Embracing Nature's Law and Gravity

Trying to keep it exciting I bravely take it outside into the back yard. It's warm enough to wear my bikini top and shorts and I feel liberated to do so. With only the birds, a big black and white butterfly and some biting ants (left ankle, ouch!) for an audience, I begin. Holding it comfortably yet firmly in my right hand, I start really fast, then slow down (is that the right way to do it?). It soon becomes a steady rhythm I can control. My HB pencil swoops and glides, scratching its gentle sounds onto the grey lined white paper. The pages of my notebook are soon full of letters joined into words, creating sentences hopefully making sense. Apologies if I led you down a different path.
It's great being able to write outside and it gives my eyes a break from the computer screen. My right eye has been a bit sore lately, possibly due to a small sand dune forming in it. Or there may actually be a large Biblical plank in there which I need to remove during this season of Lent.

Ellie looked so lovely and happy going off to her first ever concert one evening last week. She went with a friend to see Ed Sheeran and his guitar at the Qatar National Convention Centre. He was born in hippy Hebden Bridge, West Yorkshire. Is there no end to the talent found in my home county? Looking like an H&M catalogue model, Ellie cat walked down the drive to the waiting car. I almost cried at being left behind, not sharing in this coming of age moment with her. I suppose going to see The Stylistics at Huddersfield Town Hall with my mum was exciting for me at the time, however vague this recollection is. The thrills came much thicker and faster for me at 17 years of age travelling to St. George's Hall in Bradford by bus to see The Pasadenas with my girlfriends. Hamish did smile, wink and sing just to us didn't he? I will save my eclectic list of concerts I have attended for another time.

Threading the thin fishing line-like string onto the small 3D, glow-in-the-dark planets was a tricky operation. Gravity seemed to pull them out of my fingers and thumbs. Hanging them from Joshua's top bunk to conspire with the constellations already in the space there, weighed heavily on my shoulders. What if I put Venus and Uranus in the wrong position? What in Heaven's name could transpire then? I consult Joshua's Big Book of Knowledge and try my very best to precisely position all the planets in their true alignments. Once again, I marvel at the awesomeness of the cosmos.
We awake to discover Saturn has fallen out of space and onto his duvet below. It appears as though we will need some stronger force other than the adhesive putty provided to keep it in orbit.

As I mentally begin to prepare for the fast approaching swimsuit season I physically attempt some exhausting aero-boxing, upper body and fat burning workouts. It will be a wonderful moment when I arrive at the same state of mind as American writer Gertrude Stein (1874-1946), described as being 'big and floppy and sandaled and not caring a damn.' Why does the force of gravity have to be so strong?

Be encouraged by Embrace as I am, (the band are from Brighouse, wait for it, in West Yorkshire).

 '' You should never fight your feelings,
   You have to follow nature's law.''

Gravity was written by Coldplay and given to Embrace. It's on their album Out of Nothing (2004).
The above lyrics are from their song Nature's Law, from the album This New Day (2006). That summer Joshua was born, my brother Neil married Kate and Nigel's brother Eddy married Claire.
Keep embracing those you love. I will have big hugs waiting for my mum and dad when they arrive tonight.


''A writer should write with his eyes and a painter paint with his ears.''

                                                                                      Gertrude Stein

Accidental Artist

Two blog issues are annoying me at the moment. I am highly frustrated that I cannot put the two tiny dots above the u in Sprungli. Please continue to imagine the umlaut until I solve this. My white line photo is also annoying me as I want each new photo I post to appear on the facebook link. I'm sure you must be bored with it by now. Infuriatingly, I keep singing the song by Grandmaster Flash every time I see it or any white lines anywhere, reminding me not to take drugs.

'' (Don't let it blow your mind away) Baby!
  (And go into your little hideaway 'cause white lines blow away)''

Encouraged recently to do a random act of kindness, I found myself obliviously buying some phone credit for a total stranger. Punching Romeo's phone number into the machine I accidentally pressed one wrong digit and the kindness was easily transmitted. It made me happy to think that some unknown recipient could phone their loved ones on behalf of my ineptness. Romeo didn't share the joy. Well, it is his hard earned money I'm randomly yet kindly frittering away.

Extracting my toast from the toaster one morning I gasp in amused delight to see a semi-melted white plastic fork stuck to my piece of pain de Campagne? It was a surreal breakfast that would have no doubt inspired Salvador Dali. Obviously I didn't eat the spoon.

