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Silently Watching After Dark

Posted on November 3, 2014 | 1 comment

I’ll start with an apology – the last week around here has been ridiculously busy and I haven’t had time to write my usual blog. I will endeavour to post something mid week .

What I have written though is a short story. A bit of dark fun and a follow up to my earlier dark angel tale, Silently Watching.

So fetch yourself a coffee and enjoy!

Silently Watching After Dark

As the last colours of a stunning October sunset faded and the full moon began to rise, she sat on the moss covered dry stane wall hidden from the world by the overhanging branches. Silently she watched the cars whizz by, their exhaust fumes masking the tantalising smells of the rich variety of warm metallic blood of the drivers. Deep within her she could feel her hunger stirring. It had been too long since she had last fed on human blood. Sheep and deer were all very sweet but they never satiated her thirst. Crossing her long slender legs, she sighed and continued to watch and wait.

Two miles to the south west of where she sat, one of her potential victims was preparing to go for a run before enjoying a late dinner. Unbeknown to him, the dark angel had been silently watching him for months, stalking her prey but biding her time until the conditions and her desires were aligned. It had been a long dull day in the office and, having had no opportunity to grab some fresh air at lunchtime, he was impatient to get outside.

Lifting his iPod and beanie from the arm of the couch, he called out, “Will be back in about an hour,” then he was gone out into the chill dark evening air.

Two miles east of where the angel waited, another potential victim was throwing on his training gear, muttering sourly under his breath. It had been a lousy day from start to finish. The trains to Glasgow had been messed up in the morning, causing him to be late for work. They had still been running late when he arrived back at the station shortly after five o’clock, killing all hopes of getting the early “fast” train. When he had finally arrived back at his car and driven to the gym, the gym car park had been full. He hated to run outdoors in the dark but he had a schedule to adhere to. Now, as he yanked the laces of his trainers tight, he was silently cursing the cold autumn weather.

“I might be back,” he growled as he left the house, slamming the front door behind him.

From her perch on the wall, the angel picked up on the scents of both runners as they approached her. The younger one, approaching from her right, was moving swiftly, light on his feet and teasing her senses with the richness of the blood pulsing in his arteries; the older man ran with a far heavier tread but he too was approaching at a steady pace. She could almost taste his blood on her lips. It may be older but there was something ambrosial about it. With one graceful movement she was standing on top of the wall, sniffing the air around her. After a few moments deliberation, she decided to investigate both potential victims before choosing her moment to dine.

One of them was going to satiate her hunger before the moon had fully risen in the cloudless night sky.

With two strong beats of her powerful black wings, she soared over the trees and followed the treeline in search of the older man. She spotted him easily, his bald head glinting in the moonlight. Circling round behind him, high above and hidden by shadows from the cliff face opposite, she drank in the smells of his body – his exotic metallic blood musk mixed with sweat. Running her tongue over her fangs, she hung in the air for a few seconds watching and fantasising.

Soundlessly she glided high above him, following the winding trail of the pavement as it passed the popular beach picnic spot until she spied her other potential victim. He was completely focussed on his run, oblivious to the world around him. Risking being seen, the angel dropped down to earth among the cluster of pine trees opposite the garden centre. As he ran past, she drank in his rich sweet scent and sighed. Her senses finely tuned, she could hear the music that was blasting into his ears. She listened to the song for a moment or two before stepping back further into the trees.

Out on the pavement the two men were in sight of each other. A fact unknown to their silent witness was that they knew each other. As they ran past each other, they called out a friendly greeting and promised to watch out for each other on the return leg of their run.

When the older athlete drew level with the stand of trees, the angel made her decision. Hunger burning deep within her, she let out a low hiss before taking flight to pursue her meal. Just a little more patience and she would reap her reward. She knew the perfect spot to attack. There was an incline just beyond the old gamekeeper’s lodge, unlit by street lights. For a few yards she would be totally concealed by darkness.

Taking up her chosen position, she watched the pavement in silence, listening for the laboured breathing and sniffing the air for hints of the distinctive scent.

Thud. Thud. Thud. The steady rhythm of her chosen runner echoed through the night.

