The Alternative (cheaper) Gift Guide

So it's here. My mucker Jason Yarrow has called it - and we are in Christmas  2019 build up. It's unavoidable: the John Lewis advert, the school Xmas fair, Waitrose shelves threatening to topple with the sheer weight of Panattones...  Call me Scrooge if you must - but the whole enforced festivities have me running to the hills. As if the end of year wasn't stressful enough, without all this mad consumerism and sudden rush to see EVERYONE YOU HAVE EVER KNOWN because dear god if you don't, you may Cinders like, disappear by the stroke of NYE midnight...

As an aside, I ended up accidently in Westfield the other week - don't ask, but it involved taking my Mum to see Loose Women. (Bonus - I did see Gareth Thomas speak and he is simply a hero - anyway, I digress). It was horrific - everything wrong in the world in one giant throbbing over-lit overpriced nightmare. I'd rather have a smear test every day for the rest of my life than enter it again...

So, with all this bah humbugness, what gifts do I suggest dear reader?

Firstly, I'll admit - I do love a good gift guide. The Spike is a goody (and not extortionate) and I also love to check in to Goopy Gwyneth's because - shock - I do think she has a sense of humour -  suggesting a trip to space, a joint roller and a brass fire extinguisher all on the same page. But in all this gift giving malarky - have we lost sight of what Xmas is all about? A friend who came for dinner on Friday said 'aren't you tired of stuff?' I couldn't agree more...

This year I had to pack up my entire house, shove it into a non-water tight shed and one room while the rest was demolished/gutted/refurbed. It gave me that wonderful opportunity of a massive clear out and frankly it was thrilling.  I did a LOT of Marie Kondo-ing: 'does this bring me joy?' Bad bits: how on earth did I ever fit into my wedding dress?? (The skirt had gone mouldy, out it went. Corset - made clearly for a tiny fairy - stayed). Good bits: I found cards from my recently deceased step-sister that made me weep....  Anyway, it made me see how much we accumulate and how much we really need. I spent '95-'96 travelling the world with a backpack and it proved to me how we can survive with so much less than we think we need. Buddhist monks are allowed just 8 items and I think they have a point. Have a clear out, donate items to charity instead of putting them all on Ebay. When someone finds that bizarre hand-mirror with lights that show up spots coming a month from now or that kite you never got round to using but have had since you were 8, you will make their day...

So what can you give at Xmas? Well for one thing - your time. Who wouldn't want someone to offer to babysit their kids/ clean their car/ cook a meal/ house sit/ walk the dog? Or sign up to help the homeless this Xmas - Crisis are always looking for volunteers, or you can donate. I know someone who does this every single Christmas and she told me it can change a person's life completely, to just be treated with respect and comfort at such a vulnerable time of the year.

One of the most beautiful Xmas gifts I ever was given was a white box, with pretty cloth red ribbon containing home-made meringues. Now sadly I cannot bake (here are some ideas if you can) - but anything home-made is a winner this Xmas. I plan to make a wreath with my daughter, using foliage in the garden and then give it to my dear neighbour.  Here is a wreath making guide - it is honestly simple. You can get the base on ebay for a mere £3, some twine £2 and then get thee to a forest, Chop some ferns and holly and maybe get the odd ribbon or pine cone and you are away!

Another idea is to get a photo framed that means something to the person you love. One year I gave my Mum a framed pic of her with my then one year old son and she wept. All our best moments seem to be stored on a phone or some USB stick. Get them out - remember a moment. Live it all again.

Ok a favourite of mine - BOOKS. Don't even think about going into a bookshop unless it is an independent like the gorgeous one in West Hampstead. You can always pop into an Oxfam bookshop and buy some gems - giving to charity at the same time. I have never, ever been upset to get a book, no matter old, new dogeared, doodled upon. I won't try to suggest any because we all have different tastes - but an old favourite of mine is : She's Come Undone by Wally Lamb. I also love a book called  'Surviving Survival' about the human spirit and what we can endure, when we have survived the worst that can be thrown at us... Every year an old school chum of mine Gareth reads A Christmas Carol. Inspired by him, I read it on Sunday. If it doesn't have you feeling festive - I don't know what will. Buy an old copy of it, add a bottle of wine/port and who won't love that as a gift?

