07-16T11:56:00.000-07:00

The aim of this article is to introduce you to lollygagging so that in the future you may recognise Lollygaggers when you encounter them or that you may become a Lollygagger if this is something that you aspire to.

Before beginning there is need of a disclaimer. It should be made clear that this article in no way relates to loafing. If you were hoping to learn about loafing then you will be sorely disappointed. Also if you were thinking that lollygagging was in some way related to gagging someone with a fistful of cash then you are also in the wrong place. That is an entirely different kettle of wax and not a topic for discussion within this particular forum.

If you believe, like many others have, that you can lollygag by simply idling away your time reading a book at the beach then you are also wrong. The introduction of a book into the situation immediately places you two levels above lollygagging (one level above being the introduction of any mass market magazine of the kind found at the supermarket checkout).

Lollygag as a verb:
This is clearly an oxymoron. A verb is a word that describes an action and to lollygag is to be idle and perform no action whatsoever. Please join me in correcting this by writing to the Editor of the Oxford English Dictionary (or the Editor of the Webster’s Dictionary if you are inclined to use the incorrect spelling of words such as ‘colour’).

Loitering is similar to lollygagging but is more sinister in nature. People who loiter are often to be seen gathered in groups on street corners or outside bars late at night after they have closed. Lollygaggers are more likely to be seen alone at home on their couch or stretched out languorously on a park bench in the sunshine.

Loitering with intent may be another topic of interest for any Oxymorons reading this but again the scope of this article is limited and further discussion cannot be permitted at this time.

The digressions now complete here follows, without any further ado, the instructions for lollygagging:

Step One
You need to be idle, without purpose, aimless. If you are lazy by nature this will come naturally to you. You should be verging on the point of unconsciousness whilst remaining fully conscious at all times. A sitting or slouching position is preferred. Wandering about in a lost or abstract manner is permitted. Laying supine may give onlookers the impression that you are sleeping so this should be avoided. You should develop a look of boredom or at the very least one of disinterest. To appear interested in anything is not the way of the Lollygagger. You are free to look about you but you must not lay your attention on any one thing in particular. You should be browsing without really taking anything in.

Important Note: At all times you must retain the potential to develop some verve and get yourself moving without actually making such a movement. In short, your engine must be ticking over but your foot is off the gas and you are not going anywhere.

Step Two
Maintain Step One for as long as possible. Any deviation from this immediately ends the lollygag state of being.

So there you have it, fairly simple and relatively easy to achieve but it may take a little practice for anyone who is motivated to be active at all times. This forum will continue at a later date with articles on topics including skulduggery, tomfoolery and shenanigans.

I've Been A Little Quiet Lately

2009-07-06T17:37:00.000-07:00

I just checked in on my blog and realised I haven't posted anything in a wee while. I suppose I have just been too busy living it and not making the time to write it.

I'd love to share some wisdom with you but right now my head is full of summer and that means strawberries and jasmine. My neighbourhood here in San Francisco smells like jasmine and I love walking about in the early evening heat and being hit by the heady aroma as I turn a corner or cross a street.

I have two more sweet weeks here in the US before I make my way back across the Atlantic to my home island. It's been a while since I've been there. I'm excited to go back in the summer when life there always seem to move at a happier pace and people strip off their shirts as the sun gets hot and we can go strawberry picking in the fields and we BBQ in our gardens and we drink Pimms in the sunshine.

I've missed the greenness of the little island of Great Britain, I've missed her seasons, I've missed her eccentricities and quirks.

And so, like Dorothy I being to click my heels together and whisper... there's no place like home...

Listen to The Sky

2009-06-24T10:21:00.000-07:00

The sound of the sky
The taste of the breeze on my skin
The feel of the ocean
The smell of the sunshine

I like this.

Little Parcels and Surprises

2009-06-14T09:07:00.000-07:00

I have accumulated a lot of things whilst I have been travelling. Packing all of this into a suitcase to take home with me is problematic to say the least; so once in a while I pack things into a box and post them back to the UK. My packing choices are often random and can include postcards and handicrafts, blankets and key rings, paintings and clothing.

The best part about this is that I have largely forgotten what I mailed to myself two years ago or even one year ago so when I get home I will have loads of boxes to open and hundreds of surprises hidden inside them.

It’s going to be like all of my birthdays rolled into one! I can’t wait to open them all and be able to re-live the memories of the places I have visited.

Some More Delicious San Francisconess

2009-06-11T14:26:00.000-07:00

I have only a few more precious weeks in the States, so in Julie Andrews - The Sound of Music – style here are a few of my favourite San Francisco things.

Dolores Park: lemonade stands, yoga, music, dancing, laughing, people watching, frisbee throwing, dogs running, kids laughing, Bi-Rite ice cream eating.

There was an afternoon in May when it was 32 degrees in the shade and my neighbours played Christmas songs full blast out to the street.

The sound of the streetcar passing by on Market Street…

…the slow shaking of my apartment building as it grumbles by.

Watching springtime blossoms meander from the tree branches and down onto the sidewalk

Listening to the birds flooding the magnolia tree outside my bedroom window with their delightful morning preamble.

Wine. Red, red wine, any white wine, oh whoa oh sweet wine of mine!

Sitting in cafés, drinking coffee, watching the world and writing my little heart out.

Breakfast at Kate’s Kitchen, afternoon writing at Bean There Café and then Rosamunde’s for a sausage sandwich!

Buena Vista neighbourhood is so beautiful. The streets around there run at angles and corners to each other around bends and over hills. It’s as if every street wanted to get to Buena Vista and they all clamoured over each other to get there and ended up in a tangled mess. The chocolate box houses cram together amid flowers and trees. I think I’ll live there next time I live in San Francisco!

You can be whoever you want to be here. If you want to reinvent your style, your personality, your musical taste this city is wide open and waiting for you to try it all on for size.

And finally, whatever your viewpoint to the local weather, in my opinion the fog is the frosting upon the San Francisco party cake.

Finding Kokopelli

2009-06-01T15:14:00.000-07:00

Last year there was a fire at my house on Roatan – a very scary one that started in the middle of the night. My roommates and neighbours pitched in to put it out. We were armed only with courage and sheer stubbornness as we battled the fire and drove it back to hell.

In the aftermath, as a film of smoke and ash established itself upon each and every surface, I took a breath and surveyed the scene. There was remarkably little damage considering the intensity of the flames that had feasted so indulgently the night before. I could still taste the smoke and hear the flames and feel the burning, but the battle was won and now all that remained was the cleaning up.

On the back deck of my house I had a wind chime that I had brought from England. It was a simple thing. Not very fancy or expensive, it had five metal pipes serving as chimes and at the centre of it all was a metal pendant – the symbol of Kokopelli.

For those who don’t know, Kokopelli is the Hopi Indian deity of fertility, storytelling, healing and also a prankster. He is often represented as a hunchback figure playing a flute. I suppose that’s why I like him, as I’m a flute player and storyteller too.

As we began clearing away the broken glass, debris and ash I came across the pipes from the wind chime but Kokopelli was not with them. I searched around but could not find him. Suddenly I began to feel a sense of panic as I scrabbled my way through the dust and grit trying to find him.

Finding Kokopelli was the most important thing in the world for me to do.

I searched everywhere. I rummaged through every box of ash we filled in the hope that he would show up. I searched the garden and underneath the house thinking that maybe he had fallen through the deck as it had burned. I became obsessed with finding that stupid and worthless piece of metal. I felt that if I could find him - if I could salvage just this one small thing - then everything would be ok. The fear would subside and the balance in the way of things would be restored to its natural order.

Several days later I had almost given up my search and I felt a despondency that seemed ridiculous given that my house had almost been destroyed. My friends and I had been in clear and physical danger that night and all I could think about was finding a cheap metal rendition of a deity who I didn’t even know much about.

I stood on the remains of my deck, my chin in hand and heaving a sigh I decided to stop wasting my energy on a fools errand. I looked down towards the ground, and there on the ledge between the scorched deck boards and the bodega roof was Kokopelli! He had literally been under my feet the entire time. I could taste the relief as it washed over me. I picked him up and looked at him. Much of his paint had flaked off but he was still in one piece.

He has become a much bigger symbol to me than the folklore story that everyone knows. He is my personal Phoenix arisen from the flames. He has taught me that sometimes the thing that you are searching for is right in front of your eyes but you don't always know what you need to do to see it. He has taught me that whenever bad things happen in life there is always something to offer solace. He taught me to never give up the search. And like the prankster that he is, he has taught me that a smile and a sense of humour can soften any hard situation that we find ourselves in.

There are many metaphors that can be drawn from this story and I will leave it to you as the reader to decide which one works for you. Those of you who read this and know me personally may believe my story to have one moral and those who don’t may draw another conclusion. One truth remains: I found my Kokopelli and I keep him with me now as a reminder of that night and how I survived it with friends to help me battle the flames of life.

Creative Licence

2009-05-26T15:10:00.000-07:00

I am an artistic renegade.

I write…

without a creative licence!