My blog continues to help me filter out all this crazy stuff whizzing around in my head and hopefully leaves me clearer in mind to write the novel. I think I am about half way there now. According to my research, a novel is between 60,000 and 80,000 words long. I have written 25,000 words so far. Maybe it will be a shorter novel than normal, a novella perhaps. This brings up the age old question, does size really matter?
Does it have to be as long as the others? How can I force it to be something it's not? If you don't like it grab another one that satisfies. Or just pretend it's OK for the sake of friendship. You could even decide to abstain. Although if you do give it a go, hopefully, it will stir up something inside you and you may actually enjoy it once you get into it. This paragraph was written by Susie Saunders and her Double Entendres, sister of Finbarr from Viz.

It was relaxing having my left arm and hand decorated with henna at the Dukhan Women's Association event. According to Amal, I have a cute hand. Going with the flow earlier that day I had painted my middle fingernail orange. My first thought the next day was how much better my henna hand would look with all my fingernails painted a brighter orange. The Dior polish, colour coded Riviera 537, was a kind gift from my 'tres gentil' French sister-in-law. Whilst shaking the bottle frantically, it suddenly flew out of my henna hand and smashed against the cream coloured bedroom wall, creating a wonderful luminous orange, Jackson Pollock effect. I immediately went into panic mode running around trying to locate the baby wipes, useful in such emergencies. Upon finding them, I smudged and smeared the splatters even more artistically onto the wall. Declaring disaster at the top of my voice I got absolutely no response at all from the kids. Good job Romeo was at another Saturday morning art class, he does not cope well with liquid leakages of any kind (read an old post entitled Up and Downs from 2012 for evidence of this). I wonder what he will return home with this time, a dozen delicately made, hand painted red ceramic roses?
The pan scourer and Jif Summer Fresh Actifizz combination worked as well as it could, even removing some of the cream canvas wall paint beneath it. This all took place before my first cup of tea. Thankfully the overwhelming nail polish fumes provided a great stimulant, fusing wonderfully with the ever lingering presence of Olbas Oil and freshly applied pungent henna. I breathed in deeply ready to face the day ahead.

'' (Ahhh) Higher baby, 
  (Ahhh) Get higher, baby!
  (Ahhh) Get higher, baby!
 And don't ever come down! (Freebase!)''


Listening to Thirst for Romance (2007) a debut album by Bolton band, Cherry Ghost.
Singing along to People Help The People and Mathematics, two of my favourite tracks from the above album.
Reading, The Brightest Star in the Sky by Marian Keyes.
Am I too old for break dancing now?


Lyrics are from White Lines (Don't, Don't Do It, 1983) by Grandmaster Flash and Melle Mel

Valentine's Day

The Mid-Life Crisis Strikes Back - a monologue

It is around midday. Susie calmly creeps up and captures Ellie who has already cornered herself in a comfy red chair, bewitched by something on the computer. Susie catches Ellie stuffing three pieces of Lindt Creation Mousse au Chocolat DARK into her metal-filled mouth. Susie is beside herself with divine retribution.

A thoughtful aside: surely the wonderful chocolatiers Lindt & Sprungli should be paying me for advertising their products by now? And action!

Susie     Aha! You're not going to get fit eating that!

Ellie raises one eyebrow, her red earphones drowning out my gleefully delivered comment. In for a penny in for a pound, as they say. Deep breath before we begin our lightsaber duel.

Susie     You look like an orphan.

Help me, this strike has a far more negative impact upon the crisis than the poor dirtbag.
Ellie smirks a little, then grins. So she can hear me.

Susie     By the way, I love you.


While Romeo is at work (Saturday morning art class, very unusual?) and Mini-Me is entertaining himself, I make the first move. Grabbing romance in the palms of both hands, I gently squash and squeeze the mixture I've made, into a smooth ball. Carefully I roll it out, then firmly press the small cookie cutter into the dough, heart after heart after heart. Should I sprinkle some Middle Eastern promise onto the biscuits before baking them? Could Cupid's arrow shoot us again in our comfortably assumed marital positions?
He loves me, he loves me not, he loves me, he loves me not...........
Picking off the daisy petals in my head, I know that despite being wildly passionate about many other things, he does indeed love me a lot.

