Elaina James

Amazingly the kitchen is now finished.  The worktop has been replaced, the blind is up (again), the flooring has been fitted and the furniture is all back in its rightful places (with the addition of felt pads on its feet to protect the treasured new flooring). The overall effect is quite impressive.  However, instead of standing back and admiring its new look, I slump against the door frame and think; ‘Never again’.  DIY and home improvements are banned words in this house for the foreseeable future.  I’m sure at some point I’ll start the ‘wouldn’t it be nice if we…’ game again, but not yet. Admittedly, there’s already a partially formed list of future jobs in my head.  The lounge carpet needs replacing, new curtains would be nice and I ought to do something about the double glazing…. Strangely though, none of these seem as urgent or necessary as they were a few months ago, before the kitchen turned into the fiasco that I thought would never end. ...

So I could have had the best idea ever, or potentially have just made the worst decision. Today I took a bold step into uncharted territory. I sent some of my song lyrics to one of my class mates on my writing course, who just happens to be an amazingly talented musician in search of a lyricist to collaborate with. Sounds perfect right? You’re probably wondering how this could ever even remotely be considered a bad decision. I mean the chance to actually have music to my lyrics (aside from the out of tune singing I attempt when I’m writing them) is a fantastic opportunity. There’s just one teeny tiny snag… we work together. No one at work knows about my lyric writing. A few know about my stories but absolutely no one knows about my lyrics and I’d kind of envisaged it staying that way. I trust that he will keep my secret to himself, especially as he’s not exactly advertising his own musical aspirations in the office, though having heard his creations I really don’t know why n...

In a break from our fantasy theme of the last few weeks, normalcy was resumed with Tim O’Brien’s ‘The Things They Carried’ at this week’s writing class.  Jumping from fairy tales to the Vietnam war may seem like quite a change in pace, but given the dark grizzly origins of fairy tales that I have become enlightened of in the last few weeks, it’s actually quite refreshing to read something that’s actually about what it purports to be, rather than something darker hiding under whimsical fluffiness. It also meant that I was back on solid ground.  Real people, real problems and real emotions.  Or at least as real as you can get in fiction anyway.  But as Tim O’Brien says, it’s all about truth of one form or another. I have to admit that I’ve never read any of his work before, and while my class mates were grumbling about being weighed down by his lists of items carried and his need to inform the reader of the weight of each item, I was lapping it up.  I gue...

These days, attending my writing class is a mixture of eager excitement, nervous anticipation and complete and utter dread.  The result is a most disconcerting feeling, as I wonder whether I really want to go or not. The excitement is because I love what I do and once a week I get to spend two whole hours doing just that without any distractions, well other than the drama group that rehearses in the next room.  I’m nervous because, even though I’m nearly halfway through the course, sharing my work by reading it aloud to the class hasn’t got any easier.  And finally dread because, well sometimes I think I just don’t get it at all. The last few weeks have been spent on fairy tales and fantasies, and whilst I always considered myself to have a pretty active imagination, I’ve realised that compared to my class mates my imagination is actually quite tame.   Maybe it’s the accountant in me that requires me to be bound to realism.   Maybe I’m too tied down by ...

So just before Christmas we decided to put a hold on our ongoing kitchen development so that we could enjoy the festive break without emptying cupboards or rearranging furniture, something which seemed to have become part of our weekly routine recently. The granite worktop was cracked, the blind was up though somewhat slanted and the old laminate flooring that had seen better days was still waiting to be replaced.  But that was okay, it was only till after Christmas.  Good theory huh? Well we made it through Christmas with no issues, aside from trying to learn how to time the cooking so everything was ready to be served at the same time using the new electric hob and oven.  The oven cooks quicker than the old gas one and I haven't quite mastered the art of controlling the hob properly, my old gas hob was so much more responsive, it also made less mess when things boiled over... But now January is upon us and we figured the kitchen would finally be completed.  W...

Christmas for my family has always meant chaos and laughter, great food and a lot of washing up.  It didn’t matter if the Christmas lights stopped working after just being hung, which often was the case, or if the presents hadn’t arrived on time, it just meant Christmas was extended a little longer.  Whatever happened somehow Christmas was always perfect.  The last minute chaos to get everything finished in time, always paid off in the end and whatever didn’t quite get done somehow didn’t matter so much once Christmas actually arrived. Over the years our family has shrunk and the big Christmas parties we once had have become more intimate gatherings now.  In contrast, the number of Christmas decorations seems to multiply each year.  Perhaps we are trying to distract from all the empty seats, not that it will ever work. Those that are no longer with us, who time or distance have taken away, are always missed more at this time of year.  They each pl...

It’s been a tough week, it’s always hard going back to work after a couple of weeks off and this time was no exception.  On Monday morning I grudgingly crawled out of bed when the alarm clock rudely interrupted my rather bizarre dream.  Twenty minutes later l was downstairs, cursing myself for forgetting to put the heating on timed last night as I hurriedly packed my bag and shivered.  The fact that my trousers had apparently shrunk in the wash wasn’t helping my mood either. Of course their tight fit around the waist had absolutely nothing to do with the fact that I hadn’t worn them for two weeks, during which time I had done nothing but eat generous sized portions and sit in front of the TV. I left the chilly house behind me and ventured out into the even colder outdoors.  I managed to time it perfectly as l drove off and found myself stuck behind a bus for most of the journey to work. Ironically, whenever I actually try to catch that bus, it results in me stan...