Kiddy Craft and Cheesy Poses: 2013 365 Challenge #49

Craft started with book making at 7,30am…

It’s been a crafty sort of day. It started with sticking and glitter at 7,30am as the kids added photographs to their books. Then Daddy took them to Cambridge and on to Granddad’s for the afternoon so I was able to ‘glam up’ a bit and take some head-shot photographs to save me the cost of a photographer.

My remote switch and tripod are both broken so I had to make do with my mini tripod, a box and the ten-second timer. I’m rather red-cheeked in some of the pictures because it got a bit hot hopping down from a chair for each of the eighty or so shots I took.

It was fun doing photography again. I don’t get to use my big camera often as I’m either worried about it being broken again or it’s too bulky and obvious. The kids aren’t always happy to have their pictures taken and you can’t sneak up with a DSLR! I was rather chuffed with the results given the circumstances of my imprompt photoshoot. Well, until I shared the pictures with my friends…

Debate on Facebook has left me determined to leave photography to the professionals!

I need a new head-shot for the About.me page that shows on this blog, a new one for LinkedIn, and one to send to the Nene Valley Magazine to go with my article. I found it tough choosing because I am both model and photographer and I also prefer more formal pics of myself. So (foolishly it turns out) I decided to put what I thought were the best twelve on Facebook for my nearest and dearest to comment on.

Apparently in most of the shots I look either regal (!), superior (?) or just plain mean. In one or two I look like I’m shooting people with my laser eyes. Actually I can see that: I had to focus on where the lens was to make sure I was in shot and sometimes I focussed a bit hard. It does seem I might have to succumb and hire a professional portrait photographer as I clearly haven’t captured ‘me’ or taken a shot that is sufficiently warm and welcoming to help me build my social media platform.

Still, it was interesting to photograph something other than the children, even if it had to be me (I don’t like being in front of the camera much either. The ‘regal’ or ‘death stare’ looks are really discomfort.).

…and ended with craft at 5pm

I’ve also had fun playing with the final images with our new copy of Adobe Photoshop, purchased for book cover design but useful for many things.

When I first left my job as a marketing manager to follow more creative pursuits I took a course in digital photography that concentrated on the amazing things that can be done with Adobe. It was the best career decision I ever made as it has come in useful for a multitude of things, from designing logos and book covers to winning photography competitions and making montages for friends. Unfortunately it can’t turn a meanie into a smiley person but you can’t have everything! 🙂

The day ended on a nice note with a lovely craft session with the kids, making sheep and lentil pictures and caterpillars followed by some colouring with Daddy at bedtime. If I’ve learned anything today it’s to never put something out in the world that I’m not ready to have criticised. I hope I get less upset by my first awful book review than I did by the comments from my friends on Facebook!

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Clare woke to the sound of drums. The thudding noise filled every inch of space in the room around her. It was a few seconds before she associated the rapid rhythm with her own heartbeat. Slowly her senses fought the sound of the drumming. Her ears noted other noises: the rattle of water in old pipes, the swell of birdsong coming through the single-glass window. The pervasive odour of the room crept in her nostrils and reminded her of her location. Sticky eyes unglued and took in the dim glow of dawn seeping through the curtains. And still the drums pounded.

What the hell?

Claire tried to think what had forced her awake. The clatter of the pipes was loud but her earplugs were still half-in and she had become better at ignoring random noises in the night. The dawn light wasn’t bright enough to have dragged her out of sleep. Gradually the bass drum steadied into a regular beat and Claire was able to concentrate on her breathing.

She tried to recall her dreams, assuming they must have caused the thumping heartbeat and clammy sweat that she could feel freezing on her forehead in the chilly room. She grabbed at the images in her mind but they slipped away as if she had tried to catch a reflection and found only water. And still the sensations persisted. She wanted to crawl out of herself, to shed an itchy and hated skin.

The feeling of disquiet lingered like the bad smell still permeating the room. Claire plumped her pillow and fidgeted in the bed, trying to return to sleep. Every time she closed her eyes indefinable images swam in the dark and forced the lids open again.

What is going on? I didn’t have cheese for dinner. In fact I didn’t have dinner. No alcohol, no coffee. No reason for bad dreams.

Admitting defeat Claire rolled on her back and gazed at the underside of the top bunk, forcing herself to dredge the scattered emotions of her dream for meaning. She was conscious of fear and panic, as if she’d lost her phone or was late for a business meeting. No, worse than that. As if she’d lost her job.

Well, haven’t I?

Claire explored the thought to see if it was the cause of her unease. I haven’t lost my job, but maybe it is time to start looking for a new one, just in case. She rolled over onto her side, hoping the decision would calm her agitated brain and let her sleep. Still the jittering in her stomach continued. A bubbling sensation somewhere behind her belly button nagged at her. It felt like a scream building; a scream that would consume her if she let it free.

That’s enough now body. Get a grip. You are Claire Carleton, Melanie and Gerald’s daughter, Robert and Ruth’s sister. You don’t have nightmares or flights of fancy, they’re not allowed.

A word snagged at her mind as she gave herself a talking-to. Ruth. Suddenly a flood of images washed over her eyes. Ruth going to hospital, Ruth strapped to a white bed, Ruth watching terrified as a giant needle came towards her, her eyes wide and wild as she saw it approach.

Claire jerked upright, crashed her head against the top bunk and collapsed back to the mattress with a groan, tears stabbing her eyes.

My little sister. I’ve been such a cow. All I was concerned with was what she said about Michael, about how she envied me my perfect life. I should have been worried about her, facing this all alone, having to care for Sky and having no one care for her.

She rolled over and fumbled on the floor for her phone. 5.38am. It was too early to call. Claire tapped at the screen and wrote a text message, hoping it wouldn’t wake her sister but needing to connect.

Hey sis. Hope everything goes okay today. Text or call to let me know you’re alright. Thinking of you.

Claire looked at the screen and felt the thudding resume in her chest. It wasn’t right. It wasn’t enough. She tapped at the screen again and typed out two more words before hitting send.

Love you.

***

Are You Doing a 365 Photo Project? (apartmenttherapy.com)
Let’s Try A 365 Project? (abeautifulmess.com)
52 Week – Monthly Technique – Photography Challenge 2013 (chloellaphotography.com)
365 Self Portrait Challenge: Day Three Hundred Sixty Six: (nurtureself365.com)

Puddle Jumping and Muddy Monsters: 2013 365 Challenge #48

New Olympic Sport – Long Puddle Jump

The sun made a rare appearance today so, despite having zero energy left after a four-hour Farm visit yesterday, I took the kids to our local zoo while Daddy did DIY. Hamerton Zoo is one of the three or four places we have an annual pass to and it has been worth every penny. I thought the kids would lose interest but not only do different animals make an appearance each time we go the place also has something I hadn’t counted on. Puddles.

