A Fun Photo!

I just had to share this photo with you. 

It's Barney, our friends' lovely little Jack Russell dog. 

I think he might be saying, "Of course I can lick my nose. Can't everyone?"

I bet someone out there will be able to think of a better caption though... right?

Bleak Mid-Winter

It’s been a week of two halves [and I thought I’d explain why I’ve not been around to visit many blogs this week.]

On the bleak side Mr A has had a bad attack of flu. His temperature soared to scary heights on Tuesday. His resistance has never fully recovered from the stem cell transplant two years ago and so any attack like this has to be carefully monitored. Thankfully the antibiotics have kicked in and he’s slowly recovering.

On the bright side there have been lots of Chanukah celebrations, donuts and latkes to eat [traditional Chanukah food - I’ve explained why at the bottom of this post] candles to light and parties to prepare and organise.

And this morning the changing view from my Writing Den window reflected my week’s two halves.

A frosty -4 degrees   :-/

And then the sun came out   :-)

[Donuts and latkes and all things fried: In the year 168 BCE the Jewish Temple was seized and defiled by the enemy. There is always a symbolic light burning in the Temple but in those days each jug of oil lasted for only one day. During the siege that one jug lasted for eight days. This is why we eat fried food during Chanukah, to remind us of the miracle.] 

My Market Performance

I’ve mentioned Leicester Market a few times on this blog. It’s the largest outdoor covered market in Europe and it has a special place in my heart. Long ago Mum and Dad sold costume jewellery there and I loved going with ‘to help’. I was free to wander, in a way that children sadly aren’t able to do today, and I have rich memories of colourful market characters each acting out a performance just for me… or so I thought.

This cartoon of the light bulb man was drawn 

by Mick Wright for my Jewish Voices book. 

You can order one of his excellent cartoons 

or caricatures from Mick Wright.

Enter stage left, the light bulb man waddling and swaying from one empty stall to the next, wearing a special jacket which had one enormous pocket spreading around his body. The pocket bulged and clinked with light bulbs as he leapt across wooden-planked stalls, inserting bulbs with an expert twist of the wrist into the hanging flexes. In the winter that swinging bulb was the only source of warmth for Mum and Dad’s frozen fingers.

Next came the skip boys, pushing fully laden wicker skips from the cellar store rooms beneath the old Corn Exchange. The skips smelt musty and the skip boys strained to push their weight across the cobbles.

By now shoppers were arriving, their stiletto heels clicking, voices rising into a cacophony of sounds with brash sales patter, promising only the best, only the cheapest. "This jumper was made for you, me duck." And the rhythmic call from the fruit and veg section. "Get your oranges, lovely and sweet."

Sometimes I’d skip through the arcade to a clearing in the stalls, an open space for the pitch boys. They towered above my head, balanced on boxes, singing their sales patter to gathering crowds. Their assistants held up sets of matching plates, packs of saucepans. There was always a bargain and always someone in the crowd who appreciated a cheeky aside. "But to you, sweetheart, a special offer!"

And so I wandered on into the dusk and the market’s closing performance, the street sweepers, pushing wide brushes of mounting debris, vans and cars hooting, the skip boys returning refilled skips to their dusty dungeon home, the light bulb man, thin and ordinary, feeding his jacket with hot light bulbs until he was full and waddling again.

It was time to return to our stall, to help pack unsold jewellery into boxes and sit on the wooden planks swinging my legs and ‘guarding the stock’ while Mum and Dad packed up our little car. I always waved to the light bulb man as I squeezed into the back seat and perched beside piled-up boxes, but I don’t think he ever saw me.                 

Any more unusual cold and flu remedies?

Here in the UK we’ve reached that time of year when we are overflowing with coughs, colds and flu. In my last blog I mentioned that I had a flu/virus 'thingy'. You’ll no doubt be relieved to hear that it’s on its way out but during this week I’ve received a number of suggestions for how I might hasten my recovery. Here are a few:

Mabel always has to get in on the act!

