Things I've Read that Aren't Who, Recently

Possibly this whole idea of 'Things That I’ve Read That Aren’t Doctor Who' will become its own series?!  Which should also read - '...And Aren't Romances', since they are so calming and easy to read I gobble those whole in my anxious moments.  Which are still numbered frequently.

This is just a few of the things I’ve been reading the last 5ish months or so.  They are the things I wrote more than 1 line about for whatever reason.  Sometimes I just write – ‘excellent!’ or ‘What?!’ or some other unhelpful reminder of what I thought.    But anyway – here are those I cared enough to blither about:

1.    Moriarty, by Anthony Horowitz
(I’m not sure why I bought his – possibly because I had been so wowed by Penny Dreadful recently, and wanted to feel that late Victorian time period again.  Possibly because I’ve never really read Conan Doyle; always meant to but never got there, so that this Horowitz re-imagining felt more accessible, and possibly a good place to stimulate my interest in the books from.  As it happens I remembered as I went along reading this, that I had read some Conan Doyle before; not much but some, and I remembered why I stopped and why I hadn’t read more!  There’s something very sweet about all the over exposition, the constant explaining and stopping to rethink and explain again… I’m not one who minds being told things if the narratorial voice is good and engaging…but I found the strange pacing on top of all the thinking out loud a bit tiresome.

Saying that I did sort of enjoy the book.  I felt it dragged quite a bit in the middle after a quick beginning and a speedy end, but that’s the nature of that narratorial beast being copied.  Some of the subsidiary characters were memorable: Perry of course, dressing up in his bright blue jacket to go slitting the throats of unsuspecting grown ups; and of course Moriarty himself, quite the major twister there at the end.  As effective as the sudden hijacking of the narrative in The Woman In White – which I’ve always thought is the height of doing that kind of thing.  Yep, the twist got me and I didn’t see it coming.  I kept wondering why the book was called Moriarty and when he was going to appear, but did not expect what happened!  So that was satisfying.  ACTUAL BOOK.)

2.   Those Girls, by Chevy Stevens
(This was so arrestingly readable I did not fall asleep on the bus on the way to work and almost missed my stop entirely at Kingston.  It was a very vivid thriller, and I really sympathised with all the characters.  A very good immediate read. I actually can’t say a word more without spoilering it, so you have to go off and try it if you want a good female centred thriller. ACTUAL BOOK.)

3.   Ink Exchange, by Melissa Marr

(This is the second in a series.  It has the usual immersive quality of a well written YA fantasy – and the vision of faeries is rarely done better than by this sort of author [see Holly Black, for example, for another excellent one].  This was a beautifully creative world and I enjoyed seeing Niall and Irial both be so close to Leslie, but the end having neither of them win her – both letting her go for different kinds of twisted love.  This was a very inventive and beautifully imaged read – the swirling dog tattoos on Gabriel’s arms, the vines and feathers stretching between Irial and Leslie; the way she lost time when under his power.  All very believable; and with a lot to say about addiction without one word of preaching or judgement. Enjoyed a lot. ACTUAL BOOK.)

4.   You Are Here, by Thich Nhat Hanh

(Possibly THE BOOK of all books.  So much in here that is actively helping me. “Dear One, I am here for you.”  Compassionate listening: understanding that nasty said things and actions come out of pain.

“My friend, if you have some cows, you have to identify them.  You think they are essential to your happiness, but if you practice looking deeply, you will understand that it is these very cows that have brought about your unhappiness.  The secret of happiness is being able to let go of your cows.  You should call your cows by their true names.”    Did he mean this to be both so true AND SO FUNNY????

“Dear one, I am here for you. 
Dear one, I know that you are here, alive, and that makes me very happy. 
Dear one, I know that you are suffering.  That’s why I am here for you. 
Dear one, I know that you are suffering a lot.  I know this, and I am here for you, just as the trees are here for you and the flowers are here for you. 
Dear one, I am suffering, I need your help.  I need you to explain why you did this thing to me.”
Impermanence, interbeing.  10/10.
ACTUAL BOOK.)

5.   No-Nonsense Guide to Green Politics, by Derek Wall

(Excellent book.  Filled with ideas that people think are radical for some reason I don’t really understand.  Just because things have been done a certain way for 200 years or so, doesn’t mean they must always be that way??  The way of doing just about everything, described in this book makes a thousand times more sensible and kindly common sense than anything else I have read.  It also isn’t stupid – what with all the malarkey [hate that word, but it’s true in this case] about compromise vs. purity in left politics with the election ‘contest’ going on in Labour at the moment, it’s just so relevant.  Yes, compromises would have to be made.  Obviously.  But SOME good would be done.  Will read more and be inspired further.  ACTUAL BOOK.)

