What are the Secrets to Happiness?

A couple of my new blogging friends, Wendy and Paula have been participating in a weekly meme called Wednesday Hodgepodge run by Joyce Daley over at From This Side of the Pond. It looks kinda fun so I thought I'd join in once in a while. Today I am going to do last week's meme otherwise I'll miss out on all the great questions from last Wednesday and, conveniently, there's no meme this week as Joyce is on hols. Now I think the idea is that Joyce posts random questions (hence use of the word "hodgepodge") which then everyone answers. Easy peasey!




1. Four (supposed) secrets to happiness from around the world are:

a) overcome your fears by facing them head on

b) allow yourself to relax and reset

c) work to live versus living to work

d) find the good in life.

Which of the four do you struggle with most? Which one comes most easily to you?

I think I am pretty good at A and D. In fact, sometimes I probably take A to the extreme to the extent that not being cautious about challenges becomes a hindrance rather than a help. I definitely get a big of kick out of facing challenges head on, especially in my car. (Have also faced some of these "challenges" from the rear end - cough, cough.) However, I also don't waste my time challenging myself to do things I know I won't enjoy in any way ( like going on a big rollercoaster for example) or ones where I don't have any chance of succeeding ( i.e passing the MENSA test.) However, when I was younger, I would often face irrational and rational fears head on irrespective of the consequences far too frequently which could have ended disastrously - for example I would challenge myself to walk down an unlit alleyway because it was a short-cut and because statistically the chances of being attacked were pretty low. What a complete twit. Nowadays, I would think that behaviour foolish and would encourage all women to take their personal safety seriously.

I probably struggle most with C. But unlike most people I probably spend too much time "living" and not working hard enough. Partially, that's because I am heavily involved in my children's sporting endeavours but also because my lack of organisational skills is diabolical. I also waste far too much time reading The Guardian and various other news sites for pleasure/amusement. If I had more self-discipline I could have written several more books by now. GRR.

2. How would you spend a found $20 bill today?

I dream about finding a stack of cash! But I'd be happy with $20. Unfortunately, the most I've ever found was a singular pound note. That was in about 1970. I was with my nan at the time and she made me give it to the local village bobby (policeman). Pah. How unfair is that. I could have bought 100 half-penny chews at the local sweet shop!

So $20? That's about £12.80. Now much to my displeasure, that's not enough to afford the airfare to the USA when I would stick a giant marrow (connected to some electrodes) up the ass of that dentist who shot Cecil the Lion. So instead I could go for either of two ebooks which I would like to own but are currently way too expensive so I am waiting for the prices to go down. The first is The Last Four Days of Paddy Buckley by Jeremy Massey which is currently £9.48 (around $14.80) for a 304 page ebook or RIP by Nigel Williams which was given such a dreadful review by The New Statesman that I'd like to read it just to form my own opinion. I have the feeling that as Nigel Williams is a comedy writer the reviewer may simply not have "got" Mr William's sense of humour - on the other hand it could be a pile of pants. Hmm. However, at a staggering £12.99 ($20.28) for a 336 page ebook I am happy to wait it out until it becomes a more acceptable price.

Hmm - I still I haven't spent the $20.00. Okay, for £12.80 I'll either go the cinema and watch the latest Tiny Tom Cruise "saving the world whilst diving out of a multistorey/plane/car" film and have a (very) small pot of popcorn or if I am in a philanthropic mood I'd give it to WWF in honour of Cecil the Lion.

3. Ego trip, power trip, guilt trip, round trip, trip the light fantastic, or trip over your own two feet...which 'trip' have you experienced or dealt with most recently? Explain.

I had a bit of a "trip" last night. I got "high" on chocolate which I am not supposed to be eating because of my hiatus hernia. However, I'd had a stressful day and needed to wind down (read "comfort eat"). Unfortunately my " high" soon turned into despair when I discovered my chocolate bar had melted (I'd left the uneaten portion on the sofa next to my leg) and Mr Bond, my cat, was licking it. I had to chuck it in the bin as shortly before licking my chocolate Mr Bond had also been licking his private places. Or what's left them after the op. I suppose he was taking his revenge on me. Which just goes to prove you should never, ever, trust a cat.

