Tag Archives: Daily Writing Habit

Baking and Body Art: 2013 365 Challenge #80

What happened to painting the paper?

What happened to painting the paper?

I made the mistake of thinking I could write my post with the kids around this morning. Yesterday’s post that is – so with a 10am deadline. They watched two hours of TV and I just about managed to write the top half. With much pleading and trying to watch them cut paper, scooter, sweep and bounce at the same time, I managed to write the 750 word installment by 10.45am.

Never again.

No matter how exhausted I am I have to make sure it’s written before bedtime if I know hubbie’s working the next day. Oh how I have taken him for granted these last three months!

Body Art

Body Art

Anyway today hasn’t really recovered. We’ve done cutting and sticking, scootering and bouncing, painting on paper, painting our hands, painting in the bath. Cleaning the bath. More TV. Story reading, cookie baking (much squabbling over who was in charge of the bowl) and teddy tea parties.

Now at 5pm I’m finally free to walk the dog and think for five minutes together without trying to decipher two simultaneous conversations. I’ve tried really hard not to tweet every ten minutes or check my email today but since we put the PC in the kitchen that’s been hard.

When I did switch the screen off and sit down to the teddies’ tea party the game lasted all of three minutes before they were off onto something new. So I tidied the playroom, loaded some laundry and took the cookies out the oven. Maybe they get their short attention span from me?

Temporary truce

Temporary truce

I’ve always been scattered in my approach to getting stuff done – it was on most appraisals when I worked for a living – and generally it used to be okay. What I lacked in efficiency I made up for in lists and long hours. In those days I had enough sleep to remember everything that needed to be done.Today I realised I haven’t done a piece of artwork for a friend that she needs next week! Damn that short-term memory loss caused by sleep deprivation!

These days my scattered approach leads to grumpy kids and half done chores all over the house!  I’d like to say I’ll change but I think maybe I’m just at the point where I’ll pay for the kids’ therapy instead.

_____________________________________________________________________________________

Claire stood behind the Skoda and fought the urge to weep. “It’s Monday: I can get a new phone today. I need to go to Sheffield. What arsehole parks like that?”

The hostel car park was the size of a postage stamp. Claire had been fortunate to arrive the night before just as someone was leaving. Now the Skoda was so tightly wedged in she had no hope of reversing out without damaging someone’s car. It was tempting.

Who would know? She looked up at the buildings all around. Someone’s bound to see, knowing my luck. So, do I go in and wake a bunch of backpackers to find out who is blocking me in or wait until everyone wakes? She inhaled and the morning air froze her nose and throat.

“I want my phone!”

She laughed as her childish shout startled some pecking pigeons. Slumping against the back of her car, Claire tried to decide what to do. Her brain still felt muffled, as if it was floating under water. The doctor had said it might take weeks for her to recover from her concussion.

I’m not sure I’ll notice when it’s healed. My mind seems permanently foggy these days. Think Claire, think.

And then it came to her. She remembered reading in the hostel notes that it was close to the train station. It seemed crazy taking the train when she had a car but it would be nice to leave the Skoda behind for a while and pretend to be a normal person again.

The walk improved Claire’s mood and she was almost smiling by the time her iPad told her she had arrived at the train station. She stared at the dirty-white temporary buildings and the single railway line.

Train station is a bit of an overstatement. Bugger. God knows when the next train will chug through here. They’re probably still run by steam.

As she thought the words she heard the unmistakeable sound of an approaching train. Stuffing her iPad into her bag she ran for the platform just as a two-carriage train pulled in with a whoosh of brakes. Claire tugged open the door to the nearest carriage and jumped on board. A dozen calmly-seated suits turned to stare as Claire tumbled into the carriage, red-faced and panting. She smiled automatically and slid into the nearest seat, eager to hide her rosy face.

With a jolt the train pulled away and Claire prayed it was actually heading for Sheffield and not Manchester. Please don’t let me end up there today. I’m bound to bump into someone I know and I look like something the cat threw up.

She pulled her fingers through her tangled hair, wishing she had taken time to shower and dress properly. There had been only one thought on her mind as she left the hostel and that was to get a new phone.

Outside the window trees and fields flew past, before they passed through Grindleford station and disappeared into a tunnel. Claire stared at her reflection in the dark window and wondered when she had stopped wearing make-up. I guess it doesn’t matter if we are headed for Manchester: I don’t suppose anyone would recognise me.

The train emerged from the tunnel into a grey landscape and her image vanished. A voice echoed down the train calling for tickets. Claire dug in her handbag for her purse, feeling her heart thudding against her ribs. I’ve never boarded a train without a ticket before. I hope he’ll let me buy one and not make a fuss. She felt the heat return to her cheeks and wondered if it would have been less stressful to wake a hostel full of people to ask someone to move their car.

Why is nothing every easy?

***

Related articles (random links that looked interesting!)

Easter Craft and a Sunny Park: 2013 365 Challenge #79

Balancing boy 'All by myself'

Balancing boy ‘All by myself’

Today started slow after the slough of despond yesterday. Thank you to everyone who liked the post: it helped drag me back out the self-pitying doldrums. Sometimes I just need to grow up and accept that life is hard! Thankfully hubbie took the kids long enough for me to write my post and have a shower this morning so I started the day feeling half human.

It helped that the sun put in a rare appearance. I was able to chuck the kids outside to play in the sandpit and on their bikes and scooters. Daddy did gardening, so I could make some tweaks to my Dragon Wraiths book cover knowing the kids were being watched. It hasn’t resulted in any new sales but it made me feel better.

Easter craft (they ate the chocolate nests!)

Easter craft (they ate the chocolate nests!)

I took the children to a local preschool in the afternoon to do Easter craft. I wasn’t sure whether to go or to leave the children out in the sun, as the forecast for tomorrow is rotten, but hubbie made the decision for me by having the kids dressed and shod by the front door in record-quick time. I think he was ready for a few hours’ peace!

We spent a wonderful but hectic two hours making chocolate nests, chicks, bunnies and Easter cards. My children love craft but generally end up painting everything brown including themselves so it was lovely to have them follow instructions and make specific things. Although that always leaves the problem of what to do with their creations! I have drawers stuffed fulled of pictures and paintings but nothing is named or dated!

Hurrah no muddy dog to clean

Hurrah no muddy dog to clean

Aaron and I even made it to our village park this afternoon. I’ve missed our trips to the park. It’s only a short walk away and it’s a lovely one with slide, swings, playhouse, zip wire and climbing frame. I push the kids on the swing and throw a toy for Kara. We all get exercise and I don’t have to rub down a muddy dog.

For the last six months though it’s been far too wet with most of the equipment lethal or out of order. We walk to the park only to end up sheltering in the playhouse waiting for the rain to stop. It makes parenting harder than it needs to be.

The kids had a final mad run round the garden (they were ‘tidying up’!) when they were meant to be eating their dinner. I didn’t have the heart to call them in: with the forecast for wet and snow again tomorrow, who knows how long it will be before they can run around in socks and tops again?

________________________________________________________________________________________

Claire lent against the door of the Skoda and gazed up at the dark building set against winter trees and leaden sky. I can imagine how this might make you think of Gothic horror and mad women in the attic. It’s pretty gloomy.

