I have emerged from my cave...

Finally, I have emerged from my cave into the light.  (Image of Totleigh Barton writing centre on a sunny day in October)

The last two weeks have been a roller coaster ride of emotions and I feel I have been a passenger on the 'ol red eye'.  The last time I felt this tired was when my daughter was an infant. Thankfully, Lilian's hip operation appears to have been a huge success and the post op difficulties and complications are now well behind us, so the efforts of nurture have been more than worthwhile.

With Lilian's independence and confidence growing daily along with her ability to conquer an increasing range of small tasks, I have now returned to my own wonderful, glorious, comfortable - nay luxurious - bed, to sleep perchance to dream; I had forgotten how utterly fabulous my bed is, an investment indeed.   Although the sleep fairy still hovers in the wings waiting to claim me at every vacant opportunity, the rota of essential tasks and activities feels more natural and a routine of sorts has been established.

My professional writing has taken a back seat, just as well, as I have re-read some of the emails I have sent out during the past two weeks and the spelling and grammar leaves much to be desired; basic errors are commonplace and litter the text.  Untidy and careless.  However tired, I have been writing several times a day in the form of snatched emails, which proved to be my salvation.  Finally, the reunion of the Foodie Arvonites I met in October, on the Food writing week in Devon, has been agreed and settled - a long weekend in May.  I have found a cottage not far from Ludlow.  A definite eleven, ten of whom will have a bed the remaining one will have a section of floor or a sofa, will descend for a weekend of serious culinary discussions, followed by bouts of food and drink ingestion.  I suspect there will be far too much drinking and eating, but hey... who cares?  

Our larder is being coordinator by the wonderful Kristen; our mysterious American in London who writes with such confidence, soul and authority on all the latest food triumphs and the best places to eat out in London.  Caro, an encyclopedia of culinary purveyors nationwide, is bringing Nigella's pavlova with passion fruit - I just hope Nigella doesn't need it for the weekend - and although I may never get to cook for the duration such is the talent within the group, I have every intention of applauding their excellence.  Susan has committed to bringing a variety of cakes for afternoon tea.  May, cannot arrive soon enough for me for we shared such camaraderie, fun and merriment, I am hungry for more.

On Saturday night I went to the pantomime with the lovely James and Graham, and a good bitch, I mean time, was had by all.  There was plenty of singing, shouting and heckling to be had which was incredibly cathartic, it allowed for the release of the suppressed spirit, rising from the dark depths within.  Sadly, the storyline, plot, characters and overall performances were as weak and insipid as skimmed milk but nobody cared, or if they did they didn't let it show.   But here's the thing, it annoyed the hell out of me.  I left feeling that the writer had missed an opportunity, the job only half done; and I wondered whether any producers felt like that over any of my feature scripts.  The pantomime characters were introduced for convenience and an over-egged use of a narrator ensured that precious time was taken away from experiencing the hero's quest, which meant at no time did I care about whether he won the fair maiden's hand or not.  The hero must have been on stage for no more than eight of the one hundred minutes duration of the play, yet the bloomin narrator was ever present. Hmmm. food for thought indeed.

Lesson... Message to self.... 

Let your audience see your hero grow in front of them, without the aid of a lazy device  - it is the law...

PS:  I watched the fabulous drama last night 'A short stay in Switzerland', stellar script, stellar lead taken by Julie Walters and exceptional performances by supporting actors.  The subject matter meant it could so easily have been melodramatic, but it was a near perfect masterpiece, the use of silence or stillness was perfection itself. I hardly moved a limb through the whole of the performance, I was riveted to the spot, yet I was moved to more than tears.