I enjoyed surprising my family with the multitude of melt-in-your-mouth cookies. Romeo also surprised me coming up trumps with a homemade card. It displays our photo-shopped fancy dressed faces, in front of a stunning desert sunset.
 
With love in my left ear and peace in my right, I whole-heartedly hoped that the ceasefire in the Ukraine would be properly observed. The gold, star-shaped, engraved earrings, painlessly pierce my ears but my soul is stabbed when yet more beheadings are carried out and I cry.

John Lennon sings Imagine to me in my head xx

Racing and Riding Along

I went to see some camel races in our very own car caravan convoy. The camels run around a sandy track with a remote-controlled robot strapped onto their humped backs. Owners control these robots from their Land Cruisers whilst driving alongside them on a purpose built road at high speeds hooting and tooting. We chose to chase camels by driving sensibly on the other spectator safe, purpose built road. It was quite bizarre.
One recent Friday morning Josh and I joined a larger group to cycle the Tour of Dukhan. The maximum distance of three laps within the compound added up to approximately 15km. I think he enjoys cycling just as much as I do. He whizzed off with his friends and I whirled around with mine.
The women's cycling Tour of Qatar finished their first stage at Dukhan beach so we obviously went to see this. Whilst we were waiting close to the finish line, helicopters buzzed overhead like gigantic dragonflies. Lizzie Armistead, a fellow West Yorkshire lass, won the whole Tour. I'm sure she will be riding in the first ever Tour de Yorkshire this May. The final stage of this three-day tour will pass through the lovely village of Cawthorne, home to the lovely folk singer, Kate Rusby. It will then whizz past the top of my much-loved street, Marsh Lane, Shepley before hurtling along into Marsden, home of my literary hero, Simon Armitage (I'm his Number One Fan but not in a Misery (1990) kind of way).
I want to go home!
The men's first stage of the Tour of Qatar brought Sir Bradley Wiggins to Dukhan, riding for Team Sky. He looked so small as I loomed manically next to him. I don't need too much encouragement to speak to 'famous' people, just a nudge in the right direction when finding myself in the right place at the right time. He was perched on the back of a support car so I sort of leaned against the back windscreen, slightly towards him for the photo shoot. He looked like a fragile lycra clad, blackbird, waiting to fly off. I wanted to pick him up and twirl him above my head like a baton or give him a fireman's lift around the car park. Anything to make him smile and inject some life into him. Maybe he too thought I was an illegal substance seller? It was probably due to the high level of female pheromones pulsing out of me, being surrounded by so many super fit men on super cool bikes. He didn't do too well throughout the Tour, but I'm not blaming myself for that.
The winds picked up again and started swirling the sand around for the primary school sports day. It resembled a desert army boot camp survival exercise - for the teachers anyway! The kids were all hyper, laughing, running, jumping, throwing, all the while inhaling dust and sand into their happy little souls. One of the senior school Qatari boys I worked with as a Teaching Assistant saw me and said ''I miss you, miss,'' filling me with that warm fuzzy feeling and reminding me of how we may all affect many people positively, without always realising it.
It was National Sports Day the next day when everyone gets a day off to do something sporty. Winds were even stronger, so many outdoor activities were cancelled. The ensuing disappointment reminded me of the start of many cricket seasons in England when at least four consecutive matches would have to be cancelled due to relentless downpours.


 '' Everywhere you go, always take the weather with you,''

                                                          Crowded House
                                                             

Out Of The Sinking

A magnetic force draws me back to him again. Will he still be there? Will he look the same? I find him, slowly but surely submerging.
Standing above him I smile down upon his sandy face.
Still, I daren't touch him.
What's that? I hear him say something. No, he's singing something, softly.

''Hey baby do, just what you're thinking,
 know I know it, yeah, if I'm sinking,
 know I feel it, I know you feel it too
 across the water, there's a boat that
 will take us away.''

Can my clown really be singing to me?
I know all things are possible if we believe in them.

I saw the boat when I cycled up to the Coastguard Station last week. The call to prayer began just as I got off my bike. Feeling peaceful, I sat down on the hard, shell-strewn sand. A warm breeze blew from the south, gently caressing the sea. It etched the surface, drawing fine black wrinkles across its aquamarine beauty.
I could easily return there, wade out into the shallows and untether the boat. I would have to get him first though. Carefully, gently pick him up, bring him home and put him on a delicates wash in the machine. I could hang him on the washing line to dry overnight. The next day we could make our way to the boat together, ''out of the sadness, far from the madness, into sunlight, out of the sinking,'' and escape.