Lemon and Honey:
You can’t beat a mug of lemon and honey when you’re feeling rough. I’m sipping yet another one now as I type.

Cider:
Thanks to Joanne from Word Splash for suggesting cider. Apparently her mother gave them cider for many and various conditions. It’s not my remedy of choice. In fact, I don’t know that I could cope with drinking cider this week but if it helps you then go for it!

Brandy:

I suppose that brandy is a common alcoholic ‘remedy’. If I'm not mistaken, it was my son who suggested I try this, even though [or maybe because] he knows I don't drink alcohol.

Dirty Socks:

I have heard that wearing a dirty pair of socks round your neck can help cure a sore throat. Not sure why but I’m not about to try it.

Cold, Wet Socks:

I googled that sock idea and was surprised to read that wearing cold, wet socks in bed helps to relieve congestion. Hmmmm. I don’t fancy that one either.

Jazz:

While I was googling I found a recommendation for listening to jazz music. Apparently it boosts our levels of Immunoglobulin A which helps our body to fight against infections. I think I’m going to try this one out so here's a dose of Billie Holiday singing Ain't Misbehavin':

If you know of any other unusual cold or flu remedies please share them... as long as they don't involve socks!

I'll never know how you feel

On Friday evening I was felled by a flu bug. I could feel glands swelling up where I never knew I had glands. My stomach rebelled against food and I’ve spent the best part of the last five days curled up on the settee with Mabel the Cat watching daytime TV.

I’ve tried to explain to friends and family over the phone exactly how I feel but each one has a different take on it.

      “Get yourself up and moving and it’ll soon go away.” No it won’t.

      “I’ve had that too and it only lasts a few days.” I suspect you haven’t had this bug, not exactly this bug, because this is my bug.

What I wanted to say was, “You don’t know how I feel,” but I didn’t because that would sound rather pathetic. After all, it’s only the flu, but it is true that no one can possibly know how anyone else feels in any given situation, no matter how empathetic they are.

On Sunday morning, with this thought in my mind, I curled up with Mable the cat and watched The Remembrance Day Parade on the TV. I watch it every year. It makes me think of my Dad. He always went down to London and marched alongside other members of AJEX, The Association of Jewish Ex-Servicemen. He always made careful preparations for the trip, ensuring that his poppy was smooth and perfect, that his coat was brushed and clean. He always came home cold, tired and silent.

My Dad in the Middle East sometime
during the 2nd World War

In 1977, at the age of 55, he became seriously ill. We didn’t yet know that it was Cancer and that it was too advanced to treat. This was the first time since the end of the 2nd World War that my Dad did not go to London for the Parade. He died the following week.

And so I watch the Remembrance Day Parade every year and think about my Dad.

Was he traumatised at losing close friends in the war?

Or did he miss the camaraderie and organised life that National Service had given him?

Did he see terrible things when he was posted somewhere in the Middle East?

Or did he relish the new skills that came from being in the REME, The Royal Electrical and Mechanical Engineers?

My Dad never talked about feelings. It was the way things were in those days, and besides, I could never have known how he truly felt, however hard I tried. The only feelings I can really know are my own...

...and now excuse me while I take two paracetamol and curl up on the settee with Mabel the cat.

Have you ever longed to know how someone else is truly feeling?

I'm on a Barge in Rotterdam...

...I wish!

In truth I'm virtually on a barge in Rotterdam.

I'm on Val's Barge to be precise at Watery Ways. We had a lovely chat over the Internet. She asked me questions about all kinds of things and encouraged me to 'reveal all' on her blog, so if you want to find out more then do pop over for a visit to:

Watery Ways on a barge somewhere in Rotterdam

Blogging Successes and Failures

Jo Carroll, one of my very good blogging friends, has given me The Addictive Blogger Award.

Thank you, Jo.

If you’ve not visited her blog then please pop along to:

Gap Years the Book

In return for this award I have to talk about why I started blogging. Some of my original hopes for this blog have not been achieved but the failures have been cancelled out by the successes.

