Happy New Year!

I have absolutely no idea what to say or write in this post. It has been the strangest of days. Part of me is so glad that this year is over, but part of me is sad to leave it behind - so much of what I wanted to do or achieve remains undone.

I am still not pregnant. But I am beginning to come to terms with the fact that I may never have the miracle of life inside me again and that saddens me - even still. I remain grateful and extremely thankful that I do have my gorgeous daughter and she gives me such joy and happiness.

On a plus point with regard to writing - thanks must go to the wonderful Keris Stainton, who gave me ideas and the confidence to just go for it! I am really enjoying writing, blogging and tweeting - and I have met some wonderfully talented people via the internet and twitter. I have actually written a short story and a novel! I know I am amazed too! Although, I haven't even looked at my novel which I wrote for NaNoWriMo yet, but I wrote it and I know it needs a lot of editing. One day I will print it out, settle down, take out my red pen (it has to be red) and edit it. And who knows where that may lead...

On a family note - I saw my sister in law for the first time today in seven months. I haven't seen her due to a falling out over... well, I am not going to say what it was over, but hey! It was all a bit tricky and I wasn't really looking forward to it, but it was OK. In fact it was better than OK. It was like seeing an old friend - you know the one that you don't need to to speak to every week - you just slip into the old routine and it's fine. Don't tell her but I have actually missed her! Apologies weren't made by either party - but do they actually need to be made with family? I don't know? Answers on a postcode...

Anyway, I have had a lovely day, I am slightly a little worse for wear, friends came around for tea and drinks and have not long left. As for 2011, I really don't know - health and happiness springs to mind. Hope you all have a good one! XX

A Short Story!

I have had this story lurking on my computer for some time now and have been too scared to show it to anyone. However, I did enter it into a competition, but needless to say, I didn't get anywhere, never mind win!

As one of my resolutions is to try and progress my writing, I thought I would take the plunge and post a story. I hope you like it.

Short Stay

No matter how many times I come here, I never get used to the smell. It stinks; it’s the kind of odour that hits the back of your throat so you can taste it. It is a smell that is impossible to describe, as it slowly permeates into your every fibre, from your clothes, to your hair, and settles sneakily in your nose, so that even when you have left the department, you can’t shake it off. It is the smell of the great unwashed. Those poor unfortunate people who live on the streets – the homeless. They attract many names, and are given many labels (not always truly deserved) - vagrants, street people, alcoholics, drug addicts to name but a few. They are surrounding me in their different guises, but they all have the same smell. They try to strike up a conversation, but I am not in the mood to be polite. We have already been waiting for three hours. I am in the A&E waiting room of our local hospital for the third time this month.

We were seen on arrival. Then the real waiting began. “The injuries are superficial,” he said.

“Superficial?” I screamed. I was aware I was shouting at him, and probably nearing hysterical, but I didn’t care, I was desperate. “She is cut and bleeding, she needs to be seen now. She needs a doctor?” I was fighting to stay calm and in control. I fail miserably. My urgent cries falling on the Triage nurse’s deaf ears. He has seen it all before - I don’t think anything fazes him. Not that he is devoid of compassion, I don’t think that for a second – I just think he is incredibly busy, and I guess they have patients with more serious injuries than ‘a superficial laceration’. I don’t think he understands that this ‘superficial’ injury is the culmination of something much darker and deeper than I can comprehend. I am her mother and I don’t know what has messed with my daughter’s head so much that she feels that this is the only release she has. He doesn’t understand, because he didn’t ask the question. You see, this is the third time this month my 14-year-old daughter has felt that the only way she can feel better about everything, and to gain control over her life; is to take a pair or scissors (not always her weapon of choice – she will use anything she can get her hands on - razors, tweezers, nail files) and cut her beautiful, slender arms to ribbons. She will cut herself until the bright red blood trickles slowly down her arm and drips into a congealed puddle on the bathroom floor.

Strangely, as soon as the blood starts to flow, she screams ‘Mummy’, like she used to when she was a little girl and had fallen over, or banged her head. And I do now, as I did then, I come running. At first, I thought she had tried to slit her wrists and that she was going to die. There was no doubt in my mind that she was going to die, as no one could survive losing that amount of blood. But again, the cuts were superficial. They needed stitches, but they were described as superficial. I have since learnt that once it has hit the floor, the amount of blood is deceptive; and I am calmer now. The doctor said she was fine and she was discharged. We were back the following week. Physically she is fine. Mentally? Obviously not, as she is still cutting away and I am unable to help her or stop her. She needs counselling. I cannot afford to pay for it, the GP won't help as she refuses to go and my urgent, begging pleas to him failed to move him.

“She needs to come and see me herself,” he kept on saying whilst handing me tissue after tissue.

Magic fairy dust and fairy kisses stopped working sometime ago. All I can do is hold her, and cry with her until the blood stops flowing. And we sob. Tonight I was sitting on the bathroom floor in a sea of her blood. I wrapped a white towel around her wrists, and pulled her to my chest and we sobbed and sobbed until I thought my heart would break. The sound of my daughters deep wracking sobs, forcing out the word ‘sorry’ over and over again, will haunt my dreams for ever more. She is my baby and my job is to protect her. In this I am powerless. I can do nothing.

I don’t know why she does it, she won’t tell me or the doctors and I don't want to push it. I think everything is okay at school. Her grades are above average; she has friends, although come to think of it, I have not seen them for a while. They have stopped coming around. Maybe that is the reason? Is she being bullied? I just don’t know. Since this nightmare began I have been racking my brain for answers, theories and reasons for why she does it? I can come up with none. I have called school, her friend’s parents (I didn’t tell them what was actually happening, just that she seemed down, you know, a bit miserable). They weren’t much help, bloody useless in fact.

I have even spoken with her Father, although he appeared detached and disinterested. Since he left I will admit I have struggled with this single parent thing. Divorce was definitely not part of the five-year plan. I have found it hard. Maybe if I hadn’t gone back to work I could have prevented this nightmare, maybe even foreseen it. No, of course I couldn’t. No parent could foresee this. I am just consumed with guilt and I cannot seem to help her. She doesn’t see her Dad that often, apart from at school. He is always too busy to come and visit. Work you know. Always too busy and work comes first. However, this time it is different. It is not work, it is Leo, his son. I know I am sounding jealous of a newborn baby, but he is besotted with him. So entranced is he, that he appears to have conveniently forgotten his first-born. His beautiful daughter, who with her long, glossy chestnut hair and unusual blue eyes, is the image of him.

