some real writing

I have been depriving you of fresh postings and I apologise but, as the title above suggests, I have been doing some real writing.

Staring deep into the eyes of N's favourite toy, Derek (see earlier posting and my profile photograph), I had a flash of inspiration. Using him as my muse, I have begun pouring out doggerel fiction. In rhyming couplets (and occasionally triplets and even one special quadruplet), I am telling the story of his creation and the heroic acts that preceded his passing into N's care.

It's heady stuff and should probably be read sitting down - not that it will be appearing on this blog any time soon. In the meantime, the work is crying out for illustration. Perhaps the artist could be you, dear reader. To apply for the job, please submit a (colour) picture showing Derek swinging by his tail from a chandelier.

jet-lag joy

Two in the morning, a room bathed in light pollution gurgling through the uncurtained window from the flood-lit car park of the block next door, I stride in, fully awake and ready. Face paper-white in the glow of the laptop screen, I begin to type.

I admit it - in the small hours of Tuesday I got out of bed and wrote some hideous sentences. I am now a jet-lag author.

It seems so good, the words of a genius rattling around in your head, desperate to get out and be recorded before they fade and are only an ungraspable wraith in the morning, gradually drowned out by the daylight and the moans of "why didn't I write it down?" which you finally realise are coming from your own mouth. But this is nothing compared to the other side of the coin - the horror of discovering that you did write them down and, boy oh boy, is it rubbish. Not to be read again until the middle of another flummoxed sleep-deprived night.

I'll probably do it again, though. It was a whole lot of fun at the time and better than lying in bed wondering which mammal to count next. Anyway, the stuff I wrote (and yes, stuff is the appropriate term) might be salvageable - I'll look it over next time I've just flown across a few timezones.

Why should all good things come to an end? Or, to put it another way, here is the latest update on Mr Grass-Head - or, perhaps, Mr Mould-Face would be a better name given that he has entered a whole new phase. Consideration for you, dear reader, restrains me from displaying a stomach-churningly striking photograph but, with his hair trimmed, lipstick reapplied and eyes redrawn, he could be a shoe-in for Santa in your local shopping mall with his fluffy white beard. Only his lack of knee to sit on could hinder his job development.

fixing the world, one step at a time

Hotel lighting - who wants to stand up and take responsibility? We arrived at the Crowne Plaza Redondo Beach nearly two weeks ago at about 9pm local time (i.e. middle of the flipping night according to my body clock). Having listened attentively to the receptionist's speech about how to gain free access to the gym next door (as if), we dragged and coaxed luggage and sleeping child along endless Shining-esque corridors, dipped the key card in the lock, flicked the light switch and, as the door closed behind us, realised that a 3-watt bulb had come on by the door, leaving the rest of the room in Stygian gloom. I appreciate the possibilities that a hotel room can offer but not everyone needs the lights set to maximum seduction - some of us need to be able to avoid crashing into furniture without resorting to night-vision goggles. It could be arranged subtly from the front desk - sultry-lighting-loving Lotharios could tip a wink at check-in while everyone else would get warm and welcoming. Anyone requesting flood-lighting could be thrown out.

As you may have realised from the above and from the absence of any updates for a while, I have been away from home and away from the inclination to write anything. But now I am back, refreshed and jet-lagged. As the title suggests, I shall be running an irregular series of advice on how minor inconveniences can be resolved to the greater good of all mankind. Coming soon - the positioning of the hand-brake on my car.

But wait, I hear you say, tell us more about your holiday in California. The beach, of course, was beautiful and here it is at sunset. There are two ways that you could know it was sunset - firstly, the chance of finding an east-facing beach in California is fairly slight (but I'm not prepared to rule it out without studying a map of the wiggly coastline and I'm not prepared to study a map of the wiggly coastline so the uncertainty will remain) and, secondly, what on earth would we be doing on a beach at sunrise?

The sun shone, the sea foamed and crashed, N built sandcastles (which inevitably collapsed almost immediately due to the extreme dryness of Californian sand), S sunbathed and I threw myself into the cool, foot-numbingly wonderful ocean.

J & A were married successfully, charmingly and heart-warmingly in a ceremony so beautiful that I might have stolen ideas from it hook, line and sinker were it not for the fact that S and I are already married - and anyway, if I say so myself, our ceremony was extremely well-constructed too.

Finally, I should add that Mr Grass-Head needs a haircut. His flowing locks are grizzled and tired - perhaps ten days roasting on an unknown south-facing windowsill has taken its toll. A trim and a reapplication of facial features are in order - until then, any picture would be too terrifying.