Jungle-Party-Eve and 2013 Challenge #27

This was me around four years ago, before this parenting adventure really began

It’s the night before the Jungle Party and right now I’m hoping my little girl feels better, as she’s been pale and poorly all day. Are you sick of hearing about the party? I’m a bit tired of it if I’m honest. It’s definitely been worth it though. My daughter is thrilled with her helium zebras and the room is going to look amazing – pictures tomorrow when everything is up and in place.

Understandably there wasn’t any research today. I have done about eight hours’ cleaning just to get my house ready for strangers. I’m not someone who does cleaning on a regular basis. I prefer to do a major blitz every few weeks, usually when we have visitors coming. Sometimes we invite the father-in-law over just to force us to clean and de-clutter.

The clock says it’s about an hour to bedtime. We still have wall hangings to put up, the kitchen work-tops and floor to clean and I should probably be making egg mayonnaise too but I think that will have to wait until the morning.

I had a moment of terror today when a friend of mine turned up with her daughter just after eleven. Poor lady had the wrong day for the party. She’d done her daughter’s hair and everything. My heart bled for her, after I’d recovered from the horror that it was me who had the wrong day. It wouldn’t be the first time. I make a habit of getting the wrong time or day for everything from doctors appointments to kids parties. My phone is my friend, and if it’s not in there as a meeting chances are I won’t make it.

At the end of the month I’ll be pulling all of January’s instalments into an e-book or pdf for anyone who wants to catch up without reading all the daily family chit-chat. I just have to decide whether to charge for it or have it on the site as a free download. I’m not out to make money (not off this book anyway!) but it might be interesting to see if anyone actually buys it. Anyway, on to Claire’s exploits.

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Claire tried to roll over to see what time it was and let out a wail of pain. She felt as if she had been slam-dunked by a twenty-stone bruiser. Time check could wait: still was best. If she stayed completely motionless only certain parts of her hurt. Her feet, covered in blisters that had only revealed themselves when she had peeled off her snow boots. Her cheeks, wind-chapped and raw. Everything else was a dull ache until she used any one of the hundreds of screaming muscles, when agony shot through her like a five-year-old trying out acupuncture.

The evening before replayed in Claire’s mind. There had been a sense of camaraderie when they got back to the hostel. The host prepared hot drinks, took their clothes away to dry them and then served up a delicious meal. The five of them sat together discussing the day, with Fi showing photographs she had taken on her iPhone. Claire was amazed at her ability to use the camera in sub-zero temperatures but Fi explained, with a strange look in her eye, that she thought they might be important.

They’d all gone to bed early. The two couples were leaving in the morning to return to their day jobs and there wasn’t a television for them to veg in front of anyway. Claire thought she’d never get to sleep before nine o’clock and surprised herself by sinking into the bed and closing her eyes with no palpable effort. It felt good, as if her body had been doing what it was built to do. Maybe this hiking lark isn’t so bad after all.

That was then. Now, as the sun came up, Claire happily cursed every deity that deigned to come within earshot. She had never experienced so much pain, not even after a brutal spinning session or an all-night-rave.

There was a scrape at the door and Claire turned her head to face it. She couldn’t find the energy to speak, never mind get up and answer it. Go away, she thought silently. I have no desire to see any of my torturers this morning. Go back to your happy, healthy, over-fulfilled lives and leave me to die in peace.

The scratching sound came again. Cursing her visitor’s inability to understand the silent command, Claire opened her paper-dry lips and croaked, “yes?”

“It’s Fi, can I come in?”

Fi. What the hell does she want? Come to gloat? Curiosity overcame ire and Claire called out, “Come in.” She flushed as she heard the weakness of her voice.

Fi’s head peered round the door and her brows contracted in concern at the sight of Claire in bed. “I’m so sorry, did I wake you? We’re off early I’m afraid.”

“No. I was awake. Just unable to move.”

Fi moved closer to the bed, her frown deepening. “Does it hurt? A hot shower and a gentle walk will help loosen off the muscles.” She smiled in sympathy. “I remember my first major hike. Jason dragged me over Scarfell in new boots. I had blisters on my blisters and my body felt like it had been filled with molten lead.”

“Yes.” Claire tried to nod and thought better of it. “That sounds about right.”

There was silence as the two girls watched each other warily. “I wanted to get your email address, so I could send you photos from yesterday.” Fi hesitated. “…for your blog.”

Claire sat up, then cried out as a dozen muscles protested the sudden movement. Her mouth opened but no words came. Her shock must have been obvious though because Fi blushed.

“I’m sorry. We should have come clean yesterday. I’m friends with your boss Carl’s sister on Facebook. When we put in our status update that we were staying in Byrness he said to look out for you. He asked us to goad you into hiking, as your blog was about healthy lifestyle but you weren’t leaving the hostels. I didn’t like it but Jason wanted to see if he could. You did really well especially if that was your first hike?”

The words all came out in a rush and, when she had finished, Fi stood and twisted her hands, staring out the window. Claire didn’t know where to start. She hadn’t heard from Carl once since her arrival in Berwick, despite calling several times and leaving messages with Julia. It made her skin itch to think of that snake discussing her with strangers. As for Jason dragging me on that infernal hike at Carl’s bidding. How dare he? Claire wanted to stalk out the room and find Jason so she could smack him in the face. Except it would hurt too much and Jason didn’t seem worth the extra pain.

“What will you do?”

Claire had forgotten Fi in her rage at Carl and Jason. Aside from being weak and silly and doing what her husband wanted, she hadn’t really done anything wrong. It was a good question. What should I do? Claire’s brain began to ache more than her thigh muscles as she tried to pick through her options.

“What would you do?” Claire looked up at Fi who was still standing by the bed. She thought about her situation, stuck in bed talking about her boss with a total stranger. She looked around at the sparse bedroom, the still-damp rucksack, the worried-looking lady, and began to laugh. It hurt her tummy muscles but she laughed anyway. It felt good. Fi looked shocked at first, as if Claire had snapped and had some sort of breakdown. Then she too began to giggle.

“I’d probably smack Jason in the face if he played a trick like that on me. Except I wouldn’t because I’m a wuss. I bet you could though. And that boss of yours. He sounds nothing like his sister, she’s a darling.”

Claire laughed harder and wiped at her streaming eyes. Eventually she had no more mirth left and she sank back into the pillows like a punctured balloon.

What should I do?

“Can you send me those pictures? If Carl wants outdoor pursuits, I’ll give him outdoors.”

Fi grinned and started tapping details into her phone. As she was leaving she turned back to face Claire.

“Piece of advice?”

“Of course, fire away.”

“Buy some hiking trousers.”

Claire grinned and nodded before sinking back into the protective hug of the bed.

