This weekend has been upsetting to say the least. It was my little sister's wedding, and as a mark of how much it seems I am appreciated in the family, I was the only immediate family member who had not been asked to be involved in any way. My older sister was the chief Bridesmaid, and the Groom's sisters were asked to be flowergirls - they never held a flower, but they were asked so that they felt a part of the family and that they meant something to my sister. There were other roles for other people; friends and other family members. But I wasn't asked to be any of them. It seems everyone else meant enough to her to be asked, except me.
I cannot begin to express just how cutting that insult, whether intended or not, was. I was left feeling like a third hand and a hinderance that was unwanted within the family. There's a not really a lot to say about the empty feeling of seeing every member of my immediate family on the top table together, whilst I get relegated to a table at the back for the wedding breakfast. Some of the Groom's extended family did not even realise there was another sister. I felt like a distant relative.
I refuse to believe that none of my family realised that this was going to make me feel unwelcome. It would be a snub in any family to leave just one sibling excluded from everything. People I have talked to have all said it seemed strange that my sister would leave just me out in this way. If it was a genuine oversight by her, then why did no-one mention "Won't Jenny feel put out by being the only immediate family member left out of everything on the day?". You know, even one of our cousins was asked to do a reading in the church. Am I really so distant a relative to my own family? No-one even thought to smooth things out beforehand by talking to me and perhaps giving a reasonable explanation as to why I was being left out. There might have been a reasonable explanation, but no-one bothered to tell me. I was left to feel like I was being shut out. The message being sent was received as "Jenny is the only immediate family member who doesn't mean enough to her sister to be asked to be involved". Anyone else in the same situation would have seen it as the same.
It did not help that the venue for the wedding breakfast and evening event was the worst hotel I have ever come across in all my time of travelling the country. Now, I don't normally drop names. I think that's tacky, and looks like I'm either hinting for freebies, bigging myself up or just trying to score cheap points on the internet. But in this case I'll make an exception because I would not want anyone else to suffer a similar bad weekend. Steer clear of the Holiday Inn in Bolton, because being mugged offers a better experience and value for money than staying there.
There was supposed to be a member of staff directing traffic, because of problems with the car parks being overfull. He apparently could not be bothered to do his job, so around forty cars of guests were left milling around driving through overflowed carparks with nowhere to park. It took us over an hour to find somewhere, only to find that the carpark had to be vacated by 6:30pm. The hotel staff seriously were expecting guests who had paid for a room, and were supposed to be going to a meal with wine and champagne to not drink just so they could spend the evening intermittantly shuffling their cars around. After complaining, I got a space in the staff carpark, but it wasn't much help to many other guests.
The vegetarian starters that were ordered didn't appear, even when asked several times. The serving staff seemed more interested in fobbing the vegetarians off by quickly placing prawn cocktails on multiple occasions in front of them, as if they might get bored of being vegetarian. They served me mushrooms in my food, despite being notified before hand that I had a mushroom allergy.
The room we had was apparently 'executive' but I only dread to think how bad the standard rooms would have been. The interconnecting door into the next room was left unlocked when we arrived and was only locked when I complained. The air conditioning didn't work, and the heating seemed to be stuck on at a sweltering level. Despite Bolton being a soft water area, the cold pipes were disgorging scum-laden and discoloured water. The room had a double bed, but was laid out as a single (one towel, one set of drinks, one biscuit, etc). The light in the bathroom was also suffering from electrical buzzing noises and flickering - one not to touch with a bare finger. Last but not least, the bed seemed to slop inwards from both sides, making it uncomfortable for two people to sleep in. I managed a grand total of three hours sleep, though a further four hours were spent trying to get cool and comfortable and failing.
The breakfast bar was poorly placed, ensuring that staff with hot plates of food and dirties were forced to push their way through the queue at all times. Several of the tables were also swamped by queuers - I would not have liked to have sat there. There were also, like the parking spaces, too few places for the people coming down to eat from the rooms. The hotel felt like it had the facilities for a hotel a quarter of its size. The one plus side was we complained so bitterly that we were promised by the hotel manager a full refund. It still was not worth the stay for free. I cannot reccomend the Bolton Holiday Inn under any circumstances. I will also be avoiding any Holiday Inn too, just in case they are all bad, such was the poor experience.
