This was

"This was beginning to be the Houses of Parliament..." the son says this and shows me a drawing of Big Ben or St. Stephen's Tower (my only claim to pub quiz trivia fame).
So we're going through everything he's ever drawn in minature in his new notebook. It's 9.15p.m. and I've sat here since 8.30p.m. determined to get some work finished.
Since that time I have -
Admired my new batch of business cards.
Tried to get my new iphone to work again.
Went on Facebook twice.
Read a good article on Sky News.
Read a good article on Oprah about menopause.
Planned in my head how my "hero" meets the "heroine" in a new short story.
Tried to get a Category Drop Down on my web-page.
Returned two calls, that did not go through.
Read a headline in the Daily Mail about men who went from scrawny to brawny.
Thought about the Club Milk waiting for me in the fridge.
Told the children to get to sleep again.
Talked to the dog briefly - "out of my way."
Looked at my notes and decided I am much better alert at 10 p.m.
SO going to have that Club Milk.
I live life in the FAST LANE.

Fiction Is Good For You!

The new research is out from some-where-or-other and it proves that fiction has positive benefits.

The thing about fiction as opposed to nonfiction is we allow it to transport us into another reality. While the same can be said for nonfiction, the experts claim we do hold up something of a shield towards it, and arrive at the first page somewhat judgemental. It is designed to persuade us through argument and evidence.

So it would suggest fiction does mold us. It casts a spell and has a more potent influence. We drop our guard. As a result it is more effective at changing beliefs than nonfiction.

Fiction enhances our ability to understand other people. It claims to promote a deep morality that cuts across religious and political creeds. More peculiarly, fiction’s happy endings seem to warp our sense of reality. We believe in lies, and sometimes that is badly needed.

What I Need...

So what I need are the following -
"A sponsor."
"A person who has a van."
"A sense of direction."
"A sales team."
"A charity event."
"A special offer discount."
"A fashion sense."
"An ap."

This from the 10 year-old daughter today as we sat in the car, looking out at the playing pitch as the 7 year-old son ran up and down the field with a hurling stick in hand, and I hoped to God I was cheering on the right fella. (It's really difficult to tell who is who when they have those team colours on - and multicoloured helmets).

She wrote in her short story book. Shoes off, feet on the dashboard. I flicked down the sun visor and slid the little cover over, the mirror looked at my eyebrows. Then my eyes. Enough. I turned to her.
"You really think so?"
She was sure.
"Where do you get all this info?"
"From the telle."
I smile - confused as usual.
"Watch and learn mother. Watch and learn."

The young son runs the length of the pitch. It looks cold outside. He does a kind of hop and skip along. A young smaller player corners him and gives him the bat of a hurley. The son raises his, and chases off the other fella. I open a packet of wine gums. This is looking interesting. I share with herself, but she will only eat the Blackcurrent flavoured ones. She eats really slowly so I give myself at least two at a time. I'd be waiting all day otherwise.

"I'm away out to keep an eye on yer man."
"Ok. I'm staying here."
I slip the packet into my pocket.
I get out of the car and lie against the bonnet, two high heels dug into the ground.

The son is running the length of the pitch again. Some other parents get out of their cars and make a move onto the field. There's fifteen minutes left. One man walks a good bit over to the side-lines and keeps his mobile phone up to his ear. The son holds his position and helps score a point. The cheers go up. I'll save him two of those wine gums, I think.

The daughter gets home and I'm hoping to brain-storm some more business ideas with her. But she's not interested. The son is shattered, but still has time to demolish Lego City Starwars off the coffee table in the sun-room.

He's telling me again about the nice man we met last week at the Starwars Invasion. In Dublin. He was one-third of Java The Hut. Aparently the seating cushion for Java was a bottomless crypt and this lovely actor, Mike, had to stay in it for most of the day filming. He's a dwarf and was only too kind to sign the son's drawing of a Stormtrooper. (I had it ready in a folder - just in case someone forgot to bring it.)He didn't look for payment either. "Just a contribution" to his charity for polio. Unlike the actor who played Illando Clarisian - who was charging 30 euro a pop for a signature. "What was the best thing about working on Star Wars?" I asked. "What?" he said in an American drawl. "Nothing", I said smiling.

If he wrote "Ill" would that have just cost a fiver?

I'll ask the daughter.

Just Finished…

Just Finished…

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