The Corner House

Less worrying, more blogging. Could be a mantra, I suppose.
"God knows what the decorator made of this house" sighed Bonnie when she got back, "Ian gambling in the front room, you upstairs telling fortunes."
No, she was not best pleased with her son's latest escapade but she seems to have become somewhat stoical of late. Adopted a kind of what next attitude.
I think it's a shame she can't live with her husband. It's a lot to do with having to keep this house going for Ian. I think her job is too stressful and her health is not really up to it. She was rushed into hospital earlier this year with an angina attack.
Still, stressful or not, she's on £30,000 a year.
What did I make today? £3!
Still, did ok yesterday. Worked on Line 2 for 3 hours in the evening and was quite busy. Tarot lines are much more lucrative 'of a night' which explains why I'm sitting here now, blogging between calls.
Hackney House has a broken back window. Bonnie still advising me to sell it and she's probably right. I'm mean what if I have to pay thousands for re-wiring e.g. But how do I pay the mortgage on it before it sells?
Oh, stop worrying, it'll give you wrinkles.

Ian came back from the shops. He'd obviously been spending his winnings.
Sparkling T-shirt? I said I thought it looked a bit poofy (doncha just love political correctness) but he said nah, that's what men wear these days. A coupla new shirts, a waistcoat and - a trilby-type hat. I was taken by the titfer and said it was very Nathon Detroit.
Not much sign of him since. He was supposed to fetch Kaz to help with housework, clean windows and stuff before the Missus gets back. Huh!
He breezes in around 7 pm.
"I can't pick Mum up tomorrow. I'll send a taxi to the airport, instead. I'll pay. Kaz? No time. Next week."
He breezed off with again with some other dame I ain't seen before. Or should that be doll?
As for me?
8 pm and I'm only just starting on the windows. I don't see much chance of sleeping tonight. I have all the decorator's mess to clear up tout de seule or whatever the French words are.
B**r me, I'm f**d, probably.

According to the Internet - Rosemary Clooney's sister, George Clooney's aunt.

Rosemary Clooney ( 1928 -- 2002 )

Singer. Born May 23, 1928, in Maysville, Kentucky. The distinctively unpretentious, deep, rich, and smooth voice of Rosemary Clooney has earned her recognition as one of America's premiere pop and jazz singers. According to Clooney's record company press biography, Life magazine, in a tribute to America's "girl singers" named her one of "six preeminent singers ... whose performances are living displays of a precious national treasure ... their recordings a preservation of jewels." First-class crooner Frank Sinatra stated, as was also reprinted in Clooney's press biography, "Rosemary Clooney has that great talent which exudes warmth and feeling in every song she sings. She's a symbol of good modern American music."

The singer noted for her decades-long mastery of American popular song started life amid the poverty of small-town Maysville. Her childhood was a difficult one; Clooney and younger siblings Betty and Nick were shuttled among their alcoholic father, Andy, their mother, Frances—who traveled constantly for her work with a chain of dress shops—and relatives, who would take turns raising the children. When Clooney was 13 her mother moved to California to marry a sailor, taking Nick with her but leaving the girls behind. Her father tried to care for Rosemary and Betty, working steadily at a defense plant, but he left one night to celebrate the end of World War II—taking the household money with him—and never returned. As Clooney described in her autobiography, This for Remembrance, she and Betty were left to fend for themselves. They collected soda bottles and bought meals at school with the refund money. The phone had been disconnected, the utilities were about to be turned off, and the rent was overdue when Rosemary and Betty won an open singing audition at a Cincinnati radio station. The girls were so impressive, in fact, that they were hired for a regular late-night spot at $20 a week each. "The Clooney Sisters," as they became known, began their singing career in 1945 on WLW in Cincinnati.

This work brought them to the attention of bandleader Tony Pastor, who happened to be passing through Ohio. In 1945 The Clooney Sisters joined Pastor's orchestra. They toured with Pastor as featured singers until 1948, at which point Betty decided to return to Cincinnati and her radio career. Rosemary continued as a solo vocalist with Tony Pastor for another year. Then, in 1949, deciding she needed to expand her professional career, she left the band; at age 21 Clooney struck out on her own and headed for New York City.

Enlistment in World War II and the draft drastically depleted the personnel of most bands, creating the need for orchestras to highlight a charismatic singer. After the war, singers who had stolen the limelight from bands became even more indispensable as audiences increasingly came to demand them. Leaders of popular bands discovered and nurtured singers like Bing Crosby, Doris Day, Frank Sinatra, Peggy Lee, Ella Fitzgerald, and Dinah Washington and became associated in the public eye with their finds. Clooney's arrival in New York was perfectly timed with the rage for orchestra-backed singers; she was immediately signed to a recording contract with Columbia Records. By then "girl singers," as they came to be known—Kay Starr, Day, and Lee—were emerging as recording stars.

