I hate finishing a book I’ve loved. The last few days I’ve been completely immersed in a different world, reading at any and every opportunity.

It’s been ages since I’ve been that deeply gripped by a novel (or three!) and ages since I’ve allowed myself that much reading time. It’s been fantastic, but at the same time I know that a lot of the things that were put off while I read, now need doing urgently.

But I’m not ready to let go. I don’t want to rejoin the real world quite yet. I want to be lost in a daydream for a bit longer, to relish the world and the characters for as long as the obsession runs. I want the characters to be tangible in my mind for just a tiny bit longer.

Alternatively, I could just order the fourth book, even though I said I wouldn’t as it’s only out in hardback…

I feel the urge to podcast – the potential of Garageband sitting on my hard drive has a strong a pull as that of an empty notebook, begging for me to scrawl story ideas and writing exercises within its pages.

I’ve learned the basics of putting a podcast together, listened to a recording of my voice and to my surprise, didn’t hate it (it doesn’t sound like me, which is probably why). I’d love to join in the podcast community, to add my voice to the others, to give participate in a medium I’ve enjoyed listening to so much.

The problem?

I have no ideas, no spark of inspiration on any sort of topic for a podcast. Not that I ever had a topic for my blog either – it has always been a random mishmash of whatever I happened to be thinking about at the time, but it never seemed to matter. In the podcast world, you really have to find a niche.

The commitment also seems larger than a blog I can dip in and out of whenever I feel like it. Okay, the intention is to write daily, but more often than not I skip a day now and then without the world coming to a standstill. A podcast, however, should be regular – monthly, weekly, fortnightly… it’s a level of promise that scares the hell out of me.

And then there’s the fact that this project is a distraction from my main goal – to get writing fiction properly again. I have so many plans in that direction that should have a much higher priority – absolutely ludicrous to add a different project to displace more important ones.

Yes, it would be insane for me to start up a podcast. I can’t keep on topic with my own life for five seconds. I’m completely the wrong sort of person for the job. And yet… the pull is there. I need to play with the new toy and produce something, anything that is mine.

Anyone need a random and fickle co-host for their own spectacular idea? No, on second thoughts, for God’s sake, don’t encourage me.

… one more to knit!

(feeling elated that I actually managed to turn a heel)

(oh, and excuse my cluttered desk… it was a spur of a moment snapshot before casting on the next one)

(as you were)

This week, I have got through two birthday parties (Akra Jr is now 6 years old and Li’l Bhaji is 3 – how did that happen?!) and I looked after a friend’s lovely (but energetic) three-year-old for a whole day.

It’s not surprising that by the end of the week, people were asking me if I was okay – I looked “really tired”. Not a phrase that fills you with confidence about your appearance or does anything much other than make you feel even more wan and old.

As someone who hardly ever puts make-up on (unless it’s for a special occasion – like an evening out, or anyone coming near me with a camera), I’m used to getting comments along the lines of “looking pale”. I’ve lost count of the number of times nurses have insisted they take a blood test for anaemia when I’ve gone in for something else completely unrelated, only for it to come back negative as always. Putting on the war paint before stepping out my front door is never a habit I’ve got into, or really wanted to before now.

At what point do you finally admit to yourself, that perhaps a daily touch-up might not be such a bad idea?

As a wholly unscientific experiment yesterday, I put make-up on. Not one person asked me if I was feeling all right or if I was tired (surprisingly, as Li’l Bhaji had kept me awake most of the night, suffering from a bad cold he caught from jumping on his bouncy castle all day in the rain).

The cost of this lack of well-meaning confidence breakers was 20 minutes of my life gone (15 minutes to apply in the morning and 5 minutes to remove it again that evening), my pores feeling as if they were suffocating, and the general nagging feeling that I was looking as if I was trying too hard just to walk to school and nursery a couple of times.

Despite my tomboy roots, however, I have previously managed to force myself to be more girlie and care about my appearance over the years.

I’ve had my colours done and while I still wear jeans all the time, at least the tops I choose complement my complexion and figure these days.