Socks. I know I know, not the most exciting - but our washing machine eats the feckers, so we are always desperate for them. I also love to skulk around working from home in these beauties - cheap as chips - from Decathalon.

There is a not a woman alive that I know, that hates getting a candle. These from Jo Malone are spenny but support charities.  (Look on google for more charity candles... there are tonnes).

Talking of charities, Choose Love is solely to help Refugees - so buying from them, you really are buying someone hot food, basic sanitary goods or even a tent to shelter in. Well worth supporting... It's a difficult time of year to know which charity to support - we all have lost someone to cancer, we all see the homeless on the short walk from Euston to Kings Cross, we all watch the adverts where children are dying because they have no fresh water to drink. Ask someone to donate to one, instead of gifting you something you don't need. Do you really need another perfume/pair of shoes/dodgy blusher?

On to lighter subjects -  I googled 'cheap gifts' and this came up. Lord.

You may wonder what I'm asking for this xmas - a pair of gloves. That's it. Gloves that mean I can get into 7 degree water every Saturday without feeling like my hands have been cut off. Of course I'd love a Dry Robe - but they are pricey...  And it feels against my rule of: NO MORE STUFF. But it is like a big blanket and when you swim in icy waters it is SO BRRRRRRRRRRRR. Step away CM - Xmas isn't about YOU.

For me, Xmas is about food, family and fun. With that in mind, I bring you the tasty treats that any living soul would appreciate at Xmas:

1. M and S shortbread. It is a fiver folks and it is is HEAVEN. Heaven I tell you. I've already chomped through one and have hidden one at the back of the tall cupboard. If anyone in my family sniffs it before Xmas I will murder them.

2.  I LOVE these hibiscus flowers. Under a tenner and make all festive fizz fabulous. Just drop one in and watch it flower...

3. How can you not love Lindor?  Call me a basic bitch if you will, but who is laughing as they chomp down on those on Xmas morning? Or a toblerone. Always a toblerone.

4. Get thee to Aldi and get these beauties: THE best cracker ever. You can thank me on Boxing Day.  While I'm on Aldi - their London Gin, according to my husband, who knows his shit about liquor - is as good as Tanquery he reckons and a mere £14.

5. Let me say it here - 2020 is the year of the Toastie. My kids love my old Breville Daisy toaster - not sure you can still buy it... But there is a Breville here for £21... A toastie solves all hangovers. Or, if everyone is starving and you cannot be arsed to cook - a toastie. Seriously. Get amongst it.

6. Cheese. The best bit of Xmas, I find, is the cheeseboard. Just as you feel ruined by a dinner and worried that you will spend the rest of your life python like, unable to digest the bugger, out comes the cheese board. Suddenly you jump up, ready for all the festive 'games' and eating like you have never seen food. No cheeseboard is complete without Comte, an overripe Brie, Goats (Chèvre Blanc), an Epoisse, Blue stilton, Manchego, Morbier and Wensleydale with cranberries... You will need some decent crackers (YES to digestives in case you were wondering) and quince. And a shed load of gaviscon no doubt...

7. Finally booze. No Xmas should be without it, unless you abstain. In which case I salute you. It takes the edge off all that 'family bonding time' with people you avoid all year. I myself see it as an excuse to indulge in an old fashioned, (my fav drink) and so for me, you can't go wrong with a bottle of Woodforde bourbon. Husband always gets this for me, then drinks most of it  - so I am certain he owes me one already from last year.  Aldi do a fabulous Prosecco - if you don't believe me here is one review - and I have read more... Eco friendly to boot.  Port is a must. I think this is an epically good one.  Or M and S do a half decent one and it is always on offer (at least every time I go in I get offered a thimble full - which is a winter warmer I always appreciate). I always think a festive tipple is in store, if like me you are hosting a few for drinks on Xmas morning...  I am debating expresso martinis (yum) or fizz with any of these . Here are some suggestions to mull on...

