Paperback Writer

I spent a very enjoyable couple of hours in Waterstones bookshop yesterday (other bookshops are available though they are few and far between these days).

I love buying books. I get the same buzz as I do when buying CD's. Walking into Waterstones and seeing shelf upon shelf of fresh spines waiting to be creased fills me with pleasure.

I love browsing. I like to just stand back and glance at the books on the table top displays, allowing my eyes to be drawn to the font of the title or the picture on the cover. They say you shouldn't judge a book by its cover but sometimes that's just what I do. I have many literary gems in my collection that were picked up purely because the front cover caught my eye and held it.

The title is equally important. Long winded titles or anything with pretentious tendencies is generally ignored. I like the titles to tell me something, or have a meaning (even if that meaning is somewhat different from what the author intended). Using song titles is a very good way to entice me into actually picking up a book and reading the blurb.

Ah yes, the blurb. This is essential. If a book can't even hold my attention for the duration of the blurb it's going to struggle to convince me to start on chapter 1. And yet some books have truly awful blurbs that don't in any way do justice to the contents.

But let's return to the shelves full of books. I wandered around, looking at covers, reading blurbs, opening pages, reading the first sentences, reading comments from critics and finally loaded up the desk with my purchases.

And very happy I am too. There is mix of historical, favourite authors, pot luck and whimsical choices. I go to France next week and the only problem will be selecting which ones will definitely be included in the packing. I can't wait, a week in the beautiful French countryside, with good company, fine food and wine and some cracking books. It's what summer is all about!

Go on, lose yourself in a book, you know it makes sense.

Homeward Bound

So it's been a hectic week - no change there then!

Last Thursday saw me pack up my essentials (music, clothes and some shoes) and head home to Southport.

And now I'm back in the family home...for now! My dad is the epitome of chilled out in some things but in others Victor Meldrew looks calm! Plus, I have to be honest and say I'm probably not that easy to live with either. That's what happens when you get two independent people who are used to living by themselves with no rules or compromise required thrust back together under one roof. It's a scary mix.

I'm learning to be more patient and more understanding of his need to know what I will want for dinner before I've even consumed breakfast. And he in turn is becoming more tolerant of my bathroom products. The initial request for my bathroom stuff to be kept in my bedroom was met with such revulsion he hasn't attempted it since!

Moving back is a funny thing to have to do. Once you leave home, things are never the same again. The dynamics change. I first left home at 18 to head for the bright lights and overdraft facilities of University. And it was there that I learnt to stand on my own two feet for the first time. An immensely valuable lesson in life.

Like the proverbial boomerang, I've bounced back a few times over the years. But each time has been a temporary stop gap of no more than a few months. I really hope that trend continues this time.

I think it's tougher this time because on previous occasions, I've come back from shared accommodation. This means you already have some existing understanding of co-habiting with other human beings. This time, I've come from my own flat, having lived completely by myself for 5 years.

Five years of coming and going exactly as I please. Five years of choosing when to tidy up, do the hoovering, clean the bathroom etc. Five years of eating what and when I like and without having to decide before breakfast has even been thought of. Five years of a rather selfish, happy go lucky life. No wonder it's such a shock to the system.

Reading this, I probably sound like the ultimate spoilt, selfish diva. But I'm truly not. Instead I have become a creature of habit...just like my dad. And I'm sure he rolls his eyes and tuts under his breath at some of the things I do (or don't) as well.

Living back at home is challenging. But I know I'm very lucky. I can stay as long as I need, the rent is free and I know that no matter how much we may bicker there will always be a warm welcome for me.

More Than This

For once, this gig loving, music devotee is going to write about the former in a negative way!

I know, it's a shock. But unfortunately it has to be done.

Twice, in the last 3 months, I have been let down by the one thing that is normally there through thick and thin. Unbelievably, I have been to two gigs at great venues, with world renowned artists and I have been disappointed. No worse, than disappointed. I have been left feeling apathetic, flat and totally uninterested.

The first of these events was back in May. I'm a huge Weller fan. Over the years he has written some of the the finest songs this country has produced. You Do Something To Me remains one of my all time favourite songs, so much so that if I ever venture into the world of marriage that will be my first dance song and the groom will just have to lump it. But lets return to the gig in hand. Having booked the tickets months in advance, my good mate Warlock and I had been looking forward to a great set in the stunning surroundings of the Albert Hall.

Unfortunately, for us, Mr Weller had other ideas. The musicianship was still there, the stage setting was great, the violin chorus were gorgeous and glam...it should have been brilliant. But it wasn't! Fair enough, he wanted to promote the new album but the fans expect some of the old classics too. When eventually Weller broke into You Do Something To Me, Warlock and I exchanged a look and thought all would be forgiven. But no even this was a disaster. The stunning solo that is the piece de resistance in this sublime little song was completely and utterly left out!!! Why? Why? Why?

Bewildered and a little annoyed we left the gig early! Unheard of!

And now to the second gig of doom....Yesterday found me in the beautiful Victoria Park in East London. The sun was shining, I was in the company of my gig going London mates Huw and Rich and the headliners were Roxy Music. Having enjoyed a truly amazing and energetic set from Grand Master Flash we headed to the main stage ready to be wowed by Mr Ferry and co.

