Eeek, nearly missed the blog again yesterday.  Must get more disciplined, particularly as I have signed up to #juneathon, where I will exercise and blog every day.  Amazing what a bit of peer pressure will do...

Yesterday, I spent in helping someone else, cursing cars and negotiating.  All in all, an odd day. All had a common theme though: when something is ours, we get so into the detail and become blinkered.  When it is someone else's thing (possession, idea, view) we can look at it clearly and without prejudice and get to a better decision.

Organising someone else’s life, it’s so easy to sort the wheat from the chaff.  Seeking same detachment in my own life, to filter treasured detritus junk.

I went back to work yesterday, for the first time in 6 months.  Partly economic, partly to keep my brain from turning to mush.  First consequence?  I missed the blog yesterday, not a good start.  I need to find a way to get mobile, which would be a leap forward for me as, technologically, I am only just into the 21st century (my PC was bought in 2003).  The challenge will be making sure I do not let the writing slip.  The aim is still to get 2 collections of short stories published by the end of June.

After 11 years in the same company, it is also interesting to walk into somewhere where you know no-one, particularly when people have expectations of you.

Twenty faces looking back, expecting wisdom.  She’d been hired to change their world.  She stretched her mouth into the shape of a smile and began speaking.

When there is so much gloom in the world, it is best to take pleasure in simple things.  So, most of the glorious weekend was spent in the garden.  If there is more to life than sunshine, picnics and taking time to read, then I am not sure I need it.  Reinforced when the electricity went off from approx 9.15 to 3pm on Sunday.  However, a new week starts here and reality is intruding.

The weekend had been a haven of peace, the build-up of pressure unfelt in the background.  Now there was one more day before the storm broke.

Yesterday was the wonderful day, previously predicted for Wednesday.  Lots of affirmations of things I have been trying for ages.  And the sun shone.  What more could you want?  This story is nothing to do with any of that, it was just an idea that sprung from a conversation heard on the train about holidays.

She wanted to go to India.  He committed their savings to a timeshare on the Costa Brava.  She eloped with the handyman at the apartment block.

I am a sucker for signing myself up for things.  That means obligations.

A morning spent doing something she did not want to do, but had no choice.  The afternoon doing things she needed to do.  An evening respite.

Another glorious day in the sunshine.  The writing goes in fits and starts, but generally making progress.  I am happy to be on my own, but occasionally it is good to meet up with others.

Three people sitting in a garden café, sharing stories, coffee, sunshine.  An awkward introduction broke the unity: she could only remember one of the two names.

Yesterday, it was six months since I was made redundant.  I was never worried that I would get bored because I had a lot of plans that I had been meaning to do for some time.  What have I found?  That my mind now goes off in different directions - rather than the logical, problem-solving aspects, I find myself absurdly interested in the politics of my husband's job ie about the people as that is perhaps the one thing that I miss about not being at work.  But, the upside is that my mind is free to roam more creatively and stories come more easily. 

Since the redundancy, she had dreamt more.  The mind, freed from the rigid framework of nine-to-five went down peculiar pathways – brain churning.  Mind-yoghurt commented her husband.

We are truly a melting pot, and to me, it seems there is much more that is similar across races and cultures than separates us.  All cultures celebrate by getting together and eating, for example.  I was watching behaviour in an unfamiliar town yesterday and thought, we are all the same...

An unfamiliar High Street, where the fish and chip shop was closed at lunchtime.  Squalling from ubiquitous pushchairs answered by sharp words from different coloured lips.

The wind-break could only have been invented in England.  Faced with another cold, breezy weekend, people say 'well it is May, so we shall go out'.

The weekend was a pall of grey, stifling enthusiasm.  Events-goers shivered in the bitter breeze, consoling themselves with the absence of rain.  She stayed home, writing.

Technology - the facilitator and frustrator of modern life.  I bought my husband a new PC and we have been struggling for the last two weeks (including most of the bank holiday weekend) to transfer stuff successfully.  Because it also involves a new version of Windows, we have now found that some things simply will no longer work and I have found that my beloved PC (running XP, bought in 2003) will cease to be supported in approx 700 days.  It worries me that we are losing a lot of information just because we will no longer have the ability to read it.

The external hard drive provided backup. but no longer worked with the new software.  She realised nothing is permanent, however hard we try to keep hold.

It is now impossible to escape the looming Olympics.  The torch has now arrived in UK and will be 'arriving in your town at 10.53' or some other ludicrously precise time.  I confess to being a tad cynical about all of this.  The concept of all of the nations competing together and putting sport above politics etc is an excellent one, but where did we lose touch with the amateur ideals behind the Games?  How did football and tennis get to be Olympic sports?  I'm afraid the focus on hard cash distracts focus from the athletic achievements of the Olympians and Paralympians. 

What price an ancient hope, rekindled now by sunlight, the eternal flame of struggle and achievement?  Minimum fifty million quid, and that’s only third tier sponsorship.

The news is dominated by gloom, international finance and more gloom.  In the midst of this, there is a wonderful story of the controversy over whether Oxford undergraduates should be allowed to wear pyjamas at breakfast.  In times of unrelenting dismalness, we need the ridiculous.

The radio asked the banker “When can you say to the world ‘this is the final figure’?”  Imagine everything you fear, together – are there enough zeros?

I was in London yesterday and security is stepping up in the countdown to the Olympics.  The sight of guns on the street still scares me: I'm not sure whether it is the casual way they are held, more like musical instruments, or the size of them or just the principle that they are there.  They make you feel guilty, even if you haven't done anything.

