Snow days and bouquets

Last week I worked everyday, despite ice and snow and a two mile walk to the train station. On two days I was the only member of staff in the place because no one else could get in. I'm not one to complain but it would've been more comfortable without the power cut which turned off the central heating, but hey ho...

Anyway, Tesco have caused a furore by expecting their snowbound staff to pay back the time. Another place is expecting staff to pay back time even tho' the place itself had closed. (Huh?) I can kind of see the thinking but - Moses! - who'd be a parent of school-age children when the snowflakes start flying?

So, for the future, this is my proposal:

All teachers, by law, have to live within walkable distance of the school they teach at.

All schools which close for a day due to snow, have to open for a different day some other time during the year, because it's hard enough already finding and paying for childcare for thirteen school holiday weeks, when mum and dad only have four weeks holiday apiece, without having extra days tagged on.

All school approach roads will be gritted first. (Second will be the pavements around old people's homes.)

All people who genuinely can't get into work because of either bad weather or school closures get paid as usual.

All those who actually manage to turn up day in, day out without even a word of thanks (and what I find is that those snowed in at home get sympathy for their plight. Sympathy. How does that work? You can't come to work today? You're having to snuggle up with a pint of hot chocolate in front of Pingu? - you poor thing...). Where was I? Yes, those of us who make it in should, in addition, get a bunch of flowers from The Management. Just a gesture, that's all. Just a little 'hey, you did a great job'.

So, is that agreed then?

What do story ideas and hamsters have in common?

They're both nocturnal.

Plots, characters and settings slumber their way through daylight hours. Then at 3 am they wake me up partying hard - 'hey, look at us, we've got streamers, balloons, exotic locations, unbelievably clever twists and a few cliff-hangers! Come and play!'

Well, y'know, at 3am I can't even be persuaded to reach for the obligatory notebook at the side of the bed. And the last smidgeon of a story idea that now remains with me is something about a wronged wife being told by her ne'er-do-well husband that she looked like a white rhino.

I think it needs work before I send it off to TAB.

If you could be...

...a different writer, who would you be?

I think I'd be Lucy Mangan, who writes a column in the Guardian Weekend Magazine on Saturdays. I don't want to live with Toryboy. Well, it's not like he's offered. Or like I know who he is. And, come to that, I'm not keen on the idea of a dad who doesn't know my name. But I'd love to be able to effortlessly put together long, clever sentences and display all my weirdnesses in a funny way instead of a way that just makes people think I'm...well, weird.

Who'd you choose?

Being writerly, in a disparate kind of way

That's what I'm doing tonight - probably as a result of crummy Saturday night TV and trawling through, for the first time, the new Writers' News. First trawl: I mark stuff and fold corners down. Second trawl: I deal with whatever it was I was intending to look into further. Second trawl takes forever and sometimes never gets done or at least not till the comps are out of date etc. But that's not going to happen this time. Oh no, sirree.

Where was I? Oh, yes, writerly stuff. Okay...

1. Does anyone know what happened to Shortalk? I uploaded some stories for consideration, never heard a sausage and now, while the website's still up, the latest blog entry dates from about a year ago, I think. I'm sure some people said they'd had official acceptances...anyone in the know??

And...

2. Does everyone subscribe to Marian Keyes' mad newsletter updates? You probably do already, I'm sure. She's wonderfully bonkers but so entertaining and lovely. If perchance you haven't subscribed so far...well, get along to mariankeyes.com and just do it. It's like having your mad sister write you a lovely, long, chatty letter. If you haven't got a chatty, letter-writing sister, it's doubly great.

A small, sad yippee...

...goes to the Parliamentary and Health Ombudsman who, according to the Daily Mail (I know, the Daily Mail! I'm sorry...) is going to deliver a 'withering verdict' in her report, supporting Mencap in their concerns about the treatment of learning disabled people in hopsital.

The 'yippee' is, sadly, inappropriate because, in the lead-up to the ombudsman's input, so many learning disabled people have died unsupported and ignored in NHS hospitals. Mencap's own report, Death by Indifference, had me in tears when I originally read it.

See here for more info.

Best not hold our breath waiting for things to change tho'.

Happy New Year

And it's back to the daily grind of trying to come across as a normal person...Ever feel like that? No? Oh, it's just me then...

Over Christmas I was introduced to a gentleman whose name denoted a kind of fabric - not Serge; think Velvet, Tweed, Hessian, something that was a bit unusual. My brain, like the robot in Lost in Space, was totally unable to process this: Does Not Compute. I stared at him in confusion for what seemed like several minutes, till he said kindly: You can call me Peter, if it's easier.

So, what has the new year in store for you? Personally I'm considering happy pills and/or HRT. I need my bloom back. And my memory. And my decision-making processes. Where have they all gone? Same place as all the flowers? Who knows?

Oh, how they've changed

For four days over the Christmas break we're staying in a Youth Hostel with extended family. We have the whole thing to ourselves - all 29 beds and massive kitchen, real fire augmented by recently installed central heating. All supplemented nicely by a real ale pub in the village. Youth Hostels have changed a bit since my youth. More than a bit, really. Many a summer's morning I had to clean out the toilet block before being allowed to collect my card and head off. I ALWAYS got the toilets.

Anyway, now is the time to say goodbye...as Pete and Dud would say. See you after Christmas. Hope you all have a fabulous time.