EmFlem's blog

QotD: Endings

Do you think it's true that "All good things must come to an end?"

 

Oh Vox. Voxy voxy voxy voxy vox. You've set yourself up for a fall here haven't you?

Well.

Of course it's true. Of course it's true, but that's good, that's a good thing in itself. ALL things must pass. Bad stuff ends as well as good stuff.

And sometimes an ending turns out to just be the end of the beginning, and sometimes an ending pushes a beginning into beginning. Endings are cool. Endings rock.

What am I trying to say?

Vox, I'm off.

If you'd like to keep up with me, then follow me over here. Loads of the cool kids are there already. And as an incentive I'm about to post an absolutely hilarious* story about condoms.

 

* may or may not be absolutely hilarious.

Yeah, I really owe you guys a blog

HELLO!

Sorry, I know, I've gone all quiet. Nothing's happening that's why. I'm sober. I was sober for all of May (apart from a very small Bucks Fizz on - when else? - Eurovision) and I think I might stay that way. I'm only making an exception for toasts. And my birthday and Christmas. Otherwise - it's over.

Some stuff about not drinking:

When you learn to drink in this country, you are generally still a child (I'm guessing the average is about 15/16?) I wouldn't base any of the rest of my life on the way I felt when I was sixteen, so why would I base this huge important massive part of my life on it? Idiot.

When you are drinking (as much as I do/did) then you're either a) drunk b) horribly hungover or c) slightly hungover - the worst bit - when you are paranoid and depressed and you can't work out way, so you have a drink to feel better and then you are back to a) again. How can you make any sort of decision about sobriety when you are in one of these three states? You can't.

After about three or four weeks something really weird starts to happen. The world is still horribly shit but you suddenly see these tiny little glimmers of hope. Really small things make you happy all of a sudden, like the bus turning up earlier than you expected or remembering to bring your lunch to work.

It works. It's good. Give it a try!

Haven't blogged in an age...

...sorry I'm crap.

Well, I can report absolutely zero is happening of any interest at all right now (my God, I bet you're glad you checked my blog to find that out.)

Work is amazing (email from student to my bosses boss saying I'm fabulous? Oh yes.) Writing is going well, we're reprising Snog, Shag, Marry, Kill on the 27th May, 24th June and 12th July at the Poetry cafe and we've got a spot at Streatham Festival on the 5th July. It's all go. Oscar can talk 'mummy like sugar' yes thanks Osc, Mummy does indeed like sugar, and Chauncey is as, if not more, fabulous than he's ever been. Marry a good kisser is my top tip for life.

Following the aforementioned 'incident' I have not been drinking and of course, suddenly life got beautiful. STUPID ALCOHOL. It's so evil. I am going to drink on my birthday and then decide where I'm at. Possibly never drinking again, possibly just avoiding wine (although I do enjoy dancing with drummers wearing suits* at gone midnight on a Monday to the jukebox in the Rose, it is not very befitting of a wife and mother, and the sort of thing that should maybe take place once a decade rather than once a fortnight.)

I am happy, it's boring, it makes for a rubbish blog.

LOVE YOU ALL!!!

* if you can imagine such a thing.

What We Did On Our Holidays by Team Fleming (combined age 65 and half)

Hello chaps!

So before I went on my boozy rampage last week I'd actually been on holiday. We went to Devon for jazz week (again! we also went last September) with Chaunce's folks.

It.

Was.

Brilliant!!

So I thought I'd blog about it before it slips into the fog of my memory.

We drove down there. Osc howled pretty much the whole way, apart from the bits where I recited The Gruffalo, The Stick Man and (his favourite) Donny Digger from memory. It was exhausting, having to be 'on' all the time. No wonder comedians are so insane/depressed/insanely depressed. Anyway, he finally fell asleep as we got to the bridge over the sea just outside the holiday home we were staying in. Timing!

