The Writers New Pen.

How many writers use a pen these days?
Mine doesn't.
But he calls his new laptop his New Pen..
'Are you going to give it a name?' I ask.
'Not sure, Sprouty.'
If he does, he won't tell me. It will be something fitting like Delilah or Cerys.
I can't remember the last time i saw him so excited about something-he hasn't brought it to bed with him yet, but i feel it's only a matter of time.
In fact, i'm sure the only reason he didn't bring The Dinosaur to bed was because he would have had to ask me to balance the monitor on my knees while he balanced the keyboard on his.
And i'm not entirely sure where he thought the tower would sit.
The Dinosaur- as he fondly started calling the old computer after he'd had it for about six months-is in it's death throes. I'm planning a funeral, but it's going to be a few days away yet, as there is still so much information on there for Sy to swap across to his new laptop, but i'm making all the neccessary arrangements.
The Humanist is on standby, and been given a potted history of the The Dinosaur, ready to read out at the funeral.
I've booked a plot- Stratford on Avon recycling centre has a lovely little place earmarked for it.
I've been trying to get Sy to put a few words together to give it a good send-off. After all, this this was his best friend for a good few years.
I'm not sure how he's going to feel when he switches the old bugger off for the last time- when he sees that little light go out...
Probably a bit like John Connor in Terminater 2.
It's a little disturbing how Sy has so easily transferred his affections to this newer, younger, sleeker model, particularly while The Dinosaur is still sat in it's corner, winking periodically at him.
I've watched him and shuddered. How easily men are swayed.
I'm trying to sway this change of writing arrangements to my advantage though.
'With the monitor gone, you'll have that space to put all the books you're working with.'
'Well, Sprouty, that might be a good idea...'
''Cos at the moment, i haven't got anywhere to sit.'
'like i say, that might be a good idea.'
'And i've got an idea about what to put in the space where the tower lives.'
Big sigh.
'Go on.'
'Well, you know all those books you put inside the pouff...'
'They're alright in there!'
'Well actually, they're not. I can't move it to hoover under it. And every time i try, i give myself a hernia.'
'It's a thought...'

And that's as far as i've got. I'm working on it, but these things take time.
On top of Shakespeare and Arthur, Sy has found somebody else to write about.
Some woman from the Victorian era, i think.
I haven't asked to much about it, because my head will go bang.
With her in his head and the possibility of the laptop in the bed, there's not much room for me anywhere at the moment.
Goes with the territory.

Till next time,
Shakespeare's Housekeeper xx

My Monthlies....

God, i can hear you screaming from miles away.
But no, not what you think. I've been a bad girl and not blogged. At all. In fact, sadly, i haven't even been near my blog.
There are a number of reasons, the main one being i've been too godamned lazy.
Sorry- that should be busy.
So first of all, let me apologise profoundly to all you lovely people out there who have been enquiring as to whether i have finally given up the ghost and shot The Writer (another possible reason for not blogging) or whether i have just finally gone totally doolally (fab word) due to lack of writing stuff happening in this household.
I am here, thankyou all for checking on whether i'm still alive, and i'm sorry that a once a day blog has disintegrated into a once a month one.
Writing is not my forte. And seeing as this blog is written in conjunction with whatever The Writer is writing (on the whole), sometimes it's really rather difficult to know what to blog about, if nothing much seems to be happening.
Anyhoo0....i need to fill in the blanks for May. So here's some stuff, for those of you who are hanging on in there in the hope that i might give you something to ruminate over.

