Happiness without you...

I want to write this because, a brilliant thing happened and again, you are not here for me to tell you about it.

It's Saturday, I would probably have called you already, talked about how I don't have a hangover and I really, really deserve to have one, and you would just tell me to be careful -  you would be concerned about my vulnerability to embarrassment more than muggers and rapists. But I'm fine, Mom. Honestly, I did a gig on Thursday where I went on stage after an act who had, beyond his own credulity, somehow managed to get the audience to chant, "Rape, rape, we want rape!" And they found me "adorable". I am beyond all doubt, a survivor as Beyoncé would say.

But last night I did a gig for the Arts Lab, and I made people laugh, even though I started talking about dad's accident on stage and forgot to tell jokes for a bit. And then Robin Ince was talking about his mom, and his passion for art and there was so much I wanted to be able to tell you about. If you were there I'd have nudged you at various points. And I wanted to talk to Robin as well, who lost his mom a couple of years ago and talked about it in his show, about the grief - all this well of utter sadness and despair you left me with. How it was there on my wedding day. How it has been there for every book launch, every party, every time one of my friends hugged me and said they were proud of me. The ridiculousness of the grief... how, you think it is going to get smaller, but it bloody well doesn't, it just stays the same stupid size. And happiness. That speck of light in the big black pit. I knew I was happy. I just couldn't feel it. Not for ages.

Anyway, I didn't mention it to Robin, but I wanted to tell you about it. I have friends who are still in the pit, and they can't even see the speck. No one goes through this uniquely, but we all do.

I'm feeling guilty these days because I can say I'm happy. We have barely anything: a van that could do with fixing; a car with no nose; a washing machine that will boil and/or dampen clothes indefinitely; very dodgy windows. But I'm happy... There have been points in my life when I should have been happy but I wasn't. There was no happy without you. There is happy with OH now. He has been in his own pit for ages and ages and ages... but I think he's working towards happy too. We are beyond content.

Robin was talking about the Lucifer statue in Birmingham art gallery and sensory art exhibitions. I won't mention the Lucifer story I told him, because you know it anyway and he might use it. But I did want to apologise for constantly dangling the carrot cake of a nice sit down and cup of tea under your nose for keep dragging you round art galleries. Remember the Fluid exhibition when Wolverhampton re-opened? We'd only just been to the Dudley gallery wartime memories exhibition which was all 'lift this flap'/'touch this'/'sniff this' so I think that was the sort of thing you were expecting.  I didn't tell you this was an exhibition about body fluids  - not so cute. And you and babies and dolls! So when the first installation was a cradle you made a beeline for it and I had to tell you, "Stop, Mom! It's made of vials of sperm!!!"

That and the piss flowers. I'll never forget your face.

Were you listening at your funeral when the reader said "Kath loved to paint. If you've got one of her pictures, treasure it, because there'll never be another." There wasn't a bloody first one, was there, Mom? What the flip had dad told him...?

Oh, she loves to doodle on the newspapers  = Georgia O'Keefe.

And then when they started to move you before I'd done the eulogy... oh, I'd have loved to have seen your face, you'd have been so mad we'd have laughed. Why is it the best people are the ones in the boxes?

I went to the Holly Bush a couple of weeks ago with Bec. You are now not the only member of the family to have been given a banana in that establishment, as Al Grant needed to dispose of the fruit for a joke and gave his to my sis. I remember you haranguing Paul Savage for his banana you'd seen him use on stage in a trick. I now can't see Paul without thinking of you shrieking, "Where's the banana?" at him. He finally gave you the  - now much bruised - banana, and you wouldn't accept it because the one you'd seen him destroy had been pristine. You absolutely refused to believe it was the same one and told him he was keeping the best banana for himself - which he would have been much entitled to as it was his banana. Somebody was hungry! I think we had to go and get you a curry after that. Too much lager!

I remember you being so proud of telling people I'm an editor. I wanted you to also be proud to tell people I'm a comic, but I think me knowing Paul Savage was enough for you.

