The Last Word (flash fiction)

Arts venues close for dubious reasons, libraries close because no one really needs books anymore, certain books are deemed unsuitable - and I remembered writing this flash.

The Last Word

The poets were the first to die. Shunned, scorned, their souls poisoned by the angst they couldn’t vent. Unused rhythms burst their over-flowing hearts and strangled their creativity – they choked on their rhymes.

The philistines smiled.

The playwrights didn’t mourn the poets - those twisters of words - but untold conversations soon spun their brains into frenzy. They talked, shouted, argued and made up with their own egos. They wandered, muttering, taking their final bows to empty seats and empty heads. Their sense of drama decreed that poison was the most fitting finale.

The philistines laughed.

The novelists sneered. Playwrights were melodramatic fools. But then they wondered, in this new world, who would print their novels? Who would read them? Had they ever been good? Was the purge justified by their inadequacy as artists? Paranoia bred despair, despair denied them sustenance, malnutrition brought their demise.

The philistines rejoiced.

The journalists recorded the events with glee. For so long the bastard children of true artists, now they were the only surviving wordsmiths. Yet they were still looked upon with disgust, even as they revelled in the success of their masters. They took solace in alcohol, their words became as drunk as their minds, and soon both dried up.

The world’s readers, with no means of escape from their own stories, became an unproductive, uncaring, unfeeling mass.

The philistines’ success went unheralded. There was no one left to write the eulogy.

The word and the world ended.

Alternative Hell and The Final Countdown

Next year, instead of doing the dryathlon, I’ve decided to get myself sponsored to spend a weekend locked in a remote cottage with Katie Hopkins, Nigel Farage, Piers Morgan and the ghost of Jimmy Saville. There’ll be a television, but it will only show grand prix, reality TV, party political broadcasts by UKIP and the Tories, and soaps. There will be no books. A radio will play Rebecca Black on a continuous loop. I’m fairly sure it’ll be easier than this.

Nah, it’s actually getting a lot better. With just a week to go, I know I’ll do it now. I think it’s because the viruses/infections are finally showing signs of leaving me alone, so I’m able to get back to zumba and yoga and generally feel less miserable.

I had my first proper test last week when I went to a pub quiz and left as sober as I arrived. That has never happened before. Still had a good night, still had a laugh with friends, still won the quiz, so alcohol is not necessary, just pleasant. It’s good to know that.

January is a tough month to do something like this. There’s the after-festive-season dip in mood, the weather, the seemingly endless dark, dreich days. Money is tight because of over-spending at Christmas, spring and summer feel a very long way away. I think February would be better – mainly because it’s a shorter month, obviously.

I have to say, though, if I had just decided to try this for no reason, no cause, I know I would have failed. It would have been too easy on one of those miserable days to just say, ‘Sod it – I’ll try again another month.' Knowing that people had donated, knowing that it was for such a good cause, knowing that I wouldn’t just be failing myself is what has kept me going.

A huge thank you, once again, to those of you who have sponsored me. I set my target at £100, I’ve already raise £170. Fantastic and genuinely does make it more than worthwhile.

If you’d like to add to that total, here’s the link: https://www.justgiving.com/Karen-Jones-dryathlete2015/

The Worst Party Ever

Fourteen days into the Dryathlon and I am now dreaming about wine. To be more specific, Cava.

I was at a party, being very good, drinking Schloer (that word should be said in a different funny accent every time it is uttered – that’s a rule) when a friend from salsa (I’m talking about you, Raj) offered to top up my glass. She took the glass away, gave it back to me, I took a few sips, realised it was Cava and said, ‘No, no, I can’t drink this – I’m doing the Dryathlon.’ She laughed and said, ‘Ha, got you! Now you have to start all over again. This isn’t day fourteen, it’s back to day one.’ Then she cackled some proper witchy evil cackling. Everyone at the party joined in, pointing and laughing, then they all raised their alcohol-filled glasses and shouted, ‘CHEERS!’

I woke up convinced it was real, that I genuinely had thirty one days of hell to go. But, no, just an evil dream.

I am finding the challenge more difficult than I thought I would. I was sure I’d be feeling all sorts of health benefits, especially where sleep is concerned, and that I’d have more energy and be feeling fresher and brighter. Unfortunately, the opposite has been true. But I think that’s because I’m still fighting this virus or infection – whatever the hell it is – that started on January 1st, so am still feeling a bit crap in general.

At the moment, the only benefit is financial, which is great, but I could do with a sudden surge of health to keep me on track and take away the temptation to cheat and pay the forfeit. It really is hard.

Of course, then I stop and think, ‘I’m whining about not having a drink. The people who have cancer – the whole fundraising point to this thing - are having ever so slightly worse fun than me and they don’t get to choose when it ends, you know?’ And then I shut up, drink my water, and realise how lucky I am to be in a position to do this small thing to try to help fund finding a cure.

Seventeen more days to go. It’ll be fine. But no more invading my dreams, please.

If you want to donate, my page is here: https://www.justgiving.com/Karen-Jones-dryathlete2015/

P.S. Raj is lovely and would never actually trick me and taunt me in this way. Probably.

Wine Free and Almost Whine Free

“Let’s do the Dryathlon thingy in January!” is something I said when I was drunk, sometime in December – or maybe November. I dunno, I like wine, it could have been any time.

Of course, in the sober light of morning, I changed my mind. Until the next time I’d had too much wine (probably the next day) and, “Let’s do the Dryathlon thingy in January!” came tumbling out of my mouth again.

It was clearly something I wanted to do, wasn’t it? Really? Deep down?

I signed up (while drunk), and set my fundraising target at a low-end £100 (loads of folk do Dryathlon and I didn’t want friends to feel obliged to donate or to have to donate too much) and then dedicated myself to drinking as much as I could for the whole of December, culminating in our annual Hogmanay party where I broke a personal best for guzzling copious amounts of Cava and Prosecco. I stopped drinking at 5 am, and even then I only stopped because everyone else was going home or off to bed. I had to accept it was over. The time had come for the fun to end. I tidied up and went to bed at about 6 am, really looking forward to the month of abstention ahead. I was going to get so healthy and fit and happy. Yep. Definitely.

On January 1^st I woke at noon. I was ill. Hungover? Well, yeah, obviously (was there any Cava or Prosecco left in the world that day – I doubt it?) but also a sore head, a hacking cough and general chest cold symptoms. Rough. Really rough. I dragged myself through the day, cooked and ate some steak pie, washed down with alcohol free red wine.

Yes, that’s right, alcohol free wine. It’s wine that’s had the alcohol ‘carefully removed’. I’m one of those people who needs the crutch – the wine glass, filled with a wine-like substance. My brain needs to believe I’m still part of this civilised world where a glass of red with dinner is not only okay, it’s the best part of dinner. Thanks to my chest cold, it didn’t taste too bad. Thanks to my chest cold, days one to six were absolutely fine because I didn’t really feel like drinking at all.

Then came day 7. The chest cold symptoms not quite so bad. Still the horrendous cough, but no longer feeling so rough. Alcohol free wine tastes like cherry juice. Slightly warm cherry juice. I want proper wine. Unfortunately, we are surrounded by it. Everything that was left after the party is still here. About half a dozen bottles of Cava and Prosecco and a few bottles of champagne - they’re actually very easy to resist - but the box of Shiraz, the bottle of Wolf Blass red, the bottle of McGuigan’s red, those three are killing me as they stand there, flaunting their deliciousness.

And they’re not just delicious; they’ll make me feel all warm and fuzzy and smiley and happy. And I've not been well. and it's been a whole week. And I've almost doubled my fundraising target anyway. And no one would know.

But, of course, they’ll also make me feel like shit in the morning, stain my teeth even further, add more empty calories to my day, stop me from sleeping – and as a chronic insomniac, I don’t really need any help in that department – and replacing them will further deplete my beleaguered bank balance. And I signed up for a month, not a week. And those people who donated donated on the condition that I stick this out. And I'd know.