***

Palm Trees, Donkeys and 2013 365 Challenge #26

Crazy Geese – one of them tried to bite the donkey causing it to buck.

I took the children to the Farm today (Sacrewell Farm: a great place where you can feed rabbits and goats, play on the indoor and outdoor climbing frames, go on tractor rides, stroke the horses and see the pigs. We go at least once a week.)

Normally we are there for several hours and the kids have to be bribed away with cookies. Today only the youngest one had to be bribed. My daughter was cold and has decided she’s all done with snow.

We lasted less than an hour and some of that was spent getting hats and gloves on.

I’m not sure if she’s nervous about the snow or the peacock

(Have I mentioned I’m more of a Spring/Autumn girl? Summer is all suncream and chasing kids to put hats on. Winter is about layers, wet gloves and I’m cold… said over and over in a whiney voice.)

The forecast is for more snow 😦 and then heavy rain 🙂 Even though it will mean more flooding I’ve never been so happy to see a heavy rain prediction.

Poor donkey not too happy about sharing his paddock with the crazy geese!

Poor donkey not too happy sharing his paddock with the crazy geese!

Today has been spent making poster-paint palm trees, assembling party bags and putting together Musical Leaf (think Musical Chairs) / Musical Trees (think Musical Statues) prizes. It’s gone bedtime and I haven’t started today’s post yet. I’m enjoying all the party prep but I admit I’ll be glad when it’s over. Next year I think I’ll suggest we hire out the nearest swimming pool and buy in pizza.

I’ve enjoyed my research today. I decided Claire needed to get out in the snow and do some hiking in her Helly Hansens (I still need to Google whether they’re even waterproof! – They are, apparently they’re snow boots. Perfect).

For the first part of my info-gathering I took the dog for a walk and wrote down as much as I could of the experience with my numb fingers. Then I stumbled across this great website detailing the Pennine Way one photo at a time: Bynress to Kirk Yetholm. I’m currently scrolling through it experiencing the walk without getting off the sofa. I wonder how much Claire is going to enjoy it?

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Claire looked around the dinner table at the flushed, shiny, faces of people who had spent too long out in a blizzard. The food was good but Claire couldn’t wait for the meal to be over. So much eager enthusiasm was putting her right off her spaghetti.

“So Claire, are you here to do the Pennine Way tomorrow? Rather unusual hiking by yourself at this time of year.”

Claire jerked her head up, so inured to the conversation wafting over her that she had ceased to pay attention.

“What, me? Hell, no.”

She laughed loudly but stopped when she realised no one else was smiling. She managed to swallow the next words waiting to spill out: Only sad freaks and single people go hiking. She wasn’t sure what category that put Michael and the darling Debbie in. She didn’t want to think about them. And after an hour of conversation she knew that these good folk certainly didn’t fit in either category. Jason and Fi were married and, when they weren’t hiking, spent their days working for a busy firm of solicitors. Jenny and Paul were engaged and both studied medicine. They’d all met at university and now went hiking together twice a year.

Claire had been conscious of a growing sense of unworthiness throughout the meal and was surprised that any of them had bothered to talk to her at all. She had introduced herself as a Marketing Exec and wondered afterwards whether they thought that meant she was at the bottom of the pecking order rather than the top.

“We’re out again tomorrow, why don’t you join us? It must be dull cooped up indoors by yourself all day.”

Jason’s grin had a spiky edge that Claire mistrusted. She wasn’t about to admit that the day had dragged like a Finance meeting. She had every intention of leaving in the morning for the next hostel, but something in Jason’s sardonic stare made her hackles rise. She looked back at him coolly and silently challenged him to continue.

“We’ll be walking out to Kirk Yetholm tomorrow to complete the Pennine Way. Well, we haven’t done all of it this time. Who has twenty days to spend travelling?” He raised an eyebrow at Claire and it was as if he knew everything about her.

Has he figured it out? Maybe he’s linked me with the Two-hundred Steps Home blog? Can’t imagine how, it’s only got three followers. Maybe he’s a friend of Carl’s sent to spy on me. After reading that Visitor Book yesterday anything is possible.

Thinking about the Visitor Book comment made Claire think of Debbie again. Before she was aware of it her mouth opened and she began to speak. “Okay, why not? I probably don’t have all the right gear with me but I should be able to manage a dozen miles.” Her traitorous brain seemed to have the wit not to add, how hard can it be?

Twenty-four hours later she was glad she was at least saved that humiliation.

Damn this streaming nose, when will it stop? Claire turned her head left and right so she could see if anyone was watching, then wiped her nose with her woollen gloves. Mental note to disinfect these when we get back to civilisation.

Claire’s hood was pulled up as high as it would go, and her coat was zipped to her chin, reducing her vision to the patch of snow directly in front of her. Her face was so numb her nose could be chopped off by a cosmetic surgeon and she wouldn’t notice. There may be something in that. Freezing as a form of anaesthetic. Why not?

She dug her hands deeper in her pockets and tried not to whimper. Her thighs burned from keeping her balance in the deep snow. The sound of her own sniffing was driving her nuts. Little other external noise made it through the hood; only the rustling of her clothing, the scrunch of snow and the wind whooshing past her hood. Her eyes ached from the brightness of snow. Funny, it didn’t occur to me that I might need my damn sunglasses in March. Claire mentally catalogued the pains: Hips sore, feet sore, skin dry, lips chapped, face frozen, knees creaking. This must be what it feels like to be ninety.

They crouched in the lee of a low stone wall to get some food. Claire perched on her rucksack and stared longingly at Jason’s flask of coffee and foil-wrapped warm pasty. She bit into the sandwiches provided by the hostel and tried not to expose more skin that necessary. They didn’t stop for long. Even the cheery Paul had fallen quiet as they neared their destination.

Claire dropped into a metronomic one-two one-two beat just to keep her feet moving. Jenny called out names like Black Hag and Old Halterburn. They sounded like insults but she guessed they were points on the map the others all carried.

Claire’s heart began to thud in her ears as something dark loomed out of the snow. She wondered whether she should alert the others, but they were a few paces ahead, leaving her to trudge at the rear. None of them seemed concerned by the hulking shape. Claire watched it nervously as they approached, before realising what it was. It’s a damn tree. I think that’s the first one I’ve seen. Where do the birds live up here? Maybe they don’t; maybe they have more sense.

Occasionally the ground beneath the snow was solid, like a path. Her legs were grateful for the respite from uneven terrain until she felt her boots slipping and realised it was even more treacherous than the unpaved earth. Paul had mentioned something at dinner about it being a shame about the snow because he’d bought his gaiters deliberately for some bog hopping, which was still possible in places between the boardwalks and the paving slabs. Claire had no idea what he meant, picturing bed-hopping with more dirt. Now she felt the snow might be a mercy.

