Instant gratification

Husband has thousands of flower pots of all shapes and sizes. Many of them were littered around the garden and have been driving me mad. So I had a clear-out this afternoon. (I was still mad about the email and needed physical work.) I also began clearing a patch behind the greenhouse so we can put a gardening table - as opposed to garden table - there.

I think it's the instant gratification of clearing that makes it my favourite bit of gardening. Planting is all well and good but you have to wait for weeks or months to see the result. Or even if anything will grow. But a nice clean empty piece of earth, wonderful.

Every time I think the raspberries must have finished they provide me with a few more. Not a lot but enough for some cake for Zac's.

And this is having a second burst of flowers bringing some welcome colour to the garden.

Also just finished watching Ludwig. Wonderful show. Highly recommended if you can get it.

oh oh

"It's okay, Moo-cow, we're just walking past. You carry on eating the grass. Nothing to see here."

She must have liked us as she rounded up her pals and followed us down into the valley. I was never nervous of cows but Daughter's anxiety - mostly about the dogs - causes me to be more circumspect. So we came back a different way.

Arrived home to find an email that made me want to punch something. I began to reply then stopped, took a deep breath, and put it aside to reply later. I tried not to be impulsive! But I did email another recipient of the same email and grumbled, "I am really cross with J!"

* * * * *

Had a nice chat with Younger Son in Italy. We don't seem to have spoken properly for ages so it was lovely to catch up. He's doing a triathlon on Sunday, his first since he's been in Italy. He told me that, if he'd known, he might have done the Cheese Run instead. Apparently runners have to carry a 5kg cheese along the route. It costs 99 euros to enter but you get breakfast and lunch and get to keep the cheese.

Thank goodness for PD Kit

Feeling twitchy after trying to create an Instagram account for Zac's. 

"If you have a FaceBook account simply create and link from there." Pah! And pah again!

In the end I had to lie and say we didn't have a FB account and not link to it. That's not ideal but nothing about anything is ideal. I spent quarter of an hour fighting with the food blast chiller in Zac's this morning. "Press A then B then C," or words to that effect. Pah! And pah again!

I know loads of people have given up on Twitter since Musk took over but I seem to be relatively unaffected. I get lots of nice posts about writing, mudlarking, lady vicars, Paul Newman, and most recently, about police dogs doing a brilliant job finding or chasing people. 

Police Dog Kit who found a gentleman with dementia who had fallen between bushes and a car in Sheerness today

Where angels fear to tread

Checking the mince as I was cooking in Zac's this morning I was a little concerned to see flames swishing up the side of the pan. My first thought was: is it me? Am I on fire?

I wasn't. It was the opposite side of the pan. I blew at it to try and put it out, which made it flare a bit, but then it burned itself out.

I'm sure I must have something more exciting - yes, even more exciting than a fire - to write about. No, can't think of anything.

I was rounding on myself this morning for some things I'd said that could have been phrased better and before I went down the ugly 'you're useless' path  I thought I'd try to think of things I'm good at instead.

Pro: I am enthusiastic. Con: I leap in without due consideration.

Pro: I have commitment and loyalty.

Pro: I can be proactive. Con: I leap in without due consideration.

Husband always tells me I have a good brain but that I just don't use it. I think he's right. I need to think more. Especially before I act. I'm - what's the word? Not impressive or impromptu. Impulsive, that's it.

The weather yesterday morning wasn't as bad as it looks. Apart from a tiny shower we didn't get wet on our walk. The tide was high and the waves quite ferocious.

Paddling

Family came round bringing pizzas for an impromptu dinner together on Sunday so that was lovely. Then yesterday it was the Zac's retreat day.

Husband dropped me off in Mumbles early so I could get some food for lunch and it didn't take me as long as I expected so I was ridiculously early for the meeting I took a wander along the prom, had a paddle, and collected conkers.

It was late to be collecting conkers. All the best ones had gone. I was asked why I collected them; because. The best ones are very beautiful, and there's a legend that if you keep a bowl of conkers in a room it deters spiders. My bedroom is living proof that doesn't work.

Then the retreat. There were four of us: Sean, Stu, the venue manager, Poj, another trustee and me. We were meeting in Red Cafe, which had been loaned to us, very kindly by Linden Church. As I've mentioned before some big decisions are needed, and, I confess, I went along feeling quite down about it, as the future looked dim.

