A day in. When I haven't gone out at all, and I've only had a couple of quick phone conversations just rearranging appointments. Bliss. And there's an evening in tonight, so even more bliss. What more could you want?

Really enjoyed seeing Jane W last night, though was rather amused by her parting comments that the day's writing I was planning for today wasn't really like a proper job or hard work or anything. Hey, I wish! In an emotional sense, I imagine it's much like saying to a mountain climber about to tackle a mountain they haven't yet climbed: hey, enjoy the climb, and as you do it for fun then it's no great effort, is it? Ah well ...


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NEW BOOK

NICKY JONES - MY LIFE IN POEMS will be launched at the end of July.

Nicky has taken the unusual step of writing her autobiography in the form of poems. Each poem tells of a significant event in her life, something which led to change and growth. This is not an autobiography in the conventional sense. The poetry stands alone, but the poems are linked with a short paragraph of prose, thus setting the scene and filling in any gaps in the story. Using the poems as a tool, Nicky takes a warts-and-all look at the things that have happened to her. Married four times, she tells of her determined search for true love, and also of her spiritual search, which led to peace of mind and a greater understanding of what it means to be human.

Reviews:

Nicky Jones has a magical way with words. Her frankness and honesty, sensitivity, and compassion, and sense of humour manage to draw the reader into her poems, so much so they can easily relate to her life. Catherine Johnson. Lecturer & Teacher.

Nicky Jones’ poetry is vibrant and engaging. Her work manages to artfully catch snippets of her life, which she then infuses with universal meaning. The joy is contagious. Gianni di Miele. Poet.

Nicky Jones captures what all poets strive for - to tell a story and relate to others.This bookis what poetry is all about. Cyndi Dawson: Performance Poet.

Please leave your email address in the newsletter section on the homepage if you would like to know when the book is available to buy.



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It has now been fifteen days since I last worked.

Usually I love being at home doing nothing. It is wonderful to earn enough to survive on a couple of day’s work a week and have the freedom to laze about the flat reading, watching DVDs, drinking wine before dinnertime. Yet, because I have literally no work lined up at any point in the future, every thing I do is tinged with an edge of anxiety and guilt. I should be doing more to find freelance camera work rather than waiting for phone calls from existing employers. But cold calling companies is the most depressing and generally pointless action I can think of. So I put up with the anxiety and guilt, because it is easier.

Wimbledon is on. I hate Wimbledon. Hate it hate it hate it. Which is strange because tennis is my favourite sport and Wimbledon is the greatest sporting event on our planet.

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I have spent most of the day puzzling over what I’m supposed to be doing about the Personal Tutors’ Handbook – I suspect I am about to get into a managerial vortex from which there will be no escape. The boss has asked me to map out three different options for what the Handbook should look like. What??!? I have no real idea what that means, even though I smiled with enthusiasm when given the task (oh fool, fool!). And I suspect that, much like double-entry bookkeeping and the inner workings of the combustion engine, I never will have any idea what it means, no matter how much it’s explained to me. You see, I was off sick for the lesson in management-speak and I’ll never catch up now. Besides, there are some things that my head simply blanks out, possibly for the sake of its own intellectual survival. “Mapping” is, I feel, one of these. I also highly doubt that I’ll come up with three options – ye gods, I’ll be lucky to make a half-decent attempt at one. Sigh ...

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It's always interesting when artists talk about arts other than their own. Last Sunday I was listening to the poet Rowan Williams (yes, the one whose day job is running the Church of England) talking about favourite music on Private Passions. If you're reading this before next Sunday, it's well worth a Listen Again. At one moment, talking about the rhythm in music and poetry, he points out that, 'We are creatures built on stress and slack: systole and diastole.' Many would realise that rhythm - a pattern of stresses - is innate in us because without a heartbeat we'd be dead. Not for nothing is the standard slow-dance track set at seventy beats per minute, as are our resting hearts. But Williams isn't saying just that: he's saying that we are created by and for a two-beat rhythm. Our hearts actually go stress slack, stress slack, stress slack, and so does our breathing, and the whole of our body's pulse, and the more I thought, the more I saw how much of the nature of storytelling and its written forms, too, grows from that fundamental characteristic of homo sapiens.

First, it reminded me of one of the most persuasive parts of Christopher Booker's The Seven Basic Plots,

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After my rather down post last week, I have had wonderful messages of support and identification from so many of you. Thank you all. Good not to be alone, although I am sorry that we all have these blue periods. It has got me thinking about this thing that we do, this writing thing: when I sit down to write, it is me facing myself, and all my demons.

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Woke up hyperventilating like a hot pig way too early this morning, after a distinctly Dr Who-ish and rather terrifying nightmare. Lord H and I were in the desert which was full of large statues, some of which were in a museum also in the desert. I knew beyond any doubting that the large statue in front of the building was coming alive and intended to kill people. When it finally started walking, nobody would listen to my attempts to warn them - so Lord H and I went inside the museum where smaller statues were coming to life too. We attempted to find out if they were dangerous or not by communicating with them. But when they started to attack us, I tried to beat the thing to death, but it just wouldn't die. Thank the Lord I finally woke up! Haven't a clue what that all means, but hell it's been a difficult week and I do tend to have rather vivid dreams. Still, at least it meant I didn't have to wait for the alarm. There's always a positive side ...


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It has occurred to me that since I've been writing seriously, I have, on occasion, neglected to have as much fun/time off as I probably should have. And I think it's time that changed. Having time away from writing, even if it's only a little (this is a job we can very easily live in 24/7) is important. It is good to be fresh.

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Got into work today and one of the first phone calls to Ruth was to tell us that Penny, my sick Guildford friend, had died on Saturday at 1pm. Not sure what to say really, but it seems so unfair that she only had one happy year of retirement before she got ill. I’m sorry too that I didn’t make the effort to visit her last week due to my own minor set-backs, which seem very petty now. Just goes to show it’s important to do stuff while you can. Sometimes there aren’t any second chances ...




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Had a fantastic birthday yesterday - Lord H and I spent the day in Wisley where the rain mostly held off. Highlights of the day included (a) the amazing Chinese dragons made out of begonias, (b) the glorious rose garden, (c) the wild garden, (d) seeing two frogs, (e) the very good lunch at the Terrace Restaurant, and (f) seeing loads of birds, including a mistle thrush (a first for us). I must admit to being totally flowered out by the time we left. Also had lots of Clarins, books and money as presents, so that's all certainly put a smile on my face. And Dr Who was a shit-hot episode, so what more can you want?...

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