Tag Archives: #amwriting

A Little Sneak Peak ……

Time to bite the bullet and share a little something with you.  Instead of my usual weekly ramblings I’ve decided to let you have a little  sneak peak inside Book Baby.

Enjoy

Stronger Within- excerpt

With a long sigh of complete contentment, she felt the tension melt from her shoulders. Her first tentative steps onto the beach since last summer. It felt good to be home. It was late afternoon and she could feel the last of the spring sun’s warmth on her skin. She was also acutely aware of Mary’s eyes on her, as she watched from the sun deck. No going back now. After all, she had made it this far and it felt good to be outdoors. She adjusted the grip on her crutches, making sure the broad base plates didn’t sink into the soft sand and slowly headed across the beach towards the ocean. Once on the hard packed surface she felt more stable and her confidence began to grow. The waves rolled in gently beside her, but she was careful to stay beyond their reach. Tasting the salt on her lips, she smiled and headed along the shoreline towards the boardwalk.

The beach was quiet, with only a few families packing up after an afternoon at the shore. It had been unseasonably warm all week and everyone was making the most of the bonus sunshine. Small seabirds were playing in the shallows, rushing backwards and forwards twittering merrily. After about a hundred yards, she stopped to watch the waves, listening to their rhythmic flow. Hopefully by summer, when the water would be warmer, she would be able to enjoy swimming in the ocean again. Hopefully…

Oh it was good to be home; good to be back by the ocean.

Step by carefully placed step, she kept wandering along the sand towards town. She drank in all of her surroundings, the birds, the shells, and an occasional abandoned sandcastle. Lost in her own thoughts, she immersed herself in her private beach world.

It was the throbbing pain from her leg that brought her back to the real world. She had been stupid. She had walked too far. With panic and fear rising in her chest, she headed up the beach towards the boardwalk that ran parallel to the shore. If she could get onto firm ground and rest for a while, maybe she could recover enough strength to get back to the house. Mary had warned her to be careful, had warned her not to try to go too far on her first day out. The boardwalk seemed to be a mile away, even though it was, in reality, only a few short yards away. As the sand got softer her crutches dug further in, despite their broad base plates. The left one sank into a particularly soft patch. Suddenly her leg gave way and she crashed onto the beach.

For a few moments she lay there, tears welling up in her eyes, terrified that she was hurt. Gingerly, she manoeuvred herself into a sitting position.

“Shit!” she yelled out to the world. “Shit!”

Her crutches lay just within arm’s reach and she dragged them over towards her. Getting back to her feet was going to be a challenge. One that looked impossible in the current situation. There was no one in sight and Lori felt a sharp stab of fear in her chest. As she sat figuring out how she was going to get up without falling again, she was unaware that she was being watched from the shadows of boardwalk.

Jake watched her from the distant vantage point of the boardwalk. He had headed for the beach after the end of his shift at the pizza parlour. It had been a rough day and he had decided to walk off his black mood before heading to meet the guys. The last thing they needed was him turning up in a foul mood, stinking of tomato sauce and cheese. He had walked to the south end of the promenade and had just turned back when he saw the girl walking down on the sand. It was the sun catching the golden highlights in her hair that had attracted his attention. He never noticed her crutches at first. Watching from a distance, he had kept pace with her, then stopped to watch as she turned towards the boardwalk. When he saw her stumble he regretted not following his instincts and going down to walk on the sand with her.

“Shit,” he muttered. “Shit.”

There were no breaks in the fence nearby, so he jumped over the wooden palings into the dune grass and ran towards her, sand immediately filling his shoes. By the time he was close enough to call out to her, she was sitting up and looked to be unhurt. He almost turned away but decided against it and continued to walk down the beach.

“Hi,” he called out. “Are you ok?”

She was sitting rubbing her thigh and there were tears on her cheeks. Her pale complexion suggested she hadn’t been out doors much recently.

“Hi,” she replied with a weak smile. “I could do with some help.”

“Figured,” he said sitting down on the sand beside her. “Are you hurt?”

“No, not really. It was my own stupid fault. I came too far and wasn’t paying attention. I lost my footing.”

“Can’t be easy walking the beach with crutches,” he observed. “How far have you walked?”

“Less than a quarter of a mile. I was fine when I was down on the wet sand but I began to get tired. I was trying to get up to the boardwalk. I figured if I got onto solid ground it would be easier to walk back.”

“Let me guess,” observed Jake. “You’ve not been out much with those sticks?”

“No,” she confessed. “I haven’t.”

A single tear ran down her pale cheek. She reached up to roughly brush it away, embarrassed by her show of emotion, but only succeeded in leaving a smear of sand in its place. That was the final straw. Burying her face in her hands, she sat and sobbed. Months of pent up frustration flowed down her cheeks in a river of tears. Hesitantly, Jake put a comforting arm around her shoulders and held her as she wept.

“Hey,” he whispered softly. “It’ll be ok. I’ll get you home safely.”

“I’m sorry,” she sniffed. “I don’t usually sob all over complete strangers”

“Well, I don’t usually go around picking up fallen angels on the beach either.”

She smiled at his weak attempt at humour.

“I’m Jake by the way.”

“Lori,” she replied.

“Well, Lori, let’s get you up on your feet and up onto the boardwalk.”

“Thank you.”

Gauging that she didn’t weigh much, Jake handed her the crutches, told her to hold onto them then lifted her up into his arms. She was even lighter than he had guessed, so carrying her up the beach to the nearest pathway was no challenge. Once back up on the boardwalk, he sat her down on the first bench they came to.

