Hi everyone,

This time it's slightly sad news. My lovely project, recording memories, has fallen flat on its face. The old people suddenly decided that I was going to write books with all their memories in, and become rich on it, so they asked for the tape to be wiped clean. I'm really disappointed because I'd been wondering if we could involve museums, and perhaps put together a book for them - but the idea of profit in my line of work is a bit of a joke. Money is not what drives me, and a collection of people's memories is never going to be a big seller. It would probably have pleased their families though.

I felt very sad after hearing their thoughts. Sometimes I feel as if my life is a constant attempt to give to people, and most of the time they don't want what I have to give. I think I should just focus on writing my books, but I must admit that most of my workshops do go well, and then they do enrich me as well as the people I am working with. I'm not talking about material enrichment though. I suppose spiritual is the closest word to what I want, though I am deeply wary of using the word. In one sense it does feed into my writing, so perhaps there is a grain of truth in their suspicions, but it is only in the way that all human interaction does. Everything goes into a big melting pot, and comes out in another form. So, what do I do? Go and shut myself in a room and stop interacting? Ohhh, the older I get the sillier I think the world is. How can we learn if we don't record memories? How can the human race move on?

One lady told me recently that she burned all her mothers long letters and diaries because she felt 'they were hers'. I don't really understand this individualistic thinking. I would like to think that anything I'd written could contribute to human understanding and development, if it is only by learning through my mistakes, and what I record of the mistakes of others. How can they be mine after I'm gone? Whether I'm floating around on some ethereal plane; toasting my marshmallows on the fires of hell; or just plain dead, I won't be here, and 'they are mine' will have no meaning.

So... not a good start to life in my new home, but apart from that everything is going well. I'm learning all the bus and train routes, and slowly fitting together my time tables. I still need more work, but I feel slightly burned by that last experience. I'm going to see if I can get some work in journalism. I enjoy that, and at least it is writing. I still dream of the day that I can just quietly get on with my books, but I'm not there yet. I am, of course, still quietly preparing the mystery I've talked about here, and I put my Wrinkly Monster in to try and get a scholarship for something today. Work is progressing more slowly than usual though, because an awful lot of my effort is going into finding my way around in a new area, and in stocking up the flat.

Anyway... enough woffle. See you all soon,

Pippa xx