We set off around 5pm on Friday and chose the scenic route which took us past Warwick and Stratford. The sky was incredible. Jacob took pictures while I drove.
Jacob was teaching a two day course on Narrative Craft and The festival had booked us into The Montpelier Chapterhttp://www.themontpellierchapterhotel.com/
It’s a lovely hotel right in the centre of town.
The staff were charming and it is one of the friendliest hotels I have ever had the pleasure to be a guest of. Nothing was too much trouble.
We enjoyed a delicious dinner in the restaurant on the first evening. I had pear and gorgonzola salad with walnuts and a honey vinaigrette to start, Jacob enjoyed home made carrot soup. I then chose butterflied leg of lamb with spinach and a salsa verde, Jacob, slow roasted loin of pork with red cabbage. Delicious.
On the second evening we ate in the bar and both chose the chicken curry. Jacob managed to find enough room for a small dish of home made ices, vanilla and mango sorbet. I sampled both and can vouch for their tastiness.
Jacob’s course was held in another lovely hotel 5 minutes stroll away,
I attended both days of the course and thoroughly enjoyed it. Quite a lot had been covered on the TLC course in Spain but it was really good for it all to be reinforced and after writing for a further six months much of it made a lot more sense. I wrote a short short story in class which I shall post at the end of this and I began a couple of others which I hope to work on over the next week or so. Inspiring as always. You may think I have no need for Jacob’s teaching for I surely receive it gratis on a daily basis, but it is quite different being in an environment with other writers, reading and discussing texts together. Something new always crops up. Besides, when else can one sit and give ones partner undivided attention for six hours solid and not make him feel a tad uncomfortable or imagine you have stalkerish tendencies? (Which I do, of course!)
We were in the Sinners Enclosure but you’ll be glad to know we were all very well behaved.
I am sure everyone enjoyed the weekend as much as I did and it was gratifying to hear everyone read on the Sunday. Confidences had grown markedly. I hope they will all feel encouraged to write much more.
Yesterday an unassuming brown envelope had dropped through the letterbox. She opened it absent-mindedly and was surprised to find a sheaf of photocopied documents. She looked for a covering letter but there was none. The documents were stapled together in three sections. The first contained his previous six months credit card statements, the second, itemised phone bills for his business mobile and the third, details of his account with a local travel agent. She wondered which of his colleagues had felt charitable enough to turn informer…
So, he was still seeing her. He had promised that it was over, had been over for months. She knew he lied even though he repeatedly denied it. Lately he had become quite blatant, seemed unconcerned whether she believed him or not, his only desire being to shut her up.
She was meant to be at work, but had called in sick that morning having woken with the overwhelming urge to confront him. She drove to his office and parked outside in clear view of the entrance. No one would be able to enter or leave the building without being seen. At 12.30 he appeared, and sure enough, the girl was with him. They held hands and she looked up at him while he spoke, smiling all the while. Her hair shone, full of it’s own golden light, even though on this dull November day the sky was gray. Her long legs, shown to their best advantage in black opaque tights, were sickeningly slim and shapely and she walked with an easy swing in her stride. He looked so annoyingly self satisfied and smug she thought of a strutting farmyard cockerel. She would have driven home and confronted him later had the pair of them not stopped at the pavements edge. She would have contained her anger until he returned home that evening had he not turned to the girl, brushed a lock of hair from her smooth brow and kissed her in full view of the world.
As it was, a fury flooded through her and she slammed her foot on the accelerator with a sudden violence. They looked up when they heard the shriek of rubber on tarmac. She saw realisation flicker across their faces and in that second her husband locked eyes with her. His mouth opened, a red hole filling his face, the smugness wiped clean away. She heard him cry ‘NO!’
After that she was aware only of the noise of a ton of metal meeting flesh and bone at forty miles an hour; a grinding thud as they came into contact with the bumper; a loud crack as they bounced off the windscreen, flying in different directions. She didn’t slow down and she didn’t look back. She caught sight of her own reflection in the rear view mirror as she bumped off the kerb and back on to the road. Her eyes were dark, shining brightly, brilliant with hatred.