“Amazing building, yah?”

Claire jumped at the sound of the voice. She turned and saw a snow princess walking towards her. She blinked, wondering if her concussion was more severe than the doctor had suggested. As the woman strolled nearer she realised it was a beautiful blonde wearing cream snow gear, wrapped up against the chill. Claire looked down at her Helly Hansen jacket and wondered when it had become so shabby.

“One expects to see Mr Rochester doing a rising-trot up the lane, doesn’t one?” The woman smiled, dazzling Claire with her even white teeth. “Hullo, I’m Catherine. You can come in and have a gander if you like?”

“What? You live here?” Claire shook her head, gritting her teeth against the pain.

Catherine laughed, a cascade of chiming bells. “Wouldn’t that be super? No we’re here for the weekend for a wedding.”

Claire tried to imagine staying in the house. “I think I’d be worried about Bertha Mason setting fire to my bedroom while I slept. Is it very dark and spooky?”

Another tinkling laugh followed Claire’s statement and she felt the blood rush to her cheeks.

“Hardly. Come in for an espresso and see for yourself. You can park your car.” She looked at the Skoda, noticing it for the first time, and raised her perfectly plucked eyebrows. Claire’s cheeks flushed hotter and she turned away, letting her hair drop over her face. She listened mutely to the instructions on where to park before climbing into her seat.

I could just keep driving. I’m not that interested in seeing the Hall that inspired Rochester’s house. Does it matter if I am rude to a complete stranger? She looks like it would bounce straight off her super-ego. Claire thought about the blog, the chance to have something different to write about and sighed. Maybe I should accept. How hard can it be to be civil for half an hour?

 

Claire entered the building and stopped in the hallway. She felt her jaw drop and shut her mouth with a snap. “It’s tiny. I was expecting some rambling mansion. This isn’t Thornfield Hall.” She thought about the place she had imagined during A Level English. Her teenage dreams of being rescued from boarding school by a brooding stranger.

“Wait until you see the roof. Tell me then if you can’t envisage Bertha jumping off.” Catherine’s eyes blazed and she tugged Claire’s arm to lead her through the house.

Claire had an impression of dark beams and ornate ceilings before she was blasted by a gust of arctic air. Huddling into her jacket, she squinted against the wind and looked at the view.

“Wow.” The vista stretched all the way to the hazy-blue horizon, miles in the distance. In the space between hills huddled together beneath the grey winter sky, wearing trees like ruffled blankets. A low mist clung to the valley, like the smoke billowing from a crypt in a vampire movie. Claire shivered.

Catherine strode to the crenellations and peered over before turning towards Claire. “Come and see the lambs. They’re so cute, frolicking around like babies.”

Claire walked a step closer to the edge and felt her heartbeat quicken. I don’t know this woman from Adam. Why has she brought me up here? Images of the attack the day before swam into her mind. What if she’s crazy and wants to push me over the edge. She might be channelling Bertha’s ghost for all I know.

When she came no nearer, Catherine’s brows furrowed. “Are you okay?”

“I don’t like heights,” Claire responded, trying to keep the wobble from her voice. “I need to get going anyway. I have stuff to do.” She realised how rude that sounded. “Thank you so much for showing me round.”

The girl sighed. “That’s fine. It was super to have someone else to talk to. My family have gone fishing and I can’t stand it.” She pulled a face. “Slimy, wriggling things.”

Claire felt her heartbeat slow at the woebegone look on Catherine’s face. That damn mugging has me jumping at shadows. Maybe some people do just want to chat because they’re lonely. She looked at her watch. There was plenty of time to get to the hostel before reception closed.

“Did you mention something about coffee?”

***

Related articles

The Dreary World of Self-Doubt: 2013 365 Challenge #78

Coffee Art

Coffee Art

Hello self-doubt how nice to see you again. I started the day with such positivity. I went to Costa to write my Claire installment and spent a splendid hour wedged into a comfy sofa drinking a rather artistic flat white (it seemed a shame to spoil it!).

Then I did the usual chores: a two-hour supermarket shop, dishwasher stacking, floor vacuuming and lunch preparation. Okay I didn’t really do the last one as we had pizza.

My wonderful husband tidied my larder which had got so cluttered with lid-less Tupperware and random party paraphernalia there was no room for food. Life was good.

Then I sat down to work on Baby Blues, after two hours of ‘social media stuff’ (tweeting, commenting on blogs, reading blogs, retweeting interesting articles etc). I managed thirty minutes of editing before giving up in disgust and taking the dog out for a walk.

My Writing Den today. Lovely

My Writing Cave today. Lovely

I have read so many blogs about how to write, how to edit, how to market, how to manage social media, what to do and not to do as a self-published author I’m ready to run down the road screaming. It feels like being a new parent all over again. You know, that time when you realise ‘parenting comes naturally’ is complete bollox and you consume every article you can lay your hands on searching for answers only to come back with more questions.

My biggest problem, as a parent and a writer, is that I like to be told what to do – within certain parameters. I want to be given a fairly detailed brief with clear goals and deliverables. Like at school: write this essay or this one, choice of two. You have your brief: deliver. I’m good at solving problems. I’m not so good with choices. Or weighing up conflicting advice.

A friend recently told me about a new TV show discussing ways to get kids to sleep better, because she knows ours have never been all that great at sleeping. And because I complain about lack of sleep a lot. But we’ve been through so many sleep training methods and none have worked. When the children are happy, physically tired, well fed and not ill, they sleep great. Usually that’s when worry or snoring keeps me awake instead, but that’s just god’s wicked sense of humour.

Gorgeous Hubbie tidied my larder today. Now that's love.

Hubbie tidied my larder. Now that’s love.

Unless I know something is definitely going to work better than what I’m already doing, I’m not interested any more. I’m going with gut feel and to hell with it. It’s taken four years and a lot of tears to get that self-confidence as a parent and it’s still pretty ephemeral. I’ll be wallowing in parental guilt and self-doubt within ten minutes of picking up the kids. [actually it was less than that.].

Now with the writing I’m back at the beginning. I don’t know what I’m meant to be doing. There is SO much advice but most of it merely serves to convince me I’m no more cut out to be a writer than I am a parent.

Well, it’s too late to send the kids back and nor would I want to. But I might have to seriously consider if I can sacrifice another four years to find peace of mind as a writer. Do I really want to embark on a career that has no answers and the only way I will know if I’ve done a good job is if my 5-star reviews out-number my 1-star reviews? Jury’s out, but the feeling in the courtroom is no.

________________________________________________________________________________________

“Michael? It’s Claire.”

“Claire, you’re okay. Thank god. I was so worried. Where are you? What happened? The police were going to call me back but they haven’t yet. I’ve been frantic.”

“Whoa, slow down.” Claire inhaled to calm her skipping heart. “I’m fine. I was mugged.” Michael made a guttural sound but Claire ignored him. She needed to get her words out and be done.

“The police found me just as I was coming round and took me back to the hostel. I’ve got a lump on my head the size of a duck’s egg and my hair is matted with blood, but apart from that I’m good. I was lucky.”