Fangs bared, wings spread out majestically, the angel stepped out from the shadows. Her bite was deep and deadly as she ripped out the man’s throat, rendering it impossible for him to scream for help. Wrapping her wings round him, she crushed his thrashing limbs as she drank slowly of his rich warm blood. Its strong ferrous taste teased her own taste buds. This was not a kill to be hurried; this was a banquet to be savoured. As she feasted, his struggle ceased then he hung limp in her deadly embrace. Greedily she drained the last drops of blood from his veins before it grew cold, his life force now spent. As the fresh blood pulsed through her, the fallen angel became aware of the other runner’s footfall approaching.

Time had run away from her in her greed. With her fangs still dripping, she scooped up the lifeless, drained corpse and soared into the night sky. Gently beating her wings, she floated high over the pavement as the other man ran along the road beneath her.

Again, as before, she could hear the music he was listening to. It was a song she had heard him listen to before, “Watch Over You.”

“Oh, I’ll watch over you,” she thought as she dropped down onto the road a few yards behind him.

With a final glance down at the drained body in her arms, she displayed a rare tenderness. The dark angel kissed his cheek before dropping his corpse into the pile of dry leaves that was banked against the dry stane wall. As she beat her wings and soared up into the night sky, the draft blew a covering of leaves over the man, leaving only his hand uncovered.

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Angel Readings In The Peat Smoke

Posted on October 27, 2014 | 1 comment

As it’s almost Halloween I thought I’d share a slightly spooky tale with you. There’s more than hint of the truth and actual events in this one. Enjoy

Angel Readings In The Peat Smoke

From the music and laughter echoing out of the front room as we approached the front door, my friend’s “At Home Hen Party” was already in full swing. Beside me on the doorstep my young daughter danced impatiently from foot to foot as we waited on the door being opened. It was my friend’s mum who eventually opened it, wine glass in hand.

“Ah, you’re here! We were getting worried. You’re the next to go in and Jean’s already been in a while,” she gushed. “Come away in, girls!”

A chill ran through my veins. The main attraction of the “At Home Hen Party” was an angel card reading. Suddenly my sixth sense was twitching. My own angel card experiences were all positive and reassuring but a growing sense of unease flooded my mind.

Too late to turn back now.

I politely declined a glass of bubbly – I had brought the car but the truth was that I didn’t want my senses impaired. As I sat on the couch beside my daughter I tried to relax. In the car I’d explained to her that I would be seeing “the lady” for a card reading and that she would need to wait with her auntie. Despite her pleas to be allowed to accompany me, I said “No.”

“She’s waiting for you, doll,” said the bride-to-be nudging me on the shoulder. “Bedroom on the left at the end of the hall.”

The white painted door was shut tight. Taking a deep breath, I turned the handle and slowly opened the door. A frenzy of wild ash blonde hair, white crocheted shawl and piercing blue eyes flew at me, hugged me tight and declared loudly, “What an energy you’ve brought in!”

With my personal space violated, my “guard” imploded.

“Sit yourself down,” she encouraged dragging me towards a plain wooden chair.

I did as I was told and sat with my feet firmly planted on the ground, my hands on my knees in a frantic attempt to ground myself and regroup my thoughts. Before I could stop her, the woman had taken both of my hands in hers.

“You’re a nurse? Or a doctor? Definitely a healer.”

I shook my head, not trusting myself to speak.

She stared at me intently, looking deep into my very soul. I could feel her mind probing the depths of mine and I was failing to shut the doors on my innermost thoughts as she probed her way around.

“You’re a witch. A healing witch,” she stated bluntly. “And you always have been.”

Instantly my third eye opened up to its past. The distinctive aroma of a peat fire filled the room.

I was no longer in my friend’s mum’s spare bedroom; I was in a low stone cottage on the outskirts of a village in the Outer Hebrides, on the shores of a loch. In front of me a small cooking pot hung over a peat fire. From the additional strong aroma around me, the pot contained fish that appeared to be simmering in some milk. Instinctively I knew that it was to reduce the saltiness of the herring that I’d bought at the pier that morning. As I stirred the pot with a well-worn wooden spoon, the smoke formed into a vision of a baby. Outside I heard the hoodie crow caw twice. It was time. Carefully I swung the pot to one side and banked the fire. Pausing to pick up my small hessian bag containing my medicinal herbs, freshly gathered that morning on the way back from the village, and drew my shawl round my shoulders.