I'm sorry we can't meet anymore for tea and cake or go for a mooch round M&S or the market. I'm sorry I can't hug your bony body. My god, you were 100% shins. I'm sorry we can't talk about your love for Ed Norton, or Princess Diana, or Jonathan Rhys Meyers from the Tudors, or The X-Factor which I wasn't watching anyway. I know there's a chair thing now and you'd probably hate it as much as I hate the whole show. I'm sorry I'm... happy. It has been a long time, and I don't know when it lifted, but it did a bit. It doesn't mean I'm not crying as I type or that my love for you isn't still bigger than the entire planet. And that happiness would be 500% more intense if you were here and that's probably a bit too much happy for anyone. But happiness... happened.

And that's what I'd tell them, the people still living in raw grief. Nearly six years it has taken for me... but I think I'm going to be okay. And so will they be.

Can You Dig it?

I decided to spend some time on the allotment today. The lower half is running away from me and very grassy. I've put some tarpaulin down and had a go at digging a square foot where it's a bit tough. The advice I got from my neighbour with the immaculate-plot 2 down is just keep doing that, and it will soon be clear, so I'm not going to beat myself up about it any more than I clearly have done already - my goodness, I ache!

The potato beds cleared easy enough, and I now have two great bags of spuds to store. And these...

Beans, aubergines, squash, tomatoes, onions, alien cucumber, slug-eaten courgette

Raspberries - still!

Look at my pumpkin now!

I abandoned the plot in a brief shower and popped to the library to grab a Chris Brookmyre, so I can read ahead of meeting him at a convention in a couple of weeks. By the time I got back to the plot, the sun was beating down and the crickets were singing. That's what it's been like all day!

I've had a long bath, but I'm still very, very stiff and achy from digging, and I got a bit dizzy this afternoon again, which might be over-exertion. Also, I have accidentally cut a chunk out of my little finger near the nail - again, probably lacking coordination due to over-exertion. I've tried not to do too much else and have been in a onesie for hours.

But it did fell good to make dinner out of things I'd grown myself - sausage and mash for mains with some of my potatoes and beans, and rhubarb crumble for dessert. With custard, of course, I'm not a monster! Plenty crumble left for tomorrow's lunch.

Big week this week for me... got a couple of gigs to prep for and a writing group. Also, I think I promised just to help clean a motorbike. Sucker!

If We Took a Holiday...

It feels absolutely crazy, but I've managed to book myself a holiday... it's not for another month or so, but work has been so busy it was difficult trying to find time.

Only one question now: is this going to be a vacation or a staycation?


I think that question is going to be left spinning for a bit, but I tell you one thing that's not spinning quite so much... my head! Doc took a guess (erm, Vertigo?), and I have meds that seem to be working. Apart from first thing this morning when I was a bit spinny, but then I naughty, naughty had a naughty cider last night, which I'm not supposed to. And thus, I think it stopped working. But only for a bit. Plus points, I feel as light as a lemon mousse, though my eyelids are as heavy as an actual moose moose. Typing is a struggle... so I'm not going to do much. But I do feel better. Yay for better!

What a lovely day I've had today too. I did a lunchtime gig at Northampton Soup.


What is Northampton Soup? It is a great way to raise money for local projects.
This is an event run by volunteers, whereby people can come along, pay £5 for lovely vegan soup and a vote, and hear pitches from groups who are pitting for the pot of funds. Pitches are for 4 minutes and then pitchers take 4 questions from the audience who then have to vote for their favourite pitch. There can be for charities, community projects, social enterprise, art groups... anything community minded that will be of benefit to the town. Today's pitches were from charities to help new mums in poverty, packs for women women with breast cancer, transport for the local hunt sabotage group, and a higher esteem fitness class to help women.

I see the page has put up some great photos from today. Go have a look, see how fun it is!

That's me timing one of the pitches. These were the winners, Breast Friends. Such good pitches today. There was lots of love and energy in the room. 

I do the MCing and sometimes do a bit of poetry.