6.   Tell It To The Skies, by Erica James

(I had this book a long time ago but it never called to me to be read and so I gave it away.  Erica James used to be one of my regular reads, but I noticed a shallowness to those books of hers I had rest last [can’t remember which they were].  But I re-bought this one from a charity shop a short while ago, whilst thinking how great Erica James used to be.  And this one called straightaway.  I think I ate it in 3 days flat.  It was brilliant.  It was one of those books that masquerades as sort of chick lit but really isn't, and is very serious indeed.

I was a bit worried that there would be lots of middle class annoyingness at the beginning, when I found the heroine having peskily sprained her ankle in Venice; but then…the whole flashback part of the novel started, in late 60s-early 70s Yorkshire.  The heroine was definitely NOT middle class and I experienced her every travail with a worried face.  I also worried this was going to become one of those abused childhood books that I find hard to read; but it wasn’t.  It was a very hard childhood book, but simply littered with some amazing characters that jump right off the page.  It was one of the most immersive books I’ve read in a very long time.  The ice cream salesman; Uncle Leonard [evil man], Donna, Chiara, Fabio, the sadist grandfather [I felt his presence, it was oddly physical to read him]; the sick grandmother, the sister perverted into religion – all of which is dealt with baldly.  Especially the religion angle.  Criticised though the mouths of the characters purely.  And reasonably. 

Noah was a lovely creation, as was Uncle Brad, with his stick legs and velvet trousers, grooving on the kitchen table.  The whole book was immensely vivid. And while it told a very everyday story – even the murder didn’t seem overly given the context, I felt that it was a true story, from somewhere real.  It felt as real as any other universe I might step into.  Lullingly vivid, and truthful.  It was a place I looked forward to visiting between working days.

Books like this are why Erica James can be great.  I believed it all, I lived it all with Lydia.  ACTUAL BOOK.)

7.   Always Watching, by Chevy Stevens

( Not as good as Those Girls, but a pageturner which I nonetheless finished in 2 days; and which I specifically selected to cheer me up and addictively keep me occupied during an anxious patch.  Despite this book’s darkness, it tended toward hope and did the magic deed.  I do always enjoy a book about a cult, and the one was no exception.  Aaron, Joseph, poor Willow dead in a barrel, Heather committing suicide by stuffing rags down her throat after drinking cleaner [God it’s hard to successfully kill yourself], Lisa, Keven, Robbie and the heroine, Nadine – all great characters.  Though there was a slight melodramatic turn near the end, it was a good read.  I especially liked Nadine as the psychiatrist, always explaining biologically and psychologically the mechanism of the emotional reactions and cult behaviour.  I liked her cool and calm in the face of odd behaviour.  To explain it does help master it.  Gives hope.  ON KINDLE.)

8.   The Paradise Room, by Belinda Jones
(I remember reading 3 of her books ages ago and liking them, so I picked up this one in a charity shop.  It’s a very odd mix of highly educated posh and chick lit situationing.  Yet it was slightly difficult to see which class the protagonist came from what with attending Oxford, being an art historian, having jailbird parents and a boyfriend called Hugh who was a jeweller.  [I found him horribly annoying.]  It was a good read in terms of descriptions of place – Tahiti is very BLUE; she described it most vividly, as well as a thorough lesson on Gauguin and his involvement with the islands, plus more about black pearls than I ever previously knew [they aren’t black, for a start].  I do like when books teach me things.  This was a good book, though it felt slightly…unlikely?!  The tapdancing showman of Tezz and Amber’s final pairing is beautiful and unseeable in real life – unless you really believe.  I caught myself thinking how wonderful it was that they had such a great connection, much lust but not all lust – but I wondered what would happen… on election day?  They had no idea of each other’s political views or any such actual real life thing.  It’s one thing that chick lit always strives to leave out entirely: politics, and to a slightly lesser degree, religion.  And that’s annoying, because it’s relevant.  The book has left me completely puzzled as to what tone I want to read next.  I’m a bit…still with the fish under the coffee table section of the book, and the singing and dancing in the rain, which was this vision of inner yearning.  I’ll definitely read more of Belinda Jones again because her voice and vision are oddly unsettling, as well as visually uplifting.  I do feel like I’ve actually travelled. ACTUAL BOOK.)