Closing the door behind me I stepped out into the gloaming and walked up the steep scree path to the road. A young boy, his flaming red hair sticking out like a scarecrow’s, came running full pelt towards me.

“Mistress, you need to come now,” he gasped. “My mother needs you. It’s my sister’s time and the bairn’s not turned.”

“Calm down, Fergus. Breathe,” I heard my self say. “All will be well with this bairn and your sister.”

Suddenly I found the right door in my mind and slammed it shut. I snapped back into the present and was relieved to be back in the bedroom, even if “the lady” was still holding my hands.

The wide-eyed look on her face suggested she had share my vision – or was it a memory of my true past?

She loosened her grip on my hands and said quietly, “You’ve a daughter. She’s very like you.”

I didn’t respond.

“She’s got the same guardian angel as you. Same one you’ve had all through time. You’ve seen it. Your daughter sees it.”

“She does?”

“Yes,” replied the woman reaching round for the deck of angel cards that had until now lain forgotten on the bed. “She has a real butterfly personality your little girl. All pinks, blues and purples. There’s always butterflies about her.”

My blood ran cold as I pictured my baby girl sitting in the front room wearing her favourite t-shirt. The blue one with the large pink, purple and silver butterfly emblazoned on the front.

The woman slowly shuffled the deck of cards then, to my mild surprise, drew out a card for me.

“Perfect,” she breathed, handing the card to me.

In my trembling hands I held the image of a beautiful angel with her eyes cast downwards. Her wings were neatly folded behind her and in her hands she held a crystal ball filled with colourful butterflies, all shades of pink, blue and purple.

“There’s nothing I can tell you that you can’t see for yourself, mistress,” she declared staring straight into my unguarded soul. “This card says it all. You’re not ready to face your powers yet. The folded wings signify that. You’re focussed on all you hold dear to you. That’s symbolised by the crystal ball. When you’re ready you’ll lift your face to the world, spread those wings and soar. You and your daughter. She shares your gifts.”

I stared at the card in total disbelief at what I was hearing but at the same time recognising it as the truth I’d been denying for so long.

Something fluttering near the light caught my eye. It was a white butterfly dancing near the brightly lit bulb.

The smell of peat smoke filled my nostrils once more and, in the distance, I heard the first wails of a new born babe.

 

 

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A Smokin’ Girls Night Out

Posted on October 20, 2014 | Leave a comment

This week the third bus – sorry concert- came along and in its own way this one was extra special.

This one fell the day after one of my best friend’s birthdays. Over the years (almost forty of them) we’ve laughed together,cried together, got drunk together and worked together  many times but, apart from a few musical evenings in the local pub way back in the day pre-children, we’ve never been to a gig together. I’ll be honest, it’s never crossed my mind to suggest it before now. However this one came along at an opportune time and seemed to be the perfect solution to the annual birthday present dilemma. (This particular friend has a habit of saying “I don’t know” when you ask what she would like as a gift. A habit that earned her a gift of a small box with “I don’t know” neatly written on a piece of paper inside it on one occasion)

I was secretly thrilled when she said she’d like to come along.

And the band of choice? – Blackberry Smoke, a southern/country rock band from Atlanta, Georgia.

Thursday, concert day, was one of those days where anything that could go wrong did. All thoughts of a relaxing day off work before heading out for the evening went up in smoke! By the time I picked my friend up, I was a frazzled wreck, running late (which for those who know me is a rarity and a national disaster in my book) and completely and utterly harassed. Somehow we made it to the station in time for our train and I collapsed into the seat with a sigh of relief.

As the train pulled out of the station we both left the stresses and strains of our real lives behind us for a few hours.

The venue for the evening yet again was Glasgow’s O2 ABC (think I’ve got a season ticket for it!) and, after a very welcome, very strong caffeine fix at my usual haunt across the street, we joined a very long queue to get in.  One that snaked up one of the steepest streets in Glasgow. The show was Sold Out. A beautiful thing.

As we climbed the stairs to the larger of the two halls, I debated silently with myself about where we should aim to stand. Near the front? (Neither of us are particularly tall so front is good) Near the back? (Perhaps less crowded and more personal space)

Over our coffees, my friend had confessed to never having stood at a rock show before and to never really having been to one either. Her education has been sadly lacking in this area but I’ll take some of the blame for that.