All in all a rubbish weekend. Made to feel superfluous by my family. Was I not deemed by my sister to mean enough to her to be asked to be involved? Everyone else it seems was deemed to mean enough to her to be asked.
Wednesday, 10 September 2008
Friday, 5 September 2008
Lost: One Summer. Answers to the name of Mr. Biggles.
The last couple of nights have shown a downturn in the only aspect of the weather that has been remotely summery. The heat and humidity have gone, to be replaced by a cold Autumnul nip in the air. So that was our Summer then? I think we had no more than half a dozen days over the entire year where you could safely say the weather was like a real Summer.
Last night I slept wearing a jumper. It's something I do when the weather gets colder, and it works. I have several big comfy jumpers that are really comfortable to wear to bed and not too hot or scratchy either. When the weather gets even colder still, I leave my socks on as well. It works. Especially in this climate of gas being ridiculously over priced, it means in more practical terms that we can probably last an extra month before the central heating is required again.
I think we had a barbecue or went to a barbecue no more than three times, and at one of those the weather turned a little damp in that traditional British way as soon as we lit it. Where did the Summer go? I think it decided to take this year off and go out to Abu Dhabi to top up on its tan? After all, it must be nice to get a change of scenery. It's like when there's a bank holiday, why don't the banks head off to the beach with a creak of masonary and a jangle of those pens on chains they have? I certainly would.
We were going to go into Manchester today, but a quick snap poll (involving looking out of the window and seeing the weather) meant that we've cut things back to just going into Bolton. I have an eye examination there at just before four anyway (just routine, no need to worry) so we decided we can probably do everything we want within walking distance of home. At least then we won't get quite as wet. Or at any rate; that is the plan.
I want a particular piece of what Zoë laughably describes as my 'train porn'. That is, I collect model railway stuff. It was something my Father managed to get me interested in when I and my sisters were very small. I suppose faced with three girls, he had to try really hard for his excuse to have a train set to play with. Luckily for him I took the bait and have been interested ever since. There is a small yet expensive shop in Bolton, but these days it works out cheaper than the cost of petrol to drive to the cheaper shop in Burnley or paying for it to be posted from Liverpool or Sheffield. In my office there is an oak chest (family heirloom - it's made from timber salvaged when a tea clipper was broken up in the 1930s in Hull). It is literally full with model railway locomotives and wagons. Occasionally I get them out to play with them. More often I add bits to them. The chest is long since full, and I have crates on top of the wardrobe now. There is also a small model railway which was photopgraphed for an article in the magazine 'Model Rail' though I have yet to see it in print.
We also want to browse books (you can never have too many books!) and I need more underwear. I realised the other day that some of the stuff in my smalls drawer dates from as far ago as 1998 (though, I should add, not all). When I was 19 I suppose some of this stuff was considered pretty sexy when I was out doing the student thing on the pull at parties in short skirts. But I tell you; red lace knickers are a tragic sight when they've spent ten years travelling intermittantly through the fluff cycle on the washing machine.
Last night I slept wearing a jumper. It's something I do when the weather gets colder, and it works. I have several big comfy jumpers that are really comfortable to wear to bed and not too hot or scratchy either. When the weather gets even colder still, I leave my socks on as well. It works. Especially in this climate of gas being ridiculously over priced, it means in more practical terms that we can probably last an extra month before the central heating is required again.
I think we had a barbecue or went to a barbecue no more than three times, and at one of those the weather turned a little damp in that traditional British way as soon as we lit it. Where did the Summer go? I think it decided to take this year off and go out to Abu Dhabi to top up on its tan? After all, it must be nice to get a change of scenery. It's like when there's a bank holiday, why don't the banks head off to the beach with a creak of masonary and a jangle of those pens on chains they have? I certainly would.
We were going to go into Manchester today, but a quick snap poll (involving looking out of the window and seeing the weather) meant that we've cut things back to just going into Bolton. I have an eye examination there at just before four anyway (just routine, no need to worry) so we decided we can probably do everything we want within walking distance of home. At least then we won't get quite as wet. Or at any rate; that is the plan.
