It’s been a while since I last wrote. Work got in the way again. I’m not really sure where to start; maybe a quick round-up to ease me in.

Things that have happened since my last post:

1. I’ve had another birthday and Christmas has been and gone.
2. The snow came, froze and went away again.
3. I received some paid writing work.
4. My boy cat has taken to peeing on the toilet lid.
5. I locked myself out, forgot my purse and spent two hours on the back step on a winter’s night.
6. I have been to the theatre five times. The most notable performances were Breakfast at Tiffany’s in London and I Ought to be in Pictures at the Library Theatre, Manchester.
7. I went to see Paranormal Activity at the Belle Vue Showcase. It was the scariest film I’ve ever seen. Ever. Don’t watch it alone.
8. I reread Emma and loved it all over again.
9. I have a Kindle. More on that soon.
10. I have been stressed

Rehearsal video clip for I Ought to be in Pictures:

There. All caught up.

The best gifts are unexpected. The sunflowers are a gift from my mother, for my new office. She thought they’d remind me of France. They do. The office isn’t quite ready yet and so for now they’re cheering up the dining room at home.

And then there are those gifts that come from the past. This mini gardening set belonged to my grandmother. She used the watering can for her house plants, of which she had many. The tools she kept in her bag, for those occasions when she saw a plant she liked and ‘took a cutting’. This included public parks and other people’s gardens. I was very little at the time and I’d stand behind the garden wall, half laughing and half terrified we’d be discovered. The mini gardening kit was always in her bag, along with her Polo mints and assorted bags of cuttings. I’m so pleased that they’ve come to me. Though I won’t be using them in quite the same way.

Last Saturday night we went to IKEA.  It was all my idea.  I admit it.  I chose that time to avoid the queues.  We only went for a couple of desk tidies.

When you’re in there the trick is to follow the arrows.  Follow them and don’t deviate from the path.  Keep focused and don’t be tempted by the displays.  Don’t sit on the sofas and don’t rifle through the kitchen stuff.  Ever.

I don’t know what it is about that place.  The merchandisers must practise Voodoo.  There are not many places in the world where you’ll utter the words, “I can’t stand it anymore, I have to leave right now!” followed directly by, “Do you think we should get one of those duvet sets?”  And then after 30 minutes of following the arrows, somewhere between a pod chair suspended from the ceiling and a rocking chair made from recycled plant pots -  “Oh god, that’s it, I’m never going to get out.  I’m going to die in here.  I’m actually going to die in here.  How much are those bendy lamps?”

The final tally wasn’t too bad.  Two desk tidies, two waste paper baskets, three sets of patterned glasses and one small printer table.  Oh and one teeny tiny set of drawers for my desk.  Not quite sure yet what will fit in said drawers.  No doubt I’ll have to scrunch up the paper first to squeeze it in.  But it could’ve been worse, I suppose.

We went to the cemetery on Saturday.  It was very gloomy after Stockport and all the blue balloons and Father’s Day signs.  It rained.  You never quite get used to visiting a grave.  The removal of dead flowers, the tearing up of the grass which grows up to the plinth.  And then the splosh of the water bottle to clean the marble and get rid of old leaves and the pieces of plant that stick to it.  My dad never was one for flowers.

As far as graveyards go Agecroft is pleasant enough.  It is beautifully maintained and wherever you look there are flowers and garlands.  Some of the plots are quite crowded with statues, lanterns, photographs in plastic sleeves, linked fences and teddy bears.  At one time I would have hated it.  Thought it gaudy even.  But not now.  When I walk through the cemetery and hear the wind chimes and glance at the tributes and small tokens, I understand.  They can’t let go either.

I’ve just read Kate’s post at The Manchizzle and have caught the meme. I now have to write seven random things about myself. Okay, here goes.

1. I talk to my cats. Sometimes I have whole conversations with them. And sometimes I sneak in to try and catch them in the act of talking to each other.

2. My favourite all time films are Barefoot in the Park and Gone with the Wind.

3. I got married in a chapel made of ice and spent my honeymoon in a log cabin in Swedish Lapland. At night, only the isolated barks of sled dogs broke the silence. That and Lord Levy’s gentle snoring.

4. When I was younger I never dreamed of being a pop star or an actress. I daydreamed about winning the Booker Prize.

5. My gran used to ‘take cuttings’ from other people’s gardens. She kept a mini gardening kit in her bag. With her Polo Mints. I’d stand behind the garden wall, half laughing and half terrified we’d be discovered.

6. I was born and lived the first few years of my life in Higher Broughton, Salford. My mum says that Salford people are the salt of the earth. I think she’s right. When I moved to Levenshulme a few years ago it felt like coming home, though I’d never lived here before.

7. Sometimes I wake up in the middle of the night. People from my dreams are still in the room, though my eyes are open. It’s called Hypnagogia.

So, there you have it. Seven reasons to stop reading immediately. If you have time, write seven random things about yourself and link back.

Pictures: The Ice Chapel and the Ice Hotel, Sweden

Lord Levy is at the football. As I write, his team is currently playing Manchester City off the park and leading by 3 – 0. There will be much celebrating in our house when he gets home.

Until I met my husband I never really understood football. And I don’t mean the formations or the offside rule. I mean that I never understood the point of it. He took me to a couple of live games a few years back, one at Chelsea and one at Leyton Orient. Though the latter took place on the coldest day of the year, I hated the Chelsea game the most. The ridiculously long queues and that god awful song they have – ‘Chelsea Chelsea . . . and then something about making it a blue day’. Oh it was a blue day alright. And that wasn’t just the language. And all the standing up and sitting down in the right places. And which goal they’re meant to aim for . . . .

We’ve since agreed that it’s not really my thing. Now that we’ve moved back up north he goes to the games with his dad, another lifelong Forest supporter. I still don’t particularly like football but I get it now. They’ll be standing there, the two of them, in the freezing cold, rubbing their hands together and laughing and shouting and cheering. It’s a bond. Something special that they share.

Before he died, my dad told me about going back to Old Trafford. He’d always been a Manchester United supporter but hadn’t seen a live game since the stadium had been rebuilt. On the phone one night he said, ‘They call it the Theatre of Dreams and you know what? It is.’ I didn’t think anything of it at the time and probably rolled my eyes a bit.  Now when I pass the stadium I have to swallow. And when they read out the football scores, I huff and make a point of flicking noisily through a magazine. But I keep half an ear out for the Man U result.