A sea of changes, an ocean of resistance and surprises from an old friend

I feel worn-out from a day in which I have sought to achieve more than was ever going to be possible, but nonetheless have made progress.  Much to the consternation of some.  It was always going to be difficult, having to put my foot down to some meet-ees and actually say, "no, this is not how it's going to be anymore."  I cannot afford to provide favours for all and sundry and keep my rates to an acceptably lowly 'female helping profession' kind of level any longer.  The saying, "no" part has come easier in many ways, than I expected.  Czechs prefer you to be clear, not wishy-washy so saying an outright, "I cannot continue with this" is preferable to, "I don't think I'm going to be able to continue" and is exactly what I needed to say.  This has by and large been accepted without quibble.  After all, a clear, "no" leaves no room for negotiation.

Asking for what I need from new, 'met-once but not established into the timetable' meet-ees has been a little bit harder.  So has asking for what I need from friends who thought they could have endless favours and fashionable amounts of freedom to come and go as they please.  But it is all necessary and worth it in the long run to actually clear my timetable of so many hours of dead time where I'm virtually drawing blood from a stone and barely getting paid enough to allow myself to eat and drink healthily that day.

So, enough is enough.  I'm being 'reasonable but firm' about what I can and can't tolerate.  And I'm trying to work around problems as they arise and see if I can knock down the most persistent and pervasive ones.  The next hurdle is another visit to the bank.  My favourite thing.  Camping out in an over-the-top affluent-looking waiting area with a fountain no less, waiting for my number to come up on a screen, not only makes me think I must have ended up on a stopover in bankers' heaven but makes me spit with fury at what nonsense they're spending my banking fees on.  If I spent my meet-ees fees on champagne and oysters, it would be close to the equivalent of this I suppose.  (Mind you, champagne and oysters would actually be rather nice and a definite 'pick me up' for my otherwise lethargic and melancholic state, whereas an indoor fountain and wood panelled 'pods' to either sit and wait on or stand and write at, offer no such succour.)

And so it is that I find myself at the end of this long and busy day of once again trying to achieve the impossible, sipping hot chocolate with coconut liqueur and marvelling at the surprises that have befallen me today.  Namely, a parcel I collected from the post office from the Russian Countess, containing a stash of chocolates, including a chocolate covered marzipan bar I had wanted to buy myself over Christmas but ran out of money for, some German champagne truffles, a lovely traveller's notebook and a card with sentiments expressing some unfounded belief in my achievements.  I can only stare in amazement at such luck and cherish the thought that there is someone out there who thinks that the work I do, the stuff that so far seems to have no commercial value whatsoever, is somehow highly significant and is revered by another creative soul.  That warms the cockles of my heart better than the hot chocolate.  And that is truly saying something because I'm becoming something of a hot chocolate fanatic these days.

The 'donate' button and other emotionally blackmailing things

It's a miserable day here in Praha.

And that's not just how filthy my windows are.  (Though they are rather dirty, aren't they?)

I'm wondering why she's so desperate to live up to London's reputation.  Somehow, in the midst of all this horrid weather and after a tough evening's meeting with a guy who seemed to think it funny to suggest bigamy was a good and, get this, "natural" idea, I am reaching breaking point.  ,,Tak dost!"  I have had enough of getting nowhere, being treated like a low-skilled manual worker and being paid the equivalent of a trained monkey, I am 'making some changes around here...'  Which all sounds, quite frankly, rather frightening.  So get a mug of Lapsang Souchong tea and a biscuit and hear me out...

I've put a 'donate' button on my page (and am currently wrangling with the paypal people to sort out linking my bank account to it properly because it's being difficult, but hopefully that can be resolved one way or another) because I just thought I should let it sit there and see what the faeries bring.  On the other hand, if the forces of nature and the universe in all its wisdom (or whatever) have treated you favourably lately and you find yourself in a period of financial abundance, people are free to offer a little donation-ek (if we're going to Czech-ify it) to help me find time to go to a cafe and write, or even buy a magazine or a book to read and help me amble along with this attempt at creative writing (or humourless drivel, whichever way you see it) for many more weeks to come.

If it's any incentive at all, I'll make a note of any donate-ees and I promise to email them an original and previously unpublished piece of writing of mine as well as a scanned copy of an original piece of my loosely-termed 'artwork' as a thank you to whomsoever sendeth the donation-ek.  The amount is entirely up to you to decide on.  

If you want an 'adopt a goat in Somalia' - type low-down, here's a quick guide: 

£1.40 buys Ms Platform Edge a coffee in the bookshop cafe

£1.60 covers the extravagance of a hot chocolate instead

£10 (yes, sadly, it's that expensive here) will buy her an imported UK or American magazine or novel.  

And if we're really pushing the boat out: 

£17.60 enables Ms Platform Edge to cancel a peak-time meet-ee so she can have almost two hours (as the meeting would be an hour and a half, the preparation about 20-30 mins) of precious writing time, instead of having to present and prepare things.

(Oh and, the delightful paypal people, in their infinitely superior business acumen to me, charge me 20p plus 3.4% on all transactions.)

I trust this may be the beginning of things moving onwards and upwards for all of us in these dark and chilly days.   But if not, I'll just go and make another cup of Lapsang Souchong tea and whine quietly to myself about how little I earn while eating too many pepparkakor biscuits.  It's ok.  No, really.

"La Chaleur c'est le premier confort."

I have some friends who have a second home in a village in France, where this message hangs above their kitchen door.  And it's true.  I remember once watching a natural history documentary about mammals, where a cluster of rodents snuggled up together to sleep, and the narrator suggested that this is what love is for animals.  Warmth.

'Topení', as the Czechs call 'heating', does make a huge difference when winters are this bitterly cold.  I'm so glad I've got it this year!  That's one of the main things that makes being in the Czech Republic a step up from the UK.  Any musician, artist, actor or other breadline earner will tell you: heating in the UK is at a premium.  Almost no-one can afford to have it on constantly.  It's shockingly expensive because it's appallingly inefficient and wastes money on gas or electricity bills designed to put even a reasonably paid professional into inescapable debt.

But here I am, in a country most consider to be a little stuck behind the times, due to its communist history, and yet, it is keeping me warm even though it's -9 degrees centigrade out there.  In London I would have been wearing 7 layers and still freezing, carrying a hot water bottle around with me to try to cope.  And don't even start on what the experience of having a shower at 6.30am was like....Dear god, I am so lucky I escaped that.  So little heating, such luke warm water...

Here, I have a bathroom that although distinctly devoid of natural light or modern fittings, is hot.  I mean, HOT.  It's like a sauna in there.  To the point that I can no longer rely on my previous method of seeing whether the water was definitely coming out hot, by looking for the steam coming off it.  No.  Here, the steam comes off me only when I venture out of the bath and into the corridor.

Nonetheless, it is a bathroom vastly enhanced to the higher echelons of luxury when equipped with a chilled glass of champagne (which I obviously have to drink rather rapidly, before it becomes warm champagne) a few chocolates and some books or magazines on the small wooden chair employed as a table beside it.  

However, right now, I think a finely grated 70% cocoa real hot chocolate drink is in order.