I want a particular piece of what Zoë laughably describes as my 'train porn'. That is, I collect model railway stuff. It was something my Father managed to get me interested in when I and my sisters were very small. I suppose faced with three girls, he had to try really hard for his excuse to have a train set to play with. Luckily for him I took the bait and have been interested ever since. There is a small yet expensive shop in Bolton, but these days it works out cheaper than the cost of petrol to drive to the cheaper shop in Burnley or paying for it to be posted from Liverpool or Sheffield. In my office there is an oak chest (family heirloom - it's made from timber salvaged when a tea clipper was broken up in the 1930s in Hull). It is literally full with model railway locomotives and wagons. Occasionally I get them out to play with them. More often I add bits to them. The chest is long since full, and I have crates on top of the wardrobe now. There is also a small model railway which was photopgraphed for an article in the magazine 'Model Rail' though I have yet to see it in print.
We also want to browse books (you can never have too many books!) and I need more underwear. I realised the other day that some of the stuff in my smalls drawer dates from as far ago as 1998 (though, I should add, not all). When I was 19 I suppose some of this stuff was considered pretty sexy when I was out doing the student thing on the pull at parties in short skirts. But I tell you; red lace knickers are a tragic sight when they've spent ten years travelling intermittantly through the fluff cycle on the washing machine.
Thursday, 4 September 2008
Short story reading now confirmed.
Firm details on the reading of my work:
Jennifer will be reading her short story, Bringing home the stars at Milk Wood in Second Life on Sunday 21st September at 9pm (UK time - 1pm Second Life time). She would love to see you there.
Book reading moved and a cushion on the throne.
First things first, a bit of housekeeping before I get on to today's rant. The Second Life book reading of "Bringing home the stars" has been put back by two weeks to the weekend of the 20th/21st of September. The reason for this is because my publicist insisted on having extra time so that proper advertising for the event can be put in place. Something about "maximum exposure" was muttered, so I leave these things in her capable hands.
Yesterday a little habit I have got me thinking when I caught myself doing it yet again. As a little background, I have Obsessive Compulsive Disorder (OCD) and one of the things I obsess about is toilet hygiene. Zoë will testify to this fact. I tend to be very uncomfortable in using a toilet until I have used it a few times. One of the worst things I find is having to use a public toilet when out and about.
In my travels I have had to use more than a few skanky ones. You remember that scene in the film Trainspotting? The 'worst toilet in Scotland' scene? Well, I've found a few that try to come close to that. The ones that make me despair are the ones that have a little sign saying: 'these toilets checked every hour'. What does the checker do? Have a look around then go back to their boss to say: "Still swimming in piss; no need to add any more".
Some of the worst offenders have been in some of the places that you would have least expected it. The toilets in the Morrisons distribution centre by the goods inward desk are really bad. I never went in, but the stench that leached out around the door and the tails from white-faced punters as they exited were enough. Other supermarket chains are not exempt. Sainsbury's at their Haydock distribution centre have one that is so bad that some-one has had enough and cocooned the door with 'Danger - do not enter' signs and a note saying the bowl was blocked and brimming over with crap. I hate to think which group of skanky idiots went to the effort of brimming the bowl up with their turds; that takes effort to be that fetid.
No matter what, if a toilet is useable or has to be used, I always then start my OCD ritual. First thing is wiping the seat with some loo roll, in case of any surface splashes. Then I lay out a seat of yet more loo roll so that no part of me actually has to touch any part of the toilet seat. They I use another piece of loo roll to protect my hand from the flusher - well, people who have just wiped their bottoms were touching that.
I wonder if I am not alone. Does anyone else go to such trouble as to lay the loo roll cushion out before they sit down?
Yesterday a little habit I have got me thinking when I caught myself doing it yet again. As a little background, I have Obsessive Compulsive Disorder (OCD) and one of the things I obsess about is toilet hygiene. Zoë will testify to this fact. I tend to be very uncomfortable in using a toilet until I have used it a few times. One of the worst things I find is having to use a public toilet when out and about.
In my travels I have had to use more than a few skanky ones. You remember that scene in the film Trainspotting? The 'worst toilet in Scotland' scene? Well, I've found a few that try to come close to that. The ones that make me despair are the ones that have a little sign saying: 'these toilets checked every hour'. What does the checker do? Have a look around then go back to their boss to say: "Still swimming in piss; no need to add any more".
