The House. A short story

She always said that the house chose her.

Although she lingered in front of the estate agents for months, humming and hawing over the cost, the number of bedrooms, the location; the moment she stepped over the threshold the house was sold.

The walls whispered her name. And very few people ever said her name. Days, weeks could pass without her being addressed but the house knew her name and used it from the moment they met.

She moved in six weeks later. According to the experts that was unusually fast but to her it felt like an eternity. A return to being nameless and unacknowledged.  The house greeted her as she heaved her boxes in to the lounge. Said her name appreciatively as she knocked down cobwebs and cleaned the windows to let the light in.  That first night she sat amongst the boxes and treated herself to a glass of wine.

“Should I paint the walls blue?” she asked the house.

Silence.

“Green?” she offered.

Silence. She thought harder. Tried to match the mood of the house.

“Yellow?” she asked eventually.

“Yes.” Replied the house and breathed her name .

She felt pleased to have made the right choice. She knew she wouldn’t have acted without the house agreeing.

Each day she went to work and went back to being nothing. A girl with no name. Part of the furniture. Bland. Ignored. Nameless. It both bothered her and didn’t bother her.

She wasn’t bothered as she now had something who knew and appreciated her. If she counted the number of times she was ignored during the day she knew that she would be doubly acknowledged when she got home. But at the same time she was bothered. She had become accustomed to being noticed by something. Mattering. She had become used to hearing her name said aloud. Her name savoured by someone, said with love, lulling her to sleep.

She lavished the house with love. It started as reciprocation, she wanted to thank the house for seeing her. For wanting her. For choosing her. Then it became a need. She wanted more. She wasn’t even sure what more there could be, what more could a house give her? But she felt there was something else so she pushed, doing more and more in case she could earn it. She treated the house, kept an eye out for things she thought it would like, wanting it’s approval. Wanting all it had to give. So she dusted and polished and sewed and swept.

She rushed home from work and polished brass. She spent lunchtimes pouring over colour charts. She laid tile samples on the floor and felt calm as the house whispered to her.

Finally she was ready for her final act of love. She felt the house deserved fine wooden floors. The house agreed with her. Actually the house seemed very keen on this idea. It was the happiest she had heard it. She rented a sander and struggled home on the bus with it. She didn’t feel like an inconvenience or stupid as, as usual, she was ignored by the people around. They simply moved around her to stand on the bus and squeezed past her to get off at their stop. She didn’t even muster an ‘excuse me’. People looked blankly forward as she bounced the sander down the steps and no one batted an eyelid as she yanked the power chord free in the nick of time as the bus pulled away from the kerb.

The house welcomed her home and she began to rip up the carpets. The house cheered her on. She ripped up the tired hallway carpet to whoops of happiness. The living room carpet was removed to shouts of joy. By the time she had been working for a few hours the house was positively animated. It shouted, yelled, almost screamed her name. The name that had remained unsaid for so long echoed from the walls.

Things reached a crescendo as she tore up the carpet in the dining room. 

‘I know’, she soothed the house. ‘Think how smart you will be with your new floors.’

The house shouted until the floorboards began to vibrate with the sound. She put her hand on the floor to try and calm the house and to steady herself. As she wobbled forward her fingertips brushed against a ridge.

‘Yes.’ The house said.

She pulled on the board and the house roared it’s approval. She lifted and there beneath the floor sat a man on a low stool. He looked at her and she looked back. Her heart swelled with love.

“You’ve been calling for me” she breathed.

“You’re not who I thought you were.” Replied the man who was no longer a house.

It turns out that Sarah is a very common name. 

#amwriting

It's the hashtag that's sweeping the nation. 

It's not. But I like it. 

Mainly because it tends to be one person boasting about their word count and a thousand others telling you what they are doing other than writing. 
Today I am writing in a coffee shop so I don't get distracted. It's a lovely independent, local coffee shop. Big tables, great coffee, I will do well here. Unfortunately someone is being interviewed for a job at the next table and it's horribly fascinating. So far the interviewer has banged on about himself for twenty minutes and recommended that the girl he's interviewing doesn't give up the job she currently has. I am trying to concentrate on what I am doing but I keep getting drawn in (he's just used the word 'bosch' - and not in relation to a washing machine), it's dawning on me that I am just transcribing what they are saying. She wants to do marketing. She feels that where her skills lie. His reply: "well that's really the one area we don't need help in."