I do not have a permit, or a licence, or any form of permission to do this. Every word that I type, every syllable that falls upon my page is illegal. I flirt with the legal ramifications, I laugh in the face of authority.

My crimes are perpetuated every time I publish an article here on this blog. “You cannot stop me!” I cry as I shake my fist in the air, my sweaty fingers still clutching my hot and eager pen.

I have resorted to writing in motion. I do not remain seated in a writing position for any longer than 15 minutes for fear that the authorities trace my internet connectivity and come charging into the café where I sit feverishly typing away.

My paranoia is catching up with me. Who is the suspicious looking man who just entered the venue where I am hiding today? Is he - like me – a writer on the run from the authorities, or could he be working undercover seeking out renegade scribes and hauling them away to the dungeons of Barnes and Noble?

In the blink of an eye I have closed down my document and opened up Facebook, thus giving the impression that I am simply networking with my friends and not in fact… writing.

To evade capture I change my chosen media constantly, sometimes a laptop, often a notebook and pencil. I tap notes into my phone and record my words onto a Dictaphone. I scribble upon post-it notes, napkins, torn-off corners of newspapers and even the back of my hand.

Invisible ink is an underestimated asset.

So here I sit - in a location that I cannot disclose for fear that they will find me - illegally scribing within my electronic internet writing arena. And there you are – reading it! You have ten more seconds before the encrypted invisible digital ink begins to fade…

Breaking News: Cher Finally Manages to Turn Back Time

2009-05-22T08:15:00.000-07:00

The disbelievers said that it could never be done, but in a feat that has knocked the musical world off its axis Cher has finally succeeded in turning back time.

It has taken Cher 20 years to achieve her dream. The hit song, which was released in 1989, re-launched her pop career. However, what fans may not have realised is that these were not simply idle words that she was crooning but in fact a deep desire to actually turn back time.

Since releasing the song she has worked tirelessly with scientists across all fields to find the way to turn back time. Amongst the team of specialists were quantum physicists, science fiction authors, mystics and music historians.

It is now believed that when Cher withdraw from the limelight in the early nineties she was not enjoying a career break but was in fact making significant breakthroughs in time travel based upon the work of HG Wells, and in particular his famous book ‘The Time Machine’. Whilst the method of Cher’s time travel is still not known it is believed to contain copious amounts of spandex, glitter, a variety of wigs and a catering sized tub of bikini wax.

The breakthrough couldn’t have come at a better time for the hit songstress and gay icon who turned 62 this week. “It was a personal dream of mine to achieve this” said Cher. “For many years I’ve strived to find a way, to take back those words that have hurt you, so you’d stay”.

Whilst those people closest to the artist have been celebrating with her this week at a combined birthday party and time-travelling celebration party, they have remained tight lipped as to whether or not the artist has in fact taken back her words yet.

Plurallry Speaking

2009-05-20T12:51:00.000-07:00

I haven't spent much time at the computer writing this week due to a very painful shoulder injury and in fact, I am not going to write much here now except to say this:

If you have been using 'Octopi' as the plural of Octopus (as I did for many years) then you are technically incorrect.

The plural is in fact Octopuses.

"No it is not!" I hear all the divers out there shouting at the screen.

Yes. It is.

Here is how:

The plural ending of 'i' is generally applied to 'us' ending words that have their root in Latin (although it is not applied to all 'us' ending Latin words), whereas Octopus has it's root in the Greek word Oktopous the plural of which is Oktopodes so the Latin ending of 'i' should not be applied.

It's a common error that has allowed the use of the word 'Octopi' to become widely accepted and acknowledged as correct. But here I say again: It is wrong!

The same rule applies to Hippopotamus and Cactus - again both of which are Greek in origin. How many of you out there have been saying cacti?

Anyway, this strikes me as an interesting proofing and editing lesson for all writers. It is so easy to assume that a word we are using is technically correct simply because it may have drifted into common usage. It reminds me that there is no substitute for performing a spelling check and reaching for the Dictionary and Thesaurus once in awhile.

Which leads me nicely onto: Thesauruses - again a Greek word that is sometimes pluralised as 'thesauri'.

Well now that I've settled that little piece of business I'm going back to bed to rest my shoulder and ponder the intricacies of the semicolon! This is what happens when I have too much time to think and not enough time to write!

Contract Killer For Hire

2009-05-13T09:32:00.000-07:00

For Hire: Contract Killer – any plant eradicated within one week – guaranteed or your money back!

My methods: Apathy, neglect and pure ignorance in the ways of the plant.

I am serious about this. I can kill any plant that you give me. My thumb is not even remotely green. Most people have at least some hint of greeniness about their thumbs, but me? Even if my thumbs were made of copper they would never turn to verdigris.

If I water the plant then it’s always too much. If I’m instructed to avoid watering it then it dies a tortuous thirsty death. If I place it in a sunny spot then it should have been in shade and upon finding itself in said place of shadiness the plant will promptly expire.

Here are some examples:

A couple of years ago a friend of mine asked me to look after her beloved plant when she went on holiday. She had a prized and cherished Poinsettia that she had managed to nurture and keep alive all the way into late March. That’s March people! This is a Poinsettia; it should have been dead by January 10th! She needed someone to watch over it whilst she was away. I begged her not to give it to me but she felt that there was little work required and that the plant would be fine.

It was not fine.

Within hours of her departure the plant began to take on a sickly pallor. I avoided touching it and allowed other people to take care of it, but still, it continued to slip away. I called in help from the people who knew how to ‘talk plant’ and they coaxed and cajoled and offered soothing words but still the plant wilted. I begged and pleaded and promised to give my soul to the devil if only it could be saved.

It died. Immediately and irrevocably it was dead. I’m not sure she has ever fully forgiven me.

My roommate has a begonia that was outgrowing its ceramic habitation. He has re-potted it, fed it, watered it, presented it with some sunshine and then placed it the cool shade. He offered it companionship by keeping it in a room with another plant and provided it with a fresh breeze by opening the windows, and what happens? It is failing. I have not so much as exhaled breath over this plant, yet with each passing day it wanes. I fear for its existence. Clearly my power is greater than I thought.

The resolve of a plant is nothing compared to the Jedi mind-tricks that I can pull. I am the Yoda of plant killers. Kill your plant I will. Make it wilt I can.

So now you know better than to ask me to water your plants whilst you are away. And for heavens sake never, ever ask me to take care of your goldfish!

If These Are My Salad Days Then I Want The Full-fat Dressing

2009-05-08T14:12:00.000-07:00

Right now I feel as if I am living the salad days that I missed out on when I was in my early twenties. It’s fantastic and there is a lot of salad out there to be enjoyed.

When others in their early twenties were living out their salad days in wild, world travelling, naïve bliss I seemed to skip right on by to the middle years of life. I bought a house, I had a mortgage and I always ironed my clothes. The word ‘responsibility’ was part of my daily lexicon. I was a sensible girl.

As for me, when the waiter approached my table and asked if I wanted to order the salad I told him quite firmly: No! Skip the salad, I’m heading straight for the main course. I worked, I became organised and I developed some great life skills including basic plumbing (aka unblocking the sink) and elementary carpentry (aka assembling Ikea furniture).

And here I am now, a woman in her mid twenties. OK - late twenties. Really? You’re not buying that? OK. Here I am now, a woman in her mid thirties, sampling each and every salad that I can find.

During the last two years I’ve travelled by plane, boat, bus, car, train, foot and tuk-tuk. I’ve lived by a beautiful lake, on an island and in two different cities. I’ve skied, meditated, shopped, danced, hiked, driven, documented, photographed, read, wrote, watched, listened and crammed my happy face with as many delicious foods as possible. I’ve cried as though my heart would break and laughed until my stomach hurt.

What a ride!

What a gourmet meal this has been – and a salad meal no less!

I now laugh at the word ‘responsibility’. It’s still there but it is no longer the burden that it felt like in my youth. I embrace the concept of ‘freedom of spirit’. You can be free simply by staying at home if you open up your heart to possibilities. I shun plans in place of spontaneity. There are too many wonderful experiences you can miss out on if you don’t welcome the impromptu delights in life.

And what about the ironing of clothes I hear you ask? Well there is not a piece of fabric upon my body that has seen a heated metal plate in years!

Yes, I may be a little travel-crinkled at times, but I am snarfing down the salads as fast as I can get them. Bring on the dressing - this is delicious!

Freak Heatwave causes Spring Cleaning Sensation… in Spring no less!

2009-05-02T10:35:00.000-07:00

The freak heatwave that has been targeting several locations in the northern hemisphere has been a springtime phenomenon this year. Citizens have been witnessed stripping off their cardigans and replacing their Ugg boots with flip-flops. Some of the residents of the Golden Morn retirement home have been witnessed skipping across the lawn with carefree abandon. In a moment of madness city office workers have been seen eating their lunches outside!

In a move that has not been made since 1976, Dorothy Mayweather of Chipstone, England actually began spring-cleaning her home… in spring. “It’s never been heard of before.” said Mrs Mayweather, mother of three and a part-time lollipop lady. “Usually I don’t get to spring-clean my house until June. It’s been quite a shock for my husband!”