After the failed dog-walk yesterday, when little man fell in a puddle and cried all the way home, Daddy promised puddle-jumping today (I blame Peppa Pig) and puddle jumping is what they did. I often think that’s the main reason why they love going to the zoo. I could save myself an hour of driving and just fill the bath with mud, except I love seeing the animals. And there are no puddles like the ones created by a wide open space, poor drainage and major footfall.

Peppa Pig has a lot to answer for…

It takes some effort to let the kids get as filthy as they did today. I don’t mind getting muddy if I’m wearing the right gear but I hate wearing waterproofs so my main aim is generally to stay away from the kids and watch from a distance when they’re top-to-top in slurry. I amuse myself by seeing the horrified look on other parents’ faces as their kids want to do what mine are doing. I feel a little bit guilty at the bad example mine set but not when I see someone bring their kid to the zoo in white trainers. I mean, really?

My job is to tell the kids to stay away from other people and occasionally to referee. I cheer from the sidelines with wetwipes and a change of clothes, although today nothing but a full bath the minute we got home would do. Today I amused myself trying to get action shots with Amber’s little camera.

My muddy monsters (picture does not do them justice!)

It definitely feels like a parenting box ticked and it was a gorgeous sunny day to stand around supping flask-tea while they invented a new Olympic Sport – the Long Puddle Jump.

The chocolate cake in the coffee shop is pretty good too.

As I’ve already written one Claire post from scratch today (albeit a short one) I’m struggling for ideas and words. The combination of a glass of wine and three hours on my feet means I’m more fit for bed than creativity. Hmmm might be another short one today!

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Claire walked up to the building and felt the dark mood of the day soar away with the retreating birds. The structure in front of her reared magnificently, every inch a five-star hotel. The whitewashed walls stood proud behind an ornate veranda and when she turned to survey the view her gaze ran down verdant lawn, over woodland thicket and across rolling hills. The house nestled amidst a backdrop of trees: some still resplendent in their evergreen glory, some eagerly awaiting the dressmaker of spring.

Hitching the rucksack further up her shoulder Claire entered the building hoping the interior lived up to first impressions.

Inside, the late evening light poured in through a cupola above the main staircase. Craning her neck to take in the detail Claire decided it wouldn’t look out of place in a Hello Magazine spread extolling the extravagant pads of the rich and famous.

At last, some glamour.

Claire smiled and sighed, releasing the tension that had built up over the long long day. I can’t believe it was only a few hours ago that I was swinging through the trees like some poorly trained circus ape. She felt as if she might have aged a decade since the morning.

Claire followed directions to her private room: she had gone over her daily allowance to book it but, for once, it wasn’t because she wanted the privacy. After the rollercoaster day she would have welcomed the company of a dorm room but there hadn’t been any available. It seemed decadent to rattle round a three-bed room but, as her main intentions were food and sleep, it wasn’t like to be an issue for long.

The grandeur ebbed slightly as she entered the depths of the main house. Unlike some of the places she had stayed in thus far, this hostel seemed faded and in need of some love. At last she inserted the key and opened the door to her room.

“Blimey, what’s that awful smell?”

Claire looked round the room. It seemed okay, wooden bunks, great view. The odd lingering smell was indefinable. A quick spritz of perfume will soon mask that. She looked round again. Where’s the bathroom? Her expectations of an en-suite had been set by previous experience. I have a private room and I still have to go in hunt of the shower? Great. I guess this is more the hostelling I expected when I started. Carl would grin from ear to ear if he could see it.

Through the fading twilight Claire could make out a lake in the distance as she peered through the Georgian window. It’s going to have to wait until tomorrow. I’m too tired to see what delights Hawkshead has to offer. I’m not even sure I’m going to make it to the restaurant.

Slinging her rucksack in the corner Claire bounced on the beds to find the most comfortable one, lay down and was almost instantly asleep.

***

Everybody loves Peppa! (theladybirdblog.typepad.com)
Bikes, trikes and puddles.. (adammcateer.wordpress.com)
Puddles (sivanea.com)

Laundry Baskets and Nene Valley Living: 2013 365 Challenge #45

Wriggly Worms – the many usages of a laundry basket #1

I had some exciting news today. Our local free magazine – Nene Valley Living – has agreed to publish an ‘interview with author Amanda Martin’ that I wrote for them, focusing on the daily blog and the free Two-Hundred Steps Home ebook. The editor apologised that they wouldn’t be able to pay me for the feature (I had no expectation of payment, so was highly amused) as they don’t have much editorial budget. When I had stopped laughing I emailed back and said That’s okay, it’s the promotion that’s key. Hopefully I’ll be in the April or May edition, so watch this space. My first successful piece of marketing – hurrah!

I have decided that I need to get a professional photograph of me taken however, as the editor would like a headshot and the best I have is one I cropped from me heavily pregnant with my second child. I rarely wear make up these days and my hair is only straight on the annual event of a hair cut. Even though the feature is about ‘WriterMummy’ it would be nice to look vaguely professional!

Scary Monsters - the many uses of a laundry basket #2

Scary Monsters – uses of a laundry basket #2

It’s snowing here again. Not the 3 feet of snow my sister has had in Boston, more like a third of an inch, but it it freezing and I confess to being a bit tired of winter now. It’s hard to take the kids out when it’s cold as the whole time is spent putting hats and gloves back on and rubbing life back into frozen fingers. Friends came over and we turned the house into an indoor park with play tent, football goal and building blocks. Their favourite toy? Some old laundry baskets I have which turned them into wriggly worms and scary monsters. Bless.

Think Claire might get out in some more clement weather today just because I feel the need for it. Never mind that it’s probably never sunny in the Lake District in March, I think some poetic licence is called for.

Update. I decided to set Claire a little challenge instead, courtesy of a Youtube video I came across while researching Windermere. She’ll have to go hiking in the sun tomorrow.

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“Your turn Claire.”

The bridge stretched ahead of her like something out of an Indiana Jones movie. She glanced down, half expecting to see a rushing torrent fifty feet below. Instead there was just a car park at a distance of less than fifteen feet. She searched for her Skoda in the distance then looked back down at the ground. It was a mistake. The bile rose in her throat before sinking down to churn up her stomach. She dragged her eyes back to the structure in front of her.

