This was not done under duress.

S ome of the more long-term readers may have noticed that
E very so often I refer to my sister as "fuckface ravioli" or other
N ames that are not really all that complimentary.
D ue to this, would like to make the following statement:

H aving come to terms with the fact that my sister is
E asily The Most Awesome Person That Ever
L ived, I will now accept that she is just much cooler than mortal
P eople and I am just grossly jealous of that fact.

N icole.
O wner of this blog.
W ell, sort of.

Bindings

I have read so many books. I know so many people in those books. It's impossible for me to feel like a stranger in a bookshop, which is a lovely warm feeling.

It probably sounds like something featured in the ramblings of a crazily lonely person, but when I see books I see people I know. I know their stories. I know their quirks and choices and their best and worst moments. I know that they order mu shu pork from the takeaway. I know they're allergic to pollen.

I can wander around the bookshop and know people everywhere. (Raging spoiler alert) Young adult fiction, Alec and Magnus are wandering around New York being ADORABLE. Epic fantasy, I don't care that you died Joffrey, you're still a dick. Mystery, hello Sookie Stackhouse, how are you? A quick detour back to young adult and NOOOOO TRIS, WHYYYYYY? And at that point I go to the café and mourn for half an hour over tea and cake before wandering down to look at the classics where Mr.  Darcy is still frolicking about in high boots.

I met someone at university that told me that he hasn't read a book in ten years, whilst looking at me like I was hilarious. And it just made me sad for him.

If you can't sink into a story, escape for a couple of hours and come back with new experiences every time, what's the point in anything?

Heart lines

I'm finding it hard to frame the grief I'm feeling.

When my grandma, Rosie, died, her health declined very quickly. She was only meant to be in the hospice for two weeks so she could sort her medication out and get back on her feet, but she died eleven days after admission. I was working a lot at the time and so didn't visit during the first week but sent my love across, when I was sure she would be out and home again soon. When my mum told me she wouldn't be going home, I started to visit. The change was terrifying. I'd seen my grandma ill, she had breast cancer twice and beat it both times, but now she looked shrunken in, she barely recognised anyone and the nurses were being too kind, too soft-spoken. I'd just got home from school (1st of February 2010, 4.15pm) when mum called me to say she'd died, and I had to go pick my sister up from school and tell her the news. I can't remember how I broke it to her but I know I wasn't kind. My only excuse was that I now know that since having seizure the previous summer, I'd been suffering from severe depression but wouldn't be diagnosed until two months after my grandma died.  

She was comfortable and sleepy and loved when she died. I took the time off school to arrange the funeral and never went back. Helping with the funeral planning was cathartic. There's something very practical about people in the funeral and death certificate business. Closing all her accounts, settling debts, talking to the florist and drinking cups of tea whilst choosing a coffin helped in the process of letting go. I felt collected enough to view her body, but ended up being held onto by my two aunts, sobbing uncontrollably in the family room at the hospice that is meant for that kind of thing.  

The hilarity of the funeral, the vulcan death stare the vicar gave me when my sister announced too loud that I had refused to wear a cross, the same vicar's robes going missing, the wrong song being played... my grandma would have howled at our pitiful attempt to be formal. Clearing out grandma's house, tearing out and refitting the kitchen, writing "NICOLE IS A LOVE MACHINE" on the wall before repainting, spreading her ashes on a field and accidentally inhaling most of it when the wind blew the wrong way, it all helped me say goodbye to my grandma.   And I'm writing this now, just under five years later, because my other grandma, Thelma, has terminal liver and bowel cancer and there's nothing I, or anyone else, can do.  

I've known for a few months now, and whilst I'm relieved she chose to live it out as comfortably as she could rather than doing chemotherapy, and that the doctor seems to think she has a while left yet, this long, protracted way of going is in many ways crueller for those who have to watch it.   And selfishly I'm at a point now where big life events are about to happen and I want her to be there. And so the questions are, will she be at my graduation? Will I be able to tell her I've applied to another uni? Should I not tell her in case I don't get in? Have I got my last Christmas card from her? I didn't want to open it. My children are never going to meet her, and she's wonderful.  

