It is a fact universally acknowledged that Jane Austen is a genius in a bonnet. If you disagree or would like to start a fight (Austen-related only, if you’d be so kind), please indicate your intentions in the comments. Otherwise, let me take up my pen and a sheet of hot-pressed paper and commence.
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In which Ruth writes a novel
I remember sitting at home aged around four while my mother read me a story. It was a large print version of Little Red Riding Hood and I can still remember laughing uncontrollably at the picture of the wolf in retreat (why do children find bottoms so funny?) and then being surprised as the black squiggles on the page re-arranged themselves into words I recognised. There was no stopping me after that.
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Intergenerational Language
I’ve learned such a lot of new words since the children came along. When our eldest was tiny, he struggled with the word “milk” which came out as “knock”. He was a huge knock fan. For quite some time, my husband and I would unconsciously refer to the life-giving fluid in this way, causing confusion in public. I once asked for a little more knock in my coffee at a toddler group, and in an embarrassing moment, one of us bellowed “Can you grab two pints of knock?” when at the supermarket.
Read MoreLeigh’s miscellany
When the history books get round to writing up 2020, it’s highly unlikely that they’ll turn to my blog for inspiration, although they could do worse, to be honest. You won’t find any graphs or speeches from Government ministers here. I’ve gone back over the year and picked out things that meant something to me. If they make you smile, or even think, then I’ve done my job.
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Imagine that!
I started this blog on 5th November 2019. Back then, I had no idea that pretty soon I’d be throwing around ten-dollar phrases such as “lockdown”, “social distancing” and “self-isolation.” Did you know that Covid-19 has created a whole new vocabulary?
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A window on the world
When I was a lass back in the 1870s, television was a wonderful and mysterious world apart. At our house, we didn’t have one. All my friends did and when I went over to their houses to play, we would sit down and watch the children’s programmes until it was time for the boring old news which signalled home time.
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The Times They Are A ‘Changing
Being a teenager in the 1980s was fun, but a bit scary too. On the one hand, there was lots of great music to listen to in your bedroom while experimenting with luridly coloured eyeshadow. On the other, a B-movie actor was in the White House and the threat of nuclear war permeated our waking dreams.
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It's a numbers game
Welcome back, devoted readers. Some weeks, this blog is serious, others not. Usually, though, there’s an underlying theme, perhaps something I’ve learned and want to share with you, some inspiration or encouragement. Not this week. It’s all about the giggles, I fear. No philosophising or musing.
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Creaky joints and naughty dogs
Should you be wandering past the Station House in Campsea Ashe on a Tuesday morning (non-Suffolk readers, unless you’re making a pilgrimage, this is unlikely to be you), you’ll see four or five ladies of mature years lying on mats finding their neutral pelvises and drawing chalk circles in the air. One of those ladies is me. Now you know.
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Frolicking with the gardener
I don’t want to shock you, but I feel we know each other well enough for me to be honest with you. Since lockdown began, I’ve been seeing other men. It all started in April. Things were weird, the sun was out and I was facing a year of many challenges. So, when a rather handsome gardener appeared and started building a polytunnel on our veg patch, I found myself spending a lot of time with him.
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I Never Thought I'd See the Day
This week, I’ve found myself doing things that surprised me. Aged 54, living a relatively comfortable life, it would be easy to get into a rut. Get up, make packed lunches, herd children into car, drop off at school, buy bananas and stuff from Melton Produce on the way home, load the dishwasher, put on a wash, get down to work. That’s pretty much how every day looks and that’s fine.
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23.06 and all's well
For the first time since I started Big Words and Made Up Stories, I gave myself a day off last week. Sorry about that. I’ve been inundated with phone calls, texts, WhatsApps and hand-written notes shoved through the door pleading with me to fill in that missing week*.
*I haven’t. This is all made up.
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We've Got Crabs
One of the cardinal rules of blogging is to get and keep your readers’ attention with an attention-grabbing headline. Hence my title this week. Welcome.
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Thanks But No Thanks
There are certain professions in this life which attract rejection. My days are a catwalk model are long gone, but I still remember taking my coltish limbs, pouting lips and luxuriant hair from one agent to another and hearing those dreaded words, “Sorry, darling, your look is too last season.”
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Don’t Squeeze Your Bag
We moved from Essex to Suffolk fourteen years ago, leaving a metropolitan area on the edge of London to come to a hamlet surrounded by fields. Some of the first people I met were my immediate neighbours.
Pretty soon, I found that these ladies baked, made jam and went blackberrying while still managing to work and bring up a family. I felt a touch inferior, the city girl who used shop-bought crumble mix and didn’t know a crab apple from a bullace.
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Too Much of a Good Thing
July and August are the months of plenty in the gardening calendar. Tomatoes, beans, soft fruit and just about anything raised in the greenhouse bursts into life and keeps on doing so until the first joy of picking your own gives way to a desperate hunt through recipe books for something – anything – to use up all those courgettes. Did I mention we grow courgettes?
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Hereinafter Called the Author
As I told you in my very first ever Big Words and Made Up Stories blog on 5th November last year, I’ve never wanted to be anything except a writer. And for the last twelve years, I’ve been one. I even get paid.
I’m a freelancer, which means that someone gets in touch, asks me for six hundred words or so on a topic in three weeks and I do it. I’ve got a roster of clients ranging from charities to florists to builders to radio stations and I write blogs, articles and content for them as required. It’s taught me how to write succinctly, clearly and to a brief and I’ve learned loads along the way.
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I've Heard Worse
I’m writing this on Claydon Ward at Ipswich Hospital. My 94-year old father is propped up in bed with a nebuliser clamped to his face. He’s eyeing up a tuna sandwich and looking longingly at his crossword. This time last night, I was sitting on the edge of my seat while he tried to get out of bed and pull off his oxygen mask. He was delirious, suffering from pneumonia and heart problems, and possibly not long for this world.
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Diamonds, Good Eggs, Sunshine and Chocolate
Living in Britain is great. If you’re ever short of a conversational opener, you can say anything about the weather – and I mean anything – and it will keep you going for at least five minutes. Too hot? We wipe our foreheads and talk wistfully about the thunderstorm that’s forecast tomorrow. Unseasonably chilly? Well, the nights are drawing in, but they say it will be sunnier next week.
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Mrs America, not forgetting Ms and Miss
I’ve been watching a fantastic programme on iPlayer. Starring Cate Blanchett, Rose Byrne, Tracey Ullmann, Sarah Paulson, Jeanne Trippelhorn, Uzo Aduba, Elizabeth Banks, Margo Martindale, Kayli Carter and Ari Graynor, "Mrs America" opened my eyes to a period of history I knew shamefully little about.
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