If it was automatic writing it would go like this:

Christmas, vegi turkey, pine needles, Dylan Moran live, furious mild, parsnips, wine, annual snowball, killer Santa with the face of an angel, new slippers, pine needles, sprouts, glass of wine, wrapping paper that burns green and blue, Deal or No Deal DVD to take back, near riot for 10p Cauliflowers (do all these people know something I don't know, are the shops never opening again?), falling asleep, flicking through new cookbooks, forbidden foodstuffs, dream about a sex act I don't want to talk about, fridge too full, overspilling wardrobe, must have a sort out- too much shite all around in general, but at least it's covered in glitter, new Sharon Olds book- mustn't read it while I have to be happy all day, x-factor tickets ticking like a timebomb in my head- is she really going to make me hold an Eton Road banner?, will I gain seven pounds if I have another beer? pine needles, baubles falling when I walk past, -1 outside, can I free-cycle chocolate? that sinking feeling when it's over, and also thinking at least it's just once a year.

None of this would be too bad, except it's where I live now, about all I have to say till after new years day.

Keeping you posted

In amongst the Christmas cards was a letter from Ragged Raven Press to say I had come 2nd in their competition for poems over 40 lines, with my poem Glass Bottomed Boat. This was a nice surprise, since I had forgotten I'd entered. They also want to publish the Bodil poems, which made me pleased because it is a sequence I was pleased with, but knew would be hard to place due to its length.

There was an initial Elves and the Shoemaker feeling,when did I enter this? Did some Elves come and make me in the night? (Was this fairytale about acute schizophrenia or what? He went to bed, when he got up the shoes where done- he had been working all night, but when he did this he was a smaller man called Elf, and had no memory of it the next day.) Finally I remembered, then I got to thinking about the new work, and wondering if people will like it more because there is no trace of Middlesbrough in it anymore. Is class really that important still in poetry? Or is there another reason? I'm not sure.

Sleeping Man

For all you sleepless ladies - single (and the ones who don't want to be creepy by videotaping the actual bloke next to them snore) , here he is again.

Aaaawww.

Earl Grey with Keanu

I had the most beautiful dream, it is the nicest dream I have had since I saw Morrissey in a cafe and he was drinking coffee- and he turned and asked 'See anything you're interested in?'(he had the most immaculate hands, spread out on his cup and a wry smile as he turned to me.) The Morrissey dream I understand, it is inevitable I will dream of him, and disappointing I won't more often.

But this dream was about Keanu Reeves. What you should know about my relationship with Keanu is that I don't have one. I don't think about him, I don't have an opinion on him really, I don't know much about him. I've seen The Matrix, and a couple of his films years ago, but he has never been on a poster on my wall. In the dream there was bad weather and I was walking on a beach, I got lost abit, and bumped into him and he was just there, asking me to hide out from the rain. His house was on the beach, wooden and white, inside was clean, minimal, no frills, no fuss, but right. I sat in his house and Keanu boiled the kettle, and came back from the kitchen with a cup of tea and a plate of toast for me, handed them over, and said nothing as he watched me eat. This was the best toast I've never had in my life, thick cut, the right amount of butter, plain and nice. I ate the toast. Me and Keanu sat there sipping our tea. There was a vibe, things kept happening small things, eye contact, an eyebrow moving, a hand brushing by my arm- but that was it. I finally turned to him and said, 'so am i going to sleep with you or what?' Keanu smiled, walked away. He said,' There's plenty of time'.



So I woke up, having not slept in my dream with Keanu Reeves, and not understanding why he was in my dream. He withheld what I'd wanted, but it wasn't impossible, was going to happen, but not now. He'd fed me toast, and this made me happy. (It's easier to not have sex when there's been toast.)

So now I wonder what Keanu means, since he isn't a man I think of really. In my dream he knew when to be quiet., and that was nice.He'd given me the best toast I never had. The next day I wondered if this had something to do with writing and life, something in me saying I will get there in the end. I didn't know, I got up and made a full English (incase I was literally starving to death.) I boiled the kettle again and again, stared into the cup to see my face, and drank tea until it was coming out of my ears.

Christmas Card

Merry Christmas to everyone out there who reads this blog.
Hope your winter is filled with poetry.
Thank you for being my virtual friends
and letting me be virtually me,

Lotsa/ Lots of (for the text spell intolerant)
love

Angel/ a

x

Hark the herald Angels

A friend recently said she missed my blog, and I thought that was strange- as I thought it wasn't too long since I was here- now I am, and see almost a month I'm quite surprised. Winter does this to me, the month before Christmas will always go really fast, because there will be so many things to do. I think this happens to everyone. Come Christmas day we are ready to pass out with sheer exhaustion. What have I been doing? Where has it gone?

Workwise I've been thinking about the collection, and still don't have a title. Options so far:

My Pornographic Life

(I liked this one, but the press didn't, and thinking about it now I have eliminated most poems about me now- for a different project at a later date I think, needing more work again- so this got scrapped.)

Life of a Porn-star

Fistful of Blondes (this is the latest one, I've been thinking about this week.) Actually I'm gutted that Courtney Love called her book Dirty Blonde, since it would suit mine so well.