It was at Columbia that Clooney began an important association with Mitch Miller, one of the company's A&R [Artists and Repertoire] representatives and top entertainers. In 1951 Miller convinced Clooney to record an oddball song, "Come On-a My House," written by Ross Bagdasarian with lyrics by William Saroyan. When Miller first suggested the song, Clooney was highly skeptical, insisting the song was not her kind of material. She felt it was silly and demeaning; she believed the double-entendres were a cheap lyrical device and felt uncomfortable putting on an Italian accent. But Miller was persistent and finally persuaded Clooney to record "Come On-a My House." He conceived a novel instrumental effect utilizing a harpsichord to accompany Clooney. Much to her surprise, the song was an immediate and enormous success, topping the charts to become a gold record. "Come On-a My House" made Rosemary Clooney a star. A household name, she became known simply as "Rosie."

In the early 1950s radio made a strong bid to issue a challenge to the growing magnetism of television. Star-studded variety programs were created, and week after week Hollywood studios offered musical programs by big names. Clooney was signed to co-host, with beloved vocalist Bing Crosby, a songfest radio show, which aired every weekday morning on CBS radio. Film roles abounded; Clooney's appearance in White Christmas was generally credited with the film's enormous success, which made it the top grosser of 1954. Costarring with hot properties Kay and Crosby and accompanied by the music of Irving Berlin, Clooney was lauded for her performance, in which she sang the ballad "Love, You Didn't Do Right by Me."

As her popularity swelled, Clooney began a romance with dancer Dante Di Paolo, her co-star in the films Here Come the Girls and Red Garters. Nonetheless, to her friends' and the public's amazement, Clooney eloped in the summer of 1953 with Oscar-winning actor Jose Ferrer, 16 years her senior. "Rosie" and her whirlwind marriage became a favorite topic of the tabloid journals. Clooney and Ferrer moved into a glamorous Beverly Hills home once owned by composer George Gershwin and entertained with lavish poolside parties attended by the toast of Hollywood. Their first child was born in 1955 and by 1960, the family had grown to seven.

Clooney became the star of her own television series in 1956. The Rosemary Clooney Show, which ran through 1957, was syndicated to more than one hundred television stations. But by that time, Clooney had begun to feel the strain of stardom and her relentlessly hectic schedule. The pressure of raising five children while pursuing careers as a television, movie, radio, and recording star, coupled with the deteriorating state of her marriage, soon took its toll. Clooney developed an addiction to tranquilizers and sleeping pills. Although her life appeared idyllic to the public, the singer's addiction to drugs worsened. Clooney and Ferrer divorced in 1961, reconciled for a few years, then divorced again in 1967. Recalling in her autobiography how she fell prey to "the '50s myth of family and career," the singer confessed, "I just did it all because I thought that I could, it certainly wasn't easy."

For Clooney, the world came crashing down in 1968. She was standing only yards away when her close friend Bobby Kennedy, then campaigning for the Democratic presidential nomination, was assassinated in Los Angeles at the Ambassador Hotel. The tragedy, compounded with her drug addiction, triggered a public mental collapse: At a Reno engagement she cursed at her audience and stalked off the stage. She later called a press conference to announce her retirement at which she sobbed incoherently. When a doctor was summoned, Clooney fled and was eventually found driving on the wrong side of a dangerous mountain road. Soon thereafter she admitted herself to the psychiatric ward of Mount Sinai Hospital in Los Angeles. Clooney remained in therapy for many years. She worked when she could—at Holiday Inns and small hotels like the Ventura and the Hawthorne and selling paper towels in television commercials.

In 1976 Clooney's old friend Bing Crosby asked her to join him on his 50th anniversary tour. It would be Crosby's final tour and Clooney's comeback event. The highlight of the show came when Clooney joined Crosby in a duet of "On a Slow Boat to China." The next year, Clooney signed a recording contract with Concord Jazz, taking the next step on her comeback trail—one that would produce a string of more than a dozen successful recordings, inaugurated with Everything's Coming Up Rosie. "I'll keep working as long as I live," Clooney vowed in an interview with Lear's magazine, "because singing has taken on the feeling of joy that I had when I started, when my only responsibility was to sing well. It's even better now ... I can even pick the songs. The arranger says to me, 'How do you want it? How do you see it?' Nobody ever asked me that before."