According to Mrs Mayweather, the items on her “spring-fever to-do list” include, ‘trying to remove the red wine stain from the carpet’, ‘out with the old and in with the new’, ‘making space for when Uncle Harold comes to visit’ and ‘oh my goodness I’d forgotten about that old sock collection’.

Local authorities have issued warnings to the general public over concerns that other usually unheard of activities may take place this season. Dancing around the maypole, playing with newborn lambs and the happy chasing of ice cream vans are all set to be on the increase.

Whilst most people are enjoying this reprieve from the rain, some people have raised concerns. “Spring fever is a safe activity provided that all appropriate precautions are taken” an official said in a statement released this morning. “It is easy to get carried away but as long as everyone carries an umbrella, rain jacket and a packed lunch then they should be ok.”

Whilst millions take advantage of this favourable weather there is a dark side to the frivolity. Parents have been warned to lock their children inside in the event that a flash-mob of men bearing white handkerchiefs and slapping each other heartily upon the buttocks appears in your neighbourhood.

That’s right everyone, Morris Dancing is rumoured to make a come-back this spring.

My first Job

2009-04-29T11:18:00.000-07:00

I am currently putting together a portfolio of my written work as I am applying for a University writing program. During this process I began thinking back on all of the writing I have done.

On reflection I would have to say that my first job was at the age of 12. At that time I was employed by my friends to write secret love letters to whichever lucky boy had attracted their attention. Business was good back in those days and my work was not impeded by a global economic downturn or a pandemic involving some type of porcine head cold.

Teen love angst should not be overestimated. Girls do not know how to talk to boys and vice versa. Sometimes a letter is required and it would seem that I was just the girl to write it. This is somewhat laughable, as I didn’t know anything about boys back then. For that matter I don’t really know much about them now.

I would never have had the gumption to send my own letter to a boy at school but I happily did it for my friends. Also hilarious is the fact that I was an awkward geek back then and if a guy had received a letter from me then he would have been torn between publicly humiliating me in the gym using toilet paper, glue and paint or running for the hills screaming hysterically.

I don’t want to overplay this but I had to be smart about what I wrote. The letters needed to be intriguing with a little shot of humour running through them. There had to be just enough flattery without sounding cheesy or sickening. I needed to ensure that no one would realise it was me who was writing the letters. They had to appear to have come from a specific girl. Consistency was also important. I couldn’t write a series of letters from Debbie to Dave and keep changing the style of writing between them.

I suppose that is when I first started to explore writing with specific tones of voice – by that I mean ones that are not my own. Of course I didn’t make such an analysis of my written work at that time. Back then it was more along the lines of ‘how can I make this sound like Debbie?’ Without realising it, I began to develop a skill that would later help me in my professional writing life.

There are perhaps some girls out there reading this right now who have used my love letter services and perhaps there is a guy reading this who was a lucky recipient. Of course as a professional I can never reveal my client list unless you threaten to humiliate me in the school gym using toilet paper, glue and paint!

So there you have it folks. I was once a professional love letter writer, currently in retirement but happy to take all enquiries. I’ll even lick the stamp and post the letter for you! How’s that for service?

It’s All Art to Me

2009-04-24T10:10:00.000-07:00

Once in a while I enjoy a visit to an Art Gallery. I am by no means an aficionado but I do try to understand art – usually without success. This is especially true of contemporary art, which I find simultaneously intriguing and baffling. I have enormous respect for the creative process but I can’t really fathom modern art. I look at it and I either like it or I don’t. There’s not much in between so I ask myself this question:

Would I display this in my own home?

Allow me to demonstrate this with an account of my recent visit to the Vancouver Art Gallery. Amongst the exhibits was a display of contemporary art by local artists. A dizzying array of media had been used including videos, sculptures, paintings and audio and I found myself experiencing sensory overload very quickly.

A variety of materials had been utilised including glass, yarn and soil. I approached a piece and gazed upon it for a while. Despite making a determined effort to understand what I was looking at I eventually came to the conclusion that what I was viewing really was just a heap of soil upon the gallery floor. Yes, you read that correctly - a heap of soil.

Would I display this in my own home?

Hmmm, that would be a resounding ‘No’! The cleaning costs would be ridiculous.

I continued onwards. The exhibit notes advised that throughout the gallery, artworks had been displayed in unusual corners and everyday objects were used as part of that process. A good example of this was the random display of lift (elevator) doors. In various nooks and crannies an artist had placed fake lift doors. I liked the concept but it did become a little confusing as I tried to leave because I couldn’t find a real lift.

Would I display this in my own home?

Hmmm, probably not, as it would confuse people too much.

I embraced the concept of the everyday object as art with vigour as I perused the objects on display. There was a very intriguing piece that caught my attention. It was a pressurised red container with a hose attachment that was encased in a glass box upon the wall. This conceptual piece had been repeated at intervals on every floor of the gallery. There were some type of glyphs or writing upon the pressurised container and I spent a good ten minutes extrapolating meanings from those markings whilst at the same time trying to understand the meaning of the repeated placement of the piece throughout the gallery.

After staring thoughtfully at one such installation for about ten minutes I was approached by a helpful curator. I expected us to begin a lengthy dialogue whereupon we would make an esoteric analysis of form versus function in regards to said piece of art. Sadly this was not to be, the curator advised me that I had made a grave error.

It appears that I was staring at a standard issue fire extinguisher and not a groundbreaking piece of modern interpretative art.

Well how was I supposed to know that? But nevertheless I asked myself the question:
Would I display this in my own home?

And the answer was ‘perhaps’.

Susan Has a Secret

2009-04-16T14:23:00.000-07:00

If you were brutally honest with yourself how often do you think you judge someone based solely upon his or her appearance? Be honest.
Do you look at someone with a few extra pounds and immediately dub them as fat?
Do you dismiss a person simply because you consider their facial features unattractive or even ugly?

What is beauty to you?

Is it something you see in a face or is it a special secret that shines out from someplace deep within? Be honest now. Do you automatically see the inner beauty of someone or does it sometimes take a while? Do you miss it completely in some people?

I’d like you to watch this link and then read on.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=9lp0IWv8QZY

What was your initial reaction? Did you snicker like everyone else? Be honest.

Now pause for a moment and take a look in the mirror – and I mean take a good, long, hard look at yourself.

I would take a strong guess and say that at some point in your life you have been a little geeky or awkward. Perhaps you lacked confidence, were covered in pimples or generally felt uncomfortable in your own skin because you hadn’t grown into it yet. Maybe you carried a few extra pounds. Perhaps you still do but you have learned to wear them with style.

When I was younger I was the geeky kid at school. I lacked grace, I was shy, I didn’t use the trendy catchphrases of the time and I always wore the wrong clothes. I had curly hair when everyone else was wearing theirs straight and I wore my jeans too high when everyone else had moved on from that. People would snicker at me as I walked by them.

Have I changed or evolved since those days? I would say yes. But that geeky, awkward girl is still within me, I carry her with me wherever I go, and guess what? I like that girl.

Beauty is not always obvious. It is not always displayed upon our faces or our bodies. It is often a hidden secret that lies deep within us. Sometimes people forget this. I know that I sometimes do and watching this reminded me of that.

Susan Boyle has this secret and I for one am very grateful that she shared it with us.

Various Random Thoughts on a Thursday

2009-04-09T14:41:00.000-07:00

As I write this I am sitting in a café in the Mission, San Francisco. I’m at Ritual Coffee Roasters and my ears are filled with a buzzing combination of sounds including the coffee roaster, music playing and the hubbub of coffee making. There are a few conversations in play but mostly people are busy at their laptops working away within all of this beautiful chaos.

As I inhale the sweet and bitter scents in the air and savor the taste of the Guatemalan coffee it occurs to me that only a few weeks ago I was in Guatemala watching the mountain coffee beans being harvested. I love the serendipity in all of this.

I have various random thoughts going through my head at the moment related to my experiences and observations of San Francisco living and here is a taster of some of the things that I simply love.

Sunny days in Dolores Park watching the hot boys sunning themselves in their Speedos up on the man shelf.

The randomness of the street where I live. At one end there is a house surrounded by a white picket fence that should surely be in suburbia and not urbania. At the other end there is always a haphazard collection of discarded items ranging from shoes, hats, bags, mattresses and this week a coin change machine of all things.

On street corners you will find little messages stenciled onto the sidewalk.

Fascinating conversations over cocktails in bars with friends who light my day just that little bit more.

You can experience sunshine, rain and fog all in one day.

The natives are super-friendly and helpful. I’ve yet to encounter anyone who has been rude, difficult or uncouth.

The contrast between the neighborhoods is delicious. You move from one to the next and the smells, the sights, the sounds and the rhythms change as you do so.

This is a good place to be.

Forget Paris, San Francisco is My Moveable Feast

2009-04-05T12:49:00.000-07:00

This city never ceases to amaze me with its hidden surprises and unusual ways of spending an evening with friends.

