Tag Archives: #bloggerlife

A walk in WitchWood….

Sometimes in life you need to pull up those “big girl panties” and step out of your comfort zone. Sometimes you need to challenge yourself. It’s never easy but it’s there to be done.

I did just that recently.

I stepped so far out of my comfort zone! So, what did I do?

I took part in my first ever trail race.

It’s been almost a year since I last ran but when I entered the inaugural Witchwood Run at festival level, I felt confident that I could at least walk a couple of laps of the 5.9km course. The event was being run by a friend so I had also volunteered my services as a marshal for later on in the day. (In fact, when I submitted my entry weeks ago, he messaged and asked, “why have you entered my race?”- a very good question!)

The Witchwood Run was badged as a family affair so we took that literally – Girl Child also offered her services as a marshal while Boy Child took things a step further and entered the full 24 hr event, despite never having done any trail running and only ever having run 20km on the road.

Shortly after 7:30am on the Saturday morning, we made our way up to the event’s base camp at Everton Scout Camp in Inverkip, weighed down with bags full of clothing, food, juice and a pop-up tent. Least said about the walk up that hill the better.

We set up camp then Boy Child and I went across to the scout hut to complete our race registration, collect our numbers and our all-important timing chips. The whole area was buzzing with runners arriving and making their final race preparations. From the size of the tent village near the start line, many of them had camped out the night before. Hardy souls these trail runners.

Weirdly I wasn’t nervous. I can get nervous about going to Tesco so feeling calm felt bizarre. That calm feeling lasted until the race directors gave the assembled runners their pre-race briefing then panic rather than nerves hit me like a tidal wave!

What was I doing there? Running races were the late Big Green Gummi Bear’s territory not mine. I felt like an imposter! Fear flooded through me that I was about to make a total fool of myself. Riddled with self-doubt and anxiety, I let the whole scene play out around me. Could I do this?

Still feeling totally panicked I walked across the start line.. well, the clock was ticking. Time to find out what I was made of.

Boy Child crossed the start line with me but quickly forged on ahead. He had his own target in his sights.

My target? I’d told myself I could complete three laps.

As I climbed the stile at the start of the first ascent, I continued to question my sanity. The initial climb up a narrow steep trail criss-crossed with tree roots was tougher than it needed to be. Still panicking, my breathing was shallow and I was quickly gasping for each breath.

My inner voice of reason kicked in and told me to stop being a wimp and to get the job done.

The trail emerged out of the trees onto a fire break road that the course followed downhill for over a kilometre before it took a turn through a gate onto a forestry track. At the end of that undulating track was a gate that led into a field. It was all uphill as the route followed the field’s perimeter round to a second gate that led into a very boggy uneven field to be traversed. Once out of “Shrek’s swamp”, it was across a cattlegrid, back up the long drag of a hill on the fire break road (that gentle downhill on the way out became an endless hill on the way back) then it was back down through the trees, over a second stile then downhill over the timing mat.

At one point while I was walking down the fire break road on the first lap there was a hoarse crow flying above me cackling loudly. I swear that that was The Big Green Gummi Bear laughing at me!

What was I doing there in among all these experienced runners!

Gradually, as I talked myself down, I realised that several of the other competitors were walking with many of them looking as out of shape as me. Whew!

The course was tough going but after two laps I felt ok. Conscious that I hadn’t eaten much, I decided to take a pit stop for dome food before tackling lap three.

As I descended down towards base camp, my calves began to cramp up and I really struggled to get over the second stile without falling.

Duly fuelled up for a third lap, I set off again, cursing that first ridiculously steep section under my breath. This lap, I felt more relaxed and was even enjoying the whole experience. The fear was subsiding thanks to largely to the encouragement of my fellow competitors. Everyone was rooting for everyone else and there were lots of shouts of “well done” and “keep going”. Seeing and hearing such camaraderie warmed my heart and helped to raise my spirits. Halfway round lap three, my brain began to contemplate that maybe there could be a fourth lap…

As I crossed the boggy field for the third time, I could feel both knees protesting. Walking back up the fire break road seemed to take forever as my knees grew sorer and sorer and my calves began to tighten again. The descent down into base camp was agony. It felt as if someone was stabbing knives into the sides of my knees with every step I took. As I climbed over the stile at the end of the lap, common sense prevailed and I decided to call it quits, (I knew I still had to be on my feet for several more hours to complete my marshalling stint.)