Tut.

So I will hold strong. Only another 24 days to go. It’ll be fine. It’ll be good. And come February 1^st, I’ll be the cheapest date ever.

Gies another glass of that … water. Cheers.

*For those who don't know, Dryathlon is a fundraiser for Cancer Research. Participants stop drinking alcohol for the month of January. It's torture.

Trying to Explain the Seemingly Inexplicable. (The aftermath of the vote.)

What do you say to your two young sons when they look to you for an explanation for something that they find inexplicable? When they are so shocked and saddened and express shame at the result of the vote – even though you advised caution and told them, from day one, to expect the worst – that they don’t know what to say. When they wonder if they’ll ever get the chance to change this.

Well, I tried to make them laugh and told them this:

“Imagine someone came into your house one day and said, ‘Yeah, I like this. Okay, this is going to be mine, and everything in it will be mine but I’ll let you use everything – up to a point. I want you to go out to work every day and give me your wages, then I’ll give you some money back that will probably be enough to keep at least half of the house water-tight and habitable. Oh – and I’m going to put a bomb in one of the bedrooms. Don’t worry about it – it probably won’t go off and kill you all or anything – but one day I might get into a fight with someone and I’ll need that bomb as a threat. I don’t want to have it in my house, so you just hang onto that for me and keep it safe. So, how does that all sound to you?’

And you answer with a thumbs up and a smile, ‘cause, you know, he’s bigger than you and he has more pals and he’s promised to put a good word in for you with those pals and to let you play in any games they have planned – so long as you stick to their rules. And he tells you you’re part of his family now and he loves you and he’ll always be there for you – so long as you behave. And everything is easier when you’re not in charge – he’ll take all the big decisions for you and you don’t even have to think much. Actually, he’d prefer you not to think very much at all.”

Well, they started laughing at the line about the bomb and then they were smiling and shaking their heads and sighing, but they were still smiling.

It’s a simplistic analogy, obviously, but the point was to make it seem so ridiculous, they would laugh and smile. It worked.

Tomorrow we’ll talk about the day you wake up and think, ‘Hang on – there’s something not right here. A few of us in the house are doing well under this plan, but most of us aren’t. And I’m not sure I was listening properly about the bomb stuff. I think we should take the house back.’

It didn’t work this time – we didn’t get it back. We had a hard road getting our message out there given that our only outlet for an un-spun view of our plans was social media. Not everyone uses social media and many who do use it don’t use it for political purposes, so many people never got the facts as the YES side saw them.

Would it have made a difference? We’ll never know.

I’ve seen people complain that we shouldn’t have been ‘allowed’ this referendum, that we shouldn’t be ‘given’ anything now that we’ve voted NO. People angry that the FM ‘dared’ to do something that divided our country.

Allowed. Given. Dared. Let those words sink in.

The fact that 45% of us wanted change shows that the nation was already divided in opinion, just as it is already divided in wealth and poverty. To say that we should not have been allowed to say so – that our voices should not have been heard - is to say that we are undeserving of democracy.

But 55%  didn’t want change – most of them didn’t want the referendum at all and just wanted to leave everything as it was. That is the reality of today.

I scrolled through my Facebook newsfeed and was pleased to see only two people gloating: one Scot who has always been a bit gloaty (it's a word now) and the other an English friend whose threads have always been full of people slagging us off and questioning our right to be 'allowed' to do this and demonising the First Minister and the YES Campaign in general (all stuff fed by the media and believed 100%), so that was to be expected.

I've chosen my friends well.

I’m glad to say that many who were on the opposite side are now saying it was a good thing. Many NO voters saying thank you to the YES team for starting something, for opening Westminster’s eyes to the fact that we will not just carry on without being heard. Many English friends who started off against us saying thank you because they hope it will awaken political activism in their country.

But we need them to do more than just say thank you. We need them to join us now to fight for the fairer society our poor and disabled and disenfranchised deserve. The society we all deserve.

We have to join together now – we all live here so we have no option - and we either join together to say, ‘It’s all fine and lovely and I accept my lot,’ or we join together to say, ‘Listen to us – we’re not going away.’

And that’s what I’ll tell my sons tomorrow. 

This was my generation’s chance and we failed in our main goal but we may have started something that they can continue. One day, I hope my sons’ generation get the chance to take our country back and I hope they seize it with both hands.

The Fat Lady is Oiling Her Vocal Cords - final blog on Scottish Independence

The final days are here and most of us are feeling a combination of nervousness, excitement and hope, whichever way we are voting.

I am, obviously, voting YES. I’d like to take this final opportunity to explain why I am voting YES – what I am voting for.

I am voting YES because I am, at heart, a socialist and I no longer feel represented by any of the parties at Westminster. The difference between the main parties now seems so slight, that even if I did feel my vote mattered, I wouldn’t know who to vote for. My hope is that, in the event of Independence, the Scottish parties would reinvent themselves – or go back to their roots – and there would be real choice again.

I am voting YES because I don’t feel my vote matters at Westminster. I am not claiming that’s unfair – given that there are roughly 5.5 million Scots and roughly 53 million in England, it would be odd if the Scottish vote was a game changer. Even if every eligible Scot voted – and that never happens – and even if every voter voted for one party – and that never happens, it would still only rarely make a difference. And while I accept that is fair in the current system given the respective populations, I feel my vote would count for more in an Independent Scotland. Would everyone suddenly get the party they voted for? Of course not – that could only ever happen in a country where people were forced to vote for one party at gunpoint. But I believe a greater percentage would get the party they voted for.

I am voting YES because I like the idea of a constitution – certain rights enshrined that should be upheld, no matter what the party in power. A guaranteed NHS? Equal Rights? Free Education? It would be nice to see those actually guaranteed.

I am voting YES because I would like rid of nuclear weapons. I have heard the arguments about deterrent and the fears of attack if they are removed, but if these fears are real, why have none of the currently non-nuclear European countries been attacked? The majority of European countries do not have nuclear weapons and they’re doing just fine.

I am voting YES because the current slip to the extreme right in the UK terrifies me. I will not, for one second, pretend that Scotland does not have any right wing voters or any right wing extremists but it is under control at the moment. I’d like to keep it that way.

I am voting YES because I want a Scottish government to be in charge of these currently reserved powers:

benefits and social security

immigration

defence

foreign policy

employment

broadcasting

trade and industry

nuclear energy, oil, coal, gas and electricity

consumer rights

data protection

a Constitution

These things are too important, affect us too greatly, to leave in the hands of Westminster when Westminster is so frequently out of tune with our wishes.

I am voting YES because I want a fairer society. This kind of statement has led to accusations of Scots believing themselves to be morally superior to those south of the border. I don’t believe that’s true for one second. But we are, traditionally (if you look at our voting patterns) a socialist country and socialist policies are generally beneficial to the poorer sections in society.

I am voting YES because I have read both sides of the argument with regards to finance and the future of our economy and I believe that we can manage perfectly well. I accept that, as a YES voter, I am predisposed to preferring the positive predictions, but I find it very difficult to trust Westminster ‘experts’ and I have no faith in the media coverage the campaign has received. No sooner have we been told that oil is running out, that banks are sacking everyone and moving, that prices are going up, than these things are proven to be, at best, exaggeration, at worst, downright lies.

I am not naïve – I don’t think either side is being 100% honest, but I have researched every point as thoroughly as I can, I have taken advice from friends with far greater knowledge than I could ever hope to have of international finances, and I believe, as they have assured me, that we are more than capable of succeeding.

I am voting YES, not because of nationalism or patriotism - I don’t really care where you were born – if you live and work in Scotland, I respect your views. I will happily welcome new immigrants to this country. I want an inclusive, tolerant society. No, that won’t happen overnight – maybe it won’t happen at all – but I’d like us to give it a try.

