Sorry for the long silence, I have, as usual, been busy working. Its one of the perils of self-employment that after four long relatively quiet months on the work front things kick off all at once and its been so quiet I won't turn anyone away. But I am really annoyed because I am still waiting for the money I am owed to land, and am living from cheque to cheque and on handouts from friends. But so the cash flow should start to err, flow, once the gigantic stock-exchange listed company I've been working for starts to pay me weekly, as they promised ro do several weeks ago, but an HR cock-up means that I am still waiting, but once the money starts to come in my friends will be able to stop crossing the street to avoid me.
Its been a busy few weeks. As some of you know Cailleach stayed with me the night before her poetry reading at the Pipe and Slippers, it was a lovely evening full of chat and tea - oh yes and hares, my latest obsession, well it is March after all and I have a feeling there will be a hare immortalised in clay soon, I bet you can hardly wait, did you know that you can see Irish hares racing aeroplanes on the runway in Belfast, oh the ambition... Also the fox and phantom rider stayed away, so a good night's sleep was had by all. Then we set out for Debi's...
OK so first of I can I say that I so know where Debi lives, I've been there before, but somehow on Sunday morning I drove off confidently in absolutely the wrong direction and we were a couple of miles around the South Circular before I realised my mistake. So I turned around, tried to make a sneaky pass past a car at a junction and hit the kerb.
How you react to a flat tyre shows the true worth of the woman, Cailleach started rummaging in my boot for the tool thingy that releases the spare tyre, while I, truly being my father's daughter, called the RAC - 45 minutes they said, but we needed to be at Debi's, now. So Cailleach called Debi, to get someone to pick her up while I rummaged in the boot until I found something black and tool like which I wafted in the air in triumph. C grabbed it out of my hand and proceeded to release the spare, unpack the jack, pull out the tiny spare tyre that 'looks as if it came off a go cart' that comes with all Peugeots apparently, and changed the tyre, whilst I floated around getting in the way. OK I did make a contribution, I slung the spare in the boot and we proved the rule that just because someting came out of a tiny space it doesn't mean its going back in - so we left the jack bouncing around in the boot. The only offer of help came from the local launderette, after she'd tightened the last nut of course, just in case, 'we could go in and wash our hands if we liked' - so we did, with enough washing power dispensed in each hand to destroy the entire eco-system of SE London and wash the dirty football kit of the entire Premier League, twice over. Oh yes and then we got lost two roads from Debi's, OK I was still driving so it was me, just what you don't need before a poetry reading.
But Debi's was lovely as always, and one of the benefits of my high pitched piercing voice was that the deaf one could hear me, oh yes and Minx told a story that I cannot repeat here, but means that I will never ever look at hedgehogs in the same way again. Debi's lovely husband, um, tightened my nuts... so that I stopped having visions of my tyre bouncing down the road ahead of me, which I am sure was an offer he could have refused, but didn't, so when the cashflow starts to flow, fingers crossed, I will be sponsoring him in the London Marathon for SOS Africa
Oh yes and how many Kwik Fit fitters does it take to change a tyre, five, seriously, I counted. Oh yes and they couldn't get the jack back into the box either!
And I have been reading, and writing poetry as well as working, but more of that later.