Pea Arts About

Last week my partner and I went to see Clash , an incredibly powerful and immersive Egyptian drama about protestors from different sides of the conflict trapped in a police truck. I highly recommend seeing it. It was screened in the Gallery at the Tyneside Cinema, a small space with only three rows of seats. As the opening credits began, 2 people came in noisily, sat behind us, and proceeded to talk and munch loudly with open mouths on popcorn. They were hardly at the omniplex to see Guardians of the Galaxy Vol. 2 . I cannot abide, or indeed cope with, that kind of noise. My choices were: Move. Why should I? Plus the noise would continue to be a problem, possibly not just for me.   Have an anxiety attack. Why should I? What would it achieve apart from harm to myself and upset to others? Say something about it. I did the latter. I said aloud, ‘Are you going to eat like that the whole time? Because that’s disgusting.’ The first part was sufficient, and raised a murmur of agre

That annoying moment when you remember yet another soul you’ve forgotten to name in your book acknowledgements... For a few hot, sticky days in Elche, Spain, Calcetines (Socks) the cat was my constant and calming companion. I tend to be wary of cats, and my pennies can take a while to drop. Many’s a time he cried to get into my temporary bedroom and insisted on lying tight against my legs while I edited my book manuscript. After a while he would suddenly spin round and put his paw on my arm. Claws straight in. It took me a while to realize that instead of being a stealthy scratch attack, this wee animal had been showing affection or indicating a feeling of safety. The scratches I incurred on these many occasions were in fact made when I involuntarily jerked my arm away. As I became used to the repeated action and stopped myself from reacting, it was clear Calcetines did not intend to scratch me. He lay his paw on my arm, and looked at me soulfully. He didn’t mean for his c

I tend to put the seat down when I flush. Not just for the sake of hygiene, but because my alter-ego is Captain Disaster, breaker of houses and mortal enemy of the vortex of lost things. Oh, the things I’ve managed to drop into toilets. In June 2013 when I found myself in an accommodation pickle for the second time during my six months living in Aberdeen, my amazing friends Fran and Tom came to the rescue. They still refer to their spare room as ‘Paula’s room’, even to other guests. And how did I repay them? I accidentally remodelled their bathroom. That’s a bit over-dramatic, but I felt terrible about it. The plunger on top of the cistern was a bit loose, and of course – of course – it popped out and dived straight into the flushing water. Of course it did. It didn’t even knock the side of the bowl. I couldn’t have done that in a million years if I tried. I lost count of the times it hit the lid when the same thing happened before, but the one time I threw caution to th