{ Liz Berry: Trucker's Mate. }

Trucker’s Mate
by Liz Berry

The A1 is the loneliest. Four hundred
and nine miles down the spine of the country,
only the firefly of a fag tip to keep you steady.
A man needs some company,
an eye on the map, a hand on the radio.
Ten four, hammer down, breaker breaker.

He made a man of me, rubbed me
smooth with engine grease, taught me how
to pull a flatbed, take an unsigned route,
draw the curtains against the prying eyes
of headlights. As other lorries trundle home,
we push onwards, the road a romance.

I was a kid that first night. Birmingham
to Folkestone. The junctions looping
and racing above us, his hand on my leg.
In the woods beside the lay-by, I pressed my tongue
into the sap of a pine tree as I pissed;
already half in love with him.

Now belly to back in the cab, his vertebrae
like cat’s eyes guiding me down,
I think of the M6 Toll, lined with two million
pulped Mills & Boons; how love is buried
in unlooked for places, kept secret like us.
In the darkness his breath hums like an engine.

{ next question: where are my bras? }

I am still trying to write my femgen entry, and I am still exactly zero words into my count. I decided that I should brush up on recent Spooks in order to kick-start the writing process (I wrote Ziva/NCIS last time and I am just not there enough to do it again; also, someone wrote post-Somalia Ziva fic and it made me cry, so) and so I spent the weekend having a Rosnaissance. As one does.

Plus side: my head is full! Minus side: it is all meta and no fic. WHYYYYYY etc.

I am a ridiculous human being.

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Speaking of Spooks, I have two podfics to post. Um. Eventually. And also I am trying to do A Thing but I am being hampered a) by femgen and b) by my inherent laziness. So. Look out for this Extremely Vague Business! Or not!

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We went out to eat last night because my sister wanted to eat duck. Nice place, but I'm not into Chinese food anyway, and it turns out that no-one in this family knows how to carry a conversation if my sister and I aren't actively pursuing it. That is not only depressing but really fucking typical. I mean, seriously, if we're not starting a conversation, our rents should really be able to pick up the slack. Did not happen. Awkward.

On the other hand: bought the first two volumes of Hipster Who for The Sister as her birthday present. I would have bought the whole season but it's not available yet. Whatever. That's Christmas nailed, eh?

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Part of my work involves sending questionnaires out to the elderly in relation to their finances. This goes about as well as can be expected, but on Friday we got a really, really upsetting response. ( more. )

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Annnnnd I still haven't got a clue what I'm going to write for femgen! Most excellent.