Well, I have an interview with Radio 4! I'm pretty scared now and can't help imagining everyone else will just be better than me. They will probably ask me to talk about a recent favourite programme and my mind will go blank: 'err, the shipping forecast was quite good the other day...'. Going to have to do some serious mental buffing up.
Also finally got my application in for ThreeWeeks to be a reviewer, lets hope that goes well too.
Yesterday my long time friend Anna came to stay, which was lovely. We oddly got a bit tearful on saying goodbye. We used to see each other about 3 times a year as her parents bought our gatehouse off my parents to use as a holiday home. We could dwell happily in the knowledge that we would see each other without having to even think about it. And now we have to make the effort, and fit each other in amidst other friends, boyfriends, work, degrees. I still feel in a way like I used to, jealous that she has other friends and an exciting life when she leaves. When I was growing up I lived for her family's visits, and was so envious when they left. They could just forget me, and I was alone amidst the trees and the fields and the French. Even though I live in England now, I still feel like that lonely and jealous little girl, especially because I've found it so hard making friends.
Having said that, my sad efforts to meet people here have paid off, a bit. I put an ad up on the Sussex student website to find people with whom to talk French- a cunning ploy to play the language card when really I could have just said : 'be my friend? p.s: Please?'
No luck so far though, the two people I've met don't really speak French well enough and aren't really my cuppa. I won't be libellous just in case but I felt both times like I was on a bad blind date and was eyeing the exit. I did in fact fake a phone call emergency and spent the rest of the evening grimly laughing with Alex.
On the other hand I had a really nice coffee with a girl I work with, she is Swedish and looks what I would look like if I was Swedish. That is to say, blonde, tanned and slim with a cute accent, as opposed to blonde, stocky and milky-white, with an accent of indeterminate social origin. FRIEND!!!! Trying to remain cool and aloof...
Finally, I submitted a very short fiction for the QuickFictions competition, pasted after the jump.
Spiralling
I have been making spirals for a long time. At the moment, I am on holiday, and the yard here is covered with chalky stones. I have gathered some, and I crouch and take them out of my pockets. It’s hot and my neck prickles, I feel the sweat gathering in between the folds of fat on my back. I have to ignore this, because the spirals must be carefully thought out, each stone a little smaller than the next as they twist towards the center. I try my best, but I am still not quite there. I am going to make as many as possible, and hope that their numbers and the huge expanse of sky here will make up for my flaws.
At dinner I eat as much as possible, and make sure to tuck bread and cheese, and any leftovers from the kitchen, into a napkin. I keep it under my bed for the journey. They are all talking about their paintings, but I slip away to the garden and sit with my back to the studio wall. If I listen carefully, beyond the crickets, maybe I will hear something.
On my last day, we go to the river. Nigel tells us to be careful, it rained in the night and there is a power station downstream. I wade in up to my waist, and push out, try and push my limbs against the hard green water. I roll onto my back, and look at my feet, floating ahead of me encased in my sandals. I can see the others waving from the bank as I drift by, I try and wave back but i’m too comfortable to raise my arm. I settle into the water and look up, and up, and some weeds gently swirl around me.
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