50’s: Hades of Gray

Now as you all know I like a good pun, so here’s today’s offering: 50’s, Hades of Gray.  And yes, before you ask, I have ‘read’ 50 Shades of Grey (if you can call it reading) and pronounced it pernicious tosh.  I don’t want to come over all Lady Chatterley on you, but would you let your husband read this?  I wouldn’t.  Yes, it had millions of readers, but I imagine most people picked it up, as I did, out of curiosity: I read a couple of chapters, skimmed a few more and then threw it away in disgust before remembering that it was a library book and taking it back in a plain brown wrapper.

Or a plain grey one…

Here’s a review I posted earlier, just in case you missed it at the time:


But!  Today’s post will focus on the utter nightmare – or Hades -* that my fifth decade has turned out to be.  At 51, I made the mistake of deciding to dedicate my life to writing, and hence headed down the avenue of humiliation and rejection that is a writer’s life.  I burnt my boats because I knew if my boats were there I’d set sail in them, and I never looked back.  And it has been utter crap.

Oh, all right, yes – I did have a bad day yesterday.  My fifth decade – or the six years of it that have so far elapsed – haven’t been that bad.  Yesterday two rejections thunked into my in-box, one of them landing literally hours after I’d sent the bloody thing off.  At least do me the honour of waiting a few days, dammit!  It’s like the scene in ‘The King’s Speech’ where Logue goes for an audition and gets about two lines out before the director shuts him up.


So this has coloured everything grey: from the haircut I had yesterday which now seems horrible (no, I haven’t gone grey – not quite yet) to the simple bike job which I botched and which left me cursing my bike and the whole of cycle-dom.  Plus, I felt unaccountably exhausted, though Mark reckons my blood pressure is much too low.  110/63 I think – or something like that.

I would say ‘roll on my 60th birthday’ except that when my 60th birthday comes I’ll be bloody-well sixty!  And Sue Townsend died at 68!  Which reminds me, today we are going to her funeral.  I’ll let you know how it goes.

Kirk out

* see what I did there?