She wanted to hang up before Michael could speak again but he was already talking. “I’m so glad the police found you. When you called and then the phone went dead I didn’t know what to think.” He inhaled and released a shuddering laugh. “I thought. Well. Never mind. I’d seen on Twitter that you’d just left the pub and I thought you might be walking somewhere. You should take more care.” His tone took on the preachy note of concern that always set Claire’s hackles rising.

“I’m not a child and this isn’t exactly inner-city New York. I was unlucky, that’s all.” She thought about him tracking her every move. That’s a bit creepy. “What does Debbie think about you following me on Twitter?”

“It’s none of her damn business.” His voice scraped at the soreness in Claire’s head. She tried to puzzle through his bitter tone but her thoughts were still muddled. She shook her head and pain rattled through it like pills in a bottle.

“Ow!”

“What? Are you okay? Have you seen a doctor?”

Claire laughed. “Yes I saw a GP this morning. I’m fine. Mild concussion that’s all. It hurts to move.”

“Come home Claire. You’ve proved your point. Come back and have a proper sleep in a proper bed.”

The affection in his voice weakened her. She slumped against the side of the phone box and dropped her head. “I don’t have a home to go to anymore. Besides, it’s not about proving a point.” As she said it she realised it was true. Part of her was actually looking forward to having Sky for a week or two, to explore the East Coast with her and write about it on her blog. “And the beds aren’t that bad. You know that, you stayed in one of the hostels I’ve visited. With Debbie.”

“We’re back on her again are we? Let it go, Claire. There is nothing between us, there never was after I met you.”

“Ha!” Claire winced as her voice reverberated around the confined space. She lowered her voice. “So it wasn’t you and her I bumped into at the airport?” Swallowing down the metallic taste in her mouth Claire cursed herself for rising to the bait. I promised I wouldn’t discuss it. Why couldn’t I have just sent him an email?

“We were coming back from a wedding.”

Claire’s stomach dropped down to her shoes and the breath stuck in her throat.

“An old friend of Debbie’s,” Michael continued, as if his words hadn’t left Claire’s ears ringing. “Debbie didn’t want to go by herself and I said I’d go. As a friend.” He emphasised the last three words, as he might to a difficult child. “You know where my heart lives.”

There was silence on the line. Claire could hear her heartbeat dancing an Irish jig, could hear her breathing rasping, her breaths making wisps of vapour in the freezing air. Inhaling deeply through her noise Claire immediately wished she hadn’t as the scent of Saturday night bodily fluids floated up from the floor of the phone box. Switching to breathing through her mouth, Claire searched the fog in her mind for words.

A loud hammering on the glass broke the spell. Claire looked up into the face of an old man wrapped up in several dirty jumpers and coats. He had a small scruffy dog at his feet and he was gesturing at the floor of the phone box. Looking down Claire realised what she thought was a bag of rubbish was actually the man’s possessions.

“I have to go Michael. I’m in a man’s house.” She realised how bad that sounded but didn’t have the energy to explain. “Thanks again for the knight in shining armour bit. You always were good at that.”

She hung up the phone and pushed her way free from the tiny box, gulping in the fresh morning air.

***

The Rain Came Down and The Floods Came Up: 2013 365 Challenge #77

Nice weather for ducks and dogs apparently

Nice weather for ducks and dogs apparently

My kids sing a song they must have learned from nursery. I don’t know it* and they only know one line but it’s definitely becoming the anthem of our winter here in the UK:

The rain came down and the floods came up.

They sing the one line, together with actions, over and over when we’re in the car, until I feel like I’m in a Stephen King novel.

*Turns out it’s called The Wise Man built His House Upon the Rock. And I thought it must be from a Noah and the ark song.

Don't think I fancy the river today Mummy

Don’t think I fancy the river today Mummy

We did indoor play again today, meeting up with an old friend and her family. It’s great to combine forces at these places so you can take it in turns to be the hamster in a cage. Taking the Daddies is even better because little girls love spending time with Daddies (it doesn’t have to be their own: Amber does adopt-a-daddy all the time. Sometimes with people we don’t even know which is a bit embarrassing).

It snowed heavily while we were tucked inside but it soon turned to rain and the roads were flooded as we drove to my parents’ house. If it keeps raining we’re going to be Oundle-on-sea (we’re on the edge of the Fens which, if you don’t know the UK, is a large area of reclaimed wetland. It’s very flat.)

At least the dog likes the wet weather. She is part labrador and has webbed feet so she loves being in the water. Normally she swims in the river but, when it’s swollen with flood water, she doesn’t fancy it. Instead she races up and down the flooded fields at high speed. I tried to take pictures but I only had my phone with me. But you get the idea!

Blurry Action Shot: Even Kara loves jumping in muddy puddles

Blurry Action Shot: Kara loves muddy puddles

We saw friends of ours out puddle jumping in the afternoon: the three little kids all in waterproofs and wellies. I felt guilty because we were watching our second movie of the day, wrapped up in the lounge. Our kids have had way too much screen time this winter. I don’t mind the rain but when it’s zero degrees outside that’s too chilly to get soaked! (They have colds, so that’s my excuse sorted).

Anyway, today’s installment is going to be written in the morning as I have a date with the Got To Dance final on Sky One tonight. I’ll be bereft when it’s over but I’m very much looking foward to the final live show.

P.S. We ended up watching the final with a small child asking questions all the way through. We made the mistake of letting her watch the Little Princess episode ‘I don’t want to go to bed’ at bedtime, which is all about a little girl who doesn’t want to sleep alone. Big Mistake. HUGE. We’ll have days of her not wanting to sleep alone now. Must delete it from the Sky Plus!

Never mind, the final was still great and the right person won. If you don’t watch it, check out the video of Lukas McFarlane’s first live performance. Awesome.

________________________________________________________________________________________

Claire turned and studied the ornate building of Castleton Losehill Hall as she walked away from reception. I thought it looked like a gothic mansion when I arrived. I never imagined I’d be living one of Ann Radcliffe’s more lurid tales while I stayed here.

Meandering through the corridors and courtyards of the hostel that morning, with a bandage on her head and purple bruises on her cheek, it had been easy to picture herself in the pages of a Victorian drama. She’d ignored the giggling kids as she’d perched on a bench, lost in a nineteenth century world of mad counts and ephemeral ghosts.

Maybe Sergeant Cornhill was right, maybe I do have concussion. Claire tried to remember what the woman had told her the night before about the symptoms of a head injury. Confusion, inability to make decisions, tiredness. How is that any different to how I feel on any normal Sunday morning? Her laughter sounded fake even to her. Maybe I will pop in and see a GP before I head to the next hostel. Seeing as I don’t even know where I’m going today.

Claire stopped on the path and stared at the dirty-grey clouds scudding across the sky, strung out like dingy washing. What am I doing? I need to at least know what hostel I’m going to. Her only thought, after her morning of musing and wandering, was to get away and put the events of the previous evening behind her. Now the idea of driving past the scene with no clear intention or destination made bile rise in her throat. She hitched her rucksack up on her shoulders and headed back into the hostel. Maybe I’ll just have a quick look at the website, at least find the nearest hostel. I’m meant to have a quiet day today anyway, Sergeant’s orders.