Along with her renewed recording efforts, Clooney created a living memorial to her sister Betty, who died in 1976 from a brain aneurysm: the Betty Clooney Center in Long Beach, California, a facility for brain-injured young adults. The first of its kind in the U.S., the center is supported by grants and donations as well as the annual star-splashed benefit concert that Clooney hosts. After receiving the James Smithson Bicentennial Medal in 1992 in recognition of her contribution to American music, Clooney told the Washington Post, "It's for showing up day after day, for small increments of time and achievement." Claiming that singing has become her salvation, Clooney added, "I'm the only instrument that's got the words, so I've got to be able to get that across." As her top-selling jazz albums indicated, Clooney was still able to mesmerize audiences with her warmth, depth of feeling, honesty, and unsurpassed craft.

Clooney died from complications from lung cancer in June 2002.

A Guy Is a Guy originally written by Oscar Brand. It was published in 1952.
The song originated in a British song, "I Went to the Alehouse (A Knave Is a Knave)," dating from 1719. During World War II, soldiers sang a bawdy song based on "A Knave Is a Knave," entitled "A Gob Is a Slob." Oscar Brand cleaned up the lyrics, and wrote this song based on it.
The best-known version of the song, recorded by Doris Day, charted in 1952.
It was also recorded by Ella Fitzgerald in 1951, and by Australian singer June Miller, with Les Welch and his orchestra, in May, 1952.

I was going to post the Doris Day version of this song but then I found this one. Who's Betty Clooney?
I love this song. I love the fifties, clothes, all the lot. My Mum was 36 when I was born and I really think I should have been born earlier and a teenager in the 50's.
Oh, well.

Still in Slough of Despond.
Earned £6 today. Logged off early.
Sean was up to £5,000 this morning. The Decorator didn't think much of it.
"Quit while you're ahead" was his advice.
I think Sean then proceeded to lose £2,000 before deciding to listen to Decorator's.
The future. Decorator suggests I look for another job but I told him it's not worth it, I go back to studying in a couple of weeks. Roll on the student loan.
Then? I want to spend at least a year trying to write and auditioning. Hoping Tarot line will pick up and fund this.
Do have TEFL in mind. There could be worse things than teaching English in somewhere like Spain. I can get cat passport.
For Ella. Naughty little thing. She amused the Decorator. He put his dustcloth over the stairs only to have it pulled down by her (she thought it was some sort of game). They're two nice girls, her and Fizz. Fizz always comes to sleep with me at night. She misses Bonnie. The cat does her own thing. Five minutes of a cuddle then off looking for something to kill.
The future. It's que sera, isn't it. But I can't tell that to the few clients I have these days.

.... they got the name of the beach wrong.

Thanx, isadora, it works.
I think?

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=STW0kL2NTp8
I knew Ian wasn't working despite him being glued to the computer all day. Couldn't find Bonnie's paying-in book and he obviously had no intention of helping me look.
"Why is everything in this house my responsibility?" I asked.
He ignored me, eyes on screen.
Later, like this evening he comes upstairs all jubilant and dying to share his news.
"I've won a thousand pounds on on-line poker."
So that's what he'd been up to.
Ooh my nerves. Suddenly my Librarian training kicks in. Nothing instinctive actress about me. Never mind tarot cards, this is the real work of the Devil.
"No, it's awful, you'll get addicted, you'll lose everything. I've read about on-line gambling in the papers."
He said he'll teach me how to do. Easy, he reckons, he's got a system, he says. He'll give me some money to start with, we can split the winnings.
A bit tempted. Tried it out, starting with £1. Won £5.
"But you have to stake big money to win big money."
Too too scary.
I hate gambling. Frightens me.
But I could sure use £1,000.

Well, it does.
Line No 1 going through some technological adjustments. I've been informed that for the next two weeks I'm going to receive credit card calls only.
That cuts my business down by at least half. At least.
I did log on to Line No 2 last night but wasn't busy.
Oh, bloody hell.
Plus getting upset by storyline on Coronation Street. Who said get a life? Such cruelty to an old man and his cat and besides I can remember him as Sunny Jim and how Minnie Cauldwell was so fond of him. Luckily Corrie's a very moral programme so I expect the ghastly Scotsman will get his come-uppance.
Plus a phone-call from Lanzarote. Can I put a cheque in the bank for her? Now this is the insurance money, it eventually arrived. I thought Ian was dealing with it.
"Why can't you put it in today?" he asked.
"Because, Ian, I'm logged-on and I'm logged-on until midnight."
Why everything is up to me, I don't know. Now it means I've got to get up early tomorrow morning to do it because I start 'work' at ten.
Plus, why am I wasting my time on the computer because the line is quiet? I just missed a call because I'm downstairs.
As I said, it gets worse.