9.   The Silk Merchant’s Daughter, by Dinah Jeffries

(This was not quite as epically amazing as The Tea Planter’s Wife, or as emotionally lovely as The Separation.  Nonetheless, though this story felt smaller scale – it taught me an amazing amount about the period – it was still very educational and affecting.  Nicole was a strong character.  Her simple observations about war and how almost anyone can become cruel as a result are chastening.  Mark was an interesting and enigmatic character, whose background was not really examined.  Sylvie was…very depressed?  In a way, the issue of Sylvie [and also, to an extent, their father], was dealt with very quietly – almost more realistically.  There was no ultra drama involved.  I have not known much about Hanoi and Vietnam before the famous American incursion, so this period directly before was fascinating to learn about.  The violence and bad behaviour on all sides was not gloried or over luridly described.  It was what it was.  The periods where Nicole travelled starving through the country and also her time in prison, were vivid and sad, but not enough to make you wretch with the hellishness.  Which was good – JG Ballard has forever ruined me with descriptions of smells and the hell humans can make for each other.  This was easier to ingest because it was more calmly done.  Possibly most things are entirely better if calmly done.  O-Lan – also a great character, and Tran.  Yes, I definitely learned about this period J  ACTUAL BOOK.  .)

10.                The House We Grew Up in, by Lisa Jewell

(Wow. How one person’s trauma gave an entire family trauma, till they were all separate and all bouncing away from each other, all so messed up in different ways.  And with the death of that person, they come back together.  Not sure if I entirely believed the end, but the rest – how the decay happened. Masterful.  So many great characters.  I am slightly afeared that I am the Lorelei character – “Ooooooo, it’s the most amazing shade of green!!” – that is her, and that is me.  The emotional immaturity thing.  The fact my room is getting smaller and smaller due the boxes of books???!!!  I need another clear out, rather urgently.  Also….I really understood the description of wanting to keep all the memories of things, as if they were forgotten they were dead and useless and it’s as if they never were – so physical reminders became paramount.  Every moment was preserved as the present.  And I am stubbornly rather childlike.  As was dad…another hoarder of stuff.  Including his weird habit of going through things I had thrown away and bringing them back for his room…oh dear, I only just remembered that. Errrrr…

So there was mad thin Lorelei of ‘save the foils’.  Control freak and sanest – Megan.  Bethan who became so blank she nearly disappeared – that was most interesting, her attempts to be a person.  Not sure how she finally made it – that was glossed.  Surely not just motherhood? 

Bit of a glorification of family in this book.  So coming from a rather dysfunctional one, I found that annoying.  Too many babies, too much joy in being together.  Hmmm.  There was Rory, drawn most interestingly: he was very very disconnected and judgemental, almost dangerous in his disowning of women except as function.  Colin, passive, intuitive, suddenly tattoo covered.  Kayleigh – catalyst, very good character.  Rhys: was he ever not mad too?  What was wrong with him?  It seemed like he wanted his mother and sister – only them?  Was he on the way to becoming a predator, but stopped himself after his mother ‘rejected’ him?  He was scary and odd.  None of the children were normal.  It was a tour de force in how wrong things can go.

And its timings were beautifully beautifully done – the backwards and forwards, the progression of the characters problems, the letters, giving a mirror to Lorelei…Scarily, scarily real. 

One of her BEST books. Absolutely 20/10.  ACTUAL BOOK.)

11. The Seven Sisters, by Lucinda Riley 

(One of the weirdest reading experiences I’ve had.  I was not enjoying reading it, I was hating the cold fish, overly formal way of writing.  It was distant and matter of fact which I sort of like; but completely non emotive despite describing emotive situations.  I hate to be made to over-feel, but this was the exact opposite: I was reading about interesting and personally earth-shaking events, and yet finding them hugely…uninvolving.

And yet…every time I put the book down – and I read 2 others entirely, when this was put down – I kept wanting to know what was going to happen next: so I did care.  WEIRD.  I’m not sure when or if I’ll be reading the second one in this series.  I have it.  But…I felt this was overly long and overly distant.  Even if its country – Brazil – and subject matter – love in the time of the Belle Epoch and the raising of the statue of the Cristo Redentor, were fascinating, the style was not.  I don’t remember Lucinda Riley writing so mechanically before?  But anyway.  A good book in a want to know what’s going to happen way; and a bad book in a don’t like the style way.  Confusing.  ACTUAL BOOK.)

