Saturday Every Day: 2013 365 Challenge #82

Mummy and daughter craft

It has been Saturday in our house for five months. Since hubbie was made redundant last October everyday has felt like the weekend. Sometimes that’s good, sometimes frustrating.

Today was one of the good days. Normally Friday is my day to take the kids to Play and Learn at the local primary school, followed by a trip to the library.

Well, I say normally but I’ve probably done it once this year. Instead I’ve been writing posts first thing and then we have done a different activity like the Farm or zoo. I deliberately finished yesterday’s post before bedtime so I could make up for weeks of being Crap Mum and be Supermummy today. I failed.

Ingenious creation of a caravan

Before I even made it out of bed I read an email from a reviewer of DW, informing me of a typo on the first page, and it foolishly plunged me into the bog of eternal self-rebuke. Yes, typos happen but not on the first page and not in a self-pub with something to prove. I broke. Darling hubbie ended up with the kids while I cried and cleaned the kitchen floor: What else do you do in a crisis?

I took over at 10am and thought about doing the usual day trip, or even taking the kids to town to buy them new waterproofs, seeing as winter looks set to hang about for a while longer. But it’s Arctic outside today: any ideas of being outdoors vanished in a gust of snow when I poked my head out the front door.

I want this trailer when I go on holiday!

So hubbie and I ended up doing Relay Parenting, as I like to call it. I took the baton until lunch, playing cars and taking the dinosaurs on holiday to a (quickly sketched on paper) seaside resort. Hubbie took them for afternoon milk and video while I snuck upstairs to read for an hour. Then we did Divide & Conquer: he took little one to the tip while I did craft with Amber.

I really enjoyed helping her make a paper shell necklace and an underwater scene complete with sock octopus (thank you Charlie & Lola magazine!)

It felt like a good day.

Until I told Amber how nice it was to do craft with her and it had been a while and she replied “because you’re always working mummy”.

Ah, hello Guilt. Do come in.

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Youlgreave turned out to be a cheery little hostel with spacious rooms and a homely feel. The bunks had individual lights and Claire curled into the corner of hers as a mouse might his winter nest. She pulled a paperback from her bag – one of several she had treated herself to at Sheffield station – and let the world slide away.

After what felt like minutes, but was nearer to an hour, her phone chimed to say the sync was complete. Claire sighed and put down the book, her mind still caught up in a world of Games and tributes. She opened her email and scanned the list, hoping for nothing new. When she saw the email from Julia she had to stop herself launching her new phone out the window. I’d forgotten about the bloody challenges. Don’t let a mugging stop you Julia, you carry on regardless, heartless cow.

Reading the email, Claire felt her lungs fill with anger. Callous bitch.

Claire

I heard about the accident. If you will wander round like a hoyden, these things will happen. Carl said if anything was stolen you will need to claim on your own insurance due to the event occurring outside office hours.

Please find below your task for this week. As you only saw fit to undertake one activity from my previous list I have not researched any more than this.

Your next assignment will be sent on Thursday owing to the office being closed for the Easter weekend. Carl asked me to inform you that you are still expected to stay in hostels over the bank holiday.

Julia

http://www.peakhanggliding.co.uk/

Claire didn’t need to open the link to discover what Julia’s maliciousness had concocted for her. The bitch knows I’m scared of heights. Hang-gliding? She has to be kidding. I’m almost impressed that they want me to resign this badly. Well, tough.

She laughed, her eyes crinkling in mischief. Pulling out an envelope from her bag she retrieved the letter inside and smoothed it flat, before taking a picture with the iPad.

Dear Julia

Please find attached the Doctor’s Note I received, following the severe physical attack I suffered while working for your organisation. I have been advised to avoid any activity which may result in a worsening of my condition. I am sorry to inform you that I am certain Hang-Gliding will fall under that category.

I will notify you when the doctor deems me fit for physical exertion. Until then I will continue in my assignment to the best of my ability.

Kindest regards

Claire

Claire stroked the Doctor’s Note before slotting it into the back of her paperback. Best forty-pounds ever spent. Then she tucked her phone and tablet back into her rucksack and curled up in the corner of her bunk, feeling as if she had done Katniss proud in her skirmish with Julia.

***

365 11.03.13 (hpmcq.com)
365 Days of Dangermas: Day 80 (dangerouslee.biz)

‘Unable to stop Mothering’ Sunday: 2013 365 Challenge #70

Happy Mothering Sunday

It’s Mother’s Day here in the UK today. It’s always an odd day for me. We’re a loving family (most of the time!) and supportive of each other as often as we have the energy, so a special day of appreciation isn’t really required. That said, the idea of Mummy having a day off is always bandied about, as if it’s a possibility with two small children and when said ‘Mummy’ is a woman who doesn’t know how to be taken care of.