4. If you could master any physical skill in the world what would it be, and how would you use that skill?

Hmm tricky. I rather fancy being a skillful mountaineer. Imagine all the places you could gain access to and all the opportunities that would arise. I could even becomes a stunt woman on a Mission Impossible film! They'd probably use me to stand in for Tom Cruise. We're probably about the same size without heels. (His heels that is.)

5. As July draws to a close, let's take inventory of our summer fun. Since the official first day of (North American) summer (June 20th) have you...been swimming? enjoyed an ice cream cone? seen a summer blockbuster? camped? eaten corn on the cob? gardened? deliberately unplugged? watched a ballgame? picked fruit off the vine? taken a road trip? read a book? Are any of these activities on your must-do-before-summer-ends list?

Swimming?  Yes. I swim all year around in my endless campaign to keep my derriere from looking like a baboon's arse.

Ice cream cone? Yes. I ate a Magnum a few weeks ago. It was very hot. And I was comfort eating. (Again.)

Film? Yes. I went to see Terminator 4 with Arnie last week. It was great. I am a big Arnie fan. Sad I know, but that butt of his still has a nice shape to it and that's all the justification I need.

Camped? No. I last went camping about ten years ago. I hope it will be another ten before I go again and preferably never. In fact, there is not the remotest chance of me going camping unless for some obscure reason I have to share a tent with Gerard Butler.

Gardened? Yes. I was forced to help Mr T erect a new fence. Under pain of death.

Corn on the cob? No. Not one of my favourites. It doesn't come out of a packet.

Deliberately unplugged? No. I love films, music and communicating. Unplugging would give me a panic attack (unless I was in the wilderness sharing a tent with Gerard Butler.)

Watched a ballgame? Yes. I watch sport all the time, especially cricket and tennis. I was watching tennis most of the day yesterday. But, believe me, when your kids are playing it ain't always relaxing. (Hence the chocolate bar.)

Picked fruit of the vine? No. But Mr T picked the blackcurrants in our garden. Does that count?

Any of the activities above on your to-do list?

Sharing the tent with Gerard Butler is definitely on my to-do list now I've got over the fear of camping and accepted it as a necessary no-fear challenge. I am still going to pass on the corn-on- the cob though.

6. The Republican Presidential candidates will debate on August 6th. What's your question?

Imagine you are in England and have a meeting with the British PM and you want to dress to impress. Do you wear pants or briefs?

7. What's your most listened to song so far this summer?

This one. It's an old one but I am addicted to it.



8. Insert your own random thought here:

I think I would be really cool in a film with Tom Cruise or Arnie or even Gerard Butler. Happiness comes in many forms. This could be one of them.

Oh I forgot the book question. I just read The Principles of Fasting by Leon Chatow, I am currently reading Arctic Summer by Damon Galgut and Still Alice by Lisa Genova and the next book I am going to read is 10% Human by Alanna Collen.

Why not? An interview with me by me!

I have been trying to organise my files on my PC this morning and came across this draft interview that I submitted to an ebook site ages ago which never got published. So I thought - why not stick it on your blog Mrs T and let your readers tell you what you did wrong!

Let me know what you think, folks. I have my own ideas where I went wrong but you can sock it to me any way you want. Answers in the comments please or you can mail me at idiot@idiot.com

When did you first discover a love of writing? Is there a particular book that made you want to become a writer?

I first discovered I loved writing stories when I was at school and realised I could write stuff in them that I wouldn't be able to say aloud without being rebuked by teachers. You can get away with a lot when you write fiction; I'm currently planning a novel about a woman murdering her husband. Don't tell my husband.

No, there’s no particular book that made me want to become a writer. I do, however, suffer from the “I could do better than that syndrome.” Enid Blyton has a lot to answer for.

What is your favourite book?