On the ridge Claire’s entire world contracted to the focus point of Jason’s blue ski jacket in front of her. Ski jacket! It hurt to see it and think of the snow trousers, Degree 7 snow jacket, snood and gloves currently sitting in a storage facility somewhere near Manchester. The hiking jacket sold to her by the tasty man in Blacks, combined with her cashmere and as many t-shirts as she could fit on, was keeping her warm on top but it was not the weather for jeans. They clung like a blanket of thin-sliced liver to her legs and dragged her down with every step.

Jason had sniggered to Fi when Claire joined them in the hallway ready for departure. He had smoothed the smile from his face and suggested alternative trousers might be more comfortable. When Claire had explained she had nothing else he just shrugged. Fi looked troubled and said something to him in a low voice but he just shook his head. Feeling the numbness in her thighs, Claire wished Fi was the kind of woman who stood up to her man and helped the city girl. Not that I’d have accepted help then. I’m glad I went back and put tights on underneath. I might be sweatier than a clubber at 4am but I’m not getting frostbite. At least her Helly Hansen snow boots were coming into their own, even if the snow was over the tops most of the time.

They walked past some more trees and some pathetic-looking sheep huddled into the scanty shelter afforded by a wall and Claire felt the mood of the group lift. Her brain processed the information that they were reaching the end of the ordeal. Her steps became more brisk and she raised her chin for the first time in hours. There was a footbridge at the bottom of the valley and at last they were off the snow and onto a paved road. Claire swung her legs from the hip, trying to stretch out tired muscles. All she could think of was a hot shower and a cup of Earl Grey.

Her muscles tightened as she felt the road begin to climb. You bastard, I’m done. How could you just have one more hill?

And then it was over. They were all tucked into a warm car with steamed up windows heading back to the hostel. The two couples chattered excitedly about the walk, about having finally completed the Pennine Way, about getting some certificate or other. Claire rested her head against the vibrating freezing glass and dreamed of tea.

***

Pin the Tail on the Zebra and 2013 365 Challenge #25

I’m rather proud of my Pin the Tail on the Zebra

Today my husband and I have been getting ready for the party. He has been decluttering (his area of expertise) while I spent three hours painting a zebra for Pin the Tail on the Zebra. We’ve still got palm trees to assemble and craft to prepare and the party date is looming. Today was the last child-free day between now and Sunday: I foresee busy nights ahead.

The kids and I shredded crêpe paper into hanging vines yesterday and chose a Monkey cake, zebras not being available. My daughter is having her Zebra/Jungle party despite my early misgivings.

Husband and I worry that we spoil the children by giving them exactly what they want. From the little things like choosing their breakfast and dinner, through the middle-sized choices of where to go everyday (zoo, farm, coffee shop tending to be the options) right to the big decisions of what colour scooter to get for Christmas.

Crepe paper vines and my Dad’s old zebra blanket (I knew we kept it for a reason)

We’re easy-going people, my husband and I, and like a quiet life. So it doesn’t matter to us if the kids are in charge. It might matter to them though. My daughter starts school in September and I’m worried she will struggle with being told what to do, where to go and how to dress five days out of seven.

Don’t get me wrong, we are parents. They go to bed (more or less) when they’re told, they wear (more or less) what we want them to and two or three days a week they go to nursery. That’s a given. On the plus side they are really good at choosing and negotiating. In terms of choice both children can pick a meal off a menu, select clothes from a full drawer or decide which cake they want without long deliberations or fuss.

I can’t. I’m useless at making decisions.

And their negotiating skills are legendary. The answer to “would you like a cookie?” is always, “two?” My youngest could count to two before he was 18 months old, particularly if it was two rice cakes or two breadsticks.

I have to keep reminding myself all these things add character and, in today’s world, a bit of stubbornness and knowing your own mind is a good thing. I’m just not looking forward to the day when the choices are between tattoos, piercings or which tiny skirt to wear (that goes for both of them: my son chose to wear blue nail-varnish and pink heels to nursery today. I did veto the dress.) In the meantime I’m just glad to have an excuse to paint.

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Claire shuffled deeper into the corner of the brown leather sofa and tried to get comfortable. The book on her lap remained closed. Her iPad was in the tiny room she had hired for the night. There was no signal in the hostel so she had the perfect excuse not to update her blog or Facebook account.

Silence blanketed the deserted building. Claire had arrived just as the lady who ran the B&B with her husband left to take some hikers up to the Pennine Way.

“Who hikes in this weather?” Claire had asked and had received a withering glance in reply from one of the passengers.

“Excuse me!” Claire had responded, too quiet to be audible.

It turned out that plenty of people wanted to stomp around in the snow. Everyone staying at Byrness Hostel to be exact. The host lady had explained that they would be back for dinner so she wouldn’t be lonely for long.

Lonely? Ha. This is bliss. Claire looked around the empty room and stifled a sigh. Okay, more boring than blissful. She felt guilty even thinking the word boring. Her mother’s words to her and her siblings when they were growing up echoed in her head:

“Only stupid people get bored,” she would say. “You have the capacity to entertain yourselves, to read a book, play the piano, invent a song, game or story. Your genetic code is embedded with the facilities to not be bored. Use them.”

Claire looked down at the romance she’d bought at the second hand book store. It was so happy it made her miserable. Her brain seemed to be empty of ideas and there was no piano.

I guess I’m an embarrassment to my blood. Either that or I was adopted. Maybe that’s why mum hates me.

Claire looked round the room for inspiration and spied the Visitors Book.

Maybe I should read it, try and understand what draws people to this nomadic life.

The comments were mostly vague, complimenting the accommodation, the hosts, the food, the views and the hikes. She flicked the pages looking for something that might stand out. She had almost given up finding anything interesting when a lead weight dropped into her stomach as she saw handwriting she knew. Familiar sloping characters with curly fs looped gs. Writing she had last seen on a Christmas card inscribing the words Dear Claire, with all my love.

She looked at the date on the entry and tried to work out whether it was before they got together. Without really needing to, Claire checked the diary in her phone.

That was only a week or two before we met.

She swallowed, thinking she ought to get a glass of water. The central heating must be drying my throat out. Her heart beat loudly as she read Michael’s review. It was several lines long, written in small, cramped words. How thorough. So very Michael. She read through his views on the Pennine Way, the charming hosts and the wholesome food. His words were balanced and fair and Claire could hear them in Michael’s rich voice. The final line grabbed her guts and gave a twist. Debbie and I very much enjoyed our stay. The room was extremely comfortable and the company delightful.

