Lunch Break Scribbles: The Naivety of Youth

As well as other things taking shape in my life I’m also enrolled on a writing course, for which I have to submit exercises as well as sections of my novel for review. Each exercise is marked in isolation, so it’s great for giving me the freedom and discipline to write hyper-fiction (self-contained stories less than 1000 words in length).

One weekday lunchtime at work (i.e. in an hour) I wrote “The Naivety of Youth”, a first draft of a story that places sensory experience at the heart of scene setting.

While not the finished article, I wanted to make a point of how important regular breaks are. I hear so often people say that they’re either too busy or they simply don’t know what to do with themselves so don’t take the time out.

In the UK you are entitled, by law, to an unpaid break by your employer (length dependant on your contracted hours). Don’t squander the opportunity to look after your mental health, if I can write the below in an hour, then there’s no excuse! You’d be amazed what you can achieve in even thirty minutes.

**

The Naivety of Youth (First Draft)

Declan landed three hard knocks on the chipped plywood door. The sound bounded around the room behind, a hollow chamber of noise swiftly chased by the crackled voice of the flat’s tenant.

                ‘I’m coming, I’m coming!’

                There was the jingle of a chain and a shunt of a bolt before the old woman pulled the door open ajar to greet her visitor.

                ‘Who are you?’

                ‘I’m Declan, I recently moved into the flat a next door…’

                ‘What are you selling?’

                ‘I’m not selling anything, I just…’

                ‘Then why didn’t you ring the doorbell?

                Declan glanced to the left. The doorbell of which the lady referred to was caked in deep dirt and grime, he hadn’t even been aware of its existence.

                ‘I tried but it didn’t work,’ he lied. ‘Thing is, I’ve been relocated here and I don’t know anyone. Can I come in? I’ve got some leftover cake from work.’ He lifted the cheap blue bag, its colour imposing on the dark brown corridor it swung against.

                The old lady looked the man up and down several times and eyed up the bag before grumbling and permitting Declan inside. Using her walking stick for support, she waddled across the square room and flicked on a light switch before approaching Declan and making a gesture at the bag. He politely handed it into her vicious grasp that made the plastic scrunch up in recoiled submission. As she headed toward the kitchenette Declan decided to make himself more comfortable and placed a hand on a sofa that faced an old box TV set.

                ‘I’m sorry, I didn’t catch your name?’

                ‘Ruby!’ Came the muffled response. The lady was too busy staring into an empty cupboard.

                ‘It’s a…err…nice place you’ve got here…’ Declan lowered himself onto the collapsed sofa, his bum tensing and reshuffling momentarily when he happened upon a broken spring.

                ‘Don’t try softening me up, boy, I know it’s a dump.’

                Ruby placed the half-eaten cake on the stained coffee table and shoved a plate into the hands of Declan. Even though it had the appearance of being clean it still felt sticky beneath his fingers.

                ‘Is this what you call a welcome gift?’

                ‘Well, I did say it was the leftovers from work.’

                ‘You never said such thing!’

                ‘I’m sure I did?’

                ‘Are you calling me a liar now?’ Ruby took the cake knife and jabbed it toward Declan. Declan instinctively jolted backwards in such speed the firm backboard of the chair cracked with the impact. Ruby cackled at the scene just as Declan bent forward in pain.

                ‘I’m not gonna stab you! Young people, so gullible…’

                ‘I’m thirty-four years old.’

                ‘You’re young,’ Ruby said decisively. ‘Now, eat this cake I’ve made you.’

                Declan decided to not challenge Ruby’s assertion, deciding that acceptance was an easier path to take. As he bit into the stale sweetness of the baked item he became aware of how dry the air was in the space between he and Ruby. It sucked whatever moisture was in his throat, it burned at his eyes. When he helped himself to the water jug he found the result even worse; the chemically treated liquid tasted of metal mixed with cleaning fluid as it fell down his gullet in haste. The air dried where the water scorched, the two worked in unison to make the effects of the other worse.

                It was when Declan stopped to look at Ruby that he realised the old woman hadn’t said a word this entire time, nor had she tasted the cake. Instead she’d quietly sat in her faded floral armchair; knife resting on lap, an unnatural smile playing on her lips.

                ‘Do you like the cake?’

                Declan suddenly fell to the floor, scrabbling at the stained beige carpet. With his knuckles he pushed back the rag rug and saw for the first time large red patches of stained blood under it. As he gasped and spluttered Ruby kicked him back so the rug returned to its rightful place.