Haven't written as in written since the end of term.
At least, I'm thinking about it now.
Had a nice Psychic phone reading. Yeah, I know but I was miserable.
I felt the reader knew her stuff. Whenever I ring them these days, I talk about spiritual development. She said to meditate more and ask my guides to draw closer. So I did and they did.
I may end up in mental home....
Still peeved because everyone in Ireland seemed to be having a good time. They all went to some wedding. I probably wouldn't have been invited anyway....
Oh, the revenge of the writer. I mean, I could turn all that lot into characters if I so wished. I have dirt I could dish, don't think I haven't.
Am I spending too much time alone?

Long time ago, I remember listening to a London radio phone-in thing.
"Why, you ringing in?" asked the DJ.
"'Cos, I'm bored" came the reply.
"Well, you're making everyone else bored too." says the DJ as he went on to the next caller.
So, that's me tonight. Making everyone else fed-up and bored, too.
Just looking at the O'Looney photos that one of the kids has posted on Facebook. All obviously having a great time. Cousin-in-law 1, that I fell out with in cahoots with Cousin-in-law 2, as usual. No-one cares if I'm there or not.
Maybe, Cousin-in-Law 3 misses me. I know she doesn't get on that well with 1 or 2.
I dunno. I think families are nice things and I just don't seem to have one. My sister makes no effort, my cousins don't care.
Phoned Lemonie. I always think Lemonie loves it when I'm miserable. She loves to think she's the only friend I've got.
I will go and visit her, train fare permitting. Even if I have to bring the cat.

Fed-up. Rock bottom broke again.
Have to miss my Psychic Development class 'cos I don't have the train fare to get to it.
I have £20 in an account somewhere but I can't find the pin no. Stupid.
Earned £15 so far today.
Oh, dear, this is a desparate situation. I will work again later tonight and hope things pick up.
Decorator here. Ian's been making executive decisions all day. Not to have the living-room blue all over, keep the kitchen terracotta, that sorta thing.
Looks nice so far.
Chatting to decorator. I often see these Lancashire people that look very Irish. Obviously had ancestors that came over during the Famine or something. Blue Eyes is one and the stout, freckle-skinned lady from my drama class another. Decorator - red hair and blue eyes - yet another.
Hungry, too. Just had an apple and thinking I must give up carbs in the evenings because I'm obese or close to it.
Wonder if there's any soup or anything to be found?
Think I have a £1 coin somewhere.

Housework done, dog walked. Nothing to do now but await decorator tomorrow.
Logged on for three hours and earned a tenner. Nevertheless, feel quite pleased with myself today. I may not be the greatest psychic but I think I'm reasonably em.... emp..... 'er, I got empathy. Poor lady rang. The reading started with the Death card so there you go, says it all.
"A time of change?" sez me. She was asking about her relationship as they do. Dead in the water but you have to be tactful.
True. Nothing left between them but turned out she had bad depresseion.
Well, I think I helped. Just told her to ring the relevant agencies but she seemed to take it on board. Said I'd had depression, it's just an illness, no stigma. I just felt I did a good job that's all and put the woman on the right road.
They can criticize us and up the ante with their Fraudulent Mediums Act but there is a need for what we do. I know. There was a time I phoned every agency known to man - Samaritans, Menopausal Old Bags (forgotten it's real name), More to Life (for those who were involuntarily childless - I dunno, that one really made me feel worse), some monks in America (yes, really) and numerous Psychic lines. The psychic lines played just a good a part in my recovery as anything else.
I suppose the anti-depressants and the counselling helped, too.
Anyway, I shouldn't discuss my readings, it's not ethical but thought I could make some sort of point with this one.

On Raglan Road on an autumn day I met her first and knew
That her dark hair would weave a snare that I might one day rue;
I saw the danger, yet I walked along the enchanted way,
And I said, let grief be a fallen leaf at the dawning of the day.

On Grafton Street in November we tripped lightly along the ledge
Of the deep ravine where can be seen the worth of passion's pledge,
The Queen of Hearts still making tarts and I not making hay -
O I loved too much and by such and such is happiness thrown away.

I gave her gifts of the mind I gave her the secret sign that's known
To the artists who have known the true gods of sound and stone
And word and tint. I did not stint for I gave her poems to say.
With her own name there and her own dark hair like clouds over fields of May

On a quiet street where old ghosts meet I see her walking now
Away from me so hurriedly my reason must allow
That I had wooed not as I should a creature made of clay -
When the angel woos the clay he'd lose his wings at the dawn of day.