Dammit I knew this was a stupid idea. The bridge hadn’t appeared that wide when she’d driven underneath it. Now it might as well span the Niagara Falls. Tentatively Claire put one foot on the first of the planks and the whole structure shook as if a force seven earthquake had just hit Windermere. Claire quickly pulled her leg back and retreated inside the tower. She could feel several pairs of eyes on her, willing her on. Behind her a lad sniggered.

Claire inhaled, put one foot on the plank, then another. Willing herself on she gripped the ropes until they tore at her hands and forced herself to cross the bridge. Her heart swooped like a released bird as she reached the tree trunk and wrapped her arms around it.

I did it. I crossed it. She pirouetted round the tree-trunk, surveying the rest of the course.

The next challenge was another bridge. Okay, I can do that now. Except this one didn’t have any ropes to hold onto. You have to be kidding. What? I’m meant to walk across it just balancing? I’m not a circus freak. Claire wished she could have watched the person in front do it, but they were already out of sight further down the course. Claire wrapped her hands around her rope harness and pulled, making sure it would hold. Then she closed her eyes and put her foot on the structure. It tipped sideways, throwing her stomach to the ground.

“Bollocks.” The word slipped out and Claire looked round to make sure the person coming up behind her hadn’t heard. She saw a petit figure bouncing across the bridge and was faced with the prospect of sharing a small platform with a bouncy child or running across a few pieces of wood stretched between two ropes. As the sound of giggling came nearer Claire swallowed, urging her legs to move. It was no good. Her feet were glued to the platform. No matter how many curses she yelled inside the cavern of her mind her feet refused to move.

Eventually a voice permeated the greyness.

“Hey, lady?”

Claire turned to locate the source and her gaze met a pair of clear blue eyes peering up at her from beneath a giant helmet. It looked like a cheeky beetle. The child was younger than Sky. Who lets a five-year-old up here? Claire grimaced at the girl, not trusting herself to speak.

“It’s your turn lady. It’s okay. I did this twice already, it’s easy peasy. Besides, you can’t fall.” She leaned sideways until the rope at her waist went tight then took her feet off the platform.

“Don’t do that!” Claire’s voice was probably only audible to dogs. The girl laughed and swung herself back onto the platform. She grinned at Claire, then raised an eyebrow as if to say Go on!

Claire looked at the grinning eyes and felt her cheeks redden. I will not be shown up by a child. She turned, inhaled, and ran. Her body slammed into the next tree trunk and she felt the bark graze her cheek. As her heart rate slowed to a mere gallop Claire turned to watch the child hoping gracefully across the rope structure. It made her feel ancient.

She conquered a free step to a small plank, then contemplated a snarl of ropes that linked her tree to the next.

I’m not a spider or a rat. How does this work?

Reaching out, Claire took hold of the rope, hoping she didn’t get tangled or, worse still, break a nail. I’m glad Josh isn’t here. I can just imagine the grief he would be giving me right now. That’s if he wasn’t standing underneath passing comment on my derriere.

The next crossing looked like a stretched-out clothes dryer, the kind her gran used to put ginormous grey knickers on in the utility room. It felt as stable as a deckchair when she put her weight on it.

Slowly, carefully, Claire crept round the course, all the while trying to stay ahead of the girl, as much to avoid the patronising encouragement as the excessive bouncing.

At last she reached the end of the course, only then realising she was on a different tree to the one connected to the Indiana Jones bridge.

How do I get down?

Claire stood on the platform and looked over at the tower where she started. Then she noticed a small sign next to her. Zip wire? Oh no. How did I miss that?

“Go on lady, just step off. It isn’t scary.” Claire turned to see the beetle girl standing next to her on the platform. “I wish I could do the big zip wire but I’m too little.”

The girl gestured at the top of the tower ahead of them. Two stories above where they had started three people were standing on a deck. Claire watched them step off and slide gracefully away into the distance. That doesn’t look so bad. Oh, come on Claire, this is the only thing between you and a cup of tea. Swallowing down the sick taste in her mouth, Claire set her sight on the tower and stepped off the platform. She dropped before the rope took hold and sweat pricked at her forehead.

And then it was over.

“Well done Claire. So are you up for the triple-zip?” Claire stared at the earnest face in front of her and laughed so hard her ribs hurt.

“Sorry,” she said eventually, wiping water from her eyes. “Maybe one day. If you’d told me last week I’d be swinging around fifteen feet off the ground I would have said you were nuts.”

A whisper at the back of Claire’s mind said Climb the stairs. You know you want to. Get the ultimate shot for the blog. Make Josh proud. Claire looked at the corner where the steps led to the next floor. She took one step, then two. Then she shrugged out of the harness and headed back to terra firma.

***

NCT Friends and Indoor Football – 2013 365 Challenge #42

The football goal also doubles up as a playden

Today we caught up with our NCT baby group, four years on. We see members from time to time and we try and catch up with everyone once a year. This was the first time in two years that (nearly) everyone was there. I think we were missing two daddies and one sibling. There were 8 couples in our baby group all on their first bump in 2008 and there are now 13 children with another on the way.

We met up in a small indoor play area that I go to quite often. It wasn’t open when we arrived – I don’t think they were expecting 12 kids and the same amount of adults to turn up at 10.30am on a Sunday. It was great to watch the kids running around and to see how much they’ve changed and how much they haven’t. It’s a nice way to keep us grounded with the passing of time.

As husband and I are both still poorly (my cold hopefully going, his just arriving) it was survival for the rest of the day. Rugby on the television with mummy giving commentary to keep the kids interested: “Ooh look now he’s got the ball, watch they’re all going to squish him. Look he’s saying, ‘my ball by ball’, ooh do you think he can kick it between those tall sticks?” Which, to be fair, is about my knowledge of rugby anyway, despite being an avid fan of the game. I can tell you most of the rules of football and cricket including the off-side rule and when it is and isn’t LBW. But rugby, well. I know about tries, line-outs and the fact the ball goes above the bar not below, but the rest is all a bit hazy.

Playdough animals

We also did playdough and indoor footie. I kept getting told off by my son for responding to comments on twitter and taking pictures of the kids to use on the blog. I do feel bad when he reprimands me for combining work with play but I also remind myself they only go to nursery 2 days a week. We bumped into a friend of Aaron’s at the play centre (hurrah! – they chased each other for half an hour. Genius) and he goes to nursery five days a week. We’re all lucky that Mummy doesn’t have to, although if Daddy doesn’t get a job soon that might change. Having seen how weary my husband is getting of his extended childcare duties I suspect that’s a fate worse than unemployment for him. He freely admits he couldn’t be a stay-at-home dad on a permanent basis.

