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I’m officially official

SarahAlderson

April 11, 2011

So here it is. My official website people, courtesy of my lovely husband. It’s still in beta but I’m just too excited to wait (wait? what’s that?) and had to share it with you all.

Please spend time perusing the fantasy cast list. I spent many hundreds of hours living this fantasy. It’s only fair that I should share it with you. Though boys (are there any boys out there reading this?) you might find it less interesting. I did throw you one bone in the shape of that blonde chick from Gossip Girl. But girls, don’t worry, she doesn’t get the man.

I got my first review on goodreads as well. From a bookseller at Waterstones no less. And it was five stars. And I didn’t have to pay her. Thank you Thank you.

On another note, my book launch is on August 4th in London so if any of you lovely blog readers want an invite just let me know. Would love to see you / meet you / share a glass of wine with you.

Pay it forward, sideburns and sushi

SarahAlderson

2 comments

April 5, 2011

It’s John’s birthday next week. I took him out for an early celebration on Sunday. We went to buy a drum. But the man is fussier about drums than he is about socks. Anyway, then he got a massage (not from me – don’t be stupid) and then dinner.

I did a search online and thought I’d take him to a Japanese restaurant up the road, not the home cooking place we go to where you can eat for a dollar, not the slightly more upmarket place which does California rolls that I’d sell my mother for but the even more upmarket place further up the road called Minami, where we’ve never been owing to it being upmarket and further up the road.

We arrive, are seated in a beautiful garden and set to ordering bento, sushi, sashimi, cocktails, edamame, the works. And it’s all gorgeous.

John spends most his time looking over at the neighbouring table. I’m like ‘Dude, I’m right here stop looking at the guy with the furry sideburns,’

‘But that’s Stefan Sagmeister,’ John says.

‘Who?’ I ask. ‘He looks like Bill from True Blood.’

‘He’s only one of the most famous designers in the world.’

‘What does he design? ‘I ask, thinking it sure ain’t clothes. And – I wish it was Alex Skarsgard. Or even Bill. I could get him to go ‘sooooookie’

‘Album covers and stuff,’ John answers, breaking through my reverie.

John spends much of our meal staring over at Stefan, in much the same way I would stare if it was Alex Skarsgard. In much the same way I stare at my sake-tini as it diminishes.

At the end of the meal they bring us the bill. And guess what? It’s free. As in. FREE. As in ‘the meal’s on us.’ The owner, the waiter explains, wants to do a pay it forward type of experiment. If every person in the world followed this lead, it would only take 20 days for every person in the world to have something amazing done for them. Though I’m sure some people would be more popular than others and others wouldn’t have anyone do anything nice for them…so how would that work? What did Haley Joel Osment discover? Did it work for him and Kevin Spacey? Didn’t he die? I hated that film. But regardless…

My first thought was ‘wow, that’s amazing!’, my second thought was, ‘if I’d have known that I’d have ordered ten plates of sashimi.’ My third thought was ‘crikey now I have to think of three wonderful things to do for people to pay it forward.’

John and I are working on our big three favours. I’m hoping at least two of his will involve me as the recipient. He says this defies the point.

Singapore; I might need to revise my opinion of you

SarahAlderson

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April 2, 2011

Singapore. It was a year almost to the day that we landed in Singapore after three months in India. It felt like landing in another galaxy far, far away. Everything was so shiny and intergalactic and air conditioned after the noise and dirt and chaos of Mumbai, it was a culture shock unlike any I can recall. I remember crying and almost tumbling to my knees at the sight of Topshop. Of lying in crisp white sheets gripping a tv remote in my hand, a rictus grin of happiness stretched across my face. And HOT water. It was almost too much. I felt like I’d escaped with Michael Schofield out of Sona and been put up in the Ritz.

We’re back again in Singapore. I know, I know I’ve long lamented how much I dislike Singapore. It’s like a city designed by and for Christian Union students. Nothing wrong with that of couse, it’s just not really me. John insists that there’s a whole subculture here that I just haven’t seen, and he does know better (at least on this) because he comes here every week for work – but what kind of subculture are we talking? Is he visiting the hellmouth after work? Frequenting satanic speakeasies?. I’m just going on what I’ve seen from several stopovers. This is a city where they’d put you in front of a firing squad for jaywalking. A city where the number one visitor attraction is the zoo (the lion enclosure). But anyway, needs must. Visa is up for renewal, wardrobe too.

