Cut Back!

Sit back, relax, wind the window down a bit, turn the radio up and soak up this lovely ECONOMY DRIVE we're currently enjoying!

Thanks to strict parental upbringings, I am delighted to report that we have already, over the space of four days – and even with the country tipping the 20 percent VAT scale – made a cumulative total of £30 per month savings! (That’s if you average out each individual saving over the course of the year, divide it by twelve and take away the first number you thought of. Of course).

What we didn’t bank on (d’you see what I did there?) was the unhelpful manner in which our quest to Cut Back would be dealt with.

Virgin were never going to be an easy mark, so we thought we’d start by culling the TV channels we don’t need. I mean, I grew up with BBC 1 and 2 and a little-known-never-thought-it-would-catch-on channel called Anglia. And THAT was too much choice at times. Nope, if there’re more than two channels then there’s too much chance of missing something on t’other side – which is why God invented TV recording devices. It’s like the proverbial wardrobe, isn’t it? What woman in her right mind needs more than two pairs of shoes? There’s a Staying In pair (they’d be soft, fluffy, silent) and there’s a Going Out pair (durable, comfortable, ideally slip-on). Who needs another pair of footwear when you can’t afford to go anywhere to wear them anyway?

And after we’d managed to convince the nice person at Virgin that No, we Didn’t Want to Upgrade – we wanted to DOWNgrade, we asked if they could suggest anything else to help reduce our monthly outgoings with them (Broadband, Landline) to which it all went silent. They are clearly not used to being asked these things.We mentioned abandoning the phone line, which we very rarely use, at which we were informed that if we cut this service then we’d automatically lose our monthly discount for using all 3 services and it would end up costing us more if we got rid of one of them.
Mad.

The Bank were no better really.
After we’d told them we wanted to revert back to a Standard Current Account with no monthly service charges, they immediately suggested reducing it from £12.50 to £7.50 for three months and then reverting back. Not helpful. Not really. Not long-term anyway. And did we realise we’d lose ‘key benefits’ like RAC membership (we still have 10 months of this assistance with our car, so this is needless duplication). Mobile phone insurance (which is covered on home insurance – at least parts of it are) and travel insurance (which, considering we go away on average ONCE per year it’d still cost us less than £20 when/if we do take it out) so thanks, but losing ‘key benefits’ would still mean we’d be saving money in the long term.


They just don't like the idea of having to melt down our Gold cards and replace them with whatever colour card indicates the pond-scum equivalent of the Banking fraternity.

The Go Compare people were altogether nicer. At least you haven’t actually got to lift the phone and TALK to anybody anyway. We dutifully went through our online Gas/Electric statements for the past 12 months, added up all the energy Units we’d used for each over the year and then entered it into the little comparison box. Lo and behold were are immediately told that if we switch to a lesser known company, then we will save £350/year. Which, I know remains to be seen, but it’s a step in the right direction, right?

Add to this the fact that we’ve VOWED not to visit Sainsbury’s again until every last crumb has been scraped off the bottom of each freezer drawer, then I think we’re going to be moving in the right direction.
Or at least not be in such dire financial straits as we find ourselves right now.

And I don’t particularly fancy having to downsize the house just yet – not when I’ve just hoovered the stairs anyway.

Magic Moments

Y'know the ones - where you've got the biggest, baddest plate of decadence right in front of you and you know that if you don't start taking teeny weeny dolly bites then it's all going to be ... gone.... poof!  Just like that and all you'll have left is a tempting trace of the sweet stickiness that lingers just long enough on the roof of your mouth to remind you of just how glorious it all truly was.
....aaaaaaahhhhhh..... magic (or even Melting... now they were nice when we made them at school, right?) moments.
Trouble is, the Moment I'm having at the ...well, moment... is proving to be a a bit of a tough old plate of decadence to get shot of.  And I know there's an even nicer, second plate of puddingy delight to savour following this, so why can't I just hurry up and goddamnwell polish it off!

I should seriously renew my membership to Analogies Anonymous.  It's getting ridiculous.  I must have one hidden in any place that could secrete one.  Sometimes I wake up with one in my head.  Sometimes I can't sleep for thinking about where the next one is coming from.  And often I can think of two or three at a time.  It's bordering on uncontrollable.  I need help.

Anyway...

So I'm having trouble ending 'the book'.  The time-travelly one.  (which I think would make a great tag-line 'Let's Go Round Again' - "it's time-travelly").  I've been on the *last chapter* for the past two days.  And now it's turned into two last chapters.  Which makes the last chapter No.40 which is a nice, clean, round number, and the best age in the world to be (seriously... esp. when your b/f is only 29 - but enough of my salubrious past).  SO I'm kinda delighted.

But I can't let go of it.  Okay, it's a difficult premise to end sensibly without insulting the intelligence of the reader.  And also I know that once I've typed those magic words THE END, I will slip into a kind of sad stupor and mourn the passing of the thrill of the ride.  Because that's what it's like, right?

Only this time, I'm actually looking forward - I'll repeat this shall I?  LOOKING FORWARD, everybody - to editing this, the first draft.  And edits are notoriously NOT exciting in the least - normally.  And I know precisely what makes the very idea of this edit exciting - as opposed to not so much.

Why?

Well, because, it does what it says in the tag-line.  It's time-travelly.  And time travel is, if nothing else, a very exciting concept to be a part of whichever way you look at it.  And even though, at the end of it,  it won't be the complete, finished book, at least it will have enough bare-nakedness on it's bones (the bones are the very idea and the process which enables it to become a proper initial construction) for it to be dressed nicely - and then accessorized.  And boy, have I got some accesories I'd like to dangle from this baby's bones!