The day began with two small children standing outside my door with flowers waiting to be told they could come in. So cute. Although I think my little man was hoping to share in my chocolate egg treat. He didn’t want to leave the egg behind to go downstairs while I had a lie-in and later, when he came up to find I’d eaten it already, he was bereft.

It’s lovely to have a lie in, although I get them quite often these days as hubbie lets me go back to bed to finish my post. There are some advantages to us both being unemployed! Today, though, I had a cream egg and a gossip magazine 🙂

My gorgeous Mother’s Day cards

Then I was up, stacking the dishwasher and making pancakes as per my usual Sunday ritual, because I don’t know how to be anyone else and these things always need doing.

We went to the Farm, because it was too darn freezing to do anything else, and had great fun on the didibikes with Mummy and Daddy showing the kids how it’s done. At Grandma and Grandpa’s I got to take care of my Mummy, making tea and lunch while the grandparents played with the kids and watched the rugby. Home to feed the kids and cook a roast dinner for the grown-ups and that was Mothering Sunday for me.

I like to think that my failure to be ‘taken care of” or ‘pampered’ on Mothering Sunday is because I take ‘Mothering’ in its literal sense and I mother everyone else! I can only really relax when I’m by myself. Kids are back at nursery today so maybe I’ll squeeze some reading in between the novel revision and post writing. In the meantime I need to get on with my post and find some new way to torment Claire! 🙂

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“Plague Cottages? Chatsworth House Sculpture Gardens? Seriously Claire, what part of High Adrenalin Activity or Celebrating the Outdoor Lifestyle did you not understand? People don’t want to read about the rich and the dead and it hardly fits with either the YHA or the Coca Cola brand. Are you deliberately trying to flunk the brief?”

Claire held the phone away from her ear as Carl’s voice whined out like a washing machine on spin-cycle.

“Oh you’d love that, wouldn’t you? You know I’m fulfilling your ridiculous brief to the letter. My followers are increasing steadily, I’m writing about every hostel I stay in and the places of interest in the locality. I can’t jump off a cliff every day, even if that would make your year. Particularly if they forgot to tie the rope.”

Claire inhaled and tried to regain control of the conversation. She looked around the layby she’d pulled into when the phone rang and wondered if there was any chance of finding caffeine in walking distance. Who knew how long her boss would rant at her on the phone and she’d left Eyam hostel without breakfast to escape the overpowering women who had turned up in her room after dinner.

She sighed audibly; a mother tolerating a difficult child. “Look Carl. You tell me exactly what I’m not doing and I’ll do it. I’ve never missed a brief or target and I don’t intend to give you the satisfaction of suggesting I’m doing so now.”

She scanned the horizon again, hoping to see a trucker’s café or something. Anything. I miss my hands-free. Who drives a car without it these days? She vowed to get a cradle for the iPhone at the next opportunity.

“Well I don’t know,” Carl blustered, “you’re the Ideas lady. Go read some other blogs with thousands of followers. Find out what they’re doing that you’re not. Inject some bloody humour into your posts for Christ’s sake. Julia says it’s like reading the Daily Mail.

Julia. I might have known Carl hadn’t actually read the blog himself. What is it with her? Did I offend her once, in this life or the last?

“If Julia is such an expert maybe she can devise some new activities. Better still, why doesn’t she come and finish off the brief, let me get back to what I do best.” As she said the words Claire felt a prickle run across her scalp like an Indian Head Massage.

I’m not sure I want to go back.

She shook off the traitorous thought and concentrated on keeping warm as the temperature plummeted in the stationary car. She didn’t dare leave the engine running in case it overheated without the fan and she couldn’t put the fan on because she’d never hear Carl over the noise. Not that that would be a bad thing.

“I’ve told you before, I need Julia here. But yes I’ll ask her to locate some activities for you, seeing as you seem to have forgotten how to carry out basic research.”

Bollocks. That was stupid. Now Julia has a free rein to make my life hellish. Idiot Claire, next time keep your mouth shut and your temper under control.

“Lovely. I look forward to embracing Julia’s input. Perhaps she could spare a day out of the office to join me in one or two of the activities?” Claire smiled, hoping her saccharin-sweet expression would wing its way to Manchester to make Carl itch.

“Good. I’ll tell her to get onto it straight away.” The phone went dead.

Bugger. How to shoot yourself in the foot with a twelve-bore.

Claire rammed the car into gear and turned the key hard enough to break it. As the engine fired into life she imagined Carl’s body prone on the road in front of her and wheel span as she shot out of the layby in search of vengeance. Or at least coffee.