My favourite book is the children’s story “The Little Mole Who Knew It Was None of His Business” by Werner Holzwarth and Wolf Erlbruch. Its brilliant toilet-humour comedy for children and adults and educational as well – especially for kids who live in built-up areas and are unfamiliar with the sight of what nature can attach to your boot. When my kids were small it was my first choice to read to them at night; mainly because I'm a ham actress at heart and like to indulge myself in all sorts of silly voices and sound effects. The Little Mole was also my “babysitting book” so I inflicted it on all my friend’s kids too. There’s a lot of kids out there who are probably permanently scarred from my readings. The Little Mole does, however, prove my point above that you can say stuff in fiction that you wouldn't dare say aloud. Imagine Holzwarth at school:

 “Stand-up, Holzwarth, and talk for three minutes on your favourite subject.”

 “Yes, Frau Snitzel, I first discovered faeces were interesting when I trod on….”

“Sit down, Holzwarth.”

 I suspect the scenario would be pretty much the same for all writers:

“Stand up, Cornwell, and tell us about what you did last night.”

“Well, Miss, last night I saw a blowfly on a decaying mouse. It had a gross black body…”

“Make sure your father comes to parents’ evening, Cornwell.”

“How about you, Clancy?”

“I tested out some fireworks, Miss. The dark red one had a very interesting trajectory. In fact when it veered off at an angle of ninety degrees…”

“Go to the corner and put a paper bag on your head, Clancy.”

See what I mean? If most writers said aloud what they're thinking they'd all be banged up.

What was your favourite book as a child?

My favourite book as a child was Five on a Hike Together by Enid Blyton. As I said, she has a lot to answer for.

Where do you get your story ideas from?

Some of them are from my life which, on a day-to day basis, I usually manage to screw up even if it’s only in a small way. But mainly I just sit down and the stuff flows out of my fingers. Principally, I like to write fun, entertaining stuff which also has a social conscience. I don't plan my stories so whatever is on my mind or in the news tends to work its way into it.

What is the best piece of advice you've ever received as a writer?

It’s my own advice I’m afraid. It goes like this: “Remember when your English teacher raised her eyebrows and ridiculed your story and typos in front of the whole class? Well forget it – you’ve got an editor and a proof reader now. Let them take the flak.”

Where do you usually write?

Anywhere but my desk which is an abomination upon mankind. It a huge beast of a desk that once belonged to my grandfather so I can fill it (untidily) with stuff that for most writers would constitute the contents of an entire room. The sad fact is I am probably the untidiest person ever to have lived and can extend my mess far and wide across every surface. I suspect that if I die before my husband he will put on my gravestone “Thank God she’s dead. Now I can see the kitchen worktops.”

Do you believe in Writer’s Block?

I believe other writers suffer from Writers' Block. I'm just lazy.

If there was one writer (alive or deceased) that you would love to meet, who would it be?

Seth McFarlane. Family Guy consistently makes me laugh and I don't mean just giggles. I could barely breath I laughed so hard the first time I saw the bank vault episode where Brian eats the contents of Stewie’s nappy. It was probably the most simultaneously revolting and yet funny sketch I've ever seen.

What's your favourite literary genre? Any guilty pleasures?

Oh I say!  Are you trying to get me to admit to reading erotica? Well I am not going to. I'm an upstanding pillar of the community and couldn't possible reveal my fondness for whips and chains in public.

What made you decide to self-publish?

Lots of things. The whole face of publishing is changing and the door is wide open for authors like me whose writing doesn’t fit comfortably into those genres we hear so much about. Also, when people tell me I can't do something or try to enforce their ideas on me I have an innate desire to prove them wrong. Luckily, no one’s dared me to abseil down the White House stark naked whilst singing “My Way.”

Are there any self-publishing tricks of the trade you'd like to share? What rules of craft or promotion do you live by?

I’m not good at giving writer’s tips. In fact I abhor them. I like learning from my mistakes; it’s more fun and doesn't require the reading of boring academic books that tell you to look out your window and write a passage about the first object you lay eyes on which is usually hideously dull – like a small potted plant or a Toyota Prius.  So I say, if you're stuck, join the Alliance of Independent Authors or hop onto one of the big sites like The Creative Penn for some professional advice.  Other than that, I think I've found my way around most problems by closing my laptop and opening a bottle of red and tackling it the next day. Sex is good for down-time too. Hmm…that’s probably not the advice you're looking for, is it?

