More about Hull

I’m continuing with Hull today for I have a very soft spot for it.

At the end of my first year (1986) I moved out of halls of residence to live with some friends in a big old red brick, Victorian house, 409 Spring Bank West. There were seven of us and we drew lots for the rooms. I can’t remember where I drew but I ended up living in the downstairs front room. It was a gorgeous, large room with a lovely fireplace that had been ruined by a modern gas fire.

Opposite us was a graveyard. We called it the Groovy Graveyard… because it was. I remember always wanting to take pictures of it and I can’t believe I never did. I might have to visit this summer just to take some…

After I graduated I left Not Yet Husband in Hull, doing his PhD and I disappeared down to London to find a job. I found the first of several uninspiring jobs in entirely the wrong industry.  This, and missing NYH, (feel free to barf) contributed to the decision six months later to move back to Hull.

I bought a tiny little house; a two up, two down with a bathroom extension on the back that looked as though someone had planned it after a long night at the pub.  We filled it with cats - two of our own, followed by one wedding present and Not Yet Husband brought Pepper the Dog over from the Post Grad house.

One summer we went to the Ferens Art Gallery Summer Exhibition. We saw this picture by Belinda Moores in the exhibition for a princely sum of fifty pounds. It was just like my front room bedroom in Spring Bank West of my second year and we both loved it. We had no money, and it seemed like a fortune and terribly reckless but I went and bought it. They put a red sticker on the picture and I was allowed to pay in instalments! We were getting married that year and it seemed like the right thing to do.

I do believe that if you buy a picture because you love it - I mean really love it - that you will always feel the same way. I still feel as much for this charcoal as I did the day I bought it. It’s moved with us around the UK and now it’s in Thailand hanging outside our bedroom where it reminds us of our younger lives in Hull.

On truths and history lessons

We went to see Clash of the Titans over the Easter weekend. We’d missed the 3D showing but yeaahhhh, it was okay; I didn’t look at my watch... Our expectations weren't high as we’re not getting out much as the moment with the Red Shirts causing all kinds of chaos throughout Bangkok.

Sam Worthington, Perseus in the film, has been widely quoted as describing it as a movie about "… a guy on a winged horse in a skirt with rubber swords battling monsters.” It is, he said, a "fun, boisterous popcorn movie. We're under no illusions, it's not a history lesson."

In spite of this, watching the film took me back to 1985 and my interview at Hull University. I spent the whole of the train journey to Hull reading the myth of Perseus. I was preparing to persuade the Department of Classics to give me a place on their degree programme based entirely on two holidays in Greece and my father telling me Greek myths as bedtime stories throughout my childhood. Oh, I had A’Levels too, just not in anything very relevant.

At my interview, Dr Hilton was lovely, asking me lots of questions about my A Levels, what I was doing with my gap year and what I’d seen while on holiday in Greece. (One of these excursions had been a school trip where we HAD seen all the important sites – the other was a beach holiday!) Then as we finished up, he said “Did you come up by train? Did you see the bridge?” I didn’t know what he was talking about as I’d spent the train trying to cram myths into my head so I could talk knowledgeably to my interviewer but I kind of felt this was important. His eyes sparkled; it was the way he said ‘the bridge’ that gave me a clue, more like ‘The Bridge.’ ‘Yes’ I said, hoping for a bit more information. ‘Impressive, isn’t it?’ Dr Hilton said. ‘Very,’ I said, nodding.

Anyway, bless them, they gave me a place and I knew I was going to love it there.

I got back on the train at Hull Paragon station to return to London and with no more pressure to cram, sat gazing out of the window. Into my view came a bridge. The Bridge. It got bigger and bigger and bigger as we passed right by it.

 

The Humber Bridge held the world record for the longest single span suspension bridge for seventeen years. Its presence crossed the last major unbridged estuary in Britain. The towers were 155 metres high and its span 1,410 metres and a total of 480,000 tonnes of concrete were used to build it.

Phew, thank god for the bluff. 

Births and shopping

I have a problem. It’s Husband’s birthday in five (shopping) days, and I haven’t bought any presents. The UDD – Red Shirts – are camped out along the main shopping route in Bangkok and yesterday, the following malls were closed: Siam Paragon, CentralWorld, Siam Center, Siam Discovery, Big C Rajadamr, Gaysorn Plaza, Amarin Center. Today, tension is mounting; there are troops collecting and the malls (at least some of them) are still closed. It reminds me of another birthday of Husbands when I was almost as badly organized …

Seventeen years ago I had to be extra ready for Husband’s birthday because I was enormously pregnant with our first child. The discrepancy between the hospital due date and my due date was four weeks (yes, impossible, but I did exactly the same thing with Daughter’s pregnancy. I think I am more like an elephant than a human when it comes to gestating babies.) So having less idea than most when our baby would come, I had tried to be prepared. I had just about finished buying his presents and they were hidden away waiting to be wrapped.

So of course on the Sunday, the day before his birthday, my waters broke. It was inevitable, wasn’t it? They kept me in hospitable waiting for me to go into labour. The day passed by; Sunday night came and then Husband was going to go home for some sleep because they kept telling me I wasn’t in labour yet: “WHY ALL THE PAIN THEN?” I told Husband that he’d have to find his own presents. I told him where they were hidden and apologized for their not being wrapped. Monday morning came and Husband reappeared in the maternity unit. I wished him a happy birthday and then the day was all about me.