A growling noise echoed loudly in the silent room, making Claire jump. She realised with a start that she was making the noise, deep in her throat. Debbie. His darling ex.

I wonder why he left her. Sweet, delightful Debbie.

Michael was recently separated from Debbie when Claire first met him. They had parted amicably, so Michael said, agreeing that they didn’t suit. I wonder if he went back to Debbie, when… She couldn’t finish the thought. Unwelcome images of the last time she saw Michael swamped her over-wrought emotions and dragged tears from her eyes.

Claire slapped the book shut and shoved it back on the shelf before clumping to the kettle to make tea. I wonder what room they slept in. She looked around the doors, her skin prickling. Did she love hiking and all things outdoors? Did she always make it to dinner engagements and remember to call when she promised? Did she want kids?

The thoughts clattered loudly in Claire’s quiet brain until she thought she might lose her sanity to the sound.

How do people bear all this damn silence?

***

Very Inspiring Blogger Award

There are many Very Inspiring Blogs

I am so happy to be receiving these awards because it allows me to spread the word about all the great blogs that I read every day.

I was nominated for the Very Inspiring Blogger Award last month by the lovely Anushka over at FindingmyCreature.

At the time I was buried deep in revisions followed closely by Christmas and my daughter’s Jungle Party. Now things have quietened down I finally have time to answer properly.

Thank you Anushka for the nomination, sorry I was so slow to respond.

Below are the rules for the Very Inspiring Blog Award

1. Display the award logo on your blog (see right)
2. Announce your win with a post and include a link to whoever presented your award. (ta-da!)
3. Present 7 awards to deserving bloggers. Create a post linking to them and drop them a comment to tip them off. (duly done)
4. Post 7 interesting facts about yourself. (see below)

Seven (Mostly) Interesting Facts

1. The first grown up book I read was Lord of the Rings. I was about 8, I needed a dictionary, and it took me months to finish. To this day (after reading it twice more and watching all the movies) I still don’t have the story straight in my head.

2. I was born in Watford, raised in West Sussex, moved to Northamptonshire when I was eight and I’m still here (although I have lived in Leeds, Manchester and New Zealand in between)

3. I have a first class degree in History from Leeds University but I hated History. I took as many English Literature modules as I could.

4. I was registered to do an MA in Shakespeare so, when I was travelling round NZ, I had the Complete Works of Shakespeare in my rucksack. I read most of it. (I didn’t get to do that course because my father got sick, but I still love Shakespeare.)

5. I finished my English MA the same month I got married. My dissertation was on Marriage and Divorce in Eighteenth Century Literature.

6. I worked as a bar manager when I was a student. It ruined my enjoyment of clubbing because I used to think someone has to clean up this sticky mess at the end of the night.

7. The worst job I ever did was cleaning pig pens. My stepfather was a pig manager and I earned some cash washing down old units with a pressure hose for three weeks. It stank.

The 7 nominees are:

1. The Inner Wildkat: Kitt Crescendo writes insightful and interesting posts such as the one here about fame, friendship and honesty. She also writes some rather racy posts on sex toys and sex advice. I’m not sure if that counts as inspirational but it’s certainly entertaining! 😉

2. A Scenic Route. Kirsten writes beautiful posts on her blog. Even her About me is a dream of poetic prose as she discusses “Creating worlds from infinite possibilities, narrowing them down to the parts that work. Choosing who lives, and who dies. Explaining why. Words wrapping around roads, making mountains, filling the skies with wings and clouds and stars in constellations no human eye has ever seen. Waking dreams, that when written down can be revisited again and again.” Beautiful.

3. 2Me4Art: I haven’t been following this blog for long but already I’m a huge fan. The photographs are breath-taking. In her About Me Amy she says “We have to make, create, glue, glitter, snap pictures etc., or we will dry up into empty shells.” Amen to that!

4. Ubiquitous. Quotidian. Robert writes thoughtful posts about a range of topics from this one on life to meaningful essays on Disney Princesses. His strapline Have Internet, Will Travel is particularly relevant to me at the moment as I travel around the UK using the YHA.org.uk website and Google Maps Streetview.

5. Raised by My Daughter: I came across Neal while reading comments on Amber’s Parenting with Crappy Pictures blog and have followed him ever since. Neal shares the highs, lows and hilarious moments of raising his daughter Addison. His blog and his Facebook feed reassure me that I’m not alone.

5a. Parenting with Crappy Pictures: I wasn’t going to include this one because I reached my quota of 7. But hey I’m all for bending the rules. Amber’s blog has kept me laughing and sane for a long time and it deserves a mention. This post particularly is brilliant. I love her kids.

6. Apprentice, Never Master. Gwendolyn recently nominated me for the Versatile Blogger award and it gives me great pleasure to nominate her for the Very Inspirational Blogger award. Her writing is AMAZING and I am drawn in every time a post appears in my inbox.

7. Sharing the Wealth: This is my sister Michelle’s blog where she covers everything from making money on the web to Why Hating Mondays is Insane. Her range of topics is huge and she has a very balanced view of the world.

Thank you everyone for being wonderfully inspiring!

My Wedding Dress and 2013 Challenge Day #24

Me and my bargain husband on our wedding day in Stamford, Lincs

In my Versatile Blogger post yesterday I mentioned my bargain husband and my red wedding dress. There was a request to see the dress and, as I need little excuse to show it off, I have included pictures in today’s post.

The dress deserves showcasing at any opportunity as it cost me some time and many pennies! I should never have tried it on in the dress agency in the first place because I knew I couldn’t afford it.

I spent months and months attempting to find a cheaper alternative (mostly on ebay) until, only weeks before the wedding, I decided it had to be this one (I wasn’t a precious bride, I promise you, it was just the thing that mattered to me. Only I didn’t have £1100). I contacted all the dress sellers that stocked it until I found someone who would offer me a significant discount, even with the extra cost to have it made express.

When I finally tried it on, I sobbed (much to the irritation of the snotty dress woman), because it wasn’t how I remembered it the last time I wore it, nearly a year before.

My gorgeous red silk wedding dress. I was a princess for a day

The original sample I tried on was huge and I thought it had a ballroom skirt. Actually it’s A-line. My mother saved the day by putting rucks into it so I could fit a huge net underneath. We had to fight with the dress lady to stop her hemming it, so there would be enough material to cover the white underskirt. I also sewed straps onto the boddice because I’m not a strapless sort of girl. My ‘wedding shoes’ were tatty, clumpy black mules because a) there was no money left and b) you couldn’t see them under the dress, so why not be comfortable?