So that's it. If you don't have the time to make stuff - I've been there (full time job at Enders, 2 small kids and 13 Babble articles to write meant I didn't have time to pee back in the day) - then gifts I also think are fabulous are - fire lighters, that little thing that snuffs out candles, (did I mention candles?) any kind of mitten and a jaunty scarf. Something colourful from Zara costing no more than £20.  Like this . Or Ordinary products - they are CHEAP and AMAZING. I need a whole blog post to discuss the wonders of 'Buffet' alone.  Try them. Takes years off. (Not that I think we need to all look younger - kick that bloody idea to touch for a start. But we do all appreciate help after a big night, no?).

I'll be back with my end of 2019 round up - excited for 2020. Jaysus. It was a mere second ago I was at my dear friend Caroline's on millennium eve, so drunk I ended up walking into her Dad's bedroom in confusion (so many times he used a bicycle to barricade the door). So you filthy animals, have a great #Buildup19 and if in doubt - keep it simple. People love you for who you are, not what you give. Not the size of your house, not the amount of money you spend on a party, but for the joy only you can bring.

Seasons greetings. CM x

House refurb part 1: The joys of a shower...

I'm not a morning person. Never have been, never will be. Best not to speak to me until I've had a shower and a cup of builders. Then, only then, am I vaguely human. When my buddy Est and I travelled the world, our flatmate Katy in New Zealand refused to wake me - she said I was so scary in the mornings. Monstrous is how she described me and I think she was being kind. Now when I wake my 8 year old Sproglette, and she groans and turns away,  spitting venom about having to get up - I realise I have passed on the 'hating mornings gene.'

Anyway,  when we bought our crumbling cottage back in 2017, I knew that we wouldn't have a shower.  How bad could it be I reasoned? I mean, a bath is lovely - right? Well of course it is... but every day? A bath doesn't give you the same jolt into wakefulness that a shower does. It doesn't make you feel fresh, alive, ready for the day. Baths are for sinking into on an evening; leisurely soaking troubles away - the exact opposite of how one is feeling when they are rushing to get out the door in the morning, with everyone wearing matching shoes and hopefully still speaking...

Why else did I not love our bathroom? Well it was old lady bathroom. You couldn't swing a cat in it. Don't believe me? Here you go. Photo exhibit number 1. The bathroom as pictured when we first viewed the house:

Inviting isn't it with that 30 year old floor? I thought: well, how long can it take to get planning permission? Turns rather a long time... We first saw the house in October 2016, moved in October 2017 and got planning...... February 2019..... That is a LOT of baths. Husband couldn't really fit in it so took to going to the gym... 

Then this was it the day we moved out (for a mere 3 and a half weeks while the builders gutted the house upstairs - leaving only one remaining wall) - 

Gorgeous isn't it? So I fantasised about a shower for a LONG time. Every time I had to go away with work or stay at friends' houses, I stood in the shower and just thought - this is SUCH a lovely thing, having hot water pour on you. It's energising, calming and comforting all at once. Rinsing your hair without using a crappy leaking shower hose felt divine. It also made me think A LOT about the kind of bathroom I wanted: the vibe was kind of New York bathroom, but without all the chinz. I wanted it to feel clean, relaxing, inviting. I also had a limited budget - because it turns out that refurbishing your ENTIRE house, well it aint cheap. So I embraced that limited budget - I positively thrived on it - by spending my days scouring eBay and being inspired by all things Pinterest.  I found a teak unit I loved, picked it up and bought new legs for it. I sourced taps from here, shower from there... So here we go (with hind site I maybe should have used some fancy filter or given the place a deep clean first - but I'm not a fancy lifestyle blogger, so here it is, as is):

Dull bit: Unit is vintage (Ebay), Radiator (brand new, again Ebay), oyster candles (a gift). Spider plant called Darryl (after one of my builders) is from Woods, and my prints by Lu West. Mirror (Ebay again) and lamp lights (Lampsy). Plant pot from Home Sense, Shower from Rubber Duck bathrooms,  Toilet and shower doors and tray from Drench (but I would advise caution using Drench - they take FOREVER and never let you know when there are going to be delays...). Wall mounted taps from a local bathroom store but you can get here. Tiles: Chiltern Tiles who were MILES cheaper than Topps tiles etc and knew exactly what I wanted. I actually can't remember where I got the sink but think again - eBay. My life really has been on eBay. I WISH there was a job sourcing stuff for folk because I am a genius at it these days... 