I came away feeling rejuvenated and excited for the future. If things go to plan we will be getting back to the original vision of Zac's, which I and a number of others felt we were in danger of losing.

So I am very happy!

Cakes and scary ladies

In talking about my busy week I forgot to mention one of the best bits: tea and cake with Daughter and Daughter-in-law in the Gower Deli, a new deli and cafe run by a Greek chef.

I opted for what was called a Greek Corne, because it was Greek you understand, not because it was the biggest cake on display.

Note handle-less mug. Not sure about it though nice for warming your hands.

* * * * *

Latest jigsaw.

 

* * * * *

There was one rather large and exceedingly confident, aka scary, lady with a stall at the Book Fair yesterday. As I was leaving she was standing by the door and she accosted me. "What does your bag say?"

"I don't know. It's not my bag."

(I'd offered to sell Glenn's books and they were in this bag.)

I read it.

"Huh," she said. "We should end the exploitation of girls first. There's more of that."

As I said, she was scary so I just scurried away. 

* * * * *

I saw some jumpers advertised on FaceBook. Yes, I know I shouldn't buy from random traders but I did due diligence. The company had a 4.58 rating on Trustpilot so I figured that was safe, and I ordered two jumpers.

They were taking a long time to arrive so I checked the tracking information and found they were still in China. Oh-oh, warning bells clanging.

They arrived on Friday.

The one on the left is okay; the one on the right is nothing like it looked in the photo. Well, same colours but completely different materials. That'll teach me not to buy from random places. I've done it twice before and the items have been fine so I suppose it was inevitable that I'd be tripped up eventually.

This week

It's been a crazy busy week. Wednesday cooking and collecting stuff from Cwtch Mawr. Thursday, desperate shortage of volunteers so stood in at Zac's. Front of house this time and it's a doddle compared to the kitchen work. 

Friday back in Zac's then straight into town. .I asked Husband where I could get change for the float for the book fair. His first suggestion was the Pier arcade - but that's closed following a fire. Then he said the bank.

"If I can find one."

"Ours in Portland Street will be open."

It wasn't. Being refurbished. Tried a different bank but when they found out I didn't have an account with them they wouldn't change it. I don't think it was personal; probably money laundering fears. I expect lots of money-launderers go in with a pound coin and ask for it to be changed to pennies.

In the end I walked back to Zac's where Stu gathered together all the change he could find in various places for me. (As it turned out I needn't have bothered.)

Then I'd arranged to meet Ffion, young doctor friend home for a few days, to go for ice cream. Arrived and surprised to find the house in darkness. Rang the bell; no reply. Knocked in case the bell wasn't working; no reply.

Got back into car and checked our message exchange. Turns out I'd made the arrangement for tomorrow i.e. today.

Today been at Book Fair. see previous post and soon will go to Verdi's for ice cream. Tomorrow church,  do some laundry, and try to finish article for deadline on Tuesday. Monday we have a trustee leader get-away day for prayer and discussion.

Then it all begins again . . .

Thoughts on a Book Fair

When the invitation was extended months ago it seemed a good idea to have a table at the local Book Fair. By last Monday and even more so on Friday I was regretting my decision. I lacked enthusiasm, energy, and expectation. If I hadn't stocked up on books to sell I would have made an excuse and not gone.

And so it was, on a beautiful though breezy autumnal day, I was to be found sitting in a small hall with a group of hopeful authors touting their wares.

10.15 I arrived early to set up and take a little walk outside. There are a number of events this weekend as part of the Swansea Fringe including a late-announced, already-sold-out interview with Michael Sheen. That's in the Dylan Thomas Theatre as opposed to the Dylan Thomas Centre - where the Book Fair is - but as soon as I heard about his event I tweeted Michael Sheen to invite him along. One of my books even has his name in the title. How could he resist? (Spoiler alert: he didn't come.) 

The Dylan Thomas Centre is right next to the river Tawe and marina.

10.40 The hall is filling up with authors setting out stalls. Most know each other from the local writing group, organisers of the Fair. Some, most, look very professional.

11.00 Opening time. Chatting to my neighbour. He is a prolific author producing poetry and thrillers as well as books on cycling, and even some for children.

