As soon as I started to think about this prompt it began to form as a lonely hearts advert. You know the ones: GSOH, looking for love, no time wasters. It's odd to think of myself in those terms and I'm terminally bad at thinking anything nice about myself. But I'm determined to have a go.
I think I'm a kind soul. I try to think the best of people, to see the good in them. Sometimes it's a challenge but it seems easier to do when you meet people expecting positive things. Of course there are people about whom I might struggle to come up with positives but I'm not likely to bump into them so I don't have to worry about politicians here! I like to think that I'm a good friend, someone who my friends enjoy hanging out with, someone who is reliable and steadfast. Gosh, that's an old fashioned word but one which I like to embrace. I'm not flashy, not 'out there' but I'm a safe pair of hands as they say in cricketing circles.
So there you have it. I'm embracing 'nice', 'kind' and 'steadfast'. Rock and roll or what?
The invitation to pop off for a spot of time travelling is almost too good to be true. The problem is where to go?
As soon as I choose a destination like Elizabethan court just before Elizabeth signs the death warrant of Mary, Queen of Scots I remember that in those times I'd have been suffering form some ghastly disease and fading fast. That's assuming I hadn't died in childbirth either as the baby or mother. So all the lovely historical times I rule out because I don't want to suffer or watch others doing so.
This leaves me with the mid to late 20th century, some of which I lived through! But there is one year that, although I was alive at the time, I was a child and on the wrong side of the Atlantic to be part of. So I choose 1967, Haight-Ashbury and the summer of love. Fabulous music, great festivals, awakening environmental and political consciousness. And I get to dress as a hippy!
I've always enjoyed reading mysteries. I read most of Agatha Christie when I was a teenager and never managed to work out whodunnit!
I've just finished reading the first two 'Shetland' novels and despite watching the TV adaptation I had no idea whodunnit in those either.
I've watched 'Rules of the Game' and failed to spot the killer - frustrated by the fact that they didn't reveal the victim until the end of the third episode of four!
So for me the mystery must be how I"m still so bad at this after all the practise I've had. Good job I don't work in CID!
Each New Year I set a number of books to read in the Goodreads Reading Challenge. I usually go rather modest and pick 20 or 25, knowing that's very achievable. No point setting myself up to fail this early in the year!
This year however, I asked my darling sone what number I should set and without missing a beat he said '50'! I took a deep breath and 'Challenge accepted!' So now I have to get through 50 books in 2022...
That being said, I'm on my fourth already so maybe it's going to be ok. To that end I've started by reading slim volumes which can be read easily in two or three sittings. Cheating? Not at all... 😉
So my next book is Quartet in Autumn by Barbara Pam, another slim volume which weighs in at less than 200 pages. I also learned that it was Booker nominated so I have high hopes of a good read.
Ah, the old superpowers prompt...
Every time this one comes up I run through all the usual superpowers and one by one I reject them.
Flying, yes that would be cool. But after a while where would I go? I don't see the attraction of just popping out for a fly around anymore than I understood the attraction of going out for a drive when I was a child.
Invisibility, also cool. I'm quite good at staying 'invisible' anyway and after the thrill of creeping up behind folk and yelling 'Boo!' wore off that's invisibility done.
Super strength might come in useful when I can't get the lid off a jar but there aren't many monsters to vanquish round here so it's got limited appeal.
X-ray vision? Too much information.
Super intelligence? Got that!
But one superpower that I might have use for at the moment is the ability to plan a bloody novel! I've just had a great new idea, uses some of my existing characters and could be super cool but there's a massive plot hole and I've got nothing. So, super novel planning powers please, with a side order of how to get an agent...
My ideal day starts in a beautiful bedroom where I wake early under linen sheets and a cosy eiderdown. Someone has left tea in a china cup for me and as I sip I enjoy the view through the window. Hills in the distance with trees along the ridge, fields in the middle distance with sheep dotted across them, a sparkling river weaves its way through the meadows where cows munch lush grass and willows dip their leaves into the slow-moving shallows.
Breakfast is taken on the terrace - porridge and toast with creamy butter and thick-cut marmalade. More tea poured from a silver teapot while a fluffy orange cat winds around the legs of my chair. The unobtrusive staff clear the table and I write letters, read and make notes for my next best-selling novel. The morning is warm and the scent of the flowers is heady. I stir myself for a stroll around the garden before lunch.