Kavanagh was drinking with Luke Kelly in the Bailey in Dublin and was asked to recite a poem, Raglan Road. He did and turned to Luke and said 'I have a song for you, you should sing Raglan Road' (in Lukes own words) . And so he did
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=19qdV2vgM-o

First there was a text from Bonnie.
"Remember the decorator is coming on Tuesday and have everything ready for him." Words to that effect.
Honestly, the things some people think about on their honeymoon.
"What's to get ready?" I asked Ian.
"Take the pictures down, make sure the skirting-boards are clean...."
So I had a grumble.
"I'm sure none of this is in a lodger's remit."
Sean made me feel suitably guilty.
"What are you? Her lodger or her friend?"
Wiping down every skirting-board in the entire house would only take an hour, he estimated. Like he'd know.
She rang later.
"Yes, yes, all will be done..... I notice how you're very conveniently on honeymoon. Probably arranged this whole wedding so you could avoid getting ready for the decorator. S'alright, you enjoy yourself. Don't worry about us back here in the cold, don't worry about the torrential rain we've had to endure, you have a good time....."
She assured me she would.

I suppose I was always going to go back to being a practising Catholic. It's difficult to escape from. It's gets very hard-wired into your brain at a young age.
Clare was telling me about a friend of her mother's. A Catholic woman who had a real gift for reading the tea-leaves. The local priest was always telling her off about it. She felt guilty reading them but she carried on.
It's just too bad about my extra-curricular tarot stuff. I know it's against the rules but I've had quite enough of Catholic rules, thanks all the same. I'm just going along with the ritualism and the glamour. I've decided it's a very glamorous religion.
Medjugorje? There's loads of fors and againsts on the Web. I don't really know or care. It was just rather lovely. Not all of it. I mean, Stations of the Cross up a bloomin' mountain, in that heat, at my age. I would so not have bothered but Blue Eyes insisted. The ascent took me THREE hours. Long before "Jesus falls for the first time", I was sick and fed-up and thinking I could be sitting by a pool in Majorca, drinking cocktails. When we finally made it to the summit, Blue Eyes, brought out two bottles of beer to celebrate. He's holy but not that holy.
Medjugorje is full of Franciscan monks. Lots of stuff against them on the Internet but I'm not going into that here. A lot of them are so beautiful, they really are. Have I posted about this before? I forget. So many young and handsome ones and the 'uniform' is pretty fabulous, too. God takes the best, I decided.
Religion? A friend once said, there is only one religion and it is unselfishness. Hard to do.
"Did you have a spiritual experience in Medjugorie?" asked atheist, Bonnie, taking the piss as usual.
I did, actually. The last Sunday. One Mass, Fifteen Decades of the Rosary and then I found myself sitting through yet another Mass. Oh, Gawd and Blue Eyes happy as anything, he could pray non-stop; his uncle was a Dominican monk apparently. I'm looking around to amuse myself and, of course, it's not the thing but there was a particular Franciscan and, not that I'm good at seeing auras but with this monk, I could. I tuned into the most amazing energy. Wow! It just knocked me back. I felt it was green, coming from the heart chakra and all that was emanating from this man was pure love; proper Christian charity.
One a lighter note, Blue Eyes would make a good monk but he could never join a silent order he talks too much. The day we went to Apparition Hill, he took me along some short cut. Naturally we got lost. I was terrified of land mines although he assured me that Our Lady had always protected Medjugorje during the War. Eventually, we met this Nun and Blue Eyes asked her the way. She seemed reluctant to tell us but you can't ignore a Rochdale lad.
"Eeeeh, Sister, we're lost. Can you tell us way t'Apparition Hill?"
So she stopped and gave us directions.
Only later, we both realised that she was part of a silent order. I thought it was hilarious just like the scene in "Life of Brian".
Blue Eyes said he'd never seen that film because he considered it blasphemous.

Went to Clare's last night.
Dunno. I do not really like or trust Clare but what can I do? She is always nosing about, trying to find out people's business. I think she always wants to have something on people, that she can use if needs be. Me down to my last fiver, an' all. She'd love it if she knew I was that broke.
The fortune-telling bizness going from bad to worse.
i think I may have £20 in a saving account, if only I could find the number I need to get it out.

"Dear Maureen Rowntree,

Congratulations on passing the first interview stage with *** Ltd. Second interview stage will be held later this week at an as yet undisclosed location."

E-mail from Ian.

He's taking me and Hoodie on as Sales Reps, Commission only. The 'interview' was in the front room. Hoodie, who Ian treats more seriously than he does me, had an executive office chair. I had to fetch one of the kitchen ones in.

He explained it all. Bloomin' boring.
"Stop yawning" he said.
"I'd rather boil me 'ead in a chip-pan than do sales" says me.
"Please yourself."
Then I remembered that I'd only earned £1 on the tarot line in four hours. So might as well give selling a go.

