Lindsey Davis

Walking & talking today, I realised why I enjoy her historical novels so much, apart from the intelligence with which they are written.

Chaps writing for chaps tend to concentrate upon action and storyline to the exclusion of nearly everything else, including plausibility. Characterisation and details of dress and mannerisms are too frequently lost.

Women writing for women are often too involved in personality to create strong storylines. (Although, it may be that as I'm a man, I just don't enjoy that type of novel)

Davis seems to blend characterisation with action, describing the evolution of relationships as clearly as the unfolding of her plots. Is it relevant that she is lesbian? Does her sexual orientation give her an unusual ability to write adventure stories effectively for both sexes?

Le Boulot

Same job, different employer.
A small software company that has a series of good ideas but isn't sure how to sell them to the world. In this case, it's a crossover software, somewhere between Search and Business Intelligence. Will the idea fly? The existing salesman isn't sure about it, and he certainly isn't giving any clues about how successful he thinks we will be.

I guess that I'm in the trough. The first few days with an employer are spent in euphoria, knowing that you've got a decent job, that the money will be coming in, and that there is potential to do well. Then, after a few days, the bad points become apparent and a tinge of despair arrives to colour on'e opinion. After a while, one becaomes accustomed to both the bad and good points, and an acceptance arrives.

Now, I'm waiting for the results of some field sales visits, and I will know what the potential customers think.

I'm just dim.

I enjoy reading for pleasure, and I like the books I read to be well-written and entertaining. I read novels as well as non-fiction, but both for fun. I did manage to read "Da Vinci Code", but it was the worst-written load of tosh I laid my eyes on for years. God knows (exactly) why it's been so popular. At least I borrowed the book rather than buying it.

The last couple of books I have read have been stimulating and complex. And so I ended up with Essays of Montaigne and Shere Hite next on my list.......then I gave up. I returned to a cheap detective / adventure story that I first read about fiftenn years ago, and loved it. No complex ideas, no thought-provoking ideas, just a relaxing read. On the plus side, at least the story (The Silver Pigs by Lindsey Davis) has some historic content as it's set in the Roman period, and it mentions both the lead mines on Mendip, and Sea Mills on my regular cycle ride round Bristol.

The fear

I start a new job tomorrow. I'm excited, interested, and scared. What if everything goes wrong, as it has once or twice before? What if, in three months' time, the company decides it doesn't want me? I've not been worried like this before. In the past, I have found jobs easily and I have not worried about resigning on a promise from a new employer.

It's just as well that "career" has two meanings: one being an ordered progression of employments and the other a swerving erratic advance. Mine is the latter.

Let's face it, I'm not always the easiest employee. I don't like being told how to do things, and I am not always diplomatic to the boss. But usually I'm liked by my colleagues and other staff. Some people have the same job all their lives and many personal relationships, I have had many jobs but a single woman. It's probably easier this way.

All I can do is watch my step, do my best, and hope.
Wish me luck.

The rich

How do the rich keep their money for so many generations?

Moonface & I had a walk through Berkeley deer park the other day. It's a beautiful walled slice of Gloucestershire, rolling parkland full of ancient oaks overlooking the Severn and towards the hills of Wales. Parts of it remind me of the grassy grazed plains of East Africa. It can be quite magical when you come across a herd of deer, especially as there are one or two pure white harts in the herds, which stand out both in the woods and against the brilliant green of the spring grass.

Mind you, I'm prejudiced in favour of the place. Rio was conceived on the riverbank in the grounds of the nearby castle on a fine spring day, many years ago. Happy memories...

But the Berkeley family has been rich for hundreds of years. How did they keep it? They acquired the estates in the 1200's and it was in their castle that Edward III was murdered with a red-hot poker up his arse. Many streets in Bristol are named after the family, and so was Berkley, town and college, in California in the 19th century. Perhaps they are just more grasping than other aristos.

Rain after drought

You know how rain from a storm hits the ground after a drought, when the soil is hard and parched; almost shiny and polished? How the rain bounces off the surface and away into the runnels without soaking in and doing some good?

Sex after a period of abstinence is like that. It's over too quickly to satisfy, it doesn't refresh the emotions as much as less urgent, gentler, more frequent sex. It also leaves you almost as frustrated or dry as before.

Good things happen.

Let's count up:
Last week I was offered a new job, at which I hope to do well.
This afternoon, my daughter has been offered a one-year engineering internship under the "Year in Industry" scheme, prior to university. I'm so proud of her.

In between, we had a great time over the weekend.
Friday night at the Wellington, with a romantic moonlit walk there and back.
Saturday: a long walk in the Cotswolds through honey-coloured villages and fresh green woods with bluebells and wild garlic. Then, a meal with friends getting slightly stoned and very pleasantly full.
On Sunday I had a ride in the woods followed by several hours eating and drinking at a neighbour's barbecue, then an hour tinkering with bicycles in a relaxed and zen-like state. What could be better?