A crisp linen tablecloth adorns the table and I dine on salad, wafer-thin sandwiches and fruit with a couple of cocktails and sparkling water to wash it all down. My companion is witty, urbane and drop dead gorgeous. We laugh and gossip until mid-afternoon when I retire to the library and dash off a few chapters of my next blockbuster.
Before dinner I fit in a nap, waking for tea and cake which magically appear on the bedside table. My dressing fairy has laid out a stunning Schiaparelli gown for me to wear. I spend far too long in a deep bubble bath and slip effortlessly into silky underwear and my violet frock. I spin around before the mirror, wonder if I can pull off such a daring colour and decide that I certainly can!
My dinner guests are assembled in the drawing-room sipping gin when I sweep into the room to audible gasps. We chat before the gong sounds and a tall, tanned handsome butler leads us into the dining room. The food is splendid, all my favourite flavours of mushroom and cheese with far too much bread. We sip fine wine and strong coffee after dessert which is rich and chocolatey. Someone plays the piano and we wander onto the terrace. Some people dance, some take a turn through the garden and I sit on a Lloyd Loom chair and share a couple of chapters of one of my novels. Later, after my guests have departed my handsome butler brings me hot chocolate and truffles. I retire, shedding my clothes onto the floor, secure in the knowledge that they will be picked up and looked after while I sink into my bubble bath. I'm drowsy and warm, happy as a clam and ready for bed. Slipping into satin pyjamas I slide into bed, sigh and dream of the most perfect day.
This is an interesting one because I don't really understand emoji. Until quite recently I thought that the aubergine emoji meant baba ganoushe for tea! But I do use emoji so after a quick trawl thought my Twitter and Facebook I found the one I use the most.
😉
Part of the issue I have with social media is that there is no way to show tone of voice. What I type and intend to be tongue in cheek or jokey can come across differently. But add a winking emoji and hopefully the recipient knows I'm being playful. I don't tend to wink at people in real life, not very becoming in a lady of a certain age. The winking emoji does a lot of heavy lifting in my Twitter!
I'm not bold in any way. Never have been. I don't like 'new' things, I'm happiest with things I am familiar with. I don't like 'dangerous' things like rollercoasters. I hate speed or heights or anything like that. I'm a self confessed chicken!
But I don't think living boldly necessarily means embracing the 'dangerous' side. To me it means not taking any nonsense from anyone, living the life you choose without limits or restrictions. I'm always very admiring of anyone who lives their authentic life, being who they are and to hell with the haters and doubters. It takes real courage to do that and I'm afraid I'm too chicken to rock the boat. I can think of occasions when I took the 'safe' road rather than step outside the expected norms.
So more power to the bold, boldly going where I'm too scared to go.
When I first started thinking about what I like about my writing I thought about the nuts and bolts of writing. I can string together sentences that are simple, compound and complex; I have a good vocabulary and enjoy putting words together in interesting ways; I was taught the mechanics of writing, I know my conjunctions and even know what a fronted adverbial is.
But none of this gets at the heart of what I love about writing. It's more about the feelings that sitting at the laptop or notebook, starting to write and being transported. When I write, if I get into 'the zone', I feel the physical world peel away. I lose track of time, don't notice when it gets dark, don't hear or see what is going on around me.
I adore being pulled into the world of my imagination, meeting the characters I have created and letting them take my hand and draw me further into the story. Sometimes they push and shove me where I'm not sure I want to go but that's the nature of slipping into my imagination. I always think of imagination as another world where different things happen. I can populate it with people who I have met (cunningly disguised of course!) or I can conjure up people who are nothing like anyone I have ever met. I can travel anywhere, do anything and be as many different versions of me that I can imagine.
It's not about how beautiful the writing is or about what others think about it. I'm not very good at sharing my writing and have yet to be published so what I write is very much for me. I love being in charge of the process at the beginning until that wonderful moment when the story takes wings and flies, tugging the string that tethers it to me until it breaks free and lives on its own.
So I think I'll have to say that it's the experience of being swallowed by the story and allowing myself the luxury of sinking into my imagination that is the best bit for me of writing. And I'm not too bothered about the technical stuff - I'm looking at you fronted adverbials!
When I first read today's prompt I read 'people that I admire' - must clean these glasses! I started to make a list of feminist icons, climate activists, strong women ... Then I looked again and saw it was inspiration rather than admiration and I stopped listing. Being an inspiration is more personal so I looked closer to home.