Claire walked through the glass lobby and scurried to a corner before the manager on duty asked her what she was doing back. She wasn’t sure if she was allowed in the building after check-out and her head ached too much for a confrontation.

Within the space of a few minutes she had loaded the YHA site on her iPad, thankful that she still had it to plug the aching hole left by her stolen phone. The nearest hostel was apparently Hathersage. When Claire read the description she laughed loudly before wincing at the rattling pain it caused in her head.

A bustling Derbyshire village popular with everyone from fans of outdoor activity breaks to literature and history buffs. Walk the Charlotte Brontë Literature trail, taking in North Lees Manor featured in Jane Eyre and visit the oversized grave of Robin Hood’s sidekick, Little John.

 She smiled as she reread it. Well, I’ve lived the Gothic story, why not go and wander in the home of the finest Victorian novelists? Maybe I’ll meet the ghost of Heathcliff or the mad woman in the attic. Maybe I’ll be the mad woman locked in a garret. It might be nice to hide from the world for a while. Claire thought about the phone call she needed to make; the thank you that was going to stick in her throat like dry toast.

Yes, I think it might be nice to hide.

***

Related articles

Parties and Playdough: 2013 365 Challenge #76

Apparently this is Mummy (it started as an alien)

Apparently this is Mummy (it started as an alien)

The highlights of today were parties and playdough (and obviously NOT the rugby).

My daughter is getting quite creative with her playdough, although she still likes to copy pictures and get ideas from others. I think her model of Mummy is a good likeness, what do you think?

Amber had a birthday party to attend this afternoon, so we had a quiet morning at home. I took the playdough shift then hubbie tooking the hide-and-seek / den-making shift while I did housework in my pyjamas (doesn’t every body?)

My beautiful party girl

My beautiful party girl

The party was great. It was a Yogabugs party, a new one on me. It’s like a yoga class for kids but done through interactive story-telling  so the children are totally absorbed. Who knew that you could get twenty kids to give their attention to a complete stranger for nearly an hour? Only the parents got into trouble (mostly me) for making too much noise. I haven’t been shushed three times in twenty minutes since I was at school.

Amber loved it. She sat directly in front of the lady running the group and did everything asked of her, being a shark, a turtle, a fish, an oyster and a mermaid. I’ve never been to a birthday party with so much calm. At least normal service resumed after food, as the kids ran up and down the empty village hall for twenty minutes, giggling.

Amber made me laugh when she opened her party bag and said “there’s not much in it.” It was a gorgeous bag, with a windmill, some tattoos and a lovely bracelet, as well as sweets and cake. But there was no plastic tat. Kids love plastic tat, the cheaper and nastier the better. I’ve contemplated filling party bags with beautiful wooden toys before but awful, bright, plastic toys win every time. The minefield of planning a party for a four-year-old! I’m sure it doesn’t get any easier.

Cute little Yoga Bugs stretching high

Cute little Yoga Bugs stretching high

Cute Yoga Bugs being sleeping star fish

Cute Yoga Bugs being sleeping star fish

________________________________________________________________________________________

Claire sat back in the chair and winced as the dazzling spotlights stabbed viciously at her eyeballs.

“Can you turn the lights off?”

“How will I see to clean your wound?”

“I thought cops had superpowers.”

The woman laughed. “No. Not that I’ve noticed. Now hold still or I’ll handcuff you and take you to A&E.”

Claire chewed the inside of her cheek and tried to be still. The policewoman dabbed at her head and Claire twitched as if she’d been electrocuted.

“Bugger, that hurts. Sorry. I’m holding still. Promise.” Claire chewed her cheek harder and dug her nails into the soft flesh of her palms.

“It’s only an antiseptic wipe. We’re not sure what they hit you with. It wasn’t anything sharp, you don’t need stitches. The first aid kit has some Steri-strips which I can use. You should still see a doctor.”

“I’ll go in the morning. Right now I just want to sleep.” Claire felt blindly for her tea and nearly knocked it off the table.

“Here love.” A much friendlier voice came near and her tea was pushed into her reaching grasp.

“Thank you. At least someone is sympathetic.” Claire smiled at the hostel manager then winced again as the policewoman resumed cleaning her blood-smeared scalp.

“I’d be more sympathetic if you would be a better patient.” The woman frowned like a school teacher and Claire shrank into her chair.

She’s no older than I am, why does she have the ability to make me feel about five. At least the other one’s gone. I don’t need a teacher and a headmaster making me feel like an idiot.

Claire looked at the clock on the wall and was shocked to see it was nearly midnight. “I’m so sorry, you should be tucked up in bed by now too, shouldn’t you?”

“Nah, it’s Saturday night. We never finish before dawn.”

“Really? There’s that much crime in a tiny village like this?”

The woman chuckled. “You’d be surprised.”

Claire squeaked as the woman dug in with her antiseptic wipe and then pulled at her head to get the wound straight for the Steri-strips. Come on Claire, don’t be a wuss. She tried to take her mind off the procedure and let it dwell for the first time on something that had been bugging her.

They said my boyfriend called them. Now was that Josh or Michael? And how did either of them know I was in trouble? She wanted to ask but didn’t want to distract the policewoman from her work. The cut was just below the hairline on her temple but she still didn’t want a noticeable scar.

As if reading her mind the policewoman stood up and said, “There we go. It shouldn’t scar. The more a scalp wound bleeds the shallower it is. This isn’t much more than a graze. You were lucky.”

Lucky? Right.

“Girl got mugged last week and they beat her so hard they damn near broke every bone in her face. All because she didn’t have any money in her purse.”

Claire shivered and pulled her coat tightly around her. Okay, lucky. Got it.

“Er. You said my boyfriend called you.” She looked up at the policewoman and noticed for the first time that she had hazel eyes. It made her face softer, more approachable. “Only, you see, I don’t have a boyfriend.”

The woman smiled, revealing little dimples that instantly made her younger. “Well, someone cares about you very much. He left his number so we’ll call him and let him know you’re okay.”

“But how did he know I was being robbed?”

“He said you rang him and he heard the scuffle before the phone cut off.”

Images of the attack swam through Claire’s mind. She vaguely remembered yelling something that had caused her phone to light up and reveal her location in the dark. At least there was an upside to her stupidity.

Poor Michael, having to phone the police to rescue his ex-girlfriend. A picture of the last time she saw him waved in her mind like a protest flag. Well, serves him right. Still I should probably ring and say thank you.

“I’ll call…. Oh no, bugger. My phone!” Suddenly the reality of the attack sunk in. “My bloody phone! What the hell am I going to do without it?” A hollow sensation exploded in her stomach and spread like a black hole.

“You’re lucky it was a good one. If it hadn’t been they might not have run off.”

“You don’t understand. I need that phone. It’s my only way to keep in contact with the world.”

“There are payphones you know.”

Claire laughed, then, a bitter scornful laugh. “Payphones? Are you serious? Can you tweet, email or Skype from a payphone? Does it tell you where you’re meant to be or have all the numbers of your friends and family stored in its little memory? Can you use it as a torch, camera, music player, magazine and paperback?”

