annanotbob's Diaryland Diary ----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- Shakin' like a leaf on a tree I've started putting lines from songs as descriptors, largely because I couldn't bear to put 'mainly moaning' again. They just pop into my head and I bung 'em down, whether I like them or not. Tonight's is perkier than it seems, being from lovely Norma Waterson: I'm not going to the New Forest with my sister. I realised that as soon as I read the first comment that suggested a way of doing so and coping with it. NOOOOO! was all I could think, so I'm not going. I haven't got round to telling her yet, but I'm on my knees here and the last thing I need is being cooped up with a toxic family member and then getting into an intense social number. Myabe I'll see Kukas another time, maybe I won't. I feel much better for deciding this. My SIL spent most of the day here and we mended a lot of things between me and her and my brother. My brother always assumes that my sister and I are close and he's excluded, but he's not - I was thinking he didn't want to see me. Families - fucking hell, but Sharyn, the SIL, is a good woman and we're all straight now. So it's been a pretty intense family day, one way and another. Tomorrow I have my 'work-focused interview' at the jobcentre. New rules - anyone claiming invalidity benefit has to have one of these, because a clerk at the DHS is clearly better qualified than a doctor to judge who's fit for work and who isn't. I've been told not to worry about it - that the interviewers are mortified at having to harass the sick and try to make it as easy as possible, but it still feels horrid from here. I haven't even mentioned the crime writers' symposium I went to the other night. There were four writers on the panel, Simon Brett and Peter Livesey, who both write fairly lightweight Agatha Christie style tales, but are quite good speakers, especially Brett. Sue Walker is a Scottish author I haven't read, whose books sound interesting, but for me the star of the show was Peter James. He's only written a few crime novels, but they are really top stuff. They're set in this area, where he grew up, and the first one Dead Simple climaxes with a brilliant car chase along the A27 and into the (tiny) airport not half a mile from my old house. Lying in bed there, reading it, as they got nearer and nearer was so frightening, it was fantastic. His police work out of the real Brighton cop shop, the one I've had to collect Renny from in the middle of the night more than once, and as there's no canteen there, they buy their sandwiches in the very Asda where Ren and Sara now work. I like this. He was kind of cool too, for an old geezer, Peter James. I couldn't think of a single question to ask about any aspect of his novels or about crime fiction, but I did speak to him in the interval and tell him how scared I'd been as the baddies came nearer and nearer to my house, which caused what looked like a genuine laugh. Then I scarpered quick, before I embarassed myself. I now have firefox installed on my pc, so pictures will return as soon as I can summon up the nerve to look and see how complicated or not it is. Grateful for: Kind comments from kind people - thanks darlings; a great day with Sharyn; the big bunches of flowers she brought, including some fabulous pink peonies; my lovely Ugg Boots - nearly June and I'm wearing them again; being tired and ready for bed sweet dreams xxx |10:06 p.m. - 29/05/2008 ----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- |
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