• Failure: I started this blog when Mr A was first diagnosed with Amyloidosis. I had hoped to contact others in a similar position. This didn't happen but we’ve got used to his condition now and it’s become part of our lives.

• Success: I’ve always wanted to write one of those opinion columns in the newspaper. *Glances at soap box in the corner* I don’t suppose I’ll ever get paid by a newspaper for doing it, so this is the nearest I’ll get.

• Failure:  I wanted to promote myself as a writer.  *hmmmm, me and over a 1000 other writers*

• Major Success: I thought it would be nice to meet other like-minded people. I never expected that I would get to know so many lovely, chatty, supportive bloggers. Social Networking sometimes has a bad press but for me it’s all good. *virtual cup of tea and cake anyone?*

• Failure:  I thought that writing a regular blog would kick-start some of my writing projects, the ones that have been ruminating in my pending file, but some weeks I hardly have time to do any writing. I’m far too busy enjoying and commenting on everyone’s blog posts, not to mention writing my own. OK, I exaggerate but it is a commitment and inevitably takes time.

• Success:  Not a week goes by when I haven’t written something new, edited and polished it and posted it up for people to read so I am writing!

There are as many negative bullet points as positive ones but I wouldn’t want to be without my blog, no way! What are your blogging positives and negatives?

I now have to nominate five other bloggers to receive this award. They now have to explain why they started blogging and pass the award on to five others. Do go and visit them and, if you don’t already understand why I spend time reading other people’s blogs, then you will soon.

Val at Watery Ways

Joanne at Word Splash

Lizy at Lizy-expat-writer

Ann at Morning AJ

Carol at Carol Hedges [I’ve just noticed that Carol has, last week, blogged about why she blogs *synchronicity* but I think you should visit her blog anyway.]

Italy by Train

Buenos Dias. That's about all the Italian I know so it's a good job we had a Tour Guide with us.

Train travel is not the quickest method of getting across the Continent but it suits me better than defying the laws of gravity for hours on end and you can see the countryside as you go. This is the foothills of the French Alps taken through the window of a very fast-moving TGV.

Our main base was in Chiavari, Italy, where I drank lots of coffee sitting outside lots of cafes in the myriad of arcaded streets. 

We were part of an organised tour group, 24 of us in total, and everyone was lovely. We ate, drank, chatted, laughed and still managed to squeeze in lots of sightseeing. We visited The Cinque Terre, five small fishing villages nestling in crevices where the mountains met the Mediterranean...

We sipped Italian coffee in Portofino Harbour and pretended that we were rich and owned an enormous yacht...

On the way home the Alps were transformed by thick snow and it was even more beautiful than when we came (only not so photogenic!)

And now we're home and it's cold and dreary but I've got some lovely memories to keep me going through the winter. We've decided that we really like Italy and we're going to go back there for sure, so I'd better learn a bit more of the language. Ciao for now ;-)

What are you doing with your Today?

Lots of sayings and thoughts scroll past my eyes when I’m on Twitter. Mostly I don’t notice them but sometimes a special one appears, one that seems to be speaking directly to me, like this one...

“...Today well lived makes yesterday a dream of happiness and tomorrow a vision of hope...”

It’s from a poem by Kalidasa called Look to This Day and it’s beautiful, inspiring, but it also throws up an issue for me. What is meant by “well lived”? I’d like to know because I’m very aware that once a day has gone it has gone. Each day is precious and I hate to think that I’m wasting them so...

Does it mean to work so hard we collapse into bed at the end of the day or does it mean to doss and generally over-indulge ourselves, rather like our cats always do?

Mabel is on the left and Charlie on the right.

Does it mean to work for the good of others thereby gaining satisfaction from making other people happy or does it mean to look after ourselves, Number One, and make sure that we’re happy, rather like our cats always do?

If somebody can give me a blueprint for living my day “well” then I promise I’ll give it a try. In the meantime I’ll have to carry on doing a bit of everything and never quite being sure if I’m truly getting the best out of my days.

What is your idea of a day “well lived”?