Oh thank goodness. They're finished. The bad news is that I now need something else to distract me. Or I could do some work. 
Although this blog post may not show it the writing is going quite well. I got an agent at the beginning of the year which was brilliant. Not because I am now writing all the time and wafting around in velvet carrying a quill but because it was confirmation that I wasn't wasting my time and should give up, go back to work full time and stop being a deluded idiot. Now when I am sat in coffee shops eavesdropping on people I am doing it because I #amwriting not #unemployed. Although to be fair the end result is pretty similar. 
Ooh two old women have just come in . One of them went in to to London last night...back in a bit. 

By the way the weird photos are what comes up if you google #amwriting There was also someone's wedding photo. I don't know why. 

Cat Lady

I have a foster cat. His name is Sox which I don't like so I am tying to convince him he's called Sir Bernard Sox. He's not keen. I am also quite hopelessly in love with him. 
I've always liked cats but never had one. When I was growing up, my brother was/is allergic to animal fur so we never had any animals in the house and then since I've lived on my own I've worked unpredictable hours and it didn't seem fair to leave a cat on it's own for ages. Now however I am writer/freelancer/layabout and so I thought the time could be right. 
I decided to foster through the RSPCA as I like the idea of giving a cat a nice home for a bit before they go to a permanent home. Or falling in love with a cat and praying they don't get adopted so I can keep him. 
Sox was a sad cat when he arrived. He'd been a lap cat and then his owner died and he ended up in a shelter where he proceeded to have a breakdown. He arrived about a month ago and set about proving how many places there are to hide in a one bedroom house. 
I went out for a few drinks the evening he arrived. When I came back he was gone. I couldn't find him anywhere. In my slightly addled state I at first thought he'd shot out when I'd opened the front door so I put my coat on and went to look for him. No luck. When I came back I still couldn't find him so I assumed that I had imagined getting a cat and went to bed. On Sunday I traced him to under the bath (which I had no idea you could get to). Working on the assumption that if he got in he could get out, I left some food in the bathroom and left him to it. By lunchtime I had visions of a dead cat under the bath so took the side off the bath and there he was staring at me like I was an idiot. Which is fair. 
I left him to it. Only to discover he'd gone again. 
By Wednesday morning there was still no sight or sound of him. I began to compose messages to the RSPCA to let them know that I had killed a cat in three days. I went to work and the cavalry arrived in the form of my friend Adrian who took the kickboards of the kitchen and found him. I was sent photos of the cat finally eating and seeing daylight. I went home ready to spoil him. Only to find he'd gone again. 
It turns out he was throwing himself down a six inch gap by the side of the fridge and then getting stuck under it. The joys of a suicidal cat. 
Three weeks later and he's like a different cat. He follows me around, he sleeps with me (in a strictly platonic sense) and likes to be no more than a few inches from me. Unless I have visitors. If it's Adrian, I am dead to him and they rejoice in one another. If it's anyone else, he buggers off and hides. 
I have fully embraced being a cat lady. I know that I am mere weeks from bottling my own piss and wearing felt hats. I am also aware that this is probably not reciprocated. I know that if I fell down the stairs and died he would eat me. But I know that I would be fine with that, I'd just be happy he was eating. 

Binge Watching

I was on the radio the other day. I hope you like how casually I dropped that in. I'll also casually drop this link here so you can listen again if you so wish.  http://www.bbc.co.uk/programmes/p03lzcyb 
Anyway, in-between making sparkling comments about subjects I knew next to nothing about, but not letting that stop me, we discussed (off air and eventually on air) binge watching. The presenter is addicted to 'House of Cards', someone else was addicted to 'Orange is the New Black', some threw in how they had watched all of 'Mad Men' in a week or couldn't get enough of 'Breaking Bad'. I suspect them of humble bragging. These are the programmes that we should be watching. The critically acclaimed, Emmy nominated dramas that are discussed at dinner parties. Trying to pass them off as a guilty pleasure doesn't wash with me. Incidentally unless your 'guilty pleasure' is strangling kittens then your pleasure isn't guilty at all. It's just something you enjoy. Own it. 
I am binge watching at the lower end of the scale. Until you've sat and watched (and on occasion recorded) 'Tia and Tamera' then you know nothing Jon Snow. I believe that's from 'Game of Thrones', I wouldn't know, I've not watched it. I prefer to my porn without back story and dragons. Plus I've been too busy watching 'Guiliana and Bill'. 
'Say Yes to the Dress' is my particular jam at the moment. In it brides go to a enormous bridal store, run by people who are too invested in their clients lives, to choose a dress for their ' One Special Day'. Even those who are on their 4th or 5th marriage still describe it as their 'One Special Day' so you are not expected to be able to count to enjoy this programme so I am right in their demographic. For reasons unknown the Brides also take along their entire families, in laws, friends and a few randoms they've met along the way. At least one of these people must not want to be there and be very vocal about it. Two family members must tell you that you look fat in everything you try on and there should be a grandmother there who only likes dresses with a high neck and Queen Anne sleeves. Each bride wants something unique that represents her as a person. They all leave with variations on the same dress. Except when someone does choose something unique and they go away with a monstrosity that the shop has been trying to get rid off since 1982. 

