New to this blogging lark, I hope an account of a whole week in one post is acceptable. 1st September doesn’t just bring a new month, but a host of new beginnings. Now is the time the academics will return to work so my new role at the Uni can hopefully start in earnest, as opposed to the hit-and-miss vacuum of its first few weeks. The new school year will see the roads busier for the morning commute, so time to factor in a prompt departure. First, though, I have the luxury of my Mondays and Tuesdays to myself, and Monday sees me out in the garden tidying and cutting back ready for the new season. Aside from the horticultural improvements, the spin-offs are many: a chance to appreciate what I have, get some much-needed physical exercise and feel closer to nature’s wealth of sounds, smells and textures. How many more chances will there be this year to enjoy the sunshine and fresh air? Carpe diem, and all that.
Future Mondays and Tuesdays will need to have an element of discipline and routine, whatever the weather, as next week I launch myself into SPEED Plus, the business start-up programme which I hope will turn my writing habit into a gainful freelance activity, even if it doesn’t propel me into fame and fortune. Despite frequent moments of self-doubt it’s an exciting prospect, knowing that I’ve chosen this for myself (and they’ve chosen me, let’s not forget) in contrast to the lack of real options offered by the restructure in the formal workplace.
Future Mondays and Tuesdays will need to have an element of discipline and routine, whatever the weather, as next week I launch myself into SPEED Plus, the business start-up programme which I hope will turn my writing habit into a gainful freelance activity, even if it doesn’t propel me into fame and fortune. Despite frequent moments of self-doubt it’s an exciting prospect, knowing that I’ve chosen this for myself (and they’ve chosen me, let’s not forget) in contrast to the lack of real options offered by the restructure in the formal workplace.
Tuesday has its own built-in writing fix already, in the edifying and entertaining company of fellow scribblers at the Coachhouse. Today’s session is a workshop on humour writing. A general discussion exploring who or what tickles each of us is designed to get our creative juices flowing, but when the inevitable happens and we’re set a task by presenter Jane, the prevarication and procrastination are enough for her to pen her own comical poem ... observations on the making of coffee, the careful peeling and consumption of satsumas, the search for a functioning pen (at a writers’ group?!), the pleading inability to compose in anything other than complete silence. Basically the pussy-footing around the matter in hand. Jane’s masterstroke captures our essence to perfection but it’s saved for delivery until we’ve all had a chance to offer our own. And despite the protestations that we couldn’t do it, safe to say we’ve cracked it and cracked each other up in the telling. Note to self: if you think you can’t write something useful in half an hour, think again! And if nothing else, don’t spend so much time reading the online plethora of other people’s hints and tips about how to get on with it that it becomes a self-fulfilling prophecy that you’re never going to get on with it. Just get on with it!
Wednesday, and back to the ‘real’ workplace, although I notice the permanent desk hasn’t yet materialised, pending office reorganisation. Maybe I’ll feel more at home when I can unpack properly. Back to a welcome routine, though, as the Uni Choir resumes after a month’s break. What a lovely way to get away from (whichever) desk for an hour in the middle of the day. I’ll have to skip it during October and November when Wednesday afternoon SPEED sessions kick in, but for now I’m back.
Thursday ... an evening out after a day at work may yet prove an unsustainable new routine, but I’m taking my chances with another choir, more local than my previous Monday one. Arrive home hoarse but happy.
Friday, and my new office colleagues are looking forward to the weekend. A meeting brings greater focus and direction, and I willingly succumb to repetitive strain injury, knowing the damage the computer mouse is inflecting on my shoulder is at least – at last – a sign that we’re underway.
Saturday, my youngest is on his way back for his final year at university. Could somebody please tell me where that time went? He never entirely unpacked over the summer, just sort of picked his way through the clutter, and now that clear space is revealed in his bedroom I have a brainwave about capitalising on this temporarily vacant territory. No, not lodging a few Albanian migrants but claiming a personal domain for all this writing business. A quick message to check he doesn’t mind (‘Go for it’), and I’m working on kitting out the space for maximum productivity, including some brighter curtains. To be honest, spacemen on a glow-in-the-dark night sky were a bit past it for a 20-year-old anyway.
Thursday ... an evening out after a day at work may yet prove an unsustainable new routine, but I’m taking my chances with another choir, more local than my previous Monday one. Arrive home hoarse but happy.
Friday, and my new office colleagues are looking forward to the weekend. A meeting brings greater focus and direction, and I willingly succumb to repetitive strain injury, knowing the damage the computer mouse is inflecting on my shoulder is at least – at last – a sign that we’re underway.
Saturday, my youngest is on his way back for his final year at university. Could somebody please tell me where that time went? He never entirely unpacked over the summer, just sort of picked his way through the clutter, and now that clear space is revealed in his bedroom I have a brainwave about capitalising on this temporarily vacant territory. No, not lodging a few Albanian migrants but claiming a personal domain for all this writing business. A quick message to check he doesn’t mind (‘Go for it’), and I’m working on kitting out the space for maximum productivity, including some brighter curtains. To be honest, spacemen on a glow-in-the-dark night sky were a bit past it for a 20-year-old anyway.
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Sunday is such a glorious day that cooking the roast might as well wait until tomorrow; we want to get out and about. We walk up the hill, take several country tracks though England’s green and pleasant land, and arrive at the Cat Inn in Enville before it’s even open. The beef dinner is worth waiting for, not to mention a generous slab of chocolate fudge cake ... well, we still have a lengthy hike ahead of us, enough to walk off at least a few of the calories. Forging a circular route, we head home via the pastoral setting of the Sheepwalks and a busy Kinver Edge, taking a pit stop at the historic Rock Houses. At the National Trust Tea Room we’re ready for a cuppa and, appropriately, a rock cake.