Maybe he is the reason? Surely not I would have known, wouldn’t I? The realisation suddenly dropped with a resounding crash. Of course, what else could it be? How could I be so stupid? How could I have missed this? But this theory doesn’t explain why her friends aren’t coming around anymore. Oh well, it is a new theory, a logical theory and one that I am going to cling onto in the hope that between us, we can fix her. The self-harming began shortly after he left, after he dropped the casual bombshell in his shock announcement over dinner one night. He blurted it out, like if he said it quickly, the hurt caused by the effect of his words would be less. A bit like ripping off a plaster I guess. He mumbled that not only was he seeing someone else, but that his ‘mistress’ (I cannot bring myself to say her name), no more than a child herself, was pregnant. He always was prolific in that department. Since he left I noticed she was quieter than usual, but I thought she was okay? She seemed to be handling the situation with her usual ‘couldn’t care less’ attitude, leaving me to focus my attentions on her younger siblings. It was easy to spot their distress – they cried, had nightmares and were misbehaving at school. Easy, nipped that in the bud. Lots of cuddles, reassurance that daddy still loves them, and quality time with mummy, the odd chocolate bar, and the occasional sleep over in my bed. Why does she do this? Is it some desperate need for stability and belonging that has driven her to this?

The nurse is calling her name and I bring myself back to reality. We both stand up and make our way over to the cubicle, which is to be our home for the next few hours. I observe the department as I walk over to the cubicle. My usually lively and vivacious daughter just shuffled in, head down and refusing to make eye contact with the world. I tried to make a joke about the brown and yellow curtain, which was reminiscent of the ones in Granny’s flat, but she refused to even acknowledge that I had spoken. The cubicle was small and contained only one worn blue plastic chair and a trolley, which was made up with sheets, a blanket and even a pillow! What a luxury. I just wanted to rest my weary head and grab a few minutes sleep. It was about 3.30 am and I was struggling to keep my eyes open. We had been here since 11. But I can't. All I can do is pace the floor, up and down, up and down - thinking, trying to make sense of it all, but I can't. My daughter is hurting and I am so worried about her – she is broke and I can't fix her.

“Mum sit down will you – you're driving me nuts.” Holly says. I glance at her and see a glimpse of my daughter – a shake of her head and a roll of her eyes, proved that my daughter is still in there somewhere, I just need to reach her. I do as she asks and I sit down. This time I express my anxiety by twisting my hair round and round. A bad habit remaining from childhood.

The place was heaving. A drunken kid was vomiting over the side of his trolley, the vomit making a resounding splash as it hit the floor, an elderly lady, who was crying out for ‘George’, and whose trolley was in the corridor, (she was waiting for a bed on the ward, the nurse informed me. She must have noticed the ill-disguised disgust on my face when she showed us into the cubicle). And one of the great unwashed, Will, was staggering around, singing ‘Delilah’, clutching a bottle of ‘White Lightning’ and avoiding the nurses, who were desperately trying to get him to sit down. After a couple of minutes a very junior looking doctor, who introduced himself as Toby, arrived, and swiftly left, muttering apologies as he ran into resus. No doubt to tend to the needs of a patient with injuries far more life threatening than my daughter's. Toby did get as far as asking her name though, before he rushed off again.

An hour or so later, he was back. “What happened?” he asked.

“I cut myself,” my daughter replied.

“Why do you think you did that?” Toby asks.

My daughter replies in the usual nonchalant manner of a fourteen year old, by a defiant shrug of her shoulders and a murmured “dunno.”

Toby gently removes the dressing, while trying to make eye contact with her. The smell of the congealed blood hits my nostrils and makes me instantly nauseous. I have to turn away. I cannot bear to see the angry, red slashes on her arms. It was both arms tonight.

How many times are we going to have to go through this? I wonder. It’s the same old routine. They see her, gently question her, get no response, stitch her up and send her on her way. She needs to talk to someone, I silently scream. She won’t talk to me or even her friends – I actually don’t think her friends know about this. She goes too great lengths to disguise her wounds, wearing long sleeves, even though it’s summer. Toby is talking to her, telling her something. I strain to hear what he is saying. But I can’t, he is talking in sounds so low my daughter can barely hear. But the words appear to be having some effect, as I see my daughter lift her head and smile at him, almost like she was flirting. I don’t care, she is now making eye contact and is talking, in a barely audible whisper, but she is still talking.

I have done my own research; the World Wide Web is a wonderful tool, full of information, from the newsworthy, to the surreal and the downright weird. They say that teenagers who self harm do it out of pure desperation, because they don’t feel that they can improve on their situation. It is often triggered by an argument or an event that is out of their control. Emotions are often high and apparently it makes them feel better about themselves, and they believe, however misguided, that they are in control of their lives. More often than not, it is a cry for help, but there are risks – the wound can become infected, and occasionally the distinction between suicide and self harm can become blurred, and it may be that the habitual self harmer, may end up killing themselves. I shuddered as I thought about the ‘what ifs? The finality this website proposed didn’t do much to help my situation. Does my daughter actually want to kill herself? Every time I consider that suicide might be a possibility my daughter is considering, every time she takes the scissors to herself, I get shivers down my spine and I feel sick. I cannot and will not lose her. She is so precious to me, and I will use every ounce of my being to take care of her. I will not lose her, I will not.

I drag myself back to the present. The noise is deafening. The ever present sounds of beeping machines, shouting, crying and the ever-calming mutterings of the nurses, who seem to move from patient to patient with their soothing manner. Although, they seemed to leave the soothing manner at the entrance to the cubicle when the abuse came flying – then it seemed they could take care of themselves without causing offence. How come I never noticed these sounds before? It was then I noticed that Toby was talking to me. I could see his lips were moving, but I wasn’t paying attention. I was in another world, a world where my family hadn’t been destroyed by that little tart.

“I am going to refer her,” Toby was saying.

‘Sorry, what, refer her to who?” I said, dragging myself kicking and screaming back to the brightly lit cubicle.

“From what she has told me, I think your daughter would benefit from talking to a counsellor.” Toby replied. “She will be seen as an outpatient, and I am hopeful that we should get a referral within the next few weeks”.

“Oh!” I was so astounded that someone had actually suggested something different, something new that might actually improve the situation. I couldn’t speak, I just muttered incoherently.

