oh fer pity's sake...

... it's 11.45 pm and she is *singing* again.

To her ipod. The same whining phrase, over, and over, and over again.

I will need more gin to deal with this.

Tonight I am drinking...

A double shot of gin, over ice in a collins glass, a generous splash of
absinthe, topped up with indian tonic water.

Delish.

Does this have a name?
I don't believe for a second no one has done this before...

Frantically busy...

.... at work, rest and play.

I'm scrambling to finish my application to the Bird's Eye/Scriptfactory
'She Writes' programme - a year of professional development for eight
women film writers.

And I've just waved off guests, John and Corry, who were my very first
(practically my *only*) guests at the Stone Caravan, back in 2007. They
arrived in June in the midst of records rains and flooding. Oh. And
the birth of my second niece (my sister only reproduces during National
Emergencies. It's a hobby of hers...)

This time around I could offer them a better, toad-free, bedroom in
London. Corry is enjoying the fruits of a bursary to finish her novel
about the the regency underworld, and is spending it on practical
research (eating venison at Rules, founded 1797, hot pot at Simpsons,
founded 1757 and staying in Beckford's Tower at Bath).

I wish I could join them in the eccentric old bugger's tower - but I
have the afore mentioned application to finish by Thursday.

Hey ho.

Back in the city just in time to catch more snow

I can't help imagining all the gallons of melt water which will soon be
tumbling off the fell and straight through my porch.

I am an Auntie. Again.

Life in the Freezer - part 2

The Bridleway running behind the cottage; it used to run from the old hamlet - now just tumbled ruins in the bracken - and the nearest town, but now it goes nowhere, as a huge section was washed away in the 1950s, and is now impassable even on foot.

Life in the Freezer

Well, that was an apocalyptic walk home...

I've just negotiated deep snow, sheet ice, 4 inches of slush, knee high

melt water pools, hail stones and at least 4 guns in the woods above the
path - all between me and the next cup of tea.

I tried to look as little like a pheasant as possible, and made it to
the cottage in one piece.

I'm not sleeping here this week; my sister is in the last week of
pregnancy and I am on standby to babysit in case she needs to make a
dash through the snow to a maternity ward in the middle of the night.

Aaaand..... it's snowing again.

Thickly.

Actually, I can't bring myself to be bored with this.
Perhaps I should relocate to Lapland.

Things that make day to day life in a stone hovel possible

- in no particular order.

The SolarVenti:
No mould. No weasels. No birds' nests. 'nuff said.

Crocs:
as ugly as sin, but over the past 3 years they have survived fire,
flood, burial in several inches of mud, squatters, attack by starving
mice - and, after a rinse, they came up as bright and and yellow and
obnoxious as ever. They are warm, non-slip, keep my feet toes and
practically glow in the dark.

LEDs:
Bright and white and tiny and cheap, and all the power they need can be
supplied in a few cranks of a handle. Who needs electricity?

The wind-up radio:
I just wish it would charge on sunlight while I was away; the old one
did, but this one is stubborn, and likes me to pay attention to its
handle if I want to hear some Handel.

Paper Towels:
I buy recycled and use it for *everything* before it goes into the fire.

Hand sanitiser:

The blow-poker!
This is a superb invention - a long hollow steel tube with a mouthpiece
at one end and two prongs on the other. Wedge it between the logs, blow
- and rouse the dampest fire into action in seconds...

An insulated travel mug:
Keeps tea warm for at least 40 minutes.

Whisky.

It's snowing again.

Always, when I start to climb the hill I wonder how I could have ever
imagined living at the Stone Caravan, always, after 2 hours here, I
wonder how I can ever bring myself to leave.

The SolarVenti solar dehumidifier has transformed the place - on the
opening the front door the air that rushes to greet you from the
darkness is as cold as ever - colder perhaps - but fresh and as sweet as
the air of an 800 year old building could ever be. The rugs and
blankets hanging from hooks (beyond the reach of mice) are chilly, but
crisply dry. The matches light first time. The pages of books curl
like dry leaves, not like a day old salad.

There is still moisture here - at least enough to frost the inside of
the windows; even now, at midday, the North facing window is white with
ice flowers.

It's pumping away in the sunlight right now - or would be if I hadn't
discovered how to switch off the fan (cold dry air being a good thing
when I'm out, not so good when I'm sitting 5 feet from the outlet in
thermal underwear, trying to get warm.

Best £500 investment I've made to date. I can now strongly recommend
one to anyone with a dank spot in the house, a cellar, or north facing
wall, or condensation plagued cupboards.

Moving back in was tricky - the ground has thawed enough to leave the
pasture as soft as chocolate mousse under the crust of snow, and the
landrover, stuffed with bedding and warm clothing was bogged down in the
slope within minutes. I had to reverse back, all the way to the farm
and abandon the attempt until this morning, at 8, when there was enough
frost to keep the wheels free.

Now the fire is hissing, as is the kettle, and I have a hot water bottle
stuffed under my fleece to keep the vitals from freezing. Ugg boots
look after one end, a cap the other, and my fingers are left to fend for
themselves while I type (fingerless mittens perhaps?).

I have chocolate, bread, cheese, chutney, beans, tea, cigars (it's
Christmas) and whisky. Oh, and oranges to see off scurvy.

Plenty of work to do (the laptop keeps my fingers a little warmer) and
plans for the next big project - conversion of the old defunct range
into a wood burning stove with cooking rings!

Once in a lifetime!

How many decades have I lived to finally glide Northwards through
snowbound fields on Christmas Eve....