It has been 6 months since I’ve been anywhere a) air conditioned b) where clothing retail therapy is an option not a punishment. And Singapore is a Mecca to the god of shopping, the streets crowded with glistening, glass and steel temples with so many thousands of people prostrating themselves before them it’s like the second coming has been announced on Orchard Road. Forget what I said about Christian Union Students. I’m at the head of the queue for this kind of redemption – soulless, capitalist, shallow heathen that I am.

After an hour and a half I’m experiencing sensory overload. There are too many people, too much noise, too many things to see and do, too many things to try on I’m having a panic, which builds to destructive melt-down levels when Topshop tell me I can only take 3 things into the fitting room. I persevere and end up buying a lot of stuff including trousers that are so inappropriate for tropical climes I’m not sure what I was thinking except ooooh pretty, oooh hareeem, oooh I must have them.

We eat sushi and I stuff myself on masala dosa for dinner and again for breakfast the following day. I drag Alula around 4 enormous shopping malls enticing her with the shining beacon of Toys ‘r us at the end of the journey. We go to the cinema and eat popcorn. At the airport John and I covertly drink some red wine I had forgotten we couldn’t take on the plane (together with 500ml of organic shampoo and conditioner – we didn’t drink that). Then on the after effects of half a litre of quickly imbibed merlot (it’s been six months since a drop of wine passed these lips) Alula and I go wild in duty free.

‘What are you doing?’ Alula asks.

‘I’m looking for the most expensive moisturizer in the store,’ I tell her slathering on some SKII $400 something or other followed by some Chanel eye cream.

‘To buy?’

‘No to utilise.’

We slap on some bright red lipstick and go find John.

‘I don’t want to go back to Bali, I like Singapore,’ Alula says.

‘Oh, no why?’ I ask Alula.

‘Because in Singapore there are lots of shops and you buy me things.’

‘You’re such a shallow consumer.’

‘What’s a spallow spooner?’

‘A shallow consumer is someone who isn’t interested in anything deep or meaningful and who only likes to shop.’

I’m grateful that Alula doesn’t yet know the saying involving a pot and a kettle.

‘Oh, rinky dinky dinky dink, rinky dinky doo, I love you singapore.’ Alula sings all the way home.

I join in the chorus.

Acknowledgements

SarahAlderson

4 comments

March 29, 2011

Acknowledgements This is the acknowledgements page from Hunting Lila (out August 4th). I wanted to share it with all you lovely blog readers in advance. Well all of you apart from that one mean person (you know who you are). This thank you is to all of you lovely, kind people who've been with us on this journey.

Thank YOU!

Bali Spirit

SarahAlderson

2 comments

March 28, 2011

I love that Alula is growing up somewhere so full of magic and wonder. Where she runs around school barefoot, singing songs about love and thanking the mother earth and father sun for her lunch. Where at night she counts geckos not sheep. In the mornings she wakes up and squawks ‘cockadoodledoooo’ at the top of her lungs. Normality for her is putting offerings out for the fairies and stopping to pat the Ganesha and Buddha statues by our door on the way to school.

There are few of the same issues here that plague children back in the UK. There’s little in the way of one upmanship (so far) – when the only toys to be had are wooden drums from the market or cheap plastic tat from the only supermarket. There’s no fashion so to speak so no comparing expensive brands. Hardly any of the kids watch tv so there are no trends to follow – no Bratz dolls, High School Musical (errr actually I have no idea what the latest trend is either). Most the parents living here are eco-conscious, ecstatic dancing, broad-minded joy seekers and the children in their tie dyed clothes, waist length hair and tri-lingual happiness reflect that.

In many ways living here is as perfect a childhood (in our book) as you could give a child. She has us with her almost all the time, has made friends with people from all around the world, is learning another language, is being immersed in a culture which respects the earth and nature and the spirits, is surrounded by nature in her bamboo school and in her house amidst the rice paddies.

But at the same time it’s a bubble world. It’s a tiny part of the globe which is rapidly changing and shifting as Starbucks and the dollar take hold but nonetheless a world which remains a bubble for the time being.