I had done what I set out to do. I had put my money where my mouth was and completed three laps (18 km or thereabouts) and had earned myself a stunning bronze Witchwood medal. 

Go me!  LOL

Reflecting back on the event, with my knees still aching, I’m proud of what I achieved. That’s not something I acknowledge very often.

While I had been undertaking my marshalling duties deep into the night, I had been swapping timing chips for medals. It planted a seed. The silver medals are very pretty….. to earn a silver medal, you needed to complete six laps… could I manage that in a couple of years’ time?  Was four or five laps a more sensible target for 2027? Time will tell.

As for Boy Child, I’m super proud of him! He managed a fantastic fifteen laps (88.5km) and earned one of the coveted black medals. Quite the achievement for him and a proud mummy moment for me.

To find out more about the event and 2027’s event details please check out.

The WitchWood Run – 16th May 2026 | 24hr Lap Race in Historic Inverkip

(credits to the owner of the above image )

Spring is all around us…. you just need to look and listen

In the UK the clocks have finally gone forwards, the final declaration that Spring has arrived. Woo Hoo!!

For the meteorologically minded, Spring began four weeks ago on 1st March.

For the astronomically minded, Spring began last week with the Spring Equinox on 20th March.

For the Pagans among you, Ostara was celebrated on 20th March.

There can be no further argument. Winter is finally over! Hallelujah!!

(I hate winter! It’s too damn dark and cold.)

As I went for a quick lunchtime meander on the Equinox, I was surrounded by clear signs that this is the season of new life and renewal. The birds were singing their hearts out in the trees. There were a few orange and black tree bumble bees foraging. The sun was shining and it was warm! But what struck me most was the flowers.

After months of bare branches and distinct lack of colour, Mother Nature was working her earth magic and there were several wildflowers in bloom.

Aren’t they pretty?

And as we savour the delights of Spring there’s something else just around the corner to look forward to…. Summer!

Unconditional Feline Love (flash fiction -150 words)

Alone in the bedroom with their human, the two cats sat watching as the brave face she had put on during the day, the smiles and laughter from her business video calls, vanished. As they watched her pull a baggy t-shirt over her head, a cloud of sadness descended over her. Was that a tear on her cheek?

The feline brothers exchanged a glance, telepathically agreeing their strategy. Their human was their world and they were hers.

In the darkness as she slept, they settled on the bed, one on either side of her. One slept curled up close to her heart where she could reach out and hug him close. The other brother stretched out along the length of her legs, sharing his body heat with her to help ground those human emotions. Both of them purred the sound resonating deeply.

Surrounded by unconditional feline love, she slept soundly.

Note- the cat in the photo was Gandalf, my beautiful white boy who crossed over the rainbow bridge a long time ago. He was one of a kind. Miss him.

Several Pairs of Feet and a Lot of Brown Hens….

Over thirty-five years ago I read a book by Barbara Erskine called Lady of Hay. I still have that copy of it. That book sparked a lifelong interest in regression and past lives.

Is this really our first life? Is it our only life? What about all those déjà vu moments? Were there other lives?

At the time, in the late 1980’s, I remember telling my mum that I would love to be regressed but that was pre-internet, and it was difficult to track down a therapist via the Yellow Pages. Plus, would I really trust a total stranger to do that kind of therapy with me even if I did fine one?

The thought floated through many times over the years, but I never acted on it until now.

If you are a total cynic about past lives, re-incarnation and the like, you might want to stop reading here and come back next week.

Still with me?….

A couple of weeks ago while I was scrolling through Facebook, I spotted a post from a friend celebrating her success with two recent training courses. There was a lovely smiling photo of her with her two certificates. Two words on once of the certificates caught my eye. I zoomed in – past lives.