Every time my mind takes me down a morbid path I have to tell myself over and over that I'm not the one that is dying, and that there is a time to grieve but it is not now, while she's still here and alive and kicking. And that she doesn't want us to be morose. The jokes my uncle makes about expiry dates when he takes my grandma shopping and the blasé way in which my mum refers to her illness makes me feel that I should have accepted it by now and not cringe whenever it is mentioned. And in many ways I have accepted it, and it is just part of the inevitable, but I'm still allowed to want my grandma to stay, surely? I'm sure jokes and blunt statements help them ease the process, but for me it just underlines the loss. I don't know how to deal with what I'm feeling. I don't know how to process this grief. I don't know how to show it. Right now I'm just bearing an unbearable thing, and making it bearable.

"If you're going through hell, keep going."

Doodle doo.

I need to talk about my dog. I slipped a disc working at the comedy club and I can't get to my mum's house to see him, and I miss his floofy face.

Barney, Barney Bear, is a goldendoodle. He's a cross between a poodle and a golden retriever. The name goldendoodle is daft but it was either that or Poo Retriever, and he hasn't learned that trick (thank god).

When we went to look at puppies at a lovely lady's farmhouse, Barney was one of six gorgeous little fluffballs. Barney was the fluffiest, with the lightest fur. He was the first puppy I held and I was adamant that he was the one. He was also deceptively mellow, and when him and one of his brothers ate a poo off the ground whilst the breeder wasn't looking, I covered for him. He was my little comrade.

Me and Bear have an understanding. I get to sit, plait his fur and grumble and in return he gets an unending supply of treats. And braids.

He's mental. He's great with the kids and babies in the family. He has claimed sole ownership of my sister. He doesn't like potatoes but if you offer him one he'll act really happy about it then dispose of it when you aren't looking. He's a polite dog. He is also so fluffy he absorbs water, mud and smaller dogs like a sponge. And he does a world-class impression of Davy Jones when he's wet (will dig out a picture at some point).

And his fur smells of biscuits.

Je t'aime, little cookie dog!

The next stage

I think that if there was any question about whether I'm in the right industry,  the past two days would have answered it.

I'm exhausted,  I ache, I spent yesterday on a construction site and today in a warehouse (full of literally thousands of bottles of Vimto...)  building stages and taking names.

It's a physically exhausting process. And one that is almost never seen in public. I feel like I should document it because it really is an incredible process, and a fantastic world to be a part of. After the event brief, after the design and after the manufacture comes the test build which is what I've been working on.

Yesterday I spent all day hauling 60kg steel stage decks around a building yard, making scaffold structures and and fitting the stage together way above my head. The work is so intense I could feel the pressure on the individual vetabrae of my spine, and later our after-uni pool game took far too long because no one could bend down.  I went over to my mum's house and dozed off with/on my dog before I'd even taken my hard hat off.

 

Today was similar.  We were in a huge, cavernous warehouse building a stage for Tiny Tempah's tour. When people see the stage in summer it will just look decorative,  but again, hundreds of work hours, many many tonnes of staging, many expletives expelled. One hour in, I trapped my thumb in some scaffolding,  later, I got a metal splinter down the side of my hand, slammed my knee into a solid hunk of metal, broke a nail and went over on my ankle. Not so much an occupational hazard as me just being hungry.

But I love it.  I love the hard work and the noise and the stress of working to a very immediate deadline all the time. I love the pre-show nerves, being able to perform in my own way for thousands of people without having to go onstage. I also love the banter that can only exist between people who have been working for 18 hours solid at 3am.

Also we learnt how to put a staircase together on live TV in under a minute. I'm not even joking!

The Niece Acquisition

Today was a funny old day.

13th of March,  the birthday of my newest niece, Evie. I've written about her older brother and sisters before so it's fair to write about Evie too.

Today I have spent 4 hours sat in traffic on the A64.

Today I learnt how to set up and operate scissors lifts and star traps (magical hydraulic lifts that make people appear up out of the stage).

Today I ate a shameful amount of Doritos.

Today I also realised that someone in the group really doesn't like me.  And that's just fine because he's annoying. 

Today is a good day because The Big Bang Theory was renewed for three more seasons.

And today Evie was born. And she's tiny, and snuggly, and already looks confused.

And in the morning I'm going round for cuddles and photos.

And that's what tomorrow is.

Will be there from your first day to my last, little noodle!

Boop

Busy busy busy!

Ish. The audio module is over! Sort of. I have 2 assignments to do but now at least I don't have to sit in classes with no understanding whatsoever.

Last week I got an email through asking me to create a CV and a video to accompany it. And like most people on my course I was a bit apprehensive about having a video of me begging for a job floating around on YouTube. However I have no problem presenting you all with the leftover footage.

Presenting!

The CV Blooper Reel