And then afterwards I spent time with my nephews in the chaos that is Wacky Warehouse. Noisy but fun. 

Adventures of the Worst Biker Chick

I've not been updating much lately due to extreme busyness and not feeling great - a mix of light headedness and spinning rooms, which has given way to post-party agues and aches that seem to have lasted a week... mind, I've got lots of new classes on, which sap energy and my Fitbit has been going crazy.

But I thought I'd share some of the things I've been up to, which naturally I have broached in my Frugal Wench manner.

First up, I got invited to the wedding of the century - beautiful friends, getting married in a beautiful place, and having their party in their beautiful back garden. I basically loaded these photos before last Saturday's do, so I shall take you up to the hen night. Both hen and wedding were themed Great Gatsby/glamorous 20s.

The major part of our prep was making sure OH could come. To something! Shifts were re-arranged, but in the end he couldn't be our hag at the hen do, and due to working so much overtime and needing to get his glasses fixed at *some* point, OH could only make the wedding party. So spending money on his outfit was not a waste of time (not cheap, but good stuff for blokes isn't, and after creating a mood board for him of different looks, I'm satisfied we only spent a fraction on a Joe Brown blazer than we would have had to recreating the look from Brooks Brothers).

As for me, I had a 30s-style dress for the wedding, and thought, you know, that's close enough, and comfortable enough to wear all day too. But for the hen do, I wanted to release my inner flapper.

I didn't want to spend any money though.... none whatsoever. So I started with a dress I already had, this one I got from Mind at Christmas for £8, which had required me wearing with safety pins to get it to fit.

I unpicked most of my seams, and settled down for a couple of evenings sewing with some inspirational telly.

The House of Idiot... I mean, Elliott. It's all on YouTube in some ridiculous theatre frame, but it's still good!

Drop-waists were kind of hinted at  with baggier tops until about 1924 when everything went South. So, I began the effect by inserting a panel using this gold material from my scrap box. I unpicked some of the under stitching that had held the ruching in place when the top was across the breasts to make it look more down-directional, like a lovely pair of curtains.

I chopped and re-attached the hem, giving it a shorter flare, and then hacked at the overlying chiffon, tying it in drapes about the hips. I stitched it in place, but could have done this better as it tore and I had to re-tie in the night -  but it looked right!

A black devoré scarf, a homemade headband made of green ribbon and elastic from my scrap box and some recycled wedding feathers pinned in place, et voila! Dame Maggie would like some Malbec, please!

I mean, it really is a terrible sewing job, but I think I've got the bug you know!

And I just thought I'd share some photos from my birthday weekend when I went on a little trip to Fawsley Hall. As we still don't really have a working 4-wheeler, we went on 2 wheels instead. 

And I've no idea why, when I was fine before, but I felt like I was about to get killed the whole time when I had enjoyed it so much before. I seriously wanted to get the bus from Daventry. It made me not want to go visit the little church, and I'd been looking forward to going to see that. I was going to walk around it doing impressions of Danny Dyer. Denied! 

At least there were no complaints from OH about my skills as a pillion. In fact, I was so good he forgot I was there. And that may have been why I fell off.

Yes, I fell off.

Okay, it was when we had stopped at a give way in the dead of the countryside, and there was no traffic about or anything, but I looked up at the bike from the tarmac and could see my glove still in the strap, and OH MY GOD CAN YOU JUST IMAGINE IF WE'D ACTUALLY BEEN MOVING! I happen to like my hands with skin on them, so that is not good.

And it didn't help, OH thought he'd drop me at my brother's house for a restorative cuppa, and OH MY GOD, WHERE IS YOUR HEAD? THEY ARE IN SPAIN ON HOLIDAY! I JUST SHOWED THE PHOTOS TO YOU!!

Legs. Of. Jelly.

Anyway, I need better gloves.

Only yesterday, I saw a bike going along in urban traffic and the pillion was holding on one handed, checking their phone with the other. I'm assuming Facebook as I just saw the general blue and pictures. Sheesh!