“You sure you’re ok?” he asked, as he sat beside her.

“Yes, thank you. I honestly don’t know what I would’ve done if you hadn’t come along.”

“You’d have figured it out eventually.”

“I guess. Either that or Mary would’ve come looking for me,” admitted Lori, brushing sand off her jeans.

“Mary?”

“Yeah, she’s my housekeeper. It was her idea that I take a walk. I’ve been sitting on the deck all afternoon gazing out at the ocean. She told me I needed to venture off the deck sometime and that today was as good a day as any. She’ll feel so bad when she hears I fell,” she explained.

“Who’s going to tell her?” Jake said with a wink. “I’ll walk you back. You don’t need to tell her that you fell.”

“Thanks.”

Stiffly and with more than a hint of nerves, Lori got to her feet and repositioned her crutches. Her leg was screaming at her and she knew it would be hard to keep news of her fall from the ever watchful Mary. As they began to walk along the sandy boards Jake observed how carefully Lori walked – watched the determination in each step and sensed the pain that was etched into her pale face. She had the bluest eyes he had ever seen, but there was a deep sadness cast through them.

“Pardon my asking but what happened to you? I’m thinking the crutches are a very recent addition to your wardrobe.”

“And you’d be right,” she confessed, pausing to look up at him. “I had an accident just before Christmas. I broke my leg quite badly. I came down here about six weeks ago. This is the first time I’ve been out on my own since the accident.”

“And you thought a walk on the sand was the smartest place to start?”

Lori laughed. Jake thought it the most beautiful musical laugh and joined in.

“I guess not, “she giggled. “So what brought you out this far?”

“A shit shift at work. A foul mood.”

“And scraping a dumb blonde off the sand wasn’t in the plan?”

“No, but I‘m glad I was there to rescue you,” he admitted. That wonderful laugh and those sad blue eyes were having a strange effect on his heart. A weird but wonderful effect. It had been a long time since he had felt that way. “Where exactly am I taking you when we run out of boardwalk?”

“Fourth house past the end. If that’s ok?”

“Not a problem, li’l lady.”

They walked on in silence for a few minutes, the end of the boardwalk drawing closer and neither of them really wanting to reach it. Surreptitiously, Jake watched her steely concentration, drank in her fragile beauty and breathed in her light, floral perfume. It had been a very long time since someone had had such an impact on him. A long time since he had bothered to look, if he was honest with himself. Between each painful step, Lori subtly surveyed her rescuer. He would make a fantastic model for a life drawing. His long sun bleached blonde hair fell carelessly down over his shoulders, almost reaching the middle of his back. She guessed from the tiny lines around his twinkling hazel eyes that he was a little older than her and his height dwarfed her small frame. There was something genuine about him. A rough diamond found in the sand? A friend? Lord, she could use one!

Deciding to take a risk, Lori said, “When we reach the house, will you come in for a coffee or a beer? It’s the least I can offer.”

“I’m not sure,” began Jake glancing at his watch. “Oh what the hell! The guys can wait. Beer sounds good.”

And the story continues in Stronger Within – due out mid-April on Kindle.

Drookit But Still Smiling

Anyone who follows my activities can probably guess what’s coming next…..

Rock Mum was out to play again last night.

After a mad dash home from the Salt Mine, a quick change of clothes and a much needed bacon sandwich, I rushed off to catch the 5:25 train to Glasgow, ably chaperoned by Boy Child.

Our destination this time was the O2 Academy in Glasgow. (Boy Child’s favourite venue) We were off to see Rival Sons.

The only drawback – the weather. It was pouring with rain, there was an icy wind howling and it was Baltic! Just how far did we Spring forward when the clocks changed last weekend? To Winter? Brrr

For once even Boy Child had dressed for the elements – confirmation of just how awful it was if the teenager was feeling it!

As we stood outside the venue in the growing but shivering, damp queue (no coffee shops next to the venue so no caffeine fix- BOO!) I couldn’t help but wonder what kind of an evening we were in for.

We’d seen Rival Sons back in December and much as I’d loved their set, there was something not quite right about it. Don’t get me wrong, they were brilliant but that little je ne sais quoi was missing.

I don’t think I’ve ever been so relieved to see a venue’s doors open so we could scurry in out of the rain.

Dripping, we stopped off at the merchandise stall to purchase the obligatory t-shirts. Moral victory- we managed to agree on two different designs so no mother/son t-shirt clash to mark this occasion. I also treated myself to a canvas tote bag. (Beats paying 5p a bag in the shops and it’s small enough to fold up and fit in the back pocket of my tardis-like handbag.) Result all round!

There is only one spot to stand at a Rival Sons show – especially if you are with Boy Child. Right in front of Scott Holiday. We found ourselves among the same group of die-hards that we had been beside back in December. See we’re not the only looney tunes happy to see these guys again so soon.

Much to my surprise there was only one support act lined up for the show, New York duo, The London Souls. I’ll be honest – I’d never heard of them. This two piece band, comprising of guitar and drums, transported the Glasgow crowd back in time by about forty five years and played a short but solid soulful set, heavily influence by 1960’s/70’s icons. Worth checking this band out when their debut album is released later this year.

The intro tape played the theme from The Good The Bad and The Ugly. As it rang out over the expectant fans, Rival Sons appeared out on stage.