Last night I experienced a deliciously random art tour. My evening began at a place around the corner from my apartment, My Trick Pony where I attended the launch of artist Clee Sobieski. I met some interesting and crazy people there and was once again reminded how much fun it is to live in the Castro!

From there I hot-footed it over to the Mission District for The Mission Arts and Performance Project (SF Mapp). This event is held every two months and is comprised of art installations in galleries, café’s, private gardens, street corners and living rooms. You begin the evening by collecting a map and then you walk around the neighbourhood visiting any venue that calls your attention. You could find yourself in someone’s garden listening to a band play whilst you sit by a wood fire or you may find yourself in a gallery with various artworks on display. The art displayed includes everything from live performances, photography, poetry, sculptures and the written word.

For me this was just another mind-blowing uniquely San Francisco experience and I’m thrilled that I got to see this in action.

Later we headed to the Revolution Café to complete the evening with live music from Go Van Gogh. For me live music is the finest embodiment of art.

The one surprise I did get was that many people I spoke with were very blasé about the whole scene. “Oh this is nothing” they would tell me, “that’s just San Francisco. It’s not that special really”.

Well it is special. And for me it’s refreshing to see people opening the doors of their homes to random strangers all in the name of art and creativity.

Let the San Francisco feast continue always.

In Memory We Trust, In Sharing We Grow

2009-04-02T13:02:00.000-07:00

Last night I went to the re-launch of Memoir Spool, which was held at the Climate Theater in San Francisco. Strangers gathered in a darkened space for a night of storytelling. The venue is an intimate theater of the kind that is tragically passing by into memory these days. The stories were humorous, exciting and even a little eye opening. It was such a treat to hear the storytellers share some of their special experiences with the audience.

I could talk here ad infinitum about the storytellers and their tales but I won’t do that – you should head on to the next event and see for yourself. What I will talk about is how the experience prompted me to think about stories and storytelling and to wonder why we don’t seem to do so much of it anymore.

The sharing of stories is a wonderful social experience and one that many of us have forgotten during the day-to-day humdrum of our modern lives. It is satisfying to see that a group like Memoir Spool is keeping this tradition alive and I’m lucky and grateful that I was there last night to experience it. For me this is what living in a city-sized hamlet like San Francisco is about.

Storytelling is an important part of history and life regardless of culture, age, gender or belief. Traditionally, history was passed along in the form of stories in a time long before the written word was created. Eventually those stories became myth and legend and many of them constitute what we consider to be folklore. The salient thing is that these stories continue moving forward to the next generations.

Whether you are an aborigine in Australia sharing hunting stories around the bush fire or if you are a North American reading a bedtime story to your child the connection is there. Human Beings tell stories. If there is one perfect example of how we can define ourselves against other species on the planet it would be our ability to recount events – fictional or otherwise – for the joy, entertainment, education and simple companionship of others.

As a writer I believe that we as individuals are defined by our words. Sometimes we lose them, occasionally we forget them and regretfully we may even abuse them. But one thing is certain – each and every one of us utilizes them. So remember this and do your uppermost not to waste them.

In this economy…

2009-03-30T10:06:00.000-07:00

We need to take whatever we can get.

Times are hard right now. Folks are eating in fine restaurants and are they having to drink the ‘House wine” rather than the fine California Cabernet that they would normally choose. They skip the soufflé in order to remain on a budget – the horror is almost too much for words. Cioppino is no longer a San Francisco specialty on our menus – it is becoming a way of life – we all have to chip in these days.

Are you nodding your head in agreement? Have you discovered that you now only purchase one power snack bar at lunch instead of the usual two? Have you – heaven forbid – skipped a couple of Yoga classes this month in order to tighten up your budget?

What are you doing to economize in these cruel times? How will you maintain the luxury lifestyle that you deserve? I have trawled the streets of San Francisco in search of salvation for those who feel that compromising on their lifestyle is simply not acceptable and I have a few suggestions for how you can economize without compromise.

Eating out may be something that you are doing less of right now - because let’s face things - restaurants are not cheap. One way to eat out for free is to head to your local supermarket when they are offering free tasters of a new product. Make sure you try each variety on offer in order to get your fill. Take a change of clothes or something to disguise your experience – a fake beard works well - and go back for second helpings. You can even make a date of it by inviting your friends along.

In this economy personal hygiene can become pretty expensive. Save money by taking showers at friends’ apartments. Be sure to take full advantage of whichever products they have. This may include, but is not necessarily limited to, shampoo, body wash, hairspray, deodorant and moisturizer. Ladies should take a generous helping of tampons and the guys should douse themselves in the cologne.

Never buy toilet paper again! Simply swipe a handful each time you use a public restroom or snag a roll from your friends’ bathroom cabinet.

The next time you attend a seminar on how to remain employed in this economy take along a cool bag and scoop up as much of the buffet as possible – with practice you can make these feasts provide your meals for three or four days.

Take the sweet’N low from your local coffee shop – they’re practically giving it away. In fact they actually are giving it away. You will soon find that you never purchase sugar products again. Grab a generous handful of napkins whilst you are there too.

Have you ever felt that you spend far too much time, energy and hard earned cash on doing laundry? Then stop. Before you throw those boxers into the basket ask yourself this important question: Can I get a second or third wearing from these? The answer is probably yes. You’ll feel better about yourself knowing that not only did you save money but you also helped save the planet. If things get a bit whiffy see the earlier point regarding utilizing the cologne found in your friends’ bathrooms.

Shoes – we love them don’t we? Are you finding it expensive to keep up with the latest footwear fashions? If so then don’t panic! There are plenty of shoes to be found for free around the city. To join the San Francisco ‘Save a Shoe Project’ all you need to do is collect any lost, discarded or forgotten shoes that you discover as you walk around the city. Hotspots are power cables and phone lines – simply rescue those discarded sneakers et voila! You have a new pair of unique footwear for free. Plus you’re helping to clean up the city so this is environmentalism at its finest.

Finally, don’t make earth hour a fleeting once-a-year gesture; make it a way of life. Turn off those lights, unplug the refrigerator (there’s no food in there anyway) and switch off the iPod – you can listen to the music blaring from your neighbors’ apartment anyway.

Robbery Philosophy

2008-10-25T16:11:00.000-07:00

It's been an interesting couple of weeks. Having spent almost 3 years in central america robbery free I have been robbed 3 times in 3 weeks!
The first was at my birthday party where my iPod and camera were stolen. It sucks but at least someone out there now has a pretty cool collection of tunes!
I then headed to Antigua last week and had my wallet pickpocketed on the bus - nice! Don't care about the cash but the wallet has travelled all over the world with me so a bit of a shame to lose it!
Finally, the other night my sneakers were taken from outside my house!
Anyway, it's only stuff that can be replaced and perhaps a good lesson to myself to pay my attention.

Other than that I am loving lake life here in Guatemala!

I've Moved to Guatemala!!!

2008-09-20T12:33:00.000-07:00

This chica has finally left island living behind (sort of). I've moved to San Marcos on Lake Atitlan in Guatemala!!

Loving this place, probably because it feels like being on an inland - which I suppose it is in a way, just an inverted island!

Here's a view of the lake to make you jealous!

Toilet Humour

2008-07-14T08:31:00.000-07:00

I had to unblock the guest toilet the other day – not a pretty job. I saw things in there that no grown woman should ever have to see!

So armed with a plunger, a wire coat hanger and a spoon I set to work. It took a bit of time but once I’d fished the potatoes out everything was plain sailing from there.

Don’t ask.

The Apple Project

2008-07-02T13:16:00.000-07:00

Before I start to write about this I should clarify that this is about the apple as in fruit not Apple as in Mac.

About two months ago I was shopping in the local supermarket here on Roatan and amongst my purchases was a nice shiny green Granny Smith apple. Upon returning home I placed said apple into my fridge at which point I promptly forgot about it.

A couple of weeks later I was looking in the fridge for a snack and discovered the apple, still shiny and green and fresh looking. I didn’t feel like eating an apple so once again I closed the fridge door and the apple was forgotten.

About a week ago I rediscovered the apple – it was wedged in the back of the fridge with two granola bars, hidden behind a jar of mayo. At first I was a little confused – I couldn’t remember buying an apple recently and then it hit me – this was the same apple I had bought two months ago and had forgotten. The apple is still shiny and green and edible looking, even the shiny wax coating appears intact. I know that these things are irradiated in order to kill all the bugs and make them last longer on the supermarket shelf, but surely this thing has to rot or decompose at some point? I am now feeling very suspicious – any food that does not succumb to mould cannot be trusted. What if I were to eat this apple? Would my stomach acids be able to break it down or would it remain in my stomach forever? I suspect that only an autopsy could answer that question.

What disturbs me further is that this being Roatan, it is entirely possible that this apple may have been on the supermarket shelf for a month before I bought it so not counting the time it took to ship the apple here from the States it could already be somewhere in the region of three months old – mmm delicious!

So this is how The Apple Project has begun. I am now intrigued (and yes I have way too much time on my hands) to see how long it will take for this apple to begin the natural decomposition process – if indeed it ever will.

