That's what they said when standing at my front door this morning. The astonishment of seeing three members of my writers' group, did not prevent me from inviting them in and we had a pleasant morning reading our manuscripts aloud. We also considered Somerset Maugham's method of describing a character and each invented one of our own.
I will note the date of our next meeting. Weather dingy. Fridge empty.
Wrote story. TMA02 requirements 2,200 words. Re - writing story using different point of view and discovering new slant.
Soggy, boggy day in Botesdale. I was up before dawn, showered, dressed, breakfasted and walking across the Common. Hoarse voiced Rooks greeted me. Yesterday it was a band of Long Tail Tits. They sound, as though they are opening cellophane wrapped parcels.
During tutorial, I am learning how to criticise other people's writing. Expecting a visit from Clare later. She cleans my flat and does the laundry. £8-50 per hour.
Caron Freeborn's tutorial was lively, attended by eightish students. The students were aged twenty to sixty five, or so - not a problem.
I went ape, (quietly) when everyone laughed at one of my stories.
First A215, Tutorial tomorrow at Cambridge, Hills Road, Sixth Form College. Lentil and Mushroom Gratin for tea.
I love the company of bugs,
Dragon flies and centipedes
But what about the slimy slug
Creator of such sticky deeds?
They slowly slide and munch upon
The lettuces you grew for luncheon.
Do not worry. While you are fuming
Through the trees a thrush is looming,
Always hungry, makes no fuss
Of swallowing the rampant thugs.
Tesco driver rang to tell me he would be twenty minutes late. An hour later he rang to say he was lost. I gave him directions and eventually he rolled up with the goods. Sorting out the cupboard, later, I found an egg box. On the lid, in black felt tip, there was a note, PLEASE RETURN. Good excuse for a walk, I thought.
The egg shop is a wooden compartment by the road. Inside, there are lots of eggs (if you are lucky) and an honesty box, for the money. Honey? There's a man with bee hives along the road, who collects the stuff in jars. Last year a cardboard box full of apples, with a Help Yourself sign, suddenly appeared at the end of a neighbour's garden. Self-sufficiency, hey? Who needs Tesco's?
Went to the local History Group. The village hall, is impressive. The guest speaker's subject, was, 'Newspapers' local newspapers and their content. He illustrated the talk with slides. The first slide, depicted, a group portrait, containing several, eighteenth century, male characters, seated at a table. They were apparently listening to, the central figure. He was, reading a newspaper aloud, to his audience. "That, kind of meeting,"said the guest speaker, "was common a couple of centuries ago, when many could not read."
What did the English, working-class, do then; labour on the local, lord's estate, when required; spin, weave, grow their own fruit and vegetables?
Tesco deliver the groceries this afternoon. Mars ice - cream on the menu. I have been working hard in the garden though. Yanking out all the tired, Summer growth and muck spreading deserves a treat.
Actually, by muck spreading, I mean emptying compost bins, (one retired, kitchen bin and the other a small tub, used for zonal pelargoniums, last year), not a tractor and trailor job!
While out walking, recently, I saw a local farmer, driving along the lane, pulling a trailer load of hay. The load was piled so high, that whisps caught in the trees and left a golden trail on the verges. He looked so young and proud, I nearly cried!
Went to the library in Diss, yesterday to learn how to upload a photo onto a website. Visited St. Mary the Virgin, church and was greeted by a lady, offering me guide books. She carried, under one arm, a wooden lance, with a duster, like a giant swiss roll, stuck on the point. Apparently there is a service of ordination there next Sunday and she was after cobwebs. I was urged to attend!
Could not resist buying, an old hardback, copy of Kate Seredy's book, The Good Master. You should have seen me, lying in bed, at ten yesterday morning, weeping, when I came to the bit about cousin Kate, bravely turning the stampeding herd of horses. Oh...and the illustrations are hauntingly beautiful, to my mind.
Story time. I am writing a fiction about marriage. BFN
Hello Haleema Satti (unusual name) and Bren P. Thanks for your messages. I am having a restful day and I hope you are too, Haleema. Are you studying with the OU?
Mine is a large family and they are all over the show! You may mean, Don Stammer's son, Andrew, Bren. He's in a pop group or thingumee Stammers, (sorry thingumee), Michael Stammers son. He's an MD. There again you could be referring to Jane Stammers, the music teacher. Timmy? He's in the USA. Quite a few more colonise the Saffron Walden area. Anyway, I hope the connection is a happy one and they haven't been quietly heaping ignominy and notoriety on our noble tag.
15th September 2012
The conflict, between my natural urge for pleasure and the equally strong urge to make hay while the sun shines, resulted in, protest. Back ache!
I have posted my TMA03 (EMA). Chapter 7 Y180, awaits.
Walked across the Common to the barley field. There was the farmer, spraying with a red-winged machine like a monstrous dragon fly. Sat on the headland, listening to the house martins, squealing and watching them wheeling around the sky, after he had gone.
The hedgrows look as though they have been tiled with green, leaves and they have numerous, big, white, blossoms shaped like trumpets. Dusk.
I love the farm shop. To get there, you tramp most of the way, across the fields, which are soft with straw just now, after the harvest. The last part of the journey, by road, was particularly inspired, as the adjacent, stream had burst its banks and was cascading into Candle Street. So you had to paddle at the cross roads.
At the farm there were, raspberries, blackberries and vermillion, coloured tomatoes, for sale but I wanted spinach.
"I'll get you some from the field," said the shop-keeper and returned a few moments later, with a freshly picked bundle of big, bright green leaves, for ninety pence.
The most remarkable sight, on the journey home, besides the golden stubble fields and the huge sky was in the hedge; a cluster of scarlet, headed, Lords and Ladies. Took the middle way across the common, to avoid bothering the rabbits. It's emptiness, made me wish I was, fourteenth century, Flossie, with a flock of something.
Posted a short story,titled, 'The Gritstone Sheep' to Woman's Weekly this morning. Yesterday I sent one to Woman's Weekly Fiction Special.
Found an Absentia advert, online. Absentia, is a company that arranges, home - sitters for people who, want to go away but do not like leaving their houses unattended. That might be pleasant, if the location is somewhere, sub - tropical, with a swimming - pool.
Saturday, 18th August 2012
A good day for studying poetry by John Agard and Grace Nichols. They are the subject of my End of Module assignment, which I intend to post, next week after tutorial. I have learned much about planning and writing an effective essay, during this course. I recommend Y180 Making Sense of The Arts to anyone.
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