Glasgow was in for a treat! The boys from California were all dressed in kilts. While frontman Jay Buchanan had gone for a more traditional look, guitarist Scott Holiday was rocking his pointed toe boots and leather jacket with his black kilt. Hot Hot Hot

Their set started with the incredible Electric Man and over the next ninety odd minutes they powered their way through a further seventeen songs, including a short five song acoustic set in the middle of proceedings.

Cue clothing issue as Scott Holiday realised the fans on the rail were seeing a bit more of him than usual when he sat down to play. Thank God he’s not a true Scot!

Highlight of the night for me was their performance of Where I’ve Been. I LOVE that song!

This time the whole set shone- sparkled even. I realised what had been missing from December – smiles.

All of them looked more relaxed and seemed to be genuinely enjoying playing this iconic art deco venue. There was even a hint of mischief from Jay Buchanan as he flicked up the back of Scott Holiday’s kilt during the encore.

It was a joy to see them having fun.

When we emerged into the dark, I  was relieved to find that the rain had eased up. After a short sprint towards the station, with a brief pit stop at KFC (Boy Child was hungry) we boarded the train home. Both of us tired but happy.

We may not have done the mother/son t-shirt thing but it was a cracking mother/son night out.

As Boy Child prepares to leave high school and move on to university, I can’t help but wonder how many more gigs will he will be content to enjoy with his Rock Mum?

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Still As A Statue

A few months ago I was walking up Sauchiehall St in Glasgow with Girl Child and took note of the number of buildings that have ornate figures carved on them, especially up around the O2 ABC area. It set me thinking….seldom a good thing.

The following short piece of fiction was inspired by those mad thoughts. Enjoy!

Still As A Statue

The soft light from the computer screen was the only illumination in the room. Staring intently at the screen, the young art student couldn’t comprehend what she was seeing. It was late and she knew she was tired however what she had just noticed made no logical sense at all.

For the past two weeks she had been focussed on her final photography project for her portfolio. She had a love/hate relationship with the camera but, after a lengthy lecture from her tutor, had conceded that she had no choice but to submit some photographic images as part of her overall degree portfolio. In an attempt to make things easier for herself, she had elected to centre the theme of her coursework on the stone statues that she walked past every day on her way to college.

Her daily route took her across a small square in the city centre, slightly off the beaten track, but filled with stone statues. It had caught her attention in her first year and she had done some research at that time into its history. All the sandstone buildings around the perimeter of the square had been designed by a Victorian architect who was renowned for adding Gothic touches to his work. He had met up with an aspiring French sculptor and together they had collaborated on the architecture of the square. Every building had at least one carved stone image on display, some having several. There were gargoyles leering down from every angle. In the centre of the quadrangle there was a small public garden containing more samples of the sculptor’s work.Her research had come to an abrupt halt. Both the architect and the sculptor had mysteriously disappeared shortly before the last house was completed, leaving one home with an empty plinth within the archway above the front entrance. As the sculptor hadn’t left any instructions or partially finished pieces, no one knew which statue had been destined to fill the space.

The following day she had scoured the area and finally found the house with the missing statue. It may have been her imagination but the air temperature had seemed to drop  a few degrees as she stood gazing up at the empty arch.

Now almost three years later she used these statues as  the models for her photography project. They had proved to be the perfect subjects. Always still. Facial expressions fixed. No risk of them twitching and ruining the shot. She had photographed them over several days, taking hundreds of shots from every conceivable angle. In different light they looked subtly altered so she repeated her photographic session by the light of the dawn and by the light of the moon. The variable Scottish weather had aided her project too, allowing her the opportunity to capture images of the stone figures bathed in bright sunshine and lashed by driving rain.

As she had edited the photographs she had felt pleased with the results. Her camera had captured the texture of the stone, the emotions carved into the faces and she had even picked out a few smaller carvings that she previously missed.

Now though, as she sat preparing the final images for printing off in college in the morning, she couldn’t make sense of the scenes before her.

Crazy as it sounded, the statues weren’t always in the same location.

Scrutinising   the hundreds of photographs she concentrated on four statues who appeared to move about the most. Within the four folders she had saved out she had photographic proof that she had shot them in at least half a dozen different locations around the square. One, a tall slender striking male had even managed to appear in the park on a short column instead of his usual position beside the door of number seven. The statue of a young woman with long tumbling curls also moved from house to house. In one image she was crouching down above a doorway, almost as if she were trying to squeeze into a space too small for her, instead of standing on a wide base in a corner of the gardens.

A cold chill ran down her spine as she copied the pictures onto a flash drive. She would take them into college and show her tutor what she had uncovered.

With the images saved and the flash drive removed, she shut down the laptop and headed for bed.

Outside on the window sill, a tall slender male was crouched down watching her. He had been there all evening, as he had every other evening for a week. In the moonlight his alabaster white skin glistened.

He had repeatedly warned the others to take more care. Cautioned them against their reckless behaviour. Now, from what he had just witnessed, he knew they were all at risk. The art student had discovered their secret…or at least she thought she had. Little did she truly know.

A Labour of Love

Hopes and plans and dreams (some of them nightmares) for Book Baby are dominating my creative mind just now so apologies if blog posts are short and sweet over the next few weeks.

Although affectionately known as Book Baby (among a few other choice names on occasion) this whole process has in some respects been a bit like deciding to have a child and then going through a lengthy pregnancy.

Should I? Shouldn’t I? When’s a good time? Can I actually do this?

There’s a lot of “foreplay” as you work out what fits where and then the creative juices find their natural rhythm and flow freely.

Since creating my KDP account a few weeks back and being in the throes of getting Book Baby ready to face the world, I’m rapidly realising that writing the original draft of the story was the fun bit and the easy part ….. a bit like making a baby 😉

For the last few months, with the support of my wonderful alpha and beta readers, I’ve been nurturing Book Baby, preparing it for its arrival into the world of Kindle rock romance fiction.

We are now almost exactly a month from my anticipated publication date and, to compare it again to a baby bump, I have a large unwieldy word document that is dominating my world, draining my dwindling energy reserves and keeping me awake at night.

Book Baby’s due date is fast approaching and I don’t mind confessing to being more than a little scared here. I’m excited too and feeling just a little bit proud of myself for getting so far.

Irrational fears of “what if’s” are torturing me in the wee small hours as I lie awake.

“What if KDP reject it for some obscure reason?”

“What if people think Book Baby is ugly?”

“What if I can’t cope with this once it’s unleashed on the world?”

“What if I’m not cut out to be a Book Baby mummy?”

Like all new “mothers” I’ve deliberated long and hard over what “outfit” my baby will wear when it first ventures out in the world. I still have a few options but I think I’ve finally settled on a cover design. Thanks to another wonderfully supportive artistic friend my Book Baby won’t enter the Kindle world naked!

So now it’s time to allow the last few pages of the final draft to develop, for the little vital add-ons (author’s note, legal disclaimers and the like) to be finalised and then, with one final labour of love, to deliver it safely onto the Kindle platform.

Book Baby was conceived while sitting in the early evening sun on my front doorstep at the beginning of May 2013. Now after a labour of love lasting almost two years, the end is in sight.

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Can You Take A Loaf Into A Gig?

Five twenty five and I’m on a train. It can only mean one thing. Rock Mum aka Rock Friend was off out to play.

Little did I realise……

After a few last minute changes of plans due to illness, I was accompanied by Boy Child, Girl Child. FB Son, Rock Chick Friend and a new addition to the posse, who will be christened later in this tale.

Our destination was the legendary Barrowlands Ballroom in Glasgow where the American rock band Halestorm were headlining for the night.

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As the train pulled into Glasgow’s Central Station, FB Son and the as yet un-named member of our group declared that they needed to grab something to eat. While I darted off to the loo, the two boys headed off in search of some food. FB Son duly returned with a sensible healthy sandwich and some fruit juice. His friend returned with a loaf of bread. Not just any old loaf – an M&S loaf!

Cue every bread joke imaginable!

Bread Boy, no longer nameless, promptly began to munch his way through said loaf slice by slice.

On the taxi ride out to the venue, the loaf was securely tucked into the seat belt just to ensure it arrived safely at the gig.

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It queued patiently with us for forty minutes without a murmur of complaint, although it was now reduced to less than half a dozen slices.

I bumped into my fellow rock chick writer friend and her husband in the queue and they too were duly introduced to Loaf and Bread Boy.

“Are you allowed to take a loaf into a gig?” was a question I never thought I would ponder.

The loaf made it through security and was escorted upstairs via the merchandise stall into the ballroom.

At this point our tale splits – or should that be slices?

The three boys, having dumped their hoodies and assorted t-shirts with Rock Chick Friend and I, disappeared off with Loaf in search of some moshing and crowd surfing. It had already been pointed out that a baguette would’ve been a smarter choice for crowd surfing.

Us girls took ourselves across the hall and secured a spot fairly far forward with a clear view of the stage.

The first support act, Wilson, took the stage by storm and played a blistering half hour set. In front of us, two “females” had pushed their way in and stood drinking throughout the entire set.

Second support band, the amazing Nothing More, followed Wilson and held the audience captivated with their performance. I don’t think I’ve ever seen a more athletic display of drumming. Awesome set! Check both these bands out if you haven’t done so already.

The two “females” still stood in front of us downing pint after pint.

As the hall filled up, it was getting to be more tightly packed around us and it was getting hotter (not helped by the fact I had three hoodies tied round my waist and at least three t-shirts stuffed down the various sleeves).

Halestorm took to the stage, opening their set with Mz Hyde. Love that song!

The two, now very drunk, “females” launched straight into full on dance mode. Both of them were completely oblivious to the carnage they were causing with their drunken gyrations. One had also by now soaked Girl Child down one side as she had thoughtlessly discarded the remains of her beer. After too long watching my baby girl getting bodily thumped and smacked in the face with hair, I stepped in between her and the gyrating drunk.

Now I’m not a large person and I am most certainly not a violent person but I will not stand back and watch my kids getting hassled.

Bracing myself, I let the “female” bounce off me a few times, barely able to retain my own balance. At least Girl Child was out of the firing line.

The crowd was tightly packed around us and there was no visible alternative spot to relocate to. If we wanted to see the stage, we had to stay where we were.

At the end of the number, the “female” turned round to face me and hurled a foul mouthed rant at me about what did I think I was doing. Cue angry rant back about what did she think she was playing at and did she realise that she had repeatedly battered into my daughter. She spat a mouthful of abuse back at me. It was clear to see she was too drunk and too ignorant to care!

To our left, another mother was having a similar conversation with the drunken friend to the same effect.

Despite our best efforts neither of us could attract the attention of the security staff at the front of the crowd. We were stuck with them. I silently prayed that the beer would take over entirely and that they would run out of steam.

Girl Child had had enough. She bailed out to sit at the side of the room. I offered to go with her but she said to stay and enjoy myself. Awash with guilt at my baby girl missing out due to the thoughtless actions of the two drunks, I opted to stay put.

OK, there’s a stubborn streak in me- I wasn’t moving for anyone least of all an ignorant foul-mouthed drunk.

Rock Chick Friend had wandered off to the side to get some air so I hoped Girl Child would find her and not be entirely on her own. (Sadly she didn’t)

Out on stage Halestorm were playing a blinder of a set that included three of the songs from their forthcoming album Into the Wild Life. The main set ended with a fabulous rendition of I Miss The Misery.

And during that who did I spot?

FB Son crowd surfing!

The two drunks had thankfully long since run out of bounce and were at long last not disturbing those around them. Hallelujah!

During Halestorm’s encore someone threw a Scottish Saltire flag up on stage which Lzzy duly held up before tying it round her neck. Wearing it like a super hero cape, Lzzy and the rest of the band ended the show with Here’s To Us.

As the lights went up, I quickly located Girl Child and greeted her with a huge hug. I still felt like I’d failed her.

As the crowd dispersed we waited for the boys and Rock Chick Friend to reappear. The boys turned up first, minus Loaf. The loaf had enjoyed Wilson and Nothing More but after a bit of crowd surfing (humble apologies to Halestorm – those naughty boys lobbed a slice on stage!), the loaf failed to survive the moshing and was trampled underfoot in the mosh pit.

R.I.P. Loaf!

If only the two females in front of us had used their “loaves”. If they had had a little – ok a lot- less to drink and actually been aware of their surroundings then perhaps all of us could have enjoyed a memorable gig.

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Aftermath – due to adverse weather conditions the trains had been disrupted while we were at the gig. Shortly before midnight, tired, wet and weary, the six of us boarded the last train out of Glasgow. It was jam packed. There’s nothing worse than being stone cold sober on the “Piss Head Express”. The train service terminated five stops from home and we were all herded back out into the wind and rain and onto coaches to complete the journey. The six of us ended up on a bus filled with folk who had been to see Lionel Ritchie at the SSE Hydro and who insisted on serenading us with “All Night Long”.

A long night it had been. A long surreal night!

How The Hell Did That Happen?

Some of you may find this hard to believe but sometimes I do have to act like a grown up.

It goes against the grain and is bad for your mental health but it has to be done.

Last week I reached VERY grown up milestone.

One that pulled me up short.

One that made me think “How the hell did that happen?”

I celebrated twenty five years of service with my employer.

Quarter of a century! GULP!!

I recall at the time thinking I’d work there until I decided what to do with my life -what to do when I grew up. College hadn’t gone to plan (Never was any good at Physiology) A brief stint as a management trainee for a well-known burger chain had ended in disaster. (Great way to lose weight- 20lbs lighter after six weeks and two days. Perhaps I should go back?….)

I was at a crossroads.

So my employer opened their door at an opportune moment and welcomed me in.

And I’ve stayed.

In this day and age I wholly appreciate how fortunate I am to have secured a job that has allowed me to stay safely employed over the years. An opportunity that’s sadly denied to too many.

So what else was going on in the world in 1990?

-Saddam Hussein ordered the Iraq invasion of Kuwait

-A formal ban on the trade of ivory was introduced world wide

-Nelson Mandela was released from prison

-Margaret Thatcher resigned

-The Leaning Tower of Pisa was closed to the public due to safety concerns that it was falling down.

-The Berlin Wall came down.

On TV we enjoyed The Simpsons and Twin Peaks for the first time.

In the cinema we watched Ghost, Pretty Woman and Edward Scissorhands, among many other now classic films.

We were listening to the Red Hot Chili Peppers, Jon Bon Jovi, Aerosmith and, in the Big Green Gummi Bear’s case, Erasure. (Yes, the Big Green Gummi Bear was around then too)

On the technology front, a 16 MB chip was shown to the world for the first time and the Hubble Space Telescope was placed into orbit.

When you read that list, suddenly it all feels a very long time ago.

So in twenty five years have I made up my mind about what I want to do when I grow up?

No. I’ve long since decided that growing up is bad for you!

I was fortunate enough to be given some vouchers as a thank you and in recognition of surviving all this time in the salt mine.

I’ve kind of done a grown up thing with most of them. I have finally invested in a decent “adult” watch. The Big Green Gummi Bear will be pleased.

 And with the change? New  red Bose earphones!

Can’t go acting like a grown up for too long!

You Can’t Do That To That Song! It’s Just Not Right…….

After last week’s Hayseed Dixie gig I showed some of my video footage to Boy Child.

He threw his hands up in horror and declared emphatically that certain classic rock songs should be “listed” in a similar way to buildings.

He may be on to something here.

For those of you unfamiliar with the term, if a building is “listed” in the UK it cannot be demolished, extended or altered without special permission from the relevant authorities. I believe many other countries have similar legislation covering buildings of historic interest.

In Scotland, there are three categories of “listed” buildings depending on their significance – A, B and C listed.

An example of a Class A listed building would be the Palace of Holyroodhouse in Edinburgh, a Class B example is the Mitchell Library in Glasgow and a Class C example is my favourite haunt, the O2 ABC, Glasgow.

You get the picture, right?

So, if this theory of classification were to be applied to rock songs what would/should be classified as “Listed”?

Do you put an age caveat on eligibility? For example, does the song have to be over ten years old?

Do you categorise it by the number of copies the original sold?

Or the number of downloads on iTunes?

This could get complicated!

Let’s keep it simple for starters, shall we?

Class A listed songs – ones that should never be messed with but may be covered with permission as long as the cover version remains true to the original.

Top of my list would be “Bohemian Rhapsody”. When I asked Boy Child to name his Class A songs he instantly replied “Everything by Led Zeppelin.” I’m sure many of you would agree, I may however be a bit more precise. I’m sure there are a few B’s and C’s in there!

Class B listed songs– ones that may be covered with a modicum of deviation away from the original.

I’d include “Sweet Child O’Mine” in this list, despite the fact it may be my all time favourite song. There are only a handful of vocalists who can do this song justice! A perfect example of an ideal Class B version would be the treatment this song is given by Slash featuring Myles Kennedy and the Conspirators. (note- I still prefer the original)

Class C listed songs – could be altered to a greater degree, with the original act’s explicit consent. This one is harder to choose an example for!

The first song that springs to mind is “London Calling” by The Clash. This was covered last year by Brent Smith and Zach Myers of Shinedown. Their acoustic version of this classic track is significantly different to the original but still retains the song’s identity.

Ok I’ve started the lists – which songs would you add?

Appearing For One Night Only….the Big Green Gummi Bear’s night out

It’s been forty five days since my last fix.

Withdrawal symptoms had long since set in and the depressing January weather among other things wasn’t helping. However Friday dawned bright and sunny, if a tad on the chilly side, and my fix was almost in sight.

This time there was to be a break in my usual routine. A different persona was about to emerge. One that I don’t think has ever been seen in public before – Rock Wife.

As I took my seat on the train to Glasgow to meet the Big Green Gummi Bear, I wracked my brain in an effort to remember the last rock/pop gig we’d been to together. There were a few memorable shows in the dim and distant past- Iron Maiden circa 1991, Def Leppard circa 1993 and a dodgy Bjorn Again gig circa 1994 (not my choice!) among others. I honestly couldn’t recall one that we had been to since we got married in 1995!

The Big Green Gummi Bear has a strict set criteria for going out to play that he rarely deviates from so I suspect I caught him in a weak moment when he agreed to attend this show. It did tick most of his boxes though –

It wasn’t on a school night.

It was part of Celtic Connections, the annual music festival held in Glasgow in January/February

It wasn’t “yicket” music as he phrases it (Hard rock/metal to the rest of us.)

The tickets were bought and paid for before he had time to have second thoughts!

My usual pre-gig routine slipped back into its normal pattern as, accompanied by the Big Green Gummi Bear, I headed for my favourite coffee shop for a much needed caffeine fix.

So where were we going?

The venue for the evening was Glasgow’s O2 ABC. (I love that venue!)

The band that were going to have the honour of being the first headliners the Big Green Gummi Bear had seen this millennium were Hayseed Dixie.

We were both about to be initiated in the delights of “rockgrass”!

Suitably caffeine fuelled, we joined the queue outside the venue shortly before the doors were due to open. (Cue much muttering about the cold and queuing)

Once inside the hall, the Big Green Gummi Bear insisted on putting his jacket in the cloakroom then, after a quick trip the merchandising stall (“Why do you need another black t-shirt with writing on it?”), we took our places right down on the barrier.

The Big Green Gummi Bear is a self-confessed snob. The look on his face as he glanced around was telling me that he was less than impressed so far. Hmm this could be a long night….

The support act were a band from Dublin called The Riptide Movement and they entertained the growing crowd admirably for around forty five minutes. A mental note was duly taken to add then to my ever increasing list of bands to check out further.

Up on stage everything bar four mic stands was cleared away. No drum kit?!

I nipped to the little girl’s room to powder my nose. By the time I returned another couple had come to stand beside us and the Big Green Gummi Bear was talking beards with the guy. No idea how that conversation started! Up on stage there was little activity. The girl enquired if we’d seen Hayseed Dixie before. Both of us confessed we hadn’t. She promised that we’d love them. The Big Green Gummi Bear had his cynical face on. Sensing his scepticism, the girl declared that if he didn’t enjoy the show she would buy him a drink at the bar at the end. Deal!

Hayseed Dixie duly came out on stage to rapturous cheers from the capacity crowd. Their show is very tongue in cheek. The name’s a play on ACDC and front man , John Wheeler, was sporting cut off denim dungarees and a tie-dye t-shirt (A kindergarten version of Angus Young?)

Within minutes of the start of their set the Big Green Gummi Bear was seen smiling.

Over the next two hours many rock classics were given the Hayseed Dixie treatment. Hearing songs like Highway to Hell, Ace of Spade and Bohemian Rhapsody played on acoustic bass, acoustic guitar, mandolin and banjo with the occasional fiddle thrown in was a thoroughly enjoyable if bizarre experience. John Wheeler’s rapport with the audience was fabulous and filled with amens and Hallelujahs. A man that‘s not taking himself too seriously. Amid the rock classics they played a few of their own tunes, most notably I’m Keeping Your Poop. Mandolin player Hippy Joe Hymas’s actions and antics throughout the entire set added to the humour. A hillbilly Gene Simmons!

Behind me a strange transformation was taking place. The Big Green Gummi Bear has graduated from smiling to laughing and was even heard singing along (never a good thing as he couldn’t carry a tune in a bucket!) However, he was having fun!

The show ended with a fifteen minute encore of Hotel California – another classic that will never be the same again!

When the lights went up the girl beside us asked if she needed to buy that drink. The answer was a resounding no.

Hayseed Dixie collage

Mental note to Rock Wife self- add another box to that tick list. Any future gigs with the Big Green Gummi Bear must be on warm dry days.

I almost froze to death outside on the pavement waiting on him collecting his jacket from the cloakroom!

Only nine days until my next fix!

The Imp – part ten

An icy east wind bit into the crow’s feathers as she flew deeper into the mountain range. All around her grey, lifeless rock faces loomed. The only sound was the wind whistling through the gorge. Far below she could see the silvery, winding ribbon of the river that ran through the stark peaks. Using it as her guide, she continued on and up. Food had been scarce since she had crossed the plains and entered the mountainous terrain but the landmarks below were becoming more familiar. A few more hours and she should reach the sanctuary of her family home.

It had taken her four weeks of constant travel, after spending the first two weeks resting and feeding near the bothy, to reach the mountains that she had called home for the last two centuries. Every feather tip ached with exhaustion. The remnants of the curse’s poison still coursed through her narrow veins, sapping her diminishing energy reserves. She held onto the vain hope that her sisters would be able to reverse the wizard’s magic and restore her to human form. It was growing tiresome being trapped as a bird and she longed to enjoy a hot bath, a fine meal and a smooth glass of wine.

In the distance she spotted two flickering lights high up on the cliff face. The sign she had been searching for – the torches that lit the entrance to her family home. Drawing on her final drops of strength, she flew towards the beacons. As she glided soundlessly into the mouth of the cave, she crash landed unceremoniously on the dusty floor. Her chest feathers heaving, she lay panting for breath. She opened her beak to let out a “caw” but no sound came. As exhaustion swept through her, the witch felt herself being scooped up into a leather gloved palm.

 

Under the shade of the lower branches of a huge pine tree, Jem sat leaning against the trunk, his baby daughter nestled in his lap. Gently he ran his good hand over her soft auburn hair and marvelled yet again at her beauty and innocence while she slept. Silently his heart wept for Amber. She should be here sharing these first few precious weeks of the baby’s life. Despite the pain it caused him, the imp reached up with his burnt hand to touch the fairy/elf’s amulets that he now wore round his neck. It may have been his imagination, or just wishful thinking, but Amber felt closer to him when he wore her talisman.

It had been two weeks since Urquhart had deemed him strong enough to make the journey home to the castle. Since his return, Jem had struggled to settle. He felt caged and suffocated within the thick stone walls of the castle and longed to return to freedom of the small mountain bothy. At every opportunity he would escape outdoors with the baby and roam the extensive woodland behind the castle.

His injured arm was healing slowly and, with the assistance of the wizard’s magic, the feeling was beginning to return to his damaged hand. The curse’s poison still burned deep within him but Urquhart had devised an enchantment that contained it within the injured arm. Despite his best endeavours, the wizard had been unable to restore the sight in his eye. In his heart of hearts, Jem knew that only Amber held the magic to do that.

A soft cry from the baby brought his attention back to the present. In his lap, the baby had wakened from her nap and was whimpering softly.

“Time for your dinner, little princess,” he whispered softly. “I guess we had better take you back to Martha and Mistress Morag. Time for some milk.”

With the baby securely nestled in his arms, the prince walked slowly back towards the towering castle walls.

 

Up in the small tower room that was his private study, Urquhart stood by the window with the black crow tail feather in his hand. Several others that had been found in the Lady Karina’s bedchamber lay on the table behind him. These feathers, plus the small chest containing the witch’s personal belongings, were his only hope of breaking the remains of the curse. Beside the pile of feathers lay Jermain’s silver brooch. It too would be required to break the spell, if there was any magic left in it.

“Where has she gone?” muttered the wizard, turning away from the window.

He laid the feather on top of the wooden chest and made his way back down the spiral staircase to his main chamber.

A second dilemma was also troubling him. Where was the portal that had been used to bring the baby to the prince? His instincts told him it had to be close by or near to somewhere Amber could visualise. But where?

While the prince had been recuperating at the last house in the village, the wizard had spent his time trying to retrace the path that brought the baby to them. Whoever had delivered the basket had been clever and cautious in the extreme. His tracking efforts had taken him round the perimeter of the village and into the dense woodland at the foot of the mountain. It had taken all of his tracking skills to follow the trail through the deep bed of pine needles that covered the forest floor but, when he reached the stream, the trail stopped. The mystery person would appear to have walked either up or down the stream for some distance to destroy their trail. Finding it on the far side had so far proved impossible.

His last remaining hope was that the fairies would return to the village during the fayre to mark the end of summer and open a new portal. Traditionally they came to trade and to provide entertainment for the locals. The fayre, however, was still two weeks away.

Muttering sourly, Urquhart sat at his desk staring at the map of the local area that was spread out across the top of his piles of books and scrolls. His search area was marked out on it. Previous portal locations were highlighted. Spinning his wand through his fingers, the wizard sighed.

“Where would I hide the gateway?”

Sunlight rippled through the leaves outside the window of her tree top prison. From her bed, Amber could just make out the lilac mists that marked the boundary between her world and Jem’s. With tears in her eyes, she rolled over to face the wooden wall and rested her hand on her now empty belly.

Less than a week after the birth she had been brought there by the order of the High Council; by the order of her grandmother, the queen. Light fairy chain had been shackled to her ankles, long enough to allow her to move about the small room but short enough to keep the door out of reach. Only once in the following days had her grandmother visited her and then the visit had been filled with hate and disgust.

The High Council had sentenced the fairy/elf to be confined to the tree top cell indefinitely. Her defiance of ancient laws was unprecedented so they determined that solitary confinement for her was the best course of action to take until they could reach a formal agreement on an alternative form of punishment. Only one member of the council had spoken up for her. Her childhood friend, Blain, had risked his position by proposing that they petition the elves for their opinion on the matter, arguing that Amber’s defiance was as much an elf issue as a fairy one. It was a risky strategy but Blain hoped it would buy him some time to try to persuade some of the other council members to review their stance. To his relief, the High Council had agreed and had arranged to send two representatives to consult the elves. It was anticipated that they would be gone for two months. In the meantime, Amber had to bide her time high up in the tree tops.

As she lay on her side, she counted the marks she had scraped into the soft wooden wall beside her narrow bed. She counted thirty five small scores. Adding on the seven days she had spent in her grandmother’s home following the birth, Amber calculated that word from the elves was due to be received in a little over two weeks.

The soft squeal of the door opening startled her. She turned over in time to see Blain tip toe into the room carrying a small basket.

“Good afternoon, your highness,” he said rather formally, setting the basket down on the table.

“That title’s long gone,” answered Amber as she sat up.

“You’re still the queen’s grand-daughter,” argued her friend. “And will always be a princess in my eyes.”

“Flattery will get you nowhere,” giggled Amber, her laughter filling the small room with music.

“I live in hope,” sighed her visitor, shedding his cloak. “But I fear your heart belongs to another. Well, three others to be precise.”

“Perhaps,” sighed Amber, feeling tears prick at her eyes. “Won’t you be in trouble for visiting me?”

“No,” replied Blain, producing a small parchment scroll from his pocket. “I can argue that I’m here on official High Council business.”

“You are?”

“No,” stated her friend, showing her the blank parchment. “But no one will question me if I claim I had to read this to you. Confidential High Council correspondence relating to your trial and for our eyes and ears only.”

“Devious. I like it.”

Reaching into the basket, Blain brought out some fresh bread, fruit and a small bottle of wine. He put his hand back in and retrieved a small round cheese.

“I thought we could break bread together for a while,” he explained with a warm smile. “Break the monotony for you.”

“Thank you. I’d be happy to,” she replied as she came to sit at the table.

Over their simple meal, her friend filled her in on all the comings and goings of daily life in the fairy community. When she asked, Blain confirmed there was no word yet from the elves. Between bites, he spoke about various High Council matters that he wanted her opinion on then he happened to mention that the queen had tried to forbid them from visiting the fayre being held in the mortal realm that marked the end of summer.

“She didn’t succeed, did she?” gasped Amber, her eyes wide with concern.

“No. She was promptly over ruled on economic grounds. We need the trade. Why?”

“No particular reason,” murmured Amber, keeping her gaze lowered.

“Amber?” he said softly, reaching out to touch her hand. “What are you scheming?”

“The portal remains open while the fayre runs. It is usually open for five days and loosely guarded. If I’m to escape from here, those five days are my window of opportunity.”

“And just how do you plan to escape the High Council’s bonds?” demanded Blain sharply, pointing to the silver thread-like chains around her slender ankles.

“Elf magic,” stated Amber plainly. “The less you know the better.”

Before Blain could reply, their conversation was interrupted by a sharp wailing cry. Instantly Amber leapt to her feet and darted to the far side of the room. Whispering softly, she scooped the crying baby into her arms. The wails subsided to whimpers as she carried the baby back to the table. Discretely she opened her tunic to allow the hungry mite to suckle.

“And you’ve that elf blood to thank for the fact that you were allowed to keep this little one,” commented Blain, watching the fair haired child suck contentedly at her breast. “Only act of compassion I have ever seen from the queen.”

“That I have,” agreed Amber, gazing down at her tiny son. “But I have to return to Jem and to my daughter. What if she’s like this little man and needs half-breed milk to survive? She could be starving to death in agony!”

With a heavy sigh, Blain nodded, “You’re right, as always.”

“Then help me find a way back,” pleaded Amber quietly.

The Inner Emotions of the Festive Season and Mother Nature

And breathe. And relax. Let go of all the stresses and emotions that surround the festive season.

Easier said than done!

Don’t get me wrong, I love Christmas but every year, for various reasons that rattle round and round in my head, another little bit of the magic dies. Maybe it’s to do with the kids growing up and the fact that there’s no more cookies and milk being left out for Santa, with a carrot on the side for Rudolph. More likely it’s to do with more complex relationships. Who knows!

For the last few years, regardless of the weather, I’ve taken time out on Christmas Eve to go for a walk along the beach. For those few brief moments, I can relax and attempt to put my “emotional” house in order before returning home to “do” Christmas.

This year was no different.

Camera in hand I set off for a chilly, bracing walk that was cut short by a torrential shower of icy rain. Suitably refreshed – well, blown away and soaked- I returned home.

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On Christmas Day, the Big Green Gummi Bear and I found ourselves with an hour or so to spare before the rest of the family arrived. In a vain attempt to prevent us from eating too many nibbles, we went for a walk back towards the beach. Again, as ever, my camera was to hand.

What a difference a day makes! It was gloriously peaceful as the sun went down.

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It struck me, as I uploaded the photos from both walks onto the laptop that Mother Nature had mirrored my own emotional state.

Christmas Eve in complete emotional turmoil; Christmas Day calm and considerably more relaxed.

On 27 December, Saturday, I wandered off in the direction of the beach for the third time in four days.

I stood on the sand and watched the sun set on another festive season with a sigh of relief and a smile on my lips.

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