Her breathing became rapid and the edges of her vision darkened in panic. The iPad. I still have my iPad and it’s synched up. She inhaled a long shuddering breath and concentrated on what needed to happen next.

“I’d like to report a theft please.”

***

Related articles (all about playdough because it’s great!)

Reviews, Hormones and Biscuits: 2013 365 Challenge #75

Buying a box of biscuits - big mistake!

Buying a box of biscuits – big mistake!

I’m due on tomorrow which means today was a day of being narky to everyone and then saying sorry. (More than usual, that is!)

Oh and a day of biscuits.

I made the mistake of buying a family selection box at M&S when we went shopping for socks. Family selection? Really? I let the kids have two each, but that was only to keep them quiet on the hour-long drive home. I’ve eaten about half the box. 😦

We had a lovely family day at a place called Springfields – one of these discount retail outlet places that also has a playbarn for the kids. We went a year ago and bought shirts for hubbie and I took them back because they were too small and impossible to iron. It’s taken a year (and the promise of contract work) to get us back out there again to spend his refund voucher on more shirts!

Running after Aaron like a hamster in a cage

Running after Aaron like a hamster in a cage

I always get the short straw when we go to Springfields. Hubbie spends the time shopping (because he has less guilt than me when it comes to spending money on himself) while I climb round the playbarn like a hamster with the kids.

Actually the playbarn was lovely today as it’s a week day: there were only three other preschool-age children and Amber went off with the eldest which meant I only needed to keep Aaron out of trouble!

At the weekend it is a battlefield of storming child-troops and shouty or indifferent parent-sergeant-majors

The only sad part is that it always rains when we go. It’s out in the Fens and I guess there’s nothing stopping the weather sweeping in and drowning the colour out of the place. I say sad because there are beautiful gardens full of dinosaurs and daffodils and we were looking forward to a walk. As the kids had soaked themselves in the outdoor part of the playbarn we had to just head to the car. Fun family day though.

I also got my first review for Dragon Wraiths today. It was three stars so I read it with shaking hands and thudding heart: even though I swore I wouldn’t care about bad reviews. As it turns out it was lovely (and makes me wonder what he didn’t like that made him dock two stars). Because it’s my first I have to repeat it here, but I promise I won’t bore on every time someone comments on something! 🙂

a gallop for the imagination, 14 Mar 2013
This review is from: Dragon Wraiths (Kindle Edition)

Entertaining, imaginative, romp with thoughtful characters and scenic descriptions. Fans of Anne MaCaffrey’s Dragons of Pern series should enjoy this tale.

Happy with that!

_____________________________________________________________________________________

The first thing Claire noticed was the cold. She felt as if she was floating on an iceberg in a choppy sea. That would explain the seasickness and the fact I’m freezing. But not the pain. Did I get walloped by a polar bear? And how the hell did I end up in the Arctic Ocean? She tried to remember but it made the pain worse.

The next thing she noticed was the siren, quiet at first but getting louder. Not quickly like a fire engine rushing to the scene but a slow rise, coming up from murky depths. Why is there a fire engine in the ocean? I wish it would bugger off: it’s stabbing straight through the hole that damn polar bear made in my skull. She reached up a hand and it came back sticky. A polar bear with a blunt object.

The siren came nearer and Claire’s head throbbed in time with the rise and fall of the wail. Blue light flashed at the edges of her vision and she closed her eyes, willing it to sod off so she could get back to sleep. Another noise joined the wail. A voice, deep and stern, like a hall-stalking headmaster. I’m not smoking or late, go away and leave me alone.

Then a word stood out in the wall of noise.

“Claire?”

Oh.

“Claire Carleton?”

The noise came with the purr of an engine and then dazzling white light shone over her.

That’s it, I’ve died. I don’t remember dying but at least I can see the light.

The engine hum went away but the light didn’t. A loud slam made her jump and she cursed at the stab of pain.

“Miss Carleton? Thank god we’ve found you, are you hurt?”

“Who are you and what are you doing on my iceberg?”

“She’s delirious.” This was said over the man’s shoulder. Claire heard a second slamming noise and footsteps.

A kinder voice said “We’re here to help. Your boyfriend said he thought something might have happened to you and that you’d Tweeted you were just leaving the Old Nags Head. We’ve been searching the route. What happened?” She hunkered down next to Claire and smoothed the hair away from her face. Immediately she pulled her hand back and examined it.

“She’s hurt. Best phone for an ambulance.”

“No. No more sirens or lights it makes my head ache. I’m fine.”

“You’re bleeding.”

“I think a polar bear hit me.”

“You’re not making sense love. Were you attacked?”

A flash of memory lit up as if illuminated by a search light. She nodded, then regretted it when the world twisted.

“They took my bag. And my phone, the bastards.” She sat up, then fell sideways against the woman, nearly knocking them both over.

“I’d be happier if you saw a doctor. Will you let us take you to A&E?”

“Blimey do you even have one?”

“The nearest is Sheffield, it’s about forty minutes.”

Claire thought about the drive, the three-hour wait, endless questions and more bright lights.

“Can you take me to the hostel instead? I’d like some dry clothes and a mug of Earl Grey.”

The police officers conferred and seemed to reach an agreement. Claire was raised to her feet and guided to the back seat of the car.

“One more thing, please?”

“Yes?”

“Can you turn off that damn siren?”

***

Related articles

Relentless Revision: 2013 365 Challenge #74

This is me when faced with revision...

This is me when faced with revision…

I’ve been revising Baby Blues & Wedding Shoes all day today.

Well, no, let’s be honest. I’ve been farting about on Twitter and WordPress and getting my head around Hotmail switching to Outlook, while thinking to myself I should be doing revision.

I’ve watched Homes Under the Hammer, dozed on the sofa and walked the dog. I’ve stacked the dishwasher, although I haven’t hoovered or cleaned the floor like I should have (just delegated the hoovering to hubbie but now I feel guilty because domestic chores are my job).

Have I mentioned before I hate doing revision on my novels? Probably once or twice. I’m fine for a page or two but then the sheer scale of the job overwhelms me, or I come across a scene that really stinks, and that’s it. Poof. All motivation evaporates. I really really want to stop working on Baby Blues (it will never be ‘finished’!) but if I release it into the world before it’s ready it will die and maybe take my (currently non-existent) reputation as an author with it.

On a happier note my wandering through the world of WordPress has introduced me to some great new blogs. I thought I should have a look wider than the parenting/writing blogs I tend to follow, and I’ve found some lovely photography sites and other more general ones. When I have time (i.e. when I’m meant to be revising again) I’ll pick out one or two to share.

Anyway, I think it’s time to have something different happen to Claire. I have an idea or two floating around so going to open my Word doc and see what falls on the page.

_______________________________________________________________________________________

Claire pulled her coat tighter and tucked her chin into the collar. After the heat of the pub the night air was bitter. She had stayed longer than intended, enjoying the open fire and the good wine, and now the sky had settled into a dusky shade of blue.

What a stupid idea to walk. I must stop listening to advice. Who cares if it’s only fifteen minutes, I got enough exercise this morning with those horrible brats and the oh-so-charming Pete.