I am voting YES, not because I think we will suddenly achieve utopia – that’s just silly – but because I think we can do better for everyone in our society if we have control of our own finances, our own policies, our own destiny.

I am voting YES because I no more believe that Westminster will bestow extra powers than I believe they will give us cartoon style super powers. We have no idea who will be in charge of the UK come 2015 and each party has very, very different plans for Scotland if it remains within the union.

My friends who are voting NO are not wrong to vote NO. My friends who are voting NO simply see things differently. In some cases we have read the exact same information, but we have drawn different conclusions, in others we simply want different things. But that’s okay. It doesn’t make them wrong and me right. I may not agree with their decision or their reasons, but I accept and respect their choice.

On the 19^th of September, should the vote be YES, I will not gloat, I will not taunt, I will not revel in another’s misery. I will be happy, I will be excited, I will be relieved, but I can be all of those things without being smug or offensive.

If the vote is NO, I will not apportion blame, I will not taunt, I will not complain. I will be sad, I will be deflated, I will be worried, but I can be all of those things without being petulant or offensive.

If YES wins it will be against the majority of poll predictions, against the bookies predictions, against the full force of the combined Westminster parties and the full might of the British media. The odds are long but I can’t let that stop me hoping for and dreaming of something I have wanted for so long. I have a little while left yet to dream.

This Time It's Personal

Things I’ve been called because of my political beliefs – not just for voting YES, but for being anti-right wing policies: Idiot, nutter, stupid cow, Nazi (yes, seriously), racist (I know, I know), separatist, clown, foolish woman, pain in the arse, selfish, deluded, ignorant, incapable of rational thought.

Things I’ve called people whose politics differ from mine: If I know them well, I tend to stick to their first name, otherwise I use Mr/Mrs/Ms as appropriate and their second name.

Insults I’ve received from people because of my political views: Fuck off; fuck off and die; go and salsa up your own arse (that’s my favourite); you clearly lack any sort of intelligence; all of my intelligent friends are voting NO (from a friend – good way of letting me know her opinion of my intellect); I hope you starve – you’ll deserve it; whingeing, moaning subsidy junkie.

Insults I’ve hurled at these people or others who share their political views: None.

Lucky I'm not one of those poor souls being targeted by a concerted campaign of intimidation and bullying and abuse, eh?

When someone resorts to abuse, I know I've won my argument. The same as when someone asks me a question and I answer it with something they don't want to hear, so they just ignore my answer and ask a question on another topic. They couldn't sustain their argument, so they move onto another, hoping to catch me out.

It's all a bit sad, but it's individuals - it's not a campaign by anyone. There will always be people who can't cope and resort to these tactics. Just smile and move on.

Do We Have to Polish Our Jackboots?

An English Facebook friend who is pro union posted a link to this piece they liked in Politics.co.uk yesterday: "That" kind of nationalism - nudge, wink. (I may have retitled it.) It’s one of the most vile, ill-informed pieces I’ve seen outside of the Daily Mail (though very like the Daily Mail in its scant regard for research or truth and its blatant bias).

The sad fact is that this is genuinely how Alex Salmond is perceived by many in England and by many in the Better Together camp – granted, usually because, like the author of the piece, they haven’t bothered to do any actual research and just buy whatever the unionist press feed them as truth. And this is how nationalism is seen – it’s seen as “that” kind of nationalism – you know, the kind that wears jackboots.

It’s easier to ignore the fact that many voting for independence are not actually SNP supporters and have never voted SNP in their lives. That kind of truth just doesn’t fit the desired narrative. It’s easier to ignore the kind of nationalism actually espoused by the YES campaign and, indeed, by the SNP: the kind that wants a constitution to protect the vulnerable in society, no matter what party is in power; the kind that votes for gay marriage and that the LGBTI community plans to work with to ensure greater equality; the kind that plans to bring in skilled immigrants to help make up the shortfall in contributions so as to protect our aging population, whilst celebrating the diversity in our society.

Pro immigration? Pro equal rights for all? Pro constitutional rights? Yep, sure sounds like “that” kind of nationalism to me. I’ll start polishing my boots and practising my salute.

And Salmond is always portrayed as this power mad individual, out for himself at all costs, wants to be King/Emperor/God of Scotland.  Hmm - that doesn't quite fit with the fact that he was the one who wanted devo-max on the ballot, does it? If he was only out for himself, was power-crazy, then he'd have hated the idea of devo-max. But he did want it on the ballot - he wanted Scots to have the full range of choices: 1. Stay as we are. 2. Extra powers. 3. Full independence.

Westminster vetoed the devo-max option. Why? Well, maybe because they were so confident of a NO vote, they didn't see the need to give up any power.

MacLean also mentions the fact that no one even blinks when they hear the phrase 'Salmond's Scotland'. Well, I've certainly never given it any thought because the first time I'd ever heard the phrase was in this article. Funny that, eh?

The author of the piece was described in The Scotsman as: Charles Maclean – an Eton schoolboy with a family seat in Argyll, future clan chieftain and scion of one of the best-connected families in post-war Britain.

Not massively surprising that his opinions were fairly outrageously biased then, eh? No self-interest there at all – nope, not a bit of it.

And, of course, his lack of research caught him out again when he spouted that line about Salmond praising Putin – is there really anyone left who hasn’t read the whole interview that gave the Better Together campaign that quote? I mean, obviously, apart from Charles MacLean? Well, just in case you have any interest in how Salmond came to, apparently, randomly praise Putin, here’s the link to the full article: Salmond and Putin, up a tree (I may have retitled that as well.)

If you can’t be bothered reading the whole thing, the gist of it is, Alastair Campbell tried to get Salmond to say something positive about various politicians/political leaders. Salmond obliged. The only time he genuinely couldn’t think of anything positive to say was when asked about George Osborne. Yes - he could think of something decent to say about Putin - when pressed to - but not about George Osborne, which seems fair enough. .

This is when I start to crave honesty. The truth about Salmond, the truth abut the YES campaign is all out there for anyone who wants to take the time and just do a wee bit of reading. It still irritates me when I hear someone say they’re voting NO because of that Salmond. It’s just not a credible answer and does a huge disservice to the person who says it as well as to the whole campaign.

There are plenty of reasons for voting NO and I genuinely believe that people need to start being honest about them instead of just trotting out the tired old SNP/Salmond non-argument.

For example, “I’m voting NO because, despite the fact that Westminster have lied to us many times over the years, I believe that this time they are telling the truth about oil and that all of the figures they have presented on the economy are, this time, the truth. I believe that they will give us more powers, I understand their reasons for not stating what these powers will be, and I trust them to deliver.”

There you go – not that difficult, is it? If you really feel that you can still trust Westminster, just say so.

Or, “I’m voting NO because, while I appreciate that there are foodbanks and attacks on the weakest in our society for as long as I stay with an increasingly right wing UK, me and my family are currently doing very well and I’d rather take my chances with whatever government England votes for, and sometimes that government will, by chance, be the government I wanted, so that’s enough for me. I'm not right wing, but I'd rather put up with right wing policy than take a chance at changing things without cast iron guarantees and absolute certainties about how independence would work. I appreciate that I have no idea how things will pan out in the UK, but those uncertainties are okay with me.”

See? You can say that if it’s how you really feel. It’s far better than just parroting the media’s view on Salmond and nationalism. 

Or, “I’m okay with the right wing – I want out of Europe, I want an end to immigration, I’m not really that interested in the poor in our society (they always get by somehow), I’m happy that the rest if the UK is veering further to the right wing and want Scotland to follow suit, so I’m voting NO.”

There are at least 500,000 Tories in Scotland – it’s okay to come out and say you’re one of them.