Every day I get in this shower and think - I am SO grateful to have a shower... I think it is ALMOST making me appreciate mornings again, but not quite...

Finally on the subject of bathrooms... I wanted my guests to have an ensuite. (I don't want one myself - husband has an aversion to anything toilet related so refused one point blank. As he was happy for me to choose everything pretty much in the house, I agreed to this one small point). So for the guests I went for fun. And what says fun more than a feck tonne of foxes?? Also my daughter has a fox toy called er... Foxy - that she loves. We get foxes in the garden and well, I kinda like the cheeky scamps. So I threw in a darker colour for the panelling - (love me a bit of panelling and stiffkey blue) and some rope accessories - and voila! The only gutting thing is the shower in the guest ensuite is actually better than ours... So, what are you waiting for - come visit! 

And I can guarantee a life size parrot in your bedroom. Meet Gary (named after my lovely builder who is frankly a god):

Because every house needs a parrot is what I say....  Do pop in....

CM XX

Scrap that, Blood is thicker than water...

My children have no blood relative cousins. My husband has a brother in Australia who has no children and I am an only child, meaning my kids are cousin-less. Having grown up knowing the wonderful relationship you can have with your family members of similar ages, having the best of best cousins myself,  I have always wanted the same experience for my kids. I was delighted therefore to create that dynamic with people - who maybe felt for the fact I am an only, or cherished the relationship they had with me - so my kids were not really aware what a 'blood relative' or 'real cousin' even was. They had them. Simple as that.

But there will always be that person - who will tell them, who will remind them, that the relationship is false: like Santa or the tooth fairy - something great to believe in, but not strictly a truth. This year, more than any other has taught me one thing: no matter what you believe you have created, nurtured, cared for and invested in - others will not. That when the chips are down, one thing matters only: are you blood?

I've never seen life this way. Raised every weekend by my Mum's ex-boyfriend (whom I lived with from the age of 11 until I finished Uni) - I decided pretty damn early in life that family could be chosen. That being an only kid, who never felt she was her parents' priority - it was ok, because I could carve out family when it wasn't really there. Never living with my Dad, not having the classic 2.4 and all the trimmings - well, who cares, when you can throw your love at others and make it stick. Breathe life into the word family - in whole other areas, to find that love you are so desperate for.

And up until this year, I would have said, I did a damn good job of it.  But suddenly - in a single moment, standing in the queue at an airport - I realised that my construct of family - well, it was potentially all in my head. Perhaps how I saw a relationship - was in fact only in my imagination. I scrolled through texts and whats apps and our whole history to work out if I had in fact gone mad.... A friend described the effect on me as 'gaslighting.' To say it knocked me for six is an understatement.

Since then I have pondered on what I mean to others and also, what do they mean to me? Being an only kid I have never had a sibling to rely on, someone to charge ahead, forge the pathway for me. Someone to look up to, or to guide. Perhaps my love of company (husband says I am 'energised' by seeing people, whereas he is drained) is based on the fact that as an only child of divorced busy parents - I was often alone. The bonus of this, is I have never struggled to make friends and find it easy to engage with others. So for me, friendship, well, it is family. I choose friends sparingly and once I'm in - I'm there 100%. Thus the majority of my mates I have known 20/30 plus years...

And yet, if anything were to happen to me, I can imagine people turning to my soul mate buddies and thinking 'oh you just lost a friend... big deal.' It isn't like losing a blood relative.... Because we seem to measure love, commitment and importance on that simple fact - being related. Yet, my life is littered with people who mean the absolute world to me - who I literally would do anything for and who have supported me through thick and thin - and they aren't blood. I sent This article by Elizabeth Day to several friends because it was a love letter to friendship - the most underrated and unsung of loves of our life.