12.                This House Is Haunted, by Guy Lyon Playfair

(The book of the infamously contested Enfield Haunting case.  Scared the bejesus out of me in that it was written extremely calmly, and showed just how interminable and boring the events could get.  As well as unsensical and confusing.  There was so much philosophical discussion that I was really surprised, and captured.  Seeing as I definitely have the notion this phenomena is possible, whatever the explanation, and that I do think it can be catching, like fear or depression – I felt quite relieved to finish it – though it was remarkably stimulating in terms of the way it made its case and presented what the author says he saw and felt, heard etc.  Not clearcut, and all the better for it; one of the best ‘true haunting’ books I’ve read.  ON KINDLE.)

Some Books Read This Year - that *ARE NOT* Dr. Who ones!!

Suddenly occurred to me that the only books I’ve really gone into this year on the blog (other than the posts related to specific books), were the Dr. Who posts.  So I thought maybe I’d waffle a touch about some of the other stuff I’ve been reading, here and there. 

By the way, in my little document on my laptop, where I note everything I read each year and what I reckoned of it, I have taken to noting for posterity whether the book was an actual printed one, or a Kindle one; or a library book.  I have decided my sources are interesting, historically speaking too.  I have actually read a ton-load more Kindle books than I’m mentioning here – I have a habit of reading lots of very subgenre specific stuff on the Kindle, which I thought might bore those of you not into it, so I haven’t mentioned many those here.  So far, my reading ratio this year, of Real Printed Matter vs. Kindle is about 60/40 to the former.

