Dogs and friendship

A few weeks ago I persuaded my friend Emma to join me on an organised dog walk to raise funds for the Red Cross. "Will it be very doggy?" she asked hesitantly, after agreeing to accompany me. "Oh no," I assured her, "it's more of a charity thing really." (I should mention that Emma is not a dog lover, preferring to admire the canine form from afar - at a 100 yards if possible. She puts up with my own Labrador Pickle, but only because she is my friend.)

"Did someone say dog biscuit?"

So this morning we set off for our appointed meeting place in the rain. "Shame about the weather," we murmured, "oh well, never mind, we'll survive!" (and all those other inanities one mutters to show fearlessness in the face of the British weather system).

We arrived at the village hall - a.k.a. start of the walk - amongst a twirling, whirling pack of dogs. "Slightly more doggy than I anticipated," I said to Emma, by way of an apology, as we picked our way through multiple Labradors, golden retrievers, a couple of pugs, various terriers and a Cockerpoo. Pickle, it must be said, was in doggy heaven, careering around the garden in a sea of fur.

At the zoo

Hermaphrodite Mum
Three kids and a single mum

The children came back from their dad's place this weekend full of the joys of spring. As I got supper ready, I listened stoically to their excited tales about going to the Land of the Lions at London Zoo. Apparently one of the male lions came right up to the glass partition and looked like he wanted to gobble up Walking Toddler! Imagine that? What fun! Oh, and Daddy managed to film it all on his iPhone. Wonderful. I can see it now: YouTube sensation as toddler becomes lion fodder at London Zoo. 

Walking Toddler as lion fodder!

Seriously though - I am glad we have reached a point in our lives where our kids are happy to spend time with either parent. Ex-husband and I can pat each other on the back for being civilised grown-ups and managing our divorce in a mature manner...

Work shy

Silence descends on the house. The kids are back at school, the dog has been walked and I am finally free to get on with some work. For the latter part of the Easter holiday, I have been fantasising about having a quiet morning to return to my book project. With all the banter and child-noise (screams of glee, screams of pain as one pushes the other off the sofa), I have hardly been able to concentrate on anything more challenging than following a recipe or loading the washing machine. Now I can lay down my wooden spoon and immerse myself in work...

Finding my way around a keyboard again!

Except suddenly I am at a loss. Three weeks out of the normal routine and I feel unable to pick up the threads of life at home sans enfants. It's like part of my brain muscle has atrophied with the lack of use. Or put more plainly, I've lost my mojo. A harmonious working life has its own momentum and once the pattern has broken, it's hard to re-start the machine.

Happiness is...

As I was driving to meet a friend for coffee yesterday, I caught a snatch of a Radio 4 programme on Stacey Jackson. It was one of those surreal moments when the outside world seems to chime with your own thoughts. Stacey, a Canadian mother of four who became a pop sensation at the age of 40, was talking about her restless ambition to set up a new business selling fitness clothes:

"A lot of people say but she should be so happy, she has four great kids and she's got a great husband... I can't just settle with one source of happiness. I'm so happy when I am up on stage performing in front of thousands of people. I'm so happy when somebody says, 'Oh my God, I love your top! Where can I buy one?' I am so happy when somebody says your son is amazing, he just got into a great university..."

The art of being happy

Don't panic - I am not about to launch my new career as a pop star - but I could see sense in what Stacey was saying. Like many people mired in a midlife patch, I am often trying to analyse what makes me happy and how I should manage my life going forward. 

A woman like Sally

People watching: 
Sally Curson, founder of Face Matters skincare

As I grow older I find myself becoming obsessed with little details such as wiping the kitchen surfaces and tidying away stray felt-tip pens. It is not a trait that I am proud of - in fact I actively fight against this instinct to control and order my immediate surroundings. Somehow it feels so unBohemian, so suburban, and worst of all it implies a disregard for the important things in life.

Sally: 'Focus on the important issues'

Nevertheless, most mornings, my son and I have our habitual disagreement over whether he has made his bed, drawn his curtains and hung up his pyjamas. My daughter, cut from the same genetic mould as her neat-freak mother, never waits to be asked. "But Mummy, I really don't care if my bed is not made," wails my son. "I like it all messy." Still I persist in urging him to follow my rules.

A few weeks ago, I met a woman who takes a different view. Lying on a couch, my face wrapped in warm flannels, I found myself in conversation with Sally Curson, a beauty therapist and founder of the Face Matters anti-ageing skincare range. She gives facials at Fenwicks in Bond Street and runs a successful business selling beautiful, silicon-based products (which I have recently reviewed for my lovely friends at CountryWives). 

Character study

I am immersed in what I hope will be the final edit of my second novel. At this point in the process, I am trying to look at the 'arc' of the story, while also teasing out some of the underlying themes. It's structural work, quite different from the nitty-gritty detail which has occupied me up until now. The question I keep pondering is what my central character - a young wife stuck in a dysfunctional marriage - has learnt about herself over the course of the novel.

Lily James as the charming Natasha Rostova
Credit: BBC / Mitch Jenkins

Last night, watching the latest instalment of the BBC's excellent War and Peace series, I witnessed the sad decline of the charismatic Natasha, as she struggles to reconcile her sexuality - her lapse in judgement regarding Anatole - with a greater sense of purpose. Within the confines of a novel, characters are usually obliged to travel in some metaphorical sense, during which journey they undergo a kind of moral or spiritual transformation. Tolstoy's War and Peace is no exception.