Finally dear Reader if for some bizarre reason you are interested in the apple I attach a photograph of it here now. As you can see it appears to be perfectly normal and healthy looking. In fact I suspect that I could offer this apple to some unsuspecting soul and watch them eat it – but of course I would never do such a thing unless there was a significant wager involved…

More Kitten News

2008-03-31T13:37:00.000-07:00

The Kittens have officially opened their eyes now and are getting cuter by the day!
I need to find homes for three of them! Free to a loving owner.

Kittens

2008-03-27T10:09:00.000-07:00

My cat Baby (yup that’s really her name) finally gave birth to five tiny kittens last week. The birth was amazing and was the first time I have seen an animal giving birth so it blew my mind. It was a little icky to watch and the horrifying image of her eating the placenta will sadly remain with me for life.

At first I hadn’t been happy to discover that my seven month old Baby was pregnant. In cat years that makes her fourteen so I wasn’t too impressed about her being a teenage mother. A few choice words were said about that let me tell you!

Of course any proud parent wants the best for her child but the horror of the story is the father of the kittens. A wayward hobo who wandered into town one day sporting an army of fleas and ticks the likes of which have never been seen before. I could tell straight off that he was a loser, probably had no job to speak of, debts everywhere and indeed on the run from the law. He was sporting a rather nasty looking injury to his left paw that I suspect he gained when attempting to rob the local liquor store – I’m convinced he’s a drunkard and a blackguard to boot!

Sure enough, the first kitten to be born was identical in appearance to this shady interloper. The second kitten looks just like my male Cat Oscar, numbers three and four look like my female cat Petal and number five looks very much like my neighbours cat. I think Baby has been playing around a little too much.

So life in my house has been turned upside down by these little balls of fluff. Having given birth on my sofa (thank you for that lovely touch Baby), she decided a few days later to move her litter elsewhere in the house. I awoke in the middle of the night to the sound of a kitten crying in my bedroom. Searching about I finally found Baby in a corner (no Dirty Dancing comments here please) cuddled up with No. Five kitten. I was immediately worried about the others so went in search of them and could not find them anywhere. My roommate and I turned over everything in the house but there was no sign of them. I couldn’t understand how Baby had managed to lose not just one but five of her kittens, all the time remaining very calm about it all. I briefly considered the thought that she may have eaten them. Eventually I climbed back into bed distraught and pulled back the blankets and there they were. Four tiny fluff balls laid out in a row amongst my blanket! Thank God I hadn’t rolled over in my sleep and squished them!

So having birthed, lost and then found a litter of kittens you could say that life has been pretty interesting. Now I just need to find homes for the little terrors followed by a swift visit to Planned Parenthood for Baby…

I know I haven't written in a while...

2008-03-24T16:02:00.001-07:00

but more will follow soon!

Dancing to Live Bluegrass...

2007-12-14T08:09:00.000-08:00

Is something that everyone should try at least once in their life. I highly recommend it!

Saturday Night Not So Live

2007-11-08T20:14:00.000-08:00

It's Friday and I've just been watching Saturday Night Live (The Valentine's edition).

Hmmm, methinks its not so live.

The Wonderful Wizard of Oz

2007-11-02T01:18:00.000-07:00

I have been searching everywhere for the Wizard of Oz but can't seem to find him!

Caught in a Time Warp

2007-10-31T22:16:00.000-07:00

I was chatting online with a friend on Roatan today. Well, I suppose that technically it was yesterday in her time zone and only today from my perspective and time zone! Maybe I’ll talk with her again tomorrow, which will be today for her but I suppose if she can't speak to me during today her time then it will have to wait until her tomorrow arrives which is the day after tomorrow for me!

Is anyone else confused by this? I know I am.

Becoming as one with nature in Daintree Rainforest

2007-10-24T00:17:00.000-07:00

My latest journey on the small rock of Australia has been to the Daintree Rainforest in North Queensland. It was a girls weekend away at a spa and believe me Roula, Gina and I were pampered!

Since arriving in the land of Oz to a wet Sydney winter I have yet to feel my toes it's so cold. I really miss being in a tropical climate (it's about the only thing I miss from Roatan other than Uwe's notoriously loud belches - Mmmmkay!) so it was a brilliant feeling to step off the plane in Cairns into the balmy Queensland sunshine.

We hired a car and drove to our hotel along the type of curving, forest canopied road that usually features on ads for fast cars. We arrived at the the ecolodge where we were staying and having quickly found the pool we proceeded to do absolutely nothing for the rest of the afternoon. There was nothing but the sounds of frogs croaking and birds chattering in the forest to disturb our peace - bliss!

The next day having suitably relaxed we decided to do a little bit of exploring and headed into Daintree Village. We'd planned to spend the afternoon there but soon realised that we only needed ten minutes to see the entire village - twice! It's a tiny place with only 100 people living there and is a million miles (and several million people) away from Sydney. Don't head here if you're looking for some hot and fast nightlife cos you're about 3000km too far north in this place. We managed to find a small restaurant for dinner - the only place open in the Village - and yes, we were the only ones there!

Roula and I took a horse riding trip along the beach the next morning which was fun but I seemed to have been given a defunct horse that only had two speeds - slow and stop. The riding left our Hm Hm's in serious pain and we couldn't sit down again for two days! Thank god we'd planned massages for the afternoon so that we could pamper ourselves and try and save our achy legs! I could have spent the entire weekend maxing out Baz's credit card on massages and treatments. Don't worry Baz, I didn't really use the card - honest!

Our room came with a jacuzzi on the balcony and amid a lot of wine we had ourselves a grown up pyjama party one night. I think we may have shocked the neighbours a little! I'd post the pics here but I think I would shock you dear reader plus my Mum reads this blog!

For our last day we had planned to head into Port Douglas on our way back to Cairns airport. Now don't ask me how we managed it but somehow whilst driving the one and half hours along the only road between Daintree and Cairns we completely missed Port Douglas. I'm ashamed to admit that fact cos I never get lost so instead I shall blame Gina as she was sitting up front with me whilst I was driving and she should have been a better navigator (sorry Gina). I know it's there somewhere because I checked on the map but we still lost it! We all thought that there would have been a road sign but all three of us were hit with a blonde moment at the same time and lost an entire town. Now that's a magic trick even David Blaine couldn't pull off!

Our last stop was at Kuranda where we got to cuddle a koala (I don't want any comments about that please!)

Queensland is just beautiful. It's like being in a completely different country up there and I forgot I was in the land of Oz, the only reminder being the road sign warning of kangaroos!

I hope your day is just ok

2007-10-11T17:17:00.000-07:00

I was thinking today about all the Americanisms that I have picked up over the years. I knew they had finally influenced my manner of speech when I began to automatically use the phrase "Have a nice day". We just don't use that as an everyday sentence in the UK whereas in the States everywhere you go it seems to be the default expression for every situation - the supermarket, bars, restaurants even the doctor's office.

"I'm sorry to tell you that you have only three weeks to live Mr Smith but have a nice day!"

The word 'nice' has to be one of the weakest adjectives in the dictionary. A word that means fine, satisfactory - okay. We don't want you to have a fabulous day, or an exciting one, we hope it is just ok! Why aim for the heights by having a dazzling day when you could save yourself the trouble by aiming low and just having a nice one?

Well not me, there is no more Miss nice girl here, I intend on having only exceptional and outstanding days from now on.

Have a phenomenal day everyone!

Anyone Fancy a Spot of Knee Surfing?

2007-10-05T15:23:00.000-07:00

We finally started to see the start of summer weather here in Oz so a group of us headed out to Bondi on Monday. The first thing that struck me was the number of people on the beach - it looked like thousands! By my calculations there were more people on Bondi than on the entire island of Roatan - scary!

We managed to find ourselves a small patch of sand between a group of kids playing bat-and-ball and a screaming baby, you know, somewhere peaceful and secluded!

Remembering that this is Oz and I no longer have a tan I used an entire bottle of sunscreen before making my way to the sea looking as if I was covered in whipped cream. Ignoring the safety flags (I thought they were there for decoration) my friends had to steer me back to the safe zone and away from the part of ocean that was closed off to swimmers - which appeared to be all of it. This left a beach space about 15 metres wide where 10,000 people were attempting to surf and jump the waves. Chaos! I'd forgotten that the ocean also has waves and surf. I've been so used to beaches with reefs that any wave higher than my big toe seems like a Tsunami! I was a little daunted.

Following my friends' lead I slowly headed out into the water only to be quickly hit by a big wave and swept back to shore. Not to be defeated I waded out some more and tried to duck under the waves with little success and a great deal of washing machine action. I found myself going in one direction whilst my bikini flew off in the other. I think there are children on that beach who may be permanently scarred by that sight!

Eventually I noticed how everyone just goes along with the waves and body surfs back to the beach. It looked easy enough so I decided to give it a go. Big mistake! Instead of gliding in gracefully I sort of skimmed and bounced across the sand like a pebble.

A surfer I am not for I am now sporting what appears to be carpet burns on my knees, one on my bum and another on my elbow - very disappointing as there has been no carpet action! I don't think I'll be winning any surfing competitions anytime soon but it was fun and I intend to go back again only this time wearing a full length wetsuit!