This year I lost someone dear to me. She introduced me to Prince on her weekly mix tapes...Taught me how to dress at a time when I thought long kilts and polo necks were cool.  We used to sit on the doorstep in our PJs and play albums loudly during the long summer holidays. She was the first person to get me drunk. (I still can't even smell Martini Bianco without wanting to wretch).  We would sit up late watching scary movies trying (and failing) to recreate McDonald's thickshakes. She showed me The Exorcist and I duly vommed. (Regan had nothing on me). We had each others' backs during the dark teenage years... covering for one another and sympathising when we fought with our respective mothers... Her daughter was flower girl at my wedding, sat in between my new husband and I through the reception. I flew home to celebrate her daughter's 2nd birthday. She wrote my children birthday cards from 'cousins X Y and Z.'  I knew her for 35 years, lived with her on weekends for almost 10 and yet I had members of my own family who never once said: 'I'm sorry for your loss.' I guess because she and I weren't related... we weren't blood. So my grief, it seems isn't valid.

Perhaps a less sensitive person would take this on the chin. But I am not that person. My friend H wisely said: "you have to ask yourself why this matters so much to you." My answer: I am the girl with 3 sets of keys and 3 homes as a teen. I am the girl who sought out family... I am the one who never believed that blood was thicker than water.  I am that lonely only. So whilst I thought that by 45 I had managed to contain all my demons -  suddenly they have come flying out of the woodwork.... A pandora's box opened, the contents mocking me and all I believed in. All I thought I knew. All I guess I had hoped for.

So this much I know is true: blood will always be seen as thicker than water. No matter how much you want it to be different.

All you need is love

Well, it is that time of the year isn't it? When we down tools... pick up bars of Toblerone and our TV remotes and sink into the sofa. No? Just me?

It is also the time of year we get to reflect on 2018 and all it has brought us...

On a work level, it was one of my finest. I got to work with wonderful people, saw a project dear to my heart rise like the phoenix from the ashes and met a whole bunch of amazing folk in film - waters I had never dipped my toe into before. After a punishing 2017, it was nothing short of joyful.  On a personal level, going back to college was a highlight - again for the people I met and also because it is great to get out of my Berkhamsted bubble and learn new skills.  The loneliness of writing has never sat well with me.

And yet, there have been moments of complete devastation. When the phone goes and someone says -  'Are you sitting down?' And you say 'yes,' because you always do, don't you? Even when you are standing in your kitchen, heart pounding, thinking - what the hell is coming next? And it is never what you expect and it is never, ever good. People dear to me have had struggles - life or death struggles - and all I have done is offer support and love, while I watch them be more courageous than I could ever be. It is at times like this, that I think of my Father's saying: You are nothing without your health. I hope they (and you) have a healthy and happy 2019.

What have I learnt this year?

1. That when cooking it is best if one stays in the kitchen. Maybe not get on Twitter or stop to write that email or two... never ends well.

2. That being near the sea is a balm for the soul. Cornwall and Croatia - easily two of my favourite times in 2018. Beautiful Brela - swimming around the famous rock every day, as schools of teeny tiny violet fish swam just out of reach - was incredible. One morning husband and I got up at dawn and crept out there for a swim. It was silent, save for the quiet sea lapping at the shore and I held that moment in my head for the rest of the year.

When I feel stressed, I go back there.

3. That nothing on earth beats hanging out with those that have known you since you were 11 and still miraculously do. But perhaps 3 drinks and then stop is a lesson I should have learnt back in 1994... Maybe then, texting your first boyfriend, after not actually seeing him for 25 years, (and I quote - spelling mistakes included) : ' Too many drinks later... We are at a girl's reunion... and I have a daughter and a son and I thought I have a lot to thank you for. Thank you fit teaching me sex and thank you fir making me love my own body. I only wish my daughter felt teh same. I wish you only happiness.'  DEAR GOD. 'What,' said my dear mate C, "are you going to say when he asks how old your daughter is and you reply er.. 8?"  My point, was that I wished my kids would have the great first love I did. Perhaps it got lost in my 12 gin translation. Sigh. Oh and I sent YET another text to his gentlemanly reply, but I cannot face writing it here. I would have to kill myself if I did.