I guided her over to the merchandising stall and treated her to a purple Blackberry Smoke T-shirt to celebrate the loss of her concert virginity!

There was still space just off the barrier, so in for a penny in for a pound as they say, and we took our places.

The support act for the evening totally blew me away. It was Aaron Keylock, an extremely talented young blues guitarist. He’s been on the professional blues circuit for about four years according to his website bio. Doubly impressive when you realise he’s only 16 years old. Jimmy Page, watch your back! Dressed in vibrant purple corduroy flares and with a body like the gable end of a £5 pound note, this talented young man had me mesmerised for his entire half hour set. I only wish I’d bought his CD at the merchandise stall. Next time!

Bang on eight thirty, and after a mad dash through the 1300 strong crowd to the little girl’s room (sorry to anyone I may have trodden on or elbowed) I re-took my place beside my friend. The lights dimmed. The curtains glided back. Cue the start of ninety minutes of high class southern rock. We sang. We clapped along (well, as best as I could considering I have precious little sense of rhythm!) Both of us loved every minute of it, as did the other 1300 folk around us.

When the evening came to an end, as all good things must, the lights came up and we began to make our way to the exit. Everyone around us seemed relaxed and smiling. It really had been a great feel good show.

When we were almost at the door I found myself behind two concert-goers who had obviously enjoyed themselves. In front of me, along with their humans, were two guide dogs. From the tail whipping that my knees took, those pooches had enjoyed Blackberry Smoke as much as everyone else. Humbling.

I wonder if their favourite song of the night was “Sleepin’ Dogs”?

Blackberry Smoke collage

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A Massive night out

Posted on October 13, 2014 | 2 comments

I mentioned a couple of posts back that concerts were like buses. None for months then WHAM- a musical deluge.

Last week it was Boy Child’s turn to chaperone his lovely mother aka ME! By coincidence we were heading back to the same venue as I’d visited with Girl Child two weeks ago. And, like the last time, this was the first gig I’d gone to when it was just me and one of my little darlings. Mother and Son night out.

This time we were off to see Massive, a fabulous up and coming Australian rock band. I had the pleasure of reviewing their debut album, Full Throttle, a few weeks back  for Phoenix Music Online (http://phoenixmusiconline.org) and it’s been a long time since a band has blown me away like Massive have. Having played the album constantly for weeks, I was more than a little excited to see them play live. They were the first of two support bands for the headliners, UK band The Treatment, who, I don’t mind admitting, I knew nothing about.

Having taken the train to Glasgow, hiked up Renfield St and Sauchiehall St to the O2 ABC, trying to keep pace with Boy Child and those long legs of his, we hid out in a nearby coffee shop until the venue’s doors opened. (OK we hid in the coffee chop to thaw out Boy Child who had, in his teenage wisdom, decided he would be warm enough in a t-shirt without a jacket. It’s Glasgow in October, Boy!! He was wrong. He was frozen!)

Shortly before seven we headed across the street and into the sanctuary of the O2 ABC 2. This intimate venue is starting to grow on me.

Bang on schedule Massive took to the stage in front of a small but growing appreciative audience. All bar one rock fan hung back a bit off the barrier, a little wary of this new act. Unusual for a Glasgow crowd. After Massive had stormed their way through their set opener, the band’s charismatic front man, Brad Marr, invited us to come closer. We did!

Ensconced on the barrier Boy Child and I  and everyone else, who was lucky enough to be there, were treated to an amazing performance of RnFnR! The highlight of Massive’s half hour set for me was a song called Ghost. I love love love that song!( Check it out on You Tube -http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=DenOPmovpq4 – You won’t regret it.)

When the band bade us a fond farewell and left the stage, I asked the roadie to pass me the set list that had been on stage in front of us. He handed it over with a smile and a couple of Massive guitar picks. Thank you, sir!

“Operation Autograph” was immediately launched! It wasn’t too hard a task as these musicians just love being among their fans and the added attraction of the beer at the bar helped. First to adorn the set list was front man, Brad Marr. It was a pleasure to chat all too briefly with him. While Boy Child and I were talking to him, drummer, Jarrod Medwin, came over and obligingly signed the slightly damp (beer stains from the band’s beer) set list. He admired Boy Child’s Alter Bridge t-shirt then we left them in peace to chat to other fans over a beer.

