Hot Wired of Cornwall

It seems ironic that last week, when I needed bucketloads of energy to get through the show, I was exhausted, and now I'm hotwired, stuck in overdrive. I tried diverting my brain from Oliver songs to singing along to Gloria (the one by Vivaldi), one of my favourite pieces of classical music. But last night the opening seemed like a sedate matron plus her entourage, as opposed to the vibrant, clamouring family of Lionel Bart's creation. Later on, Gloria revved up superbly, of course, but you can't really compare the two.

I'm diverting my energies into the maze that is my current novel. As always I go between depths of despair and faint sparks of hope that this one might be good enough to be published. At the moment I'm hovering between the two, but we have our weekly writing meeting this afternoon which is always encouraging.

We went to a May Day fair on Monday where a friend of mine (from Oliver) had a stall selling her glass fusion jewellery. This is when I should give a link to her website, but she doesn't have one, so I will attempt to describe the very beautiful pendant she gave me. It's oblong with 6 different coloured pieces of glass that change colour according to their background and can be worn with just about anything. It's so beautiful, like a piece of brightly stained glass on a grey winter's day. Pip gave her a pendant that he made from Cornish tin, so they now have a mutual admiration society which could benefit all of us if we tackle it right. Sue was crouched over her stall in the rain when we got there, with a garland of bluebells and campion in her hair which she has recently had dyed emerald and blue - very fetching. Luckily the sun came out so the fire eaters could be enjoyed and the kids danced round the maypole and, best of all, and she sold enough to buy her family a Chinese takeaway.

Another phone call about our elderly friend, James, who is increasingly upset and worried about his daughter. 'She's lost interest in me,' he said to a friend yesterday. 'She just wants to put me in a home.' The trouble is, it seems to be true, and for those of us that love James, it's so difficult to know what to say. So we go round in circles, doing our best to care for him and give him a big hug. Not the same as coming from his family, but it's the most we can do. Being married to a Much Older Man (18 years older), I try not to think about Getting Older too much. At least, god willing, I shall be here to care for Pip. Who will care for me is another matter.

On that cheerful note, I shall finish for the moment but with a plus. My youngest brother, another singer, had a wonderful concert on Sunday singing Rio Grande. He has an incredibly inspirational singing teacher called Lynn whose website I shall post on the links section. He is like me, enthused and wired and longing for more. Hooray for singing. And on with the novel.