Again, the setting was great (outdoor gigs really do have a great atmosphere), the crowd were ready to kick back and enjoy a set from an internationally successful group. The opening song was ok but the rest of the set consisted of an hour of lesser known, dreary, uninspiring numbers. There's no doubt, Bryan Ferry can still sing and he still has bundles of charisma. And, yes the saxophonist got to showcase his very real talent but we wanted the old favourites. Where was Love is the Drug? Avalon? Dance Away? Disgusted, I left early, again!

And this is exactly why these two amazing artists failed their audiences. Loyal and long standing fans should not be treated this way. Sure, show off your new material - afterall we are likely to be the ones buying it. But please, please give us something in return.

A great set list should contain a mix of old and new that is guraranteed to make the crowd want more. Well certainly 'more than this'!

A Bitter Pill to Swallow

I feel a bit strange at the moment. Many people would (rightly) think - what's new?

In all seriousness, I am not quite sure how I feel.

At this time of year, all teachers are counting down to the summer break - six weeks of freedom. Six weeks of lie ins. Six weeks of having a real life. Six weeks of being a lady of leisure. And normally I would be firmly counting down with glee. Everyone is exhausted, tempers are fraying, energy levels at an all time low. The first lie in of the holidays is a blissful event that is highly anticipated.

However, this year I'm a bit at sixes and sevens. You see, by this time next week I will have left my current school - a place where I have been incredibly happy. There aren't really the words to explain what it has been like to work at St. Helen's. The team is like a tightly knit family and I was lucky enough to be allowed in to the family unit.

The following week will be made up of celebration events and goodbye assemblies. All emotionally charged, all full of happy memories, all full of cute kids doing cute things which are guaranteed to reduce all the staff to tears. I will be so sad to leave. I've said on several occasions, that I would love to move the school up north with me. Unfortunately, this isn't to be. The way of the world means change happens and sometimes you have to leave something wonderful to fulfill dreams in another place.

And so I am looking forward to the holidays. I can't wait to embrace my new life up north. But on the flip side of the coin, I'm dreading saying goodbye.

With heavy heart I will say goodbye to my friends, staff, children and parents at St. Helen's but with equally light heart I will say hello again to friends, family and improved lifestyle in Southport.

And at least I can pack up the memories and take them with me......

Bye Bye Jude

So it was my leaving party on Saturday night. And true to form there was a theme. I know some people find themes tedious beyond belief but I've kind of grown up with them. My mum was whizz at making costumes and props and I guess she's passed that on to me (although my skill is more in the wearing than making!)

The chosen theme was 80's. This is a truly great theme as you can look as hideous as you like and it''s all in keeping. So having donned a particularly ghastly stripey dress, neon tights and staggeringly high heels I captured the 80's slapper look perfectly.

I can honestly say I had a ball.

When I moved down here 11 years ago I was lucky enough to move into shared accommodation which is where I met Debs. She became the lynch pin in my social circle and all of my first southern friends stem from her. She is the missing link (in the kindest possible way).

So there we were, a group of friends, shaking our ass, jumping around, and spinning sugar like we were still teenagers. When I first moved here, our house parties were legendary. We had bouncy castles, my mate Ant aka Skinny Boy Evans took to the decks, there was punch, nibbles, fancy dress costumes dripping from the ceilings.

Back then, many a party would continue to the wee small hours until the moment when Skinny Boy played the last record and then simply lay on the floor and slept where he landed to show that the party was indeed over.

Now, many of us have kids and we all have mortgages and grown up jobs. Our parties are still great fun but tend to end a little earlier and happen on a far less frequent basis - like once a year as opposed to every couple of months.

I will miss this wonderful group of people and all my other friends down here enormously. As I said in my thank you speech on Saturday (which was thrust upon me with no prep!) many of these friends have helped me through some of the toughest times in my life. And now I'm embarking on a new, exciting and much anticipated stage of my life, I hope they will continue to be part of it. After all, the road systems run both ways in the UK.

With that in mind, I'd best get planning the house warming - no doubt it will be a fun filled, costume drenched and boozy affair and we wouldn't have it any other way!

Clean Sheets

I'm sitting in my flat surrounded by chaos!

Everywhere I look there are clothes, shoes, bags, books, CD's, stuff and even more stuff! And what's worse, I know I have just 2 weeks to sort it all out, get it packed and move it.

At the moment the task seems a little too large to contemplate. I hate the mess, it's driving me crazy. I hate the fact that everywhere I look, there is something that needs putting away. I know I should do something about it but I'm just too tired.

As soon as I get through the door at the moment, I feel compelled to throw my stuff on the floor and collapse on the bed for a snooze. The only thing is, the snoozes have a tendency to turn into a full blown sleep. My eyes just won't open.

I got up from today's snooze an hour ago and it's taken considerable effort to turn on the lap top and tap some keys. To be perfectly honest, I could happily crawl back to bed and sleep through til the morning.

And do you know what, that's exactly what I'm going to do. There's nobody else here to criticise, no one here to laugh, and no one here to complain. Nick Drake is on the stereo, my sheets are clean and smelling of Comfort and at the moment, nothing could convince me that staying awake seems a good idea.

Right then, over and out!