Swimming lesson. Too dehydrated by poolside sauna experience to write.
Had a fundraising handover session with Angela this morning, going through all the different income streams for the museum and the fundraising applications she’s currently working on. Some of the ongoing funding comes from the local and county council, some from gifts left in people’s wills and some from entry donations and the gift shop. The rest has to be raised from grant-making trusts and organisations like the National Lottery. That’s where I come in. I do really care about the museum and it does some interesting work, but it’s just so much extra stuff to do on top of recruiting and managing the volunteers and managing the admin of the office. I’m just not sure how the trustees imagine I’m going to fit it all in.
I could see Steve smirking at me from his office, but I resisted the urge to get up and hit him with the Big Lottery Fund application, which I thought was very mature of me.
Absolute pain in the arse getting Jess to go to bed. It’s almost as if she lies there, waiting to hear the fizz as I open the tonic water.
‘Mummy!’ she shouted downstairs as the ice clinked in my glass. ‘I’ve got tummy ache!’
I didn’t believe for a minute that she had a tummy ache, it’s just what she says when she doesn’t want to go to bed – a nice intangible ailment that I can’t disprove. I’m always sympathetic when she really is ill, but night-time tummy ache is not one of those occasions.
‘I expect you’re just tired,’ I shouted back up, ‘a good sleep will help!’
In my experience most complaints can be fobbed off with ‘I expect you’re tired’ or ‘perhaps you’re thirsty’. At the very least, making a child drink a glass of water buys you a good ten minutes. (‘You have to sit nicely and wait for the water to work!’)
‘But I feel sick!’ she shouted back. I went upstairs to tuck her in, moving about twenty-seven My Little Ponies from around her face. I’d feel sick if all of those crazy big horse eyes were staring at me as I slept. I’m sure when I was a child that My Little Ponies had normal-sized eyes.
I went to sit down and heard scampering feet on the stairs. A piece of toilet paper fluttered into the living room and Jess shouted, ‘This is how I feel!’ as she ran away again. I picked it up. It had a smudgy picture of a sad face on it, drawn in purple felt-tip pen.
I ignored it for a bit, scrolling through Instagram, trying to remember when I had started following all the people who post pictures of disgusting-looking plates of curry in semi-darkness. Realising she was not making progress, Jess moved on to gently groaning with pain, occasionally crying out, ‘Ow!’
Under the guise of concerned parent, I went to investigate the source of her pain, and concluded that the only way to treat it was for her to take some medicine. I rummaged in the medicine box (old Roses tin) and found some kids’ liquid fish oil – suitably disgusting – and expressed my regret that yes, she would have to drink a whole spoonful.
She had a sniff and decided that probably she felt a little bit better after all; if I would just pass her Rainbow Dash she would go to sleep now thank you.
Eight matches so far on Tinder, but no more messages. I don’t get it – why are these men on a dating app if they don’t actually want to go on a date? Perhaps it’s me. Perhaps they match with me and then take a better look and change their minds.
Number of World Book Day costumes created in a panic the night before – 0. Score! Celebratory glasses of wine at bedtime – 2.
The universe looked down on me today and decided that I needed a break. ‘That Frankie does her best,’ it said to herself, ‘let’s cut her some slack. Let’s make World Book Day fall on a Thursday so she doesn’t have to create a Gruffalo costume from scratch for Jess to wear to nursery.’
While I was waiting for Ian to drop off Jess I counted fourteen teenage girls walk past the house in school uniform and curly hair, carrying wands.
Had a slight panic at Busy Beavers as it’s only one week to go until International Women’s Day and I haven’t exactly planned anything. Louise reluctantly volunteered the fact that she has quite a lot of photographs at home that she’s taken over the years if we wanted to set up an exhibition. She’s a dark horse, that one. I told her I was going over to the bookshop on Saturday and she said that David was having the boys so she would bring some photos and help me set up.
Another woman, who was sitting on the floor near us building a castle out of wooden blocks, chipped in and said that she co-owned a marketing company and would love to come and do a session on social media and branding for freelancers. Her friend turned out to be a local cheese producer and volunteered to speak about setting up and running a food-based business and provide cheese. Other mums started coming over and getting involved in the discussion and by the end of Busy Beavers I had a female blacksmith, an ex-Olympic sailor, a pension expert, and a performance poet. And cheese!
I almost don’t care about the day itself; I felt empowered just being there and being part of that. All of these women, scrabbling about on the floor, picking up discarded raisins and settling squabbles over who gets to hold the maracas, and behind it there’s this throb of creativity and dynamism. It was pretty ace.
Back at home I set about making some posters in Word. Flo looked over my shoulder and physically shuddered.
‘Let me do it, Mum,’ she said, taking the laptop. ‘No offence, but that looks terrible.’
‘I spent ages on that,’ I protested.
‘It’s fine,’ she said, ‘you’re old, you can’t be expected to know about design.’ I must have looked a bit sad because she laughed and got up to hug me. ‘I’m really proud of you for doing this,’ she said. ‘It’s going to be brilliant.’