                ‘I keep a tight ship around here, boy, one of which being the importance of keeping the flat next door clear of people like you.’

                Declan tried to utter a response, a plea, but nothing came out.

                ‘P…p…p…’

                The frail, tiny lady towered over Declan, watching and observing his slow demise. It was only sometime later a clanging buzz pieced the stillness of the room.

                ‘Open up!’ Boomed the deep voice.

                Ruby looked from the direction of the noise back to Declan’s tangled body. The corpse’s blood had started dribbling from his nose, falling onto the carpet with a muted pat, pat.

                ‘I told you,’ she stated flatly. ‘You should have rung the doorbell.’

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Buy Me A Coffee

I’ve been writing for five years, during which time I’ve been amazed by the level of joy it brings to people like you.

As it stands I make a loss from MHAM. Why? I pay money to WordPress (website platform) to maintain my domain and remove adverts but, because I don’t earn anything from writing, this blog is a vanity project.

Buy Me a Coffee (BMC) is a platform that allows people like you to make one off donations to support creative types like me to do what they love most. All the money I receive will be taken with many thanks and love and then reinvested back into my website’s maintenance and/or (future) publishing fees as I work on my first novel behind the scenes.

 

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The Morning I Re-evaluated my Relationships with Men

(This post continues from The Time I Discovered I was a Dominatrix…At Speed Dating)

***

The following morning I received an email from the dating facilitators to announce that the tick system was now open for submitting my yays and nays. My two friends submitted their ticks within half an hour of the email coming through alongside nearly all of the guys. I however felt strangely disengaged with the idea of rushing to make my decision, I already knew what my responses would be.

Other than Mr Dominatrix, the man who thought (and failed) to weird me out, everyone had submitted their responses by 20:00. I was sat cross legged with my laptop resting on my calves, donning my Gap jogging bottoms and a baggy Southampton hoody (the one someone gave me in the back of a disgusting nightclub in my student days, but that’s another story). I set my cup of tea down and opened up the laptop.

My likes and dislikes were completed swiftly and without much thought. No, no, no, no, no… I ticked no to all the eleven men I’d been on speed dates with the night before. Next came the mild curiosity to find out which, if any, of the men had liked me. To find that out all I had to do was hit the big submit button. The system tried to get me to rethink my decision but I overruled it. The men had all been pleasant enough, but Alice just was not interested.

Submit.

I opened up the next screen to see five guys had ticked yes to me. Five guys that would either be gutted or indifferent that the feeling wasn’t reciprocated. Three of the five guys had also ticked yes to one of my other friends which led me to believe in the age of quick hit love they’d get over me pretty quickly. My friends and I were all were equally fine with sharing updates and matching,texting and dating overlapping men (or in my case taking my off-casts). The girl chat continued late into the night and I went to bed content that at least my two friends had better luck than me.

I woke up the next morning and underwent the normal routine to get myself in the right mental state for work. I logged onto my work laptop at 7:55 with a strong Americano in hand and pulled myself, sip by sip, into a mental state fit for work.

I made it to mid-morning before I started reflecting on things outside my work. I started thinking about my dating life, about how in Swindon it was non-existent and how in London it was over-existent. How repetitive and tedious the dating apps were, what with all the constant swiping and then, assuming you even got any matches, how tediously dull the small talk was only for people to disappear, blurt out something inappropriate or stand you up on a date. All things I’d experienced far too often in the past year. Most of all how much time I was wasting on something completely unproductive and unfulfilling.

The writing had been on the wall months, if not years. I’d already been banned from apps Tinder and Happn after trying to convince too many men to read my blog (causing me to be wrongly reported as a bot or fake profile). I’d become fatigued with the premise and the creepy men that I actually took the bans as a blessing in disguise.

I’m single but happily so. If I can buy and run a house by myself, go on holiday by myself, have fun with my existing friends then why trawl through the 4am matches in desperation to find someone just to validate I mean something to someone? Some people have insecurities and need to hop from relationship to relationship, and good for them. But for me my independence means so much that the idea of losing that makes me do this inside:

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(Not an attractive look on dates.)

So why on earth am I trying to force myself into a serious relationship? Why am I digging out and enhancing photos to make myself look more appealing? I know I’m awesome so why am I trying to make men see that from just a handful of photos? And the same for men – who gave me the right to judge men in a similar vein when I’ve always said it’s not how I would find or build a connection with anyone – man or woman, relationship or friend.