Anyway, apologies, that’s probably really boring unless you’re about to get married (Anushka, I hope your dress is proving less stressful!). I still have the dress in the cupboard although I never paid to have it cleaned so it’s probably rotting from the goose poo that covered the meadow where we had our pictures taken. I’m too scared to look. I tried the top on a few years ago and it fits better round a leg than my tum these days. But who knows, one day my daughter may wear it to her own fairy princess ball…

Back to Claire. I’m sorry if the story has lost some of its drive. I’ve reached the dreaded 20k-word dip. I need to sit and have a think about where my plot is going, but right now I’m immersed in Jungle party props, jungle cakes and party games. I’m also still waiting for my YHA membership to turn up in the post so I can get a guide-book. Maybe they know I’m writing about them and don’t want to send it to me…

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“Really? A single room is cheaper than the dorm? … Yes! I mean, yes please can I book the single room. … Is there snow where you are? Sat Nav has me driving over some hills by the look of it. … Oh, okay. Thanks. I’ll see you soon.”

Claire hung up the phone and smiled. Her eyes felt heavy after a broken night and her ears still buzzed with the sound of drunken snoring that had droned on from the time the girls got in until she finally fled the room at 6am. But a quick search on the YHA website had revealed Byrness. The hostel wasn’t the nearest, but as the nearest was either Wooler – closed – or Mounthooley Bunkhouse – a remote shepherd’s cottage – the choice was simple. It helped that Byrness was more a B&B than a hostel, offering breakfast and dinner. And now, like an end-of-year bonus, they had a single room available that was cheaper than the dorm.

Maybe I won’t ring Carl and quit just yet.

Claire had stuffed all her things in her rucksack when she’d stalked from the room while the girls were still comatose. She’d had to wait in the chilly lounge for nearly two hours until she could hand back her key. By the time reception opened Claire had composed seven different resignation letters and was trying to decide on her favourite.

She had narrowed the choice down to three, one of which was a career-ending two-word sentence, when she heard movement behind reception and went to check out. She hoped there was someone new on the desk instead of the cheery man who had checked her in the day before. The gods, it seemed, were on their coffee break.

“Ah, good morning Ms Carleton. I hope you slept well.”

Claire wondered if his head tipped back like a puppet when he smiled that widely. The thought made her shudder.

“You can hope, if you like. It won’t make it true.”

“Oh? Nothing wrong I trust?” The man behind reception frowned much as someone might to a small child who had dropped their lollypop in a puddle.

“Nothing that a curfew wouldn’t fix.”

The man tilted his head and looked at Claire with innocent puzzlement. She found she didn’t have the energy to explain.

“I’m driving to Byrness today, will the snow affect me?”

“Depends what you’re driving. The roads don’t climb too high but they won’t be cleared except by traffic. Might be a bit hairy in places.”

Claire thought about the Skoda parked in the local car park. How it lost its rear end on a tiny patch of ice if she so much as touched the accelerator.

I want my all-wheel-drive Audi back. Maybe my luck will return and someone will have stolen the heap of junk in the night, though goodness knows why they would.

Weighing up the options of another night with the party girls and a tricky drive of forty miles through the snow Claire knew there was no decision to be made. How bad can it be?

“Thank you for the information. I’m sure I’ll be fine. I’m not in any hurry; their reception is open until 10am.”

“There isn’t much to do in Byrness, I wouldn’t rush.”

Claire sniggered internally, not wanting to offend the jolly man in front of her. Inside her mind the words Like there’s so much going on in this provincial hole fought to be heard.

“I have a good book, I’ll be fine.”

An hour later Claire cursed her blasé attitude to snow. The route might not climb but it had no shelter either. It marched across open land, without so much as a low hedge to prevent the snow icing the road like a wedding cake. Claire peered through the windscreen at the road ahead. All was white. The bonnet of the car, the road in front, the fields to either side. The only things telling her she was still on the road at all were the twin-tracks in front of her and the red line of the sat nav.

Please let them not be leading me to some random farm.

Ten o’clock had come and gone by the time Claire steered her skating car to the chequered flag of her Final Destination. She guided her four-wheeled sled into a side road and came gratefully to a stop. Her hands were shaking and her eyes itched with the strain of concentration. She barely noticed the cold or the numbness of her fingers but she could practically taste Earl Grey tea in the back of her throat.

Still everything was white. Claire forced her aching body to unbend and climb out of the car, cursing as her Helly Hansens sank into deep snow. It was only then that she took in her surroundings.

“What the…? That bastard!” Claire wasn’t sure if she meant Carl or the jolly receptionist. “There isn’t much to do in Byrness.” He could have told me it’s a ff-frigging string of ff-frigging cottages in the arse-end of n-nowhere.” She shivered and pulled her coat tighter around her. Wind whistled through the trees and swirled eddies in the snow.

Claire walked round to the front of the car and looked again, hoping to see a town or even a village hidden behind the row of houses in front of her. As she span a slow 360 all she could see were white houses, white snow-laden trees and the slow-moving traffic on the A68.

“Well, all I can say is they had better let me in. Ten o’clock reception or not, I am not sitting out in the car until 4pm.”

She glared at the row of houses and tried to distinguish which was the B&B. “Thank god I’ve got my own room. Surely only hikers, hippies and weirdoes choose to stay here in the middle of frigging winter.”

Claire clomped up the path to the front door and hammered on it with her glove-encased fist.

***

Baking Cookies and a Snowy Day #23

My little darling chefs

Today was the first day in months that I had the kids all day without husband around to lend a hand (he had a job interview, hurrah!).

It was nice although the children missed daddy a lot.

“Mummy I love Daddy more betterer than you” my daughter said in the car on the way back from coffee morning.

A statement that was later changed to, “I didn’t want you to tell Daddy that. I love you both most of all.”

Makes all the tough stuff worthwhile.

Playdough snowman. The only kind of snowman my kids wanted to build today!

We had fun today, getting my son’s hair cut finally (he has a double crown and had started to look like he had feathers in his hair like some tribal headdress). We baked chocolate cookies, built things with playdough, played with puzzles and cars and now they’re “wrapping” everything in the playroom and bringing it to me, singing “happy birthday to you”.

I love my kids.

My “Birthday Gifts” from the children. I think the iron was Daddy’s idea.

Thankfully husband appeared at five o’clock, allowing me to walk the dog and make a start on Claire’s exploits for today, tapping away into my phone while walking in the snowy dark. It was beautiful outside with the moon lighting up the snow (it makes it much easier to walk the dog after dark. There has to be one good thing about the snow.)

So, understandably, Claire’s post today features snow. Writing seasonal is always easier if it’s outside the window. That’s why I tend to start novels in the season I’m in. Write what you know.

