You may well ask what impact Kindles, relatively late arrivals in the decades of my life, could have on my alphabetical autobiography, and I’m glad you did.

I was given the massively thick Far Pavilions, by M M Kaye, when I was pregnant and although I enjoyed reading it, the bump (known as Trubshaw) objected strenuously to having the heavy book rested on his (we thought) head, and kicked furiously. No worries, I thought, I’ll take it into hospital. Not knowing, at that stage, that my arms would be like spaghetti and my ability to concentrate almost zero.  As a book that weighs nearly 5 pounds isn’t something you can carry in your handbag and dip into whenever you have a few minutes free, it was a goodish while before I finally finished it and for pure physical comfort I haven’t liked very heavy books since.

I resisted the idea of kindles from the start – the price, not being able to turn the pages, being left without something to read if the battery failed – until I epublished my first book.  I thought I’d be able to read it on my computer. Ha. I ended up buying a 2^nd hand kindle on eBay.

That was only a couple of months ago, but I am now a fervent supporter.  Far Pavilions? Bring it on.  Harry Potter, pah,  I could carry the whole series in my handbag.  I AM carrying the whole Lucia series, and what a treat that is, now, if I suddenly find myself having to wait – for a friend, or at a railway station, or an airport – I have 15 books at least to dive into, from novellas for 2 hours distraction, up to a 10 hour marathon. I do, and always will, prefer printed books, but this is so much better an option than I had ever realised.

I’m now starting to replace some of my older books – the ones read so often they are falling apart – with kindle versions, and I love that I can increase the print size when I’m tired, or when the light isn’t great.  I keep an eye on the freebies, and 99c books as well, and often take a chance on them – in fact without spending more than a couple of quid at any one time, I’ve got a whole smorgasbord to try, and can replenish it while I’m on holiday, anywhere in the world.

So you could say that K for kindles also represents stubbornly-held prejudices which need re-examining, because I have no idea where else I’d be able to shoehorn those  into this alphabetical autobiography and I need to remind myself – often – that because I’ve believed something for a long time does not automatically mean I’m right.

I gave myself a 6 month paid break to follow my dreams, and I’ve captured a few and it has been lovely. I had hoped to build up enough of a portfolio to work from home but although that has gone well, and I do have some happy customers and the promise of referrals and more work, it hasn’t yet achieved living wage status, and can be maintained part time. I now have to go job hunting. Just the thought makes me practically tearful, which should make for some interesting interviews.

“So, why do you want to work here?”

“Actually” sniffs and wells up “I don’t, really”  *breaks down in sobs. Escorted gently but firmly from premises*

Anyone know of any jobs where snivelling and occasionally weeping isn’t a bar to success?

My A-Z autobiography – the Indaba Conference Centre    http://www.indabahotel.co.za/

This was quite definitely the most beautiful place I have ever worked, and possibly the most alarming boss I ever had, a fiery and demanding man who never smiled, or even looked pleased, and had been moved from a previous hotel because the entire staff went on strike insisting he be replaced.  When I joined the Indaba team, as his executive assistant, he had been Managing director for just over a year and the staff turnover had soared to over 300%.  No pressure, then.

Actually we got on fine. I enjoyed the job, relished the challenge, and was genuinely impressed by what he was achieving.  Under his impatient but brilliant direction, the Indaba went from a pretty country hotel to a superb international conference centre.   He was very hands on and never a detail escaped his eagle eye – he could run the kitchen, act as chef, run the accounts department, outsell any of the marketing people and he knew it, and they knew it. The very best you could hope for in the way of approval was for his semi-permanent scowl to lift slightly.

The more successful the hotel got, the more it was targeted by hopeful streetwalkers. They were far too afraid of him to venture inside the gates but there were more of them hanging around outside every day and despite his angry demands that security move them on, they were proving impossible to shift. It was, in his opinion, extremely bad PR for his wonderful hotel and finally he couldn’t bear it any more. In his tailored suit, silk shirt and immaculate tie he led a few nervous and deeply reluctant security guards on a mid-afternoon surprise sortie outside the gates. Security guards were one thing – the notoriously choleric MD shouting at them was quite another, and the crowd melted away in seconds.  I was in Reception (everyone who could find the faintest excuse to be there was in Reception) and saw his slightly ruffled but triumphant return from the gate.   He never smiled, but right then he did, for once, look grimly satisfied!

My A-Z autobiography … H is for House and home

Those annoying telesales calls, we all get them, trying to sell stuff – there’s always that moment when they ask ‘are you the home-owner?’

I lived at home until I was eighteen, moved in with a friend who owned a house until I married, and, well, one way and another, always lived in other people’s property until I moved to Scotland.  The property market was just starting to perk up but it was still going to be cheaper for me to buy than to rent, and I invested, very nervously, in a shabby ninety-year-old flat and spent  two years  fixing it up, one project at a time. After two years I sold it, for more than double what I had paid, and bought a very small house.  My very own house!

There’s a quote I read somewhere that middle age starts with the first mortgage.  Instead, I felt and feel quite extraordinarily grown up.  Me!  A home-owner!

Not that I admit that to telesalespeople, of course.

If you leave a comment, please include the link back to your blog, there are SO many blogs competing in this challenge I’m really struggling to get back to friendly readers.

My A-Z autobiography … Elephants end the honeymoon

A highlight of our Zimbabwe honeymoon was spending two heavenly days on an island in the middle of Lake Kariba, even if it did mean dragging ourselves out of bed at an unearthly hour to go on a dawn walk on the second morning. The guide told us the path he would follow was used by several young bull elephants to their drinking hole. If he gave the signal we had to get off the path and under cover immediately – the elephants aren’t dangerous, he stressed, but they aren’t domesticated.

I’m not a morning person, but that walk was beautiful.  Africa is spectacular at dusk but the cool dawn, tendrils of mist soon to be burned off by a blazing sun which is already sparkling in the last of the dew, is a wonderful time to walk.  When the guide hissed “NOW!” I jerked my attention back to my brand-new hubby – only to see him take off at a great rate of knots without a backward glance, vanishing from sight within seconds.  The guide and I crouched under some handy undergrowth,  and I have to tell you, one of those elephants was *this* close – put it this way, he whipped some leaves off our shelter with his trunk on his way past. It was quite an experience.

It did have its effect on the honeymoon.  In fact my heroic (and eventually ex) husband hasn’t lived it down to this day.

My A-Z autobiographical bites.

You probably need to be as old as I am to even remember Dame Beryl Grey. Prima ballerina, first Western dancer ever invited to dance with the Bolshoi Ballet despite the Cold War, who dreamed as a scholarship student of having to save the day at short notice by going on in Margot Fonteyn’s place – and who did, at the age of 14.

She and my mother had been BFF and when she was dancing in Johannesburg as Odette / Odile one year she arranged for me – aged 8 – to be allowed to join the corps in rehearsals for Swan Lake. I dreamed I’d be so brilliant they’d include me as a small, pudgy but astonishingly talented cygnet in the production but not all ballet dreams come true.