Son came that night at 7.30pm. He was a furry little thing. He had hair everywhere, including his back (gone now) and dark downy patches that grew into points on his ears a la Star Trek (also gone.) He was also covered in vernix – a pale waxy substance; that and the hair would suggest my dates were right and Son was earlier than 40 weeks.

As though I hadn’t entirely stolen Husband’s thunder already, I proceeded to hemorrhage following the birth. I do feel the need, after all that drama, to make a fuss of Husband each year as well.

Of course producing a son on your husband’s birthday is the ultimate in birthday presents… but he’s shared it with his son for seventeen years so far and at the very least I’d like to have some presents for the poor man to open. (Son’s presents are all organized already because he knew what he wanted.)

All first drafts stink, honest

Yesterday I finished reading my first draft.

First drafts are always sh*t though, right? Who said that? Hemingway? Elmore Leonard?

For days now my poor family has been suffering my sighs, exclamations of horror and claims that I’ve been sent to sleep by my own manuscript. But no, that isn’t a bad sign, it’s just the sign of a crappy first draft. I am not a planner; I’m a flyer by the seat of my pantser so I had no idea where I was going. Of course it’s a mess but ‘writing is rewriting’ isn’t it? No-one has to see it until I’ve done some major surgery.

And there were good things. If I try to be fair and not totally panic-stricken the last 180 pages weren’t bad, in fact, I rather enjoyed them, so I must have learned something as I wrote. I had a good idea of the story by then. I noted in those pages that I went in late to scenes and got out early: excellent. The first 280 pages were quite awful and there’s a lot of work to do on them but if I can identify the better scenes, I can remedy the crappier ones. And my dialogue is mostly good even if my narrative stinks.

Okay; deep breath and no more talk of shredders.

Thoughts in progress

I haven’t stopped thinking about Suzanne Collins’ Hunger Games. I started the book with a view to reading a bit to see how she created so much tension and I got hooked. I couldn't put it down and may even have to read the second book, Catching Fire.

I’m afraid I’m not normally interested in the sci fi/post apocalyptic genre – having said that, I loved Cormac McCarthy’s The Road – and as Carol pointed out in the comments the other day, I also loved Flowers for Algernon by Daniel Keyes. Blimey, before I know it I’m going to be writing fantasy sci fi, futuristic world stuff. Maybe not.

Anyway what I’ve been thinking about is that it’s all about a creating a believable world isn’t it? And just because my book is set in 20^th and 21^st century Weald of Kent in England it doesn’t mean my book’s setting has to be less believable because it’s real. What was brilliant about Hunger Games is that I totally bought the world. It was a brilliant mixture of classical references and modern with a push to the extreme.

It makes me realize that the setting that’s another thing that’s not right about my work in progress. I’m considering putting the whole thing through the shredder and then sellotaping it back together to see if there’s any improvement.

Friday Photo

Picture on the side of a bus - taken from a taxi.

Health and safety in the gym

There might not be many areas of my life I am in control of at the moment (Son’s GCSEs, where will be living after July? What shall we have for supper tonight?) but are I should be able to take control of is fitness.

The gym and I are not natural friends. We might be able to affect a liaison of some description but frankly, most of the work is done by me. The gym doesn't really give a toss if I try to be friends. Anyway the best part of five years I've been mostly ignoring the spectacular gym we are privileged to have on the sixth floor of The Towers. Apart from one time four years ago when I joined in a circuit class and then for a whole week after that I lost the use of my knees. They had to be permanently locked straight. For a whole seven days I couldn't lower myself down onto a chair, a loo; I couldn't walk down steps - thank god our apartment is on one level. To get into bed I had to sort of fling myself at the bed from a stiff, straight legged position, howl with pain and hope I landed safely.

After a couple of years of recovery from post traumatic stress, I got down a couple of times to use the equipment and another time, I nearly fell asleep in a yoga class there too because I couldn't understand a word the teacher said. In truth usually my bed and a book wins.

Anyway, I appeared to reach a period where I was ready to have another go with the gym. So this week I've been down on Tuesday and Thursday and as a result, bending my legs is very hard to do again. The knee locking has made a reappearance and I’m climbing in and out of taxis like an octogenarian.

It's the equipment too, isn't it? To make sure I'm working in the right... zone? Is that it? The fat burning zone, my friend told me I need a heart monitor...(Ker ching, sports industry.)

I also need a sports bra. I don't mean to brag - I hate it - but to not wear a sports bra puts lives around me in danger. I have two of these contraptions but since I last needed them (clearly to protect myself from hastening back into the gym) I've put them somewhere safe.

Western women on the whole are larger in the bust department than their Thai counterparts. (I’m worrying about my stats here, and not being coy.) So I set off today for the Marks and Spencer concession in Central Chit Lom. Yes they had sports bras, they even had models made in a range of sizes but they only stock the Thai sized cup sizes. I can’t wear two, can I?

I think Western women should be obliged to wear sports bras for breast health, but what to do? Personally I think there should be a law to say they have to sell them in all the sizes!