It’s okay to have any reason to vote NO that’s based on actual research and personal ideology and there are lots more than the few I’ve mentioned here. It’s not okay to cling to, ‘I hate Alex Salmond, therefore I’m voting NO to the chance of independence for my whole country based on my dislike of one man (a man I’ve never actually met and don’t really know anything about).’ That’s just silly and lazy and nonsensical. Stop it.

Indy Hats For All

If we’re going to screw up, let’s screw up on our own terms, our own policies, our own standards.

Does that not sound like a terribly attractive proposition?

Well, I’m sorry, but I’m sick of being told I’m a whinging, moaning, scrounging Scot.

Are we headed for Utopia? Bloody hell – of course not. Behave. If we gain independence it’ll be tough (and Westminster have made no bones about the fact that they intend to make it as tough as they possibly can – for no genuine pragmatic reasons {because we are not worth anything to them - they subsidise us, so they should be glad to see the back of us, right?} – you know, just because they can). Should the fact that it will be tough stop us? I sincerely hope not.

In last night’s debate, Alastair Darling gave us three job creating powers that would be devolved to a NO voting Scotland: Everything is better in the UK. Everything is better in the UK. Everything is better in the UK. Three options that were all the same and were nothing to do with devolved powers.

In his response to the never-ending Plan B on currency question, Alex Salmond gave three Plan Bs – pound without currency union, new currency, or Euro – but still preferred a currency union. At least he gave three options, albeit not stating which he placed as first contender.

If I’m honest, I’m quite keen on no currency union and sticking with the dreaded Panama option – Panama sank into financial decline and everyone died and the whole place was overrun with rabid monkeys. Or maybe not. Why not check it out?

I’m campaigning for a hat, (obviously) to go with the Panama option – it’s the jaggy bunnet:

And, yes, I’m being frivolous. I apologise. But when I hear a Labour politician, who is supposedly engaging in a debate on behalf of Better Together i.e. Labour, Tory, Lib-Dem joining together against Scottish Independence, sneak in what Labour would do if voted in in 2015, I think frivolity is a reasonable response. If you are there to argue that Scotland is better off as part of the UK, that has to be because you believe that Scotland is better off as part of the UK no matter what party is leading the UK government - be it Tory, Labour, Lib-Dem or UKIP. When confronted with specific issues, you can't say, "Oh, but Labour wouldn't do that/would do this." You're not speaking for Labour - you're speaking for the Better Together, no matter what, no matter who.This was not the place to start campaigning for Labour (Tory Lite) in the UK elections in 2015.

The hat is one of the many reasons it's just as well I'm not in charge. Probably.

Be a Good Little Subject (And say, "Thank You.")

Apparently, because I live in a country where I am not being bombed or tortured, I should just shut up, stop moaning and blah blah blah about politics and get out there and dance in the streets at my good fortune.

Yep. I should be so grateful that I am not being bombed or tortured, I should be a good little subject, sit quietly and never, ever question my government.

But, for me, if not being bombed or tortured is all you require for what you consider to be a good standard of living, then you’re setting the bar pretty low.

Of course I am aware that there are countries around the world where atrocities are carried out daily, where war rages, where drought and famine kills. Of course I am grateful every day for the fact that I do not live in one of those countries.

But this means I should ignore inequalities and injustice in my own country? Well, if there is logic to that statement, it escapes me.

Ah, but wouldn’t the government just love it if we all adopted that line? If we said, ‘Well, hey, I’m not in Gaza, so you guys go ahead and pass whatever laws you like. And that thing about taking away our rights, you know, scrapping the Human Rights Act, that thing you have planned? Well I’m not in Syria, so, yeah, you do that and I won’t say a word, ‘cause I’m not being bombed or tortured. And your continued attack on the poor and vulnerable in our society? Hell, yeah – go for it – they’re mostly scroungers (and probably *whispers* immigrants) so you go right ahead. I’m not in Iraq and no one else is abusing me physically, so you go right ahead and abuse my rights and those of the weakest in my society.’ Ooops – I forgot to say thank you.

This kind of right wing logic is terrifying to me. It’s like looking into the heart of darkness – you can’t come away unscathed. It preys on my mind and distresses me that there are people out there who think this way.

And, you've guessed it, it’s another reason I’m voting YES. I want my country to be as far away from right wing thinking as it can possibly be. I’m not pretending we don’t have any right wingers in Scotland – we do. Roughly 500,000 Scots voted Tory in the last general election and we all know that a UKIP guy got in at the European election. But it is, currently, a small voice. I don’t want it to rise. I don’t want it, fuelled by UKIP and Tory and Britain First, to get stronger. I want us to get away – far away – from the right wing.

I see independence as the only way for that to happen.

P.S. If my posts on FB or Twitter bother you, just unfriend/delete me. I'll understand.

Sensible Negotiations

One of the more disturbing reasons I’ve seen for voting NO is that the post-YES negotiations would be carried out by – you’ve guessed it – that Wee Fat Eck and the SNP.

So let’s think about this. Scotland votes YES to independence. Negotiations with Westminster begin. Do you want the Scottish negotiators to be the people who said we can’t do it, who said we’re too wee, who said we are ‘not genetically programmed to make political decisions’, who said we are Better Together?

What kind of negotiators would those people be? Would they have an independent Scotland’s interest at heart? I fail to see how, but I’m happy to be enlightened.

However much you hate the SNP and their leader, you have to give them this: They have Scotland’s best interests at heart. They have fought for, and won, the chance to have this referendum, to give you the chance to make this decision. They’re all about Scotland and what is best for Scotland and what they believe Scotland can become with independence.

And the negotiating committee would not just be SNP - it would be made up of representatives from other parties and Scottish civic societies. Would it be majority SNP? Very probably, but that’s just logical, when you think about it (please think about it) since they hold the majority of MPs and MSPs who fought for independence and are the only party in no way beholden to Westminster i.e. no one is going to lose their job if they don’t do as they’re told. I would be seriously suspicious of e.g. Johann Lamont negotiating my country’s independence, given her stance.

I appreciate that this may be unpalatable for those who, for whatever reasons, hate the SNP, but it would be just plain daft to give up the chance of independence – if you genuinely want independence – just because you don’t like the guy/party doing some of the negotiating.

As has been said many, many times – this is a means to an end. In 2016 there would be the first Independent Scottish elections and that’s when you get to decide who runs your country. And your vote would actually matter.

Please don’t give up that opportunity based on a dislike of one person or because you’d rather the people who don’t believe in independence negotiate the terms for that independence. If you stop and think about it, it really doesn’t make sense, does it?

I'm sorry? What? Could You Say That Again?

Sometimes you have to step away from the screen, rub your eyes, look back and check that you really read what you just read.

I saw a NO voter today, a life-long Labour supporter, say that, in the event of Westminster reneging on its vague promise of more powers or, worse, actually reducing powers and/or funding in Scotland, that it would be Alex Salmond’s fault and he hoped that Salmond would be able to live with himself.

I’ll just type that out again for you: any negative consequences of a NO vote would be Alex Salmond’s fault.

His logic – and I use that term loosely – being that, had that wee, fat Eck (height and weight v important in politicians) just left things alone, not bothered everyone with his pesky desire to give us the opportunity to see our nation free from Westminster rule, everything could have stayed the same. ‘Cause, you know, it’s all perfect at the moment.

Again, you’ll note the personal touch here with all blame being attributed to one man – not a party or a campaign or YES voters – just this one man, Alex the Merciless. You’ll also note that any ill-effects after a NO vote would not be the fault of NO voters. Nope. Nor would they be the fault of the Westminster parties lying. Nope.

And this life-long Labour supporter is perfectly happy for his party to link arms with his life-long enemy – the one he never votes for, but frequently gets stuck with – the good old Tory party. He doesn’t blink an eye. It gives him no pause for thought that his party is in cahoots with the Tory party and the Lib-Dem party in their attempts to convince people that Scotland is incapable of being a successful independent nation. If he did stop and think about that, he’d probably find someone else to blame anyway. Any guesses who that someone would be?