I want to do more with my life while I can, I want to write more, do more, be more. I want to think “wow, I did something good this evening” or have a lazy, evening where I can watch rubbish TV guilt free, instead of beating myself up because I didn’t get any matches on Bumble.

That has settled it, I’m deleting the dating profiles, removing the apps and focusing on me. I’m not saying I’ll never return to dating apps and I’m certainly not about to become a nun, but right now I need the detox. If someone happens upon my path then I at least know it’s natural and, dare I say it, fate.

I’ve signed up to a writing course and am now dedicating my energies into that alongside my career, Swindon 18-30 and volunteering at my local Samaritans branch. I genuinely won’t/don’t have the time for time wasters.

Watch the clip below. Right now I’m Owen Wilson’s character but with time and dedication I want to become more like Corey Stoll’s (aka Hemingway).

I wrote this and The Time I Discovered I was a Dominatrix in mid June so by the time you read these I’ll already have removed myself from proactive dating and be very much stuck into my writing course. If for the time being I don’t post as much on this blog, you know why.

Lets make this work, because I can.

In a bit, AEB x

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While You’re Here

I like doing what I do and it always makes me smile when I hear that you like it too. Presently no one pays me for my writing (be it for MHAM or freelance) and while I fully believe in the principles of hard work in an ideal world I’d like to earn a little something here and there to fund my coffee-spilling habits. The more people read my writing the more likely I am to get somewhere.

 

How you can help!

If you enjoy my work please, please, please:

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And finally…

…a massive thank you to everyone who is already a subscriber/liker/follower of My Housemate’s a Mermaid. Since I started back in 2014 your support has meant a lot to me and is the sole reason why I’ve continued doing what I do. You’re all mother-flipping awesome humans.

Amsterdam Calling

Some people wake up after a heavy night on the tiles unable to remember what they did the evening before. Not me though, no, no, no. In my kooky world I send letters to people and completely forget that I’d even written them, let alone what I’d written. That’s normal to me.

Take this recent letter for example sent to none other than the Amsterdam Tourist Board shortly after returning back to the UK post city break in the Dutch capital.

Dear Sir or Madam,

At any given time there are three things you need to know about me: 1) I do not have any fingerprints, 2) it is not a proper cup of coffee until I have spilt it everywhere 3) I used to share a house with a mermaid.

Curious? I would be.

It is a funny old situation when one chooses to travel alone. In this day and age you would have thought ‘fem power’ would have made it perfectly acceptable to exclaim to the world “I am a single female and happy to travel in my own company!” Instead of getting the weird looks I did at 08:00 at Kings Cross station. But then again I used to think it was normal to request a cake that just fallen to the floor if it meant I got a 50% discount (turns out there is this thing called ‘Food Standards’ that prevents that sort of thing happening, sigh).

I am probably setting myself out on the wrong foot, so let me backtrack a little. Less than a month ago I decided I was done with Brexit but also desperate to explore somewhere before the border gates went onto lockdown. Having also visited Bruges the November before I made the decision to hop onto the Eurostar once more and enjoy a four-day retreat in the Dutch capital. There was no strong reasoning behind the location, it was close to hand and I heard you guys had some awesome cultural shizz going on over there. I booked my tickets and excitedly looked forward to my arrival in the centre of Amsterdam.

I do not know how but five minutes after arriving I think I got high. In hindsight this does not surprise me much, given the only thing I have ever attempted to smoke was a cigarette in the beer garden of a nightclub in 2015 and that ended disastrously. At the time however I did not know what to make of all the smokers and the loud British people (by the way I am sorry all our men are loud, if I could stop them I would), so that by the time I found my hotel I was quite exhausted and wondering what on earth I had signed myself up for. Ever been to Bruges in Belgium? Amsterdam is probably the complete opposite as cities go (I would advise not pairing your tourist offices).

However, that being said over the course of my time in Amsterdam I had such a wonderful stay and the weather was glorious. I took great smugness as showing off my sun tan to my English friends on my return, especially when I heard they had experienced a lot of rain in my absence (in the UK it is common courtesy to discuss and compare the weather at length – true fact). I went to so many places and almost on every occasion the locals made me feel incredibly welcomed and wanted, despite being I suppose out of sorts with the groups of drunk men, loved up couples and stoned gap year students. I went to far too many places to list in this letter however I have created several light-hearted videos for my blog page, My Housemate’s a Mermaid, which I would encourage you to watch (I would attach them here, but unfortunately technology has not quite caught up yet to let me print off videos – still waiting for Apple and Google to pitch that idea to investors).