Remember folks, I scraped my knees on a beach half way around the world so you don't have to!

New Zealand - Wahoo!!

2007-09-17T00:53:00.000-07:00

Just a quick blog to say I have now left the biggest island in the world and jumped over to New Zealand. I've been in Auckland for a couple of days and I'm now on a whirlwind tour of the North Island and I have to say that I LOVE this place!!!

More details to follow...

Stuck in a Chicken and Egg situation

2007-09-02T18:05:00.000-07:00

I was checking out a friends blog the other day. He's been in Sydney for about a month and he recently joined a library. Now that may not sound particularly exciting to some people but I can only dream of joining a library! Why, you may ask? Well let me explain.

To get a library card in Sydney you need to prove your identity. Sounds simple enough, I hold both British and Australian citizenship so have two passports (the perfect photo id's). Is that enough for a library card? No. You also need something with your address on it. Now this is a little harder for me as I don't yet have a bank statement as I can't open a bank account (see earlier point about needing something that proves your address). I can't get a medicare card, because - yep you guessed correctly - I don't have anything with my address on it! Eventually I headed off to get my driving licence which turned out to be easier than I thought as I hold a UK licence so I didn't need to take a driving test. BUT, I still needed something with my address on it! Fortunately the clever folks at the RTA had thought about this problem and they have a space on the form where someone who already has a driving licence can state on your behalf that the address you are giving is correct. So, I finally get my driving licence and now I have something that proves my address.

So I called the library and asked them if I could get a card if I showed my Aussie birth certificate, passport and driving licence and guess what? No, I still need something else with my address!

Now I don't know how my friend managed to get a library card but I am beginning to get worried that someone at the library has read my earlier blog on the Macbook (weapon of mass destruction) and now fearing I am some kind of terrorist are trying to prevent me from borrowing any "explosive" books. Actually there is only one book on my mind at the moment, Leo Tolstoy's Anna Karenina. I was reading it before I left Roatan but had to leave it unfinished as I had borrowed a friends copy. I hate leaving a book unread and I was really into it (I know there are people out there with their jaws dropped at that news but, hey, I'm not afraid to say that I like reading Tolstoy).

So, until I can gain some kind of eyes only, government approved permission to use the public libraries of Sydney I'll have to wait to see how it all works out for Anna Karenina - and please no one email me with the answer to that!

It's Freezing in Sydney and my Lips are Turning Blue!

2007-08-21T23:28:00.000-07:00

I am finally in Sydney again! It's been ten years since I was last here - way too long if you ask me. At the start of the flight from San Francisco the pilot announces that the weather is cold and raining over in Sydney but that maybe they can do something about that before we arrive. I'm impressed - anyone who can figure out how to change the weather has a licence to print money in my view!

We flew off and somehow managed to lose an entire day on the journey over (where did Sunday go?). I arrived to a rainy Sydney winter day - so much for the pilot fixing that little problem!

My first day here seemed to disappear completely as I was delirious with jet lag and slept through most of it, so on to day two...

I decided to venture out and do what I do best - shop! There are a few essentials that I needed including a mobile phone, winter clothing and a street map. It was raining and freezing cold outside and I am kitted out with only my summer clothes so I decided to wear my entire wardrobe. After donning ten pairs of knickers, a bikini, three pairs of socks and two pairs of boy shorts I pulled on my jeans. I finished my ensemble with six tank tops, a t-shirt, two hoodies, a skirt and my waterproof jacket. Looking like the Michelin man I practically had to roll myself out of the house and onto the bus.

So first order of the day was to get to the shopping mall. I set off to look for the important items on my shopping list - a mobile phone and a street map. The mobile phone was located and purchased quickly and I then wandered around the shopping mall looking for anywhere that may sell a street map. I headed into K Mart where my attention was diverted from the task at hand when I caught sight of the aisle displaying chocolate bars. It is Cadbury heaven down there! I had forgotten that Aussie's like the same chocolate as the Brits - none of this Hershey rubbish for us, we like the good stuff. I felt like the kid in the candy store as my eyes feasted upon the Crunchies, Aeros, Toblerones, Curly Wurly's, Dairy Milk and so much more. I grabbed a big handful of choccie bars and then added a bag of foam bananas to my swag for good measure.

Now as the weather heats up over the next few weeks and I begin to strip off my many layers of clothing I suspect that I will still look like the Michelin man with all the kilos I will be piling on after eating all of those chocolate bars - but I just don't care!

Struggling under the weight of my purchases I went in search of clothes stores. Despite being winter all the stores seemed to be only selling summer clothes. I finally found a couple of sweaters and headed to the changing room to try them on. The young sales girl looked at the sweaters and said "Oh sweaters hey? Are you planning on travelling to somewhere cold?"

I looked at her as if she was completely stark raving mad, "Yes" I replied "I'm visiting Sydney!"

She then asks me where I have been that was hotter than Sydney clearly astounded that anywhere on the planet could possibly be hotter than the 15 degrees it is here at the moment and I tell her I have been living in the Caribbean for the last year and a half.

"The Caribbean?" she says "I've never heard of that, where's that?"

I'm momentarily caught off guard with that question - I mean seriously, surely everyone has at least heard of the Caribbean even if they are not sure where it is? I explain to her where the Caribbean sea is and she says

"Oh is that a popular place to visit then?

I was about to explain to her that perhaps one or two people each year visit the Caribbean when the light above her head goes on and she says

"Oh, the Caribbean, as in Pirates of the Caribbean?"

I do not even want to contemplate what they are omitting from the school curriculum these days but thank god for Johnny Depp otherwise I may have spent the rest of my natural life explaining junior high school level geography to this girl! Seriously, I don't know how I manage to keep meeting this people!

So my shopping completed I headed back home. If you need to find me I'll be the one with chocolate smeared across my face staring at a map of the world trying to find the Caribbean!

A gastronomic tour of San Francisco with Rock Star Parking!!

2007-08-17T09:27:00.000-07:00

I have just had a whirlwind, gastronomic tour of SF! My friend Scott graciously took a day away from his normally busy schedule to drive me around the city and show me the sites - it is phenomenal - I love this city!!

We started off by heading to Twin Peaks, so named for the pair of hills that overlook the city. There is supposed to be a killer view from up there but sadly the SF fog won over and you can see from the photograph that the view wasn't what we were hoping for!

Our spirits not dampened by this (even though our clothes were) we went downtown to the Ferry Building. Originally this was the ferry terminal everyone arrived at when they came over to the city this building is now home to an amazing market. All of the retailers here are local producers so when you shop here you know you are getting real San Francisco fare.

I take some photos looking up market street and get a shot of the Coit Tower in the distance. The woman commissioned the tower apparently had a thing for Fireman and so it is designed to look like a Fireman's hose - you can read what you like into that!

Being only 11am we feel that it is time to have a little wine tasting so we headed into the Wine Merchant in the Ferry Building and shared a flight of four sample wines. I like White and Scott prefers Red so this worked out just fine as there were two of each and I found a very surprising Greek White wine from Santorini that went down entirely too well considering it was so early in the day!

The wine whetted our appetites so of course the only course of action was to eat and we set off to find somewhere suitable in the market. On our way we stopped at Stonehouse California Olive Oil and sampled some of their oils, I can heartily recommend the Persian Lime Oil!

By now we are truly ready for something more substantial and we head over to the Hog Island Oyster Company. We take a plate of three types of Hog Island raw oysters, the BBQ oyster and the Oyster stew. We chose a very nice Rose to accompany the meal (a compromise between my white wine taste and Scott's red). I admit to Scott that for me this is somewhat of a first - I have never been able to bring myself to eat raw oysters. I am more than pleasantly surprised by all of the oysters on the menu and I wonder why I have never eaten them raw before!

Our appetites sated, it is time to head on to the real tourist district - Fisherman's Wharf and Pier 39. Along the way we pass the Coit building and I have to say that it is a little disappointing in real life. Scott tells me as we are driving that parking is terrible in this city so we may have to walk some distance from an available parking space. We arrive at the Fisherman's Wharf area and immediately pull into a parking space right in front of Pier 39. Scott tells me that this is called to as Rock Star parking.

Fisherman's Wharf and Pier 39 is like Bridlington with sunshine! It is crammed full of tourists and an hour here is all that you need to get a feel of the place before you should get the hell out of dodge! We grab a sample of Dungeness Crab - beautiful sweet white crab meat that I can definitely recommend and we wander down Pier 39 to watch the Sea Lions.

Having down the stereotypical tourist trail it is time to leave and we move on. We pass a store that sells jeans so we make an unexpected stop - and you've guessed it we have Rock Star Parking right in front of the store!

Next stop is the winding street - Lombard Street. We do the tourist route of driving down this road and (in true Rock Star Parking style), we find a place at the bottom of the street where we can stop so I can take obligatory photos. I also take photos of all the tourists taking photos of Lombard Street - it's quite the circus!