Ok so now you see where this is going….

After a quick telephone chat with the lovely lady herself, I made an appointment for a past lives’ hypnotherapy session.

If you Google past life regression therapy or past lives’ hypnotherapy you get an AI overview that explains “it’s a hypnotherapy technique that guides a person to access supposed memories of past lives to resolve current issues.”

I wasn’t going into this with the naïve expectation of learning that I’d been a princess living a fairy tale life or been a famous author or anything overly specific. Ok I might have been curious to learn if I’d been tried and hanged as a witch. (None of my close friends would have been surprised if that was the case!)

I didn’t go into the session itself with any expectations. I went in with an open mind.

What followed was the most amazing and surprisingly relaxing ninety minutes or so.

It would be unfair of me to go into too many specifics of the session here. (It might also make for a boring read if I relived it chapter and verse here and now.) Instead, I’ll cover the salient points that I feel comfortable to share.

I’ve never experienced any form of hypnosis before and that was perhaps the part I was a little anxious about. I needn’t have worried. That part was incredibly pretty and relaxing and led to me visualising a dark night sky (although my night sky was a colour I refer to as Reiki purple.) criss-crossed with a web of silver silky cords.

In my mind’s eye, with the therapist’s gentle encouragement, I chose one to follow and picked it up. Over the course of the session, I was encouraged at points to let go of the cord and “drop into” that life, starting each time by looking at my feet.

I saw several pairs of feet. The first pair were crammed into shoes that were too tight. I could actually feel my feet being squashed even though in my current life they were encased in a comfortable pair of Converse. Next were bare feet belonging to a girl of about twelve or thirteen. Men’s brown leather lace up shoes followed then it was back to bare feet. These bare feet belonged to a little boy about eight years old and they were filthy! Emerald green silk shoes followed on, and the final pair of feet were in well-worn black leather shoes.

Each time I got a sense of the lifetime that those feet led rather than feeling that I was in that lifetime. In the brown leather lace up shoes’ life, I was in a printshop with a huge old-fashioned printing press surrounded by piles of paper. I could smell the ink.

The lifetime with the emerald green silk shoes was the one that made me feel uncomfortable. That woman had led a life dominated by a controlling husband and was sad and lonely.

The final pair of feet in the comfortable black leather shoes provided the most vivid images of the session. I was asked to describe what I could see at one point. My reply almost made the therapist giggle. “Chickens. Brown hens everywhere. I like the eggs, but the hens are a nuisance!”

In future blogs or short stories, I may reveal more details of the lives each of those pairs of feet led but for now it feels right to keep most of that private.

The session did give me an insight into where one fear I have may have come from. I don’t like the dark. I get quite scared if I have to walk into a dark room or an unlit hallway. I’m fine outdoors in the dark. It’s indoors darkness that scares me and I’ve never known why.  The little boy with the dirty bare feet shared the same fear.

Several of the pairs of feet lived in coastal areas so perhaps that explains my love of being near water and needing to see an expanse of water on a regular basis. I could never live inland.

The therapist had assured me before we said goodbye that I wouldn’t take any of these past lives with me when I left. The past stays in the past. But, as I drove home, I couldn’t shake the image of the cottage with all of those brown hens in front of it.

When I went to my refrigerator to get something out to cook for dinner, I went to pick up the packet of chicken breasts and paused… It ended up being pasta for dinner. I just couldn’t face potentially cooking one of those pesky brown hens!

If any local friends want to experience their own past lives’ hypnotherapy session please reach out to

https://www.facebook.com/profile.php?id=100086909415191

(Image sourced via Google- credits to the owner – no watermark on image)

The Measly Jar of Motivation – Rosebud Sweets

As soon as I pulled this prompt from the Measly Jar of Motivation, I smiled as a childhood image came flooding back – rosebud sweets!

I haven’t tasted on of those sweets in almost forty years! (Lord, that makes me sound SO old! LOL)

When I was a wee girl, before I was old enough for school and then during the school holidays, I would go to the local post office on a Tuesday with my Wee Gran to collect her pension. The postmaster, Mr Stirling was a character. He was a lovely old man who always had time for a blether and a joke with his customers but equally important, he kept a dish of sweets beside him to give to the children who came into the post office.