Has anyone got a pair of ruby slippers I can borrow? This can't be real.

What It's Really About (for me)

What It’s Really About

Well, it’s all about Salmond, isn’t it? The question on the ballot paper is: Do you want Alex Salmond to be the king of Scotland. Forever.

Except it’s not. It absolutely is not. The question is simple: Should Scotland be an independent country?

In the event of a YES vote, would that make Alex Salmond happy? Yes, of course – it’s what he’s campaigned for all his life. Would it make him the leader of Scotland, in any capacity, after 2016? Only if enough people voted for him. In other words, it would be up to you, the Scottish voters.

Is your hatred of one man, and the fact that something you do could result in him getting something he wants, worth giving up the chance of taking control of our own finances, making our decisions for our own people, having a vote that actually matters rather than one that only gets us the government we vote for if it just so happens that enough people in England want the same as us?

That’s for your conscience. If personality is more important to you than policy, then you’ll stick to your guns and be very pleased at having thwarted one man, ignoring the fact that you have also thwarted a nation’s chance at self-determination and self-rule. But so long as that wee fat Alex isn’t smiling, eh?

Lots of people talk of the uncertainty, not knowing what Scotland would be like if they vote YES, exactly which currency, exactly who’d end up as the leader. And so, they reason, it’s safer to stay with what they know, with certainties.

But there are no certainties. No one can tell you who will be in charge of the main UK political parties in 2015, which of those parties will win the election, which of the policies in their manifestos they will actually keep. We’ve been promised more powers if we vote NO (by parties who vetoed devo-max on the ballot paper), but we’re not to be told what those powers are, just as we’re not allowed to negotiate any details of an independent Scotland before the referendum. We are expected to just wait and see. Uncertainty is rife no matter which way you vote.

And please remember that voting NO isn’t just voting against something – it’s also voting for something. It’s voting for Westminster to continue its control over these aspects of our lives:

benefits and social security

immigration

defence

foreign policy

employment

broadcasting

trade and industry

nuclear energy, oil, coal, gas and electricity

consumer rights

data protection

the Constitution (the UK doesn’t actually have one of these, so I’ve never quite understood that, but it’s what’s on the government’s website, so I included it here)

I see those as quite important. All the more so since the recent attacks on the poor and disabled through ‘restructuring’ of benefits. All the more so since the slide to the right that’s taking place in the UK at the moment. All the more so since more and more information comes to light about how much we’ve been lied to, and are still being lied to, about oil and gas.

No one can force people to look at issues rather than people. I could just be petty and say, ‘Oh, well, if a YES vote is a vote for Alex Salmond, then a NO vote is a vote for David Cameron.’ But that would be silly. This is not about either of them – it’s not about Lamont or Darling or Davidson or Miliband or Clegg either

A YES vote is to give Scotland complete control over its own finances and its own affairs. A NO vote is to leave some of that control in the hands of whichever Westminster party the majority of English people vote for.

For me, it’s that simple.

My Journey to YES

In a break from writing stuff and cruise stuff, a wee bit of political stuff. Fell free to ignore and wait for the more light hearted stuff to return.

A Journey to YES

It’s 4^th May 1979. I’m 16. My mum is calling me to come downstairs and watch this historic event. She’s never voted Tory, and never would, but she can’t help being impressed that a woman has finally become Prime Minister, albeit this woman, from this party. She wants me to watch, to share in this moment.

Reluctantly, I relent and join her in front of the TV. I’m not madly political at this age, but I know enough to know that I don’t like right wing policies, and I don’t care if this is the first woman PM – she’s from the wrong party, and policies and party are far more important than gender or personality or being ‘first’ at something.

That voice, the one most of us will grow to hate, already makes my skin crawl as it says: Where there is discord, may we bring harmony. Where there is error, may we bring truth. Where there is doubt, may we bring faith. And where there is despair, may we bring hope.

Well, we were soon to learn, had we ever doubted it, that that was complete bollocks.

I couldn’t vote until after October 1980, so I had no influence. It didn’t take me long to learn that I would never have any real influence. By the next general election, in 1983, I had already decided that I would never vote Tory because they didn’t care about Scotland (or, as it often seemed, basic human decency). Quite right, to be fair – from a political point of view, why waste your time on a place where you will never win votes? I had also decided there wasn’t much point to voting Labour – they didn’t seem to be that bothered about us either. Again, quite right – why waste time and energy on a place where your vote is pretty much guaranteed? Far better to start changing your party, to slide further towards right, in the hope of gaining new support or regaining old support. Don’t blame them in the slightest – it was what they felt was politically sound.

That left me, as far as I recall, with the Liberals, the SDP and the SNP. In the end I decided that, since my vote had little or no influence in Westminster, that I’d opt for the SNP and hope that one day we would achieve independence. No one else had any particular cause to care much about us; surely we’d be better off taking care of ourselves?

That doesn’t mean that I loved all SNP policies, or that I was convinced they had the best leader – to be honest, I don’t even remember who that was. I know I could google this stuff, but I’m trying to give you it from memory, to take you through my thought processes as I remember them. I opted for the SNP because I wanted my vote to count. I understood – still understand – that I wouldn’t necessarily get the government I voted for in an independent Scotland, but at least a greater percentage of my countrymen would get what they had voted for.

Oddly, I’m in agreement with some of my NO voting friends on this point. I agree that Scotland gets exactly the representation it should in Westminster. We are a tiny nation. Why should a nation of 5 million dictate to a nation of 55 million? That would not only be wrong, it would be ridiculous. But while my NO friends see this as a reason to stay, that we have the correct level of representation, I see it as a reason to go. My country will only ever get the UK government it votes for by chance, if it just so happens to tally with the desire of the country with the larger population. While that is, technically, fair, it’s not good enough for me. I don’t believe it’s good enough for my country.

That was how I came to support independence. I’ll blog again about more specific points (unless the comments on this get too ugly, of course) but I just wanted to share, as others have, my journey to YES, which started long before YES was even a real option.

It's A Reciprocal Thing

Many years ago I declared myself a no review zone. I had a lot of friends – from various writing sites and spoken word nights – who were prose writers and poets, many of whom went on to to be published or to self-publish novels, short story collections and poetry collections. Obviously, the quality varied and there was - sorry, really, really sorry – a tendency towards angsty, awful poetry that even the Vogons would have refused to read. Poets who had clearly never read any poetry, ever, were putting out collections that amounted to nothing more than opening a vein and bleeding onto the page and asking to be praised for their bravery.

I bought them. I bought them all. I supported them all. They were nice people. They may not have been hugely talented poets, but they were lovely and I wanted to support them in the only way I could – financially. But I couldn’t, in all conscience, write glowing reviews. Hence the no review zone.

Later, several friends released excellent short story collections, poetry collections and novels – but I couldn’t review them. I was the non reviewer. The no review zone. I was stuck. While I had lost touch with the majority of the really not very good poets, I had made this declaration and felt I had to stand by it. It was a blessing in some ways, but when I read something wonderful I really wanted to say so, to shout out to everyone: BUY THIS! IT’S AMAZING! AND I KNOW THE AUTHOR!

But I couldn’t. I didn’t do reviews.

And then I brought out my own collection and things got a bit more difficult.

When you buy a book, do reviews matter to you? They matter to me. I find myself looking at reviews on Amazon and I’ll read a 5 star review, then I’ll look at a 1 star review, then I’ll look at those reviewers’ other reviews. If the 5 star person is giving great reviews to everyone, I ignore their opinion. If the 1 star person is just a nippy wee git sniping at everyone, I ignore their review. But if those people give a variety of reviews over several books, I’ll take their opinions a bit more seriously and they may influence my decision to buy or not.

I wanted reviews for my book. But how could I ask for reviews? I’m the non reviewer – how cheeky would it be to ask other people to do what I was unwilling to do?