How much money have you made from self-publishing?

A big fat zero. I’m in the red. Take pity on me and buy my books. If I cover my costs I can publish another. If I promise to put whips and chains in it will that help?

School Holiday Ramblings No 2

There's no other way to say it. I had a miserable day yesterday when my pet chicken, Miss Agatha, died.

She was a chicken like no other. For a start, she had a partially severed claw which, no doubt, was the reason why she was the only West Sussex available at the farm we purchased her from. 

She also thought she was a cockerel. 

Which was slightly problematic. Especially, if you're expecting a nice placid hen who makes an occasional cluck and generally behaves herself.

So Miss Agatha was definitely not a well-behaved hen. Every morning for the last four and a half years she woke me at the crack of dawn with her loud cock-a-doodling. In fact, she would cock-a-doodle anytime she fancied some attention. (Which was a lot and particularly when in pursuit of luxury food items.) She was tenacious, stubborn and had no fear. She would chase off cats and other birds no matter what their size.

As the years passed, Miss Agatha would wander inside our home with increasing regularity. Her first stop was usually the kitchen where she would eat Mr Bond's cat food whilst he looked on with a variety of looks indicating his deep despair/loathing/false nonchalance/hunger. She would then saunter off to examine the rest of the house. On one occasion I found her laying an egg under my duvet and, on another occasion, on my pillow. Recently, she had taken to laying her eggs in an old cat basket in the lounge. For a housewife with an aversion to cleaning, Miss Agatha's mission to make my house even dirtier was my worst nightmare come true. (On the plus side it did lead to a jump in share prices for antiseptic toilet wipes.)

Nevertheless, despite the fact Miss Agatha was stir-crazy and determined to drive me insane it was pretty difficult not to get attached to her. She had a personality as big as any human's and, frankly, it was a lot bigger than that of some folks I've known.

I'm gonna miss her. Even the cock-a- doodling. (Maybe not the 4am stuff though.)

You know, I might write a children's story about Agatha sometime. Agatha immortalised on paper. I think she's kinda like that. I think I'll call it The Adventures of Miss Agatha Turley, Chicken Extraordinaire.

Even Mr T and Mr Bond had given up protesting at Miss Agatha's
campaign for world domination.

School Holiday Ramblings No 1

So the school holidays are upon us. The best thing about this is I don't get hypertension trying to get the boys to school on time and the bad thing is I am doing even more driving than usual. This is not good for the life expectancy of hedgehogs, rabbits and low-flying pigeons.

So we are now into the second week of the holidays and the boys and I are in the midst of their summer tennis campaign. In between the driving and competing I am trying to manage my publishing endeavours, write and do all those other things that mothers are supposed to do. (Excluding ironing which I try to avoid as much as possible - it's the feminist in me.)

And the rest of the time I am trying to catch-up with the TV series Ashes to Ashes  which I highly recommend, especially if you want a taste of less politically correct UK in the 1980s and surreal drama, or string tennis rackets. Master Jacob, in particular, has a beast of a forehand and even though he is now restringing most of his rackets himself such is his skill at breaking tennis strings I still have to chip-in and string some when we are pressed for time. Stringing tennis rackets is mind-numbingly boring but unfortunately requires a lot of concentration otherwise it can all go pear-shaped. (Which in my case is quite often.) In fact I would go so far as to say that stringing rackets is a job that makes ironing seem almost pleasurable.

Almost I said. Almost.

And before anyone asks - yes that is vast layers of dust on the stringing machine. Dusting and me do not
go together. Rather like the ironing and cooking.

A Truly Awful Poem

It annoys me when I have to be polite
And sound all erudite
When I want to be rude
Stick my fingers up and be crude
It's such a pain being an English Rose
Who would never pick her nose*
Sometimes I want to say naughty words
And call people nerds
But I don't
Cos I'm nice
And always think twice**
I also write particularly bad poems
Not even half as good as Wilfred Owen.
Who was very unlucky and got shot
Whereas I have just lost the plot



*in public
** only sometimes

My Analysis of Recent Articles at The Guardian

Blimey, I haven't even had time to write my list of lost things yet and The Guardian are already banging on about feminism again. Apparently, it's not okay to call women "girls" but it okay to call men "boys."

