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 July 2007 Fresh road-markings painted outside house! Otherwise, quietest month in living memory! Yes, great excitement the other day when I looked out the window and was nearly blinded by the bright yellowness of the double yellow lines on the road outside. The lads had been round! With the paint lorry! And made a lovely job of it. Then they were back the following day with the white paint to do the line down the middle of the road and yet again, they made a great fist of it (‘great fist’ is an Irish phrase meaning ‘an excellent job’ but you might have guessed that.) Yes, our road is looking very spick and span and making the houses all around look quiet wrecked and knackered-looking by comparison. 
I’ve included a photo of the lovely fresh paintwork, because, as you’re about to discover it’s been a very, very slow month. However, I’d like to point out that somehow the photo manages to make it look like I live on a nice street, it looks quite posh and a bit of a sylvan lovely place. This is far from the case, it’s just that the house across the road from me (which you see a bit of in the photo) is actually a church, so there’s a bit of grass and greenery and other pretty stuff, but honestly, the rest of the road isn’t like that at all. The camera DOES lie. (More of which in a while.)
Also, because of the quietness of the month, I’ve included photos from last month, specifically ones of the very, very delicious Jack Scanlan (AnneMarie’s baby.) He probably looks quite different now as they’re in New York for the Summer and I haven’t seen him for ages, which causes me almost physical pain, but as you will see, he was a very attractive 5-month old.So yes, like I said, a very quiet month, apart from the start, which I’ll tell you about as best I can. Like an eejit I decided to go for a smear test. It’s something I hate doing (mind you, I think I’d need help if it was something I actively enjoyed) and it’s too long since I’ve had one done (OK, 4 years, I’m ashamed of this, but I faint every time I have one and the whole thing is so atrocious that I put it off as long as possible and employed every kind of denial possible and you know yourself.) Anyway, I went and I should have just left well alone. Because a – now those of a nervous disposition and all men should look away now and scroll down to the last couple of paragraphs. Because a – God, I can hardly type the words, little black dots are swimming before my eyes. Because a cyst was found. Yes, Up The Frock. Benign, yes, benign, nothing at all to worry about, except that I had a cyst Up The Frock. And it would have to be Dealt With. And I was far from happy. Now, can I stress, mes amies, that despite how I enjoy bad health, I’m not always squeamish. For example, I have no fear WHATSOEVER of going to the dentist. I couldn’t care less, fillings and extractions and root canals and whatever you’re having yourself, it’s all the one to me. The thing I find most distressing is the dentist asking me stupid questions about where I’m going on my holidays while I have a mouth full of instruments and cotton wool I’m trying to answer politely, going “Ahhhh, gggghhhhaaaaaaaa. Ha!” While pink saliva streams down my chin. This all stems from when I was in the laughing house for me alcoholism and one of my teeth started giving me trouble and I had to have a root canal done and compared to the shambles my life was in and the terrible grief over having to give up the sauce, having the root of one of my teeth surgically removed, seemed like nothing, nothing at all. Perspective, see. Anyway, yes, I’m also not afraid of injections. Work away, I always say. Stick it in. Take it out. Not wild about the innoculations for (I think) yellow fever that you get in your upper arm, but other than that, I couldn’t care less. Even when I get my legs waxed, I almost fall asleep. HOWEVER, everything is very very different if it’s Up The Frock. I’m not at all happy. I have a ‘thing’ about it. All I can say is thanks be to Christ I never managed to get pregnant if this was how I carried on over having to have a benign cyst removed. There were only 4 days between the discovery of the ‘growth’ (such a terrible, terrible word, up there with ‘gusset’ and ‘panties’) and having it removed, but I spent those 4 days on the verge of passing out. I was in the HORRORS. I kept thinking about it being ‘up’ there. Aaaaaarrrrrrrrgggggghhhhh. Even now I feel peculiar. I will spare you the wretched details of how it was done WITHOUT ANAESTHETIC, while I was FULLY CONSCIOUS, but I will admit that it was really quite painless and after it was done and Himself was driving me home, I made him stop at a garage and buy me: - Ice-cream (A Flake one.) - Wine gums (a 250 gram bag.) - Chocolate (an Aero, the ones filled with caramel.) I know I’m supposed to be off sugar but feck it, I thought, amn’t I just after having a ‘growth’ removed without a single chemical to take the edge of things and if I can’t eat 250 grams of Wine Gums on a day like today, then when CAN I eat them? So I took to my bed with my confectionery for the afternoon (I should clarify that I went to bed for the afternoon, the poor confectionery lasted about 90 seconds, but however.) So after all that high drama, the rest of the month seems very dull in comparison. That’s probably because it was very dull. Also astonishingly wet. Not just by the standards of a normal Irish Summer but really record-breakingly wet. However, my health has improved a bit, maybe the ‘growth’ was responsible for me toppling over and feeling dizzy and the general malaise which has been afflicting me. I’m not yet skipping around, kicking up my heels, restored to health enough to go on Big Brother’s Little Brother (which is breaking my heart as Dermot is ON FIRE this series. Never funnier or more handsome, I love his hair that bit longer. He really is such a good comic actor.) But I’m certainly better than I was. Also – and I can hardly bring myself to tell you about it because you must be so bored hearing me go on and on about it that you may take agin me – but I’ve been working on the book. On the editing, to be specific. I’ve cut 10,000 words and added 35,000 more and I know I keep saying this, but the end is in sight. No, I swear to you, it really IS in sight. Mind you, it’s going to be ENORMOUS, 210,000 words. The biggest I’ve ever done up till now is a mere 175,000 words (that was The Other Side of the Story.) But because I’ve been so involved in the writing/editing I’ve hardly left the house, which is why I’ve nothing to tell you. Oh yes, sorry, something exciting DID happen! Sales of the paperback of Anybody Out There in the UK have just passed the half a million mark and I swear to God, I am so so so grateful to you all. I can’t even begin to visualise that quantity, but I do know it’s a lot and I’m so happy. Thank you, thank you, thank you. 
