What's new, Sassenach?

If you're stuck for something to watch of an evening, why not try Outlander?

Without giving too much away, a young woman finds herself in Scotland at the time of the Jacobite rebellion of 1745. The series follows her adventures. But this isn't your typical historical drama. With a strong cast and equally strong Scottish accents, this show will leave you breathless. After every episode, I can't wait to find out what happens next.

The Scottish landscape is also breathtaking. Perhaps I'm biased because I live close to where the series was filmed. (I recognised a former college pal of mine amongst the throng of extras!)

Be prepared for smatterings of Gaelic and French without subtitles, and some scenes of sex and violence which, I hasten to add, are in no way gratuitous. There's nothing in there that isn't relevant to the story.

It's a slow-burner - I wasn't hooked until at least episode three - but stick with it and I promise you won't be disappointed.

Work in progress

In my spare time (I have a day job), I find myself snatching moments here and there to do little bits of work on my writing projects. That’s in between catching up on social media, putting washing in the machine or taking the dogs for a walk. As you can imagine, progress on my novel is very slow - a pencil mark here, a sticky note there (I’m on my third or fourth round of edits. Sigh!). Sometimes I might even do some work on my next children’s book. But most of my spare time is spent in deep contemplation about life, the universe and everything, and wishing I could get those darned things finished! 

Nonnie - The Quiet Little Mouse

I'm not very good at keeping my blog up to date, there's so little time! However, I thought I'd take a minute to throw in this link to my book Nonnie - The Quiet Little Mouse. It's available for Kindle and in paperback. I hope you enjoy it!

Keep a look out for my next book, The Glens of Carnegie, a thriller set in Scotland and Spain. Announcement coming soon!

What now, Darling?

The Darling River in Australia has all but dried up, according to a BBC report. This is due to industrial-scale cotton farming. Fish are dying in vast numbers and other types of wildlife are dying out. The people who depend on the river for their livelihood are struggling to survive. The problem is being made worse by severe drought, while other parts of the country are getting floods. Global climate change is most certainly playing a part.

It is distressing to see the dried-up river bed of the Darling, and the plight of the people who live on its banks. We are heading for a global catastrophe if industries don't reduce the damage they are causing by industrial-scale farming and other kinds of mass production.

Summer

"What kind of tree is that?" asked Holly, as she lay in a striped hammock, strung between two trees in her aunt's garden.

"A goat willow," said her aunt, who sat next to her on a white wrought-iron garden chair reading a book.

It was warm today, with very little breeze, and the two women were content to simply sit among the flowers and nettles, enjoying the air and listening to the sounds of summer.

"It's a very pretty tree," said Holly.

"Willows are among my favourites," said her aunt. "Especially the weeping variety."

"What would we do in a world without trees?" asked Holly.

"Well, you wouldn't be called Holly for a start."

More snapshots

Looking through a pile of old photographs hidden away then unpacked when we moved house – gives me comfort, strangely. They are pictures from my childhood and before my birth, of my parents, sisters, grandmother, cousins and aunts, of my nieces and nephews and their spouses and children. The photos remind me of a loving upbringing, albeit a little unconventional and troubled at times. But I saw no real hardship or suffering, just internal struggles, the kind that many people had and still have, but learn to deal with in various ways. My mother was very discontented, my father distant. They made a strange pair but muddled along somehow with the three of us daughters caught in the crossfire, Margaret, the eldest, coming off worst. Sophie, the middle one, a happy and contented soul, and me, the youngest, forever searching and striving for a life of happiness and contentment. Perhaps I have found it at last.

Snapshots

My grandmother on my mother’s side had never heard the words ‘cholesterol’ or ‘body mass index’. She never went running or walking or cycling. She didn’t need to. She was strong as an ox and lived to 86. She tended her garden, despite arthritis, and grew her own vegetables, which she picked, peeled, scraped and chopped. She was a stout woman and every day she wore a blue housecoat because there was always work to be done. We feared her slightly, my sisters and I, when we stayed at her cottage in the summer. She wouldn’t tolerate arguments or squabbles, or ungratefulness. I heard her swearing once, when she found us in the woods near the cottage, playing with a gang of local boys. We were only climbing trees but she was furious. All we wanted after that episode was to go home to our carpeted bedrooms in Scotland. We’d had enough of bare floors in our English country prison. Our punishment was to peel the potatoes for dinner, shell the peas and chop the mint. Harsh indeed!

My favourite part of the day when we stayed at my grandmother’s was the afternoon, when the old deckchairs were brought out of hibernation into the heat of the sun. (It was always hot back then.) We flopped down in a sheltered corner and dozed to the sound of bees buzzing gently round the foxgloves. Then the sound of china cups and saucers being carried on a tray would bring us back to blissful consciousness and through half-closed eyes we would watch Granny pour the hot amber liquid from a silver teapot. Then she would cut us a slice of fruitcake, still warm from the oven.

On thundery days we would retreat to the shelter of the cottage, the roof so low that my father, not a particularly tall man, had to bend over to avoid the wooden beams. The adults dozed in armchairs while my sisters and I played or read dusty books.