Surely, there's more to life than that to complain about? I can think of some really big issues worth having a rant about. I could even make up some stories to rant about. Maybe about something I've lost. (Not a ring obviously - see last post.) How about when I lost my virginity? That's got to be a hell of a lot more interesting to just about everyone including feminists and misogynists.

Anyway, I am happy if a man wants to call me a "girl." The fact that he would probably be 95 years old, blind and suffer from senile dementia is irrelevant - it would still make me feel young and sexy.

The Guardian are also whinging about the niceness of the Royal Christening photos today. What bores. Anyway, I can't take that article seriously as it's written by someone who is clearly an Elvis impersonator.

Anyway, being an expert in analysis I have created this pie chart so you can easily see for yourselves what is happening lately at The Guardian.

What the hell is going on at The Guardian?

For the benefit of you folks abroad, I must first explain that The Guardian is meant to be a bastion of British newspaper intellectual reading. However, of late, I've had some weird clickbait stuff feeding into my Facebook stream which has caused me to react rather like this:

"What the heck? Did I click on The Daily Mail in error? Oh crap. I didn't. It is The Guardian."

"No really? Another article on feminism?"

"Hmm. What? Another article on Jeremy Clarkson and Top Gear? "

"Okay. This definitely looks like a clickbait article. Let me see...uh-huh...okay...so sexual deviancy in feminists is fashionable. Hmm...where's that link to The Daily Mail?"

"Hmm. What another article on Tim Hunt? Leave the man alone, he's a nobel prize winner. He made a poor joke - he didn't massacre innocent babies! I'm going to stick my head in a bowl of sand in a minute. But first, I'll have a quick look at the culture section..."

"Oh God. Not another article by Matt Haig on depression. Yes, yes I know it's good to have these things out in the open but, come on, some of us authors are trying to be upbeat about not selling like E L James. We don't need kicking when we're down!"

"Ahhhhhhhhhhhhh... another and another article about Fifty Shades. Noooooooooooo!"

Okay so you get my drift?

So you see all that repetitive stuff at The Guardian has been getting on my nerves. However, none of those articles, which even if a bit repetitive are generally well written with an informative or intellectual stance, can compare to THIS article I read a couple of days ago. I suggest you pop over and read it.

Done yet?

Wake up now.

I said WAKE UP.

Yep, it's official. That article is the dullest article in the history of British newspapers. Basically, to sum up - a woman loses a ring, finds it, loses it again and then finds it.

That's the sort of ludicrous crap you read on my blog. (But hopefully a tad more entertaining.)

Anyway, I hereby crown the author of the piece with my newly created Mrs Turley Awards for Writing as the winner in the "Dullest Writer of the Decade" category.

Let's pray to God (and to Buddha, Zeus, Jehovah, John Lennon and Kevin Pietersen) that Mr Turpin never writes a work of fiction. 

To think Tolkien wrote 4 epic awe-inspiring books about a lost ring. Obviously, Mr Turpin didn't take any influence from Tolkien. I'm not sure where Mr Turpin might have taken his influence from - maybe he was just sitting on the bog and couldn't think of anything but shit? So that was all that came out?

Okay, I'd better drop this subject now or people will think I am a meanie.

However, I will be back tomorrow with a list of all the things I have lost. It may be a substansial list.

Correction. It will be a substantial list.

The editorial team asleep at The Guardian.  It took me a while but I finally figured out how Mr Turpin got his article printed - he must have gone for an job interview and was asked to read a piece of his work. The editorial team duly fell asleep when they heard the ring story and Mr Turpin dashed in and uploaded it to the website whilst the rest of the staff were watching Wimbledon. It was, of course, a bit daring of Mr Turpin to come up with something as devious as that, but then again, it's a lot quicker than writing a sequel to The Lord of the Rings.