But I asked, and they did, and they were lovely. But now I know I have to do the reciprocal review, and what if I read their book and I don’t like it/think it’s badly written/come face to face with Vogon poetry? Do I have the courage to be honest if they’ve given me a 5 star gushing review? What’s the protocol here?

Well, we know, don’t we? We see it every year in those ‘authors pick each other’s books as book of the year’ in various newspapers.

But if I do the obligatory, you gave me 5, I'll give you 5, my credibility is shot.

And it sucks. But it’s what we do.

There is no such thing as an honest reciprocal review. Is there?

P.S. Here are some wonderful things I would have reviewed had I not been the non reviewer (seriously - buy all of these): A Man's Hands, A Documentary About Sharks, Somewhere to Start From, Spit, Melons and Memory, Ordinary Domestic, Dot,Dash

and loads more. TUT.

A Review That Made Me Smile

Reviews of The Upside-down Jesus and other stories are beginning to trickle in. I thought I'd share this one from Kevin Cadwallender.

The Upside Down Jesus and other stories  by Karen Jones.

ISBN 978 1 291 77155 8

Sometimes wonderful things happen when you read a new book, which makes reading seem worthwhile. Karen Jones’ book is one of those wonderful things.

Populated by the bizarre characters of her imagination but fuelled by the real characters or close relations of people we recognise in our own lives. The book steps easily between the profound and the surreal with a deft writing style that flows gently

through obsession; disconnection, askew observations and a yearning for lost things, disappeared things, which float in and out of life.  Never over written or hurried the stories move slowly through life’s idiosyncrasies, not pointing and shouting but showing and observing. Often darkly comic, often deeply moving they resonate and offer a sometimes disturbing, sometimes tender view from the rooms we inhabit with the shadows we try not to think about in peripheral vision.

Kevin Cadwallender May 2014

The book is available here: http://www.amazon.co.uk/The-Upside-Down-Jesus-other-stories/dp/1291771557

And here: http://www.lulu.com/gb/en/shop/karen-jones/the-upside-down-jesus-and-other-stories/paperback/product-21501492.html

Oh, I Forgot I had a Blog

Yes, well, what can I say? I'm old. I had forgotten about this and I had to follow a link from Teresa Stenson's blog to find the place. Oh dear. I am a failed blogger.

So why am I back? Well, obviously, I have something to sell!

I've put together an anthology of some of my published stuff. The book is called The Upside-Down Jesus and other stories. Here's a wee bit about it:

The Upside-Down Jesus and other stories is a collection of published and prize-winning short stories, flash fiction and micro-fiction giving voice to a variety of different characters.

A child struggles to overcome her fear of the upside-down Jesus, a man dons his ‘egg-stealing coat’ once a week, a teenager becomes obsessed with the colour purple, an old man keeps his wife closer than others would like, a psychiatrist considers the folly of his patients, and a little girl watches her neighbour slowly disappear.

Tracy Chevalier, judge of the 2010 Mslexia Short Story Competition, on “The Upside-Down Jesus”:

“ … a heartbreaker leavened by a gorgeous young Scottish narrator … the girl’s voice is beautifully sustained and so we feel we really know her by the end.”

Annemarie Neary, judge of the first quarter 2013 Flash 500 Competition, on “When No One Is Looking”:

“… close to perfect … expert writing – tight and rhythmical … deft evocation of the childish sense of impotence, of no one listening … excellent work.”

Purchasing info for anyone who wants to buy a book. Unfortunately, the postage is a bit of a bugger, but I don’t control the Post office (yet!) so there’s not a lot I can do about it – sorry.

To buy from Lulu costs £6.99 + p&p, follow this link:

http://www.lulu.com/shop/karen-jones/the-upside-down-jesus-and-other-stories/paperback/product-21501492.html

To buy a signed copy direct from me costs £6.00 + p&p:

UK total cost = £7.30

Europe total cost = £9.50

USA total cost = £10.50 ($17.50 at current exchange rate)

The Post Office is putting up its prices on 1^st April, so these prices are fairly accurate for the next week.

If you want to buy direct from me, drop me a pm with your address, I’ll give you the PayPal address, once the money is in the account, I’ll get your book sent out to you asap.

The book will be available from Amazon at £6.99 + p&p in a couple of weeks from now if you’d prefer to wait until then.

If you’re going to see me in person e.g. at Rio Café next Monday, at salsa, at zumba or because you live in my street, just let me know if you want a copy and I’ll bring it to wherever we’ll next meet – cost remains £6.00.

I'll be visiting some other bloggers in the next few weeks to chat about the book, so I'll try to remember my blog exists and keep you up to date on what's happening.

Cruise Day 12 – At Sea (and then back to Southampton).

Not a huge amount to say about today, really. Breakfast, packing, tea, Countdown, packing, dinner, dishing out tips, theatre, bed. That’s about it.

Oh, wait, actually...

I’ll start this post with a few things I forgot to mention.

The toilets: there’s a sign that says, ‘Please do not flush while sitting down as these toilets work on a pressurised system.’ Okay, firstly, who the hell is flushing while sitting? In what circumstances would that seem like a good idea? Is it the poor man’s version of a bidet to flush while you sit? Secondly … ooooh, I wonder what would happen? No, I didn’t.

Also, I should have mentioned that Johnny Ball (yes, that Johnny Ball – and for the younger folk, he’s Zoe’s dad) was a guest speaker on the ship one night, in the theatre, so they obviously expected a big audience. We didn’t go, but we heard people talking about it later. Apparently it was dreadful. Interesting when he talked about his early life, but then he just started rambling incoherently and people were leaving in droves. Aw, poor Johnny Ball.

Back to today…

So, on the events list today: SALE! The shops are having a big sale of lots of stuff all priced at £7.95; Art Class; Passenger and Crew Talent Show; cricket; Helen Young talking about the weather again (you can tell it’s a British company, eh); Bingo: Countdown.

Well, obviously we’re doing Countdown, but we may have to give that sale a wee go as well.

It feels a bit odd, this last day. When you’re onboard a ship it really does become your world, and the thought of leaving and going back to the real world is not very attractive – going back to cooking and cleaning and general drudgery, when it has all been done for you for twelve days, is a bit depressing.

The sale is insanely busy and Mum has to sit it out or she’ll be jostled and lose balance. I’m looking at some jewellery when a very posh sounding woman shows me two bracelets she’s thinking of buying and asks my opinion on which she should buy – she’s looking for a ‘young’ opinion. I really will miss this. She’s smiling at me … right up until she hears my accent, then my opinion goes for nothing and she gets away from me as quickly as she can. Meh, been there before and it doesn’t bother me anymore.

I buy a couple of things I don’t need, get Mum and go back to the cabin to pack. Why do things never fit back in cases? Do they expand? Do the cases retract? Why? I get most of it done, then we go for tea and Countdown.

The atmosphere in the peninsular room is quite terrifying today – original winner and nemesis are eyeing each other, scowling. The game gets under way. I feel like I’m particularly poor today, but to be fair, no one is having a great game. When it comes to the end, the entertainment officer asks the most recent winner his score – 41. Anyone got any higher? Original winner’s husband jumps up, ‘Yes! Yes! I’ve got 45! I’ve won at last!’ – turns to wife – ‘I’ve never beaten you before! This is the first time! Yes! And I haven’t just beaten you – I’ve won the whole game!’ Everyone claps and cheers – even his wife. Then I put my hand up. ‘Eh, excuse me, I’ve got 46.’ Man collapses into his chair, ‘Noooooooooooooo! Damn. Oh well, I least I beat her,’ he says, indicating his wife.

So, yeah, I won Countdown on the last day. I went back to the cabin and put on pair of Mum’s trousers and hitched them up as high as I could, then I cut my hair with one of those ‘cut your own hair things’ – I’m one of them now. Okay, that last wee bit may not be true.