Where is the year disappearing to? Soon the nights will be noticeably drawing in and the leaves changing colour and before I know it I won’t be fifty anymore. That terrifying number that haunted me for almost ten months of last year, but which in reality has been nothing other than the harbinger of joy, depositing a multitude of gifts at my feet, will soon be that number + 1… somehow more acceptable, less scary, a known quantity, like a familiar, or a comfy pair of shoes…
I’m sitting at my kitchen island on my writing perch, a glass of chilled rose to my right, fags and lighter to my left, a scarlet fly swat within reach, (we’re plagued at present and I exaggerate not,) and I’ve been watching the birds in the garden. Two types. I’m no twitcher so I will merely describe, give an approximation of their heritage.
One is tiny, slate grey/dark chocolate brown with a long tail and distinct white markings on its wings and a white underbelly. They are ever present, singing me both to sleep and to awakeness as the sun crests in the east and free-falls to the west. They swoop and careen and loop-the-loop like world war one acrobats and chirrup and pause for breath on the telephone lines above our house. Their tails are forked so they could be swallows or housemartins but they also skitter over the lawn, bobbing and nodding like I imagine a pied wagtail would, pulling squirming worms from between the fat emerald blades, daisies and dandelions. I’ve looked them up online and in books and I don’t have a clue what they are. Maybe they’re long tailed tits?
The other make is not always here in such numbers. This evening there are around 200 of them, small, dusty brown and they’re tweeting like a pre-pubuscent choir on speed. They swarm like a bee-cloud, fly in formation across the field, whoosh onto the lawn, in need of a brakes or a parachute, blanket it so it becomes a dark seething mass. They up and arrow in a flightpath over the roof tops and disappear in a crowd into the huge beech a hundred yards away. Then, on a command, they rise on the thermals, stark against the sunset-yellowy clouds, like pepper ground over the pinking surface of a fried egg. They move en masse from gable to tree-top to telephone wire to ground and they mesmerise me. I’ve consumed half a bottle of wine just watching them and every time I pick up my camera and steal out to capture them, they’re gone again, a black blotch dissipating into a flighty flutter in seconds, then coagulating once more into a lump, then spreading themselves evenly, like a strictly choreographed dancing troop, along the whole barn-length of next doors roof. They’re utterly wonderful. Times like this how I love living here.
So… last week was the week that never was, while also managing to be the week that was always waiting to happen. I couldn’t write… I could barely think… at times I felt like I couldn’t breathe. But hey… one learns one is made of sterner stuff than one imagines.
The future: I’m going to be working one day a week from the office, (Monday) and one day a week from home or wherever I’m needed. Flexi… And the rest of the week is mine. I’m also going to be ‘hot-desking.’ Which actually means I’ve given up my office to my more full-time-than-me replacement. It would have been rude not to under the circumstances. It’s an interesting phrase, hot-desking, and in my mind it conjures up exciting images that include more of a rampant flirting than a studious researching, but I’m sure the reality will be more of the latter. Especially as I no longer have a desk I can call my own. To canoodle over someone elses in-tray and filing pile and to-do list would surely feel rather like fucking in your parents bed while they’ve nipped out for a Sunday afternoon drive, and not altogether appropriate.
It kind of makes me think about how we should always be making the most of what life has to offer in the present. I’m not always good at it myself and it’s such a crime. I worked from Turkey for two years and was always going to go explore outside of Istanbul… but never did. I’ve been travelling to Hong Kong and China for seven years now and only ever been to Shenzen and Shanghai other than the places I need to visit for work. Criminal… really.
So… Yes. We’ve finally come to an agreement, my ex-husband but still-so-present-business-partner and I. Finally. And it feels good.
There will be a period of hand-over… But soon… Yes… Finally…
I was sent these this week by Rebecca Swift who runs TLC and Literary Adventures see link on blogroll. Sweet Memories.
Some of the team
Last Night at Casa Ana
Reflecting?