Some of the worst offenders have been in some of the places that you would have least expected it. The toilets in the Morrisons distribution centre by the goods inward desk are really bad. I never went in, but the stench that leached out around the door and the tails from white-faced punters as they exited were enough. Other supermarket chains are not exempt. Sainsbury's at their Haydock distribution centre have one that is so bad that some-one has had enough and cocooned the door with 'Danger - do not enter' signs and a note saying the bowl was blocked and brimming over with crap. I hate to think which group of skanky idiots went to the effort of brimming the bowl up with their turds; that takes effort to be that fetid.
No matter what, if a toilet is useable or has to be used, I always then start my OCD ritual. First thing is wiping the seat with some loo roll, in case of any surface splashes. Then I lay out a seat of yet more loo roll so that no part of me actually has to touch any part of the toilet seat. They I use another piece of loo roll to protect my hand from the flusher - well, people who have just wiped their bottoms were touching that.
I wonder if I am not alone. Does anyone else go to such trouble as to lay the loo roll cushion out before they sit down?
Wednesday, 3 September 2008
"Bringing home the Stars" reading
New update:
Second life at 7:00pm on this Sunday the 7th. I will be reading "Bringing home the Stars" which is a sci-fi/horror story which is completely new. More details to come! Hope to see you all there :)
Second life at 7:00pm on this Sunday the 7th. I will be reading "Bringing home the Stars" which is a sci-fi/horror story which is completely new. More details to come! Hope to see you all there :)
How much?!
I love it when I am so right in the face of a crowd of doubters. Huddling in Wakefield in a little shelter as the rain sluiced down hard and the jagged forks of lightning marched across the sky, One man commented forlornly that his car was in a carpark at the other end of the site and he was going to get soaked. I pointed to the sky and told him that the harder it falls, the shorter the squall. He didn't believe me, but I told him to wait five minutes, as the sky was lighter in the upwind direction. The whole crowd swore blind I would be wrong, but I wasn't. Sure enough, the rain eased and the clouds parted and sunshine ruled the evening!
I get to go to some interesting places in my travels. Yesterday I went to a factory where they prepare fresh fruit salads for supermarkets all over the country. Now, usually refrigerated factories stink. It's a sort of gone off milk smell that is foul. But this one smelt (I suppose obviously given what they were making) of fruit. It was very nice indeed. Over the years I've been to many places, but this certainly came joint first as smelling the best (along with a factory that made incense oils).
I filled my car with petrol last night. It's one of those things that I have to do with trepidation every so often. It's been a shock for the last year filling it up, since ever since I learnt to drive petrol was fairly stable at costing about £30 to top up my tank. Now it can cost wildly differing amounts up to frightning levels. For the last three monthsd I've been taking to putting £20 in and struggling on. It's less frightning that way. But next week Zoë and I are out to North Wales on a caravanning week, and we'll need a full tank to go so I squeezed the filler, watched the pump readout and hoped for the best. It clicked full at 24p under £40. Ouch! Still, it was just over half a tank, and I was wondering if it was going to be closer to £50. Petrol isn't quite £5 a gallon at the moment, but that's still a lot of money to travel given the rip off price and unreliability of public transport means that often car is the only serious choice. Don't get me started on that argument!
I also checked the tyre pressures. I think I may have mentioned something about this before. For years I've pumped car tyres to 32PSI and never thought any different. With high fuel prices, rolling resistance became more of an interest, so I read the manual for the car. It sits on sporty low profile alloys, and apparently these should be inflated to 40PSI at the back and 36 PSI at the front. For the last two weeks I have been trying these pressures, and it seems to run better. The only thing is that three of the five tyres (yes, I always remember to check the spare too - never know when you need it) lose pressure, though never lower than 32PSI. It means remembering to pump up the tyres every time I fill up I suppose.
I have noticed with the high fuel prices more people driving slower on the motorways. Only a select few arrogant arseholes still insist at travelling at warp speed. I too have curbed my speed, and totter along never faster than 65, and usually at bang on 60. Sometimes I think it is rather tragic that my 170bhp turbocharged and sportified monster never gets unleashed any more. I think on paper it is good for around 130mph+, but it's been several years since it went anywhere near there. I seem to remember though at that speed you could watch the fuel gauge dropping every mile.
I get to go to some interesting places in my travels. Yesterday I went to a factory where they prepare fresh fruit salads for supermarkets all over the country. Now, usually refrigerated factories stink. It's a sort of gone off milk smell that is foul. But this one smelt (I suppose obviously given what they were making) of fruit. It was very nice indeed. Over the years I've been to many places, but this certainly came joint first as smelling the best (along with a factory that made incense oils).