As the next band, Buffalo Summer, took to the stage I kept my eyes peeled for Massive’s bass player and guitarist. Eventually I spotted bass player, Aidan McGarrigle, near the rear of the room and went over to ask if he would sign the set list. As accommodating as his fellow band members, he set down his pint and penned his signature – very neatly, I may add! Having thanked him, I returned to my spot on the barrier beside Boy Child. The bass player remained behind us looking a little weary and a little lost. I nearly went back to invite him over to join us.

Three down – one to go.

It took me almost another hour but finally we saw the elusive guitarist coming back into the room. Quickly I followed him over to the merchandising stand, put my hand on his shoulder and commented that he was a hard man to find. With a shy smile and a slightly startled look in his eyes, he too signed the now less soggy set list. Thank you, Ben Laguda, and apologies if I startled you.

Mission accomplished.

A simple souvenir that is now framed and renting space on Girl Child’s wall.

Who knows in years to come when Massive really make it big, because it’s going to happen, I’ll look back at this beer stained souvenir and smile, remembering that I was right there at the front when they played their first ever gig in Scotland. Hurry back, boys!

 Massive collage

As for the headline act, The Treatment, they were great too. Perhaps because I had no expectations, I thoroughly enjoyed their hour long set. It’s been a while since this rock mum has been stood on the barrier head banging without a care in the world as to who was watching. (Not so good the next day when I had a pounding headache)

the treatment collage

The stars of the night though were most definitely the wizards from Oz- Massive! \M/

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One Tiny Little Word That I Find Almost Impossible To Articulate……

Posted on October 6, 2014 | Leave a comment

It’s no secret that I love words- books, poems, song lyrics and all quirky sayings including  feel good mottos.

However I often wonder why we find some words harder to say than other. I’m not just meaning the pronunciation of some but to actually allow them to pass your lips.

Yes, it’s funny to see folk struggle with some words. As a child I could never get my tongue around “linoleum” or “abominable” (even now I take a deep breath before tackling them.) Girl Child tied herself in knots for long enough trying to say “ambulance” and more recently “superfluous”.

Then there’s the Big Green Gummi Bear’s pronunciation of “dinosore” rather than “dinosaur” that winds the rest of us into a frenzy.

Boy Child mutters and mumbles incoherently most of the time so the jury is still out on him……sorry son 😉

None of us are perfect and I’m pretty sure there are a few “tricky” words echoing round in your own minds right now.

The word that gives me the biggest difficulty is a small word. One that toddlers learn with ease and often use to stubborn excess but one that for me is always a challenge.

Too many times I’ve come out of meetings with a pile of actions to take forward all because I can’t articulate this one word.

On countless occasions through work, friends and family, I’ve been roped into organising things all because of my lifelong struggle with this word.

The kids have honed in on this failing, using it to their advantage and the advantage of their friends especially when it involves lift home  late at night that take me miles out of my way.

A while back I read a book, and subsequently watched the film, that may hold the key to the solution of this problem. One of the central characters is mute and has two words tattooed onto the palms of his hands. One of these could solve my problem! I may have to resort to ink here that is more permanent than a Sharpie marker.

My struggle with using this word has on numerous occasions left me stretched to breaking point, exhausted, over committed, inconvenienced, out of pocket and generally worn out.

Do I honestly regret being this inarticulate in respect of this small word?

Seldom. (I’d be lying if I said never)

The simple fact is that it’s not in my nature to use this word in most situations. I’m too obliging for my own good.

And the word in question? Have you guessed?

The word is “no”.

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A Surreal Music Filled Friday Night

Posted on September 29, 2014 | Leave a comment

It’s been a while but the “rock mum” came out to play this past weekend.

I’ve come to the conclusion that concert tickets are like buses – none for months then BANG the diary is full and the credit card is smoldering. I’ve got tickets to seven gigs for between now and mid-December with another two for 2015 booked (OK – Girl Child is going to one of them with her Auntie Fi instead)

The first gig on the list was a little bit different and, as it transpires, a big bit special.

For those of you who don’t know, as well as writing this blog and working on my bigger “creative baby”, I also write music reviews for a friend’s website –http://phoenixmusiconline.org

Friday night’s gig was the first one I’d attend where I’d written a review of the band’s debut EP and was also to be the first gig review I would write for the webpage. Add to the already mounting nerves, I was also to catch up with the band after their set.

The band in question here are an amazing up and coming hard rock band called Crobot from Pottsville, Pennsylvania USA. This was their first UK trip and they were playing the support slot for a UK based band.

Girl Child drew the short straw and agreed to chaperone me for the evening.

Having taken the train to Glasgow, met up with the Big Green Gummi Bear for a quick hello and a coffee at his office before he headed home to Boy Child, we set off up the hill to the O2 ABC in the city’s Sauchiehall Street. We arrived at the venue ten minutes before the doors were due to open to be greeted by a suspiciously short queue – ok two suspiciously short queues and yes, we did join the wrong one! Eventually, after a circular tour of the former cinema, we found ourselves in the right room. It’s safe to say that Glasgow’s O2 ABC 2 is an “intimate” venue! (At a guess, I’d say it would hold 250-300 max, perhaps a few more)

When we entered there were perhaps thirty folk there. Gulp!

Girl Child drew me a withering look and retreated to stand near the back of the room, leaning against the low wall that bordered the raised lounge seated area. Sensing that she was best left alone, I wandered over to stand in front of the stage. The “barrier” was already lined with music fans- all 12 of them- and a handful of people were gathered behind. I joined them.

Bang on time Crobot walked out onto the smallest stage I’ve ever seen and, appearing totally unfazed by the distinct lack of audience, launched into a storming six song set. Right from the off, they performed as though they were playing to a sell-out crowd. Kudos to them!

A quick glance round told me that Girl Child had retreated even further back and was now curled up on a velour covered seat in the raised area. She was messing with her mobile phone. Definitely best left alone!

Standing among such a small audience made me feel surprisingly self-conscious. I almost felt as though I was intruding in a bizarre kind of way.

As Crobot started their final number audience numbers had swelled and they left the stage to an audible round of applause. Considering the situation, those guys did an awesome job out there.

With my ears ringing, I went in search of Girl Child who reluctantly admitted they had been ok.

A few minutes later I went up to the bar and spotted two of the band members standing chatting to some folk near the merchandising stall. With slightly shaking hands, I went back to where Girl Child was sitting and declared it was time to take the final leap of faith and introduce myself to Crobot.

Any of you who know me well will fully understand just how far out of my comfort zone this was taking me! “Rock Mum” persona was firmly painted on as we approached the band’s front man.

I needn’t have worried.

The band’s singer turned to face me, his face lit up as the sight of a familiar FB face and he embraced me like a long lost friend, declaring warmly, “You made it.” My nerves vanished. He then turned to Girl Child and hugged her too. The look on her face was priceless!

A few moments later the bass player joined us with a high five and a friendly if mischievous grin.

Two nicer more friendly guys you couldn’t hope to meet.

With the ice broken we chatted for a few minutes, struggling to hear each other over the headline act on stage, and posed for the obligatory photo (Yes Girl Child messed up the first one!)

The venue was now about two thirds full but the star act of the night had been and gone and done it. All those latecomers will never know the talent they missed.

Quietly Girl Child and I slipped out into the night in search of some dinner, leaving the headliners doing their thing. (I’ve never left a gig early before!)

A slightly surreal but wonderful experience!

 10622791_10152317057879071_7333670258842037613_n[1]

Oh and what do you talk to two heavy rock stars of the future about? Why – their trip to the Kelvingrove Art Gallery and the fact that you have actually been in and around their home town back in Pennsylvania. Small world!

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Tonsurephobia confessions

Posted on September 22, 2014 | Leave a comment

After a week of working away, the Big Green Gummi Bear came home late on Saturday afternoon and, after greeting me with a quick hug, practically his first words to me were “You’re going grey.”

Some of you may think he was dicing with death by risking such a bold comment. Those of you who know me won’t be surprised to learn that my response was “And you think I’m bothered about that?” or words to that effect.

I truly don’t care if my hair goes snow white. The colour of it has never mattered to me in the slightest….just don’t ask me to get it cut!

Yes, I am terrified of visiting the hairdressers. I suffer from tonsurephobia – a fear of getting your hair cut.

While other friends, both male and female, enjoy a trip to the hairdressers/barbers. The very thought of it brings me out in a cold sweat and fills me with fear. Without a word of a lie, it has in the past taken me six months to pluck up the courage to step over the threshold of a hairdressers.

And the reason for this fear?

Well, it’s rooted back in August 1978 when I was taken for the “back to school” haircut. At that point in time my hair sat neatly in a long pageboy cut that touched my shoulders. (Regulation 1970’s girl child haircut) Back in 1978 “The Avengers” was a popular tv show and the female star, Joanna Lumley, was sporting a shorter than usual style – The Purdy.

Yes, you’ve guessed it – that’s the style I emerged from the local hairdressers with.

I hated it! Coupled with the blue National health specs, I looked ridiculous!

I declared then that I was never having short hair ever again.

Thirty six years later and it is still waist length (it refuses to grow any longer despite a life-long desire to sit on it)

Over the years I have watched friends cut, colour and perm their hair and only once been tempted to try “highlighting” mine. Never again! Torturous experience a few months after the birth of Boy Child that was meant to perk me up. After more than two hours in the torture chamber – sorry a popular local hair salon of the day- I emerged traumatised but with a head of subtle golden blonde highlights. The first time I washed it, I emerged from the shower with a head of hair like a Brillo pad and tangled beyond belief. Cue floods of tears and more than two years of using toddler de-tangle spray daily before normality was restored. Never again!

Two years ago I realised that I had perhaps be a little more mature about things and deal with the straggly dead ends that had been made worse by the hot summer holiday sun. Taking a deep breath I ventured into the hairdressers and asked them to trim off about four inches- a major sacrifice in my book! The girl showed me the amount she proposed to trim off and, quivering inside, I agreed to the four inch loss. Over the next few minutes she cut off not four inches but eight! I was beyond heart broken. My hair hadn’t been that short since about 1981 and I sobbed all weekend, over dramatically mourning the loss of the length.

That was the last time I let anyone near it with a pair of scissors. When my fringe needs trimmed I do it myself; when the ends need trimmed, I do it myself. If it doesn’t sit quite straight – c’est la vie!

There is one mildly humorous hairdressing anecdote from my wedding day. Not surprisingly the trip to the hairdressers- a necessary evil on this occasion- was my biggest fear about the whole wedding day experience. This time the hairdresser was fully aware of my fears and was gentle with me as she washed, dried, curled and “fancied up” my hair. In the background the radio was playing hits from the 1970/80’s and, for only the second time ever, I heard the full length version of a lesser known Rod Stewart song . I started to giggle at the irony of the song title. It was probably the first and last time I’ll ever laugh out loud in the hairdressers. And the song? – “The Killing of George parts 1&2”.

If I’d known at that point where my intended was I could’ve been tempted….but that’s a story for another day.

 blog photo 1

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A Moments Peace and Quiet Required

Posted on September 15, 2014 | Leave a comment

Ever have one of those days/weeks where everyone wants a piece of you? When the “to do” list gets longer instead of shorter the more you do? When the only peace and quiet you get is in the loo and even then there’s either a child or a cat wanting in? One of those times when you just want to run away?

There’s been a few of those around here recently.

Not helped by myself, I have to add. I’ve joked with friends and colleagues for a while that I need to get the word “no” tattooed on the palm of my hand and adopt a “talk to the hand” approach……it’ll never happen. Not in my nature. Never will be.

Every now and then though, it is blissful to steal those few minutes/hours of “me time”.

It’s taken me years to realise that it doesn’t make you a bad/weak wife/partner/mother/friend to need time alone. It doesn’t make you selfish. In fact, in the long run, it probably makes you a better wife/partner/mother/friend.

One of my most blissful, perfect, totally alone moments happened about six years ago on a beach in Delaware, USA. It was a misty humid day at the shore and I’d gone for a walk along the sand, leaving the kids with my aunt and uncle. The mist was patchy; the ocean remarkably calm. Gentle waves were lapping in at my feet instead of the usual crashing breakers. I stopped and sat down on the damp hard packed sand, just out of reach of the waves, in a small clear bubble in the midst of the mist and watched the seabirds play in the waves.

For those few short minutes I was completely and utterly alone. Not another human in sight. Just me, alone with those little birds and the waves. Heavenly. Good for the soul.

The moment has lived with me and inspired the poem below. Enjoy!

 

Private Bubble

 

As the mist rolls in from the ocean

Casting spirals round in the air

I watch the sea birds at play.

They rush out after the wave.

They run Hell for leather

As the wave rushes in at their feet.

They chatter and flutter.

The waves crash and glide.

The mist swirls and drifts.

Sand between my toes.

Damp misty warmth on my skin.

Not another human in sight.

Contentment.

 

10/9/08

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An Innocent Cup of Coffee?- there’s no such thing…..

Posted on September 1, 2014 | Leave a comment

As a self-confessed caffeine addict I am frequently found in my local coffee shop enjoying a “fix”.

Apart from the attraction of the caffeine, the scones, the carrot cake…I could go on and on… the other attraction is people watching.

Perhaps it is the writer or the romantic in me but I like to weave their story as I enjoy my coffee.

The two old white haired ladies sitting with cappuccinos and a scone – are they reminiscing about their youth? Saturday nights spent at “the dancing”?

The four men in shirts and ties – is this a business meeting? The start of a new corporate venture? The key moment in financial success or ruin?

Two young mothers wrestling with squirming toddlers – are they trying desperately to hold onto their sanity over their lattes as well as their children?

A young couple holding hands across the table- first date? Or is he trying to pluck up the courage to propose?

Another couple, perhaps in their thirties or forties, barely looking at each other over the espresso – is divorce on the cards? Is it empty nest syndrome?

Or the large table of teenage girls in the corner, silent because they are all texting on their phones – is this the representation of 21st Century coffee conversation?

Me sitting quietly at a small table with notebook and pen – what am I up to? What am I writing?

What if someone famous walked in and sat at the last empty table? Would you approach them for an autograph? Would you leave them in peace to enjoy their coffee and cake?

 

I’ve sat a few times writing in the coffee shop, medium Americano immediately to hand. Some poems, short stories and blog posts have sprung to life in this anonymous environment.

Was anyone watching? Who knows but next time you see me sitting there enjoying a “fix” remember I may be watching you!

 

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Soaked, Shivering But Still Smiling…..what could I possibly be referring to?

Posted on August 25, 2014 | 1 comment

 

If you’d told me a couple of weeks ago that I would voluntarily stand out in my back garden and pour three buckets of icy cold water over my head in the name of charity I’d have told you where to go. Fact!

However on Saturday I did just that and don’t regret a second – or a drop – of it.

Unless you’ve been hiding under a bucket you can’t have failed to notice the ALS Ice Bucket Challenge that is sweeping –or should that be flooding? – the world at present.

If you have missed the story, the idea is that you dowse yourself in icy cold water (usually standing in one bucket, pouring two over your head then stepping out and dumping the third over for good measure) and you nominate friends and family to rise to the challenge within 24/48 hours. If your nominees rise to the challenge they donate £3; if they decline then the forfeit is a £10 donation. ( if you’re in the UK that is- amounts vary per country) Simple.

But how did it all start? We’ve all been doing it or watching others drown and shiver but what was the trigger?

This all began in Florida in mid-July when a Mr Kennedy was nominated by a friend on the golf course to rise to the challenge. At that point it wasn’t connected to a specific charity but Mr Kennedy chose to donate to ALS because a family member suffers from the disease. He then nominated his cousin’s wife to take the challenge and the rest is history.

ALS (amyotrophic lateral sclerosis) is a form of Motor Neurone Disease. These incurable illnesses attack the nerves in the body called motor neurones. These are the nerves that control our muscles. It doesn’t affect every sufferer the same way but ultimately there is no cure at present and invariably sufferers pass away from respiratory failure.

Facebook and Twitter have been flooded with short videos of politicians, sports stars, rock stars and celebrities and a whole cast of regular caring humans all willing to suffer a soaking in the name of a good cause and to heighten awareness of ALS/MND. Some of these videos are hilarious, I’ll not deny it, but they also highlight the power of peer pressure beautifully. The vast majority of us who have been nominated or “called out” have succumbed. Age is no barrier here either- everyone from toddlers to pensioners the world over are being drenched of their own free will. Are you really going to the one who was nominated and didn’t partake?

I wasn’t.

And to the family and friends that I nominated shortly before my own icy buckets rained down on me, thank you from the bottom of my heart and proving you’re all good sports by rising to the challenge.

Here’s my #icebucketchallenge. Dammit, it was cold!

https://www.facebook.com/photo.php?v=10152246683809071&l=4337190505765487327

 

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