1. Oxford Proof, by Veronica Stallwood (2003)
   (As readable as ever – possibly my favourite detective series.  Heroine not so much feisty; as lazy, a bit rude and wonderfully selfish.  Love her, its like reading about me, only with more oomph, money and crime solving ability.  This one ended up solved quite cosily, and yet still felt believable.  That’s what I like about this series best: I love the selfish heroine – she is more like most of us than most of us would admit – and I love the way everything that happens to her and around her is made plausible.  It’s not a Midsummer Murders where you wonder how there are any people left at all in this village or county.  It feels like it could be real. ACTUAL BOOK.)
2. Cupid’s Dart, by David Nobbs (2008)
   (My first ever David Nobbs book – a present to me.  I had trouble with this at the beginning and I don’t quite know why, unless it be my odd prejudice against self proclaimed 'humourous' novels; as by about half way through I was completely hooked and raced to get to the end to see what would happen between Ange and her 55 year old Philosophy Don virgin.  I thought he was a great narrator.  Some of the details surrounding where Ange left him and he went a bit mad and tried to poison his mother with cake were excellent.  I was nodding along and laughing and feeling an outrageous plot turn was all too plausible.  This ended up being a very enjoyable read indeed.  I’d read more of him, this being my first. ACTUAL BOOK.)
3. The Con and the Crusader, by Maggie Shayne (2005)
   (Contemporary – well, time travel, Romance Novella.  One of my favourite paranormal romance authors.  Very sweet and lovely.  Could easily have been worked into a full length novel, but she did ok with it at the shorter length too – it felt only a little rushed.  At her best, she has a feather light touch, her writing is gentle, impeccable, for its genre.  Yet above its genre too.  She’s a real artist.  I loved Jack McCain and I loved his redemption.  Don’t we all wish we could be redeemed by hard work – and isn’t it so much nicer to read about it than to do it?! ACTUAL BOOK.)
4. Shayne On You, by Maggie Shayne (2011)
   (Very interesting book – a combination of magickal primer and advice columnist, by this woman, one of my favourite romance authors.  I am wary of Maggie Shayne in person, as I remember ages ago asking her advice on something online.  I don’t remember exactly what went down…she gave me a very good grounding exercise, but something I said – perhaps I hurried her, I do hurry people if I think they are being tardy? – annoyed her and she was scratchy with me.  This happens rather a lot when I speak to authors.  I piss them off!  Anyway, I unfriended her on FB as a result, as I felt her eternal ‘only see the light’ statuses were pissing me off violently – she herself says she can be Pollyanna-ish.  Reading this book helped me to understand her mindset an awful lot better.  I am not a huge fan of the Law of Attraction, but as she explained it, it made a lot more sense than it usually does.  Not all of it by any means – some of it contradicted itself, but mostly – I felt a lot of her advice was sound, more of it was than not.  I felt I understood and could buy into this positive attitude.  And I have actually been trying to. A daily thought session on what to be grateful for; some affirmations that don’t seem farfetched but I understand why I am doing them for once.  ON KINDLE.)
5. Potty Training Boys, by Dr Caroline Fertleman and Simone Cave (2008)
   (I have come to the conclusion that I do not have a single clue what I am doing when it comes to potty training; I appear to have completely forgotten how to do it, so I have resorted to a book to give me some guidance.  This one was refreshingly simple and I have been implementing its advice now it’s a bit warmer.  As I couldn’t have little cold prone Alex constantly sitting about with his trousers off in those previously subzero temperatures when we can’t afford to put the heating on…plus, can’t risk too many accidents on this carpet that isn’t ours.  But I have been giving their ideas a go – it sounded simple enough.  Er, it actually isn’t.  It’s a bit of a quiet war played as a game, with sticker charts, this potty training lark.  Important not to pressure your boy, whilst also moving along.  Not as easy as the book made it sound!!  ACTUAL BOOK.)
6. Rock Your Plot: A Simple System for Plotting Your Novel, by Cathy Yardley (2012)
   (How to write your typical 3 Act Drama.  Not just for genre fiction though she says it is.  I reckon it could work with more high class lit too.  I’ve always thought story and plot and suspense and emotional involvement are vital, you can’t just have good style.  That’s why Christopher Priest’s sci-fi novels read like lit – he has it all.  This may be the extensive scaffolding system I’ve been fantasizing about for a novel for years; even if only to learn how to break the rules more effectively.  Would love to have enough of an idea to see if this works in application.  I loved the story she used as a running example – I actually wanted to read it, the way she was constructing it.  How annoying she hasn’t actually written it!  ON KINDLE.)
7. The Statesman and the Fanatic: the lives of Thomas Wolsey and Thomas More, by Jasper Ridley (1985)
   (Very readable biography.  Because I am reading other Tudor books at the same time, I know to not rely on his portrait especially of Wolsey, alone, but it was nonetheless very ably written, very well thought out.  What struck me, in the conclusion, was the very clever way Ridley said what they would be doing were they both alive today and had their careers followed similar trajectories because of their temperaments.  Wolsey would be a corrupt fatcat somewhere, but relatively harmless and very efficient.  Whereas More might be responsible for another Holocaust because of his sincere anti-revolutionary stance, his love of authority, and his inability to recognize anyone else’s conscience where it to conflict with what his own told him.  This all rang chillingly true. [Also, the man was appallingly sexist, misogynist even; I know it was the times, but bloody hell…scarily, reading the tone of him reminded me A LOT of my father, who was similarly conflicted about certain things; though he was the opposite in terms of revolution – he was all for it, but may have been just as ruthless given power.  And another who was only nice to his daughter.]  I enjoyed this book and found it rich in information. ACTUAL BOOK.)
8. Creative Writing Prompts: Random Words, Phrases and Sentence Prompts to Help You Write, by Vanna Smythe (2012)
   (At first, I thought this might not be best helpful, but the way the words and especially the phrases section truly are random – to the point of being not phrases but gibberish in most cases – is in fact very stimulating.  Something hypnotic about the lists of words.  Some odd poetry here.  I haven’t used any of them yet, but I think they may well be VERY useful on a day I’m not dog tired. [Why is dog tired a phrase? Dogs seem energetic, if anything? Bouncy lil critters.  Wouldn’t it be more appropriate to be Cat Tired, they are always napping?]  I’ve enjoyed her 2 other fantasy novels, so I was interested in what sort of word chains would stimulate her.  ON KINDLE.)
9. Writing From the Inside Out: Transforming Your Psychological Blocks to Release the Writer Within, by Dennis Palumbo (2000)
   (Possibly the best book I’ve ever read on the way people who write seriously feel about it.  His constant message: what you are is enough; write about and from wherever you are now, no matter how negative you perceive it to be.  “Write about the dog”.  Not as in the black dog, though that’s lamentably accurate in my case; but as in a cartoon he describes where a writer is surrounded by balled up paper, going insane, clearly blocked.  The room is also filled – incongruously – with dogs lolling everywhere.  His wife comes in and exasperatedly says: ‘write about the dogs’.  Use what you’ve got, whatever it is.  There was a lot of acceptance and bearing with yourself in here.  The ‘write about the dog’ advice prompted me to write a blog post recently that got an amazingly positive reaction for being ‘real’.  It stunned me.  People were ‘transported there’; it was their ‘favourite of all my blogs’, ‘poignant’.  So by terms of external validation – which Palambo actually warns strenuously against, as a method of self judgement and self worth measure! – the book caused me to write something quite special.  It’s a keeper simply because it explores the vagaries of feeling of writers, their insecurities and sad feelings.  And it does them all so supportively, calmly, quietly and firmly.  Reading this is the equivalent of a wiser older friend listening and both reality checking you AND validating you.  Quite priceless in its knowledge and calm.  Will re-read.  Many times, I suspect. ON KINDLE.)
10. Inglorious, by Joanna Kavenna (2008)
    (The style made this one, as it was actually quite heavy: a woman’s breakdown in slow motion, in very black humour.  ‘It’s a bad business when you think Modernism can help you.’ !!!!  That really did make me laugh.  It did drag, but then – a long depressed meander around why the hell am I doing any of this, with reference to lots of intellectual philosophizing isn’t going to trip off the mental tongue.  It was well worth reading though and made me laugh and think, many times. I then bought all her other books.  So that’s a recommendation.  ACTUAL BOOK.)
11. The Accidental Husband, by Jane Green (2013)
    (I’m starting to wonder if Jane Green is going a bit mainstream.  Bigamy is quite a big fat subject for a chick lit.  And she did cancer 2 novels ago, too.  Though this had her trademark calm narration, and the usual creation of a world of perfection, it dealt with other serious issues, bulimia for one, and it didn’t shy away from how bad that can get.  I enjoyed this more than I have enjoyed a Jane Green for a while.  Beautiful cover, too – the harmonious colours!!  ACTUAL BOOK.)
12.  Before I Met You, by Lisa Jewell (2013)
    (This was definitely female fic, rather than chick lit.  It had the bouncy tone of Lisa Jewell and the wonderful down to earth not too rich characters, who feel REAL…but the time slip element was wondrous.  She went historical, absorbingly and wonderfully.  I think this may be her best book so far in my opinion.  I loved it from cover to cover and ate it in 2 days flat with Fluffhead there.  It also had one of the loveliest covers I’ve seen in ages – I keep wanting to cut it off the book and frame it.  ACTUAL BOOK.)