We drive over to the Palace of Fine Arts and we are lucky enough to get Rock Star parking once again. Scott is beginning to think that I have some sort of parking karma. Now when it comes to San Francisco's Palace of Fine Arts let me tell you that no photo you have ever seen does this place any justice. If you are in this city and have the time you should plan to bring a picnic and sit by the lagoon overooking the Palace of Fine Arts - it's a stunning place and so unexpected. Built around a hundred years ago as part of a expo it was never intended to be a permanent fixture. In fact there is now a need to restore this structure as it is beginning to fall apart which is such a shame.

Next stop is the Golden Gate Bridge - it was funny to see that this is a major tourist stop off. It looks as if the car park at the viewing area is full, but in true rock star style we pull into an available place. Scott tells me that perhaps he should employ me to find him parking spaces in the city! Whilst this bridge cuts an imposing figure across the skyline it really seems pretty small in real life. I take a thousand photos and mention to Scott that two hours have passed since we last ate so we should think about remedying that!

We head off towards Land's End where we see the ruins of the Sutro Baths. The baths were built in 1896 and were filled with water from the Pacific Ocean. In their heyday they must have been one of the truly magnificent Victorian baths of their kind. Sadly, over time people just didn't have the money to go there and they were eventually sold and left to go to ruin.

A short hop down from the Sutro baths is the Cliff House and of course in true Rock Star Style we find a place right in front. Scott tells me that he is now forbidding me to leave SF as my parking genius is beyond compare!

The Cliff house was originally another Victorian era construction built at a precarious angle jutting out over the cliffs. Apparently this place is famous for surviving earthquakes only to burn down soon after. Although it hasn't sustained any fire damage since 1909 this jinx is still attached to it by people (at this point I check my pockets for matches just in case).

We wine and dine at Cliff House with cocktails and a meze and a cheese plate. I have lost count but I think that this is meal number three of the day.

Finally we leave the Cliff house and head back through Golden Gate Park, home to an array of flower gardens, a museum and a windmill! We drive over to Bar Bambino on 16th & South Van Ness - an Italian Wine bar - where we meet Scott's friend Brian. Of course we have Rock Star Parking. Scott practically offers me a green card there and then! At this place (which seems super trendy - one of those "here and now" type of places) we partook of a fantastic bottle of Italian Rose accompanied by a selection of the house Salumi.

In short, the way to my heart is through food and this city is a Gastronomists delight. Coupled with the fact that you can see all the major sites and views in one day there is no wonder why so many people love this city. A fantastic day comes to an end and all I can say is "what's next on the menu"?

Crying is Okay Here

2007-08-16T07:59:00.000-07:00

I have left a small island and I am travelling back into the real world again. I arrive in San Francisco late at night to a sea of twinkling lights that illuminate the hilly city backdrop like a Christmas tree. I'm instantly overwhelmed by the obvious presence of a reliable power source and decide that I must tell everyone back in Roatan as I know they are going to be super jealous - I bet they even have internet here too.

I instantly feel like a country bumpkin who has ventured into a city for the first time, my jaw drops and I wander around mouth agape as I stare around me. The streets are paved - sadly not with gold - but they are paved nevertheless. People are wearing shoes and hurrying around from place to place at a walking pace I had forgotten was humanly possible. I am back in a city and I can't wait to get started!

My friends house is fabulous but I almost make a faux pas in the bathroom. Searching around the room for a trash can I finally remember that toilet paper is flushed - never thrown - over here. My ablutions complete I discover another phenomena I am unfamiliar with - a consistent and steady supply of water. Wow, city folks have it good!

I start my exploration of the city on my first day on Castro which is the heart of the most liberal gay district in the most liberal city on the planet. There is a moment of confusion and mild panic when I have to cross the street. Not only is there more than one road here (Those of you familiar with Roatan will understand what I mean) but they have a little illuminated man on the street corner to tell you when it is safe to cross. I feel caught like a bunny in the headlights and I resist the urge to curl up inside a bus shelter from the sheer terror I am feeling and somehow make it across the street in one piece.

Clearly not aimed at the straight woman seeking a fashion bargain I discover that the only clothing shops on Castro are selling gay male only clothes. I suppose I should have expected that given where I am.

For some bizarre reason much SF seems to be closed. Either it's a public holiday (I am told that it is not) or somebody forgot to tell the store owners to open on Mondays - nothing seems to be open. I finally head into L'Occitane to make my first city purchase in almost 2 years. Armed with a new moisturiser that the bemused boy behind the counter recommends (I'm sure I am the only woman to have shopped here) I head off into the only other store that appears both open for business and suitable for the discerning heterosexual female shopper - the Sunglass and Watch hut. My primary focus is to find a battery for my watch which stopped working the day I moved to Roatan. The lady behind the counter takes a look and I am embarrassed to discover that the watch is now working perfectly, it appears that the battery is fine - it had simply gone on strike when I moved to the small island. Thus another Roatan mystery is solved.

A Hill?In San Francisco? Who Knew?

I discover quickly that although San Francisco is relatively small - it is about seven miles square - navigating it makes it feel much, much bigger due to all of the hills. They seem to go on in every direction imaginable, there is no end to them. The San Franciscans seem to have thought of every service imaginable and I discover a place in the city where one can go if they feel like a good cry - apparently Crying is Okay here.

Feeling Blue? That's alright because Crying is Okay Here!

The day races by before I get a chance to catch my breath, and exhausted from all of the hills I finally slump into bed late that night having successfully crossed a street, made a purchase in a real live glittering store, climbed a hill and played with the light switches for a while. I think I'm going to like it here...

The Bat Cave

2007-07-30T11:12:00.000-07:00

I think that Christopher Nolan should have offered me a role in the latest Batman movie. I may not know how to act but I do possess my very own Bat Cave which is something not may people can claim. Hold on and I will explain.

Like many houses on Roatan mine has a Bodega built underneath it. A Bodega for those who don't know is the Spanish word for storehouse. It can be used to describe anything from a sophisticated wine cellar or a large industrial sized supermarket warehouse down to something small like a garden shed. Over here we use our bodegas to hide away our washing machines too so they double up as laundry rooms.

At the moment my bodega houses my washer and dryer, a boiler, various garden tools and a 25hp outboard motor engine. Please don't ask about the engine - it's a long story.

Recently however, there have been some uninvited guests - bats. The first time I noticed it was when I headed down there with a load of washing and no soon as I had opened the door there was an incessant flapping around my head. At first I thought a bird had got in but I quickly realised it was a bat! Now I'm not squeamish about flying mice like some people may be - in fact I was really excited. I think that bats are really cute and this diminutive fellow was no exception so after some careful thought I decided to call him Bruce.

Now Bruce and I got along very well. I would head down to the Bodega armed with my dirty laundry, open the door, flick on the light and he would flap around me in excitement whilst I loaded the washer. However, I could tell that he was lonely and our chance encounters were simply not enough for him. Bruce felt the same and eventually our relationship ended and he left the Bodega. I was heartbroken and even had to see a therapist for a while - until recently.

You see Bruce has come back and with him he has brought a little bat friend (whom I have named Wayne - clever aren't I?). So by my count I am now only 4998 bats short of a full cave. You can keep your comments on that to yourselves!

Well I'd better be back off to my Bat cave for a spot of spelunking whilst I wait for the laundry to finish!

Anyone Fancy a Monkey La La?

2007-07-21T15:55:00.000-07:00

Over here on Roatan we have these funky looking lizards called Monkey La La's. I think they are sometimes called Jesus Christ lizards as they have this wobbly way of running on their hind legs and supposedly can walk on water. Of course it didn't take long for someone to create a cocktail and name it after this reptile so one of the most lethal drinks on the island (and indeed the entire planet) is also so named. The reason I am telling you this is because I actually have a Monkey La La in my Fridge and would like to invite you over for cocktail hour.

OK, that is not completely true, I don't really have a Monkey La La in my fridge. I'm just saying that to get someone over to my house to help me out with a little problem I'm having. The fact is the Monkey La La is behind my fridge and it's not a cocktail its a real live lizard. Let me explain.....

I was spending a peaceful morning at my house. As is usual here on Roatan the power was out again so I was making use of the battery on my Macbook and writing some blog notes.

The two thousand or so cats that seem to have taken up residence around my garden and deck were all taking it easy in the morning sun. Everything was calm and peaceful until I heard a commotion coming from under the house. At first I thought someone was trying to break in - then I realised that would be ridiculous as my door was wide open so why would anyone try to cut through my floor to gain access? I decided to investigate and discovered my grey cat Oscar scrambling out from under the deck with the new kitten and what appeared to be six other cats in tow.

That's when it all went a bit wild and a full on cat storm broke out. Oscar had something huge and wriggling in his mouth and the other cats obviously wanted a piece of it. I looked a bit closer and realised he had caught a Monkey La La. Oscar was chasing the lizard, the other cats were chasing him and I was chasing all of them with the kitten turning circles and mewling in excitement. Now instead of being civilised and keeping the lizardfest outside they ran inside and I was chasing them over the sofas, under the coffee table, behind the chairs - it was crazy!