***

Mothering Sunday (iqwoman.co.uk)
Mother’s Day (isthatyoudarling.wordpress.com)
Mothering Sunday in United Kingdom (feelthebest.wordpress.com)
A snowy Mothering Sunday (christinelaennec.co.uk)

Holding Chicks and Fighting Coughs: 2013 365 Challenge #47

The Winning Picture

I’m writing against the clock for today’s post. I normally draft the night before but last night, by the time the kids were finally in bed, I just about had the energy to crawl onto the sofa and not move until bedtime. Just as well, as I had a small child trying to elbow me out of bed for most of the night. I’ve had enough of ill to last a whole year!

It was a good day yesterday, just very tiring. We went to the Farm with a family who don’t go very often so were there for nearly five hours. The kids got to hold week-old chicks and have a go on the new didicars (which look fab – husband and I must have a go when it isn’t half term! Must teach the kids to propel them by wiggling…). Then home for quiet time and tea before our usual Friday night visit to my parents. Hubbie took the kids out to walk the dog so I could clean the house and little man cried all the way round after falling in a muddy puddle. It’s tough being two.

Adult Category Winning Photograph

On a happy note two of my photographs won in the Farm’s Winter Photography competition, meaning we get a free annual pass (very helpful in this time of too much unemployment in our house!) We might have won due to the lack of entrants (most of the photos were either mine or my daughter’s) but a win is a win! I wouldn’t have selected the image they did as the best (it hurt me not to be able to digitally manipulate it as I do all my images – I love adobe photoshop) but apparently they chose it because of the depth of the puddle Aaron is standing in! I love that my picture of Humby Keith the Lincoln Longwool Ram was also a winner. He’s my favourite animal at the Farm just now.

The weirdest part of yesterday was my friend telling me her Mother has to have a biopsy, after writing yesterday’s post about Claire’s sister. It always freaks me out a bit when life mirrors art even in an unrelated way. It reminds me also of the responsibility to write sensitively about tough topics and make sure I do my research and get it as right as possible.

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Claire gazed out over the water and let her thoughts drift away with the wake flowing behind the launch. She had intended to leave Bowness after her coffee but her sister’s phone call had driven all rational thought from her mind.

Besides, they have a Costa and I didn’t see it before I had that awful latte in the other place. I’m not leaving town until I’ve had a decent coffee.

Claire smiled at the irrelevancy. Coffee has never featured so heavily in my life as it has on this ridiculous journey. It seemed to represent some notion of urban civilisation that was essential to her being. The boat trip was a way to kill an hour or two before she could have more caffeine.

Turning her face into the wind Claire let the icy breeze drive out more important thoughts. She hoped the lap of the water would drown out the words echoing around her head but it only muted them and muddled them together.

“If it didn’t work for you, who does it work for?” … “You and Michael, you clicked. He adored you.” … “Where’s the hope? Where’s the hope? Where’s the hope?”

Was her sister right? Had she pushed away a man who adored her? Was a life without him a life without hope? Did her sister really envy her existence that much?

Wasn’t that what I wanted her to do?

The words, sharp and metallic, tore through the peace of the lake. Claire no longer saw muted shades of green and brown, glints of faint sunlight on the water, space and calm and beauty. No longer heard the lonely cry of the birds or the splash of the lake against the boat’s hull. Instead she saw the tones and hues of her pristine apartment. The sharp angles of her office. Heard the click-clack of her heels and the tip-tap of her keyboard. Her perfect world. What was there not to covet?

Claire inhaled, filling her lungs with unpolluted air. Her brain felt foggy and full, like a hangover of the worst proportions. Wrenching her gaze away from a view that only seemed to drag her into a well of introspection, Claire looked around the boat at the other passengers. She had assumed it would be empty at this time of year but the seats were crammed with huddling people, snuggling together against the icy wind. A quick survey confirmed something Claire didn’t want to acknowledge.

The people came in two by two, hurrah hurrah.

With a sigh Claire turned her face back to the Lake and waited for the boat trip to end.

***

Pancakes and Bird Feeders: 2013 365 Challenge #44

Making Pancakes for Shrove Tuesday

Pancake Day! (Well it is while I’m writing this anyway.) We love pancakes in this house although we tend to cook them thicker than is the norm for Shrove Tuesday here in the UK.

Husband went to my mother’s today to job search in peace and was summoned home on the promise of pancakes at 5pm. He is addicted! I often use them to get him out of bed on a Sunday so we can go swimming.

