The Purr Factor

Any cat owners out there will know all about The Purr Factor.

I'm uber cute and you know it, I will rule your lives with an iron paw!

This refers to several things such as...

• The volume you have to have your telly at which is louder than normal because you have a purring cat on your lap.
• The amount of lost sleep every weekday morning pre-alarm because an over excited purring cat has predicted that you are going to be getting up and feeding it soon.
• The amount of lost sleep every weekend because your purring cat does not understand that weekend mornings are different.
• The amount of weight you loose because you are such a sucker for a purring cat and always save it a bit of food from your plate every time you eat.
• The number of cups of tea you miss out on, that you wish you were drinking whilst sat on the sofa, but cannot make because it is impossible to disturb the sleeping cat that is purring contentedly on your lap.
• The number of mice, shrews, voles, birds or rabbits (both living and dead) you have rescued, removed or chased around our house, alerted by the excruciatingly sweet but equally chilling chirrup emitted by your feline friend with each successful hunt. 
• The lost hours of intended reading as a purring moggy sits squarely upon whatever paper article you were just perusing the millisecond you put it down, begins purring and will not budge.
•  The amount of abandoned or unfinished projects, (be they jigsaw puzzles, games of scrabble or sorting out your Christmas wreath) because your cat has decided that whatever you are trying to do is right where she wants to be right now, settling down for a nice nap with a lovely loud purr.

Yes, all cat owners will be very, very familiar with the above. 

Cat owners, please feel free to add to the list using the comment button!!

What is worse than finding a squashed spider on your foot...?

...Finding half a squashed spider on your foot.

This is exactly what happened to me the other day! I'd got up and was in between wearing pyjamas and being fully dressed (our house is always unfathomably chilly so socks, slippers & sloppy jumpers when you get out of bed is an absolute must) and I was just about to get dressed, which meant it was about 9am.

I was removing my morning socks and changing into the ones I'd chosen to match my attire that day when I noticed something weird atop my foot. Closer inspection revealed it to be half of a squashed spider. You can imagine the noise I made. I am terrified of spiders, they really creep me out, I even have a spider dance which I do when startled by one of the eight legged brigade. A stamping of feet, accompanied by a waving of arms and flicking of fingers. I think it is tribal based, having its origins in warding off evil spirits in a 'get the potential for actual spiders off me physically and all thoughts of ethereal arachnids out of my head as quickly as possible' sort of way. After I'd uttered sufficient exclamations and expressions, representing an equal mix of disgust, terror and confusion and performed my spider dance, I was ready to remove the unfortunate half beastie. It wasn't too crunchy which meant it must have been freshly dead.

I'd showered before bed, so the spider either had to have been in bed with me, or it crawled into my socks during the night. (The socks generally spend their time when not being worn lounging around on the floor - a pair will do me a few days, as I usually only wear them for an hour or so!) I had to find out where the other half of the spider was, I couldn't bear the though of it lurking around in some dark corner waiting to be discovered and leap out and give me another unpleasant surprise. Not that half a dead spider is capable of leaping - I'm going for drama here at the expense of realism!  I heaved the covers off the bed to inspect the sheet, no half dead spiders, good. I was relieved but also disappointed. I couldn't remember which sock had been on which foot so I had to inspect the insides of both. This proved very difficult as the socks I favour for my morning socks are inevitably rather fluffy on the inside, meaning I had to carefully part woolly sock fibres which were cream, flecked with brown and black and annoyingly this is the exact same colour as half a dead spider. I was thorough, but still could not find the other half. I realised at this point I was destined never to find it and I had to face the fact that I would forever live my days wondering how half a dead spider came to be mashed against my foot and where on earth the other half could possibly have got to. I felt sorry for the spider, that he had been merrily ambling along, minding his own business (albeit on my foot which he had no right to be mountaineering at that moment) when with an almighty splat, something came along and pummelled him into non-existence. I had a moment's silence, whispered a silent 'sorry' under my breath and went about the business of getting dressed.