We stayed in a chalet in a site with its own indoor pool, soft play, toddlers playground, adventure playground, assault course, crazy golf etc. so we spent a lot of the holiday just hanging out there. There was a little farm type thing that Osc loved, they had lambs which were little enough to still be having bottles of milk - so cute. And a little Shetland pony (Dandelion) and baby rabbits and guinea pigs. And chinchillas - Osc has learned to say 'chinchilla'. Oh and duckies! Osc fed the ducks himself, I taught him how to hold his hand flat and then held it in mine just to make sure. He was very brave. I fed them a few times and one time I misjudged it and got my finger in the duck's mouth. EWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWW!!!! I felt his little duckie tongue! EWWWWW!!!!

The weather was superamazingfantastic - Chaunce is still a lovely shade of red - so we hung out on the beach a lot too. The sea was very very cold but we spent one whole morning (well, me and Osc spent the whole morning) running in and out of the waves, so much fun. I also ate a lot of ice cream with clotted cream on top, nom nom nom.

We were there for the jazz (well, and the chance of a break) and the jazz was wicked! Chaunce's dad is well into his jazz and is mates with all the bands, which I always feels gives us a bit of cachet as we swan about. A bit of cachet... all the musicians are pretty much in their eighties and all the fans are in their seventies. Forget Osc being the youngest there, CHAUNCE was the youngest there. And he ain't young. We went down to see the bands pretty much every night (and we took Osc one afternoon but it was a bit loud for him) and drank a lot of real ale. Real ale doesn't give you a hangover! Who knew? Or maybe it was the sea air. Anyway, the bands were ace. At one point there was a drum solo and I shouted 'DRUM SOLO!!!' in excitement, much to Chaunce's disgust.* Considering everyone else had about fifty years on me it came out significantly louder than I intended. I sounded like I had some sort of percussion based Tourette's. Is there anything better in life than a drum solo? I. Love. The. Drums. Like Yoko Ono says they're 'the heartbeat of the universe' (and drummers are letting us 'touch' that heartbeat... love you Yoko, you nutbar.)

I went into Teignmouth at one point for some 'me' time, and my biggest fear came true. A Seagull Stole My Sandwich. Admittedly it was a bit dumb sitting on the front and eating a crab sandwich but I didn't think it would really happen. In the end it was not as scary as I thought, it was just a brush of feathers and then I had no sandwich and there was a smug seagull stood in front of me. It was weird. I've been so scared of seagulls for so long, and then when it came down to it... Well, there's a lesson in there somewhere, I'm sure.

Pics to follow, when I can be arsed to upload them.

 

 

* Chaunce: there is no skill to playing the drums Emma. A drummer is not a musician. There is no point to a drum solo. Me: Shut up shut up shut up!!! 

 

 

 

spleen venting

God, I hate this part of a hangover. The part where you feel physically recovered but your brain starts fucking up, stuttering, feeding back... you know?

I went out on Monday and got so so so so so so so ridiculously stupendously hopelessly dangerously ratarsed OH GOD what was I doing? I don't know, I know I got in and was sick on my husband. How did I get in? I DON'T KNOW. Chaunce just asked me if I remembered what I was doing (I assume he means when I got in) and I was like, 'um no?' and judging by the look on his face I think perhaps we need to just, yeah, gloss over it. It is lost to my memory completely, wiped like a traumatic event. Perhaps it was traumatic?

OH GOD.

And I was, oh God, DANCING and the only reason I know that is cos I have a vague memory of my mate shouting 'stop leading - I'm leading!' Oh god oh god oh god. And it was Monday.

I hate this part of a hangover. I hate this bit where I feel like a really terrible friend, and a feckless mother and a totally awful, awful wife. Not to mention hideously fat and unattractive. And stupid. And, oh god, my brain, I am breaking my brain, I know I am because Someone told me and if there's one thing Someone knows about it's bloody brains. I am literally wiping my mind, like someone accidentally putting a VHS by a magnet, or whatever it is. No, not even accidentally. Like someone deliberately running a magnet backwards and forwards over a really friggin important video tape FOR FUN. Oh god. OH GOD OH GOD.

So let's be rational...

I am a terrible friend
Well, I did behave pretty atrociously but the people I was with knew I was drunk. And I text them the next day and they both texted back very sweet texts. And my other friends, I am seeing them and keeping in touch and stuff, as much as they are with me. I've got a couple of things arranged for May for people I've not seen in months. I am not a terrible friend. I'm just a bit flaky.