Back upstairs to finish the packing, find Roy (our cabin steward) and give him his tip. Off to the restaurant for last dinner – aw, it’s very sad. Have a good laugh with John and Richard and we swap Facebook details so we can keep in touch. John’s sister is a writer, so he gives me a link to something she’s had published. I promise (threaten?) to send them links to my stuff. Tip the waiting staff and the sommelier. J & R go to the casino and we go to the theatre. It’s the last night, and I know mum really wants to go, so we go.

It’s Colin ‘Fingers’ Henry. Oh God, it’s Colin ‘Fingers’ Henry … and it’s one of the best nights I’ve had. He’s hilarious. Well, if you like Les Dawson’s style of comedy he’s hilarious, and I loved Les Dawson. He does that thing Dawson did where he tells part of a joke, then a flourish on the piano, then a bit more of the joke, then more piano, all the while shaking his head and rubbing his hand over his face in an ‘I-can’t-believe-I’m telling-such-a-bad-joke’ way. I’m in tears laughing. Absolutely brilliant. The woman who said we should definitely see him was right.

We head out to the casino to say final goodbyes to John and Richard, but there’s no sign of Richard, so a quick cheerio to John (who’s playing poker, surprise, surprise) and we get back to our room and an early night as we have to be up and away at 8 in the morning. All bags have to go outside the cabin tonight, so we keep the bare minimum in toiletries etc. as we’ll have to carry these in hand luggage – not easy when you have a wheelchair to push. Oh, I forgot to say that the wheelchair is now falling apart, but should just about last until we get home.

Mum gets to sleep pretty quickly, as always. I have my usual pillow and duvet battle for most of the night.

‘That’s rain – we must be nearly back in Britain.’

‘Nope, it’s the ship.’

‘Are you sure?’

To be honest, I’m not.

We’re up at 6.30 am, final things thrown into the couple of small bags we’ve kept behind, then down to the restaurant for breakfast. Just before our food arrives Mum says, ‘Oh – eh, I think I left my hearing aid in the room.’ I dash back to the lift. When the doors open, the woman we met at breakfast whose mum had the very early nights is standing there. We look at each other. She raises one eyebrow.

‘Hearing aid,’ I say.

‘Tablets,’ she says.

We fall about laughing in the lift, much to the confusion of the other people there. We have a laugh – very quickly – about the stuff that’s gone on, and really do wish we’d met sooner, then it’s her floor and she’s gone

I search everywhere in the room, but no sign of the hearing aid. I do see that Roy has found my mum’s rosary beads and prayer book and left them out, so I take them down to her. My breakfast is pretty cold now.

We get assistance going off the ship and help to the bus with our cases. It’s very well organised. We head off, waving goodbye to our ship, our home for the last twelve days, and settle in for the ten hour journey home. I fall asleep almost immediately – a very, very deep sleep

We’ve been travelling for a couple of hours when Mum nudges me, giggling – she’s found her hearing aid in her pocket. I fall back asleep and stay that way for most of the journey home.

And that’s it – the end of our cruise. Would I do it again? Absolutely – I had a great laugh, the food was good, the ship was lovely, the staff were (mostly) excellent, the company was good. If I could afford it I’d go again next year. But I seriously doubt I’ll ever be able to afford a cruise, so I’ll just have to refer back to this diary when I want a reminder of the laughs we had. I’m glad I wrote it up – I hope it hasn’t been too boring to read.

Cruise Day 11 - At Sea (and getting closer to home).

Oh, the ship is bouncing about again, and we haven’t even reached The Bay of Biscay yet. It’s still sunny and warm, but very windy up on deck, so it’s not going to be a final day of sunbathing.

At breakfast we sit at a table with a woman who is 83 years-old – we know this because she mentions it frequently. She tells us all about her medical conditions, her living conditions, how she has been up far too late on this cruise, ‘When you’re old you like to get to bed early.’ She manages to give us all this information in the space of time it takes her daughter to get her a cup of tea (which she moans about). As her daughter sits down the old woman says, ‘I’m just saying, we were up awfully late last night, weren’t we?’ The daughter looks at me and rolls her eyes to the ceiling, then says, ‘Well, it was the latest night yet, I’ll give you that.’ She mouths ‘ten-thirty’ to me. Ha – I really wish I’d met her sooner. But then she asks if we went to see Colin ‘Fingers’ Henry the other night, ‘cause he was absolutely brilliant and we shouldn’t miss him, and I have second thoughts

We do our usual wander/crossword/ get a bit lost, then Mum goes to watch the movie ‘The King’s Speech’. I decide to give it a miss and explore bits of the ship I’ve never seen/found. After some searching I discover what we previously thought was the mythical lift to Deck 19 – it actually does exist. It takes you to the circus. Do I want to go to the circus? What if no one else has found the lift and there are starving, angry clowns and manic stilt walkers up there? Hmmm – probably best not to find out.

A quick look at the newsletter tells me I could do any of the following: line dancing; a talk on dry skin care; roulette tournament; whist drive; football; a talk by guest speaker Helen Young on weather forecasting; a talk on swollen ankles and fluid retention; Countdown at 4.15.

A wee sleep until tea and Countdown it is.

At tea we meet three women who are travelling together. The one who sits in the middle does most of the talking; the other two are kind of like her backing singers, nodding, making appropriate agreeing noises, laughing at her stories. It’s quite fascinating to watch – she even tells their stories for them, occasionally saying, ‘Isn’t that right?’ to which they nod and say, ‘That’s right.’ They’re really nice, a good laugh – just a weird dynamic going on there.

At one point during tea lots of people start congregating around one of the windows and pointing out to sea, going, ‘Ooooooooh!’. We can’t see what’s going on. The table behind us are discussing what it might be. One of them decides she’ll go and find out and report back. She comes back looking deflated. ‘It’s a wee boat.’ ‘What?’ ‘A boat – they’re all excited because they can see a boat.’ A boat, in the sea – well, who’d have thought? You can understand the excitement and clamour for good viewing positions. Tut. I was hoping for a mermaid at the very least. Or Johnny Depp.

Countdown time – yay. One of the conundrums is PRSTOUNGI. My hand is up first, ‘Posturing.’ Nope, they were looking for sprouting. People tut and shake their heads at me. I feel myself getting ready to shout, ‘But that word is there – it fits those letters!’ I stop myself just in time – nearly hitched my trousers up to just under my bust there and have definitely shoved my hair behind my ears. Need to be more careful. The man who won yesterday wins again. Original winner is desolate and consoled by her husband. Tomorrow is the last contest – it’s going to be tense – blood may be spilled.

It’s the last formal night tonight. Guess what the men wear? I’m wearing a dress I bought about four years ago and have never worn. I really don’t do dresses, except summery dresses when on holiday, and this is a dressy dress. I feel incredibly uncomfortable, but Mum loves it, so I put up with it. We have our photographs taken again, expecting the worst. How odd – we actually look human. I’m a human with slightly chubby hands, but human all the same. Finally a set of pictures we can buy.

Richard and John haven’t bought any photographs – they keep saying they’re just going to steal them, but we’re sure they’re joking. Probably. The waiters present us with a folder filled with souvenir menus from our trip – it’s tips night tomorrow, so they’re pulling out all the stops to make sure we remember how wonderful they are. Actually, they are pretty wonderful, so a good tip is guaranteed.

After dinner the lads are off to Texas Hold-Em again and Mum has talked me in to going to the theatre as The Headliners are on. This is the ship’s entertainment team and she promises me that they present West End quality musical productions. Okay, that’s pushing it slightly, but they really are very good. Great dancers, a couple of excellent singers and the whole thing is generally very well done. But what amazes me is how they can do their routines on a ship that is now bouncing around like mechanical bull (more exaggeration). There’s a guy on stage balancing on one leg on a bentwood chair – I can hardly stay upright in my seat. It’s incredible. They finish to a well-deserved standing ovation. Mum is just delighted that she got me in to the theatre again.