Today at the Bali Spirit Festival, surrounded by many friends and people wearing an astonishing amount of Lycra, Alula ran barefoot and free, squelching in mud, dancing to West African rhythms, stroking snakes, eating ice cream, chanting to Kirtan. And then she was with us one moment and gone the next – yelling something about going off to do some magic.

We found her twenty minutes later sitting in the children’s tent glueing and sticking. When I talked to her at bedtime about not running off ever again she asked why and I struggled with how to explain just enough that would make her understand but not enough to frighten her.

‘Because we worry about you,’ I said.

‘But why?’ she said, and I saw it from her perspective. Why would we worry about her when she’s amongst friends in a place she’s never felt afraid, where all the children are running happily amok?

‘Because it’s relatively safe here,’ I said, ‘but sometimes, in some places, it isn’t safe to do that. You can’t do that in London for instance.’

‘What’s safe?’ she asked.

How do you shatter a four year old’s innocence?

‘Just there are bad people out there and we don’t want something to happen to you,’ I say.

‘A bad person like the person who took daddy’s flip flops?’ Alula asked.

‘Yes, like that.’ I said. ‘And we love you and don’t want anything bad to ever happen to you.’

‘Like the flip flops?’

Growing up in a bubble is wonderful, magical even and I feel sure that it’s the best thing we could do for her. We just have to hope that she isn’t being set up for a massive shock when it bursts, as eventually, one day it must.

hiding out watching the Kirtan

Happiness =

SarahAlderson

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March 25, 2011

Today has been magical. I tried to think what particular thing was making me feel so happy and in the end I realised it was the sum of its parts.

A morning cuddle with Alula where we argued about who loved each other more and I won again (because Alula hasn’t quite understood the concept of plus one).

Eating a cornetto for breakfast (it was a mini one and um we were out of cereal. No we weren’t. I’m lying. I just felt like eating ice cream).

Spying four volcanoes on the drive back from school. Even Mount Agung – the most shy of all the volcanoes on Bali, normally so cloud shrouded that when it does occasionally appear it’s like it’s a spell or an illusion cast for the day and I feel I can wish on it.

Getting to watch an episode of Prison Break at 9am because I’ve finished writing my fourth book so I feel I’m entitled to do what I like at 9am.

Going swimming and just listening to my ipod by the pool rather than pounding lengths trying to work out who said what and who did what in the chapter I’m writing.

Having my front veranda filled with Balinese friends popping by – one of whom then very kindly knocked down the wasps’ nests building in the rafters over John’s desk whilst I cowered behind the door. He then gave the wasp grubs to Alula and Dil to feed to the fish. They thought it was very exciting. So did the fish.

Getting new fish for the pond (I killed the last three).

Managing to say ‘food for the pig’ in Indonesian to the gardener Wayan and have him grin at me AND understand me. Most importantly. And also learning how to say ‘the fish eat the wasps’ (ikan makan tawon).

Coming home and having lula yell ‘satu lagi ‘bu’ at me. ‘One more, mummy!’ (she’s learning!)

Phoning the Taco Casa & Grill and having them answer it thus: ‘Good evening Sarah. How are you?’

Having a friend make me coffee with coconut cream, cacao and spices.

Eating fresh papaya and drinking a whole coconut.

Bumping into lots of people I know just on the way to buy quinoa.

Finally getting around to buying a bookshelf! A home for my stack of dust covered books. Excited doesn’t cover it.

Lying in bed with my laptop and 16 more episodes of Prison Break ahead of me.

too cool for all that fashion shizz

SarahAlderson

4 comments

March 24, 2011

The lady over the road sells clothes. We’re not talking Topshop here. Hell, we’re not even talking Primark. And when we first moved in I kind of had a glance at the random assortment of bintang t-shirts and fisherman’s trousers hanging up, sighed deeply and silently to myself about the fashion vortex that is Bali, and then went and unpacked my suitcases, figuring it was a price well worth paying in exchange for coconuts and Kadek. And it is.

Since then (it’s been 6 months living in the Fashion hinterlands) I’ve actually come to care a lot less about fashion and what I look like. I mean we’re at the stage now where Alula cares more about looking cool these days…

‘But mummy,’ she says once she’s accessorized her morning ensemble, ‘Does it look cool? Because no one at school says I’m cool.’

‘Yes, well darling cool is subjective.’

‘What’s subjective?’

