off to Liverpool

I have trouble taking time off. I can waste time, watching TV, or playing daft games on the computer, but that’s not what I mean. When I go away, I usually take work with me – notepads to plan ideas, magazines for market research. I’m always thinking about the next story. Tomorrow I’m going to Liverpool for the first time, a treat I’ve been promising myself for 2 and a half years. I’d like to go as a tourist – with no hidden agenda or plans but I’m already thinking about a story set on the ferry that crosses the Mersey, or a nostalgia piece based round the Beatles. That’s the problem with writers, we don’t get any time off, except when we’re asleep. Of course, today my publisher decides to send me the pdf file of the book for me to check, just when I’m going away. He also wants a photo which is a big problem. Cameras, especially still cameras (for some reason TV’s not so bad) hate me and I have NO photos taken in the last two years that I would want anyone else to see. When I got married, last time around, I asked the photographer to take five times as many photos as usual to make sure he ended up with some decent ones. I might just have to try that again. Not get married, I mean try a professional photographer. Any takers? I’m in Leeds if you like a challenge. I’ve been thinking lately about how nice it would be to meet a decent man and find myself part of a family. People say that if the right man is to come along, it’s going to be when you’re not expecting it. The trouble is I’m always expecting it. I can’t help myself, every place I go, every scenario conjures up a romantic story – I could meet him there, bump into him on the ferry on Saturday, sit next to him on the coach, etc etc etc. These days, as I’m finally learning to like myself a tiny bit, the idea that somebody could like me back and not be put off by my age, my physical condition, my lack of great riches, that somebody might see the real me, and not care what I look like, has started to feel like a possibility for the first time in my entire life. It’s the 9th of February. On and around the 26th, John will be leaving. Maybe just maybe once there is a space in my life, friends maybe even lovers (one at a time), will come along to fill the gap. See, I’m off , dreaming again. Oh well, maybe I should start a self–help group for incurable romantics. I won’t be blogging over the weekend as I don’t possess the necessary equipment i.e. no smart phone, iPad, or laptop, so it’s farewell until Monday.