A friend who has suffered some kind of immediate trauma or stress in the past few minutes
A fear of human contact
£1.something
Probably some kind of humorous card to awkwardly explain yourself in the way you otherwise can’t

Let’s get going:

Pre-tune your tension levels to react in direct response to those of others. Line your palms with the kind of mild sweat that keeps you just embarrassed enough to burrow your hands away in your long sleeves.
Walk around for a bit with your centre of gravity in your groin, to show that you’re in control.
Make yourself oblivious to anything that would normally be observed as ‘unusual’ within your proximity. In fact let’s go all out and ignore everything on both sides of that boundary.
Wait patiently for said friend to announce said trauma or stress.
Stare blankly at them in an attempt to offer a sincere ear while conveying utter nonchalant apathy.
Run away.
Apply your £1.something to the inside of the nearest Greggs.
Presentation is key – return to your friend and place the cake down in front of them silently, preferably while they are busy with something else.
Make like a tree.
Observe friend’s disappointment and disillusionment from a safe distance.

Et voila!

If you opted for a card, probably best wait a few days until you start to wonder if your friend is wondering why they ever spoke to you in the first place. Leave this lying around in a general area they may or may not pass through. Don’t be seen. It’s probably best they don’t find it anyway. You did your bit.

I wish I could help people more.

From 'The Fool of the World and the Flying Ship', by Cosgrove Hall

I have taken on my first writing commission! Outside my usual comfort zone in terms of schedule and topic, but I am very excited about where this new stimulus and exposure could lead. I have never really applied my latent inspiration to the needs of a specific third party before. Perhaps this could provide the perfect channel for my untamed desire to write…

My brief is to write a full-length play in four weeks – first samples ready by the end of this week – surrounding themes and implications aroused in the phrase, ‘A ship of fools’.

Having been previously unfamiliar to me, being explained threw up all sorts of connections in my memory. The Fool of the World and the Flying Ship, for one – a childhood fondness on VHS that I now come to question in terms of motives and message, having only enjoyed the unique, home-made looking stop-motion at its most immediate level.

I listen to songs of that title; all seeming to barely cover the imagery, emotion and raw thoughts on civilisation and morals that surely must come up when one delves into its origins deeply enough to discuss it intelligently.

What does the phrase evoke in you?

What does it mean to be a fool?

What are the positives of being a fool?

Getting to ride this amazing sky-boat?

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• Anna and my writing routine (darcyeleanorfox.wordpress.com)

This recent quandary is to do with who I am in a social context. Up until a few years ago, I was a very quiet, solitary, independent woman who had a favourite colour, a favourite meal, and a lot of alone time. Then a relationship hit. Things got serious and I got paid a lot of attention. It’s been hard to shake the feelings of manipulation and subversion I was left with. I think I felt suppressed for the first time. My feelings were out of my control. I was not allowed what I considered basic freedoms without a garnishing guilt.

Now, in a much freer position and circumstance, I have been taking advantage of my born-again teenage status. I am allowed to network, have active friendships, invest time in various areas of my life and relationships; whatever I feel like at the time. I have a very accepting boyfriend. My problem lies exactly here. He is the kind who loves me unconditionally, farts and all. And I worry that I am swaying too far in the opposite extreme from where I was before. Am I being too selfish? I have been most disconcerted (in a constructive, pensive way) by how my friends see us in comparison to themselves. Which has been merely solid food for thought. I understand that our own life has to be determined by what we find works best for us. That’s just it. Getting the balance right so that it serves both of us well. An unhappy him makes for an unhappy me, and vice versa.

I am starting to see myself as a grown up. He and I are alone in our world. When we live together, it will be me and him vs the world, using our tools, our habits, our vocabulary, to make sense of the day-to-day and to reach a new kind of harmony together. Alone together.

With that in sight, I think I have been trying to cram friend time and social activities in as much free space as possible, making the most of this ‘freedom’. Sometimes forgetting that the freedom also allows for me to choose to spend time with the boyfriend, should that be my first choice. Which it is. I look forward to him being around in my space full-time. Maybe I can distance myself from these presuppositions enough to gauge exactly what it is I (we) need, to fit in the necessary alone time and also the together time.

Yesterday I came downstairs to the most beautiful bright natural light coming in through our conservatory kitchen. I may have been too cosy the night before to venture out and capture the fresh snowfall, but the next morning I was still moved to do so. So here is a view of our little hidey hole in York that I bet you most keen photographers won’t have noted.