But there's no pleasing Ian.
"May I interest you in bla-bla-bla" I said.
"No, not like that. Sound upbeat, ask open questions."
Yer what? So I tried again.
"What is your opinion on bla-bla-bla?"
"You sound like a switchboard. Seriously, I won't let you ring up any of my potential customers till you get it right."

He's even set "homework."
One fact to keep in mind - 40 per cent commission.

It gets worse. Last night, just settling down to YouTube when Master of the House returns with two of his mates. Hoody and Soapsie or something; all his friends have daft names. Got banished from the front room (it is, after all, Ian's office and Ian's computer) and they commenced blasting out the loudest most foulest 'music' ever.
Yeah, well, call me old but I am. I retreated upstairs with cards and phone. Could still hear it.
This is a noisy house at the best of times. My lovely Hackney House was much quieter even if it was in the inner city.
I have so got to move. I'm not one bit relaxed here these days. Constant worrying about the housework. Bonnie's got Venetian blinds in her kitchen. For Heavens sake, who'd have Venetian blinds with a busy lifestyle. Dust-collectors, my Mum called them and she was right.
My whole first terms student loan will probably go on rent and deposit for a flat. I suppose the Tarot Line will keep me going. Calculated that I only worked three hours yesterday (out of twelve logged-on). Really, I can most likely fit course-work around a couple of hours a day tarot reading.

We're getting along quite nicely, Ian and myself.
Bonnie reckons I treat her only beloved son like a nasty older sister. I just think he should get his hair cut and get a job (metaphorically speaking).
He, on the other hand, is always imitating me. Doing a daft helium voice and saying things like "I fink I did give birth once. I can't remember what I did wiv the fing - left it in storage, I fink."
Does not take my job seriously.
"I could do that. (Helium voice again) Oh, dear, you've been dumped. Well, never mind ay, the stars say there's another one along in a minute. Whaddya say your name was? Sissie?"
Sissie is one of his exes. He's become a bit of a Lothario since splitting up with Gabriellea
First there was Donna. That, apparently, was platonic.
"She's only ever slept with two men. She's so young and sweet."
You should have seen Bonnie's face. Bonnie had not approved of Donna - I think it was the Facebook profile - all blonde and pouting and (silicone) tits out for the lads.
"Ian, that is NOT pretty, that is all fake. Why are men so easily fooled?"
Sissie, however, she liked. A fresh-faced, sensible sort of girl, good job in a bank but not obviously glamorous. So anxious to please, always offering to wash up etc. "No nonsense about her" my Mum would have said. Naturally, she wasn't exciting enough for Ian. These days, she keeps sending him frantic e-mails "I understand how you can't move on after Gabriella but I'm always here for you as a friend." Poor kid.
Monday night was the best yet - just as well Bonnie's in Lanzarote. I was in bed when they came in.
"Mo, you asleep? Mo, will you keep the animals in your room, we're bringing a Staffie in. He might fight with Fizz and kill the cat. I know, I'll lock him in the kitchen."
Next thing, I hear this voice.
"Where's the fookin' bathroom? Fookin' big house, this."
She then commenced to run the jacuzzi.
I was a bit scared the next day expecting to encounter a savage Staffordshire bull terrier over breakfast. No sign of him until a few hours later when he came bounding down the stairs from Ian's room all doggie eagerness and friendliness. A sweetheart.
Dunno about the owner. Just got a glimse of long fawn-coloured hair.
"She's so pretty," sighed Ian "but such a tomboy."
It was my turn to go out last night.
"Where you off to?" he asked.
"My psychic develoment class."
He snorted with laughter and said "Ask a silly question!"

I do wonder sometimes.
I mean, I do my best. Line 1, I feel more confident on but Line 2 is difficult. The callers are paying more for a start and I feel they expect more.
Two readings today that lasted the full 20 minutes but then I had a Credit Card call. She hung up after 5! (You can, and can be transferred to another reader and not be charged for wasted minutes.)
Oh dear!
I would do another job if I could but what? All the problems I had finding work last summer.
If only my acting would take off.
Anyway, tonight I go to my Development Circle. Another thing I've found that costs me money. It's over an hour's train-ride away (near Uni). Nice lady running it. Called Nala, 50 but very pretty and looks younger. I'm just hoping it works and I psychically develop pronto.

Sitting at the computer.
I've brought the phone downstairs so I can do the housework while I'm waiting for it to ring with Tarot queries.
Honestly, I can't relax these days. She's away for 2 weeks but godhelpme if she comes back to a tip.
Ian. Hmmm. He has his own business. Now, I am worrying a bit about this business. I mean, I think he should be working a bit harder at it. Have just taken a call from a prospective client and rang him on his mobile. He was quite cavalier and said leave it, he'd phone her later.
He's already lost one big contract. He didn't tell his Mum why but I think it might be because he's not always that available. Either lying in bed or off living it up.
Oh, well, nothing to do with me. I think I will take on the role of his secretary, I'm doing it on the phone anyway, half the time. He's not keen on me being a secretary, thinks I'm too disorganised. I am very underated in this house.
He did say that I could do some sales calls for him and if I get any takers he'll pay me commission. I'm going to look into that, actually.
Well, tarot line is no longer working. One call today and it was awful, I just couldn't pick anything up. Told her I couldn't make a connection and that was the end of that.
Money.
Always a problem.