It is possible to lose whole days of your life to watching this. Especially when you discover that there is a bridesmaid addition, where the rule is that one bridesmaid is hated by all the others, including the bride. There also has to be a sassy, single sister who's main aim is to get her tits out in her dress and refuses to wear anything that thwarts her in this purpose. 
Let's just say I got to the point where I could recognise episodes from the EPG synopsis. 'Today's bride considers herself a 'little bit country' but does her Pastor Mother have other plans?' 
In an attempt to wean myself from this I started watching 'Something Borrowed, Something New'. This is where brides have to decide whether they are going to wear a revamped version of their Mother's wedding dress or buy a new dress. The best case scenario is that they end up with two wearable dresses. The normal scenario is that the Mother's dress is hacked to pieces leaving her in tears whilst the bride decides to wear a dress that hasn't been cobbled together out of yellowing lace and enormous shoulder pads. I actually had to stop watching this when there was a bride who spent the whole episode saying how tiny she was. 'Oh I'm so petite, I'm so petite'. As if she went home and slept in a matchbox covered by a hanky. Her Mother's dress was too small on her. I cheered. 

Most recently I have become obsessed by 'The People vs OJ Simpson'. Sadly I can't binge watch and have to watch one episode a week. It's like being back in the stone age. 
I don't really remember the OJ Simpson case. I was fourteen when it all happened and British (still am!) so I had no idea who he was. Watching this programme, good grief, it's insane. As is John Travolta's face. It's like he melted and then tried to recreate his face out of play doh and dog hair. The other revelation is David Schwimmer playing Ross   Robert Kardashian. If this is an accurate portrayal then he was in love with OJ Simpson and spent his days disco dancing with 'Juice' as he insists on calling him. Occasionally he'll stop by and see his family and give them pieces of advice like 'Fame isn't everything'. I think we know how that worked out. 

Now I know my viewing habits aren't great, but they are enjoyable. Being able to name every winner of America's Next Top Model isn't a transferable skill but I wouldn't imagine being able to make crystal meth from watching Breaking Bad is that useful either. 
Actually that's crap, one of those things is definitely more profitable than the other.


 

X Factor Jukebox Week - Results Show

Carrie Underwood is performing (I have her album) so is Sigma ft. Rita Ora ( I don’t have their albums). Caroline and Olly do a strange dance. I think it is an in joke. I’m fine being out of it.

Here come the judges. Rita looks normal. To compensate she is doing a ridiculous walk. Oh and while we’re not talking about it why is Bollie pronounced ‘Bow-lie’. Surely it should only have one L? Now the endless and pointless recap. Seriously just make the programme ten minutes long.

Group song! It’s Earth Song. Is this linked to the climate change talks? Or is it just appalling taste in music? I still can’t believe this song didn’t sort climate change.  Reggie and Bollie actually sing (just a line each) but it’s not awful. The contestants go in to the audience and start high fiving people. Oooh imagine high fiving an X Factor contestant. High five anyone, literally anyone, it’ll be the same.

Another recap.

Carrie Underwood performs. I love her but this  may not be her audience. Or from the sound of it, her song. She may have found it on the way in.

Random chat with the judges. Seriously just cut the show down. Simon has hiccups. That is the full link. Now Rita performs with Sigma. Is she wearing a tool belt? She can sing though. Could do without the fake ravers. Imagine the stage instructions – have fun! Now! More fun!

Adverts – Simon is giving away his own car? 

Results. Safe:

Ché – see all you needed to do was forget your words.

Louisa – Very happy

Reggie and Bollie – enough is enough.