Incidentally, I saved the squished spider remains and I did momentarily consider taking a photograph to display alongside my blog but it turns out that half a dead spider isn't so photogenic. Who'd have thought it?

Starting a new piece of writing is the hardest thing to do

I'm a Blog newbie. There, I've said it. I know what it is and I must admit I've been intrigued for a long time, but never bitten the bullet and actually gotten round to writing one. Until now!

Why have I never written a blog before? Well the answer is both simple and complicated. I write, I've written for years, I have a degree in English Literature & Creative Studies in English for goodness sake, but after graduating and 'becoming an adult' life just took over. Very simple, but as I said also complicated.

I used to write all the time, I'd stop on a bench on my way home from college, thoughts bursting out of my head, couldn't wait to get home, scared I'd  forget something. I would always have a notepad & pencil on me. I slept with pen & paper next to the bed, in case I awoke in the middle of the night with an amazing idea. Not wanting to put the light on and ward off any chance of returning to sleep, I'd scrawl the idea illegibly on a scrap of paper, usually unable to make any sense of it in the morning, but if I didn't, I'd lie awake all night trying to memorise the idea, it was easier to give in to it and allow my mind a moment of peace & hope to let sleep return.

I was overly critical of everything I wrote, I thought I was too young, too naive. I thought my writing needed a chance to mature, so kept just churning out ideas, half thoughts, beginnings with no middles, middles with no endings. I thought when I was older, I'd be a full time writer, make use of all the scraps of writing, finish all those half begun ideas. Finally, I fantasised that afterwards, when I was famous and a long time dead, my collected juvenalia, all those fragments and doodlings would be published posthumously, smiled upon, revered even. I was naive.

In reality, after graduation and once the insecurity of adolescence passes, you get the job, the partner, the house and your life becomes so very normal. Everything you fight against as a youngster just happens around you, happens to you and eventually, it swallows you up. You lose sight of who you actually are, who you used to be, and yet you still yearn for a thin sliver of that person to return. Despite all the insecurities, all the flaws which seem so petty now, such gaping stupidity, you know that given the choice you would much rather be that person than the one you are now. Just perhaps with a bit more confidence, a bit more self esteem.

And so, happy with life, we give up on our ambition of becoming an author, of travelling the world and writing about it, of creating vast worlds and swathes of characters in epic works of fiction, or simple, beautiful poems that touch others with their empathy & feeling. We settle down, we turn a blind eye to the dream left unfulfilled and we get on with daily life. The younger us would not believe we would choose hurrying to the supermarket & home to cook the dinner over hours spent under a tree on a sunny day, scribbling furiously, ignoring the rumble in the tummy, not caring what time you get home, or if there even is any dinner to be had when you get there.

When we are young we recognise we are not yet experienced enough to write, when we get older we simply don't have the time to write, and here is the complicated bit. I used to love writing, dream about being a writer, and yet recently I have found myself with plenty of time and yet have done all I can to avoid starting writing. I've cleaned the kitchen, checked my emails, folded the washing, made some jam, checked my emails again, all that just to avoid starting to write.

I have actually sat in front of the computer and not been able to write a thing. Why is that? Why is there nothing so daunting as a blank sheet of paper, or the slow blink of a fresh cursor at the start of an empty word document? Why am I so scared of those beginnings? I don't know, I don't have the answers but what I am trying to do here is start something. Just make a start. Some days, I might rant & rave about modern life, some days I might tell a lovely story of something beautiful that happened to me that day, or that week and other days I might upload a piece of fiction, a poem or a travelog. I don't know what I will write, or how often  but I feel that having taken this blank page and put some words upon it I have opened the gate, and now there is much to be said.

I am a creative person, I cannot deny it. My mind is active, I cannot rein it in or hold it back. I want to feel and learn and inspire and I am determined to do so. I will claim back an old piece of that younger me and make myself proud. I will stop finding devious ways to avoid writing, I will write and I will create. I am Crafty Nicky and the world around me is a crafty place and I want to make my craft in it, about it and for it!