1. Walking through the graveyard on the way to the shops
2. And getting a cone of chips on the way back.
3. The hammock in my back garden.
4. Sisters 2 & 3 teasing me about my clothes/eyebrows/hair and insisting that they style me instead.
5. Sisters 2 & 3 in general.
6. My mum.
7. Being cooked for.
8. Eating at the kitchen table.
9. Being told I can’t leave the kitchen table until I finish all of my dinner.
10. My family making me laugh so much over dinner that I fall off my chair.
11. Coffee made in a percolator and sweetened with condensed milk.
12. Buttery scrambled eggs.
13. Taxi home after a night out for £7.
14. Cocktails for £4.
15. Not ever wearing a coat on a night out.
16. Queuing outside the only club open until 3am and hoping we wouldn’t get ID’d.
17. Dime bar milkshakes from Shake Out.
18. Hopping on the bus to Nottingham, just because.
19. Butterflies when I bump into certain people.
20. My grandma, grandad and aunts.
21. Strawberry bonbons from the DVD rental place.
22. Three bedrooms in my tiny house, each playing a different CD at full blast.
23. The smell of fabric softener.
24. Epic games of Monopoly.
25. My aunt popping round with strawberry and cream tart.
26. Stealing my sister’s shoes and denying it later.
27. Saturday night movies.
28. Walking the scary way home.
29. Singing along to Earth, Wind & Fire in my mum’s car.
30. Drinking out of my giant Aristocats mug.

*sniffle*

Someone remind me that I’m incredibly lucky to be in London please?

I adopt a head-in-the-sand approach to pretty much everything. If I’m angry with someone, I’ll let it brew rather than talk about it. If someone has really upset me, I’ll pretend they no longer exist. And if I’m suffering from acute writer’s block, I’ll just stop writing.

Three weeks ago I blogged about the utter crapness of writer’s block (update: I’ve still got it). Since then I’ve been the lucky recipient of much helpful advice and I’ve used that to formulate a little plan. So, once I’ve had some breakfast and changed out of my pyjamas here’s what I’ll be doing:

1. Start a diary. For some time I thought a blog was the same as a diary – a place to scribble about my thoughts, feelings etc. But I need something that isn’t censored for an audience. I expect it to include the indescribably boring (“The tube was a bit crowded today”), evil things I wouldn’t dare say in a public forum and general emotional gubbins I don’t like talking about. Obviously I won’t show it to a soul.

2. Write. And write. And write. Most of the advice I’ve been given is to worry about quality later and just concentrate on getting the words out. So I’ll be aiming to write every day, no matter how disheartening and horrible it feels to see the crap that’s coming out. Even if these are words that nobody ever sees, it’ll be good to get back in the habit of forming sentences and paragraphs and things.

3. Get feedback. Thankfully I have very understanding editors who are happy to check over my work and give me constructive criticism. Honestly, I don’t know why I didn’t speak to them about it sooner.

Hopefully my little plan will get me back on track. Not to say that I was a fantastic writer before this writer’s block kicked in. Far from it. But it was something that I enjoyed. And I really want to get that feeling back.

One time I was very frustrated. I was watching Finding Nemo and couldn’t remember what a sea horse was called. I tried horse fish, ocean horse, and other such variations but none of them sounded right in my head. In the end I had to pause the film and ask my sister what those curious creatures were called. It was very frustrating.

Now. Let’s try that over a period of three weeks and you have my particular variation of writer’s block. I have several drafts of blog posts all over the place, ranging from a few sentences and bullet points to paragraphs that just stop halfway through my point. I’ll have an idea, go with it and then it just fizzles to nothing. Or, even worse, I know exactly what my point is but just can’t find the words to adequately express it. It explains why the opening sentence of this post sounds like it was written by a toddler.

I feel like I need to scoop out my brain, spread it on a pan and do something like this*:

I think I know why it’s happening. I’ve had a few distractions lately that are making me want to curl up in bed and ignore people. That isn’t exactly conducive to concentration. Thankfully I’m not a freelance writer, so this writer’s block isn’t going to cost me a day job. But it isn’t exactly making life easier for my editors. And I really enjoy writing. Not being able to do it to my usual standard is kinda troubling.

So. Tips please? Do you get writer’s block? How do you deal with it? I would really appreciate your answers!

*This process is called “panning for gold”. I know this because I googled “what gold miners do”. I couldn’t remember :-(

Chocolate fondue through a straw. Is there any other way to end a cocktail event?

[via Qype Does London]

So clearly details about the above study were making the rounds last week. From Grazia to The Sunday Times, a day didn’t go past without the study being cited in one way or another. I can see why it was popular – everyone that I’ve spoken to has an opinion on it. Personally it’s made me feel these emotions in this order:

Anger. I was mad. Seriously, British public – I’m supposed to be happy that tan people are acceptable now? Fuck you.

And then:

Unease. Saying that a particular race has a significant advantage over others is far too close to eugenics for my liking. Thinking about it made my brain shift uncomfortably in it’s seat and tug nervously at it’s collar.

And then:

A feeling that can only be summed up by the phrase “waiiiiit a minute!” Because the study isn’t saying that mixed-race people are The Best. It’s not even suggesting it. What the study is saying is that the British perceive us as more attractive. There’s a big difference between the two. Dr. Michael Lewis is merely reporting what these individuals thought of a set of photos.

And then:

Happy. Because it’s bloody fantastic that people are realising you can be both dark-skinned and beautiful. It certainly makes a change from being regarded as “exotic” (*cringe*) or just ignored outright. This is a good thing, and I can’t understand anyone who thinks otherwise. Because if more brown people are appearing on the telly, in magazines, books etc, that means more role models for young brown people. And I won’t see my mixed-race six-year old sister sad again because she doesn’t have “golden hair” (true story).

And finally:

Sad. What if you’re on the ‘wrong side’ of beige? It’s taken decades for the British public to find someone like me attractive, and I’m a caramelish shade. Seems like it’ll be another few decades before anyone darker will be seen as “mainstream beautiful”. And that’s really depressing.

Mildly offensive flickr photo from journeyscoffee’s photostream

Yes it’s rainy, you’re probably stressed from work and awaiting the payday that never seems to get here. But this puts things in perspective.

Found via India Knight’s Posterous.