So there you go.  A confection of the mixed up lot of caboodle I’ve been nosing in.  I’ve actually read quite a lot this year so far, I’m quite amazed at myself.  Must come from the strong urge I am having this year to bury my head in the metaphorical sand!

More books soon!

The Dream of the 'Perfect Home': Stress Relief

So what about Cath Kidston, then?  What about Kirsty Allsop?  What about Anthea Turner and ‘Perfect Housewife’ series of yore (which I loved, and won’t even call it a guilty pleasure).  There is nothing more therapeutic, I have found, than learning to fold a towel so that none of its edges stick out and it looks like a towel folded at a shop – new, pristine, full of possibilities.

What the hell, you say.  What possibilities?  It’s a towel.  It will go beyond the possibility and definitely get wet.  And not be washed when it should, because your partner dropped it on the floor and left it there.  Or your son borrowed it for a pouring station floorcloth and spent all day getting it increasingly more and more soaked, pouring from one small plastic cup to another.  Missing a lot.  He will take off his small socks with the rabbits on them and determinedly dunk them in the cups, helpfully washing them for your delectation.  You will scrunch up your nose and not say anything when he pushes them deep to the bottom of the cup, and the water slops over the sides, again.  The towel is drenched.  The carpet is drenched.  You think about mould, and mildew – and critters!  You cringe.  And smile when he holds up the sopping dripping socks, and just leaves them on the carpet.   He’s a happy chappy.

There.  That’s the possibilities of your towel.  It will fulfil its towel destiny of getting very wet and smelly.  Later, it will no doubt get hair dye all over itself too, and change colour in streaks: either it will bleach out entirely or it’ll have dark brown all over it.  A strange dirty dark brown.

What’s the point of all this?

The point is…the other day, other week; I was feeling all unaccountably tense and uneasy and stressed out.  The usual, worrying about stuff I can’t do much about.  I get like this a lot.