Also one other thing – there are foxes in my back garden. Foxes to the tune of 2. A mother and a cub, I think. I spotted them one afternoon, swanning around, doing laps in the water-feature, clearly very at home. This was just after I’d got back from Tanzania, which made me wonder if I’d really needed to go at all, what with so much wildlife on my own doorstep.*** Two days have passed since I wrote that last stuff and something else has happened! Yes! I went on net-a-porter! Do you know it? Steer well clear, is my advice, it’s DANGEROUS. It’s a site that sells horrifically expensive but delicious clothing and shoes and bags and the whole lot. I haven’t bought anything from anywhere in MONTHS, there hasn’t been any need since I haven’t left the house in some time. But I was looking for a diversion and the next thing there I was on net-a-porter, only to discover that they’re starting to get in some of the Autumn stuff, including – yes! – boots. Now, many times in the past I’ve shared with you the sadness over having very small feet (35s, I’m fecking deformed) and how hard it is to get shoes to fit me and when the new season ones come on, I’ve to pounce. Yes, POUNCE. (Quite a nice word. Another word I like is ‘grudge.’ It just sounds so, well, grudgey. Even saying it makes your face sort of sour and bitter.) So, mes amies, I POUNCED. On a pair of Jimmy Choo patent knee boots. Very dear. In fairness to me, at least I’m ashamed of how much they cost. The very next day they arrived and to my horror, they were zip-ups! In the past I have also shared my sadness over having fat calves and zip-up knee boots just won’t work for me. The zips just won’t go past my ankle bone. But I got a coat-hanger and Himself, and I lay on the floor and simply persisted. I brow-beat Himself to keep pulling (fnnar). “Harder,” I yelled. “Harder!” And lo and behold, the zips eventually went up and the boots were on and I was THRILLED. Himself helped me to my feet (I needed help because the heels are 100mm high, also the circulation had ceased in my left leg - it had gone totally numb) and I paraded around the house, called them Das Boots, and I don’t really know why because I am not German and the boots are not German and no doubt it’s not grammatically correct anyway. After hours of parading and wondering if I’d get thrombosis in my left leg and calling my boots Das Boots, I said to Himself (obviously the triumph of getting the boots on had make me a bit giddy or it could have been my interrupted blood flow), “What was Das Boot about? Was it actually about a boot?” And he replied, wearily, more in sorrow than in anger, obviously a bit wiped-out by the whole ordeal, “No, it was about a boat.” And then, of course, it all came back to me. About a submarine, if I remember correctly.
(I mean, how could a film be about a boot. Like, only one? What use is only one boot? Unless, of course, you had to get your left leg amputated because your circulation has entirely ceased in it. Then you wouldn’t mind only having a single boot. Always assuming it was for the right leg, of course.)As you may have noticed, I’ve included a photo of Das Boots (with the coathanger, which saved the day) but I refer to my earlier comments about how the camera lies through its teeth because really, my thighs are nothing like as chunky as they look in that photo. Really, they’re not. I’m the first person to put my hand up for fatso thighs, but that picture has distorted them. Also yesterday, to my great surprise and delight, I got sent two lovely Clinique lip glosses in the post. Superbalm Moisturizing Glosses, to be entirely accurate. One in Currant (09) the other in Ginger (08). Thank you very much, Clinique people! There was a time when most days I’d get sent something delicious in the post, but sadly since I gave up the make-up column, those days are no more. I was delighted and even though the Ginger isn’t really my colour, (I’ll give it to Eileen, it’s very her) the Currant DEFINITELY is. It’s GORGEOUS. Very sheer but a visible hue and not sticky! Yes, between Das Boots and the lipglosses I was looking very well yesterday. It was a lovely day. So there we are, July. August promises many delights. The Praguers arrive on the 10th and we’ll be going to Lahinch, then Caitríona and Seán arrive on the 24th so hopefully I’ll have things to tell you. Oh yes, I nearly forgot. I went to Hairspray on Sunday night and even though it’s got bad reviews, I enjoyed it IMMENSELY. Very feel-good, everyone so good-looking, wearing beautiful clothes, nice songs, you could do worse. Also, I read a couple of nice books. Rise and Shine by Anna Quindlen, I found it very entertaining and witty and wry and funny and now I want to read everything else she’s written. Also Eat, Pray, Love by Elizabeth Gilbert, such an interesting, comforting book. It was exactly what I needed. I hope your July wasn’t as dull or as wet as mine. Thank you, as always, for reading this and I hope you have a happy August. Lots of love Marian |
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Photo © Neil Cooper