Once the grey in my parting started to be more noticeable and annoy, I started to colour my hair regularly (and to be fair, it hardly takes much more effort or money when using a mobile hairdresser who attends to you in the comfort of your own home).

I have a waxing appointment once a month – but that’s sheer laziness as I can never remember to shave frequently enough and those depilatory creams cost a small fortune – at least a regular appointment you don’t skip if you can’t be faffed and it’s only monthly.

I think that’s the key. The “beauty regimen” I follow is due to laziness and convenience. I just can’t see anything convenient about wasting 20 minutes a day on make-up.

Mind you, if it saves me 20 minutes a day of morale-sucking conversations concerned for my health, maybe… just maybe… it’ll be worth it.

Our AEG dishwasher is 11 years old this year and it’s been showing its age for a while. We’ve had a few leaks (which we’ve mended), the cutlery basket has rotted away at the bottom… but the thing that is most frustrating for such a minor break: the catch has broken on the tablet dispenser.

Being aware that it’s probably coming to the end of its useful lifespan, we’ve occasionally looked at the new ranges of dishwashers, but found none we liked. All the brands have now altered the way you stack crockery and cutlery inside – to our minds giving you less practical space and being more awkward for big pots and pans. They also feel more flimsy and lower quality than our last decade’s manager’s special. We just haven’t been that impressed. Never mind that it felt criminally wasteful to replace an otherwise perfectly functional dishwasher.

But… the broken bits were really starting to annoy.

Fortunately, someone on Mumsnet recommended we check for spare parts on eSpares – an online appliance accessory store that has a fairly exhaustive collection of bits and bobs for a whole range of domestic appliances. We had a look searching under the model number in question and not only did we find the parts we were looking for, we actually had a choice between several that would fit our model.

Concerned that we might opt for the wrong one (our machine appears to be so old it doesn’t have a PNC (a Product Number Code) to double check against) we got in touch yesterday, received very helpful advice over the phone and the new dispenser and cutlery basket required arrived this morning. Very impressive service.

A simple fitting and all is wonderful again. A “new” dishwasher for around £50. Bargain.

I’ve avoided being tagged for almost 4 years now, but Angela got me.

So, here we go: The Three Things Meme

1. Three Things that Scare Me: chickenpox (no really – I veer towards phobia on this. I’ve never had it, and had a big scare when Akra Jr caught it while I was pregnant with Li’l Bhaji. Gives me the heebie jeebies every time I hear that it’s doing the rounds again), flying when my loved ones aren’t with me (I don’t care if we all crash and burn together, but I get panicky at the thought of leaving the kids on their own), horror movies – will only watch 18-certificate films if I know they’re classified for explicit sex scenes rather than for horror or gore.
2. Three People Who Make Me Laugh: ~Misty~’s ducks, JonnyB, and Akra (because he can’t read a Terry Pratchett book in public without sniggering out loud every third sentence).
3. Three Things I Love: my camera, my fish tank, and my life.
4. Three Things I Hate: The Daily Mail mindset, doorstep selling, and jar lids that are spot-welded on.
5. Three Things I Don’t Understand: why it always rains at 3pm, astrophysics (even though I have a degree in it, my brain seems to have hemorrhaged all that knowledge out in self-defence), and how Li’l Bhaji can bring home SO MANY illnesses.
6. Three Things On My Desk: a cold half-cup of tea, a bulging in tray, and a crumpled Cadbury’s creme egg wrapper.
7. Three Things I Am Doing Right Now: staring at a computer screen trying to think of answers so I can post this damn meme, looking folornly at the cold half-cup of tea I forgot to drink earlier, and wondering if two Cadbury’s creme eggs in the space of half an hour would be considered greedy.
8. Three Things I Want To Do Before I Die: have a novel published, play a computer game all the way to the end before I get bored, and see my boys grow up into men.
9. Three Things I Can Do: make a squeaky noise with just the palms of my hands, knit (yay!) and write a novel in a month (but then that’s the easy part, it’s the editing of it that’s the real bugger).
10. Three Things You Should Listen To: Li’l Bhaji singing “horsie horsie, don’t you stop”, anyone who advises you not to do memes, and compliments.
11. Three Things You Should Never Listen To: the inward spiral of self-negativity and critique, nursery rhyme CDs on permanent loop, and anything louder than 85 decibels. Mixing the latter two is especially dangerous.
12. Three Things I’d Like To Learn: Spanish, a martial art and to live in the moment.
13. Three Favorite Foods: vegetable lasagne, chicken korma and Cadbury’s creme eggs (not all three at the same time, though).
14. Three Beverages I Drink Regularly: water, tea and fruit teas (but only if they’re made by Twinings).
15. Three Books I Read as a Kid: I can pick only three?! Okay – The Changeover by Margaret Mahy, The Other Side of Dark by Joan Lowery Nixon and The Spy Who Loved Me by Ian Fleming (yes, really – my father had a huge collection of Flemings and Alistair MacLeans and I think I worked my way through the entire shelf by the end of primary school).