I spent today also trying to write a press release for the blog/free ebook, seeing it as a dry run for when there’s a proper novel out there that needs promoting. I used to work in Marketing but it’s a different beast when it’s your own stuff you’re selling. My first draft came in at two pages of mostly waffle. I’m always reminded of the quote “sorry for the long letter I didn’t have time to write a short one.” I do tend to the verbose (had you noticed? :D)

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Claire settled into the squeaky seat and wrapped her hands around the solid white cup. Her smile spread wide as she raised the drink to her lips and sipped at the froth, glad Josh wasn’t there to see her milk moustache. She felt the air exhale from her lungs in a contented sigh. It wasn’t the biggest Starbucks or the most up to date. But the coffee always tasted the same. The caffeine zinged through her body, carried to the furthest tips of her fingers by her grateful blood.

She glanced up through the window for the eighth time. Stop looking. It’s no concern of yours where he’s gone. Another voice in her mind said no concern but still intriguing. We’d barely parked when he said See ya later and legged it.

Claire took another long slurp of her latte, letting the sensation of civilisation wash through her, warming her right to the centre. With a sigh she placed the cup back on the table and took out her Lonely Planet guide. If I’m only going to be in the Lakes for a day or so I’d better find something noteworthy to do. I don’t want Carl making me come straight back. I intend to spend at least a week in the next city we come to, even if it is Liverpool.

She flicked idly through the pages around Keswick and came across a picture of a snowy ridge of mountains with the title Skiddaw. That looks the ticket. A picture of me up there should shut Carl up for a while. I wonder if I can climb up for a photograph without having to walk along it. It’s not far from the hostel, maybe it’s not a bad thing that Cockermouth wasn’t available.

There was a tap on the window and Claire looked up automatically. A gentleman in shirt and tie was peering through the glass searching the interior of the coffee shop. As his gaze locked with Claire’s the clean-shaven face broke into a smile. Claire automatically smiled back although she had no idea who the man was. He does look familiar. God I hope it’s not another client. She hadn’t bumped into anyone she knew since the services on the way to Berwick and definitely wanted to keep it that way.

As if in response to her smile the man raised his hand in a wave and headed for the door to the café. Bugger, he’s coming in. She plastered her best client-facing expression on her face and sat up straighter in her chair, sliding the Lonely Planet guide off the table into her lap.

“Hey Claire, still here? How many coffees have you had? Am I going to have to tie your arse to the seat so you can drive us to the hostel?”

The words, as much as the Aussie twang, confirmed to Claire what her eyes could not credit.

“Josh?”

“Of course it’s me, dingbat.” He slid into the seat opposite, a faint blush of colour peeping through his brown cheeks. His eyes slid away from hers and he made a show of looking round the room as if taking in the scene.

“So this is what we drove all the way here for? It’s nothing special.”

“It’s not the décor it’s the drink.” She wrapped her hands protectively around the coffee mug and drank the tepid dregs.

“Now I’ve heard that said about a bar but never about a coffee shop. You’re one strange girl.”

“I’m strange?” Claire’s voice rose in indignation. “I haven’t suddenly reappeared with a spanking haircut, shave, and shirt and tie still with the shop-bought creases in. What gives?” The words were out before she could stop them, despite vowing to herself that she wouldn’t question him. Sure enough a veil dropped across Josh’s face and his eyes lost their sharp focus.

“I had to Skype the folks. Mum likes me to look smart.” They both looked down at his hands where they twisted like coiled snakes on the table-top. “Anyway are you going to buy me one of these famous coffees or shall we head back to civilisation? Cities cramp my soul.”

As the words settled softly in Claire’s mind like fresh snow she was aware of a sense of loss. Whose loss she couldn’t say, or even why she had the feeling. It seemed like Josh was floating away on an iceberg in a choppy sea. She shook off the strange sensation and gave him her widest smile.

“Sure, let’s head to Keswick. I’m thinking of hiking Skiddaw tomorrow.”

The effect was instant, like changing the batteries in a run-down appliance. Josh sat up, his face beaming. The air of ancient injury dropped away and he became young again.

“Sweet.”

***

Tips For Helping Kids Have Fun Indoors (atlantablackstar.com)
The NCT According To Dara O’Briain (itsadadslife.co.uk)
Grief, Guilt, Longing – Working Parenthood (improvingkrys.wordpress.com)
a sad day in the photo worlds {365 died} (yourownbeautiful.wordpress.com)

Baby’s Growing Fast and 2013 365 Challenge #41

My daughter at 19 months (just after Aaron was born)

My daughter came back from her first sleepover today having had a great time. She woke a couple of times, missed us at bed time, but that was it. No hysterics. No picking her up at 3 a.m. Obviously I’m thrilled – we must have done something right as parents – but there’s a tiny bit of me that recognises she is growing up and I’m having to let go.

Actually I’m surprised at how well I dealt with it. I thought I’d miss her terribly or worry excessively or not sleep. None of those things. She was with a very good friend of mine and I trust her and her husband implicitly to ensure no harm comes to my child. It’s the same when they’re at nursery. The trust is the thing. How I’ll cope when she goes off to university and no-one is watching over her I have no idea. I suspect that, by then, she’ll be such a sensible teenager I’ll trust her implicitly to look after herself.

Scootering energy (I want some)

My son is going to be entirely different. I don’t trust him not to hurt himself in my care, never mind anyone else’s. If he even makes it to his teenage years I’ll be impressed. Thankfully at present he copies his sister in everything so hopefully he’ll copy her level head and sensible nature. Hmmm. Look at the picture….

I’ve been trying to think of what to write next for Two-Hundred Steps Home. It’s time for something interesting to happen but I’m not sure what. I don’t want to play my cards too early with Michael – it’s only day 41 out of 365 after all (although I guess I can write two novels in the year, it doesn’t have to be all Claire.) I’m tempted to move Josh’s story along a bit, but I haven’t actually figured out what it is yet! I’m definitely a Pantser! 🙂

In the meantime I’m enjoying choosing the image for the next ebook instalment. I’m looking at Lake District ones as she should be there by the end of February. Best get a move on. She’s only on hostel 6 or 7 out of 200!

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“What do you mean it’s closed?”

“I’m sorry,” the man on reception explained, “some of our hostels are only open at certain times of the year. University vacations, that kind of thing. Durham and Carlisle are both halls of residence, so they’re only available in the summer.”

“Bloody students. I want to go to a city. I want a Starbucks, I want to feel pavement beneath my feet instead of dirt.” Claire swallowed the lump in her throat and wondered if she was due.

The man smiled as he would to a toddler demanding chocolate. “Why don’t you try Cockermouth? The hostel is only ten minutes’ walk from town.”