The sun had set behind her and she knew the sky was laced with red and orange. Ahead it was dark, with only a faint glow highlighting the hills beyond the village.

I hope there are streetlamps up the lane. I didn’t think to bring a torch. Claire dug in her bag for her iPhone and used it to light the road ahead. I don’t want to step in anything nasty.

She walked on, concentrating on the pavement directly in front of her in case some careless dog owner had left something behind. These are the only shoes I’ve got that aren’t already crusted with mud. I’d like to keep them that way.

Ideas for her blog post drifted through her mind, floating on a glass of wine and settling into the rhythm of her stride. How am I going to write about this morning in a funny way without getting Pete into trouble? I guess I don’t have to name him. She thought about the weaseling trip and laughed, the sound echoing in the still night air. Too many pies. Cheeky bastard. Patting her tummy Claire thought that maybe her jeans were a little tighter than they had been a few weeks ago. It’s all these pub dinners. Why do they have to make the Fish and Chips look so yummy on the menu? Mind you, it was yummy. But it’s not exactly sushi or noodles. If there was any justice I’d be burning the calories doing stupid things like walking back to the hostel in the dark.

As if the words formed an image in her mind Claire became aware of just how dark it was. The pool of orange light cast by each streetlamp only seemed to highlight the darkness in between. Killing the light on the iPhone she tried to let her eyes adjust to the darkness. Her heart thudded loudly and she twitched at the sound of something scurrying in the hedgerow behind her.

What’s with all these looming walls and rustling trees? It’s spookier than a cemetery at Halloween. Come on girl, you’re not one to be afraid of a bit of black. Sheesh don’t add fear of the dark to your newly found phobias. Josh will piss himself laughing.

Claire opened her shoulders and raised her neck as if she was back in Madame Émile’s ballet class imagining a line pulling her head to the ceiling. It was as she was about to release the inhaled breath that she heard the footsteps. They were steady, unhurried, coming up behind her. She resisted the urge to walk faster. City life had taught her to ignore the approach of others, to remember that not every stranger on the street was out to kill you.

She strode the length of a long wall and saw the turning to the hostel driveway up ahead, past some houses set back from the road. The footsteps behind her seemed to be drawing nearer although their pace matched her own. It made her think it must be someone with a long stride. Or someone intent on catching me up.

Her heartbeat came faster now and the battered fish sat heavy in her stomach. She lengthened her own stride and glanced up and down the road ready to cross and turn up the drive. She deliberated whether to abandon the walk home and return to the safety of village. It was unlikely that the driveway had any lighting and she didn’t remember there being houses between the main road and the hostel.

Silly girl. Why didn’t I drive down for dinner? Or leave earlier. Somewhere between the thump thump of her footsteps and their unwanted echo and the timpani-pounding of her heart Claire knew why she hadn’t bothered. This is Hope Valley. People don’t get attacked out here. People get attacked in cities like Manchester. She thought about all the news stories she had seen with some poor soul sobbing, explaining that that sort of thing just didn’t happen round here. Claire felt the blood drain from her face at the thought that it has to happen somewhere.

The attack came from her right, not from behind. She had been so concerned with the footsteps she had failed to see the shadowy figure lurking on a park bench beneath the trees. Claire felt someone grab at her bag, trying to pull it from her shoulder. She swung out an elbow and let the bag slip free, knowing her phone was in her hand and her wallet in her back pocket. She’d at least learned that much. As soon as the bag was free she ran, hoping the man had what he wanted. She had forgotten about the footsteps, the fact that anyone following her would have seen her phone in her hand.

The first pursuer caught up with her as she crossed the road. Self-defence classes came to her aid and she jabbed the heel of her hand into his solar plexus before he could get a good grip. He crumpled, winded, and Claire span back to the driveway, wondering if her trembling legs would carry her the full distance before the second person arrived.

Her mind screamed at her to do something and without stopping to consider she yelled “Call Michael”. She heard her phone ringing in the pitch black of the lane. The screen lit up as the call connected.

Oh stupid girl.

The light shone bright in the darkness and the running footsteps came straight for her. Something sped through the air and she felt the impact against her temple, as a piercing pain stabbed through her head and blurred her vision.

A familiar voice rang in the darkness. “Hello? Michael speaking.”

Claire felt someone wrench the phone from her hand and then nothing.

***

Related articles

Ideas and Interviews: 2013 365 Challenge #73

Old meets New in the City

Old meets New in the City

Sometimes you have to get out your comfort zone to realise how comfortable it is. I actually missed the kids today, even though I enjoyed my London adventure.

I also felt like I was on some kind of research mission for a character not yet born. Not Claire, Helen, Lucy, Annalie or Rebecca.

Someone new.

Someone who, like me, tries to return to work after being at home with the kids for years and finds it all a bit different to what she remembers.

A comedy, definitely.

There will be an incident where she goes into Pret a Manger to buy tea and a sandwich, forgets to say ‘dine in’ and is too embarrassed to confess. She’ll end up heading out into the winter’s day instead of eating her avacado, crayfish and rocket bloomer snug in the warm cafe. She may wander the City streets surrounded by suits, carrying a cup of tea she’s dying to drink, desperately seeking a bench. In the snow. With her hands red-raw and freezing.

She may squat in the lee of a building next to the sneaky smokers, drain her cup of tea in one long gulp while feeling as self-conscious as a pink hippo, then head for Costa. She might go to the Ladies to scoff half a sandwich before buying a second cup of tea, then sit with the other half of the sandwich in her bag calling out to her rumbling tummy.

Lunch with Daddy

Lunch with Daddy

She’ll feel nervous to be back in London again and be slightly bemused by the new buildings. The fact that they’ve completely rebuilt Kings Cross will leave her flumoxed. She’ll get lost trying to find her platform with only minutes to catch the train home and really want to stop and take a picture when she spots Platform 9 3/4 as she runs for the escalator. She’ll resist and board the train as the doors close with a hiss, praying it’s the right one.

She’ll sit on the train home feeling like a real person for the first time in years, tapping away at her laptop and watching as the weather changes from blizzard to sunshine to blizzard again every few miles. She’ll wonder how the kids got on with Daddy and look at the picture he sent of them having lunch at Tesco.

Maybe she’ll call home and hear that they’re all snuggled on the sofa watching Peter Pan, having had a brilliant day at the park, and feel that maybe they didn’t miss her much at all. Until her daughter says “Miss you Mummy” and makes her all choked up and grateful.

She’ll sit, watching the world whiz by out the window, feeling the blissful space and distance away from the family home and feel torn between wanting to be a Mummy and wanting to be a normal functioning productive wage-earning adult again.

That might all happen in my next book. 😉

___________________________________________________________________________________________

Claire felt a sharp sting as a hand slapped her on the bum, followed by a loud guffawed as she squealed in surprise.

“Come on love, they’ll be waiting for us at the bus.”