__________________________________________________________________________________

A soft glow shone through the window and across Claire’s face. Used to sleeping in the cave-like darkness of a room with blackout blinds Claire was pulled awake by the light. It took a while to work out where she was and why her blinds weren’t closed. Irritated as much by the memory of the last few days as by being woken, Claire rose on one elbow to figure out where the light was coming from. From her elevated position on the top bunk she could see through the gap in the curtains right down to the road.

Snow. Marvellous.

The moon illuminated the street below like studio lighting, making it difficult to tell what time it was. The room was silent. Claire blessed the Gods that the Scandinavian women didn’t snore. She fumbled under her pillow to locate her phone, although she could nearly tell the time on her watch by the eerie light seeping through from outside.

2am. Bollocks.

Claire felt wide awake. If she’d been at home she would have got up and done some work, knowing it was the quickest way to feel sleepy again. With two strangers in the room with her she felt she couldn’t turn on the light or even make too much noise in case she woke them.

This is what that damn Maglite is for then. Shame it’s in the bottom of my rucksack. Not much good there. I don’t even have headphones to listen to music. Idiot.

Claire lay in the dark trying to distinguish the sound of Ola and Francis breathing. She wondered whether she should check if they were still alive. What responsibility did you have for your bedfellows if they were also complete strangers?

Claire heard a noise that made her heart thump in her ears. Someone was fumbling outside their door, scratching, as if trying to insert a key. I’m glad it’s locked. Imagine someone trying to get in the wrong bunk in the middle of the night. She shivered at the idea of having to fend off some sweaty oik and felt glad she’d had the forethought to buy a nightie.

The room filled with the sound of Claire’s shallow breathing as she strained to hear if the noise had gone away. It hadn’t. Utterly awake now, she tensed ready to defend herself as she heard voices outside the door. What if someone’s trying to break in, to steal our stuff? Claire wondered if she should wake the girls.

I’m surprised they’re not awake already with that racket. Maybe this is normal. Maybe you have to learn to sleep surrounded by noise, like you do when flying. A stab of pain shot through Claire’s head as she contemplated weeks of broken sleep. I really don’t do well on less than six hours.

At last the fumbling stopped. Claire took a deep breath which stuck in her throat as the door opened and a light pierced the darkness, followed by another. Flashlight beams shone overhead like search lights as two very drunk girls staggered into the room. One of them tripped over and fell heavily against Claire’s bunk; the other pulled her friend upright with a snigger. They shushed each other and giggled as they headed into the en-suite. Claire could hear them talking in loud whispers that they obviously thought was them being quite. She couldn’t decide what was more annoying: Being woken up by a couple of drunks or being awake already and discovering she’d been trying hard to be silent and considerate in an empty room.

Where the hell have they been until this time anyway? Even with 24 hour licensing who wants to stay up late in this provincial backwater? And they say we Brits drink too much.

Claire lay in her bunk not speaking. She was tempted to admit to being awake but she couldn’t face a scene. Besides, what was there to say? Excuse me but some of us like to go to bed early? That was rubbish anyway. Back in Manchester her night would still be young at 2am.

What is happening to me? Oh my god, I’m turning into my mother. Next I’ll be admonishing people not to talk and eat or advising them that man-made fibres make you sweat in an unladylike fashion. Right, that’s it. I’m ringing Carl first thing in the morning. Roughing it is one thing but I’ll be damned if I’m going to become a boring old cow before I’m thirty.

The Versatile Blogger Award

The Versatile Blogger Award

The lovely Gwendolyn over at Apprentice, Never Master has nominated me for the Versatile Blogger Award (thank you!)

I confess that I have received award nominations before and haven’t done anything with them because I didn’t feel I knew enough people to forward the award on. Now, however, I follow lots of lovely people and am happy to pass this award forwards (although I can’t manage fifteen. See below).

Versatile Blogger Award Rules

1. Display the award certificate on your blog. (Look right.)

2. Announce your win and link back to the blogger who gave it to you. (Done and done.)

3. Present 15 awards to deserving bloggers. (I can’t do justice to fifteen different blogs so I’m presenting seven lovely blogs with just over 2 awards each. Thanks Gwendolyn I borrowed the idea from you!)

4. Drop them a comment to tip them off that you’ve linked to them.

5. Post 7 interesting things about yourself. (Hmmm, define interesting. I’ve put seven facts anyway.)

The Nominees:

1. Finding my Creature – even though Anushka has a full time job and is getting married this year she still finds time to write a phenomenal amount of stuff. Definitely versatile.

2. Sally Jenkins – published short-story writer and informer of many useful competitions. Thanks Sally!

3. BlogAboutWriting – Helen Yendall is a published short story writer, poet, would-be novelist (in her words) and creative writing tutor. She was Warwick Poet Laureate from 2006-7. If that’ isn’t versatile I don’t know what is!

4. Vampires, Ladies & Potpourri. Keri Peardon is a legal secretary, a writer of vampire novels, a medieval re-enactivist (is that a word?) and a lover of handicraft. Busy, inspiring, knowledgeable, versatile lady.

5. The dog ate my novel: Kellie Larsen Murphy’s blog is entertaining and informative. Kellie has recently self-published A Guilty Mind and her work rate in releasing and promoting the book is awesome.

6. Kittyb78: Kitty is a Writer/Mother/Wife/Black Dragon Kung Fu Instructor that adores cats and tigers. Author of YA Paranormal Romance book Dangerous Temptation. Very versatile.

7. Annie Cardi: Annie is a YA writer with an awesome blog. She posts Friday Fifteen (book reviews in fifteen words or less), Links Galore (full of fascinating facts), links to really cool products and some interesting and inspiring posts. Your one-stop-shop for all things YA.

Although I have dedicated more time recently to getting to know new blogs I still don’t have a massive list in my reader. I prefer to read most or all of the posts from a few blogs than dip a toe in many. As a result I don’t feel I know fifteen blogs enough to nominate them.

Seven Interesting Things About Me:

1. I played the violin as a child even though I’m more or less tone deaf. The children ask me not to sing along to the radio.

2. I paint and sell abstracts in bright colours but I was afraid of using colour in art at school.

3. My most random skill is being able to neatly fold a double-fitted-sheet: learned while working in a Youth Hostel in Dunedin, New Zealand.

4. I like to climb mountains by myself, but I failed the Three Peaks Challenge due to dodgy knees.

5. I read Clarissa from cover to cover (one of the longest novels in the English Language at nearly a million words. It’s an Eighteenth Century Epistolary novel featuring Rape as its core story and I read it the year I got married. It didn’t do much for pre-marriage romance!)

6. I bought my husband for £16.95 on the Internet

7. I wore a large red silk dress at my wedding

To all of the bloggers mentioned in this post. Please take this award as what it is: an award. Follow the rules (or don’t) as per your own personal philosophies.