Now this thing was bigger than my kitten - no joke, either the kitten is tiny or this thing was huge, I'm not sure which. Seeing them facing off was like watching one of those old Japanese flicks where the giant ape battles Godzilla in a fight for supremacy. Frankly I didn't hold up much hope for the Monkey La La as I had seen the kitten eat an entire lizard just that morning (That is completely true. I had fallen asleep on the sofa and was awoken to the sound of crunching and chewing and I looked down and saw the kitten eating a baby lizard).

I was desperate to save the lizard so I frantically tried to get Oscar to drop it whilst at the same time stopping my ginger cat, Petal, from jumping in on it. Eventually, after many cat scratches Oscar dropped the monkey La La and I managed to grab Petal giving the terrified reptile enough time to run across my feet and escape. So where did it go? Out of the open door and off to freedom? No it ran straight under the fridge where it remains even as I type this. Of course I now have two thousand cats keeping a vigil outside my fridge.

So this is a message to everyone out there. Anyone who can come over to my house and rescue the lizard will be rewarded with a Monkey La La - the cocktail variety!

The Mango is a Vicious Fruit that Must be Stopped

2007-07-16T08:56:00.000-07:00

It's been an eventful week here in Paradise. I have almost been killed.

Twice.

In one day.

I should explain that all of this started with the mangoes. Right now it is mango season and the road to my house is lined with trees dropping mangoes that are simply itching to wreak havoc on unsuspecting passersby.

The first incident of the day was the falling mango. Having missed my head by a matter of inches it came to a heavy stop on my left big toe. Now if the mango had been a bit riper or if I had been wearing something more substantial than my Havaianas flip flops then it probably wouldn't have bothered me but it was a surprisingly painful attack! "From now on I'll wear a crash helmet" I thought to myself. Well you just can't be too careful here in Paradise as you never know what may fall from the sky.

Having survived the failed attack of the assassin fruit I continued on my way. Unfortunately the mangoes had not yet finished with me and whilst I was walking along the road and enjoying the beautiful sunshine I did not notice the danger that lay beneath my very feet. Before I had time to utter the words "Mango Salsa" I found myself slipping on a squashed mango. As I tried to stop myself from falling I stubbed my toe on a rock - yes it was the same toe!

The score so far was 2:0 to the Mangoes.

Of course by now I had begun to realise that something was seriously amiss and I decided that if the Mangoes wanted a war then they were going to damn well get one. So I started to collect the fallen mangoes from the ground with a view to giving them a serious bashing. Well if the ridiculous fruit just wants to jump from the tree and into my path then they deserve what they get don't they?

So remember folks, whilst it may look as if I am living the easy life here in paradise, there are bizarre dangers at every turn. We must stop this evil fruit in its tracks before this escalates further. You can help in the war on mangoes by heading to your local store and eating one today. Meanwhile I'm heading back to my kitchen with the spoils of war.

Mango salsa anyone?

Belize, Rum Punches, Folks Lost in Paradise and Making New Friends

2007-07-06T13:04:00.000-07:00

I've just got back to Roatan having spent a week in Belize. I have had an amazing time relaxing, drinking rum punches and making new friends.

The trip came courtesy of Rich Wilson from CORAL who asked Serena from Pura Vida dive shop and myself to go to Belize with him as part of the project to implement marine recreation standards across the whole of the Mesoamerican reef system. Although there was work to do we managed to also do a lot of partying there too!

The first day and night was spent in Belize city taking part in a workshop there. The workshop involved many different boat and dive operators from all over Belize working together to improve the way they do things over there. We met a lot of interesting people and soon learned that things in Belize are very similar to Roatan. Coral had brought in a Production company to film the events and we soon learned that Scott and David from Bay Productions would be hanging around for a few days with us.

The workshop over, we headed to San Pedro, the main town on Ambergris Caye - or 'Amburgers Key as they say over there! I'm sure everyone knows Madonna's "La Isla Bonita" and this is the place that inspired it. Damn Madonna cos I couldn't get that song out of my head all week! San Pedro is a cute little town. Almost everyone here gets around on golf carts or bicycles. The place is full of great bars, restaurants and gift shops and it is so laid back it is almost horizontal! Unlike Roatan, there was a constant breeze that kept everyone cool in the Caribbean heat and sunshine (and also kept away the mosquitoes and sand flies too).

Serena and I didn't know each other before the trip so we were both a bit nervous about how the week would work out. e should't have worried though as we hit it off like a house on fire and became really good friends during the stay there. We were both caught off guard by how expensive everything seems to be in Belize. That was until Rich explained to us that there are two Belize dollars to every US dollar - thank god because at $8 each we weren't going to be drinking many rum punches!

As you walk around San Pedro you can't avoid being approached by the many rastafarians who are clearly "lost in paradise". Despite being lost there were some really interesting people and we even got down to some impromptu street jazz with an old guy who played the recorder whilst Scott and David hit out a beat on the side of our golf cart - check out the photo!

After a fantastic meal on Saturday night the gang headed off to check out a fair that was in town and of course to drink some more rum and cokes too! Thankfully I wasn't drunk enough to try the Ferris Wheel but I did take a spin on the carousel (complete with rum in hand).

The morning after a very large night out on the town and at the fair Serena and I took part in a film interview for Coral nursing our hangovers! Not fun at all - I suspect that footage will not be used any time soon!

One of the best things about San Pedro is the food - there's no shortage of places to eat, from street vendors selling ceviche to great restaurants serving steamed fish in banana leaves. Our favourite place for breakfast soon became Estel's, right on the beach next to our hotel - the breakfasts were huge and they serve a local fried bread called Fry Jacks here. They are hard to describe except to say they are a little like a cross between tortilla and doughnut batter, deep fried and they are sooooo good. On my last day there I had a breakfast baleada that could have fed a family of four for a month!

Having spent four days in San Pedro Serena, David and Scott had to say farewell to Belize so I headed over to nearby Caye Caulker. If San Pedro is chilled out then this place is damn near frozen! There was hardly anyone around and only the occasional golf cart slowly driving by to disturb the tranquility of the place. Caye Caulker is actually split into 2 islands with most people living on the southern part. The best place to hang out during the day is at the Split. This is where locals and visitors go to swim and laze about in the sun. Every now and then you walk over to the Lazy Lizard bar for a fresh rum punch before dipping your toes back in the clear blue waters of the Caribbean Sea. Bliss!

After a week in Belize I finally had to drag myself from my hammock, put my shoes on and say goodbye as I headed for the airport with a lot of good memories and some new friends to share the stories with!

The Macbook is the greatest Weapon of Mass Destruction - ever!

2007-06-05T13:29:00.000-07:00

So I have been trying to buy an Apple Macbook over the last week. I did my research, liked what I saw and I had my little heart set on getting my sticky little paws on one of 'em! So I checked out the Apple website, chose the one I wanted and tried to buy it - but - nothing. I was forbidden from buying one cos I have a UK bank account and was trying to buy from the US store. So I tried a couple of other big online stores in the US to see if I could get one online and got the same problem again.

So I thought I'd be clever and fudge the addresses to see if I could trick the systems into letting me buy one. Nope, not having it, I couldn't fool them they're all too smart for that. So feeling pissed off and disappointed I phoned Apple to see if I could buy one over the phone. I explained the situation - I live on a small island in the middle of the Caribbean where there is not one Apple store in sight so I want to buy one in the US. I told the guy I was English and really quite a nice person so please culd he let me have one. He totally sympathised with me and then explained to me that they are not allowed to sell them to people outside of the US because the US government has deemed laptops are weapons of mass destruction!

Yep, you read that right, a WoMD. Well let me tell you we've been having a right laugh about that over here at the dive shop. How could I use this WoMD? Could I load it with iTunes and play thrash metal until everyone begs for mercy? Maybe I could use it to bash someone over the head with it? The guy at Apple thought it was crazy too.

Anyway, still determined to have a Macbook (although I'm pissed off with Apple for tagging me as a terrorist) I tried Amazon..... and.... my new Macbook is on its way. Yippee!! Apparently they haven't heard about the latest threat to peace so if you want a Macbook I'd get one fast!

Here it is!!

2007-06-02T16:07:00.000-07:00

So after just over a year of living on Roatan I am finally get around to starting a blog with all my news updates. I'm hoping this will be a better way of updating everyone I know around the world rather than relying on the Roatan internet connection and trying to send dozens of emails to people. Assuming of course that this post actually makes it online!

So most people will know that Baz and I are now living in our lovely new house which we have christened with many a BBQ night over the last few months. We are now open for guests and we have just waved goodbye to our very first visitors. It's just typical that in over a year of living on Roatan we haven't had any friends come to visit then all of a sudden (just like London buses) three turn up at once! So we have had a bit of a mad house with Disco Dave, Little T and Pammie staying over. T introduced us to Pammie and told us she was very quiet and didn't say much. Understatement of the year! That girl is crazy and I don't mind telling you that her measures of Rum make a Roatan measure look pretty small! I think I am going to have to start a de-tox program now that they have left as I am still feeling hungover!

Anyway, going to leave it there for now - will try to post pictures later on!