4. So really, a lesson is, STEP AWAY FROM YOUR PHONE WHEN DRUNK. I'm 45 - why do I still need to learn this???

5. There is NOTHING wrong with star bothering, even at my age. But when you meet the most handsome and talented actor of his generation, remember he is not of YOUR generation - so to compensate, tell Timothee Chalamet that he looks like your son. Then exit. Quickly.

6. Hanging out with your kids - when you set down the phone, leave the house and go explore - is amazing. They will be gone in a matter of seconds, (my son is a teen next year) so enjoy it while you can. Every hug in the morning, every lazer quazar game at their birthday party, every blackberry pick in September sunshine, it will all be gone in a heartbeat. So embrace. Go outside. Look up.

7. That Dark N Stormy at 3pm on St Paddys - because B thinks it is a good idea and sure didn't we win the rugby and isn't Ireland fecking class - will end in a broken toe. Be warned.

8. Bike rides are always good idea.

9. Freshwater swimming is amazing. Especially with my two old flatmates. Henleaze you are stunning and I wish I could swim in you daily.  Thank you CJ. Summer you were glorious and exhausting in equal measure.

10. As ever, 2018 affirmed that my greatest pleasure in life is when the lights dim low and I'm holding a hot coffee in hand, waiting for a movie to start. Tomorrow, we as a family are off to see Elf at my local art deco cinema - replete with bar! I'm so lucky to have The Rex on my doorstep - meaning I get to see wonderful films like Summer 1993, Wildlife, BlackKKKlansman, The Rider, Custody (the most tense film I have EVER seen), Coco and Ladybird (with my son) there... I'm still not down with films being on Netflix or Amazon before being on a big screen - I just do not get why you would want to see the cinematography of something as incredible as The Rider, on a small screen? End of rant.

11. I've also leant that I may no longer have periods (thank you partial hysterectomy, I love you so) but my PMT still rages and thank god for Evening Primrose. There was a point this year as I wept on the school office staff because my cakes for the cake sale had on the drive to school become cake roadkill, that I realised my hormones are the ruin of me. Evening Primrose helps. Something had to.

12. Most of all, I realise how fleeting time is, that we are here again, about to usher in a new year. I know that we must use our time wisely, in who we share it with and what we chose to do with it. I personally need to get offline more and get outside more. Having almost pet ducks (we named - Daisy and Derek) to feed most of spring; the rest of the family seeing a deer in the garden - but only me seeing a beautiful kingfisher hurrah! - has meant me embracing the outside more. Getting out and walking to the end of the my lane, along a canal and up into the woods - is brilliant.

2018, thank you for being kind to me. For affording me health and a stable income. For giving me sunshine and the seaside. At a time when our country is a mess, when everyone seems to be suffering, when mental health issues are only starting to be less taboo, I try and find one reason every day to be cheerful - from a good book, to a hot bath, to a great cuppa - joy is in the small moments. That all we have and can give, is love -  and that really, is all you need.

Merry Xmas and a Happy 2019 you filthy animals.

CM xx

The Wife

Let me count the ways that I love Glenn Close: she was able to garner sympathy when she played a mentally disturbed woman who refused to be tossed aside like a used napkin in Fatal Attraction (I even bought the DVD in order to see the original ending, the one that Close believed is the rightful one); she played an adulteress herself in The Big Chill, but one who was willing to het her husband father a baby with her best friend - the fact this felt normal is down to the charisma of Close; she was the ultimate feminist in The World According to Garp; deliciously cruel as Cruella DeVille in 101 Dalmations; powerful and determined as Teddy Barnes in my guilty pleasure Jagged Edge and perhaps at her most luminous, most acidic and most memorable as the utterly wicked Marquise de Merteuil in Dangerous Liaisons. (Who could forget the incredible moment John Malkovich as Valmont demands that she keep her side of the deal and sleep with him or it will be war... only for the Marquise to give an aquiescing smile as her lip curls and she yells a triumphant: 'War!').