I’ve been listening to lots of good stuff. Mmm What should I share?
and this… Eddie Vedder, wow has he mellowed since Pearl Jam days… soundtrack from an amazing film, Into the Wild, check it out if you haven’t already… Fergus has just learnt to play it so the house is full of it which couldn’t be more gorgeous. Incidentally, they’re all off on a boys own adventure climbing a mountain and fending off leeches in Borneo with their dad at the mo so the house is quiet, other than the cacophony of birds, the ever prevalent music and my mutterings…
Oh and I finished The Music Room by William Fiennes.
Can’t recommend it highly enough. Beautifully written. Imaginative, realistic, emotional, pragmatic, informative, truthful, spare yet poetic. Such a sense of place, of family, of love. A really good read.
Now am absorbed in and nearly finished God’s Own Country by Ross Raisin, a book I’ve been meaning to read and have had on my ‘waiting’ pile for sometime.
a truly original narrative voice. I so admire this writer’s skill. It is at once dark, sinister, disturbing, poignant and at the same time laugh out loud funny. What a gift.
I’m also enthralled by the latest issue of The Yellow Room.
This is a publication by Jo Derrick and I’m pleased to have discovered it. Wow! What fantastic stories. If you like short fiction, good short fiction I hasten to add, please buy it. My fave so far… Half Price Mondays with Helene by Joanna Campbell. It won the comp, and I’m so glad, ’cause it’s very, very good.
Oh… I feel so guilty. I’ve not blogged in weeks. Sorry…
Anyway- why? You are entitled to ask.
Life, work, children- (GCSE’s and end of term exams, and lack of organisation,) love, sex, parents, writing, and then a knowledge that I had so much to catch up on, how could I ever… A friend all the way across the ocean in New York actually nudged me into getting my arse in gear… by his comment- re 3rd June- it’s pathetic!.
Yes.
OK.
Here I am. I haven’t just been sitting on my bum, I swear…
What have I been doing? Listening.
Music
here are some of my new loves…
Reading…
Books
Toni Morrison: Song of Solomon
I loved it. beautifully, evocatively written. A wonderful insight into America and what it was to be African American, black, in that time. It’s a story of family, of history; both private and public, of love: how we can make or break each other according to how we deport ourselves within it and because of it, and of a need to discover where we’ve come from in order to explain where we’re going. Wonderful.
Kay Ryan: The Best of It
Wonderful, gorgeous poems from the American Poet Laureate 2008-2010. A revellation. So initially simple, yet so absorbingly complex that one reads and reads and reads again. I defy you not to love them.
Robert Shearman: Love Songs for the Shy and Cynical
If you love a good read and you love a short story and you love quirky, funny, poignant, surreal, original… look no further.
Jacob Ross: Song for Simone
Out of print and hard to get hold of but well worth it if you can. Beautiful, poetic, heart wrenching, raw, evocative. Love, loss, life and a wonderful insight into a Caribbean childhood and a coming of age. It’s all there.
James Baldwin: Going to Meet the Man
The eponymous short story is terrifying and touches all that we are as human beings, at our best and at our worst. These stories are shocking and groundbreaking and everyone should be encouraged to read them. I’m encouraging you… daring you… to read them.
Jane Yeh: Marabou
I just like her neat, economical style. She speaks volumes in a phrase, where others would struggle with a paragraph or a whole poem.
Clematis in my garden, early morning sun, a song thrush seranading me from the silver birch tree. Cup of tea and a fag, peace, a small slice of heaven.
I was reminded of one of my favourite poems and one of the few I have always been able to recite by heart. It says everything that I feel deep down about the beautiful country we live in and at moments like that I cast aside all discontent and politics and just relish it’s beauty.
HOME THOUGHTS, FROM ABROAD
O, to be in England Now that April ‘s there, And whoever wakes in England Sees, some morning, unaware, That the lowest boughs and the brushwood sheaf Round the elm-tree bole are in tiny leaf, While the chaffinch sings on the orchard bough In England—now! And after April, when May follows, And the whitethroat builds, and all the swallows! Hark, where my blossom’d pear-tree in the hedge Leans to the field and scatters on the clover Blossoms and dewdrops—at the bent spray’s edge— That ‘s the wise thrush; he sings each song twice over, Lest you should think he never could recapture The first fine careless rapture! And though the fields look rough with hoary dew, All will be gay when noontide wakes anew The buttercups, the little children’s dower —Far brighter than this gaudy melon-flower!