Which makes me want to control such as I CAN control.  Like some aspects of my immediate environment.  My home.  This was way easier before I had Fluffhead of course.  Before Fluffhead, I Anthea Turner-ed the entire bathroom in our old house (because it was the smallest and easiest room to do).  I had hampers for the towels, which were folded PERFECTLY IN ORDER OF SIZE AND COLOUR.  I had a matching bath and toilet mat.  I had a matching loo roll holder and loo roll container/ dispenser thing (what are those called?) that sat beside the toilet, looking all tidy and pleased with its shiny self.  My loo rolls matched the other colours.  Everything was mint green, white or cream.  My eyes felt rested by this.

Looking at that one perfectly ordered room (all its shampoos etc tidily stacked in little baskets on the ledge and dusted for that weird sticky bathroom dust) – I felt my chances of combusting in a fit of apoplexy diminishing exponentially.  Before my eyes.  I used to stand in the doorway to the houses tiniest room and just…not have tense shoulders.  Breathing more slowly.  Relaxing.

Stanley found it most amusing that he always had to elbow me out of the way to get into the room to have a pee.  (After which I would sometimes supervise moppage in a very bossy and unnecessary way, because I am bonkers and men can be messy.)

Anyway.  So when I think of my immediate environment, I think of all those images I have absorbed since I was small.  The idea of a home, the idea of this cool, quiet, calm environment where you can rest (notice I didn’t say warm, noisy and full of children).  It’s full of pretty things.  Useful things.  It’s more or less tidy.  Not like a show house, it’s not pristine and scary; but it’s not a tip.  (There aren’t children’s toys EVERYWHERE…and wet small socks randomly on the carpet where you’d least expect them, going quietly mouldy.  There aren’t boxes in every room, on the floor, on the wardrobe, on every available surface, Amazon boxes, market fruiterer boxes; storing all your boyfriend’s models and computer bits.  There aren’t computer bits – wires, cables, chips, bits of motherboard – everywhere.  Next to the toaster, for gawds sake.)

When stressed I always get to a point where philosophical viewpoints cease to soothe me, ethics and magick seem like the background to someone else’s life…

First I notice I want to read magazines more.  I don’t do Elle, Marie Claire, Cosmo etc.  They seem from my looking, to be full of vacuous looking ultra thin fashion victim ads, and precious little content.  I read (when I do, which is thrice a year-ish now), Prima and Essentials.  I first bought those years ago because they came with free dressmaking patterns.  They aren’t home-making magazines, but they have doable, beautifully photographed craft, cookery and sewing sections.  They count as Aspirational Home Porn fodder.  I swim in the pastel sea of gentle crafts and improvements, and A line skirts cut on the bias you can sew in an evening: ‘little skill needed’.

Then I dive into fiction.  When I get to an even more precise stress point, only utter escapism will do.  The world of grown up chick lit.  Where Jane Green lives.  Where Lisa Jewell lives (though, if you’ve read her last, you may well agree with me that she has gone mainstream and shouldn’t be hindered or limited by the chick lit label anymore).  Where the Queen Marian Keyes lives.  They write about real life issues and dilemmas that women encounter, but with compassion (not treacle) and humour.  Through a veil of friendships, pretty landscapes. Homes.

I’ve given up watching rom-coms in this state.  They are usually U.S. made, and not only do I want something a bit more familiar and close to home to identify with, I also want the bad teeth of the UK people, our speech mannerisms, our diffidence, our national pessimism.  I want less gloss, groomed-ness and perfection from my fictional females.  Less husband hunting.

I never read chick lit where the women are super rich.  I like my women at or close to my own level – i.e. the escapism works best if I can imagine being you or I can imagine getting to where you are.  Its escapism, but only because of the story structure, the happy ending of one sort or other, guaranteed.  And the depictions of solid friendships among women, without competition or back biting.  That’s worth aspiring to.

And sometimes it’s lovely to read the descriptions of the homes.

Which brings me back to Cath Kidston, Kirsty Allsop, and Anthea Turner.

It’s a whole different post to talk about why baking, home-making and Being a HomeMaker, in a 1950s approved perfect hair smiley keep the house nice for your husband kind of way, has become a mini subculture among some women in the last 10-15 years.  Why some feminists are worried by it.  In that: it is a choice among many to choose to be an old style housewife; but some of its manifestations are sexist and retrograde…are some women that subscribe to this new HomeMaker culture simply abandoning their hard won lives outside the home with careers and later or no children; are they simply and deludedly hiding from 21^st century life with their floral housedresses and tiered trays of cupcakes?  There's more than one reason for doing this, too.  Do not bother to get mad with me or send me answers on a postcard.  I’m just describing the debate for you.  As I say – not going into the ramifications of that, here.  I’m not a paid up member of either side of that debate.  I see the feminist worry and I share it.  But…

Oh my lord, do I see the lure of the idea of a perfect home.  A ‘Perfect Home’.  A sanctuary.