As his Best Man pointed out at the wedding, Durham's "a man of few words." Ages ago, he muttered, in Geordie, "Cushie Butterfield" which Bonnie translated as "I like that song." Somewhere along the line she decided it would be a great tune for their first dance together at the reception. He went along with this but, although quiet is also stubborn so he drew the line at learning to walz.
The song was a great choice but I don't think the audience, I mean guests, really "got" it. I don't think they quite caught the words which is a shame because they're very funny. Bonnie said it seemed an endless endurance smooching along to it and she was glad when the song ended.
Anyway, for entertainment purposes, here is version of song played at Bonnie and Durham's nuptials.
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=KH5ja3rUZuw

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=MNKJLUyRjC8
I was quite a precocious four-year old.

I was planning another coupla hours on the phone but oh, sod it... not in mood and anyway, feel as psychic as a sack of potatoes. Instead, I will give some links for things I put on my Facebook page. That amused me for a while but I'm back to blog.co.uk now.
So - 2nd favourite song when I was little -
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=TFJ3KayeUTc

Cat is so sweet.
She pretends she doesn't like me but wherever I am - upstairs on phone, down here on computer - there she is, snuggling up beside me.

1. Where was your last holiday?
In Medugorje. More a pilgrimage really. Went with Blue Eyes in July. And, no, we are still not an item. I've been a bit Born-Again Catholic ever since but then, it's hard to escape a Catholic upbrining.

2: Where will your next holiday be?
More holy stuff. Promise, I am not a religious fanatic but the librarians are planning a trip to Oberammergau in 2010. I sorta thought, well, I've known these women 30 years now and the Passion Play is only every 10 years and in 2020, sad but true, maybe not all of us will be around. It's a coach trip and takes in lots of Italien cities too. Very expensive and not sure how I will afford it on less that 50p an hour but still....

3. What was your best break and why?
Do you know, it was a coupla years ago in Corfu. I was, dunno, 50 and I got off with the Barman! Ooh, not that I normally do that sorta thing. I had recovered from terminal depression and Bonnie suggested a holiday with her and K (Recent Bridesmaid). It was just the best time. Lovely food in the hotel, I recall 5 pudddings a night! And I wonder why I'm 14 stone! The Barman was so handsome, I consider it a get over Ern experience. It was an Old Menopausal Bats hotel and he had his choice every week but I was pleased to be chosen and it was just a complete fling with none of that love nonsense involved. I remember staying over at his apartment about 3 nights and been given a cup of black coffee for breakfast. And missing the fabulous fry-up being served back at the hotel. Sex can be so over-rated, I haven't bothered with it since.
Bonnie was outrageous too. Got chatted up by some Greek cleverclogs who, one minute was on about Nietzche or somesuch and the next was "this is our moon, this is our moment." To which lying git Bonnie replies "I have only ever slept with one man and that was my husband."
Needless to say, she did!

4. And the worst and why?
The worst! Oh, hard, 'cos I like travelling and going places. Oh, I know, being left by that bitch Clare, in Venice. Can you imagine. We had a row on the first day and she flung my guide-book back at me, saying she was catching a flight home. I spent a whole six very expensive days wondering around Venice on my own. It was miserable. How come I spoke to her again after that? Am I soft or what.

5. If money were no object, where would you go?
Always wanted to go to Russia and India.
Failing that, a Warners leisure break at one of their Spa hotels.
Stick to Russia/India. Probably cheaper.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=AxKTzwaEa2o

oh, dear.
decided to make £100 today on the tarot lines. positive thinking and all that. have made £20 since 9.00 am! As Bonnie likes to tell me, I'd earn more in a Mumbai sweatshop.
Her and hubby made fleeting visit to drop dog off. They must be at the airport now waiting for their flight to an undisclosed destination.
I have been running around like the blue-arsed thing, trying to keep the place tidy enough for her. Failed dismally.
"What's that smell?"
What smell?
She pointed out today that she'd put the dishcloth into the washer 'cos that too smelt. Did it?
"Make sure you keep the yard swept while I'm away."
I told her I'd be glad to get to my new place where there would be less pressure on me to do housework.
"But you'll still have to do the basics."
"Yes, but not to such intensity."
"Intensity? I'm only talking once a week."
Bonnie was never so fussy. Must be some cleaning hormone that kicks in when you marry.
Oh, well, teabreak over, back to the telephone.