I filled my car with petrol last night. It's one of those things that I have to do with trepidation every so often. It's been a shock for the last year filling it up, since ever since I learnt to drive petrol was fairly stable at costing about £30 to top up my tank. Now it can cost wildly differing amounts up to frightning levels. For the last three monthsd I've been taking to putting £20 in and struggling on. It's less frightning that way. But next week Zoë and I are out to North Wales on a caravanning week, and we'll need a full tank to go so I squeezed the filler, watched the pump readout and hoped for the best. It clicked full at 24p under £40. Ouch! Still, it was just over half a tank, and I was wondering if it was going to be closer to £50. Petrol isn't quite £5 a gallon at the moment, but that's still a lot of money to travel given the rip off price and unreliability of public transport means that often car is the only serious choice. Don't get me started on that argument!
I also checked the tyre pressures. I think I may have mentioned something about this before. For years I've pumped car tyres to 32PSI and never thought any different. With high fuel prices, rolling resistance became more of an interest, so I read the manual for the car. It sits on sporty low profile alloys, and apparently these should be inflated to 40PSI at the back and 36 PSI at the front. For the last two weeks I have been trying these pressures, and it seems to run better. The only thing is that three of the five tyres (yes, I always remember to check the spare too - never know when you need it) lose pressure, though never lower than 32PSI. It means remembering to pump up the tyres every time I fill up I suppose.
I have noticed with the high fuel prices more people driving slower on the motorways. Only a select few arrogant arseholes still insist at travelling at warp speed. I too have curbed my speed, and totter along never faster than 65, and usually at bang on 60. Sometimes I think it is rather tragic that my 170bhp turbocharged and sportified monster never gets unleashed any more. I think on paper it is good for around 130mph+, but it's been several years since it went anywhere near there. I seem to remember though at that speed you could watch the fuel gauge dropping every mile.
Tuesday, 2 September 2008
Second Life book reading of "Bringing home the stars".
I've been asked about doing a reading of my work online. This is now arranged for some time on this coming Sunday, in the evening (GMT/BST). Time will be confirmed later on this week. It will be held in the online community 'Second Life' but the details are being handled by some-one else so I will post everything as soon as I know.
I had a choice of two things that immediately sprang to mind as suitable. One was to read part one of 'Daytrippers' and the other was to read my short story 'Bringing home the stars'. In the end I've been persuaded to read the latter as I've been told that something unavailable elsewhere might be good for interesting more people to attend. So the World premier of this piece it will be!
It will be the first time I've done a book reading of my work before. I've done a book signing (which was weird; very weird) before but that's about it. I'm going to spend some time this week familiarising myself with the text of the piece. It's around 11,500 words long, so it is shorter than part one of 'Daytrippers'. I'm told that readings usually aim for about an hour in leagnth, so I'll need to bare this in mind when I do my practice read-throughs.
Now, I used to work on radio as a presenter and a producer, so it can't be too bad. Because this will be being done in an online virtual World, I suspect that the end result will be that it will feel no different from when I used to pre-record stuff at home. I've also been asked to record the reading and make it available as a podcast through the website for those newfangled ipod things.
Is this going up in the World? As long as I don't make an idiot of myself then I'll be happy; I'm an easy girl to please at times.
I had a choice of two things that immediately sprang to mind as suitable. One was to read part one of 'Daytrippers' and the other was to read my short story 'Bringing home the stars'. In the end I've been persuaded to read the latter as I've been told that something unavailable elsewhere might be good for interesting more people to attend. So the World premier of this piece it will be!
It will be the first time I've done a book reading of my work before. I've done a book signing (which was weird; very weird) before but that's about it. I'm going to spend some time this week familiarising myself with the text of the piece. It's around 11,500 words long, so it is shorter than part one of 'Daytrippers'. I'm told that readings usually aim for about an hour in leagnth, so I'll need to bare this in mind when I do my practice read-throughs.
Now, I used to work on radio as a presenter and a producer, so it can't be too bad. Because this will be being done in an online virtual World, I suspect that the end result will be that it will feel no different from when I used to pre-record stuff at home. I've also been asked to record the reading and make it available as a podcast through the website for those newfangled ipod things.
Is this going up in the World? As long as I don't make an idiot of myself then I'll be happy; I'm an easy girl to please at times.
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