They were stubbornly persistent in the eyes’ corners.  Hi-vis contrasts of black guns against the yellow vests.  She sensed the barrels sniffing fear as she passed.

Yesterday, I felt fifteen again.  I am not working at the moment, so I can write.  This is my chance, my opportunity to see whether I can make it as an author.  So why am I now acting like a teenager in the run-up to exams and finding excuses to not sit down and write.  So, the washing is up to date and everything is looking very tidy, but the writing is going more slowly than I hoped.  Must try harder...

The story started well, but like the certainty in the main character’s mind, it slowly unravelled.  Things ground to a halt, in a morass of trivia.

I said it was going to be a good day yesterday and it was.  But, I think the reason it was a good day was because I went and made it so.  The moral: you make your own luck.

A piece of news I heard yesterday that made me smile (grimace) was the news that some announcements on trains are going to be done by a well-known comic actor.  As someone who has recently escaped from commuting, I can't think of anything worse.  Something that is hilarious when you hear it once, funny twice, will cause you to scream if you hear it every day, multiple times, twice (there and back).  Please.  Just don't.

The train had been stuck for an hour.  A cheery comic gave announcements professing ignorance of the cause.  She sharpened her umbrella’s point on the luggage-rack.

I woke up this morning with a real conviction that today is going to be a good day.  Maybe it was the blue sky (now grey), maybe it was the thought I had lost weight (put on 2 pounds) but it won't go.  Today is going to be a good day if I have to shake it by the neck.

Perhaps it is the fact that the world seems to be going mad at the moment.  There is nothing like the ridiculous to make small problems smaller.

A dancing dog won a talent show.  Cat in a bin stirs nation.  A penguin polls more votes than a human.  Next, shrimp for PM.  Ah.

Why do great women get together, and then stay with horrible men?  There is an intelligent, reasonably successful woman of my aquaintance, who earns her own money and uses it to support a non-working bully of a man, who is neurotic, delusional and downright rude. 

“I don’t know why she puts up with him.  He’s so horrid to her.” “Yeah, he always talks down to her.” “What’s he got on her?”

I go to my local library at least weekly.  What a change from the dusty place when I was a kid.  There are bits where people can chat and laugh, kids are encouraged to touch books and people are relaxed about drinks and phones.  As a result, it always seems to be full, particularly of the young and the old. 

We need to keep libraries open, they provide a significant community service.  Even if you are 'hanging around' in the library, it is better than just a street corner or similar, because when you are there, you have the potential for access to knowledge and there is nothing more important than that.

He was always in the library, wheezing coughs decorating the local paper in the morning and car magazines in the afternoon.  The opposite seat stayed empty.

Walking into town yesterday, I was surprised to see a huge queue of teenagers in the square.  They were waiting patiently for something, but I couldn't see what, until I saw a tiny tent and a van, both marked 'X factor'.  'Nuff said.

The jagged line straggled twice around the square.  The young and their young, in prams and pushchairs.  All seeing an infinite future under a logoed gazebo.

I don't have any kids, so I can speak with the absolute confidence of someone who knows nothing about it.  The first part of this story came from an exchange overheard in town yesterday.  The conclusion came from my interpretation of the kid's expression.  It was over in a second, but I can't help wondering where that child is going to end up.

“Mum, I want…” “Stop, just shut up.  You want everything and I’m sick of your whining you ungrateful little tosser.” “But I only wanted a cuddle?”

I had to go to London yesterday.  This used to be a daily commute, where you put on a hard carapace and pretend no-one else existed.  Going in during the day, there is a greater variety of people and I found myself watching my fellow travellers.

The London train was crowded.  The man opposite couldn’t stop fidgeting, pale face above unknotted tie, tapping stress-songs on the armrest.  Before we stopped, he ran.

For my husband, it is back to work today after the bank holiday.  We didn't do much with the weekend because, as per usual for an English bank holiday, it was wet, gusty, cold, with little hints of blue to show what might have been.

The event was rained off.  Not by the looming clouds, which threatened but didn’t open, but by the memories of previous storms, clinging to the clay.

On Friday, our local newspaper had a story plus pictures of people suffering floods in their new flats.  This was the third time that the site had been waterlogged since they moved in.  Their address?  Waterside Lane.

“They really sold this place on the river views – ‘lovely aspect over the water'.  Paid extra for it.  They didn’t mention we would get floods though.”

It is amazing how a quiet drink on a Saturday night can be transformed. 

Baying at the moon, primal, visceral, urgent, howls rose and fell as the white globe moved across the sky.  I had forgotten the football was on.

Since I have been at home most of the day after leaving work, I am amazed by how many phone calls I get like this:

“Good morning Mrs Clare.  I’m an advanced computer technician, calling to fix the problem with your computer.” “But there isn’t a problem.” “We fix it anyway.”

The nights are drawing out, but the ongoing rain and murk is making it darker than it should be.  This is a hark back to an old childhood fear of the dark.

This darkness is more than absence of sight: it’s solid enough to stifle sounds and suppress smells.  So how do I know something is watching me?

I am glad to say that this story is not all true.  Half of it is - I did spend all yesterday (and most of the previous day) cooking.  Fortunately, he liked it. 

A special night, so she spent the day cooking.  Chopping, stirring, whisking then a ton of washing-up.  He sat behind the newspaper, fork waving vaguely platewards.

Have you ever been somewhere where the conversation stops immediately you enter?  That happened to me yesterday and inspired this story.

The shop-keepers stopped dissecting their clientele on my entry.  I should do something surprising, radical, so they’ll talk about me.  Then, maybe, it’ll prove I exist.