Following the conclusion of my Scottish vacation, this week sees me return to the rhyming status quo of drudgery, dodgery and kedgeree. This unwelcome trinity of imposters taking over from last weeks more upbeat sentiments of fulfilment, contentment and cement***.
*** – I was struggling to find an apt rhyme.
I can just about abide a life of drudgery and dodgery, however my mum’s signature dish of kedgeree is an acquired taste. A flavour appreciation I’m yet to acquire; not helped by the fact her recipe incorporates raisins, along with the controversial additive of souls of the downtrodden…… The latter a hard to locate ingredient, especially since the closure of the souls of the downtrodden aisle at her local store.
Anyhow, enough of this silliness…… Time to move onto silliness of a completely different kind!
My week ahead includes a East Leeds Marie Curie volunteers meeting this evening, writing, admin on my website writesaidfred.org, food, attending a Yorkshire County Cricket Club t20 Blast match and garden maintenance for Mrs S senior. In my post-Caledonian trip lethargy, I’m disinclined to undertake much else.
I’m attempting to complete this essay later today. Ordinarily I’ve published my daily blog by 5pm (UK time); however, today a mixture of distractions, writers block and a rare kip in the afternoon have significantly reduced my penmanship opportunities. Consequently, it’s almost 9.30pm and I’m not even half way to reaching the 500 word daily minimum I set myself when creating these monologues.
Unsurprisingly, I guess, the creative writing process is a more onerous bedfellow when penning late night notions; tiredness not conducive to the sparking of insightful or humorous epiphanies.
I recently got back to my mum’s house following attendance at the East Leeds Marie Curie volunteers meeting alluded to earlier. Mother’s watching a drama on ITV (I think) in the lounge while I manfully attempt to complete these literary locutions.
Seeing Mrs S senior enthralled by this fictional televisual fare induces aspirations within me to one day write a drama for prime time commercial TV broadcast. Thoughts of my observations being interrupted every 12 minutes by advertisements peddling hybrid motor cars, insurance advocated by meerkats and a trailer for an upcoming interview with a man who married a horse, spurring me on along during this creative odyssey.
An old neighbour of mine (Audrey Cruickshank) once informed me that the gauge of being an acclaimed writer would be if I wrote something whose flow was constantly disrupted by news of an Allied Carpets sale. Or bastardised by an ITN newscaster relaying news stories which in ten minutes would be incorporated in the upcoming bulletin.
Some posit having your creative baby, which you’d invested thousands of hours creating, interrupted by commercials for toilet duck cleanser somehow defiles your art. I’d argue, though, it’s a necessary evil; after all it’s advertisements which pay for the exposure the writer craves for his labour of love.
I’m unsure how famed wordsmiths of yore would’ve responded to their work being commercialised. For example, if Oscar Wilde had’ve walked through US customs in the 21st century would he have exclaimed “I’ve nothing to declare but my genius!….. Oh, and how flavoursome and fresh loaves of Warburtons bread are!”
Anyhow, it’s 10.34pm and I’m feeling drained….. I’m off upstairs for some kip on my incredibly comfortable Sleepeazee mattress…..
“Remember, you always sleep easy with Sleepeazee!”****
**** – I know that a rubbish marketing tagline. In my defence, though, I never claimed to be a copywriter!!