Weekend roundup

Sunny Staithes already seems a long time ago

I've only been back at work for a week and it's as though I've never been away. All my freelance work was sitting there waiting for me - which will be nice when payday comes around, but was something of a shock to the system. Even so, I still managed a couple of coffee/lunch dates, so it's not all been nose to the grindstone and shoulder to the wheel.

I also dropped into the Weaving Words writers' group. I can't often make this, because they meet on Wednesdays when I'm usually teaching yoga. It was nice to see Kezzabelle and the gang. We sat in her garden until it went dark, wrapped up in blankets and illuminated by candles and lanterns: all very bo-ho!  We began with a prompt -  'camping', 'strong women' and 'encouraging words' - and it always amazes me how varied the results are when we come to read them out.

Also on the writing front, I made it to the shortlist of the Words With Jam First Page Competition, but didn't win.  Oh well, back to the drawing board. Congratulations to the winner, Annnie Walmsley, and there were a few names I recognised on the shortlist, too, so well done us!

This writing lark is clearly in my blood. My mum has recovered from her recent malaise and has a little something in the local paper's letters page. She has also heard from the Daily Telegraph that one of her contributions to its letters page will be used in its next book. Honestly, there's not stopping her!

I'm a fool to myself

Most Saturdays, I treat myself to the Daily Telegraph. I buy it for its prize general knowledge crossword, and my mum and I will exchange texts relating to African capitals and the moons of Saturn until we have both finished the puzzle. So far neither of us has secured the £200 prize - and between us we must have spent more than that on stamps, but that's not the point.

If I were able to keep my focus on the puzzle section, all would be well, but somehow I always end up reading the rest of the 'Weekend' section. It's not for folk like me. I choose my wine by price, not vineyard, I don't have the wherewithal to take a trip up the Amazon and find it hard to believe that a bronze sculpture of a 'scenting hound' is the perfect gift for anyone (a snip at £250!). Much of the content makes me cross, partly through envy, I'll confess, but mostly because it's all so - I don't know - pointless. I shouldn't read it, I know, but I do, even though it makes me grind my teeth.

This week, the paper surpassed itself, when it devoted 30 column inches plus pictures to the thorny topic of walking in stilettos. You can, apparently, attend a workshop on this crucial life skill for £20 - and if that's not enough, gents can pay £50 to learn how to escort women who wear such shoes. The article concludes: 'Once you can walk in high heels the world is your oyster.'

Good grief.

No stiletto heels in my wardrobe