Meet the neighbours

We have had two sets of new neighbours in the last few months. Yesterday, I met them in the street for the first time, when they stopped to talk outside our house. And what were my first words?

"Do you mind moving, please?
My wife's nearly naked in the car, and she's embarrased to get out and walk into our house while you're standing there"

Moonface & I had been for a walk, and we were caught in a torrential downpour just before we arrived back at the car. Moonface was so soaked that she took of most of her clothes for the drive home, and we arrived home with her wearing just underwear. The rainstorm was localised so that in Bristol, half an hour and twenty miles away, the sun was shining and the streets were dry. And there we were, Moonface in her knickers and me in soddentrousers and wringing t-shirt, looking stupid in front of the neighbours.

Middle-aged men

Many of our friends send out letters with their Christmas cards, detailing the key events of their families' past year. In the year when I turned fifty, there was a sad, disturbing theme.

Most of the guys who had worked for small, private companies, weren't doing so any more. They -or we - were unemployed, underemployed, ill or semi-retired. It's a waste: all of them are intelligent, capable men who could contribute to society. All of them wanted to work, but circumstance said otherwise. It seems that working for a large company, the state or for yourself is safe, but not small companies.

Who do we have?
Martin D: a top salesman in the USA, who disagreed with his employers over the size of his bonus following massive sales. He resigned in a huff, and couldn't find an alternative.
Dux P: A lawyer who was fired following a merger of two firms.
His brother Neil, made redundant from the top managerial position held by a Gaijin within a Japanese company in the UK.
Peter: An engineer with a theatrical lighting company.
Neil H: A management consultant fired during the major lay-offs of the early '00s.

It's a shed-load of missed opportunities for everyone: a waste of lives.

Bad moods

Bad moods are infectious. I have been optimistic and cheerful most of the day, then I had two difficult conversations. One was with a potential customer who was careful not to tell me anything, and the other was an IM chat with a pissed-off friend. She was curt and uncommunicative and a little bit rude, which annoyed me. So now I'm pissed off too, in a sulk. And instead of being out in the sunshine, I'm indoors writing this. GRRRR. [And I'm probably in the wrong with her. I ask too many questions. I'm trying to play poor-man's psychiatrist. I'm being a fool] . And this mood communicatied itself to Moonface, who got in a bad mood too.

Consequently, when I tried to fix flat type on the bike, it didn't work: my karma is all wrong. Yet unless I fix the flat I won't be able to return to a good mood, because I need a ride on the bike.

The answer is clear: a cup of tea and a biscuit.

Envoi: Or it could have been the weather. Ten minutes after typing the above, thunder rumbled, the sky darkened to graphite, heavy rain started before turning to hail, and this attic room became full of noise. After grilled mackerel and vegetables, I feel much much better.

Rain

It's a minor pleasure.
I returned from spending a couple of hours in the pub with Drew, my friend.
We'd had a couple of pints and a long chat. Then, at home, I poured myself a large cup of tea. Naturally, I needed a piss. And on a warm evening in early summer, with the rain steadily drumming down, the only place to piss is in the garden, on the lawn. There's no need to aim, no need to be careful, I just help Gaia water the garden. It's sweet relief. There is wet grass beneath my feet, cool rain between my toes and warm rain upon my head. Bristol is quiet, the clouds are lit from below by the orange streetlights, and three pints of liquid empty from my bladder. And the rain drums down.

Little things, simple pleasures.

I'm too domesticated. One of the enjoyable things about working from home is the chance to hang the laundry on the line, in the sun.

I did so this morning, at about 10 am, and ......for some reason, gained a sense of satisfaction from seeing a long line of washing hanging there. Then, the first swifts of summer screamed overhead twisting and shrieking in the blue. A couple of sparrows foraged for food and nesting materials around the edge of the pond, and a pigeon broke twigs from the neighbour's eucalyptus.

Not writing

I'm more relaxed. Summer is here. I don't feel the urge to write.

Except this evening, when I have just been phoning around relatives, informing them that a dearly loved aunt has died and the date of the funeral. Really, I suppose, she wasn't my aunt but merely my father's cousin. However, I was very fond of her and I will miss her sorely, even though it's been a couple of years since I saw her. Poor old Margaret.

Now it's time to sit in the garden to watch the evening light fade. I'll have a glass of wine, and read a book. Earlier, the noise of birdsong was loud enough to penetrate the earmuffs I had worn when cutting the grass. I could recognise starlings, blackbirds & robins, plus various small brown jobs which look indistinguishable to me.