Toby’s lips were still moving, but I couldn’t hear him. Something to do with steri-strips, dressing and some antibiotics, as one of the older wounds looked infected.

“Could you also bring her back to clinic? I would like to keep an eye on the wounds, check they are healing.”

“Of course I can, when?”

‘Next week, you can make an appointment at reception. If you can just wait a moment longer, I will send one of the nurses in to dress her wounds.” Toby busied off, winking at my daughter as he went, and then Sarah came in with her trolley of various assortments of dressings and tape. I felt like a small weight had been lifted off my shoulders, Someone actually cared, cared enough to listen to her and cared enough to try and fix her. Not just by dressing the wound, but also by talking to her and actually listening to her response without judgement, he just listened. Easy huh?

As I sat there studying my daughter who was fascinated by what Sarah was saying. Again, I am not sure what it was. Maybe I need to get my hearing tested? Everything sounds so muted at the moment. I noticed her face change beyond recognition. Her eyes lit up, and her mouth broke into the biggest most generous smile I have seen in months. “Daddy” she whispered. And there he stood, right behind me. I knew he was there without even turning around. I always knew, I just could sense him, like we were connected in some way. And we are, connected by our three wonderful children. The tears started flowing, and at that moment I had hope. I just knew that between us we could fix her.

My Favourite Childhood Books

My favourite books from childhood were undoubtedly the wonderful Miss Blyton's Enchanted Wood series and Malory Towers, both firm favourites of mine and books that I read over and over again. Oh how I wanted to go to boarding school, be best friends with Darrell and swim in the pool carved out of the rocks! I can't wait until I can read these with my daughter. She is a little bit young for Malory Towers just yet, but the Enchanted Wood series I have bought her for Christmas, and I am so looking forward to re-living my childhood with her, Silky and Moonface. But it's a surprise from Santa so don't tell her!

Unfortunately, I was disappointed when I noticed that in the new version of the Enchanted Wood series, that some of the characters names had been changed. We no longer have 'Dick and Fanny', but 'Rick and Frannie'. Now the adult in me feels that the names should have remained the same, why change a classic which has worked so well for years. But, I do distinctly remember giggling with my friends over the names 'Dick and Fanny', as they were so rude and they caused endless amounts of amusement! So I guess the publishers were probably right to change the characters names, but I do feel that it is a shame.

To be honest, it is irrelevant what the characters are now called as I am probably still going to have to explain the different names. You see, my friend is reading the originals to her daughter with 'Dick and Fanny' and I am going to be reading the new improved version, and I am sure that the girls will compare! So I have not got away with tricky explanations!

What do you think? Should names of classic characters be changed to save giggling girls the embarrassment of reading about 'Dick and Fanny', or should they remain as they were?

NaNoWriMo - The End!

Well, NaNoWriMo is over, finished, finito for 2010, and not only do I feel relief, I feel bereft! I really did not expect that emotion at all. I expected to feel relief as the pressure was so great, but I did not expect to feel that there was a gaping hole in my days! Friends and acquaintances have stopped asking about my book, as I have no more to tell them other than I have finished. But, I finish I did - just! The phrase 'by the skin of my teeth' speaks volumes about my final hours in November! And for that small achievement I feel very proud of myself. But I feel a little bit empty, like I have nothing left to talk about, write about or tweet about. My life is rather dull and I did not expect that!

I have written a YA novel, and that in itself is amazing! But, I am too scared to read it, as it is probably a pile of poo! I know that it will need a lot of editing, but I cannot bear to even open the document at present. How do writers let go? How do they get over their fear to let people read the product of their creative mind and face the comments and constructive (hopefully) criticism?

I have poured my heart and soul into this book and now I don't know what to do with it? It will probably languish on my hard drive for a couple of months until I can open it again and face reading it. A few of my friends have asked to read it, but I don't want them too. One friend who is a teacher of year 2 read the first couple of paragraphs and commented that it was "rather easy to read, " to which I agreed, but stressed that it is aimed at teenagers, not adults!

After that comment, there is no way I want anyone else to read it! But how can I progress if no-one reads it? I can't, so I must, but I don't want to let them! I know that I sound like a petulant child, but it is a big hurdle to overcome. So how do writers overcome it? Do they just bite the bullet, grit their creative teeth and send it out to agents or publishers? Do they post it on their blog, hoping to be discovered that way? Or do they just let their nearest and dearest read it, knowing that their comments will be toned down (hopefully)? Decisions, decisions.

I know that my work of creative fiction is not ready for anyone to read and I know that I need to crack on with the editing process, but I am scared. Scared I have wasted a month of my life, writing. I am not a writer, I know that, that title is reserved for the many talented people I have met and talked to on Twitter and Facebook. But, I do so hope to be, soon.

The Hating Game

THE HATING GAME

Talli Roland's debut novel 'The Hating Game' is storming up the kindle bestseller chart on Amazon as I speak! When I last looked it was No.32 and still rising. Help Talli take on Amazon by spreading the word!

What's it about? Well...

“When man-eater Mattie Johns agrees to star on a dating game show to save her ailing recruitment business, she’s confident she’ll sail through to the end without letting down the perma-guard she’s perfected from years of her love ‘em and leave ‘em dating strategy. After all, what can go wrong with dating a few losers and hanging out long enough to pick up a juicy £2000,000 prize?

Plenty, Mattie discovers, when it’s revealed that the contestants are four of her very unhappy exes.

Can Mattie confront her past to get the prize money she so desperately needs, or will her exes finally wreak their long-awaited revenge? And what about the ambitious TV producer whose career depends on stopping her from making it to the end?”

Click here to

purchase for the bargain price of £1.90 and snuggle up with what looks like a brilliant read! And if Santa is generous enough to bring me a kindle, I will most definitely be downloading 'The Hating Game' ASAP!

I'm Back Now!

I can't believe it has been over two weeks since I was last here, so if there is anyone out there that actually reads this (and I believe there may be), I am sorry if I have disappointed you. Anyway, I am back!

The reason for my absence is good old NaNoWriMo - it has take over my life in a way I could not have envisaged. I am obsessed by it. If I don't write on any particular day, I get twitchy and feel dreadfully guilty. I am constantly thinking about my characters everywhere I go, whether I am in the shower, out with the dogs or on a run. And I am actually beginning to think that they may actually be real!

My YA story has taken on twists and turns I could not have imagined. I have smugglers, wreckers, a twenty first century girl in love with a seventeenth century boy. There is a murder, a ghost and a seance! Oh and my lead character quite fancies and has had a few dates with a twenty first century boy! What a tangled web I have weaved. I LOVE IT!