Jo Carroll's Hidden Tiger

“You’ll be surprised what you can do with a rhino behind you.”

Jo Carroll

This was one of my favourite quotes from Jo Carroll’s latest book, Hidden Tiger Raging Mountain. I suspect I would curl up in a ball and cry, but not Jo and so I had to invite her along to my blog and ask her a question or two:

Speaking as a wimpy, scaredy-cat, non-traveller can you explain to me why you go travelling, on your own, to such far-flung places?

That's a hard one. All I can say is that I love it - love that stomach-lurching dislocation of stepping into a new country, the not-knowing, the effort of trying to cast off all my western assumptions, begin from a place of knowing nothing and then trying to understand. I love the extraordinary efforts total strangers can make to help me feel at home. I love the smells of hot cities. I love the orchestra of the jungle. (I used to think I loved tigers!) 

Buddhists in Lumbini, Nepal

What is it about Nepal? It sounds as if it’s touched your heart like no other place.

I do, indeed, love Nepal. I know it sounds ridiculous, but I never quite get over how huge the mountains are! Even though we know the Himalayas are magnificent, it's still humbling to totter round their foothills. But it's more than that - I love the people, their humour, their generosity and their determination to grow their rice or open their businesses in spite of the weather or the terrain or the lack of electricity and governmental chaos.

Which was the one moment, standing out from all of those truly terrifying situations, when you really didn’t think you’d get home alive?

Coming down the mountain, in the dark, after the cyclone. Never again! (Never again to cyclones, that is - not never again to travelling!)

Jo on a wobbly bridge, foothills of the Himalayas

Do you have any future travelling plans?

I wanted to go to Madagascar in January because I've never been. I even bought the Lonely Planet only to find that it's cyclone season. Since I have yet to rediscover a sense of humour where cyclones are concerned, I decided to look elsewhere. So now it’s Thailand and Laos after Christmas but I'm not sure how easy independent travel is there. I shall have find that out when I arrive. 

Thanks, Jo, I think you're amazing, an example to all of us *polite cough* older ladies. I know that everyone reading this post wishes you an enjoyable and SAFE time in Thailand and we're looking forward to hearing about it. 

If you want to read all about Jo’s amazing trip to Nepal then click on the book cover to buy a copy of Hidden Tiger Raging Mountain:

And do visit her at her blog at Gap Years The Book.

It's National Poetry Day

The 4^th of October is Poetry Day.

I hope you’ve all taken the time

To ensure that your writing and clever word play

Is exploding with rhythm and rhyme.

Write your daily to do list in long ballad form

Leave the milkman a note in Haiku

Your sonnet style emails will go down a storm.

Why not tweet out a tanka or two.

I’m trying to make sure I talk all in rhyme

Using couplets and triplets galore

But I wish it was over til next year this time

Cause I can’t keep it up any more.

I'll give virtual chocolates and wine

For comments with rhythm and rhyme! 

[OK and all right, it was only a joke

Tho I know blogger land's full of poetry folk.]

You can find out more about National Poetry Day at their website http://www.nationalpoetryday.co.uk/

Digging for a King - Richard III Part II

The Leicester University Archaeology Department are digging under a Leicester City Council Car Park to search for the bones of Richard III. I blogged in more detail about it last week.

They were pretty certain that this was the site of The Grey Friars, a Franciscan Friary and Church which had been destroyed during the Dissolution of the Monasteries in the 16^th Century. Sure enough they unearthed evidence and this weekend we, the public, were invited to see it for ourselves.

We had to queue...

But the sun was shining, people were chatty and excited and before we knew it we were in. This was our very own Archaeologist for the visit.

He showed us the trenches and explained what they were able to deduce from their findings...

They had, as yet, found no bones but they had found some floor tiles... 

...and the imprint of where those tiles would have been...

They've unearthed the foundations of narrow passages which would have been the cloister and of a wall with a buttress which was the Church. We had to use lots of imagination. No doubt when the report is shown on the TV there’ll be stunning projections of what the Friary would have looked like, but for me that won’t be anywhere near as exciting as being on the site, seeing the process and speaking with one of the archaeologists. It made it feel even more real than any TV projection possibly could.

