Yo Cath – I’ve been asked who you are! It’s kind of funny because I never thought anyone would actually read my blog, apart from you, when you could be arsed. Which is to say never.
So I was trying to work out a way of explaining you and this is what I came up with.
Cath is one of those kinds of friends who are very special but who feel absolutely nothing to put you in your place and tell you you’re writing trash or to pull yourself together or laugh hysterically at you when you think you look nice but are actually some way off the mark.
Cath is the kind of friend who doles out the slap when everyone else is dishing out the sympathy and chicken soup. Which isn’t to say she doesn’t have a supply of chicken soup on hand, she’s just stingy with it. So when I have a problem I go to my friends selectively and when I’m starting to feel I can cope with, or need, a dose of ‘Get real’ I go to Cath.
Cath is a better friend to me than I am to her – she’s quirky, has a great sense of style, has phenomenal taste buds, only has to see a face once to remember the person where I can live next door to someone for a couple of years before I recognize them and only if I am paying attention. She’s much cleverer than she thinks she is, and runs three of her own businesses. All at once. One is safe, one is really off the wall and the last is a risky and daily adventure that she drags me through.
She’ll often be the one to call me so she’s better at maintaining friends than I. Where I have a tendency not to want to bother them or intrude, she doesn’t worry about silly stuff like that. Bit like a cat, she’ll sit on your book when she wants attention – who cares if you’re at the nail biting bit – you can always read it later – right now she wants attention.
She lives six thousand miles away from me and we’ve known each other for over twenty five years. We’ve travelled together, lived together, worked together and shared some dreams and made plans to change the world.
Cath and I started writing to each other in a shared blog some time ago, I’d write, then she’d write. It was great fun and I really enjoyed it. Then her cat died and time ran away. She didn’t feel like writing and I suddenly realised I’d been doing the writing for weeks and Cath had fallen by the way side.
But I kept writing to Cath because she keeps me real.
When I feel sorry for myself Cath tells me to put a sock in it. When I get all flowery with abundant adjectives and flowing superlatives, Cath nips it in the bud. If she was reading something she considered smultchy she’d send me one of those little green text icons of a smiley being sick.
So writing to Cath is my personal reality check.
We spoken about writing a book together, with a lot of laughter. At one point we decided we should write an erotic novel and become multi-millionaires over night then we realised that perhaps talking about intimate sex scenes might be taking things a step too far!
So she has her book inside her head, the one she wants to write about Jules and the game ranger. I have my book ideas, all of which she laughs heartily at.