‘Being cool is about not caring what people think of you, because you’re too cool for all that shizz.’

In which case I’m uber cool. I care not an iota of what people think of me (fashion-wise at least, in Bali at least). I’m wearing flip flops two sizes too small for me because someone took mine by accident and I think the ones they took were ones I took from someone else the week before anyway. So at this rate I should get my original pair back in a few days I estimate.

I wear the same manky old vests and ripped jean shorts almost every day. Most days I forgo the bra because as A tells me I’ve got no boobs left anyway. And I’ve given up caring. I like that about here. You can’t wear heels – not unless you want to fall into an open water channel. The most common look in Ubud is the yogi stretchy pants, cropped top over tight abs look. I don’t have the abs for that. I don’t have abs fullstop. And I don’t own stretchy pants (sweaty camel toe ickness).

Last night I went online and thought I’d have a look at what goodies Topshop is offering these days…am going to Singapore next week so this was my recon intel mission.

I looked at the flip flops – $20! But they’re $2 in town. And a dress for 50quid! I sighed once more, then went over the road to the woman who sells fisherman trousers and bought myself a tie dyed t-shirt with a big heart on the front, a white embroidered top – something Star from Lost Boys might wear – and thought ha! as I handed over my 80,000 rupiah. Partly I bought the stuff because Made, the lady who owns the shop always tells me I’m cantik (beautiful) in between telling me that I need to have a boy child, and that everyone thinks I’m cantik. Cantik this, cantik that, cantik hips, cantik face, cantik boobs. I’m like ‘ok, ok you got a sale lady enough with the cantik, get your hands off my boobs.’

This is what I’ve come to. Buying clothes from a woman who sells t-shirts with beer logos on to kids and who wouldn’t know a copy of Vogue if it landed on her lap. Fashion and I are no longer on speaking terms. Fashion is in fact dead to me.

I just tell myself I’m really, really cool though. Too cool for all that fashion shizz.

Keifer's just behind me...

trippy mushroom shirt

The continuing tao of Alula

SarahAlderson

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March 20, 2011

‘I love you in the morning

And in the afternoon

I love you in the evening

And underneath the moon

Oh skiddly dinky dinky rink diddly rinky do

I LOVE YOU’ (Alula sings)

Mummy, I love you, she says.

I love you more, I say.

I love you most, she says.

I love you to the moon

I love you to the moon and back

I love you to the pleidian mother ship and back

What’s that? she asks.

Never mind, I love you to the end of the universe and back

Well I love you that plus one

You can’t. It’s not possible

Why?

Because when you’re a mummy you’ll realize what love really is. I will always love you more than anything in this whole universe.

I will always love you most, Alula argues.

No. One day you’ll have a baby. And you’ll love that most.

Will I have a girl?

Maybe. But you might have a boy.

No. I don’t want a boy.

Well you’ll love it anyway.

I’ll love that baby more than anything in the whole world ever won’t I? More than I love my puppy and more than I love you.

Yes you will. And I will love you more than anything else in the world.

You know mummy, you can’t throw rubbish in the sea because the fishes eat the rubbish thinking it’s food and then they die.

Ok, good to know.

And at school we all put our hands together and think of our favourite colour and then we say ‘whooooooooosh’ and send our colour to all the fishes and the aminals that are feeling sick. They did it to me the other day when Dil hit me in the head by accident.

Memories of an Alula

SarahAlderson

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March 12, 2011

Alula and I are talking over a soft boiled egg and soldiers.

Alula do you remember travelling?

Er, no.

You don’t remember anything – anything at all?

No.

What about living in India – remember the beach? Remember going to school with Dumpie?

Um, no… I remember Egg though. (her first big crush)

What about getting the train in India and we squidged up in a bunk together?

What’s a bunk?

Ok, what about washing the elephant?

Oh yes, I remember that…I think.

Right, what about the tuk tuks? Driving through the streets of Mumbai – remember that?

Oh yeah, tuk tuks. They’re alive.

Well they’re like cars. They’re not alive alive.

YES. THEY ARE.

Ok, whatever. Do you remember going to the zoo in Singapore?

No.

So that whole day I spent dragging you around in 100% humidity until I wanted to cry, you don’t remember?

No. Were there animals?

Yes. What about America? Do you remember Kerrie and Jamieson?

