Lara's Half-Baked Blog

Posted by Lara Masters at 19:33 on 24 Nov 2009

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Lara's Half-Baked Blog; some of the greatest wordsmiths of all time get writer's block OK?!

This was a difficult blog to hatch and frankly I don't think it ever fully took.... I'm blocked. I sit down to write but immediately have to turn away from the keyboard as if it's a glaring sun; my hands beating at my brow, trying to shake out words that are dammed up, held back, contorted by some vapid yet ungiving force.

Okay, so I'm already sitting down and my hands aren't so much beating my brow as occasionally nudging away some errant strand of hair but my mental anguish is in no way diminished just because I haven't chopped my ear off. If I did have the dexterity to wield a pair of scissors, I can assure you I'd have given my hair a damn good trimming by now and possibly even a fringe.

My gloom is a spin-off from having  recently had my birthday (the 11th of the 11th  Armistice Day Oh The Irony). Usually, I have a party, thereby providing an opportunity for my friends and family to lavish me with gifts and finery but this year I didn't feel like celebrating (plus I had already bought myself  the 5 corsets and Sony E-reader I wanted.)

The birthday blues befell me because at this mortality marking moment, I looked at my life (not recommended) and saw a series of  unticked boxes; just a checklist with tumbleweed rolling across it. That's not to say my life is empty, but a busy life is not the same as a full life and I seem to be living almost completely in a pastiche of unforeseen and unanticipated situations, not things that I intended to manifest. If we really are the creators of our reality, then I'm doing something dreadfully wrong but I don't know what it is.

I realised that no amount of gorging myself on cake would make me feel any better but I gave it a go anyway and actually, whilst stuffing my face with chocolate gateau, Victoria sponge and strawberry tarts I temporarily forgot my general malaise in my sugar-induced coma, but then comes that awkward point when your P.A says no, you cannot have any more cake. 7 slices is more than enough, yada yada yada. God, it's not like I'm asking her to score drugs for me (which apparently is a no-no too, making me wonder who exactly is the boss here?)

I guess that from the above photo, you don't see a particularly tortured soul but a girl nestled in a scrum of All Saints, happy as a pig in muck. It's okay if you like that being-smothered-in-gorgeous-celebrities type of scene and I won't say I didn't enjoy having Nic Appleton jumping into my lap and throwing her arms around me as generally people are a bit shy of leaping on me unless they have ulterior motives. And in such cases, I usually discover that they haven't even bothered to consider the issue of wheelchair access in their sordid fantasies which leaves me colder and more unmoved than my paralysis and their lewd suggestions combined. Honestly, if you're hoping to drag a girl back to your lair and she happens to be a wheelchair user, no talk of manacling, whips or unfeasibly large phalluses says disgusting, ignorant bigot like the oversight of access requirements.

Anyway, back to my birthday bunkum; I like to think I'm someone who always tries to see the silver lining so I take comfort in the thought that although I ‘m not remotely where I hoped to be in my life by now, there is no guarantee that even if I was able-bodied I'd have won an Oscar and married Johnny Depp. I mean, it is possible I may not have. Plus, you get absolutely no sleep when you have babies, even if they are Johnny Depp's...

The more I think about it the more it dawns on me that that wasn't mere tumbleweed meandering over my wasteland of a checklist; that, my friends, was what is known in the biz as a lucky escape. God I totally love my life.

 

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