Jean Cartwright was one of my secondary school English teachers. I looked up to her so much. She was everything I aspired to be - stylish, poised, knowledgeable. I guess I hero-worshipped her. But the inspiring part was that she ignited a love of reading and writing in me. The way she talked about literature as if it was the most wonderful, vital part of life opened my eyes to the possibility that books could change lives, could shape who you were, could open your eyes and your mind. I developed a serious love of literature, possibly to impress Mrs Cartwright but I started to take my English lessons seriously and have continued to study and enjoy books ever since. After she was my teacher we became friends and I used to babysit her daughter. Everything about her lifestyle impressed me - her stylish home, her well stocked bookcases, her quirky little Fiat 500. For a while I wanted to be Jean Cartwright! We lost touch after I went to college and she left my old school but I often think about her and wonder where she ended up.
I'm also inspired by all the women I've met through the What I'm Writing Facebook group. They're all making their best work creatively. They've become friends and I look to them for inspiration when I start to suffer from doubt or procrastinate. Despite having busy lives, full time jobs, children and all the other baggage women carry they write and share and care and inspire. Thank you ladies, you never fail to astound me and surprise me. Keep doing what you do and never lose faith.
I flatter myself that I'm rather good with words: I can string together a sentence, make up a good character, conjure up something in the imagination. It's something I've done since childhood, invent and make up stories. But one thing I was never any good at as a child was anything 'arty'.
I suppose as a young child I just drew and painted with abandon. Nothing seems to inhibit a child, they get stuck in, secure in their vision. It doesn't matter if the colours aren't quite right, if the legs are different lengths, if the perspective is wonky. Children revel in the process, enjoy doing it rather than overthinking everything.
I stopped doing anything vaguely 'arty' when a teacher looked at my painting of a waterfall and commented 'Well, that doesn't look very good does it? Try again.' I didn't try again, I put down my brush, washed out the palette and gave up. Looking back I can't remember what it looked like, whether it was a good waterfall or not. All I remember is what the teacher said. My confidence evaporated and never came back.
I have no skill at drawing or painting. I'm too scared that what I do will look 'wrong' so I don't even try. But I'd love to pick up a pencil or brush and capture a scene. I can do it with words but I'd love to do it visually as well. My talent with a pencil begins and ends with underlining a title. So if my wish could be granted I'd like to sketch like Laura Knight, Edward Hopper or Eric Ravilious. I'd like to paint like the Pre-Raphaelites, Joan Miro or Cezanne. I'd just like to get something that looks like what I imagined. Or even a straight line without too much wobbling!
When thinking about my childhood toys I was reminded of the many happy hours I spent with my friend Liz playing with our Sindy and Barbie dolls. We made clothes, invented lives and wondered about our futures as young women. If Sindy and Barbie could do it, so could we was our reasoning. Although I'm not sure either of us expected to have lives as varied and interesting as the ones our imaginations invented!
But if I'm asked about the best toy I ever got I'm taken back to Christmas 1966 or 1967 when I was given a Britain's Floral Garden. For those not in the know, this was a miniature gardening set. There were baseboards with lawns, flower beds and paths; miniature buildings like greenhouses or sheds; trees and vegetable plants and so many flowers all waiting to be planted using the plastic dibber. There were tiny figures like the gardener and his wife, animals like dogs and rabbits and chickens, garden furniture like benches and bird baths. All on a tiny scale, all waiting to be created by my imagination.
I spent hundreds of hours making gardens, planting and moving plants around. My Mum loved it too and we would play with it together after my little sister had gone to bed. It was a totally immersive game, really creative and fun. All my memories of Floral Garden are happy and positive. Sadly, they stopped making it in 1970, by which time I was at secondary school and developing new interests. I have since discovered that in the early part of the 20th Century there was a lead version.
I wish I'd kept my Floral Garden, I'd love to play with it now. It's available on eBay but to get a decent set together would be rather expensive, they're collectors items now. But it's been so lovely to wander down memory lane, remembering my favourite Christmas present and wonder why I never developed green fingers!
I have a confession to make: I don't like leaving my comfort zone. I used to be more 'adventurous' than I am now, I guess it's all to do with getting older. But as I got older I've suffered more from anxiety and if there's one thing you can be sure of with anxiety it's that it likes a comfort zone. I like to know where I am, what my surroundings are, what will happen. All things that are incompatible with being adventurous and leaving the old comfort zone.