Oh yes, Kerrie, with the long long hair like Rapunzel?

Yes! Do you remember staying with them?

No.

Well do you remember Disneyland?

Oh yeah, we saw Aurora’s castle. Why wasn’t she at home mummy? Where did she go?

I think she went off to get married to the Prince.

But why didn’t they get married in the castle?

Because they had to get married in his castle. What about Australia? Do you remember going there? We rode bicycles around the bay. You were on the back of daddy’s.

Were you too?

No. What about Yosemite?

Yo-what?

Nonno and Nonna meeting us in Malaysia?

No.

All those trains, planes and automobiles?

No.

I’m starting to think we should have just left you at home.

Ini tidak kuning, Lula says. (Translation: that’s not yellow).

I look at her, she’s starting to spout random bits of Indonesian and right after finishing her egg and soldiers she speeds out the house, strips naked and starts running laps around the house in only a pair of pink crocs shrieking happily under a monsooning sky.

Ini tidak kuning she yells.

She might have forgotten the detail of travelling, but who she is, in every moment, is a sum of those forgotten months.

Crazy just got crazier

SarahAlderson

2 comments

March 8, 2011

Right here’s another one for you. You’ll need to be sitting down.

Yesterday my friend shoved a picture in front of my face and told me to stare at it.

‘I’m not much good at these staring until a picture jumps out at you things,’ I said as my eyes went fuzzy. If I was ordered to do a Rorshach test they’d have to invent a new scale just for me.

‘I see an owl,’ I say hoping that will be enough for me to look away and get on with perusing the take out menu.

‘It’s Pleiadian technology,’ she says.

‘What’s that?’ I ask thinking that it must be some new type of psych analysis tool.

‘The Pleiadians come from a star system many light years away and they’ve come to earth to enlighten us.’

‘Is this scientology?’ I ask suspiciously.

‘No,’ she says, ‘It’s true. Look it up online.’

Because if I can look it up online it is most definitely true.

I do though, out of curiosity at just how crazy the world is. And even though I live in Ubud and I know crazy takes many, many forms – from the mildly eccentric (amongst which I count myself) to the outright lockupable psychotic – I still find it eternally fascinating that crazy can always be taken to a new level.

So as to not hold this enlightenment back from all you, this is what I learnt from google and a chosen Pleiadian representative on earth:

Pleiadians are humanoids that come from a planet 500 light years away but in their beam ships it only takes them 7 hours to commute to earth.

Jesus was the son of Pleidians called Gabriel and Mary.

The Pleiadians found earth in 225,000bc and the Intergalactic Federation let them stay here but they all left again around 10 AD (leaving only Jesus behind!)

They live to be 700 years old.

Their mission is to help humans find enlightenment.

‘Are you sure this wasn’t written by a failed screenwriter slash con man?’ I ask.

‘No, it’s true,’ my friend insists. ‘How do you know it isn’t?’

She has a point. It may very well be true. Who am I to say? And if it is true I don’t want them to land and refuse to offer me a trip on their spaceship because of my unenlightened response to their weird pictures and my cynical attitude to those they have ‘chosen’ to be their elective representatives here on earth.

But seriously, if you’re going to choose elective representatives to preach your gospel whilst you sit in another galaxy 500 light years away, why choose someone who so clearly is writing from their own galaxy many ounces of weed away? Why not choose someone like Polly Toynbee (serious, well respected journalist)? Or Oprah (for the popular vote)? Or Richard and Judy (so we could watch them arguing about it)?

The Pleiadians will land along with other benevolent extraterrestrials after the major changes have occured on Earth. When we are in The Photon Band by year 2000, th Pleiadians will bring in Mother Ships to help the survivors of Earth with food and temporary shelter.

They have the technology to grow food immediately on their Mother Ships by using special soil and seeds. The plants grow immediately to full maturity. So people of earth, do not despair, help will be there when you need it. All you have to do for now is keep your body frequency to one of Love, so you can ascend to the fifth dimension by year 2005. You will then become part of the new civilization of light on a planet of light. See you all at the Cosmic Party in the year 2012!

I like to think I’m fairly open minded, and I’m well up for a cosmic party in 2012. I’d also love to be enlightened and meet people from another humanoid race before I die. But I think you might be out on your dates there love so I won’t be packing my bags just yet.