Thursday, February 15, 2007


You know how it is when you really hope that one act will precipitate another. The people at the bus stop who jokingly light up exclaiming "well, the bus'll definitely be along now." Going to brush your teeth because then the phone call you've been waiting for will come through just as your mouth fills with lathered up toothpaste.

In the same vein she really hoped that if she made the pastry the meat delivery man would arrive. Still wearing her (mis-matched) pyjamas, flour and butter covered hands. It had to work, didn't it?


Wednesday, February 14, 2007

A rush of humanity...for 79p

This caught my eye as I dropped off some clothes at a charity store. I can only echo the words of Jonathan Franzen in the introduction: "Read Munro! Read Munro!" Sublime.

The art of the chocolatier

After nearly being roasted alive in the library, I had to run the gauntlet of salespeople in the, very small, shopping centre. Do I want to write a will? Buy a life insurance plan? Have I had an accident? (No, but if you get any closer to my face you will). Sky? Electricity? But then I was stopped in my tracks. Thorntons.

Barking really is coming up in the world. I rang my mum to ask when it appeared. Last week came the reply. "I've been in there three times already. Only decent shop the town's got. You have to support it". Quite.

Monday, February 12, 2007

Victim Support

Emily was attacked on the tube in March last year. The assault obviously affected her but she coped reasonably well and got on with her life. She was upset when she knew the case was being closed but had soon put everything behind her.

The following February she was introduced to someone at a function by friends. By the end of the following day Emily was convinced this was the man who had attacked her. Confused and scared she did not know what to do. The following day she got up for work but spent most of the day sat on the kitchen floor crying and shaking. She was rescued by a phone call from the school's police officer who was suspicious about her absence and a comment she had made the previous day.

Emily and the police officer got the case reopened and Emily went back to work. Unfortunately, lots of people realised there was something wrong with Emily because she wasn't mixing and wasn't talking. (Two of the things she does best). Emily was restless, she couldn't concentrate and wanted to walk everywhere no matter how far because that was the only thing that made her feel better. She also felt permanently sick and was worried that she might burst into tears at any moment. The school's police officer suggested that going to talk to someone might make a difference.

With his help Emily made an appointment for Monday morning. She had her reservations due to an inbuilt squeamishness around anything vaguely classed as therapy but agreed if she didn't like it she didn't have to go again. Emily feels much better and now cannot stop laughing (hysterically).

Emily realises that what she'd needed all along was someone who she perceived to be intelligent to tell her what she was feeling was perfectly normal and would pass. She worked this out herself after feeling insulted and patronised by the person she saw. The 'session' has confirmed all her worst fears. Many counsellors are people who mean well and are trained to listen and to ask the right questions in the right order; not to think. Many also have a set idea of what a victim is and how they act. Emily was overjoyed to discover she didn't quite fit. She is the same person she has always been after all.

"A strutting, consequential little man"

I need to reread all 709 pages of this:

before Sunday when I go to see this:

Thursday, February 08, 2007

I love snow.