I am a feckless mother
No I'm not. I mean I'm not feckful, but my child is healthy and happy, sleeps through every night, eats like a horse, can talk, is obviously fine.

I am an awful, awful wife
I'm not great... but, you know, I'm not as bad as I could be. If only I were more tidy. I will make an effort to be more tidy.

I am hideously fat...
Not hideously. Anyway, for my husband it is one of the things that makes me not an awful wife.

...and unattractive
Er, no, I'm not. I do have to put the effort in, admittedly, but I'm not.

Aaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaand, I have a lovely house and a lovely, lovely, lovely, wonderful rewarding worthy proper JOB that I love, and a great family and fab friends, and really it is just evil evil wine upsetting me.

The worst thing? The absolutely worst thing about all this?

I know I am not going to feel better, and really believe all of the above points until Friday evening. When I am in a bar, with my friends. And a bottle of wine. I may have mentioned before, my vague plan to be sober throughout my thirties. I think it's becoming more and more of an inevitability. This has got to stop.

But, wait, holiday doesn't even rhyme with celebr - HOLIDAY!!!! CELEBRATE!!!

Small child coming down with a cold. CHECK.

Husband's swimming shorts nowhere to be seen? CHECK.

Out of Office on my gmail? CHECK.

Out of Office on my work mail? CHECK.

Re-recorded mobile voicemail to say 'bugger off'? CHECK.

Phone charger forgotten? CHECK.

Extra four books taken out from the library to disguise my embarrassment at the fifth? CHECK.

Photograph of magnolia trees outside Mary-le-Strand taken for my mother's vicar? CHECK.

 

Okay, I think that's it... Shaldon - Team Fleming is coming for ya!!

A rubbish blog

I do actually have something I want to blog about, all about the net and how it makes us relate to each other and yada yada yada etc etc but I need TIME to write it, and I haven't got any right this second. So that'll have to be one for later. I am already like three days overdue with this one.

Instead I will just say, I am still having a good time. Boring huh? I 'came down' a bit last week, I was feeling a bit flat, but I was feeling so so so so friggin brill that was bound to happen. Commuting into town is a real spirit lifter. The river is gorgeous and I love being on the Strand. LOVE IT.

I am going on holiday at the end of this week, back to where we went last September. I can't wait. I didn't have a break between jobs, I didn't think I needed one, but actually I think I do need a bit of a pause and a re-group. I'm planning on putting my out of office on my gmail as well as my work mail and possibly 'forgetting' my phone charger. After all, I will be with the only people I want to speak to. It all depends whether or not my friend who was due on Friday has her baby before we go, cos I don't want to not know about that. Come on baby! Out you come!

In other news: This weekend I finally flew my kite. I'd only had it, er, five years.

Three things I desperately want/need...

... but am not entirely convinced exist. Help me Hivemind! I know I could Google but my new job leaves very little time for such activities, and I really need to ice a cake right now.

Hot Milky Froth

Bobble, I am looking at you. What I want is a milk frother that also magically makes the milk hot... do they exist? Or am I sort of inventing it in my mind cos I want one so much? I know. Buy a regular milk frother and put the milk in the microwave first. I mean, I do know that. But still...

 

A Teeny Weeny Word Processor

Chintzy, one for you. I want a word processor that I can travel about with, whip out on the bus and type on a qwerty keyboard. Preferably no bigger than, I dunno, A4 (but obviously doesn't have to be that thin, just has to fit on my knee and have a screen I can see enough to cut n paste on.) It's for my commute which, whilst not quite being Leicester to South London is still a massive chunk of my day and may as well be used for writing purposes. Doesn't need to have access to the internet (in fact, needs to definitely NOT have that) but needs to have a way of getting the words out of it and into Word or Notepad or an email or something. USB port? Or should I just get an iPhone?

 

A Plush Digger

And parents - one for you guys: We need a soft toy digger. Osc is obsessed with diggers, which means he often takes a little plastic digger to bed with him. Which I would rather he didn't. I know, slack parenting. Be more firm. OR. Find a soft toy digger. That actually looks like a JCB - I've seen some kinda twee "craft" diggers, I don't want those. I have seen quite a good crochet pattern but am loathe to just leap on that. There must be some other option - surely?!

Obviously it isn't Friday

So I am going to move my blogging to the weekend. Or maybe to an evening. Who knows? Which kinda sucks because people (me) only ever read blogs when they're bored at work it never occurs to them (me) to read any not updated between 9am - 5pm Monday to Friday. Probably they (I) should work out how RSS feeds actually work and that.

ANYWAYS

I am so haaaaaaaaaaaaappppppppppppppppppeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeee!! And maybe still ever so slightly drunk, who knows. I have been drinking since Thursday, like an eejit. No drinks today, but I promised I'd go for cocktails (oh god) with my new work team tomorrow. Yes, Monday night. I think they might all be a bit younger than me. But is important for team bonding so I will go and maybe have some virgin drinks. Yeah, that could be a plan.

Thursday I drank cos I was performing at The Poetry Cafe. Packed house. Nice feedback. Christ I was nervous. Out for drinks with J from my old work and Mr. Secrets afterwards (oh! and me and Mr. Secrets are friends again which couldn't please me more. Though I am using my laptop in bed right now, which I know he would tell me off for) which ended, as it always does, with me and J giggling and talking bollox on the N68. But the most important thing is: I. GOT. PAID. I was paid. Therefore, I conclude - moi = professional writer.

Friday I crashed someone else's leaving do to claim it as my own and I did get drunk (so drunk) and I did cry (as predicted) and I did probably tell a lot of people a lot of stuff I shouldn't have (not about work, not quite, ex-work colleagues if you are now in a stress) and I did, I think, have a ridiculous argument with a nurse but fuck it I don't work there any more and I am working very hard on NOT. CARING. Although I do have to go in tomorrow to do a handover. Oh dear.

Last night I went to ComeOut2Nite. During the day we'd been to a children's party in, er, Hgh Wycombe. So yes, we went from Norwood, to Wycombe, to Farringdon all in one day. Tfl somehow working for us, despite letting everyone else down. I drank and danced and Chauncey came and we bought a fanzine (buy one!) and nearly all my favourite favourite people were there (we missed you chaps who couldn't make it) and then we got a cab back (unprecedented) and the cab driver was lovely and it was about a billion billion times better than being on the night bus (although being on the night bus does provide one with more material, as a writer, I think.) And I am very happy.

Very very happy. My in-laws were meant to bring Osc back about two hours ago but they rang to say he was playing so happily they'd wait til he was more tired. We have taught him to respond to the Pirate cry of 'arrrrrrrr!' with 'jimlad!' which will never stop being hilairious.

My new job was the right move, for certain. I am still finding my niche there, but it's only been a week, and it is a wildly different way of working to what I've just been used to. In a good way.

There is something bothering me but I don't know what it is. A sort of bittersweet feeling. But, alcohol is a depressant. If we have learned nothing else from my time with the IoP it is this. My brain just normally has something to pin the depressed feeling on and this time there is nothing. No reason to be sad. Which totally rocks, when you think about it.

I don't have time for a proper blog...

... because it is my last day here. So I am, yunno, finishing everything up and popping out for lunch and weeping a bit. Really I should be racing around sticking twos up at everyone and turning cartwheels but somehow I don't quite feel like that.

How annoying.

This morning I found an email from my old line manager back when I started giving me rough start dates and a time to meet my Profs and L. Can you guess what date she sent it? Of course, that's right, a year ago today. Things like that make me happy. Very neat. Well done universe, top marks. 

I guess I will see you guys next week, and let you know how the new job is.

Afore I go, if you do want to come see me read at the Poetry Cafe next Thurs (25th) then drop me a line cos I need to sort out the guestlist (if you've already facebooked me don't worry.)

If only there were a song about leaving something behind and being glad about it but secretly being a bit unhappy...

Oh! Wait!

 

Lush - Ciao!

Lush

 

Ta ta, IoP. It's been um... emotional.