“Do they have a Starbucks?” Claire could hear the petulance in her voice and hated herself for it.

“Excuse me?” Claire heard footsteps behind her. She turned to see a girl in a red anorak smiling at her from behind designer specs. “There are Starbucks at Penrith Center Parcs which is on the way to Cockermouth from here. Or you could go via Carlisle, it’s not that far out of your way. Spend the day in the city before heading out to the hostel later?”

Claire beamed at this girl who seemed to be speaking a language she could grasp. “Thank you so much. Do you work here?” She doesn’t sound like a local. I can understand what she’s saying for a start.

“No I’m one of the bloody students at Carlisle Uni, sleeping in the Hall of Residence that doubles as a hostel in the summer. Sorry.”

Her unapologetic grin brought a flush of blood to Claire’s cheeks. She opened her mouth to apologise but the girl was still talking.

“My mates and I came for the weekend to go hiking and we’re just heading back to the city now. We have lectures this afternoon.”

It seemed she might continue her monologue but a voice called out from deeper in the hostel.

“That’s my boyfriend. I have to go. I hope you find Starbucks. It’s in the pedestrian bit in the town centre if you do go to Carlisle. It’s not a big one, but a skinny latte is a skinny latte right?”

Claire watched the girl hurry out in response to a second, more urgent, summons. Funny how coffee can give a common cause to the most unlikely of meetings. She tried to remember if she had been that forward or sassy as a student. It seemed so long ago now, even though it was less than a decade. I was probably worse.

“So, do you want me to book you a dorm at Cockermouth Miss?”

The broad accent of the receptionist cut through Claire’s thoughts. “I just need to check whether Josh wants to come.”

Who knows what Josh wants? It’s as if he’s done one of those teenager-adult swaps, like in the movie with Tom Hanks.

Claire tracked Josh down in the garden where he looked like he was practising slow rave dancing. Claire guessed it was probably taekwondo or t’ai chi or one of those classes she’d seen girls doing at the gym when she went in for spinning. It made her numb with boredom just watching it, although as Josh had stripped to the waist, despite the freezing temperature outside, its appeal was increasing.

She stood waiting for him to finish, watching the muscles shifting under his smooth tanned skin. She became aware of an urge to walk over and run her hands across his back, to plant a kiss where his shoulder met his neck. When it looked like he wasn’t going to stop anytime soon, Claire gave a little cough.

Josh completed the move he was doing before bringing his hands to his sides and turning round.

“Sorry, I didn’t mean to disturb you. I’m about ready to move on.” Claire tried to keep her gaze on his face rather than following the line of hair that ran down his chest and into his trousers.

“Where to?” Josh responded without meeting Claire’s eyes.

“Um, Cockermouth I think. Carlisle is only open in the summer holidays and the rest round here are all bunkhouses.”

Josh smiled at that and his face lost some of the new sternness. “You’re going to have to face a bunkhouse eventually you know. They’re not much different to hostels, just a bit more remote.”

“In the summer maybe. I’m beginning to think they started me up here just to wind me up. Half the hostels are closed and the rest are in the arse-end of nowhere.”

“Well you said the entire point of the mission was to make you quit your job. What better way than to chuck you in it?” Josh leaned over and retrieved his jumper from the floor. His voice was muffled as he pulled it over his head. “Why don’t you head to London or somewhere, do some city hostels until the spring at least?”

Claire thought about getting lost in London. Could she cope with staying there and not frequenting her usual luxury hotels? At least there were shops and Starbucks. “That’s not a bad idea you know. The assignment said it was up to me what order I did the hostels in. I could be in London in a few hours.” She looked at her watch and was surprised to see it was mid-morning already. Her muscles were still sore from the abseil and what she wanted, more than anything else, was a skinny latte.

“No, sod it, let’s stick to the plan for today. I’m going to Cockermouth. Are you with me or staying here?”

“Will you go to London tomorrow do you think?”

Claire tried to read the expression on Josh’s face. “Is that why you suggested it? Do you need to be further south?”

“I need to work and it’ll be easier in suburbia.” Something in his tone suggested to Claire that she wasn’t getting the full story. Nothing new there then.

“Then, yes, I will be heading south. I might go to Bristol rather than London. Maybe even Liverpool.”

“Okay, count me in.”

Claire wondered whether her decision to try Liverpool rather than London had anything to do with choosing not to spend six hours in her tiny car next to the temptation of Josh’s smooth skin.

***

A Righteous Reprimand & the 2013 365 Challenge #38

Not the roundabout but you get the idea

[Apologies for the repeat post and the lack of Claire instalment in the first one: see below!]

I got told off by a random stranger today. The worst part was it was entirely justified. Don’t you hate that? He’d paid for his daughter to go on one of these £1 rides you get in supermarkets, the same one my kids had just been on and my son had demanded “more more”. The ride has three seats so, without thinking, I whisked Aaron over and plonked him on one of the spare seats.

I’d never do that normally without asking the person whose pound has paid for the ride (even though I love it when people come and let their kids ride for free on my pound. The more the merrier).

When it had finished the Dad turned on me and told me how rude I was. I got defensive, lord knows why, because he was absolutely right. I apologised but it was too late, I’d lost some goodwill and was left feeling wretched for the rest of the day.

The irony of course is that I’m trying to teach my daughter not to be so sensitive to being told off. If I so much as ask her to sit still at the table too often she runs off sobbing (particularly if she knows she’s in the wrong.) How can I teach her not to take things to heart so much when I’m even worse?

I tell you, if I had possessed any tiny notion of how hard this parenting lark would be I would have remained single and celibate for the rest of my days. And here’s me, planning on changing Claire’s mind from being a child-dreader to someone who wants to be a parent. Don’t do it Claire, keep your independence and your sanity! 🙂

As I wrote this, a notification popped up in my Facebook account that my sister had shared a blog post: 10 Facts on Motherhood. The post is so spot on relevant to my day that I had to share it.

Apologies to anyone who got this post without the Claire attachment: I went to the coffee shop after dropping off the kids to finish off the post but couldn’t get on the internet. I have resubmitted the post with the Claire section included. I knew that auto-schedule was going to bite me one day.

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“Hey Claire, how’s it going?”

“Kim, great to hear from you.” Claire settled into the corner of the faded sofa, ready for a long chat with her oldest friend.

“How is your Have Helly Hansens Will Travel life going?” Her voice sparkled like sunlight on the sea. “When did you last shave your legs?”