A daughter’s rejection and 2013 365 Challenge #22

Jungle Party Prep box

So far I seem to be taking the agent rejection thing in my stride. I’ve sent out about ten submissions and had two or three rejections. That’s fine, I expected it. Occassionally if I really liked the agency I’m disappointed but I certainly haven’t taken it personally. However I have discovered a type of rejection today that does hurt.

My daughter’s.

I spent the afternoon painting props for my daughter’s Jungle party, which we’re having in our house this weekend. Nothing fancy just a giant palm tree, a pin-the-tail-on-the-zebra and some leaves for Musical Leaves (think musical chairs). I showed them to her after nursery and her first response was “that one isn’t quite covered. You missed some.” And that was it.

And it HURT.

Jungle Leaves for Musical Leaves

I wanted to yell all sorts of rude things at her. Analysing my over-reaction afterwards I realised that I wasn’t (that) bothered that she didn’t like my jungle leaves. It was more that she was being exactly like me. When my husband does house DIY I’m much more likely to say, “what about this bit?” than “well done that’s amazing.”

Breeding a mini-me has forced me to come to grips with my worst habits and traits and it’s HARD. I’m also worried that she won’t enjoy her party because of something I haven’t managed to get right. She has talked about her birthday party pretty much every day since the last one and it’s become a big thing in her mind. Settling on having a zebra party (which I have expanded to be a jungle party) has put my ingenuity to the test. So far I have only failed to source a zebra cake (and I don’t do baking) so not sure what I’m going to do about that. Hoping I’ll find a store that will do one of those print-from-picture things.

Anyway, as today has been mostly party prep and a couple of query letters I haven’t done any research on Alnwick Youth Hostel. I’m trying to decide whether to send Claire to the castle or focus on her first night in a dorm. You’ll find out in a minute which I chose!

_____________________________________________________________________________________

Claire put her key in the lock, opened the door, and peered into the room as if someone might jump out and attack her. It was dark so she reached inside for a light switch, hoping no one was asleep. Surely no one will be in bed at 8pm?

A quick scan of the bunk beds showed them all unoccupied. Claire released a breath she didn’t realise she had been holding and stepped into the room. It looked like only one or two of the four beds were taken, as there were only two bags in the room. Relieved to be alone Claire shut the door behind her and had a proper look at the room. The walls were blue and cream and there were stripy curtains in similar colours.

It’s not about to win any décor or luxury awards but at least it’s clean.

She looked closely at the beds and realised that both bottom bunks had been claimed by the current occupants. Maybe I should have come straight to the room this morning, I might have been able to claim a bottom bunk. She didn’t fancy the idea of climbing up and down a ladder in the night. I haven’t slept in a top bunk since I was about eight and I got concussion falling out in the night. Thank god mum thought it was time for me and Ruth to have our own rooms.

The memory brought others to mind. How Ruth used to wriggle, shaking the bed as she shifted position every fifteen minutes. How her snoring that would resonate up through the mattress when she had a cold. Claire felt a chill prickle her skin. She hated sharing her space with people. Except Michael. The words entered her mind only to be shoved away.

Claire chose the bunk furthest from the door and tucked her bag in the corner. She removed her nightie and wash-bag from the rucksack and threw them on the bed to stake her claim. Then, with nothing else to keep her, she decided it was time to go and have dinner. She hesitated before taking her iPad from its position stuffed between cashmere sweaters. She had avoided having it on display in the hostel in case it marked her as different, but she needed to spend some time on Twitter and the other social media sites and it would prevent her from looking like an idiot by herself at dinner.

The hostel dining room reminded Claire of school dinners at primary school, before she was whisked away to join the same school her father had attended. Not that there had been girls there in his day. The dining hall there had been rather more opulent.

Claire chose a seat in the corner and prayed no one else would join her. There were a few people in the dining room but it wasn’t crowded. Claire ordered the most palatable thing on offer, then loaded up her blog and tried to think of something interesting to write. She had spent the day in a giant second hand bookstore – largely because it was warm and she didn’t have to walk anywhere. She wasn’t a big reader, but had found herself caught up in some silly romance with a bright cover. The book was in her bag upstairs. Purely for research purposes, so I can embody the backpacker spirit.

“Hello, may we join you?”

Claire looked up from her iPad to see two blonde girls standing in front of her holding trays. A swift glance confirmed what she already knew – that there were empty tables in the dining room. Claire hesitated. She couldn’t bring herself to tell the women no, feck off. But at the same time she didn’t fancy being crowded in by a couple of strangers. She noticed a flicker of consternation whisk across one of the girl’s faces and relented.

“Of course, please.” She gestured to the empty seats and sat back so her iPad wasn’t taking up table space. There are two of them, it’s not like I need to make conversation. Claire resolutely stared at her screen, giving off her best Metro-travelling vibes, the ones that created an area of blank space around her even when the trains were crushed with commuters. It failed.

“Hi, my name is Ola, this is my sister Francis. We are from Sweden. The nice man at reception said you were staying in our room, so we come to say hello.”

Claire looked up and stifled a sigh. She couldn’t ignore them now, no matter how tempting it was to pretend she didn’t speak English. “Hi, I’m Claire, nice to meet you.”

“You are English yes? You travel long?”

The one Claire thought was Ola was clearly puzzled that someone would choose to travel solo round their own country in the middle of winter. Or that’s what I would think anyway. Who knows what she’s thinking under that beautiful Scandinavian mask. Claire tried to decide whether to come up with a story more interesting than the truth, but she couldn’t find the energy. She settled for a slight twisting of the facts.

“I’m a writer. I’m researching a piece on hostelling in Britain.”

The girl who hadn’t yet spoken, Francis, lit up at the words. “You write for Lonely Planet?” She spoke the words reverentially, as if Lonely Planet were on a par with the Hitchhikers Guide to the Galaxy.

“No, sorry, it’s an independent piece.” She finished speaking then gazed away, signalling that she had no more conversation. The girls took the hint and began talking quietly to each other in their own language.

I wonder if they’re talking about me? Claire eyed up the lasagne and garlic bread the girls were eating and wondered if it was too late to change her order.

If one of us is going to reek of garlic all night, I want it to be me.

***

49 Followers and 2013 365 Challenge #21

Alnwick Castle. Photo by Aminimanda on Flickr

I reached 49 blog followers today. I’m so excited. I have never actively tried to get followers so I always feel that each person who clicks ‘follow’ does so purely because they like my blog and not because I have visited theirs and been nice. Not to say I don’t read loads of blogs – it’s the highlight of my day. I’ve just been to sites where it seems the whole purpose of the blog is to get followers. While I might envy their 500 fans I don’t necessarily approve of their approach. So I am very proud and I hope everyone who follows my blog genuniely enjoys my ramblings!

