PEN Pals

I have a relationship manager in my bank; I wonder if she does call-outs and will she manage random relationships between me and others or is it just a special one-on-one with her? Because there’s one or ten I’d like managed rather than deal with myself.

She’s been on to me quite a bit recently, a minor issue of policy changes in the bank, sole traders like me can’t have an overdraft if we’re not, em, actually, trading.  In a seemingly effortless series of events she is giving me a loan instead, with, she assures me, super low interest and none of this has involved filling in a form. I need only pop in to sign my acceptance. So in I pop to her office yesterday afternoon for a chat, where I realise she’s up to date on my novel, my tenants, both of them, and sure I thought, why not tell her about the blog as well. Any sign of a possible book deal and my bank manager’s eyes are lighting up with the idea of actual deposits returning to the coffers. She tells me her own blog idea which is quite smart, only she got too lazy. That’s the trouble, you have to put it together every day or so, and suddenly it becomes addictive. There are days when I think absolutely nothing happens, and it’s only when I start to write that I realise how much actually goes on, even just thinking about other people brings rich material.

Last night I went to the Irish PEN dinner in honour of John Banville. I'd never been to this annual bash before and imagined all sorts of aging, erudite and eccentric writers, publishers and agents. I called my favourite taxi man and set off for the Royal St. George in Dun Laoghaire. All was well until I tried to pay him with my credit card and it was declined, oh no, a new crisis, I thought. Forgetting that I no longer have the massive limit I never needed, it had just reached its new low limit. So, thank you, let’s call him Mr De Niro, for discounting my fare.

The dinner was graced by glamorous women, one more glittering than the next and, being a novice in this esoteric world, I was glad to find I knew one or two. Such was the persuasive guile of some of the girls that I may even have volunteered for a committee. Not everyone there was published, some, like me were wondering if they ever would, it is such a bewildering business, but comforting to be part of the great unknowns. 

I sat between lovely women, one a dear friend, with whom I shared the walk to Scoil Bhride when our children were very young, and the other a fetching barrister who really must start her own blog, I suggest Blonde Momshell at the Bar.

Back home, Lodger No. 2 arrived soon after me, I was in the kitchen musing and playing three games of scrabble on line, still in my party dress and big jewellery. I’d say I probably looked relaxed. We had tea and a bit of a chat and next thing I was making him a hot water bottle.

Maybe I won’t feel so bad when I get the opportunity to discuss our parting. I hope.