The reason I started this blog was to encourage me to write, as I am a bit of a lazy mare to be honest, but the one thing I like about NaNo is that I feel that I have deadlines. I love deadlines. I work so much better under pressure and I have managed to keep up with the daily word count. I think my story is probably a pile of poo and will need so much editing. I would absolutely love it to be published, but I am so not that lucky, or talented. I am under no illusions, I am not an author, or a novelist - that is a prestigious title awarded to a few hard working and wonderfully talented writers. I have been fortunate to meet a few, and I follow some on Twitter. I am also fortunate to have known one from school. (You know who you are!) These writers do inspire me and continue to do so on a daily basis - for this I thank them.

You may have noticed that my blog space is devoid of any widget thingy to do with NaNo. I have visited the NaNo website to see if I can get a widget thingy for my site. Lets just say, that me and technology do not go together. I can't do it so I have given up. Anyone? All technical help welcome!

To brighten up the page, below is a photo of my desk - my work space - my oasis of calm - or rather my kitchen table!

I have had quite a lot of encouragement from my friends and my running club, they think it's great, but not so much from my hubby. As I am a housewife, my job is tending to house, husband and daughter, which I don't do too badly at. But and this is a big but, if I forget to do something like the ironing, well stand back. I get into so much trouble! Now hubby sees my writing as my hobby! Let me tell you, I am not impressed by that reference to my, erm, well, future career!

I can see his point though, as I have only earned fifty quid from my writing all year. I think if I ever manage to publish more than one article he might change his mind. I think if I do publish a book, he will have to eat his words. Not sure I will acknowledge him though!

Party Dilemmas 2 and NaNoWriMo

My daughter's party is fast approaching. I have survived her actual birthday (which was yesterday), cakes were baked, presents were opened and oodles of fun was had by all, I think. So last night I took on the dreaded task of making up the party bags. I feel that I must apologise in advance to all parents for the amount of sweets in said bags. It is not my fault! I have so many sweets left over from Halloween I need to get rid of them before I eat them all! So party bags were the answer. I never thought I would ever, ever say this, but I AM SICK OF HARIBOS!

Update - Party bags nearly completed apart from the obligatory crappy plastic toys that I will buy today.

I thought I should check I had everything else. A week or so ago I ordered some stuff from 'Party Pieces', a mail/internet company which sells all things party. Now, I am making pink sparkly cupcakes for my daughter this year, as they are easier and it saves having to cut a cake up. Party pieces had cellophane bags, a pack of 20 for just over one pound. Bargain, I will take a pack. I ordered them, along with some party bags, cupcake cases (pink and spotty), and a cardboard (flat packed) cupcake stand. All relatively small items, which pack flat for ease of transportation.

Or so I thought. A few days later my 'Party Pieces' package arrived. Imagine my excitement when I saw the box. It was huge! You could have fitted a microwave in it, it was that big, ginormous in fact. I was convinced they must have sent me an exciting free gift, so I ripped off the tape and delved into the box. I was disappointed. There was no exciting free gift, just my rather small, flat (ish) order at the bottom of copious amounts of totally unnecessary packaging.

In these modern times of 'reduce, reuse and recycle' I was astonished at the amount of packaging used to distribute my items. Take note 'Party Pieces'. It's just not necessary.

My gripe with 'Party Pieces' hasn't ended. I decided to count the cupcake bags. They came in a neat and tidy roll, which looked thick enough to contain 20 bags, as per the advertisement. They didn't. They had sent me 10! 10 I ask you, what good are they to me. I have sent a strongly worded email and unless they are going to send bags by motorbike courier, direct to the venue by 10 o'clock, tomorrow, I am scuppered! Have you ever tried to send cupcakes home with 6 year olds wrapped in paper napkins? No, me neither!

I am quite impressed with myself. This week, I have managed to conquer the common cold, bake furiously for children's parties, organise said party, wrap presents and (more importantly) keep up with NaNo.

A few people have asked me why I am doing it? I wasn't sure, was my standard response. It seemed like a good idea at the time. But now I have started, I have had time to think about Why? Well, I actually like deadlines. Mad I know, but I work better under pressure. I need to know what, when, how, why and whom, and I love the satisfaction of seeing the word count at the end of the day. I am the Queen of procrastination (although I am sure many of you will claim my title), but if I have a deadline, I fly!

Oh, and in case you are wondering, I can function past 7 o'clock!

It's Started!

The countdown has ended, the biscuits have been bought (and nearly eaten) and the cupboards are stocked full of every possible kind of tea you could imagine. (Including plenty of PG tips). NaNoWri has begun.

I have a plot, sort of, a setting, and a few characters, so it should be a breeze. If only.

Today I got off to a flying start and in between dog walking, the school run and physio, I have actually only had an hour or so to write, and write I did. I managed to churn out 1889 words of comprehensible paragraphs and sentences, and I managed to complete a chapter. I am actually really pleased and have rewarded myself with a couple of choccie biscuits. Yay, 50,000 words here I come.

Watch this space!

Take That!

I am ashamed to admit that me, a grown women, spent the majority of Friday on the computer trying to purchase Take That tickets, and when I didn't get them, I had only what can be described as a tantrum. In fact, I outdid my 5 (nearly 6) year old daughter in the tantrum department. And boy was she shocked.

I decided that out of my friends, I would be in charge of purchasing. I have always got tickets before and didn't foresee any problems this time either. Oh, how I was mistaken. The website I usually use didn't exactly crash, but the 'server stopped responding'. How anyone managed to obtain tickets is beyond me. They obviously did not have a life on Friday.

The mission began at 8.30 am sharp. My daughter had to fend for herself, although I had placed an array of drinks and snacks within easy reach, and the dogs didn't get walked. Me, well, so convinced was I that I would get tickets, I didn't even bother to get dressed. I assumed it would all be over by 9.10 am and it would be just a matter of entering those all important credit card details.

9.10 am came and went, and so did 9.30 and 10 o'clock. I was not a happy bunny. It was about then I realised that I needed to get dressed and get on with my life. I thought that a bath was the answer rather than a shower, as I could take the laptop in with me, balance it on a stool, and continue to 'refresh' the page when needed. So that is what I did!

11.30 am. Still no joy, so I made an executive decision to walk the dogs. This took another half an hour before I could leave the computer without exhibiting withdrawal symptoms. By this point it was raining, but I eventually managed to drag myself away from the computer for an hour. Returned and was promptly back online.