She is easily one of my favourite actresses of all time, so I went to see The Wife with high hopes. I couldn't have been more disappointed.

The film begins in 1992 in Conneticut, when Joe Castleman played by Johnathan Pryce, gets a phone call to say he has won the Nobel prize for literature. Joan, his wife, (played by Close) listens in on the other line, her face a picture of shock and wonder. The couple with their wet weekend of a son (played by a pudgy Max Irons who desperately needs a haircut and to ditch the leather jacket) travel to Stockholm to collect the award, followed by the human snake that is Christian Slater - a journo desperate to write a tell all book on Joe. (Slater is terrific - at his sleazy best).

Joan gathers up socks, picks crumbs from Joe's beard and tells him when to take his pills. She is the steady wheels behind his success, which he is quick to explain at every given opportunity. When asked what Joan does for a living, she replies 'I am a Kingmaker' and aint that the truth. There is of course a much deeper reason for Joan's angst in her role of sidekick - which is less of a reveal and more of - 'this fact has been blatantly obvious from the second act.'

Joan's rage simmers until it can no longer... which left me with the question - why now? If you have accepted this role for the whole of your life (one Joe's first wife was glad to escape) then why suddenly kick off? Over the Nobel prize? The 'truth' fails to unpick what role Joe had in this arrangement - how did his ego fare, save the fact he ran around shagging other women? There is a whole well of complex relationship questions that remain completely unanswered.

Close's daughter plays the younger Joan in flashbacks and she has clearly inherited her mother's talent; but there is precious little for her to do. Plus there are no styling differences between present day and flashback, which feels like a missed opportunity. When we hop back in time, it feels jarring and lack lustre, as if the budget ran out and they filmed all the scenes in one day.

Which brings me to the woeful direction. At one point I found myself thinking 'did Bjorn Runge run out of shots? Maybe forget to get a better focus?' The lack of skill made me constantly feel outside the film and not at all engrossed in it. The scene where Joe and Joan's son discovers the truth behind his dad's success, is a crash course in heightened melodrama and how NOT to act.

Close is clearly meant to be the mouse who roared but in fact she is a bitter little shrew who simply glowers through most of the film with only a couple of dramatic outbursts. An actress of this calibre deserves better to chew on. Perhaps there are far more nuances and complexities in the book that the director has simply shaved away here making the film feel flat and one note. The climactic scene is so over the top it belongs on a soap opera not the big screen.  Finally, his want to keep Close centre stage, so obscuring other characters from view - literally cutting them from frame - is distracting. Instead of focusing on Close, we are wondering where the headless air hostess is. Did the director not believe that Close was captivating enough without this tedious technique? Mate, the woman steals every scene she has ever been in, so fill the frame!

                       *********************************************************

Spoiler alert: So Joan is the writer not Joe! Who knew! Who saw that coming? Are we to believe that even in the era of Joan Didion, Erica Jong, Sylvia Path and Gloria Steinem that Joan wouldn't have broken through unless under the guise of a man? Perhaps so, but by the late 70s and 80s this surely wouldn't have been the case? I found it somewhat unbelievable that a woman - played by the tour de force that is Close - would have allowed that to happen - to be the silent partner while her husband gets all the glory. If there is a morality tale here, I sure as hell didn't get it.

Perhaps come March, after 6 nominations, Close will win her well deserved Oscar. But it is a shame that it will be for this limp offering and not her blistering performances of old. Close will always be watchable, but give this one a miss.

You learn something new every... Friday.

The best thing I've done this year, has been going back to college.

In truth, there isn't a September that goes by that I don't wish I was picking stationary, grabbing files and heading off to a new classroom. The last time I was at a Uni was back in 2000 when I studied a film course, for one term - simply to know that bit more about it. Prior to that a I graduated (2:1 oh yes!) in 1994. Jaysus. 1994...

