Being Me

I finished writing an article yesterday about hedonistic instincts for food, alcohol and sex in Shakespeare's The Tempest. It was for an educational magazine aimed at A level English students. I kept saying to my husband, 'I need some inspiration' and he was very happy to bring me some crisps and a glass of sherry, but kept well away otherwise as I'd had garlic aioli for lunch. Usually, once I'm on a roll and all fired up with a subject, I'm a rapid writer, but this piece performed reluctantly, like an impacted bowel. I've been collating material for the article and putting it together, with difficulty, for weeks. Yesterday, when I finally emailed it off to the editor, I felt relieved, as though .... er ... see previous simile. Writing that paragraph reminded me of the word 'scatological' which I learned 15 years ago at university but which I haven't used since then. It means 'the study of faeces'. Why did I need that word at univer...

I am writing this post to distract myself from fear.  Tonight, I'm appearing at a charity gig and have to make people laugh for half an hour or more.  When these things go well, it's brilliant.  When, after the first couple of minutes, people have only tittered, or, much, much worse, yawned like a canyon, there's a loud voice in my ear going, 'Get off the stage, you eejit.  Whatever made you think you could get up there in the first place?  Either admit defeat and leave, or take your clothes off and secure the laughs that way.'  I'm always telling the kids at school that confidence is about pretending.  Most adults, I say, who look supremely confident, in whatever field, are having to battle doubts.  Anyone in the public eye, on a large or small scale, has to find out for themselves how to appear calm even when the bowels are grinding like the innards of Vesuvius and the mouth is as dry as a drunk's on a Sunday morning. If only I would take my...

Talking about married life, here's me performing one of my new poems 'Pickle Aisle Bride' recently.  I posted an early version of the poem on the blog a few weeks ago - it has evolved! Sure, I've got 3 minutes to watch Fran perform a poem about getting married in a supermarket