We had 95 percent humidity at 6am when I went to meet my friend Mim for a pre-breakfast walk. So what was supposed to be a brisk kick to our ever-widening sedentary backsides turned into a slow, sweaty stroll followed by coffee in an air-conditioned bar. Now, just before 9am, she's gone back to her desk, Mr F has just left for work and I'm feeling distinctly uneasy because there's nothing I absolutely have to do today. A normal person might go to the beach or the golf course, or at least fit in a little light shopping before lunch. An obsessive worker might start on a new project and someone with the true gift of indolence might lie on the couch with a bunch of grapes and a good movie.

I don't want to do any of the above. And I think the problem is, I'm in limbo. I delivered my book. The jury is out and I await the verdict. Mr F says he loves it, but then, he sleeps with the author.
I could get off with a suspended sentence. You know, something like, 'Well, Laurie, I think we'll let posterity judge you.'
Or I could get three months hard editing. I do have previous convictions, after all. Poor plot construction, lame jokes, gratuitous sneering. A repeat offender.
While I wait for the jury to file back into court the only thing I can think to do is strip down to my underwear, iron some shirts and consider possible new careers.

Posted by Laurie Graham at 02:47 AM | Permalink | Comments (0) | TrackBacks (0)

I see that the United Kingdom, which currently has an estimated half million illegal immigrants clogging the corridors of its courts, welfare offices and hospitals, has refused Martha Stewart permission to visit the UK because of her criminal record. For which, I seem to recall, she served her time.

I'm no great fan of Martha but I'd say that's definitely not a good thing.

Posted by Laurie Graham at 07:48 AM | Permalink | Comments (0) | TrackBacks (0)

Yesterday I signed off first draft of this year's book. Mr F is down at the copy shop as I write, running off his reading copy. Later today I'll be able to hear nothing but the turning of pages. And the sound of his breathing. Into which I shall read all kinds of wild speculation. But right now I am free. Not that there are any flower-decked meadows to lie in around here. But I am free to do whatever I please.

There's always been a sobering gulf between what I fantasise about doing in my free time and what I actually do. Thirty four years ago, when I was expecting my first baby, I planned to make a patchwork quilt as soon as I finished work. It never happened. Now that baby has babies of her own, and it still didn't happen. I guess I don't really have what it takes to quilt.

On my list of recently neglected activities I have
1. Piano practice
2. Filing
3. Going for a walk.

However, so far this morning I have
1. Loafed in the sunshine in Campo Santa Margherita, read the newspaper and consumed a second breakfast.
2. Surfed for accommodation for a trip to western Ireland
3. Bought a new notepad to make notes for a future theatrical project.

There's a lesson in this. It tells me the careers for which I'm best suited are
1. Rich man's plaything.
2. Travel agent
3. Writer

See? It's just a question of knowing thyself. But given certain other important factors, such as love and the gas bill, I've decided to settle for
1. Poor but treasured pensioner's plaything
2. Part-time travel agent
3. Writer

So business as usual. Even when I'm free.

Posted by Laurie Graham at 04:25 AM | Permalink | Comments (0) | TrackBacks (0)

It was only 4.15 and I'd already heard four renditions of Santa Lucia floating beneath my window. Naturally I think anyone who comes to Venice is entitled to their gondola ride but a girl can only take so much, so I decided to go out and do a few chores. First stop the optician because this past weekend I broke two pairs of glasses. I guess I've been doing a lot of heavy looking. But today is Monday. So why would my oculist be open.

Next stop was Angelo's to buy cherries for breakfast. But at 4.45 Angelo was still in the siesta sack. At 5.15 when I started my homeward trudge he still hadn't reopened. He was sort of in the back of the shop, scratching himself and ignoring my sign language. And as I've written so often before, this kind of thing can get a person down.

On the other hand I can't think of anywhere else in the world I might have seen, in the space of just fifteen minutes,
1. a man in a greasy muscle shirt carrying a pink and blue Murano chandelier on his head
2. a man choosing yogurts in the supermarket with a violin and a bow under his arm and
3. our 83 year old downstairs neighbour being complimented on her scarlet toenails by some 90 year old rake who hangs out in the square and tries to pull younger women.

So by the time I got home my frustrations were forgotten and I was quite back in love with the place. I think I can even take a little more Santa Lucia before the sun sets. And it'll just have to be peaches again for breakfast.

Posted by Laurie Graham at 11:22 AM | Permalink | Comments (0) | TrackBacks (0)