Novel plan

Amidst the panic and uncertainty surrounding the desperate cramming of knowledge into my ever-swelling brain in preparation for my exams, which are now upon me, I have been harboring a stealthy desire to revisit my novel.

Yes, my novel. It's hardly the great British novel, but I will continue to pursue the dream of Man Bookers and other such false idols. I wrote it two years ago whilst either unemployed (voluntarily) or semi-employed (again, voluntarily). It poured out of me and I finished it in 7 weeks. I had just read a fabulous 'chicklit' novel that had me in tears of hysterical stomach-cramping laughter, page after page. I had such a good time reading it, I wanted to write one too. So I did.

This is the part where I gloss over the fact that I sent it out to 3 literary agents and had it returned. 3 times. I've kept the rejection letters to frame, just in case (ref Man Booker dream).

So in between revision, meals and the rest of my life, I sneak in a re-read and make some edits: chunks here, words there. It's heady.

Here's to idolatry.

NY, NY

Blues and greys.

My learned friend

I sat in the back row of a hearing at an employment tribunal yesterday, trying to appear inconspicuous. Before you ask, observe was all I was there to do. In a room the size of my lounge it wasn't that easy to blend in unnoticed. Every nostril flare and eyebrow flicker of each of the 3 wise men up front was clearly visible.

The thing that I thoroughly enjoyed was the legal eagle representatives who take themselves ever so seriously.

Definition: legal eagle noun: 1. successful, young, bright, dynamic lawyer

I have assumed they are all of those things.

It's fabulous the way they call each other 'my learned friend', and almost always enveloped in a tone of implicit derision and suppressed wit - very worthy of a TV drama.

"It appears to me that my learned friend is attempting trial by ambush."

Priceless.

The man for the job

There is something indescribably attractive about a man who is good at his job. Although indescribably doesn't sound like a proper word, I assure you that it is.

It's the kind of quality that, if removed, that same man would be rendered nondescript. That's not to say that this can be applied indiscriminately to all men who score well on their performance evaluations.

There does seems to be something else I have yet to define, which transforms someone from being nondescript to sexy, if - and this is the key - if the undefined something and the job expertise are present at the same time. At least in my experience. It sounds complicated but it's not really. In practice.

Having declared that theory, I actually am not in the habit of assessing men in this way, however sometimes it does occur to me in a blinding flash.

Association

I love song lyrics.

Sometimes I can listen to a song at least 20 times and it will be no more than an enjoyable tune to which I can mime the words.

Then one day, like today, I'll be sitting on the train home, listening on my Sony Discman – no, I don't have an iPod, not in any colour, no iPod – and suddenly the words will take on a particular meaning. Whatever is on my mind will dictate which words become instantly significant to me at any given time.

So what is it that made me feel sad and guilty, though I have not done anything (in particular) to arouse either emotion directly? Whatever is on my mind, probably shouldn't be. Or maybe I should address it.

Interview dilemma

Today I interviewed someone for a position and he mentioned that he had a blog. Then, surprisingly, he offered to give me the address. That's a first, but I was instantly curious. It's a good technique, to offer up something that could give an impression either way and not knowing which. Although I probably wouldn't have pursued it had I not enjoyed the interview. I was intrigued!

I had a look. Didn't know what to expect: something fun and creative definitely...what I did not expect to see was a posting by him about the interview, and a greeting, "Hello Alannah." I giggled. So, "Hello Peter!"

Oporto, Portugal

Povoa de Varzim is an old fishing village on the Costa Verde in northern Portugal. It's been developed into a beach resort. Awesome weather, but the sand is a bit gritty under the toes.

Porto on the River Douro, taken from the Vila Nova de Gaia side where the port lodges are situated.

Exams: taking or writing?

Yesterday a colleague of mine laughed out loud when I mentioned that I was to write exams at the end of the month.

"Write an exam!" he scoffed. " You don't say 'write an exam', you say 'take an exam'."
"Huh?"
"You write the answers, sure, but you take the exam."

Really? Unless this is absolutely the only correct way to say it, I'm not sure I care.