Claire felt a strong desire to kick downwards and boot the source of the taunting voice on the noise. Taking a deep breath she conquered the impulse and poured her anger into her voice. “Get your hands off me. I’m stuck.” She tried to turn and glare at the offensive man trying to shove her through solid rock but she couldn’t move her head more than a few inches. Actually I’m quite glad he made me cross, it gives me something else to think about other than coffins and closed spaces and what they’re going to do if I really am stuck. Her mouth felt dry and she could feel her heartbeat begin to quicken as the sensation of immobility seeped through her consciousness.

“You’re not stuck love, you just need to wiggle those hips. Too many pies is it?”

“I am not fat. How dare you?” Claire wrenched herself forward until her shoulders were free. The sound of tearing cloth filled the tight space.

“Nah you’re not fat love, you’ve got a nice arse. Got you moving though, didn’t it?” He sniggered as he nimbly clambered through the rock behind her.

Now I know why they call it weaselling. Not only do you have to have the agility of a rat in a drainpipe, the instructors are all weasels too.

“You’re lucky none of the teachers can hear you talking like that.” Claire spat the words over her shoulder as she wriggled through the crevice towards the chink of daylight at the end.

“No chance of that, they’re miles ahead. You know you’re being shown up by a bunch of kids?”

“They’re smaller than me; of course they can get through. Besides, kids are bendier.”

“What about the teachers, they all whisked through quick enough.”

He chuckled and Claire could hear the goad in his voice. She thought about retaliating that most teachers were skinny because everyone knew they were a day away from a nervous breakdown, never mind being poor as church mice, whatever that meant. She decided the trek leader wasn’t worth her ire and concentrated instead on getting through the narrow fissure in the rock without losing any more skin. Her hands were raw and she could feel a graze on her cheek from when she slipped and fell against the rock at the beginning, much to the amusement of the gaggle of brats in her group.

“Why did you want to come with a bunch of kids anyway?”

The trek instructor seemed to read her mind. Claire thought about telling the truth: that she’d been double-dared by her boss’s PA to go weaseling and had discovered the only way to go was to join a school party. Sod that. Makes me sound like a right muppet. As she dug her chipped nails into the crumbling rock, trying to pull herself forward before she got slapped on the bum again, a nasty idea popped into Claire’s mind.

“I’m an undercover journalist, investigating malpractice by tour guides and trek leaders. You know, inappropriate behaviour, hazardous practices, unsafe equipment.”

She giggled quietly as she heard Pete the trek guide suck air through his teeth at her words.

“You knew I was mucking about, like, when I slapped you and said you had a nice bottom? You won’t report me? I need this job. I’d never do that to one of the children.”

He sounded genuinely concerned and Claire felt a stab of guilt. She let him sweat a moment longer then, with as much reassurance as she could put in her voice while wedged in a tight crevice, said “don’t be silly. I was winding you up. I am a writer but not a journalist. I have a blog and I’m meant to do loads of outdoor stuff to please my boss.”

There was a pause and Claire wondered if Pete would be offended or see the funny side. She suspected he wasn’t sure how to react either and felt a bit sick at the thought of being cruel. It was below the belt I guess.

“I am sorry. You pissed me off that’s all.”

“That’s okay. I deserved it. I shouldn’t have wound you up. It was just nice to have a bit of a laugh. You have to be so careful around the youngsters.”

“I don’t know how you do it.” Claire pulled herself through the gap and crawled out onto a ledge, glad to be able to stand vertically for the first time in half an hour. She squinted her eyes against the sudden brightness and tried to see how far ahead the school party were. She wasn’t in a hurry to catch up. “Just spending the morning on the bus with them was enough.”

“Ah they’re alright. All full of lip and nonsense at this age. Give me ten-year-olds to teenagers any day.”

Ten, fifteen, five? They’re all the same. You can keep the lot of them with my blessing.

***

Related articles

A Manic sort of Day: 2013 365 Challenge #72

Mega Blocks Garages: a moment of calm

Mega Blocks Garages: a moment of calm

Phew. What a non-stop day.

It started at 7am when Dragon Wraiths went free on Kindle for my first promo day. There began a crazy 12 hours of tweeting, Facebook updates and madly checking my KDP Dashboard to see how many downloads I’ve managed. (124 as I write this).

It’s addictive, checking the KDP Dashboard every five minutes (125 now) and I can see why people have programs on their computer to disconnect the internet so they can get some real work done. Actually I was wondering today when I’ll ever get round to start/finishing a new manuscript. Between the daily blog, revising Baby Blues, and keeping up with Social Media stuff, there isn’t much time left to write.

I hope I haven’t overdone Twitter today. I do get frustrated by the clutter of promos in my Twitter Feed day in, day out. I know I follow a lot of self-published or new authors but there is often no actual human interaction and I don’t want to join that noise. That said, my increased Twitter activity is obviously paying off as I also reached 100 Twitter followers today. Not sure one of them would buy a book or retweet a comment – I think it’s mostly follow and be followed – but it’s a start and we all have to learn somehow.

Preparing for a possible return to Contracting

Preparing for a possible return to Contracting

Then came the next manic bit of the day: finding out I have an interview for a contract job tomorrow. I was really hoping they’d let hubbie take the contract but that hasn’t happened so I’m off to London.

I’m terrified.

Not of going to London, although it will be the first time in two years aside from a family trip to the Olympics. I used to go to Agency and Client meetings in the Big Smoke all the time when I worked for a living (said tongue in cheek of course!). Funny how four years at home with a couple of kids can erase all your confidence.

I know I can do this contract, whatever is involved (unless it’s databases: I hate databases) but the learning curve will be steep. I haven’t used Excel in two years except to keep track of Claire’s hostel visits and I haven’t put in a full working day in over a year. Thinking about concentrating for that length of time in a strange office with a new brief for a new company (my last contract was back at my old office) is making me feel more than a bit sick. But we’re in a recession and I can’t turn down work, especially not when I went cap-in-hand asking for it! So I will squeeze my post-pregnancy feet into my heels, and my post-pregnancy tum into my stretchy trousers and get on a train. Wish me luck! (Oh and if I get the contract there may be a few days a week when Claire will be ill in bed with the flu or reading a good book…. The contract is an hour’s drive away so there won’t be much writing time in the day!)

Talking of which, it’s bedtime and I’ve completely failed to write a Claire post after falling asleep on the sofa. Another favour from hubbie required to take kids in the morning then! Oops. Apologies if it’s a short one!

Morning Update: Was up most of the night because my brain was running a zillion miles an hour. I had 332 total downloads for my first promotion day. Wow! If only 1% read it that still means 3 strangers reading my book. Feels weird.

_____________________________________________________________________________________

Claire ignored the twisting in her stomach and opened the email. How bad can it be? Then she remembered her leaving party and the things Julia had said. Okay, pretty bad. Then let’s get it over with at least.

Claire

Carl has asked me to collate a list of activities to inject some fun and humour into your blog. These are all near your current location in Castleton so you’ll have to pick the ones that are available. We suggest number five and/or six as they are activities more specific to the Peak District. If you can furnish me with your future itinerary I will find some other activities that have Carl’s approval.