Today’s post is a deadline-chasing one. I normally write the day before and schedule the post for 10am to give me a buffer. Yesterday I used that buffer and chose to watch Got to Dance, snuggled under a blanket, instead.

It is 9.51am as I type this so I have 9 minutes to hit my normal 10am post deadline. (I won’t hit it, I’m in a cafe, it will take at least that long to upload a photo and do a final proof-read.)

As always happens when you’re already late I hit a barrier this morning. Claire is due to stay at Wooler today as the next YHA hostel from Berwick. I thought I’d better check it’s open on 3rd March, which is what the date is in the novel. It isn’t. As far as I can tell from the online booking it doesn’t open until the end of March. So I was as flumoxed as Claire is, and had to send her to Alnwick instead. Which is a pain because I did all my data-gathering on Wooler yesterday. Such is the life of on-the-fly writing… Still, it did mean I could put a lovely picture of Alnwick Castle in my post!

____________________________________________________________________________________

The drive to Wooler was not long enough. Claire felt the presence of her phone like a black hole, dragging her in.

I will not give in. I can’t do it. However much I’m hurting him now, it’s a fraction of what it will do if I answer now and leave again later.

Claire sat upright in the uncomfortable seat and stared at the road ahead. The pull of the phone on the passenger seat was like an itch in the corner of her eye. A chicken-pox itch. All consuming but laden with the knowledge that a moment’s weakness might leave a life-long scar.

All too soon Claire reached her destination. Wooler. It was bigger than she expected; a pretty place with amazing views over the hills. I must check what hills they are and write about it in the blog. Healthy living and all that. I’m sure I’m meant to recommend hikes or mountain biking or something. She looked down at her pristine jeans, spotless Helly Hansons and unchipped nails. As if.

She missed the YHA sign the first time and had to drive up and down Cheviot Street until she saw it next to a side road. Her expectations rose as she turned off down the lane but they crashed to earth when she drew up outside the building.

A bit different to Berwick. You don’t get further from a five-story former Granary than this… sheltered-housing bungalow.

It wasn’t just the building that was a surprise. It was the fact that it looked abandoned. Claire’s heart-rate picked up and she could taste bile rising in her throat. It hadn’t occurred to her to ring ahead and book. I mean, who stays in a hostel in March? She looked at the dark building in front of her. Apparently no one in Wooler.

Wanting to be proved wrong Claire got out the car and walked over to the low brick building. She peered through the windows and tried the door but she didn’t need to rattle it to know it was locked. Bollocks. It was freezing standing in the car park. Claire retreated to the car and got out her iPad. She tried to load the YHA page but couldn’t get any signal. Big fat hairy bollocks.

Claire sat back in her seat, frozen. Her brain kept bouncing between her current predicament and the message from Michael. She was conscious of a strong urge to call him. He would know what to do. She shook her head, hard enough to hurt, and put the key in the ignition. Her choices were to drive back to Berwick or to find another YHA hostel nearby that was open, but she couldn’t make the decision here with no access to the wider world.

Nearer the main road Claire’s iPad reconnected to the superhighway and she was able to find another hostel in Alnwick that said it was open all year round. I should have checked that last night. Stupid girl. Not wanting to chance it, Claire phoned the hostel and was brightly informed that there was plenty of space either in a dorm or a private room. Book a private room, bugger the budget. Pay for it yourself if you have to. Claire listened to the internal voice and spoke into the receiver.

“Can I book a dorm bed please? Yes, just for one night. Great. … Ten o’clock?” Claire checked her watch. “How long will it take from Wooler? … Okay, I’ll be there in half an hour.”

What the…? What possessed me to book a dorm-bed? And reception is only open until 10am, what’s that all about? Thank god I left early this morning to avoid Hattie.

Sighing at the betrayal of her brain, Claire tapped the post code into her sat nav and pulled back onto the main road. At least now she had more to think about than Michael. I guess I’d better check the hostel information and book ahead a day or two. She looked around the Skoda. This is not a car I want to spend the night in.

Claire pulled up outside the dark brick building and shivered. It didn’t look very welcoming. The information on Alnwick said the hostel used to be a court house. I can believe it. A quick check showed her it was two minutes to ten. Abandoning the Skoda on the single yellow outside the building Claire rushed in before reception closed.

Walking into the hostel was how Claire imagined it might be to enter the Tardis. As dark as it was on the outside it was bright on the inside. The interior was clearly new and although it was done in the cheap laminate and robust carpet of a dentist or doctors surgery at least it wasn’t oppressive. After staying at Berwick, Claire was getting used to the bland décor and barely registered it as she hurried to Reception.

“Ah you must be the lady who rang from Wooler. Did no one tell you it isn’t open all year round?” The man at reception grinned jovially. Claire felt the blood rush to her cheeks and replied in a small voice. “I didn’t think to ask.”

“New to this are you sweetheart? Best to book ahead even at this time of year. Lucky we had space.”

Claire felt as if she had been chastised. She filled in the forms, asked where she could park the car, and took the key to her room without another word. She wasn’t ready to view the dorm, or to discover who she would be sharing her personal space with that evening. With a short wave at the cheery receptionist she went back to her car just as a Parking Attendant stuck a ticket to the windscreen.

Bugger.

In a former life Claire would have rushed up to the man and attempted to charm, cajole or threaten him into taking the ticket back. Instead she waited a few paces away until he had walked off, then went to the car and ripped the yellow square off. She climbed into the driver’s seat, fighting back tears, and vowed to put the damn thing in the post to Carl.

They didn’t say anything about the bloody daily budget having to cover parking tickets.

***

Quick post: A great article on why I’m trying the traditional route first.

Proposed book cover for my self-published version of Pictures of Love

I’m taking a quick respite from my daily blogging of Claire’s exploits to share an article about self-publishing vs. taking the traditional route. A few people (my husband included) have started asking why I’ve decided not to self-publish Dragon Wraiths and maybe not even Pictures of Love. I’ve struggled to give a convincing answer. Then I was directed to a great article by Catherine Caffeinated as part of her Sunday Coffee Reads posts.

The article is by Chuck Wendig on his terribleminds blog. CAUTION: he does use rather strong language, so the post is not for the fainthearted (which is why I haven’t included it here).

This is the link to the post: What Flavour of Publishing will you Choose?

I’m not saying I think Dragon Wraiths will fly (excuse the pun) like his novel has, or that I’ll be seeing it at the cinema anytime choose. But wouldn’t that be cool? And how will I ever know, if I don’t try? It isn’t just about not wanting to do my own editing and marketing (although that’s part of it). It’s having a dream.

So, that’s it. I probably might as well buy lottery tickets, but it does happen for some people, right?