This year I decided I wanted to study again, this time to become a counsellor. Of course I love writing - but I want more feathers in my cap. Plus, I miss people. Living and working in the same small town day after day means my world becomes ever increasingly smaller - and I wanted to broaden it again. I wanted new people, new stories, new ideas, new challenges.

It was better than I ever imagined. Counselling training is as much about getting to know yourself and your reactions to situations as it is about helping others. At times you have to really study yourself - in all your naked glory - and its harder than you'd think. You are vulnerable, exposed and all that dark stuff buried deep within starts to bubble up to surface and come out. You may think you've sorted your shit into perfectly packed boxes - but you soon discover that you need to go back and have a good old clear out.

With my volunteering work, past training in life coaching and general fascination with people - I've loved every minute. There is nothing better than helping someone, help themselves. I've got 4 more years of study to go - but I'm excited. There was a time when 4 years felt like forever, but a year now goes by in a flash. By the time my daughter is ready for big school, I'll be a BACP qualified counsellor. There is a real privilege in hearing people's stories; them opening up and letting you in to their lives. The course has taught me - once again - that no matter how it looks on the outside - everyone has had to wade through the trenches of life, that no one is unscathed.

Today was the last day and it surprised me how sad I was to let them all go. Each week I've so looked forward to seeing the group - checking in, doing trios, getting to know them better. Such a wonderful bunch of people: brave, inspiring, honest, caring and kind. Work dependent I may be on the next stage with some of them - but others may be on different paths... We've promised not to lose touch and I genuinely hope we don't. My town sometimes feels like a big glass box; you don't get to know that much behind most masks - so to truly connect with people, has been a joy. My lecturer was amazing... the kind of person that you feel can see right inside you - knows instantly what makes you tick. Unnerving and thrilling in equal measure.

I'm so glad I took the leap - inspired by a lady in my lane, who is a counsellor still at 80. She told me you are never too old to learn something new - I just never realised I'd learn so much about myself into the bargain.  Roll on September and my new classroom... I can't wait.

The book of the summer.

Sometimes you read a book that touches you in a way no other book has done in a long long time...

Amazing Katy Regan's book is written from the point of view of not one, but 3 characters: There's 10 year old Zac, who is overweight, bullied and desperate to find his Dad Liam, who apparently did a runner just before Zac was born. Then there is Juliet, Zac's Mum, who works in a sandwich makers, struggles with her own weight, her car-crash of a love life and her tense relationship with her Mother. Finally, there's Mick - Juliet's Dad, who dotes on Zac, but has his own demons to contend with.

The story centres on Zac's quest to find his father - one that he plots with his best friend Tegan - noting everything in his 'mission folder.' Aware that his Mum may not exactly be jazzed on him finding his Dad, he keeps his plan a secret. Meanwhile, Juliet keeps a secret of her own: the real reasons why Liam went away.... Mick and his wife are still recovering from the death of their son, Juliet's brother. But the closer Zac gets in his mission, the more likely it is that long buried secrets and lies will float to surface...

This is a charming tale, where you cannot help but root for Zac and his earnest ambition. Regan's ability to write a convincing voice of a ten year old boy is nothing short of miraculous. Zac sweetly begins every chapter with a fact (who knew an Octopus has 3 hearts?) and has us championing his need to make his Mum happy while at the same time, trying to find the missing piece of his life's puzzle.

Set in Grimsby, on a grim estate, is doesn't hold back in showing the difficulty in being a single Mum, living close to the breadline. Juliet only wants the best for her son, even if that means telling him a big fat lie. This is the kind of book, where you want to be alone when you get to the end - or at least with a huge pack of tissues next to you - as if you don't cry, you simply don't have a pulse.

I kept going back over chapters I read, not wanting my time with Zac to end. A hero in every sense of the word, his ability to remain positive in the saddest of circumstances is a life lesson to us all.

Miss it at your peril!

Available here.