I then had to go out to the GobbleDeeBook children's literature festival, which has been organised by the lovely Caroline Smailes. We went to listen to Guy Bass talk about his fabulous book 'Secret Santa - Agent of X.M.A.S'. He cheered me up no end! He was lively, funny, witty and intelligent. Oh and rather cute as well. But not Howard! The children loved him, and I found myself laughing along too. Fab!

The really sad thing is that I was stressing while I was there, just in case they had released more dates for Manchester. (Even though I had resigned myself to not getting any), I just had to get near a computer. I was like a woman possessed!

What makes us sensible, (but fun loving) mature women turn into a bunch of teenagers again? Is it because they (the band) remind us of our youth? Or is it just an excuse to relieve our youth and have all the fantasies we used to have? I mean, come on girls would we really leave our husbands and families for a romp with the Take That boys? Seriously? I don't think so.

Admittedly back in the day, I didn't really like them much. Mainly because I was a mean and moody biker chick and listened to rock music. Take That didn't really go with 'the look' I was trying to portray you know! I mean you can't exactly race around on a motorbike, wearing leather and listening to 'Pray' can you?

I know that I have had the odd fantasy of running off with Howard. I know, I am delusional, but you see, we share the same surname so I assumed it would be fate. Just for the record my maiden name is Donald. Funny though that when I married, I was so relieved to get rid of it, as I was teased dreadfully because of my name. Just call me 'Duckie'.

It seemed that the entire female population (and respective boyfriends whose lives wouldn't be worth living if they didn't send the text saying 'I've got them!) had gone nuts for tickets. Then to really rub salt in my wounds, I then had to sit through a brief chat between Gary Barlow and Chris Evans, talking about how all the tickets had sold out. IT WAS ONLY TEN PAST NINE! And to make matters worse, Gary was out walking his dog! I was incensed, ggrrrr, my poor dogs were not going to get a walk. And I couldn't even turn off the radio, as that would mean leaving my prime position in front of the computer - I just couldn't do it.

To be honest, I have recovered from my disappointment. Actually, I haven't I am gutted. I am also sick to the back teeth of friends on Twitter and Facebook, telling me they have tickets. Hmph! But, it's not the end of the world really. I mean, I have been the last two times, and I have seen Robbie as well. (He was awful, can't actually recommend him at all). I don't actually like Robbie much, not that I know him, but his persona is one of arrogance and 'look at me'. So I don't think I will be missing much. And that is what I will keep telling myself from now until next June!

Lark or Owl?

I have spent the last few days (and every weekend) getting up at 6 am to let the puppy out for a wee. And it got me wondering, am I a lark or an owl? A lark will go to bed early (in my case no later than 10 pm), and rise early, where they will be at their most productive. Whereas an owl will work late into the night, checking emails, surfing the net and even doing housework, before they crash into bed and dread the alarm going off the next day. Which one are you?

I have been at my most productive in the mornings. I manage to update my blog, check emails, put a wash on, empty the dishwasher and make many cups of tea. But the point being, although I feel tired, it's quieter and there are no demands made of me.

Since I have been trying to break into the wonderful world of writing, I have noticed that I am not really able to function well past 7 pm. 7 pm is my watershed, my cut off point. I don't know why, it just is. I prefer to do nothing taxing after that time. Anything that requires concentration needs to be tasked for earlier in the day.

There has been a fair bit of research conducted, primarily in the States, and it is suggested that your lark or owl status is genetic? Not too sure about this, as I have swung from being an owl throughout university, to being a lark once shift work and children arrived. And when I was nursing, I fluctuated between both. Shift work tends to take all choice away. Up all night, sleep all day. I functioned fine. Or did I?

I have discovered a new category - the hummingbird. The hummingbird occasionally rises at dawn and can often stay up late at parties. I think I am now a happy hummingbird! I like that. A little bit of both, in the middle, a happy medium.

As a species, humans are not really night people and we are programmed to function better in the day. I mean we can't see in the dark and have no need to hunt at night (tell that to all the 24 hours supermarkets). However, despite all that, some people do function better at night, and some people function better in the morning. We adapt and compromise our natural schedules depending on life's commitments.

As NaNoWriMo is creeping up on me, (less than a week to go), I really hope that I can learn to function past 7 pm, as I have a feeling that I am going to have to!

Puppy Tales

At weekends I am tasked with the rather dubious pleasure of getting up at 6am to let the puppy out for a wee and a poo. It is a drag, especially as I am filled with dread from as soon as I open my eyes until I reach the utility room, not knowing whether he has managed to hold on or not! Last Saturday, he didn't. And I could smell that he hadn't as soon as I had opened the bedroom door. Not good. He is still a baby, only sixteen weeks old, but the house training hasn't gone as well as expected. He is not living up to our pre-conceived ideas of when he will be house trained. Which was, incidentally, about six weeks ago!

Not that we have high expectations, we don't. It's just that our previous (and current) dogs were, so that is what we expect. We put in the hard work, and we are rewarded for it by having a lovely house trained puppy. Or not as the case may be.

I have started using my daughters old reward chart for when he is dry - both day and night and his reward is a bonio bone. Needless to say, he hasn't had many bones over the past few weeks. I think he is a lazy little thing, as we have been leaving the back door open during the day so he can nip in and out when he needs. But he has been known to stop, just over the threshold and wee there. So what is the point of leaving the door open at all? It was okay during the summer months and the balmy autumn that we have had, but now it is a tad chilly. There is even ice on my car windows this morning. I work in my kitchen, so the door needs to remain firmly shut and the puppy needs to tie a knot in it!

He was dry this morning, yay!

Oh and I do realise that it is Monday morning, but my hubby is on holiday (he has a bathroom to fit), so I still need to get up! Although, I do enjoy the peace and quiet and it gives me a chance to catch up a bit with my writing.

A Wonderful Way to Spend an Afternoon

I know that I am a bit late in talking about what I got up to on Friday afternoon, but hey, that's just me all over - always a little bit late. I must stress, I am never late for the school pick up, but I do sprint into the playground like I am running the last few yards of the hundred metre sprint. I was occasionally late for work, but that was just bad traffic. But when it comes to trends, I am always behind the times. I just know that I am going to be a source of embarrassment to my daughter in years to come, which to be honest, I am secretly glad about. Sounds of wicked cackling echoing around the kitchen!