I lay awake for quite a long time, thinking about work. All of the women at playgroup today were so inspiring, doing things they love without being afraid. Or maybe doing them despite being afraid. I want Flo and Jess to see me doing that too, to be proud of me every day.
Moments where I thought I might have to burn down the bookshop and start again – 1 (significant). Moments when I gazed at my children with love and admiration – many (#blessed).
All three of us went around town this morning, giving out Flo’s posters to the local shops. Grape and Grain, the independent wine shop, loved the idea so much they offered to give us half a dozen bottles of prosecco if we display their banner and give out a few leaflets, so now we have prosecco and cheese. Basically, my dream event.
Then we went down to Chapter One to tell Dylan the plan for the day and to have a look at the room. On reflection I should probably have done this before making all the other arrangements, because it wasn’t quite what I had pictured. In my mind it was a light, airy space with high ceilings and tall windows looking out over the sea. I imagined it full of vibrant women, chatting about their ambitions, sipping prosecco and nibbling a bit of Dorset Blue Vinny on an artisan cracker.
The reality was a stuffy, cobwebby room full of boxes and old display boards. There were windows, but it was hard to tell whether or not you could see the sea because so much junk was piled up in front of them.
Dylan stood behind us on the stairs. ‘It might need a little bit of sprucing up,’ he said sheepishly. Sprucing up? Fuck me. It needed something. Burning down, maybe? I felt my heart sink. How were we going to cover the walls with art when we couldn’t even see the walls? How were we going to fit in a display about modern blacksmithery? More importantly, where were we going to have the prosecco?
‘It’s perfect!’ said Flo, making me love her more than ever. ‘We’ll get this tidied up in no time, won’t we, Jess?’ Jess looked doubtful.
‘There’s a second room through here,’ explained Dylan, manoeuvring himself around a rather intimidating life-size Noddy cut-out and opening a door, ‘so all of this can go in here. I don’t use it for anything else.’
I peered inside cautiously. It was just as untidy, but there was plenty of space. Perhaps we really could rescue things.
‘Honestly, just do whatever you want up here,’ he said. ‘I’m not precious about any of it. I’ll be downstairs if you need me.’ He left, leaving the three of us looking at each other. Flo laughed.
‘Your face!’ she said. ‘I thought you were going to cry!’ I wasn’t sure why that would have been funny. ‘Mum, it’s going to be fine. We’ll just shove all the stuff in the other room and honestly, we can make it look amazing! Jess, you get anything small enough for you to carry and bring it in here – this is going to be fun!’
Three hours later and I couldn’t believe what we had achieved between us. All of the boxes and rubbish had been moved out, revealing a beautiful wooden floor and the tall windows of my imagination. Jess had ‘swept up’, (pushed things around with the broom) – and Flo had found some folding tables and set them up around the edges of the room. The afternoon sun streamed in, making the dust in the air sparkle.
‘Helloooo?’ shouted a voice from the stairs, just as we were admiring our handiwork. ‘Are you up there?’
‘In here!’ I called back and in came Lou carrying a stack of framed photos. ‘What a gorgeous room,’ she said, ‘and a picture rail, too. Perfect. I’ve got loads more in the car if you want to give me a hand?’
She propped her armful of photos against the wall and we all went down to help unload.
An hour later and we were just finishing hanging the pictures when Dylan appeared. He was carrying a bottle of prosecco, a bottle of lemonade and a little stack of paper cups.
‘I don’t know if you drink normally,’ he said (ha!), ‘but I took the liberty of getting a little something by way of a thank you for tidying up.’
‘Dylan,’ said Lou, ‘you’re our hero! Come in and get that prosecco open.’
He set the paper cups out on one of the trestle tables and ceremonially popped the cork. Prosecco oozed into the cups. He poured lemonades for Flo and Jess and we all stood in a circle, cups raised.
‘I would like to thank you,’ I said to Dylan, ‘for letting us invade your bookshop, even though I royally made a fool of myself when I first came to meet you.’
‘You were right, though,’ he said, ‘the place was a shambles, is a shambles, apart from up here now. I needed someone to give me a bit of a kick up the backside. Caitlin would be so cross with me if she could see how I’ve let things go.’
His eyes shimmered and he looked off into the distance for a few seconds. I wondered if we were going to have a moment where I’d be forced to be all caring and sympathetic – sympathy doesn’t come naturally to me – but he took a deep breath and turned his attention back to the circle.
‘I’m so pleased you came in and I’m thrilled to be hosting your event next week. You guys have been just what I needed.’ He looked down at Jess and she smiled up at him sweetly.
‘Can we take some books home?’ she asked.
‘Jess!’ I said.
‘Well, you have too many, really,’ Jess went on, ‘especially in that room.’ She pointed towards the door where we’d stacked Dylan’s boxes, sloshing lemonade on the floor as she did.
‘You can definitely take a book home,’ said Dylan, ‘as a thank you for all your hard work.’ Jess beamed. ‘Maybe finish your lemonade first, though?’
(Question: is blacksmithery a word? It sounds weird.)