So: Cath Kidston.  I won’t pretend to know a lot about her.  All I know, is that our shops have been increasingly invaded by overpriced (ok quality) lotions, handcreams, pots, canisters, storage thingies of multiple sizes and patterns, aprons, mini rucksacks – also of all types and patterns, but mostly very very floral.  You name it, it will have her name on it and it will be floral or dotty, very colourfully, yet delicately.  (Think old time Laura Ashley, of the1980s.)  I know there’s lots of craft products, and cooking products.  She seems to be the highly floral backdrop to the crafty/makey things at home element of the homemaker movement.  I don’t own any of her stuff: too pricey.  And it’s become so ubiquitous I rebel.  (Even though there’s a strong part of me that will always be floral, and want to store things in pretty matching tins.)

And Kirsty Allsop.  All those programmes she does about relocating, and making things: another proponent of the perfect, tidy, handcrafted home: smelling always of baking things with cinnamon.  I mention her as she is also something of a phenomenon in the HomeMaker movement.  I don’t go for her at all.  I like the fact she’s a properly decent sized female – no size 0, 8, 10 or even 12 there.  I have no idea what size she is, but she eats that food she makes.  I do like that.  But I dislike the crafty side of things.  All the bits and pieces and ingredients: its all too fiddly, too enormously expensive.  I don’t have the spare money to go and get all these supplies.  I don’t have a car to get me to the craft shop out of town on the motorway.  I don’t have time to go to papier mache and pottery classes.  And that’s a little tiny bit of the point about Kath Kidston and Kirsty Allsop: its all a bit overly upper middle class role playing.  Passionately devotedly real to them…but when I try it, it doesn’t feel real, it feels like role playing.

It’s nothing to do with the real world where I live, where I count the pennies with increasing worry and recently learned to darn socks properly.  My craftyness is mixed with much more of a Wartime Farm feel, its very make do and mend.

I think Anthea Turner will have to be my favourite.  I loved her military control freakery as she tidied other people’s houses, and forced them to store their bits of RANDOM COMPUTER CABLE, STANLEY! in pretty matching storage boxes.  (Some of which were painted shoeboxes.  Easily done.)  I love the way she decluttered.  I love the way in the Christmas episode, she used old crappy jewellery for Christmas Tree ornaments, the way she iced biscuits with a child.  Not expensive biscuits.  Regular biscuits.  Her crafts were doable, quite simple.

She restored order.  She made melba toasts from old bread.  She showed me how to make cheap cocktails.  I can hear reassuring Northern in that voice, much as she seems to have tried to lose it.

Through Anthea and her shiny eyed perky haired obsession, I saw how at some point, an orderly pretty home, with children in it, was a real possibility.  (When they’re a bit older than Fluffhead.)

Seeing through her eyes, I can pare down my space (er, I have books floor to ceiling on 2 walls of my room) and make it more breathable and liveable.  A place I can dream and work towards a dream.  I can be Perky Chicklit Juniper there.

I could sit under the cherry tree, currently still exploding with (wet soggy) blossoms, with my Cornish friend aka Daisy Ginn, and sip at our ice cold cheap Bellinis, as I promised her.  It’s a lot about a sort of simplicity.  About things not being as complicated or hard on the head as they are in real life.

I could have a life I enjoy being in as well as observing for its colour and light, its taste and tactility. 

In this world, I am soothed by the thought that for 15 minutes straight my towel will remain perfectly folded – all will be well with my small corner of the world.  Mmmmm.

I finish reading Rachel Hore’s The Dream House (2012).  I pick up the recently started A Girl’s Guide to Home-making (2011) by Amy Bratley, and sip my camomile tea.  Both these heroines also got caught in the Lure of the Perfect Home.  Different results…it’s a fictional subject that keeps being returned to.  We keep worrying away at it, wondering how achieving it would change things for us; make us feel safer, or more in control, ready to face the world.  It’s a powerful dream.

Back to the real world then…but maybe a bit later.  I can’t have my perfectly folded towels right now; but I can read about other people trying to have them, or whatever it is that signals peace and order to them.  It fascinates me, just as it fascinates so many other women.