The dish was actually the plastic lid off one of the big jars of traditional “old fashioned” sweets that shops used have lined up on shelves behind the counter.

Usually there was a lengthy queue in the post office on pension day. I would stand patiently with my gran as we edged closer to the counter. There were always two people serving – Mr Stirling and a lady called Agnes. She too had a dish of sweets beside her, but she didn’t always offer you one. I don’t think she liked children that much and to be honest, I was a little scared of her.

If Mr Stirling served my gran, before he’d stamp her pension book and count out the cash, he would offer me the dish and say to take a sweetie. Sometimes, when he was passing the pension book and pension back across the counter, he would say to take a second sweet.

Those small pink rose scented fondant sweets were delicious. To this day they are one of the scents and tastes of childhood.

A few years later, Mr Stirling retired, and another postmaster took over. The first time after that when I accompanied my gran to the post office, I was a little bit anxious. Would this new man know that he was supposed to give the children a sweet? Would he think I was too old to get a sweetie?

I needn’t have worried. The dish of rosebud sweets was still there.

Years went by and I grew up and became a teenager, while my wee gran simply grew older. Occasionally when I was in my late teens, I would be trusted to go and collect her pension for her. As I stood in the queue feeling both grown up at being trusted with such an important errand and about sixty or seventy years too young to be in the queue, another thought entered my mind. Was I now too old to be offered a rosebud sweet?

It turns out I wasn’t. I guess you’re never too old to enjoy a rosebud sweet.

Image sourced via Google- credits to the owner (no watermark)

The Measly Jar of Motivation – how would you take special care of yourself for a day?

And that really is a challenge!

Anyone who knows me personally would most likely tell you that I’m historically not the best at taking “special care” of myself. I am passionate about wellbeing and for the past couple of years have been focused on making sure that my “personal battery” is well cared for and kept charged. Well, I’m trying to focus on that.

Throughout the majority of The Big Green Gummi Bear’s terminal illness, I was running on fumes. It’s only now, when I reflect back, that I can acknowledge that I burned out towards the end of 2021 and then kept going for two more years. Life really didn’t leave me any other choice.

That level of burn out (emotional and physical) takes time to recover from and it’s something that on many levels, I am still healing from.

So, if I had my ideal day to take “special care” of myself, how would I spend it?

There’s an obvious answer – I’d click my flip flops together three times and transport myself to the beach at my happy place.

I’ll resist choosing that option and instead describe a day spent at home.

Let’s imagine that it’s Monday and I have a “rest day” off work and the whole day to do as I want.

My day would start off gently with some yoga, most likely Yin Yoga as I would have the luxury of more time than I do most mornings, followed by a short chakra meditation combined with some crystals and some self-channelled Reiki energy. When I have finished my yoga and meditation, I would journal about the session and set an intention for the day. This is something I do every day, recording it in my gratitude journal. The intention doesn’t need to be complicated. It might be one word or a short phrase like “I will be gentle with myself today” or I will be kind to myself” or “I am worthy”. I would also draw an oracle card for the day from my preferred deck.

The next act of special care on the agenda is a long hot shower followed by breakfast – OJ, black coffee and a toasted cinnamon raisin bagel with a few rashers of smoked streaky bacon or pancetta. (I never said that I was necessarily going for the healthiest option here.)

I would then spend the rest of the morning doing something creative, either preparing a blog for posting or working on my current book baby. If the weather was being kind and was warm and sunny, breakfast and this creative time would be spent outside at the picnic table in the garden with my cats milling about.

I’ll assume for the purposes of this blog that it’s a beautiful warm summer day,

Lunch would be a simple affair- caprese salad, yogurt, an apple and a bottle of flavoured water. (I’m a big fan of Waterdrop tablets so who knows what flavour the water might be). I’d read my kindle while I was eating lunch outdoors.