I also recognise that this isn't always a healthy way to live but there it is. Given the choice, I'll say no, stay where I am and let others have all the adventures they can handle. But sometimes, I grab my courage by the hand and we step out, trembling a little but determined to have some new experiences. That's how it was the first time I went on a writing retreat.
Several years ago I was invited to go to a country house for a writing retreat. I knew a couple of the women through an online writing group but we'd never met in person. Before I knew what I was doing I'd said yes and paid.
'No chance of backing out now but you will hate it.' Oh, that's the annoying voice in the back of my head. She'll pop up now and again, pouring cold water on everything.
And I didn't back out this time. I booked travel, packed my backpack and made arrangements. Onwards!
On the coach to London, everything was fine. I enjoyed the journey, dozed a bit and nearly found myself looking forward to a weekend away. Nearly...
As I crossed London the anxiety began to kick in again.
'What are you doing? Strangers, you don't like meeting strangers. What if they don't like you? What if they laugh at your writing? Turn round, go back home.' Recognise her? Of course, the annoying little voice.
I caught the train to a town I'd never visited before. I met the wonderful woman who ran the retreat, was hugged and welcomed. I met other lovely women with fascinating stories to tell and we laughed and wrote and drank wine and it was all wonderful.
When I finally settled on the train back to London I felt warm, happy and fulfilled. I had met my tribe and it had been ok. And the annoying little voice had been quiet all weekend. My comfort zone had a new location: a country house with good food, good company and the chance to write and share.
I've been back there many times and met new people on each visit. The journey sometimes fills me with anxiety - does anyone ever get used to the chaos that is London? - but I'm so glad I took that first tentative step outside my comfort zone. And it taught me not to listen to the annoying little voice all the time, even if she is very persistent.
I'm not sure I'm a Road Trip kind of girl but I've always been drawn to the idea of pilgrimage. I know that I'm nowhere near fit enough to undertake a long sustained walk but there's nothing to stop me dreaming, is there?
I watched a programme where celebrities walked the Santiago di Compostela pilgrimage route and the scenery was stunning. It was a rather long way and many of them suffered physically but I guess that's one of the points of a pilgrimage: to suffer for your faith. I'm not big on suffering so maybe a shorter, more manageable route would suit me.
Many moons ago I studied some of the Canterbury Tales. Don't quiz me on it, I've forgotten most of what I read but that seems like a more manageable pilgrimage for an old soul like me. A walk from London to Canterbury, stopping off at the odd inn... lovely. There's even a website to sort it all out for me. Plus lots of more local pilgrimages to get me started.
So my road trip is a traditional pilgrimage between sacred spaces, taken at a leisurely pace, maybe with a companion and lots of resting and sitting down at local inns. Bliss!
Gosh, looking back at my teenage self has been quite the experience. I've remembered people who I haven't thought about for 40 years and the scary thing is I can picture most of them in their teenage 1970s guise. Here goes with the advice...
Be brave and believe in yourself. You're more capable than you know but you lack self confidence. Sure, you're good at faking it but when it comes right down to it you step aside and don't go there. Just step up to the plate, grab life by the lapels and strut your stuff. There's a star in there so let her out.
Don't worry about not being one of the popular kids. They're not actually having such a great time, it's all an illusion. You'll make friends who will be with you for life, friends who will lift you up and make you feel brilliant. None of them were the 'cool' kids at school, they were the genuine people who shared the good times and bad with you. So celebrate the normal kids who get you, they'll be there for ever.
Those popular girls, the ones with all the boyfriends and the stunning social life? They aren't having such a good time. They're being used and abused, taken advantage of and laughed at. They're damaged by those boys, they're damaged by their social lives, they're damaged by those experiences. Not something to aspire to so just be grateful that you miss out on the abuse.
Sometimes it's hard to know what the right thing to do is. Please have confidence in your judgement. If you want to do something, do it. Don't worry about what everyone else thinks. It's your life not theirs. I'm not saying go out of your way to hurt other people but you worry too much about what other people will think or say that you risk missing out on some great experiences.
Most of all, stay true to yourself. You turn out ok and your life will be good. Good luck!
Oh, by the way, take more pictures - I'd love to have evidence of some of the dodgy hair styles and bizarre fashion choices.
