'Oh my goodness!' I said to myself this morning. 'We are a third of the way through October which means it won't be long until November is here and we all know what THAT means, don't we?'
'Bonfire Night?' said Flora. 'Shall I start the tranquillisers now?'
'No,' I said. 'You'll be fine. I'll hide under the chaise with you and sing you songs from the musicals...'
'Like I said,' said Flora, 'shall I start the tranquillisers now?'
I chose to ignore this comment - Flora may be an entertaining feline chum but really - she has no manners at all. 'Guess again,' I said.
'Growing moustaches?' said Flora. True, November has been known as 'Movember' for the last few years; something to do with men being given the opportunity to avoid shaving for a month and grow a 'tache to raise money for charity. How this requires any effort I do not know. Especially when MY man had to sacrifice his love of food for a year to raise money for charity AND lose over 6 stones to boot! I think raising money for charity should involve some kind of effort and/ or personal sacrifice, and frankly, not bothering to shave your top lip is an example of the lazy way out. We can all not bother to shave our top lips. Nothing special in THAT.
'No,' I said to Flora. 'And you are so hairy no-one would notice if you grew a moustache anyway. Try again.'
'Christmas shopping?' said Flora.
'Hush!' said I. 'You are confusing November with December. Next guess...'
'Your birthday? 50, isn't it?'
'Hush again,' I said. With only three weeks and two days to go until I hit my half century I have taken the path of least resistance and requested that, on the day, I should be left in a corner with a good book and sporadically be fed cake. Well, maybe a little more often than just sporadically...okay, just leave me the whole cake...
Andy has revealed my next 50th birthday year treat - tickets to go and see 'Hairspray' which is one of my top ten favourite musicals. I may be unable to stop the beat and have to go with the motion of the ocean in the aisles. (You'll need to know the musical in order to get that reference. What? You've never seen 'Hairspray?' Shame...)
At this point Flora lost interest in the guessing game and went off in search of Mr Light. Leaving me to reveal that what I was thinking about was...
...NaNoWriMo!
It doesn't seem almost a year since I wrote 'Night Owls.' Thing is, do I have the energy, inclination, nay creative brain juice to do it all again this year? The process scares the bejeezus out of me because once I get started I have to finish. It's not like reading. I mean, if I start a book and I can't get into it then I have no worries at all about leaving it unfinished. I am not going to waste hours of my life persevering with a disengaging novel. Which is why I have never read, nor am I likely to, 'Ulysses' or 'A La Recherche Du Temps Perdu.' Or anything by Salman Rushdie.
But writing - oooh, once that story gets into your head it has to come out. Especially when it's been given 30 days' notice.
Anyway, I've got three weeks to think about it before I make my decision. I shall let it roll around my head and see if any good ideas leap out.
And what else have I done this week? I shall tell you...
On Thursday I did something that I swore I would NEVER do. I bought a microwave oven. You might just as well have asked me to install a nuclear reactor in the kitchen. I have held out against owning this unnatural cooking abomination for, oooooh, over 30 years, but I have now reached the point that I am so fed up with dinners being spoiled whilst keeping warm in the oven that I thought, 'Sod it! I shall get one so I can dish up, and leave things on plates so they can be reheated as and when whomever the eatees shall be return from their various places of work at whatever ungodly hour they choose to return. No more 'why did I bother?' moments for me.'
Of course, I shall NOT be nuking my own food. Nor shall I be using it for 'baking' potatoes in 12 minutes flat, making scrambled egg in a jug or reheating tea (blurgh!) No, I shall be sticking to my age old and extremely satisfactory Luddite cooking and baking methods. None of this new-fangled jiggery-pokery for me, thank you very much. T'aint natural.
The microwave is sitting on the worktop next to the range and every time I see it I glare at it, with its surface-cluttering ways and its smug, 'Oooh, look at me with my turntable, 9 programmes and cute 'ping!'' Still, if it saves me suffering dinner-rage in the future...
Pilates continues apace. The exercises are growing in difficulty week on week - yesterday we used what I can only describe as semi-inflated rubber hedgehogs. Yes, I thought that too...but the whole malarkey package seems to be working. Bits of me seem to be lifting up and sucking in. I am 'recruiting.'
'That'll be your muscle tone waking up,' said Flora, returning from her failed mission to locate Mr Light although she did find and hoover up a bit of tuna leftover from Tybalt's breakfast.
'And what would you know about muscle tone?' I said. 'You all covered in pouffey fur?'
'Yes well,' said Flora. 'Under all this pouffey fur I am the feline equivalent of Elle 'The Body' MacPherson. They call me 'Slinky Hips' down the gym.'
'You go to the gym?' I said.
'I might,' said Flora. And she tipped me a wink and walked off.
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