Ah -  there goes another Analogy.  See? I can't help myself.

C'mon... c'mon... c'mon..... I know I can do it.

I know of at least ONE person who will be delighted when this is completed - a friend who never normally reads but is now badgering for "next chapter please..." every time she's got to the end of the last one.  So if I can convert a non-reader into a Badger then - well, my work here is very nearly done.

And like Eric Morecame would say - I know all the right letters it's just getting them in the right order.

ANALOGIES R US (well me, anyway)

It’s the most ridiculous reason for feeling that ‘broken hearted’ stab of pain to the heart in the world.

I can only liken it to the feeling (and I haven’t had to endure this for years thank goodness) to getting the confirmation that you’re being cheated on or else after ages of disbelief and anxiety, it’s finally true – you’re being dumped.

And there’s not a damn thing you can do about it.

Agents contacted me and told my the book it sh*te already?

Husband cheating on me?

Been dumped?

Three-tiers of school fallen on my head?

No – we’ve been told that after nearly 2 weeks of assessments, the car is a write-off.

It hurts my heart – I don’t know how else to describe it.

And just millimetres away from my head is a big tray labelled ‘crap’ which contains insurance companies, finance agreements on a now deceased car, bank balances, credit crunches (with a soft caramel centre? I wish) and reduced working hours/cashflow – teetering dangerously and waiting for that final straw to send it crashing down.

Deep breath.

Because I’ve heard worse things happen at sea.

If I’d been in the same kind of head-on collision in my lovely boat then I sure as hell wouldn’t be blogging about it right now.

See? Sea.

Just like a box of chocolates - and just as fattening

It struck me as I was driving home from work this afternoon how much I was looking forward to getting back and switching this machine on and getting stuck into my new WIP – another teenage thing – only I wanted to blog about it first (procrastination to the end).
When Hubby asked yesterday how the book was going (after our weekend**, he damned well should ask) I found the sentence “d’you know it’s actually delicious – just like opening a new box of chocolates” leave my mouth – because it is.
And I’ve never had this before.
I have never waxed lyrical about the penning of a book before. Usually the whole exercise is littered with words such as ‘block’ or ‘plot-mush’ or ‘shite’ or ‘drivel’. Never before has it appeared to me as fresh and as tempting as a newly-unwrapped box of chocolates.
This thought then obviously thrust me headlong into my wibbly wobbly world of Analogies R Me.

The Box – is the book. Keeps it altogether and it’s the shiny lure.
The Strawberry Crème – kick-starts it all off with a sweet-tang that makes you want another.
The Praline – is the nutty, gutsy element of the story that’s full of interesting little bits.
The Coconut – is the bit you’re not sure you should have started but it might work.
The Orange Crème – has to go. Get rid of this whole section. It’s pants.
Toffee – You’ve hit the wall but don’t try to chew through it – wait for it to melt away of its own accord – you know it makes sense.
Nut Cluster – ah, see? This is more like it – this bit’s tying in with the Praline and now it feels like it’s all coming together.
Nougat – bit of a sub-plot we didn’t see coming but it might have benefits.
Caramel Crème – Oooh – that was lovely, I didn’t see that one coming either.
Coffee Crème – a total finale taste explosion that probably deserves a Brandy Liqueur to top it all off.

{sigh}

* WARNING: Eating a Box of Chocolates may result in a broadening of the beam
Writing a book may also cause the same result but with much greater benefits.
** See yesterday’s post

What's the difference between Fishing and Writing?

Well, none, actually. If you're to believe MrR. And I have to admit what he says makes an awful lot of sense.
If you're not in any kind of pre-menstrual huff, that is.
Much like everything else he says making a great deal of sense - which it does - unless... oh, you know the rest.
Okay. So 'here's the Math':

1. In fishing you need a jolly decent hook.
Ditto Writing. Esp. at the end of every chapter - otherwise reader will amble off in search of boredeom aleviators usually in the form of a beverage or three - maybe even another book (zoikes).

2. In fishing you need a tasty bait.
For 'bait' I'm reading Fe/male protagonists and some juicy can of worms to spill. And, of course, if the first bait doesn't get a bite, try another one. (see 5).

3. In fishing you need to find the right location.
So long as the room is heated, has a window, has electricity and direct access to a packet of chocolate hob-nobs then I'm in the right place.
Unless by 'right location' he means the setting of the story. Probably. More than likely actually. Of course he does - has to be right. No point writing about Eskimo love in Bahrain unless you have direct knowledge. Which of course... ah soddit. Bedsits in Bognor it is, then.

4. In fishing you need endless patience to succeed.
Too right! How often have you loaded the right hook with the tastiest bait only to have it float about gaining nibbles for about 25thou words, then sadly drift off and end up at the bottom of the pond covered in so many weeds you can't even see it any longer let alone get it back?!Aargh!

5. Just because one gets away doesn't mean there isn't another One out there.
I'm using an Agent metaphor for this one. So how would MrR feel if he watched 39 get away, followed by another 43 with a different bait? Hmm? Actually he'd probably just change pools and re-think his options. He's far too sensible and logical for my warped, over-emotional way of thinking!

6. It's all about timing it just right.
Hmm.

7. Success is a dozen failures.
That's 'Everything' related - fishing and writing included. And I love this MrR saying. It get's me right *there* every time. And like my lovely friend Claire told me once: 'it only takes one yes'
(for 'yes' read 'catch')

8. You can do both in the rain (I just made that one up)