I'm still undecided. Any suggestions for the title for a book about women, Hollywood, pin-ups, Marilyn and porn?

I wrote about four poems about Finland, and I've been writing some prose letter poemy things too, for the porn section. They don't look like poems, and they are different in a way, but they seem to add something. I have another poem brewing , which I haven't had time to sit and work on that much. Also, I've done some work on something unrelated to the collection, which are some poems I wrote in response to some photographs by Robin Cowings. I hadn't looked at these poems for a longtime, and spent some time completely gutting them, and re-writing to the max. They are weird poems, mostly little stories, and a change from what I'm writing now , but I can't remember how I got from the photo to the poem in a lot of cases- wish I'd taken some notes about the process I had at the time. But why would I? It never occurred to me that I wouldn't be able to remember how I did it, or that I'd care.

Lifewise, it's been busy and practical. I've been putting on the overalls that say Geoff on the front and turning into him to sand walls and fill holes in them, so the hall can be papered after Christmas. It's a thankless task, one of those that takes ages, and then no one can see what you did in the end because it will be papered over. If you've done a good job it won't be visible, I suppose like devices in a poem. When I haven't been turning into Geoff I discovered a new way to unwind, I sit at night and cut cloth or sew some squares together. To be honest I have no craft skills whatsoever, but I have delusions of creativity- have ideas,and hoard fabric I like, or scraps of stuff and have done for years- of course I never use them, as I have no time or skills. So even while I'm doing it I'm thinking- another hair-brained scheme that will never be finished, but there is a simple pleasure to cutting squares and arranging them next to each other. I'm hoping this will be a quilt one day, though they are huge squares and nothing fancy, but I'll settle for a tablecloth when I get sick of it and it has sat waiting to be gone back to for 3 years. Come to think of it, maybe napkins have more chance of completion.

In amongst this is odd bits of Christmas shopping- I like buying presents for people, but there are some people who are so difficult it is terrible. Thinking about it the people who are hard are always people who buy themselves so much stuff on the net that anything you could get is a waste of time, and people who have more money than you. (If you are a writer most people fall into this bracket, so it's quite hard. In an ideal world I'd make presents for everyone, but there's those delusions of crafts woman again- spend all year making things that people open and say 'what the fuck is this?') Another type of person it is hard to buy for are people who don't know you that well. We all have people like this, relatives or people's husband's, and it's a nightmare. What do you buy a 50 odd year old man who doesn't like to read, doesn't watch movies, doesn't listen to music, and doesn't have any hobbies? And what do you buy the parents of your love interest? Why isn't it OK to just say to be honest I don't know you that well, you don't know me, let's scrap it? Or just say, you are such a consumer you have everything you need, here's a tin of spam- it's the only thing I could think of you'd never buy.

All this being said, mostly presents are fun to buy. There are just those odd ones that keep you trawling the net for hours @ whattobuyrich/boringbastards.com. The end result is always a compromise of something you didn't want to buy, and something they didn't really want. Sursprisingly, another person I've had trouble buying for this year is the live-in man. He is very anti-consumerist, and anything i could think of DVD or CD-wise he has, or isn't bothered coz he will watch it on the net or hire it. In terms of clothes, I am against it. When women buy clothes for men it always clothes they would like to see a man in, not clothes the man himself actually wants to wear (this might be changing I think, the new generation seems to have produced metrosexual men who look like they use product on their hair, and aren't afraid to wear pink.) (My generation of men are different, they played with eyeliner in the early 90's, and cut up fishnet tights to wear as shirts, and settled into sweatshirts and jeans when they got their first job and never left them since.) I asked him in the end what he wanted, he gave me a list (I like lists.)

1. Kangaroo Poo combats
(These were some trousers he used to have in the early 90's, and wore till they fell to bits. He wants the exact same pair again, same style, make and colour- which of course no longer are being made, and even ebay doesn't have, since the men who had these trousers wore them untill they became rags to wipe their paintbrushes on.)

2. DIY clothes with lots of pockets
(This has been a quest, every set I have pointed out the response has been the same 'Not enough pockets')

3. Socks like the ones I bought in Keswick

4. A Welding Set
(I hate this one, as I'd like to buy him this to play with- but I am loathe to admit the sad fact that I'm not thick, honest, I'm a girl and haven't got a clue when it comes to buying one. When I look at them on the net there are so many different specs and attachments on some and not on others I have no idea and have to leave the site immediately and look at something with bright colours instead.)

5. You can get me a shirt, if it's like my favourite one.
(circa 2000, never seen one like it again- and why would he need two?)

All clothing has to be black. All clothing has to be black, but not goth. All clothing has to be made of fabric that isn't shiny or scratchy or funny textured. If there is any make or logo or the item it is unacceptable. That's it , that was his list. Not quite sure what I can do with that. I think I'll get my revenge for this difficult to sort list by hiring him a stripper and having it turn up at his work. If he moans about it all men will say- you have a girlfriend who hires you a stripper- and you don't like it? What's wrong with you? It's a win win situation. Next year he'll ask for a nice pair of slippers and a board game and have done with it.