Claire’s shout of laughter caused a couple fiercely focused on their Scrabble game to look up momentarily. She smiled apologetically at them and laughed again more quietly. “This morning, actually. Our room is en-suite and Josh left as soon as we checked in to go stomp his teenage-angst out on the hills.”

There was a loaded pause before Kim shrieked down the phone. “Oh. My. God. Who is Josh, why are you sharing a room, where are you staying? Teenage angst? Have you shacked up with a younger man? En-suite? Don’t tell me you’ve given up already and checked into a hotel. You’ve only been gone a week. Tell me, tell me!”

Claire put the phone back to her ear as Kim finished talking and spoke thoughtfully. “Has it really only been a week?” She tried to count back to her arrival in Berwick but realised she wasn’t completely sure what day of the week it was. “Is it Friday today?”

“No, it’s Saturday, and you’re evading the question.”

“Which one?” Claire chuckled.

“All of them.”

Claire paused, letting her friend stew in her conjecture a little while longer before letting out a giggle. “Your ability to jump to the furthest conclusion is astounding. I’m staying at Ninebanks, a lovely hostel somewhere between Newcastle and Carlisle. Josh is an Aussie guy I met in the Kielder youth hostel who is travelling along with me for a while because I have a car. He is probably my age but is currently acting like he’s twelve. It appears most YHA hostel rooms are en-suite and has it really only been a week? It feels like a month.”

“Phew, thanks for the update. You had me worried. So, are you enjoying it then? You sound very relaxed, more than I’ve heard you sound for a long time.”

Claire was surprised at Kim’s observation. I don’t feel very relaxed. My boss is trying to hound me out, I’m sharing bunk-beds with a bloke I met two days ago and Michael keeps dangling himself tantalisingly in reach like a chilled bottle of bubbly.

She looked around the small hostel lounge, taking in the couple near the wood-burner still grappling with unknown seven-letter words. The only people who knew where she was were Josh and now Kim. It was, she decided, quite a nice feeling.

“I guess I am pretty chilled. The hardest part is deciding what to do every day. I try to have a plan but I keep getting scuppered by events outside my control. Some of the hostels aren’t open in the winter and now it turns out the lead mine isn’t either.”

“Lead mine? Seriously? Surely a diamond mine is more your style?”

“Last time I checked there weren’t too many diamond mines in Northumberland. I am working you know Kim. I need Blog Fodder every day. There are only so many things you can say about the floral duvet covers and the colour of the en-suite tiles. I’ll be damned if I’m going to shadow Josh in his current mood. Besides, I’m tired of hiking.”

“You’ve been hiking? Your idea of exercise is lifting a G&T to your lips and then working off the calories in an insane spinning class.”

“I love you too Kim.” For some reason the words, despite their truth, made Claire feel low.

“Sorry hun I wasn’t trying to be mean. I thought you prided yourself on your indoors lifestyle?”

Claire shuffled in her seat and pondered why Kim’s words made her defensive. Who am I trying to fool? Of course she’s right, I don’t fit in this world. I don’t want to fit in this world.

“Ignore me. My old life feels a long way away.” She described what she could see to her friend, trying to share some of the atmosphere of the hostel.

“It sounds great. Maybe Jeff and I should come and meet you at one of your stops. It’s about the only holiday we’ll be able to afford anytime soon.”

Claire paused as she tried to imagine Kim and Jeff in her new environment. It felt odd considering the merging of worlds, although not as strange as the idea of one of her work colleagues appearing amid all the faded furniture.

Lucky none of them would be seen dead here.

“Sure, why not. There aren’t many hostels near Cambridge but when I’m a bit further south we can see when you’re free. Anyway, tell me about Puck. How’s it all going?”

Claire settled deeper into the sofa and listened to Kim’s tales of her life treading the boards. She realised it was the first time in ages they had gossiped on the phone. Usually she was too busy working or socialising or sleeping to catch up with friends. Chuckling at Kim’s anecdotes Claire rested her head on a cushion and thought maybe she could get used to her new life.

***

Lincoln Longwools, Illness and Ikea: 2013 365 Challenge #37

Aaron posing for the camera

We are a house of ill. Son has a temperature of 38.8C (I think that’s around 102F), daughter screams every time we go near her with her medicine and I’m coughing like a seal every thirty seconds.

The only option today was to divide and conquer. That’s what we call it when we take a child each. One is so much easier than two because you only have to follow one rambling non-sequitur laden conversation instead of two. So husband took daughter to Ikea (lucky them!) and I took my son to Sacrewell Farm.

Running for the muddy puddle

Followers of this Blog will know I love our local Farm. I call the feeling I get when I’m there Farm Calm. Today was no different. Despite a hacking cough, an icy wind, and a tired and poorly boy we managed a lovely two hours under blue skies. Aaron was even brave enough to feed Humby Keith – a Lincoln Longwool Ram with a very loud baa.

It was just as well we went early as it has been snowing/sleeting/hailing/raining all afternoon.

A happy boy at the Farm

Husband came back from his road trip with the usual Ikea extras – a new ball for the dog (she loves the soft footballs they sell but does tend to chew them up), cutlery, some gadget for the wardrobe and chocolate. He did at least also come back with the expedit unit he went for!

A more surprising thing he came back with was a thought for something to do with Claire.

“She should take part in Race for Life”.

Humby Keith with the loud baaaaaa

Great idea. It fits into her personal growth nicely so will definitely plot that in for May or whenever it happens wherever she is at that point! That’s if I’m still writing the story by then.

The daily blog is definitely taking its toll. I am trying to remember we are a house full of illness and flux, with husband’s lack of job sending ripples across everything else. It feels like me spending 2-3 hours a day on the laptop is the root cause of the kids’ tantrums and anxiety but it’s probably as much to do with none of us knowing where we are on any given day. Hopefully things like my son’s terrible Separation Anxiety (I can’t leave the room at the moment without him screaming) and daughter’s feelings of being unloved will improve when we can put some structure back in their lives.

I hope it happens soon for all our sakes, especially Claire’s!

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Claire looked at the flashing phone, trying to decide whether to ignore it. She and Josh had left for Ninebanks, the next hostel on Claire’s list, early that morning and the journey had been swift and painful. Since their brief conversation about photos the night before Josh had done little more than utter monosyllabic sounds like a sullen teenager. They had booked another twin room and Josh hadn’t made a single suggestive comment about the double bed that formed the bottom of the bunk. When he pulled on his boots and muttered something about going for a walk Claire waved him off with all the relief of a mother on the first day of term.