A couple of drinks and off to bed.

Last day tomorrow – it will definitely be too cold for sunbathing, but I’m sure we’ll find things to do. And there’s the packing, of course. And the last Countdown.

Mum’s out for the count pretty quickly, as usual. She doesn’t wake up and ask about rain. I’m quite disappointed.

Cruise day 10 - Gibraltar (there it is - over there).

It’s my birthday. It feels a bit weird not being at home, not having the boys appear with cards and presents. It feels a bit flat, really. I go out to the balcony and look for Gibraltar - it'll be that big rock thing over there.

Those who are doing the Gibraltar excursion have to be back by 1.30 as we have to set sail early to get back to Southampton on time. I feel like I should keep a look out for Richard and John. We’re skipping Gibraltar – no shopping to do - so it’s up to deck 16 to sunbathe again. As we walk past the spa Mum notices they have a special on their massages and decides she’s buying me one for my birthday. Yeah, ‘cause the cruise wasn’t enough of a gift. She’s determined to do it, so I happily agree. When we book they ask if I want a man or a woman to massage me. It feels wrong to say ‘man’ (c’mon, it’s my birthday), so I say I don’t mind. I’m booked in with Petra at 5 pm. I suppose Petra could be a man …

After about half an hour on deck, Mum decides she doesn’t really feel like sunbathing and would rather go down to the cabin to read – she insists she can find her own way. We don’t need any laundry done, so I take her down then get back to the hard work of lying face down in the sun.

At 1.15 my peace and quiet is not so much disturbed as blasted across the sea as an entertainments officer screams, ‘It’s time for the Great British Sailaway! Are you READY!’ I look up and see that everyone is waving Union Jacks. Oh dear. Music is blaring. ‘Let’s start with SCOTLAND! Have we got any Scottish people?’ A Scottish roar goes up, though it’s a bit half-hearted. I decline a proffered Union Jack. ‘Let’s say goodbye to Gibraltar, Scottish style!’ A horrible medley of ‘Scotland the Brave’, ‘Flower of Scotland’ and ‘You Tak the High Road’ booms through the speakers, followed by the Proclaimers’ ‘500 Miles’. To be honest, we tend just to say ‘bye’ in Scotland – unless I’m doing it wrong.

‘Have we got anyone from WALES?!’ Another roar, though still fairly muted, except for the Welsh widows who do Wales proud in the roaring stakes. Male voice choir singing stuff, followed by Tom Jones and ‘Delilah’ – crowd goes wild, much hip shoogling and flag waving. ‘And now to IRELAND! Any Irish people?’ Hmmm, not so many given the gentle shout – or maybe it’s just the Union Jacks that have stunned them into silence. Some fiddle music followed by … eh, I don’t actually remember. Maybe U2 … or Dana?

‘Now, have we forgotten anyone?’ Crowd screams itself hoarse, ‘ENGERLAND!’ Flag waving frenzy and it’s time for ‘Rule Britannia’, ‘Land of Hope and Glory’, God Save the Queen’ … and my exit to the relative sanity and silence of the cabin.

‘That idiot’s been on the phone again. I’m beginning to worry that he’s for real and when we see the news when we get back the stock exchange will have done exactly what he says it’s been doing. Or we’ll see him being stretchered off in a straitjacket. That’s more likely.’

I tell Mum about the sailaway party – she hopes I’ve recorded it so she can watch it later. Not.

After tea, things have quietened down on deck 16, so we get a bit more sunbathing done, then I have to go for my massage. The spa is absolutely stunning – beautifully decorated in shades of grey and quiet and dark and soothing and … just gorgeous. Petra appears – she’s a woman after all. Tut. She’s a gorgeous girl with an Eastern European accent. She gets me to fill in a form about my medical conditions and medications – this takes a while. She takes me through to the therapy room and I get ready to relax. I’m having a shoulder, back, scalp and foot massage (yes, I know that’s a bit odd, but that’s what I chose – leave me alone).

When she starts on my back and shoulders she says what every masseuse says, ‘Oh – oh my goodness, you have a lot of tension here – a lot of knots.’ The minute she says it I remember the line in ‘The Odd Couple’ when Oscar says to Felix, ‘You’re the only man I ever met who has clenched hair!’ This sets my mind off on one of its journeys: it was Walter Matthau and Jack Lemmon in the movie. It was Jack Klugman and Tony Randall in the TV series. The characters’ names were Felix Unger and Oscar … can’t remember. Oh no. I have to remember. I spend the whole hour going through the alphabet in my head, not relaxing, trying to get Oscar’s second name. ‘Cause it was really important, you know?

It’s Madison, by the way.

Once it’s all over, Petra says she’s going to ‘give me’ some oils for my muscles, some for my insomnia, some for … something else. ‘When you say ‘give’, Petra, how much do these actually cost?’ £32 each. I’ll give it a miss, thanks.

Despite being unable to actually relax completely, I do feel a lot better and am grateful to Mum for this extra gift. I also plan to watch The Odd Couple again as soon as possible.

I get back to my cabin to find I have a text. It’s a happy birthday message from my friend Rick. Aw, that was nice. There’s another text – it’s from Alfie – aw, he’s decided to text me on my birthday, even though we agreed none of them should text me in case it was crazy expensive. The text says, ‘Is it on?’ I text back asking what he’s talking about. ‘Oh, sorry – wrong number – was texting someone about five-a-sides. Happy Birthday, by the way.’ Tut.

When we get to the dinner table that night I spot balloons – lots of balloons.

‘Mum – you promised.’

‘It wasn’t me – it really wasn’t. Maybe they just know form your passport that it’s your birthday.’

I sit down – the balloons are directly above my head. The waiters come over and shake my hand and say happy birthday. Then John and Richard arrive, grinning. I might have known. They give me a lovely gift. It was ‘chocolate day’ on board today (samples of chocolates, chocolate cakes, chocolate fountain etc.) and they’ve bought me chocolates and chocolate wine. Did I mention before that they’re lovely? They really are. They also give me this cool wee card with owls on that rocks from side to side – it sits on the table and rocks with the ship.

After dinner the waiters all gather round and sing Happy Birthday – then they do this weird, slightly aggressive version I’ve heard them do at other tables. They sing ‘Happy Birthday to you!’ then do this kind of fast clapping thing, with a bit of foot stamping, then onto the next line. I beam bright red, but manage to smile. John and Richard are loving every minute of it. They buy us today’s cocktail, which is a Harvey Wallbanger, but the bar has run out of Galliano, so it’s really just a vodka and orange. It’s lovely, just the same. They down theirs in minutes, we sip at ours all night.

The guys go off to the casino and bars, we head for the quiz having decided that ‘Rob Lewis IS Phil Collins’ is probably an exaggeration. Actually, I’d rather he wasn’t Phil Collins – I hate Phil Collins.

Tonight’s quiz is just a mad carry on and one of the questions is, ‘Who do you think Laura looks like?’ Laura comes round all the tables and stares at us or pulls faces or strikes poses. The answers that are given include: Dawn French, Jennifer Aniston, Vanessa Feltz, Kate Winslet, Jordan, Kerry Catona, Jo Frost (Supernanny) and, cruellest of all, Vicky Pollard. I’ll leave you to work out for yourselves what she actually looks like – good luck with that.

Back to the cabin and the usual fight to sleep, hoping that the massage might have a positive effect on me and my insomnia.

Only two more days on board now, and no more ports. I’m quite happy where I am, thanks – don’t really want to go home yet. Another few days would be nice.

Ah, but there’ll be Countdown tomorrow, and the next day, so that’s something to look forward to.

‘I think it’s raining.’

‘I think it’s just the sound of the ship.’

‘You could be right.’

‘I could be.’