I reckon Lauren will go. But first the sing off.

4^th Impact.

What’s the betting one of them will be wheeled on in an iron lung? But they don’t want to talk about it? Oh grief they’re singing ‘I’m telling you I’m not going’. You might not get a choice dears.

I’m distracted by a pair of cropped flares one of them is wearing. She looks like a hulk sailor mid transformation. One judge will say ‘THAT’S how you sing for survival’. I still long for the days of Janet Devlin retching her way through Mmmmbop.

Lauren next. She needs to hoik the crotch of her jump suit down. Still may help her with the high notes as she’s singing ‘Vision of Love’. Bloody hell, she really can sing. Let her stay. No repeat of this though 

Rita sends 4^th Impact home

Cheryl sends Lauren home

Nick sends 4^th Impact home.

Olly bodges up the rules again

Simon sends Lauren home.

Bloody deadlock again. Caroline does it to avoid Olly sacking Rita or something. 4^th Impact go home. See ya! 

X Factor Jukebox week - Saturday Night Show

Here come Caroline and Olly. Caroline is auditioning for a role in Chicago. Judges all come out with their acts. Except Simon who comes out to ‘All by myself’. This is actually pretty funny. Not as funny as Rita who has come as a male ice dancer. Everyone is singing two songs tonight. One chosen by the public (twitter, there weren’t elections) and one by the judges. This is in keeping with the policy of ‘any song ever written’.

Louisa is up first. The public allegedly want her to sing ‘Love Yourself’ by Justin Beiber. A song I inexplicably love. With any luck this performance could be the cure. In her pre-song VT her friend comes over and they have a staged conversation. Then she sings. It’s not as good as usual, weirdly awkward and stilted. Belt it out love. Oh here we go. It’s not really improved it. The jarring key change didn’t help, never mind, we can’t all be Westlife. Her face shows that she knows it wasn’t good.

Cheryl liked it. Simon thinks she looks tense. Apparently she’s not well. Didn’t do a VT about it though did she 4^th Impact?

Nick liked it.

4^th Impact are up next. This week they did an interview with Nick AND met Fleur East. Is Fleur stalking the new contestants? Popping out occasionally to say ‘A year ago I was you. Now look at me. In a years time you could follow X Factor contestants around and tell them that this could be them.”

They sing ‘I’ll be there’ dressed as bridesmaids. One of them hits a high note really badly. That is the best bit. Cheryl is loving it. Simon was pleasantly surprised. He must have been expecting Armageddon.

Nick liked it.

Bloody hell. Reggie and Bollie. If Twitter has any sense it will make them sing opera. Instead it’s ‘Whip Nae Nae’, which I am assuming is popular with the youth. Wow. This is a completely new break out style. Oh no. My mistake, it’s the same as every other week. They go to Winter Wonderland this week for reasons unknown and get this, they meet Fleur East. For the performance their kids come out and dance with them. They also, cunningly, stay on stage for the judges verdict. This is the equivalent of using your kids as a human shield.

Nick liked it.

Lauren goes to Essex this week and meets some orange people. She is not allowed to meet Fleur East. She’s singing ‘Light Up the World’ Which apparently is called ‘Firestone’. If they had any sense they’d use some of those orange people as stage decorations for a literal translation. Instead she’s standing on some tube tracks with a train coming towards her. Which is fine because she spends half the song pretending to be a siren. Simon thought it was the wrong song.

Nick liked it.

Human guinea pig Ché is next. He is clearly traumatised about last week but has to pretend he isn’t. He’s going to sing ‘The biggest song in the world.” Yes, he singing ‘One million Green Bottles’  ‘Hello’  by Adele. But this is Ché so he could well sing it to the tune of ‘One million Green Bottles’.

Has he screwed it up? Or is this a new style? I think he’s mucked it up. He claws it back, sort of. If that was an arrangement then that was pretty strange. He sung it in a way which implied he’d never heard the song before. Which as we all know is impossible. The judges solve the mystery, it wasn’t planned but Rita congratulates him on making up his own melody. This is the same school of thinking that claims that ‘all spellings are valid’. This is how we end up with kids called Bephany.

Nick liked it.

They all sing another song. 4^th Impact first. They’re actually singing a ‘mash up’ oooh sounds the alarm (Lauren will do). They’re hoping to use these songs to explain who they are. I’m hoping for SClub 7 style intros, including Rachel doing her thing. Note: This is Rachel’s thing:

They pretend to be dolls. It’s not that bad. Simon gets a clap for knowing their names. They’re written in huge letters behind them.