And finally, three people to tag: … I pick Tiger Feet, Jaegerin and Alley Katt.

My brain hurts now.

Mindless thought meander of the day: As far as I remember, I was always taught that the correct pronunciation of “controversy” was “con-TROV-ersy” … yet I’ve noticed on BBC Radio 4 an increase in speakers pronouncing it as “CON-tro-versy”.

Being that the BBC is usually the bastion of proper pronunciation and grammar, was I taught wrong or has usage changed?

Just finished watching Donnie Darko and now half listening to the cast commentary. Wow. What was all that about?! I feel it was really deep and profound and has changed my world view without actually being able to put my finger on anything tangible as to why the film was so great (okay, except maybe the Smurf conversation). I loved the way all the characters were so utterly sympathetic, particularly the mother – it would have been so easy to have portrayed them as a “disfunctional” family. There are so many threads in the film that I just can’t unravel them all. Having had half a bottle of wine during the viewing probably didn’t help.

Need to watch it all again now so I can start to figure it out…!!

P.S. I’m not even going to try to give a synopsis of the film. Every one I read previously to seeing it was woefully inadequate – I’m not kidding myself that I’ll be able to do it any better. If you enjoy films that make you think and doesn’t necessarily fit into a genre box (American Beauty and Vanilla Sky come to mind as films in a similar style) – then rent this, you won’t regret it.

It’s something that is not easy to admit you feel, my hand is hovering over the little ‘X’ in the corner of the browser window, wondering if I should just cancel out and not say what I’m thinking at this precise moment in time – a fairly good indication, that really, I should just be honest with myself – go ahead and post it anyway.

It’s just that it feels like at the moment, that every Mummy friend I have at the moment… *whispers and looks around to see if anyone is listening*… has a bigger house than me.

There, I’ve said it. And yes, I am slightly envious of all that space, the extra rooms so that each one has a defined function in the household, somewhere for the kids to play that doesn’t leak into every other room in the building, to not feel slightly apologetic when the reciprocal invite inevitably comes around.

It’s incredibly silly, of course. There’s no real logic in it. I love our life, really am enjoying it to the full at the moment. I’m aware of the fact we could have had a nice large 5 bed house with three reception rooms, huge kitchen/diner, utility room and conservatory. We made different choices along the way – some good (like knowing we both wanted to spend as much time with the kids as possible so our earning potential has been a lot smaller), some bad (getting into debt when we had two decent incomes, so that our later choice involved buying a smaller house but clearing loans), some dictated by circumstances (where in the country we have lived has, of course, been dictated by available jobs). In retrospect, there’s not many choices along the way that I would actually change.

Plus, we will be getting that downstairs extension soon, all things going well. That will ease the space pressures considerably and while it would be nice for a spare bedroom (or two) we certainly don’t need them. And it’s not even as if we aren’t fairly well off, anyway – we’re incredibly lucky. I’m not ungrateful.

Still yearn for the luxury executive dwelling with double garage, though… does that make me irredeemable?!

Okay, can someone tell me what this is and what it’s good for?!

We have a small epidemic of them here at the moment – for every one we squish another ten rise up to take its place. If you’ll excuse the very bad pun, it’s bugging me… (*boom* *boom* *tish*)