It will be great if they do find Richard III’s bones but the dig isn’t quite over yet so... watch this space!

Lyric Snippets

I’m often awake in the middle of the night. I try not to disturb Mr A so the only part of me that can be active is my brain. This is dangerous territory. Thoughts can rapidly tumble into places that are even darker than the sky beyond the curtains and so I force my brain to concentrate on one of my many night-time mind-games. 

A few nights ago I chose one of my favourite games, lyric snippets. There was already a song going round my head, Just Can’t Say Goodbye by Lionel Richie. You probably won’t know it but it begins, 

“Here I stand, without an overcoat in January. Where did I go wrong...” 

That gets to me every time. In fact, I’ve written a poem inspired by it.

Last year I posted a blog called I Love Lyrics and a lot of people put the title of their favourite song in the comments below. This time I’m not thinking of whole songs, but just a snippet of lyric, a line that can be taken away and mulled over, like these:

“No one else can make me feel the colours that you bring...” 

Minnie Riperton, Loving You

“What do I do when lightning strikes me...” 

Joe Cocker, Sorry Seems to be the Hardest Word

“Sometimes the sun goes round the moon...” 

Vanessa Williams, Save the Best for Last

“Things that we were after were much better from afar...” 

Neil Sedaka, The Hungry Years

Before I throw this post open to you to add your own favourite lyric snippet, I’d like to share with you a lyric-related memory:

When I was at College, many years ago, I was obsessed with song lyrics. In those days, before Googling lyrics was invented, I collected lyrics in a notebook. [Sad, I know!] One day, in the middle of a Business Studies lesson, I was happily scribbling down the words to a Rolling Stones song when the teacher snuck up behind me and snatched the book. He took great delight in reading aloud the following lyrics:  

“Let’s spend the night together. Now I need you more than ever...” 

In those days spending the night with someone was as bad as shouting out the F word in class. I can still remember my embarrassment and a look of utter disapproval and disappointment on the teacher’s face.
 

And now, do please share your favourite or most inspiring lyric snippet. Remember, it’s not the song, it’s a short piece from the lyrics, a thought that we can take away as inspiration for our writing... or even our lives!

Digging for a King

The history beneath our feet never fails to fascinate me. Archaeologists from Leicester University are, as I type these words, digging up Leicester’s Grey Friars Car Park. A few days ago they found what they believe to be a section of wall from Grey Friars, a Franciscan Friary where it is thought that Richard III's body may have been buried. They are continuing the dig in the hope of finding his remains.

Richard III was killed at the Battle of Bosworth Field which is only a few miles from Leicester. Over the centuries there has been much speculation as to what happened to his body. Some say he was buried in Grey Friars. Others say his body was thrown into the River Soar. Now we may be about to find out the truth.

In my book, The Children’s History of Leicester, I talked about the Witch of Daneshill. They say that she was among the crowd who watched the King ride into battle on 21^st August, 1485. Richard had stayed overnight in the White Boar Inn near Leicester’s River Soar. As he rode off over the river his foot knocked against the cornerstone of Bow Bridge. The Witch of Daneshill called out,

    “When next he comes over that bridge it will be his head that knocks the cornerstone!”

They say that her prediction came true. His body was carried back, thrown across a horse, and his head knocked against that very same stone. 

Bow Bridge is still there. It’s now part of a busy thoroughfare and only a few streets away from the archaeological dig. This area of ground has never before been excavated as it had been private gardens for many centuries and then a car park. I can’t wait to see what secrets it’s about to reveal.

Are there any historical mysteries beneath the ground in your area?

If you want to keep up with the news of the dig as it breaks then you can find the latest on The Leicester Mercury site.

The Last Bank Holiday

In the UK we've just had our last Bank Holiday until 25th December.

The rain fell...

The wind blew...

The sun hardly showed itself...

But we had fun out and about, visiting family and doing real Bank Holiday type activities, like taking our grandchildren for their first steam train ride:

Today the local children went back to school. I watched them going down the road wearing new school uniforms with sharp creases in their trousers, perfectly tied ties and plenty of room to 'grow into them'. It reminded me of when I used to send my kids off to school. I even shed a few tears. How soppy is that? 

So the holidays are truly over and, like I said, the next one in the UK won't be for four months [Message to Government: Can we have a few more please?] but in the meantime I have a camera full of photographs and a whole load of memories of a lovely time and that's very precious.

What's your favourite way to spend a Bank Holiday?

My Writing Den

It's been a long time in the making but it's finally finished. All it needs are a few extra cushions and  a bean bag for lounging. It's already inspired me to write a new picture book story. I'm feeling quite excited about this one. It's been a while since I completed anything brand new. [Do you ever get too hooked up on editing old stuff and forget to generate new?]

By way of a reminder, the space used to be a glory hole behind a partition in Daughter's bedroom, and this photograph shows Mr A practicing his amazing DIY skills,

And this...

          ~~~ roll of drums ~~~ 

                           ...is the finished writing den!

And there's more...

This is the view from the window. The garden is yet another example of Mr A's handy work and his favourite place to be. Clever, isn't he! J  

[If you look really carefully you can just see Mabel-the-cat half way down the lawn. It wasn't long before she pattered up the stairs to join me. Daughter's bed makes a perfect cat-day-bed. Must change the quilt cover before her next visit!]

So now you know where I'll be writing from now on. Where is your most inspiring place to work?

We all have our limitations

I've just been on a photography course. I took my little compact Canon camera with me, the one that's taken all the photographs on this blog, the one that I was really fond of.

It was an excellent photography course, theory in the morning, practical in the afternoon, but I now know that my much-adored little camera won't do all the fancy things that we learnt about in the morning session. I want it to take a portrait with a blurred-out background, catch a bird in flight or a water droplet in mid-air.

I did love my camera until I had its limitations pointed out to me. So before I go out and spend vast amounts of money on a high-tech version that could capture a flea taking flight from a pin head I thought I'd share my favourite four photos that I took during the second part of the course using my very small, limited-capacity camera.

The Door: The keyhole to this door was thick with cobwebs. It hadn't been opened in a long time. Maybe not for hundreds of years. I do love doors.

The Thistle: Not a bad image for a dead thistle!

The Horse: Getting up close and personal. I'm just a teeny bit afraid of horses. They're so huge but this one was rather a sweetie, [even if I did lean on an electric fence to get the shot - ouch!]

The Stone Rose: I love those tiny specks of lichen, a basic form of life on an old and crumbling gravestone.

We all have our limitations. The important thing is knowing what they are and working within them. This little Canon Compact Camera knows that it can't catch water droplets in mid-air but it can still take a fine picture.

So do I stick with my compact camera or do I get an all-singing, mid-air-droplet variety? Any suggestions?

If you're interested in going on a photography course, I'd recommend this one which is run by Glen Tillyard from Digital Photography Courses. He runs regular courses for all levels and abilites and he's based in a little village in Leicestershire.

Tom Bear's Bath

My new writing den is still not completed [sigh] but I’ve dragged in a chair so I can sit at the window and write this post.

If we hadn’t altered Daughter’s bedroom to accommodate my den then Tom Bear’s bath would never have happened. The memories would still have been caught up in his dusty fur.

Charlie the cat is suspicious of the damp bear.

I used a bowl of soapy water and a cloth. I didn’t want Tom Bear to be soaked through and through. I carefully wiped his head and ears and through the smell of musty wool came memories, a pink frilly dress that I bought for Daughter, the hair ribbons, the baby ballet classes.

I rubbed Tom’s arms... The pink frills were discarded, replaced with black. Just a phase.

I scrubbed his chin... When she practised her flute I’d stop my chores, sit and listen.

I rubbed at his tummy... When she got her degree we ran together up the steps of the University to see the words on the notice board, 1^st class honours.

I worked the soapy cloth around his feet rubbing harder with each memory... her packed bags, a move to London, a first job, a new life. That was when Tom Bear climbed to the top of the wardrobe, all those years ago, and he only just came down and now I have to thank him for reminding me how proud I am of her and how precious our memories are.

Five Favourite Flowers

We've been to Ireland to help friends celebrate their 50th wedding anniversary. If you've ever been to Ireland to help anyone celebrate you'll understand why we're both still feeling a little weary. How do they party all night and then carry on partying from lunchtime the next day? At their age? *groan* *yawn*

So I'm spending time in the garden regaining a little strength and clarity of thought. Mr A has excelled himself this year. Our garden is amazing in spite of the rain and here are my five favourite flowers that I photographed over the last two days:

In 5th place comes echinacea - I love those tiny bobbly bits (not a technical term) in the middle.

4th sedum - The tiny flowers fascinate me.

3rd geranium - We have a number of different geraniums in our garden. I told someone at the party in Ireland that we almost had the National Collection. Wrong person to tell little white lies to!! He has over a 100 in his garden and he started quoting Latin names at me. I went and chatted to someone else.

2nd gladioli - There's just the one spike opened so far, such an elegant shape.

In 1st place comes the rose - I couldn't blog about favourite flowers without including a rose although I had trouble finding one that hadn't been mushed by the rain. When I was a kid Dad bought me a rose bush of my own, deep red, lovely perfume, and he was the only person to ever call me Rosey Posey. Roses have always been my favourite flower.

A Tourist at Home

Seeing with Fresh Eyes

I’ve lived in Leicester all my life. I’ve wandered round all the well-known bits. I’ve even written a Children’s History of Leicester. [I needed to do plenty of research for that!] But yesterday was the first time that I’d been a real tourist at home. I went on a guided tour of Leicester’s Castle. There’s not much of it remaining. We couldn’t climb worn stone stairs or wander wind-blown ramparts but we were able to look at odd bits of stone rising up here and there, The Turret Gateway, John of Guant’s Cellar, the mound of grass that was once the Motte and, with an expert in the lead [Richard Buckley from Leicester University’s Archaeological Services], we learnt so much more than lumps of stone could ever impart.

This is a page from my Children's History of Leicester.
The photo on the yellow background shows remains of the castle wall where gun holes were
punched in it to defend Leicester (unsuccessfully) from Prince Rupert's army in the Civil War.

Why have I never been on a local guided tour before? When we go abroad we always sign up to guided tours so why not in our home town? That was a rhetorical question. I know the answer. It’s because we think we know what’s there. We get so used to seeing it that we stop seeing it. Why does our brain do that? [That wasn’t a rhetorical question so do please let me know if you have the answer.]

The same thing happens in other areas of our lives. I’m very lucky to have a lovely house and a beautiful garden but days go by and I forget to notice them… until a friend visits and I see it all through their eyes and remember. Yes, I am lucky.

I wonder if this happens with writing. Do we become so immersed in the character detail of our work-in-progress that we forget where we were intending to take the story? Or maybe we get too hung up on plot twists to work on our characters.

It certainly happens with relationships. It’s not until we run the risk of losing someone that we look through our seeing eyes, the ones that view things for real.

I know that I need to use my seeing eyes more often and I suspect I’m not the only one.

Street Photography and a Weather-Related Moan

I’ve been exploring the blogging world a little this last week and I’ve found a whole group of bloggers who post up a photograph every Wednesday using a weekly tagline from a website called Sticky Fingers. I mentioned a few weeks ago that I’ve enrolled for a photography course so this will be a good photography-based focus for my brain. [As it’s so hot in the UK this week I’ve chosen photographs that allows me to incorporate a little moan while I’m at it.]

The tagline for this week's Photo Gallery is: Street Photography

You don’t often find streets like this in the UK, streets where you can escape from the glaring Jerusalem sun and wander in relative comfort.