I digress, Friday afternoon, well I went to a book fest to listen to 3 wonderful authors talk about, well, being authors. I met the lovely, talented Caroline Smailes, who can be found here; the witty and talented Nik Perring, who can be found here, and the wonderfully imaginative Jon Mayhew here.

Three very different writers, who have all achieved success in their chosen field. How did they do it? Basically, they all posses a great love of writing, wonderful imaginations, and I am afraid to say that I cannot reveal a magic formula, as there isn't one. But, what I can divulge is that like everything else in life, they put in the hours of hard work. I must admit I have not read any of their works as yet, and I must stress yet, as I bought Caroline's latest novel 'Like Bees to Honey', at the book fest. This book has the most beautiful cover, and if I saw the book in the bookstore, the cover would have drawn me to the book initially, then I would have read the blurb and then bought it. Caroline brought the artists initial interpretation of the cover with her. I was expecting some beautiful drawings, but the designs were all done in textiles and hand stitched,they were gorgeous.

I am really looking forward to starting 'Like Bees to Honey', but I need to finish one of the Richard & Judy book club reads. "Waiting for Columbus', which, I am not afraid to admit, is hard work!

I also had to opportunity to read the first of Nik's short stories, called Kiss', which was so beautiful and the ending moved me to tears. (Which, I hasten to add is a good thing). 'Kiss' is the first story from his book 'Not So Perfect', which is just the opposite. It's a perfect sized pocket book. You know, the kind of cute thing you can just pick up and put in your pocket! Or in my case, my rather large handbag, where I will never find it! Each story has a simple stick drawing at the beginning, which has a certain childish elegance about them, and I like it. I am really looking forward to getting it and dipping in and out when I can. That is the beauty of short stories.

Finally the imaginative Jon Mayhew and his fabulous children's book 'Mortlock'. His ideas are fantastic and I love the look of the book, especially the opening paragraph. It does what it's supposed to do, it entices you in and makes you want to read more. All I can say is that children's books nowadays are fantastic, gone are lashings of ginger beer, talking lions, and adventures up a tree in the Enchanted Forest (still one of my favourites though), and arriving at a bookstore near you are magical and mystical adventures, with a bit of murder thrown in for good measure. How can any child fail to like it?

The authors were engaging, approachable, and they divulged some of their secrets. Oh and they also mentioned how they got published. The way I see it, (this is my opinion, not the authors), if you have written something original, which will sell and appeal to a mass audience, you are in with a chance of being published! So I don't think I will have a problem then! Not! Oh and more importantly, you actually have to be able to write. And it helps if you can put in the hard graft a the computer.

All that was missing from the afternoon, was cake, You can't have tea without it!

I promise when I have read the books, that I will review them here. All I can say now is I am sure they will be fabulous!

If any of you stop by, I just want to say thank you so much for an informative, inspiring, and funny afternoon.

Children's Party Dilemmas

I am currently tearing my hair out trying to organise my daughter's 6th birthday party! I didn't actually want a party for her, not a full on party in a hall, where you have to invite the entire class, or run the risk of offending one of the mothers. But I have succumbed to the pressure, and the party will be held in a hall, but I am not inviting the entire class. To be fair to the other mum's, this does not appear to be the norm, so I am not breaking the unwritten rules of the playground!

The problem with children's parties, is that they are so competitive. We have been to a space hopper party, a fancy dress disco, a party on a farm, various indoor soft play areas, a pamper party, (they were 4, I was not happy), and the best one of all a party in a hall with what I would call traditional party games!

This is what I am aiming for, a traditional party with traditional games led by me and my husband! Shriek! I was originally going for a craft party as they are a creative lot, but by the time you have purchased the materials for the craft, food, cake, party bags, prizes for games etc, you have spent a fortune!

Then you have to cater for the mum's, which means putting your baking skills to the test, (something I am not particularly stressed about), but it has to be done, otherwise the whispers around the playground will reach you and you will be categorised as the 'slummy mummy', the one who serves shop bought cakes and food. This means that not only will I be up half the night baking for the mums, I also have to wrap pass the parcel to ensure that every child gets a prize when they peal off a layer of paper. I mean, what is that all about? Gone are the days when only one child would win a prize, the one who was lucky enough to rip of the last layer of paper which leads to the exciting prize underneath. The tantrums I had to deal with when one girl wanted to to win every time, not content with the chocolate she had received when unwrapping the paper, no, she wanted it all! The screams were deafening. She is not invited this year.

Shall I not have a pass the parcel? Tempting, but will the mum's notice? Probably, not much gets past them!

As I don't work at the moment, I tried to get to know the mum's at school, bad idea. The clique had already formed as early as nursery, and no one was going to get in. I was invited to a Chinese meal by one member, who is lovely, but I think I got a bit drunk, and I wasn't invited to the latest one. I know I didn't say anything too incriminating, but no return invitation. Although, judging by the way they were talking, sorry gossiping about another mum, not sure I want to go back. I will just leave them to gossip about me in future! In fact one mum, who I used to talk to a fair bit at the gates and in the park, completely ignores me now! She even turns away when I approach so she doesn't have to make eye contact. It is hilarious.

Anyway back to the party dilemmas. I think I am going to have to re-discover a whole host of party games and have a stiff drink waiting on my return.

The problem with the party is that is in November, which is not normally a problem, but it is the month of NaNoWriMo, so I have enough to do without organising the party of the decade! The writing, hmmm, I was stupid enough to think, well, hope really, that the first story I had written since school would actually win a competition. It didn't, which I knew it wouldn't really in my heart of hearts, but the critique was helpful though. I am actually quite disappointed. I need more practice at this, and I think NaNo will give me that.

I need to get organised a bit for NaNo as it the start is skulking up on me and it will be here before know it. I must get organised, I must, I must.

The Sunny Wirral

It is another beautiful day on the sunny Wirral! I am quite fortunate as I haven't switched my wardrobe over yet, so I am still wearing my summer clothes, albeit with a cardigan (it's not that warm!) At the moment I tend to do all my writing sat at the kitchen table overlooking the garden. And the garden is looking rather gorgeous, even if I do say so myself. I have a virgina creeper, which I have grown over a low fence, which separates the dogs area from the rest of the garden. The leaves are the most gorgeous deep crimson colour, which is positively glowing with the sun shining on it. The contrast with the deep green leaves off the twisted hazel, which is next door, makes the garden a beautiful vista to look out upon. Very good for daydreaming, not so good for productive writing!