A quick post.
Back to work 2day. I've had, more or less, a fortnight off what with the wedding and the cellar and everything.
Enjoyed last night. A bit of a gathering of "actresses" from my drama class. Pizza, wine and "a brew".
They make me laugh, these Northerners and their lingo.
"D'you want brew?"
"'Eee, cocker, I do that."
Words to that effect, anyway.
But they are very nice and, really, in all my London evening classes, people were never so accepting and friendly, so quickly.
One has a part in "Heartbeat" next Sunday.
A star is born.

Oh lord, what a busy day.
Cellar. Bonnie rang and said there's no rush, my junk can stay in cellar another year as house not going up for sale yet. But Ian has such a bee in his bonnet. He's driving me mad; overnight he's turned from a complete slob into some sort of Victorian husband, checking the sideboards for dust etc.
Sniff, sniff "the cat litter smells" e.g. You get my drift.
Anyway, my stuff is now back in storage and was it hard work. Last time I put stuff in storage, I had a man, his Russian mate and a van.... This time, just me and Ian doing the lot and it was hard. The storage bloke was a misery guts - Northerners aren't always friendlier, the Londoners in the Stratford storage were much nicer.
Bonnie thinks it's better, cheaper, if I stay here another year but I just feel like taking off. The commuting is too difficult and living half the week here and half there is also a misery. Also feel like having my own gaff again. The little nesting instinct I had is gone, I think but, truth be told, I just want to be able to live in muck if I feel like it. I mean, I do have a degree to finish. Bonnie's gone into "How Clean is Your House" mode since she had a new stair-carpet fitted. It could also be connected to getting married, I suppose. Some feminist, you shoulda seen her last week.
"I've got a wedding to organise and the decorators are in and I have to do the housework before I bring Durham back."
"I wouldn't bother. Leave the housework until you get back and do it then."
"How can I bring him back to this mess?"
"It wouldn't worry me. I'd never clean up for a man."
"Which is exactly why you haven't got one."
That was me told.
What else? An old schoolfriend of mine got mugged last week. Fella on motorcycle; she, instinctively tried to hold on to her shoulder-bag and her collar-bone got broken. It's disgraceful. This is a woman of 57, almost 60!
Talking to Lillie on messenger. She's advising me to hang on to Hackney House as prices will rise in 2010, she thinks. Well, she is a professional psychic these days but she used to be a PA in property and still has contacts.
Ian said I stress his Mum out.
"She just worries about you. Your complete lack of logic and common-sense. Wonders how you'll manage without her."
I used to have boyfriends who thought like that. S'funny but I survied without them.
Howzat song go - "gotta along without you before I met you, gonna get along without you now."

Back again.
How come I am sitting at this computer feeling guilty? 'Cos, I should be sorting the cellar out, that's why.
Lotta changes since I last wrote. Bonnie now almost a week married and off on the first part of her honeymoon (?!).
Ian, in charge. Talk about bloody miserable. I never really signed up to live with Ian and I'm looking forward to moving.
He's ok. It's just everything changed since he moved back. All his junk in the cellar that was originally intended to be mainly mine because my bedroom is so small and now he wants my stuff moved - like yesterday. So, I've spent since 10 am sorting it and nowhere near finished. The son and heir wants it all gone before his Mum gets back from Part 1 on Friday. I'd like to think he had her interests at heart but he just wants this house sold so he gets a deposit to buy somewhere for himself.
Am a bit down, truth be told. Tarot line quiet so started working for another firm as well. Have put in some hours lately and not for much recompense either but have been too busy to work since the wedding. Which was lovely by the way.
Oh, it's nice to be back blogging even if I'm only having a moan. For weeks now I've been just dying to get back to living by myself. Bonnie reckons she's going to keep her job and this house on for another year and be a p/t wife but I have my doubts. Anyway, I have to move, I can't face all that commuting next year. I need to rent privately because I can't work from the phone in the Hall of Residence. Hope I'll be able to afford the deposit and rent?
And, I suppose, I miss Bonnie. It's different already since she's met her man. Which is the way of things, I guess. I've lost count of all the friends I've seen married off. Always the bridesmaid.....
Oh well, my speech went down well.
Yes, I know it's not traditional for the bridesmaid to give a speech. But Bonnie wouldn't be told.....
She was quite cavalier about the whole do really. Wanted the cheapest day possible and had to resist a lot of pressure.
Quote, when the hotel manageress suggested matching something or others.
"What part of 'I couldn't give a fuck' don't you understand?"