Oh my dearest River Ouse,
How you teem with gulls and booze
And bodies who, now filled with both,
Would surely tell you by their troth
That safety really should come first
At least before one’s competitive thirst
For macho points and gainly attentions
From wenches of ungainly contentions.

Such acts are met with poorly kudos,
The loyalty shy and the respect the crudest

Oh my dark horse River Ouse,
You can keep your gulls and booze.

One thing has occurred to me today – something I feel may explain a rather hungry gap inside my psyche – perhaps my dawdling mind’s submission to the phrase ‘use it or lose it’ is something to do with the fact that, for quite a few years now, I have not been very close with my dad.

Dad and I used to do things together. We disassembled and reassembled computers, studying all the parts, we dug and filled ponds (not just with water, but our very own micro-cultures of weeds and wildlife), we trekked up mountains and he’d tell me (sigh-worthy at the time) stories of his favourite memories that had just been jogged, we picked up dead creatures and fungus and inspected them, we discovered. And when I lived with him, he would be there to answer questions. Whenever they came up for me. If he was at work, I’d ask him later. We would always eat together (He was pretty strict on that point, and having been fed up with the autonomy then, it is a habit I now deem worth taking advantage of while you have it in your power to eat together. The phrase “You’ll thank me later” springs to mind, funnily enough, like everything else that is appearing in my life in twos at the moment. Oh, parental clichés.) We would discuss things; something I always found engaging and fruitful until it started to involve my performances. Something a little too personal there. I have never been good at taking criticism and instead tend to defend mercilessly my clearly rough first drafts of anything. If it’s good enough for me, it’s finished and infallible…

Anyway, I believe that I was far more mentally active when I was little. Maybe it changed when my brother came along and my dad had two little minds to fascinate and befriend. Maybe it happened when I moved away from home. Maybe when I finished my education and moved into full-time work. Disillusionment aside, a lot has changed since I was three years old and had time in a day to demand to be thrown in the air and swing between my dad’s legs, to make a painting with some glue and pasta, to trip to the park and get disproportionately jealous of someone else’s Ribena, despite not even liking it, (Sorry, Mum) to get on with climbing trees when older girls were getting bothered about boys, to write down everything I did in that day because it assumed to be worth an illustrated story. To watch and ponder Chorlton and the Wheelies.

Image from Talkback Thames

I miss these days, but things have changed and they most likely won’t come again. I am going to have to find other ways to re-instill my habits of curiosity and discovery. Time moves on, and whether we’re staggering along behind it or fresh and ready for what’s to come, it’s up to you to keep track of where you are and where you want to be.

Today’s non-task was sorting through my CDs and DVDs. Sorting empty cases, missing discs, unwanteds, etc. This is what happened.

The cases of all the DVDs that Someone stole, that I have finally given up the ghost on and turned inside out for reuse, in a gesture towards moving on.

What sort of freak books paid holiday to do this?

It goes without saying that acting requires this ability to learn and repeat; to have a large arsenal of developed, detailed emotional memories sitting behind an open door. Sounds kind of dangerous. Of course, the other part of that essential quality is being able to turn it on and off. To ‘channel’, lead those emotions through your body to help it do its job on the outside for a capped amount of time, afterwards letting it go back to its cupboard under the stairs and sitting back down on an uncreased seat of mental stability, unaffected by the power you have invited in.

So, are good actors the healthiest minds the world has? To achieve a state of confidence in my own emotional independence, do I need rave reviews for a Rory-Bremner-style impressionist one-woman show? Do I just waitress, perfecting the fourteen tables’ worth of adapted persona-per-customer? I could just get a dog, of course.

Granted, I have more time in there than the Average Joe (although we have one of those there too, and I’m sure he’d agree with that description) and you might argue the elitism of this choice. However, it is not out of your way to fit in two different creative feeds in an afternoon, and the ambience of the sky lounge is perfect for the avid reader. If, like me, you are easily distracted, you might have trouble here; however if you pick something exciting to read that you can easily drift in and out of, you will be perfectly suited to this little haven of peace that overlooks a wide stretch of the River Ouse, and howls and flutters in the rigorous wind that we’ve had so much of recently. With the elements (and pidgeons) so closeby, there is a comforting, cosy kind of freedom felt in this space.

Here, on a dark night, with the wind battling the huge glass panes next to me, I enjoyed this story for the first time.

Picture courtesy of www.york360.co.uk

And if you need a hand deciding what to go and wait for, I would highly recommend The Girl with the Dragon Tattoo.