Nick liked it.

Ché meets his dad. Not Fleur East. He sings ‘Try a Little Tenderness’. It’s sticking to what he knows. And it’s fine. His jacket however is beyond foul. If they were hoping for slimming stripes they failed. He looked like Sandi Toksvig. It’s dull and boring but on the positive side he knows the words and 70% of the tune.

Nick liked it.

There is an ominous threat in Lauren’s VT. They are going to make her look uber glam. Her hair and make up are actually OK. Her dress is not. No idea what the song is. Sounds like an Andrew Lloyd Webber filler song from a lesser known musical. One you sing in front of the curtains whilst they change the scenery. She turns in to a car alarm again. She can’t walk in her dress and heels. Glam! Cheryl thinks the song makes her relatable. Who hasn’t dressed up like Joan Collins and bellowed power ballads from a fire escape?

Nick liked it.

Reggie and Bollie go on Nick’s breakfast show. They’re singing ‘Dynamite’ out of time and badly. But they jump nicely and they were able to use the same drum track from every other song they’ve sung. They’ve written their own rap, it includes the words ‘We’re on X Factor so we can’t complain’. I’m not and I can.

Nick liked it.

Louisa is singing a power ballad. I have no idea what the words or tune should be but it sounds about right. She clearly means it as she’s doing the ‘mean it squat’. Everyone knows you only mean a song if you squat like you’re pooing in the woods. Simon and Rita give her a standing ovation. Cheryl thought it was better than her first song AND she’s ill. No chair demands though.

Nick liked it.

Based on that Ché can get out and take Reggie and Bollie with him. But it’s actually going to be Lauren and Ché. 

X Factor - Love and Heartbreak Resutls Show

My word Rita loves a wide leg trouser.

After a mini recap we immediately go to the group song. They’re singing ‘Fell in Love in a Hopeless place’. Worth watching for Anton bellowing like a hip Grandad. Then another recap for those with amnesia. Or for anyone who’s been watching for three months without having a clue what’s going on.

Nathan Sykes performs. He’s from the Wanted apparently. He plays a jazzy piano and plays a song that is legally different from ‘All of You’ by John Legend. There’s then some awkward chat with the judges before Olly performs.

Hey Olly. If you’re trying to do a new job it’s probably best not to come out and do something you’re infinitely better at. The only downside was that he accidentally stumbled in to an aerobics class to sing but is carrying on bravely.

Why do the dancers have to wear up the bum swimming costumes? Olly is allowed to wear clothes. They could do their job and be clothed from the waist down. Shit like this is why I keep showing my nieces Bananarama videos. ‘Look they’re pop singers and they’re allowed to wear dungarees’. I’ve decided I am going to become a pop  star. JUST  so that I can wear jeans and a t-shirt and lead Olly Murs around the stage by his penis. For no reason at all. The song will be about catching a bus or something but for staging reasons he has to have his lad hanging out his trousers for all live performances. In an awful post song chat with Caroline Olly pretends he chose those outfits himself. AHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAH UGH. Olly couldn’t choose bloody pick and mix.

Results.

Safe

Lauren – Goes bananas.

4^th Impact – Happy and wavy

Louisa – Jumpy

Reggie and Bollie – Oh dear. Anton angry.

So the bottom two are Anton and Ché. Do we need to bother with the sing off?

Ché sings Alicia Keys. He makes it his own. Unrecognisable and warbly. Then he goes nuts. Impressive but do you have to do it all the time? Just sing.

Anton sings. He is intense to a powerful degree. Don’t make him go back to being a West End performer and backing singer. The horror! He sings that George Michael song about turning stuff down. Exclusively heard on talent shows. Wisely there are few close ups. He’s chosen to sing it like someone squaring up for a fight in a car park.

Nick saves Ché

Simon saves Anton.

Rita saves Ché

Cheryl saves Ché. She says it’s not personal. Anton clearly thinks that’s bollocks. Congratulations Anton. Although you’re officially not a winner you have stayed true to the spirit of X Factor which is the belief that even if you sing songs that are twenty years out of date in the style normally seen in crap cabaret, you STILL believe that you are a credible and viable recording artist.

Keep on believing. That kind of thinking leads to this: