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.

Bus notes

First day back at work after two weeks of hibernation. It's dark, it's cold, and I want to be tucked up in bed. The bus pulls into the hospital terminal as usual. It's good to be back in a routine again, despite having a head full of cotton wool. The devil will find work for idle hands and all that. Not just idle hands but idle minds. I never realised until I reached middle age just how important work is. It is too easy to dream and fantasise about winning the lottery or marrying someone rich and having nothing to do but lie in bed and eat chocolate. But we must have a purpose in life, otherwise what is the point of existing? Is it purely to seek pleasure and happiness? Of what use is that? It is better to search for meaning, because happiness is only fleeting and cannot be sustained. Meaning, however, is the driver of our internal engines. It is what motivates us to go to work every day. Without meaningful work we are nothing but idlers and wasters.
We're here. I put my notebook away.

A fresh start

So. I've done the binge TV-watching and After Eights for breakfast. Now what?
Well, there's a lot for me to look forward to in 2018. An imminent house-move for one thing. A new place, a fresh start. It will be hard, having lived in the same flat for 24 years, but I feel the time is right. The new flat feels right, too. As soon as we walked in, Patrick and I, it felt like home. We couldn't see the garden because it was dark, but we know it's big and private. I have big plans for the garden. Rose trees for one thing. I always wanted rose trees. I'm picturing a winding path leading from the gate to a little arbour, nestled in the rose bushes. I'm imagining sitting there on a Spring day, watching my two little dogs playing happily, chasing insects and elusive cats, new smells and sounds to keep them busy.
I will find a place to set up a study, a place I can retreat to when I crave solitude. Perhaps my new surroundings will spur me on to write.
There will be drawbacks, perhaps, but the positives will outweigh the negatives.
A new year, a new house and a fresh start.
Happy 2018!