After lunch, I would continue to read my book for a while in sun before setting off for a walk along the coastal road to the beach. This stretch of beach is quite short but it’s just enough to feed my inner “beach bum”. As I walk along the sand I’d scour the beach for sea glass, searching in particular from some blue sea glass.  By the time I arrive back home a couple of hours later I could easily have walked five miles.

If time allowed, I’d relax with another drink of water, a handful of plain Pringles and my kindle until it was time to cook dinner. I enjoy cooking so making a meal isn’t a chore.

After dinner I’d feed my creative soul and spend time working on my current book baby. As this is my ideal day, the words would flow effortlessly onto the page…if only!

Around 9pm I would put down my pen and spend an hour or so relaxing by watching TV with the Boy Child. This may also involve a glass of white wine and a few more plain Pringles (I’ll admit to a weakness for plain Pringles)

Before bed, I would write my gratitude journal for the day- best moment of the day, three things I’m grateful for and three things I’m looking forward to. I would also write my diary. (I’ve kept a daily diary for over 40 years) then read a few more pages of my book before turning out the light and enjoying eight hours of uninterrupted sleep. Oh well, a girl can dream!

That would be a good day though.

How would you spend a day taking “special care” of yourself?                              

Summer This or That…just for fun

Beach or Pool?

Beach every time! Love the feel of the warm sand under my toes, the sound of the waves crashing ashore and the breeze off the ocean. Bliss!

Bookstore or Library?

Bookstore. I gave up going to the library a very long time ago because I ended up in the bookstore buying the books I’d borrowed and returned from the library. I need my own copies. I’m weird that way.

Ice Cream or Popsicles?

To be honest, I can live without either but I do enjoy the occasional vegan ice cream.

Sunset or Sunrise?

Ideally both. I’m greedy that way! I love the peace of a beach sunrise that promises a new day ahead. I also love the weary warmth of a beautiful sunset at the end of a perfect day.

Walks on the beach or Hikes in the mountains?

Walks on the beach. I love grounding myself with a walk along the beach. I love the feeling of the damp sand under my bare feet and the ocean waves gently lapping over my skin.

Ebook/Audiobook or Actual Book?

Ebook generally, especially if I’m travelling or sitting on the beach or outside in the sun. I love an actual book too but never ever an audiobook.

Get up early or Sleep in late?

Get up early, some mornings earlier than others. I’ve never been one for sleeping late unless I’m ill.

Fireworks or Fireflies?

I associate fireflies/lightning bugs with summer. I love to watch them flitting about at dusk whenever I get the chance. Fireworks mean Gut Fawkes Night and winter to me.

Sports or Concert?

No surprises with this answer – concert! I love my live music.

Bookmark or Dog Ear?

Bookmark…always bookmark. Readers who dog ear pages should be banned from bookstores and libraries for life!

The Measly Jar of Motivation – today’s challenge…

Today’s challenge is to show up for your writing and write about it.

Oh, tough one, Measly Jar!

To be honest, I show up every day for my writing in some shape or form.

As a bare minimum, I write my diary and complete my daily gratitude journal. Last Christmas, I received a copy of Donna Ashworth’s daily journal “Words to Live By” and I’m completing that too. I’m enjoying the challenge of completing it. Her prompts are thought provoking and I’m trying my best not to overthink my answers. It’s a weighty tome so I am currently contemplating how to keep it on track when I’m away for a couple of weeks next month. I’ll figure something out, I’m sure.

Today as I write this, it’s a Bank Holiday in the UK and I’ve definitely shown up for the “planning meeting” about my writing. My focus for the past couple of hours has been my blog- yes, this blog- and planning out the posts for the next few weeks in an effort to work out how many more I need to write to cover the dates until I return from my summer holiday in mid-July. I generally try to keep a couple of weeks ahead of the game with my blog as I don’t like to feel the pressure of “needing” to write a blog for the current week. I also don’t like resorting to “On Holiday – back in two weeks” type of emergency blog posts. They feel like cheating.

Apart from this post, I have two more to come up with and I’m covered until mid-July. Go, me, being all planned and organised! LOL And, no, I’m not giving you a sneak peek at what’s already scheduled. You’ll just need to be patient.

