Ghosting

January 2007
Pic is of M's horses.....


Funny how even a little splash of sun makes such a difference. Felt almost joyful with the sun glancing in the windows even though had a crazily busy day ahead.
It was back to aerobics for the first time since before Christmas and luckily the routine wasn’t too mean. I stopped for a quick coffee afterwards and then headed into town. The fabulous jewellery shop was having a sale so I hurtled in and snapped up two necklaces and three pairs of earrings for a very civilised twenty quid (all presents except for one pair of very vivid jade blue crystal sparkly studs which were winking at me).

Then M and I carried on with work. Cowgirl, you asked, so I’ll tell. I checked with M to make sure she didn’t mind being ‘outed’ in my blog and she said go for it. She’s an amazing psychic I’ve known for a while (we met while filming a bizarre Channel 5 show called Housebusters – about haunted houses). Anyhow, she has had a truly amazing life and has been commissioned to write her autobiography – but felt it would be a tough job as she is so close to the material.

She knows that I occasionally ‘ghost’ (ho ho, pun unintentional) books as well as writing under my own name, so she asked me to help her put it together. It’s absolutely intriguing – and awe-inspiring in the truest sense of the word. She has had the toughest life imaginable – atrocious abuse from a very young age and has come close to death more times than you would imagine possible. But she never moans about it and is so incredibly upbeat and positive, she’s a phenomenal inspiration. Fortunately her story has a happy ending and she now lives in the most gorgeous picture postcard thatched cottage (a real roses round the door job) with her partner and tons of animals (including three rescue donkeys).

We got a solid chunk of work done and then I popped to see Mum for a quick cup of tea before barrelling on to T to pick up James for his swimming lesson. Had a good gossip with my mate R (who’s the mum of one of James’ friends) and then we waited for ages for the boys to get dressed. They’d been in the changing room for twenty minutes when we poked our noses round the door to find they had been in the shower for so long and had it up so high that the whole place was like a steam-room. Piled, sweating, into the car and wound our way back with Asbo Jack howling in the back (poor dog had spent most of his day in the car). He’s a poor traveller and hates the winding valley road.

Smell of dead mouse seems to be fading (though that could be wishful thinking or just that I’m becoming accustomed to it). I figure if I burn loads of essential oils before the viewing on Friday I might just get away with it. Cowgirl, I felt quite sick reading about your rats! That is a truly horrific story. I think that’s one reason I am wary of getting a cat again. One cat we had (the accurately named Snuff) was a superb mouser and ratter but would bring them in the house as presents. One day I came down the stairs to find a huge rat on the hallway floor. As I stepped over it (getting rid of rats is man’s work) it twitched and tried to get up. Yeeuch. Clonteen, may Pounce never do that to you! Interestingly, in my experience, cats tend to be either birders or mousers (but rarely both) – what does anyone else think?

On that note, good-night fair bloggers. Sweet dreams. Or indeed, good morning, to our antipodean friends.