Pliny was a Roman who was rather famous for writing letters to high profile mates and in one of said letters he says he is having trouble thinking of things to say because when one writes daily, one is in a position to spew the minutiae of the day... Weekly or less often however, and the days just blend in to one long festival of bland and one finds that there is nothing at all to say. Well all right, he was considerably more eloquent than I am but you get the gist.
He makes an interesting point. On the other hand, does my tiny band of followers really want to read about the filth fest that is Mad Izzy's cage...? Or the fact that I went to the supermarket this morning? I think not. Yet when I lived in Tokyo, I thought nothing of waxing lyrical about Simon's foraging expeditions around my room. I do miss Simon but that is beside the point. Was Tokyo naturally more glamorous than Wales by the simple virtue of being Tokyo and therefore, was everything that happened in Tokyo deemed blog-worthy because of its natural allure...? I do not know. I really don't. I used to have absolutely no problem blogging for a good half hour or so on an almost daily basis. These days I am lucky if I manage five minutes of vitriol before I start to flounder. Oh, rapier wit, where art thou?
Yesterday, my Dad was supposed to come and visit. He didn't show up and he hasn't answered his phone since Tuesday. Should I be worried? I don't know. I did have a sudden flashback to being 7 and sitting on the drive with my 5 year old brother playing with gravel as we waited, absolutely certain that our Dad, who had promised to arrive at 10am would magically appear before 2pm... and my Mum in the house yelling at us to come in because he wasn't coming... The blind faith of the little child. He jolly well did show up though at about 1.15 as I recall. Late he might have been. But he jolly well showed up. So where were you yesterday, Dad? I could really have done with the company...

Having promised myself and everyone else that I would try to blog more often this year, I thought I hadn't signed in for a while so I'd better have a look. I haven't written a thing since January. Again. Rubbish. Well, I have written things; just not on my blog. I've almost finished chapter 2 of the novel, and while it isn't quite going as smoothly as I'd hoped, it's a long way from what it was before Christmas.
The Passion play went very well and although it was an interesting experience, it was also quite taxing. I don't see myself doing it again next year for several reasons. One, because the level of pretentiousness went right off the Quince Scale at the end and I could barely cope with it. I just want to get on... unless I am the perpetrator of said pretentiousness, of course, in which case, as we all know, I can be rather self-indulgent. Also though, because after 4 months of working on it, Darren-the-vicar's wife who wrote it and was co-directing it has still not actually said a single word to me, other than ' Yeah, don't make that too huffy' and 'You two at the cross brought me almost to tears'. The former when Disciple number 5 (I realised that Judas had lines so I gave myself a demotion) was turned away from the garden... I had been going for tragically and utterly gutted so yeah, I suppose my acting career is over before it's ever started and the latter when we were rehearsing the crucifixion scene. And that was it, almost everyone else in the room had some sort of reinforcement, encouragement or thoughts for improvement every week and I frankly felt as though I may as well not have bothered. The woman has not used my name. Ever. Again, after 4 months, I feel that is a bit of a poor effort, since she already knew about half of us before we even started. Now I know I am considered exceptional with names and my ability to put them to a face ... but FOUR MONTHS....! The last straw however, was the final night of our little production and as a sort of a thank you gift for Darren-the-vicar and his wife, I came up with the idea of cross-stitching the Passion logo on a piece of fabric and then getting the cast to sign the fabric around the logo. I am not going to go into the time it took to design my own pattern and then actually create the thing but I'll say it took effort and leave it at that. I didn't want to hand it over personally or have them know who had done it, I think because subconsciously, I knew I'd be disappointed in the reaction... Anyway, having told the chap playing Jesus that I wanted to remain anonymous, I thought that would be enough. It wasn't; they asked. Someone told them. Which was fine. Over the general melee Darren-the-vicar did catch my eye and say thank you but from Anne... absolutely nothing. Perhaps I expect way too much of people, I don't know. But if someone had gone to the trouble of handcrafting something for me, even if I hated it, I'd damn well make the effort to thank them personally. So. Last straw. Handbags at dawn. Mel says she thinks that Anne thinks I am in love with her husband which is so funny I spat out my tea when I read the text in which she suggested it... Seriously, I do not protest too much, I have my eye on someone with much better musical taste...