Where I’ve perhaps not been so good at showing up for my writing is in the evenings when I have time set aside to work on my current “book baby”. This one is turning out to be a bit of a “baby elephant” – two years and then some in the writing so far. I’ve blogged about it before so don’t intend to repeat myself but since The Big Green Gummi Bear’s passing in October 2023, I have struggled to get back into the flow with it.

At the start of 2025 I promised myself that I would make a concerted effort to get it written and I am getting there. It’s just all taking much longer than I am entirely happy about. The words are finally beginning to flow more freely so I now feel more confident about completing it. Even that was serious doubt for a while! Do I feel confident enough to share any of the finer details yet? No!

There’s also a distinct difference between showing up for your writing and your writing showing up for you. Getting the two in sync can be tricky I’ve discovered.

Most evenings I sit down at my desk prepared to write for an hour or two. Some evenings the words flow and before I know it, I have a thousand words on the page; some evenings I’m lucky if I add a hundred words. Over the years, I have learned not to force it. If I try to force the words onto the page, I invariably end up scrapping them the following night, rendering it time wasted.

There’s also writing “housekeeping” to be done on a regular basis. As an Indie author, there’s no marketing team behind me, so I set time aside, usually on a Sunday, to schedule the promotional social media posts that appear on my author page. This is also the time slot where I set up any book giveaways that I have in mind. Marketing and advertising aren’t my strong suits, but I try my best.

Have I risen to the challenge today…. Ask me again in a few hours.

The Measly Jar of Motivation – The Journey

She had been walking forever or at least that was how it felt. The sun shone down on her path as she walked trail after trail. Each crossroads she came to had a signpost pointing four different ways. The only problem was that all signs led to the same destination. The only difference was the difficulty of the route. How was she meant to choose?

Her stomach grumbled with hunger. She had long since forgotten the taste of a favourite meal.

Putting one foot in front of the other, she kept moving forwards, letting life’s shadows fall behind her. Some of the paths she chose proved to be easier than others. Did some part of her subconscious deliberately self-sabotage and choose the more difficult ones as punishment for a crime that wasn’t hers? She always had been too hard on herself.

A long straight uphill path stretched before her. One more climb. Did she have it in her to reach the unseen summit?

Cresting the hill, she finally saw it. A small cottage with a breathtaking view over the water, surrounded by a white picket fence Cheesy but true.

Opening the gate, she trudged wearily up the path towards the peacock blue painted door.  Suddenly she became aware that there was a key in her jeans pocket. Had it been there before? There was a painted sign to the left of the front door revealing the name of the cottage- There. It made her smile.

Finally, she had made it.

The Measly Jar of Motivation – Snowfall

Most days I walk by the house I grew up in…well, grew up in from the age of nine to seventeen. I look fondly at its steep driveway and smile.

I have many memories associated with that driveway by my favourites are of playing on it in winter in the snow. As an adult, I hate snow. I hate being cold. But as a child, that driveway was the best place for sledging and for sliding.

After one memorable snowfall, I recall playing for hours with my childhood friend. I didn’t own a sledge, but she did. The best I had was an old metal tea tray that I waxed with a candle to make it run faster.

We spent ages that day smoothing out our “run” down the driveway. I should explain that at this point in time, under the several inches of snow, the driveway itself was unsurfaced. Blaze had been spread over it to provide a surface for future tarmac and at the bottom there was still a pile of several tons of blaze. With a bit of work and some snow packing, it made the perfect ramp at the bottom of our “run”

With clumps of ice clinging to our woolly gloves and filling our wellie boots, we spent hours sledging on the driveway, getting closer and closer to becoming airborne off the top of that ramp.

If memory serves me right, my friend managed it at least once on her sledge before we realised it was better fun sliding down on the metal tray as it went faster.

The closest to the luge as I’ll ever get!

Precious childhood memories that were rewarded at the end of the day with red icy cold fingers wrapped round a mug of hot chocolate.

Happy carefree days….