Writing, well, I have my assignments back from my 'new' tutor, (I didn't even know that the old one had left!), and he liked them! Yay. A bit long, but on the whole, pretty good. The problem is finding a magazine to publish them. It is so difficult to even receive a response from an editor. I think that the problem I have, is that I used to be a solicitor, and my working life was based around deadlines, set by the court, which generally needed to be met. Although, with a bit of wrangling and agreement from the opposing side, they could be changed. However, the point being, I am used to people getting back to me, and if they didn't I would chase them.

I need to learn patience. This is a whole new career opening up, and I have lots to learn.

Need to nip out to physio now, but I have lots of ideas for my book for NaNo and I want to start it now. Enjoying the research though. Who would have thought the Wirral was full of smugglers, wreckers and ultimately murderers!!

Watch this space...

There is Blue Sky Ahead!

I live very close to some beautiful woodland, and I love to spend time walking my dogs. If Juliette comes she spends it climbing trees, and likes to visit the fairy queen of the woods. It's great as she spends the entire walk 'playing' with fairy queen's daughter 'Lucy'.

Storeton woods, as they are known, used to be a quarry, and stone was quarried here right up until the twentieth century. The creamy sandstone was used for many local building projects, including Birkenhead Town Hall. But is was also shipped to New York to be used as cladding for the Empire State Building. Fame at last for Higher Bebington! I like to think that there is a little bit of Higher Bebington, immortalised forever in that dazzling city we call New York.

The quarry was also the site of discovery for dinosaur footprints, which are now on display in the Liverpool Museum. That particular fact does not hold much interest for Juliette, preferring fairies to dinosaurs!

The quarry has long been filled in, and is now a beautiful woodland, which I am lucky to have on my doorstep, only a short walk away.

The sun is shining now. Typical, it wasn't so shiny when I was out with the boys.

Saturday Afternoons!

So far so good. Hubby is away in the Lake District where he and a couple of friends are competing in a fell race, more fool them! Juliette is at a party so I have an hour or two to kill before my daughter comes home so I thought I would watch an episode of Ugly Betty and update my blog, whilst eating some Haagen-Dazs ice cream!

I figure I can get away with the ice cream as I am running the Liverpool 10k tomorrow. I am actually looking forward to it and I am hoping to beat my previous time of 59 mins and a few seconds!! Who knows. If I don't my excuse is (notice I am getting these in early) that my achilles is killing me! I am having physio, but it's still really sore.

My hubby is away overnight, so I am looking forward to a girlie night in with ice-cream and either Strictly or the X factor? Celebs who cannot dance yet or talented no-bodies who can actually sing? Can't choose, I love them both!

Oo I have submitted my short story to the writing competition, probably won't win, but the feedback will hopefully be constructive and useful. Watch this space! Right, am missing Ugly Betty, so back soon...

How Many Careers Can a Girl Have?

I do believe that it must be really hard to decide what you want to do with your life at 17 and a half. I mean does anyone actually have a clue what they want to do when they grow up? I most certainly do not. I am a few years off 40 and I am trying my hand out at career numbers 3 and 4 almost simultaneously! Number 3 is that of a 'stay at home mum', although I do prefer the old fashioned term of 'housewife', I believe it flows of the tongue a bit better. Career no 4 is a writer.

My first choice of career was as a nurse in a busy A&E department. It was great fun, but one can only take so much abuse, and I had always toyed with the idea of being a solicitor, so off I went back to uni and seven years later, I qualified as a solicitor. During that time, I also managed to squeeze out a baby! So I went from saving lives, to probably ruining lives, to bringing another life into the world.

After a couple of miscarriages, (which affected me quite badly), I decided to quit work and stay at home with my one and only daughter, Juliette. She started school last year, and I had some time on my hands, not wanting to do too much housework, I started baking. I was quite good, or so I thought until I saw what baker, Ruth Clemens from The great British Bake Off was producing in her spare time! Which I can imagine was little, what with three young boys running around! (You can check Ruth out on Facebook or Twitter. She is known as 'The Pink Whisk').

I am now loving tweeting, writing my blog, trying to finish an assignment for this writing course I am doing, and moot some ideas for my novel for National Novel Writing Month. I have a couple of ideas. Are you interested? Well, even if you're not, I am telling you anyway!

Option one - A novel for teenagers. The Wirral, during the seventeenth century, was notorious for smugglers, wreckers and privateers. I am hoping to loosely base a bit of a girl meets boy from a different century kind of first love kinda story. Honestly, it will be better than it sounds. I don't want to go into too much detail, as that would ruin it!

Option two - I think I have already mentioned a chick lit kind of novel.

I am not sure which one? I love history and have a bit of a passion for the past, especially if it is local. Hmmm, what to do? Decisions decisions. The research will be fun anyway!

Anyway peoples, as the meerkat would say - its simples!

Short Stories and Other Musings!

I firstly must apologise for the many spelling errors in this blog. I do have a good excuse, well, I think it is a good one anyway! Because of dodgy floater in eye, I have spent all morning at the eye hospital - kindly driven by my good friend Anna. Eye all okay, but again have pupils the size of bin lids, and I am hiding in a darkened room, refusing to answer the door, because I am wearing my glasses (not that anyone has called!) I am struggling to type, as the keyboard keeps moving and the letters on the screen look like I have had a few to many G&T's!

Another brilliant excuse for not writing much today! I did manage to scribble down some notes for the NaNoWriMo, which starts in November. Tomorrow, I am meeting the Liverpool branch of nutty writers, who wish to raise their blood pressures to abnormally high levels, by attempting to write a novel in a month! Fortunately I now have something concrete to contribute!

I have moved from young adult genre to chick lit with a twist. Well, not exactly a twist, more a slightly darker element, I think. Will have probably changed my mind by tomorrow though! I do love reading chick lit - it is pure escapism, and you can often relate to the main character at least in part.

Do you think that watching 'Diagnosis Murder' is conducive to writing?

Oh and in case anyone was wondering, I still haven't emailed the short story to my friend yet! Too scared of her red pen - she is a teacher you know! As for the crappy assignment on the writing course I signed up for - well - what can I say? The latter part of the assignment is a travel article and I am struggling. The reasons are twofold. Firstly, I haven't actually travelled anywhere recently, and secondly, camping in Devon has probably been done already! Although, I am planning to write more about following Kate Rew's outdoor swimming haunts from her book rather than describing the loos in great detail. (Very important on a campsite!) Who knows? All I can say is that I have been putting it off for about 3 months now, so I guess I had better rip that plaster off and get on with it.