The Mayor Making.
How totally brilliant was this. Very actually.
But i was shocked at how the whole scenario was like sitting in a Court room. Not that i've been in many Court rooms, but from what i remember on 'Crown Court', it was pretty similar.
Sy, me, Darling Daughter plus other family members were all ensconced in the public gallery overlooking the chamber.
Lots of people came in, all wearing blue cassocks.
Then the outgoing Mayor came in and took his seat where, (if this were a Courtroom) ,the Judge would sit. Various other people in robes came and sat around him. Lots of speeches. Old Judge goes out, followed by entourage. Ten minutes to talk amongst ourselves. New Mayor (Sy's dad) comes in, fully robed up and takes his place in the Big Chair.
I must admit, we were all immensely proud. And shocked. I didn't realise there was so much real fur involved in a Mayors gown, and i have resolved to try and have a word with someone about this.
It was all Sy could do not to drag me screaming from the balcony like an animal rights protester when i realised it was real fur. Pomp and Ceremony needs to be pulled kicking and screaming into the twenty-first century.
Eventually we went on to a buffet and a meet and greet session.
Darling Daughter had bought a new black dress for the occasion. She looked absolutely stunning. One minor problem was that she had also bought 4 inch heels to wear. have i mentioned that, at 15, she is nearly six foot?
You do the maths.
So, there we were, meeting and greeting, with an amazonian daughter towering over all and sundry at six foot three. Yes, you read right. Six .Foot. Three.
I have one dress, for going out to posh occasions. I have had this dress 3 years, and i've worn it twice. We don't get out much.
Darling Daughter and i were stood quietly in a corner chatting (me with a bad neck from looking up at her) when a group of half a dozen women of various ages descended on us.
All ex Mayors, or lady Mayors, or whatever you call them.
They all know that i am the new Mayors daughter in law. I know none of them apart from the fact that they all wear badges proclaiming that they are 'ex'. A bit like the prefect badges at school. and, like in America when you are always known as 'Mr President' even when you aren't anymore. These women wore their badges with pride.
'We know who you are', states one.
'We know all about your new dress', another states to DD (who looks even more uncomfortable than me- don't know if it's the situation or the shoes...)
'We love your dress',' states a third.
'I've only got one' i blurt out, before i've even thought about it. Darling Daughter stares at me as if i've gone mad, and the women are stunned into silence.
i realise, with hindsight, that i have just told a group of women, who probably have to change their knickers 4 times a day, let alone their clothes, that i own one dress.
Well, it certainly got rid of them.
They now know that the their new Mayor has a daughter in law with only one dress, and therefore probably only has one bra, two pairs of knickers and a coat from the charity shop. Actually, if they had hung around long enough to hear what a bloody writer earns, (or doesn't earn, more to the point),they would probably have had more sympathy.
The hardest part of the whole evening was trying not to disappear into the kitchen and clear plates.
As i've said before, when i'm a fish out of water, i revert to what i do best......
Sy kept checking on me and DD over the evening, but most of the people there he knew, so he he had a lot of catching up to do. Heads of police, judges, councillors, other local dignataries.
Later, he told me some very interesting stories about some of them...i wish he could have told me earlier and then i might have been able to use some of that information to my advantage.
On second thoughts, no...if i'd mentioned anything, that would have been the end of the Mayor, Mrs Mayor, and me and Sy would have been hurled into a cell.
Sy's dad is under strict instruction to give me at least 4 months notice on any other 'do' we might have to attend. it will take me that long to save up for a new frock.

The Writer.
As i said, not much doing at the mo.
Still haven't heard form any of the publishers that the books have been sent to, and it's really difficult waiting. And waiting. And waiting.
I have tried to encourage him to 'think outside the box' (HATE that expression, but very apt) and maybe try different routes to getting his research seen and heard.
But, different writers work in different ways- and mine won't 'think outside the box' until it suits him. Fuckin hell, that pisses me off. But it's down to him, and apart from interfering on a volcanic scale, i have to wait until he's ready. My interfering would involve phoning the publishers, demanding to know why it's taken four months to read something THAT THEY HAVE ASKED FOR, and what their plan of action is. Piss on the pot, or get off- that's my motto. Well one of them.
On the plus side, a friend has been coming to Sy for acting lessons. In fact she's Darling Daughters Kickboxing instructer. She and Sy get on like a house on fire, which is lovely. A diversion for him and a new string to her bow.
Sy has also been out in the garden. Building a patio. He must be bored out of his mind to tackle physical work, especially something that could seriously put the future of his typing fingers at risk. But i've wanted a patio for nearly 12 years, and it has come to fruition....all i need now is a garden gate, so the back of the house is more secure.
It was DD birthday in may too, and we bought her a new pushbike- this is rather brilliant in itself, as i don't know any 15 year olds who just want a bike for a birthday present. Especially at this age.
The garden gate is needed because, on the morning of DD birthday, i went to fetch her new bike, while pondering about what i would do with her clapped out old one. The problem was solved for me on return from Halfords, as her old bike had been knicked from behind our house.
Suppose they did me a favour really, if i try to look at it positively, but it does mean of course that somebody had had a good mooch round.
Says a lot for our stuff if the only thing the thieves decided worth taking was a clapped out pushbike....
Sy also had an outdoor gig in May, at a local pub. Gorgeous weather and loads of people, and he was in fine voice.
Last year, his band was asked to front an outdoor gig this year at a local village arts event. Seeing as this is the village that doesn't want a windfarm, and Sy has upset the applecart by saying publicly that he can't see the reasoning behind not having one sited there, his band has not been contacted to do this gig now...and all the other acts are secure, so we know it's a politics thing. Fuckin petty minded bastards. Their loss.
Well, i'm afraid it's a bit me, me, me, but at least i've filled you fab folks in a bit. Now i'm off to read some blogs, change the site a bit and see if i can be inspired to blog a bit more, more often. Until next time,
Shakespeare's Housekeeper x