The phone continued to flash silently, dragging her eye from the accusing stare of the iPad. She reached over to check who was calling and saw only the word International. Her heart plummeted. The only person she knew that went overseas was Michael. Well he can just sod off. Stalker. She reached to hit reject but made a sudden decision to connect the call. If I don’t face him sooner or later I’m going to need a restraining order.

“Hello?”

“Claire?” Harsh tones boomed down the phone and into her brain. She ignored the surge of disappointment that it wasn’t Michael and took a moment to place the owner of the angry voice. She hadn’t heard it for a while.

“Robert? Long-time no speak, brother mine. To what do I owe this unexpected pleasure?”

“This is not a social call.”

Claire tried not to laugh. Her brother sounded like a posh TV detective come to arrest the pretty protagonist. “Then why are you calling? You never call, is your Skype broken?”

“I did not want to risk Francesca overhearing my conversation. It is not for sensitive ears.”

Has he taken to perusing Gothic novels? I thought I was the one reading bad literature to pass the time.

Suppressing a sigh Claire settled back as best she could in the uncomfortable chair and gazed at the flickering of the wood-burner. When it became clear Robert was not going to add any more she inhaled through her nose and asked the obvious question.

“What isn’t for sensitive ears, Robert? And since when was Francesca sensitive? Judging by some of the stories she told on that hen do you made me go on she could give Frankie Boyle a run for his money.”

“I have no idea who Frankie Boy is…”

“…Boyle.”

“And I don’t appreciate being interrupted, thank you.”

“Robert you’re my brother, not my father.” Claire fought against the teenager she could feel rising within and lost. “Just spit out whatever stupid reason you have for calling and get out of my head, I’m trying to work.”

“Ha! Work. Is that what you’re calling it? Debauching with strangers, singing and dancing drunk in a bar, hanging upside-down from trees flashing your flesh for the world to see. It is not what I would call work. Nor is it the behaviour I expect from a member of my family. I have a position to uphold and you posting half-naked pictures of yourself across the Web – on LinkedIn! – is the outside of enough.”

Claire hit mute on the phone halfway through her brother’s rant so she could laugh without restraint. Tears streamed down her face. She was hiccupping with mirth when he finished and she was forced to turn the sound back on. In her mind she saw the picture that had got her brother so upset. The one Josh had taken of her the day before on their double hike of Hadrian’s Wall. After Josh had climbed the wall and posed for the camera she had found herself needing to go one better. School-girl gymnastics came to her aid and she’d managed to shimmy up the sycamore tree and hang from one of the branches like it was an A-Symmetric bar. Her coat had obeyed the laws of gravity and she recalled a few inches of frozen flesh creeping out into the chill winter’s day.

Eventually Claire stopped snorting tears and managed to compose herself enough to respond to her brother. She could imagine his increasing wrath at her laughter but that only whipped the flames hotter.

“Is that why you called? To tell me off like a first year caught skiving class? I had a hard enough time following in your prim and prudish footsteps at school Robert. You are not going to rule my life from Geneva. If my blog offends you don’t read it. Who, besides you, is going to know we are related? My name isn’t even on the blog.”

“Thank goodness for small mercies. What the hell does Sally’s Cat mean as an author’s name anyway? Mother tells me this is your job now and that you’ve left AJC. Sounds like a suicidal career move to me.”

“I’m amazed Mum got even that much right for all she listened while I was there. I haven’t left AJC, they’re still paying me my normal salary. Not that it’s any business of yours. I am working on an assignment to promote healthy living on behalf of the YHA and Coca Cola. If I’m managing to have a bit of fun while I do it it’s more than you’ve ever managed in your entire Head Boy career.”

She heard the rush of air as her brother sucked his breath in through his teeth. Her mouth spread wide in an unholy grin. She loved getting under Robert’s skin. It was so easy yet so very satisfying. She waited for him to speak, picturing his face contorting as he tried to respond without swearing.

“If you have nothing else to add Robert I’ll say goodbye. My blog isn’t going to write itself. I haven’t decided yet whether I’m going to go to Gaol or down a Lead Mine to explore the locality. I’ll be sure to keep my clothes on either way. It is winter here after all.”

Robert muttered a barely-civil farewell and hung up the phone.

Well if I’ve managed to irritate Robert I must be doing something right.

Claire closed down her blank blog page and brought up “Things to do in Ninebanks”. Mentally she reworded it “Things to annoy your eldest sibling”.

That shouldn’t be hard.

***

Sacrewell Farm

Daffodils, Daughters and 2013 365 Challenge #35

Early daffodils

Today started at 5.30am. Again. It seems my daughter’s internal clock has gone forward for Spring a few weeks early. I wouldn’t mind but she has taken to making sure we’re all awake by coming in to Mummy and Daddy and saying she needs help on the toilet (she doesn’t), then going in to Aaron because he’s crying (he isn’t) and thereby waking the dog who sleeps next to the baby monitor downstairs. It’s tricky because she also gets herself dressed, makes her bed and opens her curtains. Great behaviour, just not at 5.30am. And then we spend the rest of the day grumpy. She’s sobbing upstairs at the moment because we’ve had a row. She’s only four. I’m so looking forward to her teenage years.

My daughter isn’t the only one who thinks it’s Spring. I was walking the dog today and saw these daffodils. We’ve had a week of really warm weather (10C) and even though it’s back to 3 or 4C they clearly think it’s time to get up too. It’s nice to see them, it brings all the wonderful hope of Spring. I just hope it isn’t false hope – it’s only February, I’m sure there’s plenty more bad weather to come.

Claire’s novel-in-instalments has reached 30,000 words. I read some of it as I proof-read Two-Hundred Steps Home and I was pleasantly surprised that it reads quite well for a first draft. I don’t think it will ever be anything else, not least because – at this rate – it will be a 300,000 word novel by the end of the year. Who is going to want to buy that?! Still, amidst the chaos and turmoil of home at the moment, it feels good to have achieved what I have so far.

_______________________________________________________________________________________________

“Hey Claire, great singing last night, how’s the hangover?”

Claire dropped her head on her hands and groaned, refusing to respond to the man who had stopped on his way past their breakfast table. He chuckled and walked on. Claire was about to raise her head when she heard more footsteps and another voice.

“Alright Josh, Claire, nice guitar playing mate. Good session. You guys off to do the wall today? Weather looks smashing.”

The voice receded and the room went quiet. Lifting her head slowly Claire peered out under one arm. “Have they all gone? Is it safe to come out?”

Josh laughed sympathetically. “Yes they’re gone, though you have no reason to hide. You were awesome.”

Claire moaned softly. “Not you too. What did I do exactly? It all goes hazy after the guy with the guitar and the bottle of whisky arrived.”