It will have to wait until Monday now! Oops!

Procrastinating!

It is so easy to do - procrastinating that is! This is the first thing I have written today. Sorry, that is not strictly true, I have tweeted a bit and emailed the lovely Ruth, from 'The Great British Bake Off'. Not very impressive. Even washing dirty sheets is more important today. Yesterday I didn't blog, but then I ended up having a contact lenses check up, mentioned an innocent floater that I have had for ages, next thing I know I am having eye drops put in to dilate the pupils, photographs taken of my eyeball (they looked very pretty), referrals made to the eye clinic!! What! Furthermore, my pupils looked like I had consumed vast quantities of illegal substances, and I couldn't tolerate the sunlight. Therefore, I spent most of yesterday lying down in a darkened room, with my glasses on, watching old re-runs of Friends!

Not a bad way to spend a day, I hear your cry. No you're right, it's not. But I must stress I absolutely hate wearing my glasses. I blame the NHS pink plastic things, that when at seven years old, I snuck them on my face in assembly, whilst singing 'Lord of All Hopefulness', flat and out of tune, although it was a bonus that I could actually see the words on the projector! Anyway, Mike Kirby turned around, pointed, laughed and screamed between his mirth's, "Duckie is wearing glasses!" I could have died, and I am afraid that the floor didn't open and swallow me up, despite my begging. Anyway, I have been emotionally scared by this trauma, and it is contact lenses all the way for me now!

On a more positive note, I have finished my short story, and am psyching myself up to email it to a friend for scrutiny. Not sure I want to yet, it probably needs more work. Will leave it alone for a day or so and then I will revisit and revise. Will let you know how I get on.

Tweeting and Other Stuff!

I am a newbie to Twitter, and I am finding it strangely addictive. It is so much better than Facebook, where I spent most of my time 'spying' on my out laws to see what they were up to, and getting pissed off when they didn't include me in so called 'family days'. No, Twitter is much better, you say your piece and move on.

The writing - hmm what can I say about the writing, apart from the fact it is the primary reason I started this blog. As you can see, I am writing, but it is my blog, rather than a constructive piece of creative fiction. The truth is, I am scared, scared that my creativeness doesn't actually exist, and I am actually just kidding myself. I have set myself a goal, to finish assignment 6 of my writing course, and write a short story of approx 1000 - 3000 words and send it in to a competition in the Writers Forum. This should get me into the swing of things for NaNoWriMo in November. Well, that is the plan anyway I also need to decide what age range I am writing for. Is it adults or teenagers, or younger children? I have no idea - answers on a postcard please...

Funny Old Day.

Sometimes I have funny old day, where I have loads to do, but not sure whether I can actually be bothered doing any. I know that I will feel industrious when I have completed some tasks, and I know that once I start the things I need to do, the won't be that bad anyway, but well, it's the starting of things that really gets me. Sometimes I sound like my five year old - "I'm bored," "I have nothing to do." I guess I feel like I need to be constantly entertaining my daughter, and finding her friends to play with, when really what she actually needs to be doing is learning how to play by herself. The joys of being an only child I'm afraid.

She is upstairs at the moment, supposedly tidying her room and conducting a treasure hunt. Well, it is not really a treasure hunt, it is a long hard hunt for lost items, which I know are still in her room, but are no-where to be find. I will teach her to take care of her things, I will, I will. It is going to be my mission. She will respect her belongings, she will not want to throw them away because, and I quote "I have had it for more than a year Mummy." I must admit I was not sure how to respond to that one, hence a long detailed diatribe about, just because it is not brand new doesn't mean we can replace it because it is lost, taking care of things, money doesn't grow on trees. You get the picture. She wasn't listening, her eyes were glazed over and she was busy planning her list for Father Christmas.

I have decided that I won't be buying any toys for her birthday, as she has a room full and doesn't play with them. Barbie, Go Go hamsters, dolls, games, all sitting there untouched. I am sure they all gossip about her at night and feel that she doesn't love them! Even the near death scene of Toy Story 3 failed to move her, whilst I was dabbing my tears away, desperately trying not to show my distress. I will buy her some presents, but more likely clothes and books, because she does actually love books and stories, and she loves the outdoors so I shouldn't complain too much, she is rather gorgeous.

Anyway, I figure that all this procrastination is actually writing, as I am writing this not v interesting blog and I am thinking about my novel, my next assignment for the writing course I am doing and my what to tweet (this tweeting stuff is actually quite addictive). Anyway, enough of being a lazy so and so, am going to make some lunch. Nigella I am not, but one cannot work on an empty stomach!

Get On With It!

It is now 10.20 and I have written nothing - not one lousy word. But I have been busy, honest! I have set up a twitter account and I am now following Richard & Judy! Well, I thought I should as I did meet them a couple of weeks ago. It was part of a photo shoot in London for Women's Own magazine. They are carrying on the hugely successful Richard & Judy book club and I am one of the reviewers!

I was so excited to meet them and they were very nice. However, this novel is not going to write itself and I need to get my head round things and elaborate on my ideas. What do you think about a novel about smugglers, wreckers, ghosts and a bit of romance thrown in?? Not sure myself need to do a bit of research.

Need chocolate, must go.

OMG! What have I done?

Well, I have really gone and done it now. I have signed up to NaNoWriMo, which is a sort of writing challenge. Well, not sort of, it is a writing challenge. The idea is to write a 50,000 word novel in a month! Yes, in a month, and I have signed up. I haven't written fiction since school, and although I do have a vague idea of a story, I have no idea of anything else.

The challenge begins on 1 November 2010, so watch this space, where I will attempt to write about my trials and tribulations on this blog, in between penning my rambling novel! It could get interesting.

I have Keris Stainton to thank for this. Her debut novel 'Della Says OMG' has recently been published to great reviews, and she mentioned this site on Facebook, and in an interview with "The Writers Forum". I used to go to school with Keris, and was good friends with her sister. But before you think that I am on some sort of commission from her publishers! I am not, but her book is a fun read.

I myself need to rack my brains for some inspiration, maybe I will just go and walk the dog in the woods and wait for the ideas and musings to hit me along with the falling branches. (It is a tad windy today). Or maybe I will start listening more carefully to the conversations of the mummies at the school gate! Watch out Jilly Cooper, here I come!