This old world must still be spinning round

I’m a day late with this, because I spent the weekend celebrating my 31st birthday with visiting and London friends, and then pretty much used up my writing mojo on (bad) lyrics and a letter. Actually it’s a bit weird admitting that I spent the weekend celebrating, because in my 20s I went out of my way to avoid admitting I was even having a birthday. Apparently my 30s are going to involve enjoying the passing days a bit more, which is nice, actually. 30 was a fairly good year, but 31 feels as though changes are afoot. It certainly feels better than the uncertainty of 21. I mean, everything’s uncertain, but I’m a hell of a lot more confident about doing the things I want to do now, even if I go about it the wrong way a lot of a time. Basically, 30-something feels nothing like Bridget Jones’ Diary, and that’s a relief.

I thought about writing another list of things to do, but before 32 this time. However, I already have a number of ongoing projects that I can work at without have to write out that I want to do them – the aforementioned lyrics for one.  I mentioned a couple of weeks back that I had the bare bones of something I like, and that I’d recorded a rough version, pacing round the kitchen. I played it to a few people for some feedback. Overall, folks were kind about it, or genuinely like it. One of them is a musician friend who was quite gratifyingly enthusiastic about it (words like ‘goosebumps’ and ‘excited’ were thrown around). He asked if he could take the recording and add instruments, which suits me just fine because I don’t know how to even start that stage of things. If I don’t like result, we can change it (but the conversation was such that I think I will). If I like it, I can do a good recording of the vocals. You know, if it ever gets to that stage – maybe he won’t have time to do anything with it. Meanwhile, it’s spurred me on to write more things, which can only be a good thing. And maybe I’ll even get the nerve up to do an open mic night or something.

Oh, feck off Simon.

Oh feck off, Simon.

The other project on the go is a shadow puppet film, based on a short story by Fingerwords (for whom I’m Acting Muse. Which is to say that when inspiration doesn’t strike, I use threats and alcohol to bully him into writing). Quite a lot of research to do for that one before anything happens, but I’d like it to be this year’s visual project, because if we get it right it will be both beautiful and spooky.

My friends got me a book called Waterlog, by Roger Deakin, for my birthday. I read the first four pages on the way home and have decided that I’m just going to go and float around in a lido or bathing pond at some point this weekend, because, and I quote Deakin, “I can dive in with a long face and what feels like a terminal case of depression, and come out grinning like an idiot.No front crawl, no pushing it (I promise, Mum!). Just float about for a bit and gaze at the sky. I had my second round of blood tests and a chest x-ray last Friday, with the results due in about a week. I’m sick of walking everywhere and avoiding hills. I miss cycling, even, and that’s my nemesis. As incredibly exciting as it was following Rowena’s amazing 70.3 success last week, I was choked by a massive lump of jealousy (sorry, Ro!). I love the fact that her twitter feed has gone from worry and logistics to sheer confidence and excitement about her next tri – and I want that. Floating about aimlessly might help a bit.

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