Julia

1. Kayak and/or Canoe
2. Raft Building
3. Climbing/Abseiling
4. Mountain/Hill Walking
5. Weaseling
6. Caving
7. Orienteering
8. Rope Course
9. Search and Rescue
10. Archery

Future Itinerary? Does she think I’m planning that far ahead? Actually Julia probably plans her sick days. Claire thought about the list of hostels booked for her time with Sky. Oh I can at least look a bit organised, that will be nice. As long as she finds things I can do with a six-year-old girl. She remembered the kids on the Go Ape rope course and decided that Sky was probably more suited to adventure activities than she was. She scanned the list and laughed, relief flooding through her like caffeine.

What is Julia going on about? I’ve done half of these and the rest aren’t exactly High Adrenalin. I mean, Raft Building? I’m hardly going to get eaten by a crocodile or fall into shark-infested waters, however much she hopes I might. I guess her main desire is that I get wet and humiliate myself.

Checking Julia’s email again, Claire looked at the activities at number 5 and 6. Caving. I’ve been in the Blue John Cavern, isn’t that caving? And what the hell is Weaseling? Julia’s email had a link at the bottom to a website with more information. Knowing she would regret it Claire clicked on the link and scrolled down to Weaseling.

Weaseling is all about getting into a tight spot – and then getting out of it! This activity is very similar to rock scrambling, as the fun comes from low-level climbing. It’s also fairly similar to caving, with small, often dark spaces forming the perfect playground for intrepid weaselers, but it all takes place above ground level. Weaseling doesn’t require ropes as there are no big drops or climbs, so it’s great for younger children.

Great for younger children? Should be fairly easy then although I can’t say I’m that keen on the ‘dark spaces’ bit. With a sigh of resignation Claire followed the information and wrote down the phone number to book a day Weaseling.

I’ll remember this Julia, don’t think I won’t.

***

The Roaring Lion of March: 2013 365 Challenge #71

One of the many blizzards today (photo doesn't do it justice)

One of many blizzards today (photo doesn’t do it justice)

March has truly been roaring today. If it is true that it comes in like a lion and goes out like a lamb we’re in for some cracking Easter Weekend weather. Here’s hoping!

I braved the minus-seven blizzard to walk the dog this afternoon and was inspired to write Claire’s post today about the weather. Not sure where she’s going to be hiking yet, still have to research that bit.

It is also inspired by my discovery of Christian Around Britain. Following an ex-soldier as he walks the entire 6500 miles of UK coastline without stopping, to highlight the plight of homeless exservicemen. Christian says:

“On the 8th of the 8th 2012 I am embarking on a journey which will either kill me or make me. I am going to walk the whole coastline of Britain non stop, which is approx a 6500 mile journey, equivalent to walking from John O Groats to Landsend seven and a half times, and will take between 18 months and 2 years to complete, I will be starting in Blackpool and finishing in Blackpool.”

On his Facebook support page they also add:

Christian has NO support team nor NO PR team, contrary to popular belief! This walk is off his own back and he walks independently to his OWN schedule. We are humbled by his monumentous efforts. He is not being paid by anyone for this task.

He sleeps rough to highlight the plight of homeless ex-service personnel. He will not accept a comfy bed in a house but garages, sheds or a safe garden would be looked at! If he does not accept your offer of shelter, please DO NOT be offended, he wants to maintain his independence and will only stop when he reaches his destination for the day (though breakfast, a cuppa or a pint is gratefully accepted!). We are so grateful though for all your offers and he will look at his point of rest on the day and look at the support map.

He has posted photos of the snowy weather down by Beachy Head where he has been today (on his birthday). My sister said (jokingly) on Facebook ‘a year or two spent walking sounds like fun to me’. After twenty minutes outside today, with full snow gear on top to toe, I was frozen to the core and desperate for a cuppa. I’m sure it’ll be fun in summer but not now. It certainly puts Claire’s little challenge to shame. Maybe I’ll have Claire hear about Christian or bump into him or something! 🙂

_____________________________________________________________________________________

The thrumming of the wind through the trees sounded like the roar of a jet engine. It made Claire think of her planned trip to the Maldives for the first time since dropping Josh at Manchester airport.

I’d give half my shoe collection to be walking across the tarmac headed for a plane right now.

The wind blew sideways, sneaking through a chink in her thinsulate armour. It froze her neck and sent shudders down inside her coat. She huddled in deeper and pulled at the fleece to protect her skin from the arctic blast.

Shivering Mountain is right. Maybe I should have checked the forecast before I left Castleton Hostel.

Claire tried to take in the view but it hurt too much to raise her head into the gale. A glittering light drew her gaze and she realised the sun was peeking through the cloud, taunting her like a holiday post card.

What are you trying to say Sun? Are you twinkling Look at me! In parts of the world I’m hot and inviting. I warm the sand and bronze the skin. Not here, though. Here I just highlight the puddles and make the wind-torn trees look like a mockery of spring.

Claire turned her back on the mocking sun and pushed on. She felt like one of those toddlers she saw out with their mummies: dressed in snowsuits, unable to walk or use their arms. Like mini-Michelin Men with only their red faces showing beneath brightly coloured bobble hats.

Dressed like a baby, pretending to be the sun. I think I’m losing it. Thanks Carl, your job is done.

 

After half an hour Claire tugged the fleece scarf away from her throat, desperate for air.

How can I be freezing and sweating like a racehorse at the same time? And where is that damn fort? The guide said it was a short and easy walk to the top of Mam Tor. In the summer maybe.

The roaring wind thrust piled-up clouds before it, until the sun was completely hidden and Claire’s visibility reduced to several metres of swirling snow. The flurries chased every which way like shoppers on the first day of the sales. Their hurried movement made her twitchy as if she really was fighting foot and elbow in Hobbs for the best bargains.

Claire raised her head, squinting through the pellets of ice stinging her eyes. The path, that had been clear in front of her a heartbeat ago, had vanished beneath a swirling curtain of white.

Bugger. I knew I should have brought a map. Not that it would help me much now. Pulling off one glove with her teeth, Claire reached into her pocket for her iPhone. Her numb hands dropped it and it bounced once before landing in the gathering snow.

Double bugger.

She dropped to her knees and gathered up her phone as she might a child who had fallen from a tree. Please be okay, please be okay. She pressed the on button and prayed for life. The screen lit up in the gloom and Claire felt her heartbeat slow to its normal tread.

The snow continued to fall, creeping down her neck and soaking her clothes as she squatted on the floor and shielded the screen with her body. With one senseless hand she typed her location into the Maps program. The signal was weak and it took an age for the screen to load. At last a map appeared with a dot showing her position on Mam Tor. She zoomed in and her heart jolted as she saw the crumbling cliff inches from her current location.

It can’t be that close, I would have noticed it before the weather closed in. Despite her confidence she didn’t fancy trying to walk any further until the snow stopped. A quick glance informed her there was no shelter so she hunkered down and hoped the vicious wind would come to her rescue and blast the cloud away. Come back taunting sun, all is forgiven.

Her hand hovered over the call button as she felt a biting need to talk to another human being. No one even knows I’m up here. Damn you Carl for your stupid goading and damn me too for reacting to it.

Her mouth held the words “Call Michael”, knowing the phone would respond and dial up a number she had yet to delete. She swallowed hard and turned her back to the wind.

***

 

Related articles