We also made bird feeders at the Farm today: the sticky sort made with lard, bird seed and a yoghurt pot. I’ve never done it before, although the kids have made them at nursery. It’s a neat little craft activity that I might store for another day. Messy though!

My head has been buzzing with Claire ideas although none are right for the next post so I’m still stumped for this evening. It’s nice to have some ideas getting through; I must be coming out the otherside of this cold finally. Shame the little one still has a sky-high temperature. Another trip to the docs is in order methinks.

© Copyright Gordon McKinlay and licensed for reuse under Creative Commons Licence

A quick note on research, as I know today’s post won’t reflect the hours I’ve spent on it. I feel I have travelled further than Claire: first looking at cities she might drive to from Keswick. Then thinking she might stay in the Lakes another night because she doesn’t like to drive in the dark. Then needing her in a private en-suite room so searching all hostels in the Lakes with en-suite and availability on 12th March (the date she has reached in the novel).

Then I wanted her looking at the nighttime view and so wondered if it was full moon or not (turns out it’s a new moon on 12th March). Then doing a Google-map search to find out what might have triggered her decision to stay at Windemere (for example was it en-route somewhere else? Yes, it’s on the road to Liverpool.)

This is the way my mind works when I’m researching and writing at the same time. It’s why I try not to do research during a first draft – it eats hours. Never mind, I’ve just about got enough energy to tap out a few hundred words even if it has little to do with the 3-hour internet search this evening has entailed! On a positive note, the more I research hostels the more I want to take my family to them. If only the Lakes were a bit nearer. I can certainly feel a summer road trip coming on!

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Claire let the heat of the shower wash away niggling doubt, concentrating on the sensation caused by warm water caressing her tired muscles.

I’d give my limited edition Radley bag for a bath. Or one of the smaller purses anyway. She lathered her hair, grateful for the knowledge that Josh couldn’t have left anything scary and hairy in the cubicle. It had been luxurious checking in without him, closing the bedroom door and knowing she was completely alone.

I wonder what he’s doing, whether he’s found a new chick to hit on, to sweet-talk into a lift. She flushed when she remembered the night they had first met. It was only a week ago but it felt like months. Thinking about it she realised he hadn’t repeated his attempt to kiss her after he had taken her by surprise at the Observatory. Maybe he didn’t fancy me once he got to know me better. It was a lowering thought.

Claire rinsed the shampoo from her hair and detangled it with copious amounts of conditioner, combing it through with her fingers. She resisted the urge to hum ‘I’m gonna wash that man right out of my hair’ with the thought that she couldn’t say for certain which one.

Clean, refreshed, and wrapped in a towel, Claire stood gazing out her window at the panoramic view just visible by the meagre light of the petrol-blue sky. The storm clouds that had battered them with hail on Skiddaw had long since blown away.

What am I doing here? I could be looking out over city lights, contemplating a three-course meal in a decent restaurant and breakfast at Starbucks. Instead I’m still in the Lakes. Windermere of all places. How touristy can you get? Although we’re not exactly in Windermere. Gazing at the view Claire was surprised at how few lights she could see. Why are all the YHA hostels so damn remote?

Her mind replayed the meandering drive up from town and she was glad, not for the first time, that she wasn’t trying to backpack without a car. Stella might be a heap of junk but she gives untold freedom. No wonder Josh stuck with me whether he fancied me or not.

She felt a stab of guilt, thinking about Josh. When she had left him after the Skiddaw hike that afternoon it was on the understanding that she was heading for a more high-rise than hill-side location. Certainly that had been her intention.

A wave of lassitude had engulfed her only twenty minutes into her three-hour drive to Liverpool. She’d seen the signs for Windermere and began following them almost without volition. Lucky they had a free room, especially a private one. I think I need some space to think.

She pulled on her most comfortable clothes and curled up on the double-bed bottom bunk, resisting the temptation to lie spread-eagled across it just because she could. Her mind flashed an image of the hostel lounge; the welcoming sofas, the view. The licensed bar. Her tummy growled and she realised she would have to venture downstairs eventually. And still something held her back.

Claire rapped her knuckles against her temples and tutted, the sound loud in the silent room. What’s going on in there, brain? Since when was the lure of Starbucks not enough?

Pancake Day (smarksthespots.wordpress.com)
Shrove Tuesday/PANCAKES (shivonthemic.wordpress.com)
Bird Feeding Starter Kit (mommiespointofview.blogspot.com)
Shrove Tuesday. (1catholicsalmon.com)
How to Make a Valentine’s Birdfeeder (ctworkingmoms.com)
Pancake Day (cpitlibrary.wordpress.com)

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

Palm Trees, Donkeys and 2013 365 Challenge #26

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“What, me? Hell, no.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

***