Other neighbour looks very artistic. She is also v. chatty. She and first neighbour get into conversation. I try not to listen but hear her say that her child has just been sectioned again, which he counteracts with, "My daughter's been diagnosed with cancer."

Another stall-holder recognises me as woman who writes for Gower Community magazine. She says she always reads my articles. (Doesn't say if she likes them but I guess/hope that is inferred.) She also recommends whippets as good dogs to have because they only need 2 x 20 minutes walks a day and they sleep the rest of the day.

11.09 Two authors haven't turned up so those on tables in the middle of the room are moved to the sides. Neighbour is pleased as it makes more space for browsing. I regret the change, which leaves me feeling more exposed. Try to tell myself I should be happy, this is good.

11.22 Lovely buzz in the room. Sadly it's all authors catching up and promoting themselves. If asked I shrug and say, "It's just romantic fiction." Need to take lessons in self-promotion. I am, however, only writer of what could be loosely termed Women's Fiction. Lots of sci-fi, steampunk, historic, crime, poetry, and literary fiction.

Is it too early for lunch?

12.03 Every table has people except for me and lady with chunky necklace. Get excited when a couple stop in front of my display, glance at it . . . and move on. They look too intellectual for my writing.

Woman comes in. Looks like the type who might like my books but she's only handing out leaflets advertising a free writing workshop.

12.19 Eating lunch. Crisps and an apple. Feel vaguely guilty and expect to be told off. "You'll get greasy fingermarks on all the books." Starting to feel cold.

12.58 Have bought two Christmas presents. Books sold so far = 0.

13.08 That moment when potential* customers stand in front of your stall? I hate it. Feel embarrassed as if I'm putting pressure on them simply by being there. Fear they can hear the desperate psychic pleas emanating from my brain. "Please buy my book, please buy my book."

Notice other stall-holders engage their customers in conversation. 

*Not that anyone has yet.

Sudden influx of people bringing browsers up to five.

13.43 Freezing now. One man picks up This Time Next Year and reads the back; the closest I've got to a sale.

I pick up and start reading The Tree, Granny, and Me (not forgetting Michael Sheen.) Think it's good. I would buy it.

Wonder if women who buy my sort of book don't go to Book Fairs, or perhaps people who go to Book Fairs don't buy my sort of book.

14.18 Reading book on my tablet about alternative Christian take on homosexuality. Struggling to concentrate because everyone keeps talking. Wander around DT Centre but cold everywhere.

15.00 Two women slowly making their way around the room, and actually buying books. Will wait until they've passed my table and then go home. Shivering visibly now.

15.10 Women turn around and leave just before they reach my table.

Books sold = 0

Christmas presents bought = 2, plus one from the Centre shop, where I also purchased an adult Welsh learner story book. (When I say adult I don't mean 'Adult'.)

Net loss = Don't want to think about it. No, really I suppose only the £10 it cost to book the table; Christmas present costs don't count.

So that was my day. 

The Fair wasn't well attended but I think I was the only person not to sell anything. Do I get a gold star for best loser?

Rainbows of hope

You may recall that some weeks ago I attended a book launch. I invited the author, Glenn Miles, to come and speak in Zac's, and that happened last night.

I was a little concerned because I knew there was a wide diversity of opinion: Glenn, a Christian, came out as a gay man three years ago when he was sixty, having previously been married, had children, and widowed. His talk was very open - and blunt - and I kept an eye on those I knew wouldn't approve of his stand. They sat there looking grim - but to be fair, they usually sit there looking grim.

Overall the reaction was positive. Those who supported Glenn were the ones who spoke; the doubters kept quiet. There is the possibility they may never darken Zac's doors again but at least they listened.* One man seemed to get a bit confused over transgender and homosexuality, and kept asking questions on the former, but Glenn was gracious and, of course, aware that it was a tricky subject.

So I can relax again. At least until the Book Fair. No, I'm not worried about that. If I make enough to cover the cost of the table (£10) I'll be happy, and if I don't, I'll still be happy!

*Two people deliberately didn't come and I found it sad that they weren't willing to be open and listen.

The Bookshop

They closed a bookshop.

They opened The Bookshop.

It's a wine bar.

How cruel is that?