Imma gonna have to pull a copy of Pickwick off the bookshelf when I get
in and settle by the fireside!

.... and the results are in!

Forget the Strictly and the Xmas single, I am about to publish the most
important news of the season.

The Solar de-humidifier.

Does it work?

I climbed the hill though ankle deep snow (crisp, even and dotted with
sheep poo) to discover if the few days of sunlight we've enjoyed in the
past 6 weeks have had any effect during one of the wettest autumns on
record. Rivers burst their banks, bridges collapsed, Dubai disappeared
under flood water (tru-fax, I saw it happen) - but would the Stone
Caravan remain mildew-free.

The first signs were not promising - the path was a slick of ice,
curling from beneath the front door where the ditch had overflowed and
run through the porch.

I unlocked the door, stepped in and sniffed.

Fresh, dry air.

For the first time in 3 years the Stone Caravan smelt of fresh, dry air.

No mould. Mo mildew. No clammy air.

Glory be. In months to come I can store matches, salt, sugar and
bedding in my home without the risk of finding only a pile of soggy
green refuse on my return.

Oh my good ... I could watch this for ever

7.50 am on the train, in Lincolnshire, a dull pink, mauve and gold sky over fields, woods, rivers and farmbuildings, crusted with snow and scattered with crows.

Is this what living in the real North is like?  Because if so, I'm moving!  

Writer's resistence is a world-wide phenomemon

I had a great time in Dubai bonding with writers from the Middle East
and Asia over all the ways we find *to avoid actually facing the blank
screen/page" in the morning.

You'd think writers had the shiniest kettles and best sorted socks in
the UNIVERSE.

(So why can I never find a matching pair when I need one?)

In other news

- I left bread dough rising in the Saucepan Drawer in the kitchen
overnight. Yummy yeasty smells all over the kitchen.
Will bake it tonight - and take pictures if at all possible.

- Leave for the Cottage at 6.15am tomorrow. Will probably need snow
shoes, Thermos and emergency rescue flares.
At least I'll have bread to keep me alive in the snow drift my train
will be lodged in for the next 36 hours....

Back in the UK

Left a city lashed with rain, (heaviest rainfall Dubai has seen in several years, floods, animals lining up on Jumeirah beach Two by Two) and landed in one gripped by frost (at least it's seasonal).

Stayed awake long enough to get through the front door - then crashed on the sofa for 5 hours, stunned senseless by lack of sleep.

Got a text at 9pm, just as I made it up the stairs to bed; one of my producer's other projects, an Iraqi film about a child's unexpectedly dangerous quest for perfect kite making materials, was fully funded - several times over.

I'm functioning - but slowly, and I know I'm going to hit "the wall" before the evening is over.

Dubai - a whirlwind of adrenalin, perfume and strong coffee

I was pretty much exhausted when I took my seat on the plane - the week
of preparation, packing the night before and a day of rushing to beat
deadlines for my boss before I left the office for the airport all
conspired together to make me shaky. This was followed by a hour
standing on the tube, an hour in line to drop my bags, 3 security
cheques and 6 hours overnight in the air.

Let's just say - 48 hours after landing, I am still running on empty (or
rather, coffee)

Things keep appearing and disappearing. Today I managed to find my
missing power cable and lose all my business cards.
Oh, and walk into a plate glass door while holding a cup of coffee.
The only person who saw this humiliation was a charming Emirati producer
who swapped stories of similar mishaps with me.

So, it's possible I am hallucinating the whole festival.

Fragmentary impressions.

It's raining - the first rain here in 20 months. Go figure.

I saw "Un Prophete" by Jacques Audiard. It is a masterpiece. Even
after 36 hours without sleep every minute gripped me. Magical, gruesome
without being glum or grim.

Lovely laid back atmosphere - there are none of the scrums of papps,
herds of fans and packs of wannabes that make Cannes so frenetic and
unproductive. (No one is here pitching their trilogy of low-budget
torture porn).

Also, its hugely refreshing not to have the debate dominated by the US
market.

I like doing business in a culture that respects women for what they
have from the neck up rather than down, and is not obsessed with 18 year
olds. It's also wonderful to socialise without alcohol. This leads to
wonderful conversations with some very interesting people - and some
great opportunities to collaborate with writer/directors from the region.

I need a month's worth of sleep.

Juggling too much, I'm going to start dropping balls soon...

I suspect it's a familiar feeling at this time of year - the usual
lunacy of life and work and a 60 hour work week, plus preparing for
Dubai Film Festival (prep and print publicity materials, script polish,
dig suitable clothes out of storage, wash/mend, cut hair, replace broken
suitcase, track down missing cheques, order cash...) and for
you-know-what on the 25th (buy presents, pack and post stuff to
Australian rellies, etc), while booking travel for all my clients
(Turkey, Ireland, Bulgaria and Spain this week) and fending off their
flu germs.

Squinting at the timetable, It's doable, but only if nothing goes off
schedule in the next 5 days, and I don't make any bread.
Oh, and I don't try to find time to eat this week.

Ok, back to the schedule now...

Writers are strange wights

As are dolls' house makers.

I made bread last night

Crackling, chewy sourdough bread.

It *must* have been good.

I decided to take half the loaf into work to distribute at the breakfast
meeting (just showing off really) and flung it into a bag this morning.

Halfway across the park I look down - and there is a small crowd of grey
squirrels (I.e - 3) around my ankles, looking expectantly at the bag.

I half expected one to start tugging on my sock in supplication.