Lyrics are taken from Out Of The Sinking by Paul Weller, off his brilliant Stanley Road (1995) album.

Kitchen Drama

It's 7.20pm. Bright UFO lights glare down from the kitchen ceiling. Susie is wearing a very large, green hoodie (hood down) and beige, baggy trousers. She is stood holding the fridge door open. Secretly, she sneaks one piece of Lindt Excellence Intense Orange Dark Chocolate (what a mouthful) into her mouth.

Suddenly, as if by magic, Little Miss Teenager appears. She is sporting a vest and some shorts, showing off her lithe, athletic frame. The bath size, towel turban on her head makes her stand taller than Susie. The confrontation begins from the other side of the fridge door.

Ellie     ''It's not surprising that you're fat and unhealthy.''

[ Oh no, here we go again, I knew it was to be continued...... ]

Susie     ''I'm not fat!''

Ellie      ''Yes, you are and you look like a drug dealer in that hoodie.''

Susie     ''How do you know what a drug dealer looks like?''

Ellie       ''I watch ci.''

At which point we both laugh out loud, our unique sounds harmonising together. I freeze frame this moment in my mind forever. The bitter-sweetness of the chocolate mingles with my saliva, momentarily melting away the misunderstandings between a mid-life crisis and a teenage dirtbag.

January Half Term Adventures 2015

The holiday began with us watching The Secret Life of Walter Mitty (2013), which I absolutely loved and want to watch again very soon. The next day we hosted a barbeque, enjoying the company of others as well as sharing food and drinks together. When most of the friends were leaving an unexpected visitor arrived and ended up staying with us for four days. The tiny mouse proved to be as elusive as Leonardo DiCaprio's character, Frank Abagnale Jr. in Catch Me If You Can (2002). UB40 should have been singing, 'Rat In Mi Kitchen,' after the Golf Open in Doha that very same night but unfortunately they were cancelled due to the death of the King of Saudi Arabia. Our Qatari flag on the Jebel flew at half-mast for three days respectfully.
I was really glad we had our very own Mr Jingles for company, (The Green Mile, 1999) and not a rat again, which we did have when we moved into this Villa last September. It had emerged from the open pipe at the back of the toilet in the en-suite bathroom. AGH! 'There's a rat in mi bathroom what am I gonna do?' I chose not to introduce myself to him, trusting the various armies of pest control and Pied Pipers of Dukhan to send him back to the sewers.
Our sweet, little mouse enjoyed his mini-break, including a manic game of hide and seek in Ellie's bedroom (where she became a total Psycho, wielding a bread knife and saying she was going to kill IT, to which I replied she had to eat IT if she did) and a piece of 'irresistibly smooth white Lindt Lindor chocolate.' Eventually, Mr Jingles was cornered, captured and let loose.
Romeo took me by surprise one day and asked me what I wanted to do. Immediately I thought 'I want to go to Antarctica for 3 months by myself'' and then said, ''Let's go and find the Richard Serra sculptures in the desert and visit the Mathaf (arab museum of modern art).'' So we did. The desert piece is called ''East-West/West-East'' and for a brief moment I could have been back in the Yorkshire Sculpture Park. The sandscape was blurring my mind and bringing back many memories of lovely arty walks and talks with friends. Dragging the kids around the gallery to see an Iranian artist's (Shirin Neshat) exhibition entitled ''Afterwards,''was not as peaceful as standing in the desert looking at four, 50 foot tall, steel monoliths.
I have scaled the dizzy heights of Ironing Mountain as courageously as Tommy Caldwell and Kevin Jorgeson did recently climbing the Dawn Wall of El Capitan in Yosemite National Park. Smoothing over the creases, ironing out my worries as my mum does every week, I did not stop until I had reached the bottom of the pile.
One morning I awoke only to presume I had been flamenco dancing in my sleep as my right arm was above my head and my left arm across my body. Despite the unknown exertion, I felt relaxed and well rested. I even had enough energy to encourage Joshua to make a clay penguin and seal for his school project.
What holiday is complete without a few desert trails to find and follow (Qatar West Coast Hash House Harriers) eating a homegrown pomegranate and a refreshing dip in the currently very cold Gulf? Brrrrrrrr!

I hope you are enjoying your own adventures. Whether they are big or small they are what make you, who YOU are.
Happy February! x