“You drank quite a lot of the whisky, mostly from the bottle, then you started dancing. Simon played accompaniment and when you kept falling over the furniture you decided to sing instead. You’ve got a nice voice you know, although the words were a bit slurred.”

“And you played guitar? I don’t remember that.”

Josh shrugged. “Well you were mostly asleep on Steve’s shoulder at that point.”

“Oh God, who is Steve?” Claire covered her face with her palms and peeked at Josh through splayed fingers.

“The guy who just said g’day to you.”

Claire dropped her head again. “Tell me nothing happened.”

“Nothing happened,” Josh said, a bit too quickly.

Claire looked up. “Now say it like it’s true.”

“Well I can’t swear to that. I was making Lucy’s acquaintance.”

“Which one was she?”

“The red head with the stray curls.”

Claire shook her head. This wasn’t going to be blog material. The sooner the night was forgotten the better.

“So are we walking the wall today or are you ticking this box as done and moving on?” Josh’s tone was neutral as he finished the last of his breakfast.

Claire considered the opportunity to escape and leave Josh and their jamming session behind. She looked out the window. Blue skies and scudding clouds beckoned her out to blow away the hangover.

“What wall?”

“Hadrian’s Wall.”

“Yes?”

“Oh come on, I’m not even from this country and I’ve heard of Hadrian’s Wall.”

“Who the hell is Hadrian, why’s he important?”

“Ah well there you have me. But I read a leaflet that says there’s an 8-mile walk from here that goes via a museum. Maybe we can go learn together.”

“Why would I want to learn about it from a museum when I can Google it?”

“That’s just data. Someone else’s view. You can’t live life vicariously, you have to stomp in it and get your boots muddy. Think of it as Blog Fodder. No one’s going to read your blog if you move on from every place as soon as you arrive.”

“I don’t care if anyone reads it. The fewer people the better.”

“You don’t mean that or you wouldn’t have had me read it in the car in the dark.” Claire flushed but Josh didn’t notice. He was waving his spoon around to emphasise the points he was making. “Besides I thought this was your job? Likes and follows are paying your wages. You strike me as a hard-working chick. Put some effort in!”

“What are you, some kind of motivational guru?” Josh turned at her words and gave Claire a strange look, almost a glare. Then he laughed. The sound struck Claire as forced and false.

“That’s me, Mr Get-up-and-go. Now get your sweet arse into some hiking gear and meet me at reception before it starts raining.” He pushed away from the table and stood up.

“Where are you going?” Claire realised she sounded like a wife and blushed. “Never mind. I’ll see you soon. Do we need to take lunch?”

“I’ll find out, I just have something to do first.” Josh raised his hand in a half-wave and disappeared in the direction of the internet access without looking back.

***

Daffodils – One of the First Flowers of Spring (proflowers.com)
Daffodils…Just In Time (putneyfarm.com)
Daffodils, Scarf and The Harbour at Night (and a Blogger Challenge) (mybeautfulthings.wordpress.com)

Post Party Blues and 2013 365 Challenge Day #28

The Jungle Party was a success

Everyone is sad and jaded this morning. Husband has a second-interview tomorrow and no energy to spend on learning his competency-based answers. I’m behind on my post and can’t keep my eyes open, and I left two crying children at nursery which always breaks my heart a little bit.

I phoned ten minutes later to check they’re okay and Amber had been let into her brother’s room to give him a cuddle. I love that they look out for each other and are a comfort to each other. I must work hard today to make up for their sadness. I do wonder how my daughter will cope with going to school every day in September. She does so love being at home, particularly since Daddy has been home too. Let’s hope his interview goes well.

Party Girl in the Zebra mask she made as part of the craft activity

The party was amazing but we were all exhausted afterwards. The only problem with having it in the morning was surviving until bedtime. And my daughter’s birthday isn’t actually until tomorrow so there are still visits from grandparents and more gifts to come. It’s overwhelming for children even though we’ve tried to keep it as calm as possible. It’s tough on the little one, too, as he doesn’t really understand the gifts aren’t for him. Especially so close to Christmas when they both got presents. So I’m going to get him a little something today so he has a toy to play with tomorrow.

The tightrope walk of parenthood!

My daughter told me this morning (after I lost my temper at their constant whining about not wanting to go to nursery) that she wanted a different Mummy rather than me. Husband was horrified:

“Mummy gave you an amazing party this weekend, aren’t you grateful for that?”

I just shrugged and said, “But that’s my job.”

The Jungle Party Room

If she doesn’t hate me from time to time I’m probably not doing my job properly. I love her, I want her to be happy but I also want her to grow up knowing the balance between times when she is the centre of everything and times when the world gets on and she must fit in.

I want to be her friend but first and foremost I’m her Mum. The two are not always the same thing.

Anyway, I’m late with the post because I had no words by bedtime last night. I have twelve minutes to post pictures and write something about Claire. Might be a bit of 200-word flash fiction today. I’ve been reading some great Flash Fiction over on the Apprentice, Never Master blog and it’s a skill I don’t currently have.

And then I have to make a dozen Valentines Day cards for the Gallery, buy Amber a gift from her brother, wrap all the presents and make dinner for Grandad’s arrival this evening. I might not earn a wage but it still feels like work to me!

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“Julia? It’s Claire. Don’t bother: I know Carl’s in an end-of-the-world summit in Timbuktu and can’t be reached. I don’t want to talk to him, I just want to pass on a message, seeing as that’s his preferred method of communication. You tell him it will take more than his sister’s friend’s stupid husband to make me quit my assignment. If Carl wants to fire me he’ll have to do it in person. Until he grows a pair and tells me to my face that I’m no longer required I will do the job he is paying me to do. That’s all.”

Claire hung up the phone and grinned. An unfamiliar surge of liberation flooded through her, starting in her chest and spreading out down to her fingertips. She pictured Julia’s face as she listened to the diatribe pouring down the phone, imagining the perfect cherry-red O in the middle of her flawlessly made-up face. Glancing in the mirror on the back of her phone Claire realised with a start that she hadn’t put make up on for two days. And she didn’t care. Who is there to impress out her in the sticks? She stroked her face. It felt clean and smooth, like it could breathe. I don’t remember the last time I went out in public without slap.

The sun shone on the while walls of the Byrness hostel as Claire loaded her things into the car ready to drive to Kielder. She looked at the building with more fondness than she could have imagined two days earlier. Settling into the icy seat Claire pulled on her gloves before touching the freezing steering wheel. She tugged the choke, gave the car a pat of encouragement and checked the Sat Nav instructions. Her heart felt buoyant as she poked around for a gear and drove away.

***

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?

***