Yours Faithfully,

Alice E. Bennett

Now I’d completely forgotten I’d sent that on 23/04/19 until last week my inbox lit up with the following message.

Dear Alice,

Thank you for your letter. I read it with great pleasure, as it is a rare phenomenon these days. That is probably why it only reached me yesterday. It was, however, a bit of a disappointment that when I get the odd physical letter, it is not hand written 😉

What you ask or offer is not entirely clear to me, but I have watched your travel vlog. I enjoyed it, but it’s a too personal perspective for us to share. But I invite you to follow our social media channels and share what you feel like sharing with us. Who knows we’ll be a match in the future.

Thanks for your letter, keep up the writing and blogging and enjoy it. And of course we hope to see you in our beautiful city in the future. Just give me a heads up – preferably hand written with a fountain pen on parchment paper – and I’ll make sure we’ll have a little welcome gift ready for you in our store.

Regards/Vriendelijke groet,

Bas Timmermans, Editor in Chief Online

So there you go, one step closer to becoming a global brand and coincidentally one step closer to visiting Amsterdam again just for a mystery gift.

MHAM FAQs

Because I get a lot of “what inspired you to start writing?” and “what motivates you to be creative after a long day’s work?”, here are some of the reasons I started writing and why I write now. In short, I’m fed up of answering the same questions and I’m now too lazy to respond to them. Read this instead.

 

Q. What Made You Start Writing?

A. I was debating which multipack of loo roll to buy one evening and I decided to start a blog. (FYI I bought the larger pack which was on offer – I had more toilet paper than sense, but I was the smuggest housemate that Winter.)

Q. How Did You Come Up With The Title?

A. I was walking back from the supermarket and thought it up. It also helps that it is/was a true statement and I’d been using “I live with a mermaid” as an ice breaker for months before.

Q. Had You Ever Written Before?

A. Other than for educational purposes, no, not really. I mean there was one time in university when I tried to start a blog about the adventures of a Pineapple in a party hat…

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…But then I quickly realised that Pineapples go off and are relatively expensive to replace (as fruits go). I also don’t like Pineapple so the fact we shared a room together naturally got a little awkward, especially towards the end when it started to rot. Also Instagram happened.

In all seriousness though, I think because I was doing so much essay writing and constant research it completely drained any creativity I had in me, the thought of returning to a keyboard for pleasure seemed crazy, if not impossible, at the time. Now that I’m not writing 10,000 word dissertations it’s easier to make the time for type work in my free time.

Q.  Where Do You Think Your Writing Style Comes From?

A. No idea, I think I’ve always been a bit kooky (see Pineapple example above), but then before I started blogging I never had an output for it. Turns out when I started doing that I realised I wasn’t as bad as I thought.

Q. Why Do You Write?

A. It may be a shocker for some, but often I writing as a form of procrastination. One night it could be that I don’t want to wash my hair, another time it could be linked to an email I’m putting off. Right now I’m completely starving, I haven’t eaten since 4pm, but I’m typing away because I’m putting off making dinner. It’s very typical for me to type and type and be completely unaware how late it is or how hungry I am. I’ll only discover it when I stop typing and hit the Publish button. In short, I write because I’m too lazy to do anything else.

Q. How Much Time Do You Spend Per Piece?

A. Varies. The maximum I’ll spend is two hours, but those are bigger posts which feature a lot of imagery or video links. Less than that is the goal, with most pieces getting the bare minimum amount of editing (unless it’s a particularly creative piece). In my mind’s eye it used to take me about two hours to write a first draft of a 2000 word History essay, so I apply the same approach to my writing. If I was paid I’d obviously invest more time in it, but in the wonderful, sparkly, world of WordPress no one gets paid for setting up a free account.

Q. What Do You Listen To When You Write?

A. Classical or I type in silence. Anything else is a distraction.

Q. Would You Write For Someone if They Paid You?

A. I’m currently working full-time but if it was on a freelance basis, sure. I’ll consider anything.

Q. Are You Planning On Writing a Book or Something more Substantial?

A. I keep doing dribs and drabs for books but I want to get more invested into them. The truth is I find it easier to blast out a blog post in a couple of hours and get the immediate feedback as opposed to spending months/years working on something which may take longer to gain gratification from (if at all!) Basically me writing this is distracting me for being a famous author. Gee, thanks guys!

Q. Anything Else To Add?

A. No, not really. I’m sure people will comment below if I’ve missed anything off.