Jerusalem's Old City, October 2011
Taken with Canon IXUS 115 HS

Jerusalem's Old City, October 2011
Taken with Canon IXUS 115 HS

And my moan, as if you hadn’t guessed, is about the glaring UK sun. I got up very early this morning and was showered, dressed and out in time to beat the heat. I needed to do the food shopping without melting both myself and my butter. Irrespective of the weather, this is the best time of the day to shop. The shelves are stacked high, members of staff are fresh, friendly and helpful and the car park is empty. I may even start doing early morning shopping all year round. [I’m kidding! I won’t really!]

The UK is meant to have a temperate maritime climate. So far this summer we’ve had torrential rain, floods, tornadoes, electric storms and now searing heat. Could this be the global warming that scientists have been predicting? If this level of heat continues we’ll have to build sheltered, walled streets like the ones in Jerusalem’s Old City. As for the flooding, I know nothing about the grand scale, but I’m convinced that locally we’d benefit from a little less concrete and a lot more garden area so that rainwater at least has a chance of soaking away... It would be nicer to look at too.

When it Storms

Torrential rain. 

Plants flattened. 

Flowers destroyed.

But if you look hard enough you'll always find a survivor.

[I've enrolled for a photography course next month. I've been told that my small camera isn't sharp enough for producing really high quality shots. I was really pleased with this shot of the rose but I have to admit that it was taken with my iPod and it wouldn't look right to take photos with an iPod on a photography course... or would it!]

A Moment to Shine... and to Chat

It was raining. Did I really want to walk to the corner of our street just to see someone carrying a flame? Really? Well as you can see from the photographs, I did. It was an historic moment. It will never pass by my street again in my lifetime and I’m really pleased I went.

It wasn’t necessarily the girl and the flame that provided the satisfaction, although they were fun to watch...

It wasn’t the completely empty main road, save for a few police motorcycles, although that was a novel sight... 

It was the people!
   “We should do this more often!” I overheard someone say and, yes I agree. We should! We met up with lots of neighbours who we hadn’t spoken to for months. Mr A even met an old colleague and has planned to go off sailing with him.

You really do have to go out walking to meet and chat. I know that I could walk without a dog but since our lovely Josh died there’s not been the same incentive. Even if I had a cast iron will [which I don’t] it only takes a few spots of rain and I’m either switching the computer back on and kicking off my shoes or reaching for the car keys.

I’m not saying that I never see friends and neighbours but those are organised events. How lovely to just stroll down the road and know that you will meet up with familiar people. That must be what it’s like living in ITV’s Coronation Street and popping in to the Rovers Return. [We don’t have any local pubs round our way, something to do with a covenant on the land.]  

I often wonder how many lonely people there are living behind closed front doors. [Front doors do hold a certain fascination for me. I posted up a poem about them here.] I’m sure that as social animals we were never meant to live in single-residency units and I have a niggling belief that somewhere, during our many centuries of sociological development, we took a wrong turning.

   Is it too late to find a better route?

A Wow View

We've been to visit Sister and as the visit coincided with Mr A's birthday we decided to treat ourselves. This was the view from our hotel bedroom.

Lyme Regis Bay from our bedroom in bright sunshine

It's the kind of view you don't tire of.

Lyme Regis Bay from our bedroom as the sun sets

We sat in the hotel garden in glorious Dorset sunshine and pretended to be Lord and Lady Whatsit.
We entertained Sister. 
We entertained Niece and Nephew-in-law. 
Morning coffee? No problem. 
Afternoon tea? Certainly, madam, would that include scones and jam? 
Game of croquet anyone? Errm... How do you play croquet?



And when we fancied some exercise, the hotel gardens led onto a steep but very pretty cliff path which took us down to the seafront and Lyme's famous cob. My only problem was climbing back up that path again. [Note to self: Must get more exercise!]


But now we're home again and if we want a cup of tea we have to go and put the kettle on ourselves and as for cooking dinner *sigh*. I could get used to being waited upon!

[In case you fancy a similar treat, we were staying at the Alexandra Hotel in Lyme Regis.]