Robert Browning
And a love song…
This was one of six 7″ singles we had in our sixth form common room and it seems odd to hear it without the crackles and jumps. Dig the clothes Clifford. I dedicate this to my dear friend David B… I know you’ll read this eventually x
It’s probably a cliche, perhaps even a little boring and oh so English… but the weather! I look like I’ve spent a week in the Med… We’ve had such a glorious, relaxing Easter, full of love, laughter and family. Nice. So nice. Just nice…
My parents came round yesterday, arrived at twelve, and we were all showered and dressed for once- amazing! Ma is so frail these days, it breaks my heart. But she made the effort and really enjoyed herself. Pat and Sam popped in with eggs for the boys and lots of hugs and kisses, both looking remarkably well. They stayed for longer than they intended which was very welcome. What really made Ma and Pa’s day though was the unexpected appearance of JC, with more eggs and more hugs and kisses- for them I hasten to add, not me! I do find it slightly amusing that he feels comfortable enough to hop over the gate uninvited but I am definitely not expected to behave in the same way. Hey Ho… I have nothing to hide!
Pa was a little tearful. He’s so emotional- and I seem to be getting more and more like him- lovely though. He really does love that man… (JC). Ma managed to stay awake until after she’d eaten which was a boon and Pa was on fine form generally. I cooked a rather delicious leg of lamb speared with much garlic, served with Red’s crashpot fennel-seed potatoes, cardamon and orange chanteray carrots, spinach, onion sauce, redwine and wholegrain mustard gravy. Shop bought puds but Waitrose did us proud. Yum! We all had a post prandial snooze- me in the swing chair in the sun- grandparents indoors and they didn’t leave till after five. Good going.
I’ve been very inspired this weekend and have written lots. Poems and stories are coming thick and fast and my keyboard is smokin’! I must have found myself a new muse… I’ve been given some advice over where to submit them so I can’t post many of them yet…
I’ve finished Pynter Bender by Jacob Ross. It’s a truly wonderful read. I heartily recommend it. I have never been lucky enough to visit the Caribbean but I really feel I know Grenada now, the smells and the textures and the hearts and the minds of the people. What’s more, I really want to visit! The novel is set in a truly interesting time in the islands history and is an important book in so many ways. Mr Ross writes with the prose of a poet and his imagery is breathtakingly beautiful, yet entirely accessible. It is as much a coming of age novel, as a historical and political document, as a social commentary, as a work of art. Read it. I defy you not to enjoy.
I am now reading his second volume of short stories,
A Way to Catch the Dust. They are by turns dark, tragic, laugh out loud funny, beautiful and essentially about the human condition and that mystery we call love in all it’s forms; love of children, of lovers, of the earth, of one’s country, of ones fellow human being. I am enthralled. Another recommendation.
I dropped of the elder two of my three children in Hallaton at mid-day for another annual beer and violence fest. ‘Bottle Kicking’. We were diverted and I dutifully followed the signs until I ended up at this… Thanks AA…
Last year Isaac was concussed by a loaf of bread… this year who knows. I will perhaps update you anon. I charged them all with a decent pick up time as I understood F and J had school in the morning. However I have since been reliably informed that school does not, in fact, start until wednesday. Thank God some of us are on the ball. Pity it isn’t me. That would have been rather embarrassing! The housemaster thinks I’m a little barmy as it is. My reputation as a wonderfully organised and focussed mother would have been instantly in tatters. Again… Hey Ho… You’ve got to smile
Happy Holidays! I’m in love with every single one of you tonight… X
A fashion designer for years, now a writer –
of short stories and poems, some of which get aired here
and seriously aiming to write a novel this year...
Would one day like to own a lady parrot.
RT @Wintersonworld: Can someone tell me WHY marriage has to be between a man+woman even tho we invented it? It is ours to re-invent. It isn… (...) 2 days ago
